#but anyway she's a blast that whole series is a blast

[inkykeiji]

Would you ever consider revisiting the sd!natsou series? I re-read it the other day and I was reminded how much it had me in an absolute CHOKEHOLD!!!! I freaking loved it!!!! And all ur work tbh. I hope you’re having a fabulous day clari!!! Make sure to drink water <3

YES!!! yes yes yes 100% yes, i love that AU SO much and have several unfinished WIPs for it!!! you may already know this but i do have a few other oneshots floating around on my blog set within that AU (here, here, and here) + the sugar daddy natsuo tag, so ur always welcome to check those out if you haven’t already! <33 but yes uGH i love that series too, and the whole dynamic going on there (sd!nat reader is the only one of my readers to have all three todoroki sons interested in her atm!)

aw ehehe thank you so much anon!!! (ㅅ´ ˘ `) ♡ i’m super glad you enjoy my work!!! and i really appreciate you taking a moment to express your interest in this series to me! aaah i am icky sicky in bed atm but i am drinking as much as i can, pinky promise!! <3

[themeganator5000]

Ayo, who ordered the 4k smut fic for the 40-year-old yaoi ship?? 🛎️👋👩‍🍳

[pondslime]

shoutout to that one masters of horror movie I watched on ye olden youtube at the tender age of 16. which was like. a retelling of frankenstein’s monster? maybe? kinda? about this nervous lookin little guy who wants to learn how to bring the dead back to life. 

the whole movie eventually culminates in some sexy married lady he meets getting GANGBANGED in a CEMETARY by a bunch of rotting decaying zombies

what a film. that was

[mycological-mariner]

I finished the 3rd Aubrey Maturin book

[i-cant-sing]

Thinking about my own grandpa and how he'd comfort me with sweets/icecream whenever i had the slightest inconvenience and i just dream of whether he'd still do it to me as a 23 year old, ruffling my hair, letting me cut his birthday cake, scolding my parents when they got mad at me (yes i snitched on my parents), wiping my fat tears with his handkerchief, showing me his drawings of airplane engines as cold air blasted through the ac, letting me eat food from his plate that my mom made me bring him lol.

and like it grandparents are sooo sweet man. they couldve been okay-ish parents to their own kids, but then they get grandkids and they're like a whole different species *sniffle* theyre so precious.

and now my mind goes to that yandere todoroki clan au (i think it was the bullied series) where at the end, reader dies because of rei, and the whole fam loses their sanity. then one day, reader is reincarnated (its her quirk) as dabi's baby and dabi shares the news with his siblings because he needs to restore their sanity too (cause he feels responsible for them too, the "eldest kid" syndrome).

anyways, after you, his daughter had died, enji lost it and killed rei and then just vanished into the mountains to mourn his loss. years later, for whatever reason, he finds out about you. he's standing there, watching toddler you looking at him with curiosity. you stumble towards him, and Enji's on his knees at this point, he's in shock. your scars, your marks from your previous life dont even register to him until later on, all he can focus is you- its you, his baby. his daugher. his child that he swore to protect and failed.

your legs give out when you reach him but your hands reach for him and enji's already lifting you up, bringing you to his chest. his eyes are filled with tears as u look at him and babble, your hands grabbing onto his shirt, touching his face, big doe eyes staring at him.

he hugs you, silent sobs wrecking his body as he gets a whiff of your head. you- you smell just like her- like his daughter.

It really is you.

he doesn't let go of you, even when you eventually fall asleep in his arms, rocking you gently as he stares down at you in awe and disbelief. he doesn't let you go even when dabi tries to take you back, even when dabi insists that he won't keep you two apart, that you need to rest in your bed as he explains everything.

he finally let's you go when you wake up and reach for your dad (dabi), crying when enji doesn't let you leave his arms. but he relents, enji relents when you cry- it hurts him so bad, he's reminded of all the times how you used to cry before, how you used to beg him for help, beg him to save you. his heart breaks to see you like this, in tears.

enji's only partially conscious of what dabi is saying to him, explaining to him that you're now "his" daughter and enji's "granddaughter" and that's how things will be if they need to work. But enji doesn't care whether you're his daughter or not, all he cares about is that he's in your life because he needs to- he will keep you safe. He won't make the same mistakes again. Never.

i can just imagine the siblings and enji all sitting down together to make decisions about your life in extreme detail so that they ensure that no harm befalls you ever again, and if by some extreme badluck you die, they need to make sure that you reincarnate back to them.

they plan your every day, they make sure that at least one of them is with you at all times, and most importantly, they make sure youre safe and happy. when you start going to school, you're taken to school by Shotou because Dabi (who went back to working as a chef) has to go to work early. then at school, your teacher is more than likely Fuyumi (and if she's not your teacher, then she still works at your school). then after school, you're picked up by Enji who takes you out for ice cream (always, he doesnt care if its before u have had lunch. he needs to make up for all the times he couldnt give u ice cream because of rei) and also buy you any toys u want. enji is just enjoying you padding away and pointing at things that catch your eye. at home, natsuo has returned from his shift at the hospital and then starts heating up the food dabi had already made for you, before letting enji put you down for nap time. when you wake up, natsuo takes your vitals and a basic medical check. by dinner, dabi is home and you welcome him by launching yourself at his legs with a thud. he laughs, picks you up and pecks your cheek before taking you into the kitchen with him to make dinner while you tell him all about your day.

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Chapter 6

Finnick Odair x Reader

Series Masterlist Link

I love writing pissed off Johanna dialogue!

Content warnings - death (it’s the hunger games)

As much as he wants to chase after you, he can’t. Katniss would kill you and he can’t abandon the plan, not until he can pass off babysitting duty to Johanna.

You spent the evening wandering the jungle, unnerved by every little noise you heard. After you left, you circled back the way you had originally come, hoping the others would carry on in the other direction.

Your arm was still bleeding but you didn’t care. It’s not like any sponsors were lining up to send you stuff. You’ll have to kill a career and steal their supplies using the only weapon you have, the arrow that landed in your arm.

A few hours after dark, the faces of the fallen appear in the sky. None of your allies are on the list so you don’t really care. It’s not like you knew these people.

You opt to go deeper into the jungle, opposite of where Finnick must be. This whole place is starting to look the same, though, and it’s hard to get your bearings.

Hours later, a gong rings twelve times. You don’t have time to ask yourself what it means as the hairs on your body stand up and a large blast of electricity shoots down mere yards away from you.

Lightning.

You have to move. Now. Your ears hurt and panic rises in your throat. They’re here to kill you. You’re gonna die.

Running, you collide with someone, another tribute. They don’t even have time to scream before your arrow is through their neck and their cannon is sounding. Move. Now.

You run until you can’t anymore, scared that something is chasing you. The game makers must have caused the lightning to force you and the other tribute closer together.

There were other canons throughout the night, but you paid no attention to them. You sat under a tree, hugging your knees, trying to ignore the burning in your dry throat and the pain in your arm. Of course Katniss had to shoot your dominant arm.

When the day is bright enough to illuminate your section of the jungle, you decide to head back towards where the lightning was. If another tribute was over there then there may be some food or water close by. Maybe they even had sponsors.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you make it back to where the fight occurred. There’s no trace of it but you know the spot. Your hair stands on edge again and you panic, knowing exactly what this means. The lightning strikes and you bolt, running from whoever must be near.

They’re going to kill you. You’re dead. You need to run faster.

You run downhill, towards what you think is the lake. Despite not being allowed in the ocean for the past five years, you’re probably still the second best swimmer in the arena behind Finnick. If you could lure whoever is chasing you into the water then you could drown them.

Your legs barely make it to the beach, completely drained from your lack of sleep and sustenance. Whoever was following you must have realized your plan and stopped. Maybe nobody followed you at all.

As you make your way out of the jungle and towards the water, you pause, spotting a large group of people a ways down the beach. It’s Finnick and his alliance. Maybe they would give you food, or shoot you. Honestly, who knows?

They spot you approaching and Katniss aims another arrow at you. You’re still clutching the one she shot you with in your hand, ready to stab anyone who comes near.

“Y/N!” Finnick exclaims as he runs over to you. “I was so worried.”

You look over at the group and back at him, silently asking if they’re ok with you being there. He sighs, realizing that Katniss probably isn’t ok with you being there but he needs you with him anyways. He can’t lose you.

“Have you eaten?” he asks. You shake your head no. “We have food and water. Oh! And some first aid stuff for your arm. Katniss is sorry by the way.”

“Skin?” you ask him. Noticing the scabs on his body and the cuts on his face.

“We got caught in some poisonous fog last night and ended up in a fight with some monkeys this morning,” he explains. “I’m alright. Nobody in our group has died except Blight. He hit the force field last night and they couldn’t revive him.”

You hum in response, catching a whiff of the fish Finnick must have caught for the group to eat. He notices your hunger and gently guides you to sit on the edge of the group close to Johanna and far away from Katniss.

“Glad you could join us feisty!” Johanna chuckles as you sit near her. You give her a shrug as if to say that you’re currently indifferent to your existence. She gets the memo.

“Nuts and Volts,” she states. “Have you met fiesty?”

The man and woman look up at the group.

“Yes,” Beetee replies. “I believe we briefly met Y/N at her victory tour celebration in the capital but it’s been many years. It is nice to see you again Y/N, although I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“You guys aren’t letting her stay with us, right?” Katniss asks and you tense up. They need her for their plan. You’re disposable.

“Back off firebird,” Johanna barks. “She’s sticking with us.”

“She tried to kill me!” Katniss exclaims.

“Because you touched her,” Johanna shouts. You flinch at the volume. “Rule numéro uno is don’t touch fiesty. Plus I thought you were a good fighter, Katnip. You mean to tell me you couldn’t win a fight against her? She hasn’t been outside in over five years. She’s practically harmless!”

“Let’s settle down,” Finnick states, noticing you becoming tense due to the yelling. “Here’s your fish Y/N. I’m gonna go grab you some water.” You smile at him in thanks and begin to eat the fish. The smile fades when you notice Katniss watching you eat like a hawk, so you turn around and sit with your back towards her while you eat.

You need to convince her of Johanna’s words. You’re harmless.

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[rimunagenius]

So Bad

ʚ pairing: Kate Martin x Roommate!reader

ʚ word count: 2.5k

ʚ warning: RPF!! , slight angst?, fluff, sexual tension, two idiots inlove trope

ʚ rimunagenius speaks: sorry this took too long to put out guys…i’ve been trying to write but it’s been so stressful since i broke my foot. i missed a whole week of school so i was trying to catch up and do homework, while doing the current assignment, while doing college classes, and trying to write…it’s been ROUGH. anyways…hope you like this!! it’s a little short but the next part is gonna be long !! just a heads up

Part 5

| Series Masterlist |

The plane ride to Albany was a little tense. You wanted to go in support of the team because this was a game on neutral ground. You guys had made it to the elite eight and that was something you all wanted but had to fight like hell to get. You were only an assistant trainer, theoretically, you didn't have to be here, but you wanted to be here for Kate and the girls. Your best friends. The girls managed to make sweet sixteen and won, and now it was time for the elite eight. 

You and Kate haven't talked about the night in your living room. You guys just seemed to pick back up where it was to begin with. Jada thought it was great but was also concerned about the will of self-control you two had to have. 

Caitlin eventually found out, pressing Kate about why she had been a ray of sunshine for the last month. She had become the biggest shipper and supporter of you both. Her, Jada, and now Gabbie had known and it felt okay. No hard feelings or bitterness. 

"What room are you staying in tonight?" Kate whispered as she tried to put her face in the small gap between your seat and the side of the plane, you both having window seats in stacked rows. 

"Uh, might have to delete this from the vlog, Kate." You give her a small pointed look as you turn your body, pointing to the small camera you had been using to record a vlog for an Athletic Trainers day in the life. 

"Oh shit, I'm sorry." Kate laughed, knowing how that might have sounded. 

"No, it's fine. But I'm technically under staff, not a student, so I'm staying on the same floor as Lisa, the assistant coaches, and other staff. Why?" She had a small frown after she realized you guys weren't on the same floor tonight. 

"Because I want to sleep close to you."  You were quite confused as she had never had this issue before. It was okay on past travel games because she had Caitlin or Jada, but she was sort of attached to your hip since that night, but you didn't think it was going to be a problem. 

You looked around, seeing AJ and Molly asleep right next to you, before looking back into the crack between your seats. "Isn't that against the whole, not starting a relationship thing, Kate?" You gave her a soft smile, finding it cute and endearing that she wanted to be close to you. 

"I never said we had to share the same bed, I just said I wanted to be close to you. You know, like the apartment?" Your guys' rooms were right next to each other's in the apartment back home. 

"I promise you'll be okay Kate. You can call me in the morning and I'll go to your room to get ready if you want me to?” You suggested, turning your camera completely off after you stopped recording. You set it down inside the bag at your feet before sliding on your headphones. 

You had Chappel Roan playing, the irony in the song that was blasting through your beats, ‘Good Luck Babe!’, and your arm resting on the armrest where you had previously had your face talking to Kate when you felt a hand tap your forearm. You lifted your head from resting on your fist and looked down. Her hand extended palm to you. You frowned softly, appreciating the small acts of affection Kate was always willing to give you. 

You got up on your knees, and looked over the seat, spotting Kate's head resting against the back of your seat, looking down on her phone, sacrificing better posture just to simply be close with you. You sat back down normally, sparing your exposure to spying on Kate, and placed your hand in hers. You two interlocked your fingers and held hands. 

You both knew this wasn't out of the ordinary. But something felt so different about it this time. Knowing the connection you two share and the love you two have for one another is something that hangs a thick fog of tension and uncertainty about what to do with all the emotions. You took a picture of your hands, wanting to capture the small moments of intimacy. 

You truly loved this girl with your whole heart and you were so willing to give it all to her if she wanted it. 

A free day in Albany was granted before getting back to work the next day. So the staff, including you, and the team were free to explore together or separately. It was a lot of the girls' first time in New York so everyone wanted to go sightseeing. You had been looking for an outfit to wear, not much to throw together since you packed a lot of lounging clothes and your Hawkeye gear for the games, when there was a knock at your door. You assumed it was Jada having talked to her on the phone not that long ago talking about getting ready, letting her know what room you were in. "Coming, Jada!" You shouted from the edge of your bed, throwing your clothes back in your suitcase. 

"Not Jada." Kate smiled when you opened the door for her and let her in. You laughed and told her it was because you were also expecting Jada. 

"Kate, I cannot find an outfit." You looked too stressed for a small team exploration outing. You sighed as you proceeded to dig through the suitcase some more. 

"Relax, you'll find something. Let me see what you have." Kate walked over, standing impossibly close next to you while she helped neatly pick out clothes and placed them on the bed still neatly folded. She picked what seemed to be your black flare leggings and your all-black long-sleeve. "That's cute. What shoes did you bring?" 

You looked at her, jaw dropped. There was no way the most plain, midwestern masc, was dressing you in something cute. You pointed to the black and yellow dunks that the Iowa staff gifted you this season. "Okay, wear those shoes with your Iowa puffer vest? Basic but still you." Kate shrugged, mumbling a small 'I don't know though.' 

"I love it. Thank you, Kate." You smiled softly, disappearing into the bathroom. She nodded softly, before sitting down on the edge of the bed, placing some clothes back into your suitcase, before sipping on the water she had in her hands. Your phone pinged. 

Notification from Jada, texting she was on the way up to the room. "Jada's on her way," Kate said, pausing after seeing your lock screen. The picture of you and Kate holding hands. Her cheeks turned red, sudden butterflies in her belly and her palms growing clammy, it didn't help you came out of the bathroom, fully dressed. You looked so beautiful…she was in deep. 

"How do I look?" You asked, posing with hands on your hips. You saw how red her face was, and the way she just slowly dragged her eyes up your body. It made you shuffle of nervousness, suddenly so nervous under her gaze. 

"So gorgeous, sunshine." The nickname gave you butterflies, not having heard in a while. Not since before you confessed your feelings to her. Suddenly that name felt like you were carrying a new title to her. 

"You think? Looks like you know to dress after all." You teased, and she stood up before taking your hand and spinning you. 

"Oh, yup! This fit is so cute!" She needed to act normal, especially before Jada came in and noticed the tension between the two of you. It's like you both just wanted to hurry up time and get to the good part. You wanted each other so bad but you two made a deal. After the tourney, you could be together. You were almost there. 

You spun back around to face her, immediately wanting to kiss her. You two stood so close, your self-control wearing thin as you saw her eyes dart from each of your eyes, down to your lips, and doing it all over again. One hand of hers now ghosting your hip, wanting to pull you in closer. 

"We can't, remember?" You don't know why you said it. You should've let it happen. You could've but Kate said you two should wait, so you needed to say something. 

"Why not?" Her whisper sounded desperate. 

"Because you said so." 

"When do you ever listen to me anyways, gorgeous?" Her lips were so impossibly close to yours, you damn near almost fell to your knees. Her other hand found your waist, her slowly inching your chest against hers when a knock on the door was heard. 

She dropped her hands from you, your body already missing the feeling of her and the sensation she forced through your whole body. Catching your breath, you walked to the door and opened it for Jada who was accompanied by Gabbie and Caitlin. 

"You guys ready to sightsee!" Caitlin's enthusiasm through the roof as always, made you laugh as you walked away from the door to grab your shoes next to your bed. You didn't miss the way Kate watched you saunter through the room. Neither did everyone else. 

"Yes, I just need my shoes, and I'm good to go." You slid your shoes on, grabbed your purse, and ready to walk out the door. The three girls walked out, you following. You felt a hand grab yours, pulling you back slightly. 

In turn, a piece of hair fell into your face, Kate wasted no time in moving it back to the side of your face before handing you your phone and room key. "Left it charging, and this right next to it."

"Oh, thank you." You both were blushing. You two always seemed to be whenever you were around each other. Something about the other just made your body have a reaction, instantly feeling warm and welcomed in the other's presence. You two truly couldn't describe it, but you both knew it was real. 

You five spent the whole day walking into local coffee shops, and boutiques and just enjoying the scenery that Albany had to offer.  You guys ended the night in front of billboards of Caitlin, taking pictures of her and her success and the impact she's had on the game. You all took pictures of each other and with each other. One of your favorites was you on Caitlin's back, kissing her cheek, while she did her signature hands out in front of her billboard where she's shooting her record-breaking logo three. 

You guys even got strangers to take pictures of all of you lined up with each other. You guys were having so much fun. Missing days where basketball wasn’t the main focus for once.

"Hey, we're going to go to that place real fast, Gabbie wants lemonade and I want a soda." Jada told you before she and Gabbie walked off. You looked to check on Caitlin, who was taking pictures with fans, making sure she was alright. Some fans were acting crazy earlier that day.

You and Kate kept pointing at places you could see from where you were standing. "Oh my god, are you Kate Martin?" A girl walked up to Kate, she couldn't have been older than twelve and she looked so amazed at the six-foot blonde next to you. 

"Yeah! What's your name?" Kate was beaming, she loved kids. There weren't many in her family aside from little cousins but she didn't see them often, just Carson, but he wasn't old enough to talk yet.

"I'm Audrey. But I'm a huge fan. Everyone likes Caitlin, and I do too, but I think you're pretty cool too." Audrey was nervous. 

"Oh, my. Thank you, so much! I bet you're pretty cool, too." Kate bent down, trying her best to stay at eye level for the girl so she didn't have to look up.  

Two adults approached you guys, who you assumed to be Audrey's parents, and smiled as their daughter beamed at meeting her favorite player. "Sorry, she spotted you and took off. I hope she's not bothering you, guys." The parents apologized, not wanting their daughter to invade your guy's space, especially Kate's.

"No, not at all! She's so sweet." You said, smiling at the girl. 

"Can I get a picture?" Audrey asked. 

'Of course you can!" Kate was excited that people noticed her too. She’s used to be in the shadow of Caitlin, and she was happy there. But to know that people loved her as much as you and the team did was another level of belonging she loved to feel. The parents pulled out their phones and took a picture of their daughter. A smile on all of your faces. 

"I can take a picture of all of you if you want it?" You offered, wanting the parents to have the memory like their daughter, and the evidence to go with it. They thanked you as you took a picture of the family with Kate. 

You could tell this was a good experience for Kate. You loved to see her being recognized for the skills she also brings to Iowa women's basketball. It was cool to see it outside of Iowa too. Kate and the girl said goodbye, but not before signing the girl's white Converse. She wasn't going to leave without it. I wouldn’t either fr…

That's when Caitlin came back, sighing after all the photo ops she just partook in. "Cait, I know you're tired but lets get a pic with us three?" You asked softly, a warm smile hoping to convince the girl. 

"Oh my god. Let me take a picture of you guys. I can't be in another picture…if I am I don't know if I can do it without wanting to smash my own head with the phone." You laughed out loud, Kate hunched over laughing next to you. Your cheeks are now red, from the breeze and the laughter, Kate with her beautiful wide smile you adored, smiled for the picture. Caitlin said something else behind the camera, you didn't catch it but the look on her face made you giggle, so you turned your head when she took the picture. 

"Aw, man! Take another one, I moved." You pouted before moving closer to Kate's side, smiling wide. After the pictures were taken, you looked at them while you three waited for Jada and Gabbie to get back so you could start heading to the hotel. You scrolled to the first one, butterflies in your stomach when you saw your head tucked in close to Kate, her smiling big into the camera. It was so cute, you didn't have the heart to trash it, the next one was normal, and the last one was you smiling at the camera and Kate looking down at you. 

This was definitely your new favorite picture. You sent the pictures to her, listening to her phone ding as they came through. A soft smile on her face as she looked at them. You sent her the last one, with a small text. 

sunshine ☀️💕

"You look like you're in love with me, Martin." 

bear <3

"Kinda hard not to be." 

Neither of you couldn't stop smiling the rest of the night.

[reidmoony-toast]

Strawberry Wine. ౨ৎ

"If I was empty space, and you were a formless shape we'd fit"

Spencer x fem singer!reader

The two times they miss each other, and the one time they don't

content: no use of y/n, fluff, pining galore

cw: lil suggestive? (She sings Chappell Roan)

wc: 2.4k

an: I've been cooking this up for a while, but life has been super busy, so I haven't yet finished the other parts. I'm very sorry if they take a few weeks to finish :[ Anyways, hope you enjoy! <3

| pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | series masterlist ౨ৎ

· · ──────────── ·𖥸· ──────────── · ·

He really wished he wasn’t here. He never should have begrudgingly agreed to Penelope’s crazy plans, no matter how much she bugged him about it. This was about as far opposite to his kind of thing that you could get.

The lights were bright–unbearably so; flashing so much he feared he would have an epileptic episode (if it weren’t for the small fact that he didn’t actually have epilepsy, but he digressed).

The large room was also deafening, filled with fans, all of them buzzing in anticipation. Penelope was not an exception–she bounced up and down like a rogue ball, shrieking in excitement close to every thirty seconds. He would know. He had been counting.

Although he would rather be at the very back (if he had to choose anywhere in this wretched place), Penny had physically forced him into the very front row, only a barrier separating them from the stage.

He didn’t know and definitely didn’t want to know how Penelope had acquired such tickets and at such short notice before the show. He had found that he was better living in ignorance of the borderline illegal habits of his best friend.

He had just endured half an hour of what Penny had called the ‘openers’. He was dismayed to hear that the performance was not the actual concert; he learnt that the hard way when he had asked Penelope if they could leave, which she replied to with a cackle, stating that the band that had just exited the stage was, in fact, not the main event of the evening.

He had buried his face in his hands and let out a loud groan. He only had himself to blame for being caught up in the ‘Garcia puppy eyes’ trap, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t whinge at least a little bit–or a lot bit.

He didn’t know much about this singer girl, only that Penelope was obsessed with her, bringing her up in conversation many a time. He admitted that he often didn’t fully (if at all) listen when Garcia gushed over her–he seemed to always zone out.

He had never properly heard her songs, only in passing when Penelope would blast music in her cave, and he didn’t even have a clue what she looked like.

He was mentally preparing himself for the next few gruelling hours, with Penny jumping up and down beside him, when the lights dimmed, sending the whole room into a frenzy.

He winced at the screaming and whooping coming from all around him. Smoke machines started emitting mist, covering the stage and fogging up the colourful lights. The crowd continued to roar, Penelope squealing next to him and gripping the railing of the barrier.

A figure emerged through the haze, the silhouette showing locks of hair cascading over their shoulders, clad in a silk slip dress that ended at the mid thigh, hugging their curves.

They started singing–a smooth, silky voice wrapped around him, making the room suddenly feel more bearable. He swallowed hard. The singing was beautiful. Sweet and rich, wrapping around him like a cosy blanket.

He raised his eyebrows with pleasant surprise. It was, admittedly, not bad in the slightest. He hated to say it, but he was enjoying it, a lot. More than he should, given that it was new-age pop, not the refined tones of classical music–his favourite genre by far.

All thoughts of music flew out of his head as the owner of the angelic voice stepped into the stage lights, allowing him to properly see her for the first time. His breath left his body as he took her in.

She was gorgeous, stunning–almost ethereal, as her other-worldy voice filled his cochlea, transmitting electrical signals through his nerve pathways to his primary auditory cortex.

Her hair shone in the light, giving her a halo of the highest grade, her bright lips curled into a perfect smile around her words, and her eyes shone with a million glinting stars.

He was utterly enamoured by her–every facial expression, every movement she made, every note she sang was all absorbed thoroughly by his wide eyes.

In no time at all, the first song was over, finishing with loud cheering and clapping from the audience. The angel grinned out at the sea of fans, soaking up the feeling.

Unlike Spencer, she was well and truly in her element, looking as though there was not where else in the world she would rather be.

He gazed in open-mouthed awe at the way she floated effortlessly about the stage–and, of course, that breathtaking smile that scrunched her nose and revealed the prettiest dimples he had ever seen.

He was snapped back to reality with a sharp poke in the side from Penelope, centering his gravity away from the girl on stage and back to where he stood.

“What?” He said loudly, an exasperated look adorning his face as he tore his eyes back to his best friend. She was smirking at him, arms crossed in front of herself.

“You have such a thing for her, I’m surprised you're not drooling right now,” she answered mockingly. He scoffed, dismissing her words with a wave of his hands as he faced the stage again, not wanting to miss a moment of the show. He heard Garcia laugh deeply at his half-hearted denial.

All thoughts of Penelope soon left his mind as the heaven-sent saint started to sing again, striking chords in his heart at every note.

The song came and went again, and Spencer wished they would not go by so fast, so he could see her for as long as possible.

The next song started with a more upbeat track, and the angel laughed, running back down stage, scarily close to where Spencer stood. “She was a, Playboy, Brigitte Bardot,” she started to sing, “She showed me things, I didn't know.”

She stuck out her tongue playfully, shaking her hips, making the satin fabric hugging her curves sway.

“She did it right there, out on the deck,” she bit down on her bottom lip as Spencer’s face heated, realising what the song was about. “Put her canine teeth in the side of my neck.”

She gestured with her fingers to a spot on her neck, pretending as if her fingers were the teeth, tipping her head back with imaginary ecstasy. He swallowed heavily, face hot.

“I'm in the hallway waitin' for ya,” she sang, “Mini skirt and my go-go boots,” on those lyrics, she bent over, running her free hand from her heeled boots and up her legs, jutting her ass out.

Spencer’s mouth fell open in shock. He had never felt like this from only a few minutes of meeting someone, let alone just laying his eyes on them. This was completely out of the ordinary for him, and it left him reeling.

~☆~

Songs flitted by like the butterflies in his stomach, and his gaze was permanently fixated on the captivating women centre-stage. He couldn't tear his eyes away even if he tried–and he most definitely didn't.

A new song started, fading in with a catchy guitar riff, and the crowd went wild, sparking a wide smile on the angel’s face.

The drum beat started, and she strutted down the stage, tipping her head back and shaking her smooth curls out in the dim lights before she began to sing. “Midnight,” she dragged out the end of the word.

“Come and pick me up, no headlights,” she blew a kiss to the fans in front of her, winking as she made her way down the stage towards where Spencer was situated.

Penelope grasped his arm tighter and tighter as she neared, buttery voice washing over him.

“Watch us go ‘round and ‘round each time,” she stretched out the note, rolling her head to the side, eyes landing exactly where Spencer was standing. He froze, dumbstruck, as he locked eyes with her.

He gulped heavily as a cheeky grin adorned her face, soft lips framing perfectly white teeth. She straightened up, continuing the lyrics as she floated even closer to him, never breaking eye contact.

“You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye,” She knelt down on the stage in front of Spencer. His breathing stuttered as his gaze remained on her, utterly entranced.

“And I got that red lip classic thing that you like,” she dragged her thumb across her lip, singing to him through a happy, if not slightly teasing, smile.

“‘Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style,” He could see her mouth curving around each syllable as she sang into the microphone, eyes still, somehow, on him.

He most definitely looked like an idiot in that moment, with his flushed cheeks and slack-jawed awe of the ethereal woman only a few feet away, but he didn't have it in himself to care.

She had seen him, and not only that, she had actually come over and sat, right there on the stage in front of him. No matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, she was–without question–looking, and singing, straight at him.

She leaned impossibly closer, leaving only a few inches between their two faces as she crooned the words into the microphone. His eyes flicked across the features of her face before they settled on her own.

Up close, they were mesmerising– long, thick lashes framed bright irises, sparkling with the light of the night sky– he could almost map out the constellations he knew off by heart from the incandescent twinkles in her eyes.

“You got that long hair, slicked back-” She moved her free hand to hover over the collar of Spencer's shirt, seemingly asking silent consent to touch him.

He shook out of his trance long enough to nod vigorously. She let out a short chuckle, grabbing his collar and carefully but firmly pulling him closer by his shirt. “-white T-shirt.”

His breath hitched as hers ghosted his lips with every exhale, noses almost touching, with hardly any room for the microphone as his heart raced impossibly faster.

“And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt.” At that, she pulled away, letting go of his collar as she leaned back to run her free hand over her skirt, smirking at Spencer and his flaming-red face.

“And when we go crashing down, we come back every time,” she repeats, still serenading him. “'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style!” She finally stood, winking and blowing a kiss at a thoroughly flustered Spencer as she strutted to another part of the stage.

Spencer stood there, dumbfounded. He couldn't believe she had not only noticed him, but also sang right to him. His shirt was crumpled from where she had gripped it, but he didn't dare fix it. If possible, he would never smooth the rumpled fabric if it meant he could have a reminder of her always.

A rough shake of his shoulder brought him back to the present, Penelope standing astonished next to him, incredulous smile playing on her lips and she all but shrieked in his ear–something along the lines of, ‘You're so lucky!’ and ‘You're so down bad!’.

He didn't pay her any mind, instead keeping his still-red face on her, and her only.

She wandered to different parts of the stage during the remainder of the song, but Spencer didn't miss the more-than-occasional glances she sent his way throughout the next few songs, smile growing each time they locked eyes.

When they did, he matched her smile with his own goofy grin, his heart feeling as if it was beating out of his chest, breathing becoming erratic as he clutched the railing with white knuckles.

~☆~

All too soon, the concert came to an end, accompanied by raucous applause from the crowd. He clapped like a mad thing too, finally understanding why her fans acted the way they did.

The version of him from two hours ago would have teased him relentlessly for this, but he didn't care. It was another completely different version of him, a version that had not yet laid his eyes on her.

It certainly felt like a life-altering moment in his existence. His being was now split into ‘before’ and ‘after’. Before and after her.

She waved and blew kisses enthusiastically as she made her way off stage. He deduced that she would have to walk right past Spencer to get there. He pathetically hoped she would look at him one last time–prayed she cared enough to seek him out once again.

Electricity jolted through his entire body, head to toe, as she locked eyes with Spencer when he was in her direct line of sight.

She gave him a wink and a little wave, biting her lip through a larger-than-life grin; he felt giddy, hand coming up in an awkward half-wave. He silently cursed himself for the stiltedness of his actions.

She, however, didn't have such qualms as she blew him an air kiss, giggling as she turned away, skipping the rest of the way off stage. The screaming continued as the heel of her shoe disappeared behind the side-stage curtain.

He felt oddly hollow as the venue lights came back on, signalling the end of the show. He kept staring at the spot where she had last been, silently hoping she would come back out and sing again. Look at him again.

He blinked hard, finally re-orienting himself, glancing around to see a few people staring at him, whispering to themselves.

They were talking about him–about his encounter. He turned away again, ducking his head as his cheeks burned again.

As quickly as they came, the stares went again, and his eyes flicked back to the stage again. He so badly wanted to meet her, talk to her, even just lay his eyes on her again. That would be enough.

Penelope cleared her throat next to him, and he hummed in response, still not looking away. She snorted. “Come on lover boy, time to leave.”

He turned his attention to see her nod in the direction of the exit.

He gazed back at that spot once more, heaving out a melancholy sigh, before turning away, heading towards the door.

“Yeah, let's go.”

· · ──────────── ·𖥸· ──────────── · ·

Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated x

Tags: @reidology13 - Comment to be added!

Masterlist ౨ৎ

[mellonieee]

Mellonie does FOP + A New Wish Analysis: 1

This is what a week of AC and Antifairy brainrot has led to. After this I think I’m going to actually watch through the entire original series from the Oh Yeah! Shorts all the way to Season 10. (Hopefully I wont hate it too much.) And then rewatch ANW again once it hits streaming for the full FOP experience. And also so I could maybe do more of this analysis stuff, its fun.

Plans for later aside, this and any I do in the future, will only use episodes the character actually appears in, and not ones that they are merely mentioned in. Its also important to note that I likely wont use all the episodes the Character appears in.

That old black magic is the introduction to Anti-Cosmo, Anti-Wanda, and the Anti-Fairies as a whole. They’re described as “Regular Fairies, but anti.”

This episode establishes a few things:

1.Fairy magic cannot interfere with Anti-fairy magic.

2.On Friday the 13th, Antifairies escape from Fairyworld and cause bad luck. Antifairies are naturally drawn to anything that triggers bad luck to happen.

3.Antifairies can only be seen by humans with anti-fairy goggles.

4.Antifairies are opposites of their fairy counterpart in personality. AW is “incredibly stupid and eats with her feet.” AC is “not an idiot, in any matter once so ever.”

But what’s really interesting about this episode is what Jorgen and Anti-Cosmo have to say about the anti-fairies.

“No one is allowed in Anti-fairy world!”

“You see, we’ve been trapped behind that blasted barrier for centuries.”

Jorgen, you cant just imprison a whole group without expecting any problems. Its no wonder they wanted to escape so badly. Is causing bad luck something, well, bad, enough to warrant the imprisonment of an entire race? The anti-fairies arent good at all, obviously, but they are biologically made to thrive off of bad luck and negative energy. This really muddies the waters when it comes to seeing this as a solely ‘black and white’ situation. Most, but not all, of what AC does is for the antifairies. He’s evil and chaotic by nature, but he’s not evil evil, yknow.

There isnt really anything else noteworthy to say about that old black magic outside of this, but I did notice that AC knew Timmy’s name despite the fact he never met him before that point, somehow. I merely brush it off as a minor goof and just figure AC mustve made a lucky (haha) guess, but if you want a crazy theory to explain it, then maybe anti-fairies share vague recollections or memories with their fairy counterparts. I dont actually think thats true, but theres your food for thought.

The second appearance of the antifairies, The Gland Plan instantly ditches the entire ‘antifairy goggles’ thing, which is honestly for the better, even if I do think it made anti-fairies more unique. They are sadly never getting the invisibilty thing back.

This episode establishes that the faggigly gland is a special organ in a fairies body that allows the fairy to change shape, and that both fairies and anti-fairies have one. Fairy biology in general is really questionable, especially if you factor in the angel forms from A New Wish, but thats a topic for another day.

A few things to note:

1.This is the start of that “Hello, Clarice.” quote that AC and Foop/Irep use. Its a reference to Silence of the Lambs but its a misquote anyway because Lecter never even says hello to Clarice.

2.AC claims that he cant see a thing without his monocle. If he isnt lying about that and isnt using the monocle only as a symbol of prestige, then he has really terrible eyesight and is most likely completely blind in one eye.

3.Despite AC calling his wife a twit, he prefaces it by saying that he loves her very much. Most instances of AC talking to his wife does include him being typically annoyed when she messes with his plans, but outside of that he acts courteous towards her. (“Chin up, my beloved Anti-Wanda! Your savior, Anti-Cosmo, will have you all free presently!”)

4.The more questionable line is when Anti-Cosmo and Cosmo are having the operation and AC claims that if he does live, Cosmo should take his wife. Needless to say, AC words things very poorly at times, but this statement does have them acknowledging that an anti-fairy and a fairy could hypothetically be with one another’s counterpart.

“Cosmo, old friend, since we both carry a piece of each other inside of us, I see no reason for us to do battle. But I warn you, don't look for me.”

AC doesnt hold that much ill-will towards Cosmo like how I figure most would expect him to. He seems to be fed up and annoyed by his counterpart’s foolishness, but he does not despise him.

Right as the episode ends, Timmy brings up the idea that maybe more than the faggigly glands got transplanted. There isnt much evidence to support this outside of the brief voice change Anti-Cosmo and Cosmo had, but I’m starting to think Timmy was right considering how Anti-Cosmo acts in A New Wish.

I dont know if AC and AW retired like Wanda and Cosmo did, but I feel like AC’s very obvious decline in intelligence is a likely theory as to why Irep now seems to be in charge of the anti-fairies as shown in A New Wish.

I frankly can’t see the New Wish Version of AC leading the antifairies compared to how he acted in the old show. Not when he now thinks leaving a cage unattended is a “good idea.” That isnt something AC would say at all if we’re going off of his original characterization. It’s interesting to think of a reason in-universe as to how he went from “not an idiot, in any matter once so ever.” to someone who definitely is not as smart as he use to be.

[merp0515]

Fanfiction Writer Apperation Post!

Ayo all Merp here! I hope everyone is having a great time whatever time zone you got. I'm a simply derpy ass artist that likes to draw stuff that the Internet has shown me! That includes lovely fanfiction stories I tend to read a lot about. Which is why this post is here to bring a HUGE appreciation for someone in the SMG4 community more from the SMG34 squad! My great friend and a badass from many projects featuring their own series such as "Next Step With You!", @shygirl4991 !

We all have known them from many spots that they are part of like the one they are doing with @lizaluvsthis in "Brewing Romance", "The Chains of a Fragile Soul" with @b-r-i-n-g-x , and "Spilt Into Three's/Six Splits For Four" with the artwork done by @alianarepasa !

They have also done some cool group collab with lots of people, bringing out the artworks each group puts out such as "Coffee Prince and The Frog" (collab with Liz and Aly), and "Shadow Vision" (Bringx, Liz and Aly)!

They never fail to be inspired by many other people that sometimes have ideas for our favorite gays but either don't have the time to do them or they want to do it but don't know how to put into words! Some of these beautiful ideas that came to life thanks to Shay's amazing writing skills are "Just A Dream", "Trade For You" ideas inspired by @therabbitdemon , and "Death Of SMG3" requested by @anartisticalniche !

I had the honor of making the cover art for their cute fluffy "Doll Confessions" fic they made a while back collabing with Bringx's adorable GMod photos she did! Even though what got me into their stories was through "Brewing Romance", there's another story that got me into them and had me always checking fanfiction sites to see if they made anything new and that's one of their many solo projects "Azure Potion!"

It's always fun making art covers for them or draw out characters they've created over time with the plethora of stories done by our lovely writer! I highly recommend checking out their other solo stories such as "Forklift Date", "Mistletoe Wars", "True Colors", "Trapped In a Bleakly Winter", and "A Shot of SMG34"!

There's definitely more stories they've written for these lovey gays but it's gonna take me a while to put them on here lol. Nonetheless while we artist have a blast in creating art for all your favorite fanfictions, please don't forget to show some love to the brains behind the whole thing! Without them, we wouldn't be able to enjoy making all the amazing art to show our love and appreciation for ALL of their hard work! As one that does both art and writing (even though I don't really post many stories on here because my writing style is still a work in progress), I'd love to be recognized by both my art AND the writing I do! Remember to see who's the original writer first before commenting anything!

Anyways……

THANK YOU SHAY FOR ALL THE BEAUTIFUL STORIES YOU CREATED FOR THE FANDOM! WE ALL LOVE AND APPRECIATE YOUR HARD WORK LAD!

Never stop doing what you love and keep on writing! 😄

And to all you lovely writers in this fandom. We love and appreciate all the hard work you all do as well! Keep on writing and create lovely stories to share with everyone! :)

Have a mini colleague of some the art I made for Shay's stories in the past including the cover I did for "Doll Confessions"!

[spider-stark]

A DARK AGE pt.2

previous part -

series summary - it's been nine months since you watched your best friend, Gwen Stacy, plummet to her death; an event that ultimately caused new york's hero to abandon the city entirely. now that he's finally returned you find yourself being forced to confront the ugly truth you've been running from.

chapter summary - desperate to get Harry Osborn out of your head, you find yourself following a lead that sends you straight to Peter Parker.

series warnings - 18+, minors DNI, series will contain depictions of violence, sexual content, dark themes, and more. please read at your own risk.

word count - 12.8k

// a dark tasm!fan fiction // masterlist // send me your thoughts // newspaper headline //

YOU HAD been worried that the ice-cold stare of Harry Osborn would remain stuck in your brain for the entire cab ride back to New York City.  

Fortunately, by the time you’d made it to Yonkers, about thirty minutes out from Ravencroft’s facility, the distressing imagery in your head faded as your ears were suddenly blasted with a series of rushed ding-s from your cell phone.  

You welcomed the noisy distraction, even if it only further agitated the throbbing headache you felt coming on.  

All the messages were from Betty Brant and likely could’ve been summed up in one long message rather than a dozen short ones. And, for the most part, all the texts did were confirm your fears: her search for Peter’s whereabouts had been a fruitless effort.  

Well, almost fruitless.   

You couldn’t quite give Brant credit for the one lead she’d received given the fact that it had essentially just fallen in her lap, but you still typed back a simple—good job, nonetheless.  

While you were off pointlessly torturing yourself behind Ravencroft’s iron gates, a woman had called the Bugle and had the misfortune of being answered by Jameson himself.  

According to Brant, the lady asked for you by name, and when Jameson told her you were busy and she’d need to call back later, she turned frantic. He said she sounded as if she were on the verge of tears, begging him to get a message to you ASAP.  

Please tell her to stop by my house! Tomorrow afternoon! She knows the address already, I promise! Tell her it’s May Parker, okay? M-A-Y P-A-R-K-E-R!  

Of course Jameson knew who the crackpot (his words) was once she said her last name, having spoken to her once or twice during Peter’s limited time at the Bugle.  

What he hadn’t told Brant was that it took everything in him to bite his tongue, to not tell the woman every horrible opinion he held in regard to her nephew. Jameson knew that it would do no good. He also knew that it wasn’t her fault that Peter hadn’t shown up to the hospital that night.   

Still, he couldn’t help but find himself seething with rage, speaking through gritted teeth until he could finally hang up the phone. He had absolutely no interest in finding Peter Parker, even if he was the only one to ever get a clear shot of Spider-Man.  

Good riddance had become his motto when it came to both Peter and Harry. You were one of the few things in this world that mattered more to Jameson than a good lead, which was exactly the reason why he had no interest in Peter’s whereabouts when he first went awol and left the Bugle without notice—he didn’t care. Even if Peter had come back to work, he would’ve just been fired anyway. Jameson had no interest in keeping him around, regardless of the quality of his work. 

But despite his hatred for the boy, he knew you were looking for him. While Jameson was unaware of Peter’s secret identity, he knew for certain that Peter had connections to Spider-Man, given that it was the whole reason he had employed him in the first place. You figured there was likely no one in this world that Jameson wanted to keep you from more than Spider-Man. But in what was surely not an easy choice to make, he begrudgingly passed the message from May along to Brant, messily scrawled onto a Doughnuttery napkin that had been stained with chocolate frosting.   

He refused to withhold a lead from you.  

Of course, when first deciding to track Peter down, you had considered going to his aunt, but she was always meant to be a last-ditch choice. After all, rumor had it that Peter had abandoned her too, moving out shortly after Gwen’s death. You didn’t see a need to add to her grief unless it felt necessary, yet it seemed she wanted you to.  

A part of you hoped that the mystery surrounding why May was so adamant about speaking to you would serve as a distraction for the night. You didn’t want to think any more about Ravencroft, and certainly not about the boy they kept locked behind those iron gates.  

Deep down, though, you knew that wasn’t possible. Try as you might, there was nothing in this world capable of distracting you from the thoughts of Harry Osborn.  

He was a plague, one that you had been fighting off ever since that night; and seeing him in person seemed to have only granted him the opportunity to further sink his claws into you.  

You often found yourself reliving the moment you first saw him—the Green Goblin. A monster composed of distended veins and spindly bones, appearing so completely and utterly inhuman—so unlike the boy you knew that you didn’t even recognize him at first. At first, there had just been fear, a sense of pure unbridled terror.  

But then, once he spoke, you knew. You knew what he had done, recognized him in spite of the monster the serum had transformed him into. Bile instantly stung at your throat, threatening to spill past your lips and onto the asphalt beneath your feet. You couldn’t stop thinking of how much it had burned, swallowing it down over and over again, as many times as it took before your body finally stopped trying.  

You fought so hard against that visceral reaction, the sensible part of you that had seen this new form he’d taken on and screamed at you to run. You wouldn’t let yourself do that. You couldn’t bear the thought of turning your back on your friend, even after seeing what he’d turned himself into.  

But then he grabbed Gwen and once she was in his arms you realized that he wasn’t the same anymore. Then once he’d finally let her go, once you’d watched her take her very last breath, you swore you’d always hate him. Harry Osborn was not your friend; it was a simple fact that you still stood behind.  

But trauma was a peculiar thing.  

Usually when Harry haunted your thoughts, the Green Goblin was always the focal point. Flashes of Gwen’s lifeless body dangling from Spider-Man's web, the sounds of squelching flesh and cracking bones. You would remember the metallic taste that filled your mouth as you looked over at him that last time, just before everything went black.  

Tonight, though, you’d found yourself thinking not of the Goblin, but of your friend. The friend that had once been good as dead to you. Memories that had once been shoved aside in favor of sinking into the tragedy you’d experienced, only to be brought back to light after seeing his face today.  

You tossed and turned in your bed, your head pounding as thoughts of posh charity events, late-night talks, and inside jokes fought to keep you awake. It wasn’t until the next day when you’d finally arrived at Aunt May’s house that you received a much-needed break from him. 

The thick plastic covering on the couch crinkled loudly beneath your weight as you sat down. You used every ounce of effort in your body to try and appear calm as she moved past the coffee table, sitting across from you in a sage green armchair.  

It was new.  

“I’m so glad you came, y/n.” May offered you her sweetest smile, the gesture accentuating the thin lines around her eyes. She looked older somehow, even though it hadn’t even been a year since you last saw her. “I was worried that bitter man at the newspaper wouldn’t tell you I called.”  

You barely stifled your laughter, then immediately wondered if she could tell that even that sliver of emotion was fake. It was second nature to put on an act, especially when it came to work matters. To appear excessively friendly, using it as a tool to quickly build some sort of rapport with someone, hoping it would get them to spill whatever information they might have.  

It didn't seem necessary to put up an act around May, but you found it difficult to turn it off.  

“Jameson can be a little… testy, at times.”  

She immediately snorted at your words, believing them to be a drastic understatement.  

“But I’ve gotta say,” you continued, trying to steer the conversation, “I was a bit surprised when he said you called.”  

Guilt settled over her soft features, dusty pink lips settling into a thin line as she stared down at her lap, watching the steam rise from her cup. “I know. I meant to call sooner, more often, but I just...” she sucked in a breath, lifting the cup to the edge of her lips, “I didn’t want to make a big fuss of things.”  

She was drinking chamomile tea. You knew this because you were offered some as soon as she opened the front door, cheerfully telling you that she’d just boiled a fresh pot of water. While you didn’t consider yourself an expert on May Parker, you couldn’t help but make note of the fact that you’d never seen her enjoy herbal drinks before.  

You leaned forward a touch, your elbows resting just above your knees as you did so. “What would you make a fuss over?”  

This meeting was different than Ravencroft.  

At Ravencroft you were a sheep grazing among lions. Showing weakness would gain you nothing, save for failure and potential death. But in a place like Aunt May’s home, the roles immediately reversed.  

Here, you were the lion. And, to gain the trust of sheep, you needed to come off as if you were entirely transparent. Wear your heart on your sleeve, bare every emotion you had, and express as much concern as possible, fooling them into believing that you were truly on their side.  

But this time was different, you tried to remind yourself, working diligently to ensure your emotions didn’t come off as fake or exaggerated. You could be genuine. You really were on her side, right?  

“Peter’s been...” She hesitated as her wedding ring clinked against the porcelain cup in her hands as she nervously tapped her fingers. She never took it off, even after Ben died. “different.”  

Your chest tightened, elbows digging further into your thighs. “What do you mean?”  

“He changed after what happened to Gwendolyne.” she began to explain, though she remained hesitant. “It started off small. Quitting the newspaper, refusing to finish his college applications. And maybe that’s when I should’ve stepped in, tried to snap him out of it or something. But after what he’d gone through... what he had lost...”  

There was a knowing look in her eyes, a sense of understanding. It was then that it fully clicked for you, realizing that May had been through something similar to what Peter went through. She knew what it was like to have your entire world change in the blink of an eye. “I just hoped that with time it would pass.”  

“And it didn’t, did it?” You guessed, painfully aware of the answer.  

If it had changed, if he had gotten better, then you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.  

May shook her head. “No.” She uttered, her hooded gaze still avoiding yours, remaining fixed on her cup. “It got worse.”  

There was something in the way she spoke, the solemn tone you’d never heard her take before, that sent chills running down your spine.  

“How so?”  

"Little ways, at first.” Her voice broke, clearing her throat before taking another sip of tea. “He started acting out. Getting mean. Rageful.”  

Your heart ached for the woman, fighting the urge to reach out and hug her as you watched her hazel eyes turn glossy.  

“He was almost never home anymore, and then one day he just... didn’t come back.”  

She wiped away the unshed tears, lightly shaking her head and muttering an apology.  

“Where is he?” You asked her, instinctively looking towards the old staircase that led to his bedroom.  

Years had been wasted in there, sitting cross-legged on his worn-out rug and exchanging complaints about Flash Thompson or Miss. Ritter. On good days, the two of you would build Lego sets and eat your fill of junk food. On bad days you’d both tuck yourselves away in his bed, hidden underneath a stack of blankets as old movies played from his laptop.  

It had been a while since you’d let yourself think of those memories, and you hadn’t quite expected it to hurt as much as it did to acknowledge that those days were gone. 

“Columbia.” She spoke.  

Your eyes widened as your head cocked to the side. “University?”  

Warmth spread across your cheeks as embarrassment settled in, feeling a bit silly for speaking the thought aloud. Of course she had meant Columbia University. Still, it shocked you a little when she nodded, confirming your thoughts. Given the way she spoke of Peter’s decline, you hadn’t expected him to be attending college.  

“So, you still talk to him?” You quickly followed up with another question, this one less painstakingly dumb than the last.  

May scoffed, the loose hair framing her face swaying about as she shook her head. “I don’t know if I’d call it talking. But he checks in on occasion, just often enough to keep me from having a heart attack.”  

You glanced down at her cup of tea, willing to reason that maybe Peter had been the reason for her sudden interest in herbal drinks. After all, they were known to reduce stress, and Peter seemed to be causing a great deal of it.  

There was another sound of disapproval, a click of her tongue as her voice went low again. “You raise a boy for over ten years,” she started, the smallest spark of anger burning within her, “only to end up getting a postcard in the mail every month.”  

“A postcard?” You wondered aloud, likely looking as puzzled as you felt. “You don’t have his phone number?”  

She snorted. “I don’t know if he even has a phone anymore.”  

For a moment neither of you spoke, and you found yourself studying her features, looking for any sign that she might be lying. You knew that there was no point in it, that May had no reason to lie to you. There would be nothing for her to gain, plus she had reached out to you for help. Still, it was second nature for you to remain apprehensive.  

It was hard to believe that Peter had all but completely cut ties with his aunt. May had raised him, practically given her entire life just to ensure that he had everything he could ever need, only to up and abandon her out of the blue—just as he had done to you.  

Nothing about it made any sense to you, and the thought alone was enough to fill you with not only rage, but also fear. Was Peter that far gone?  

You didn’t want to think about that right now, instead focusing on the sharp pain sneaking up your left side from sitting hunched over for so long. Forcibly relaxing your muscles, you leaned back against the couch cushions, listening to the way the plastic squelched as you shifted.  

“Is that why you called?” You finally asked, pressing a hand to your ribs and rubbing over the sore area. “To see if I could help Peter?”  

May took another long and thoughtful sip of her tea. Then, once she was finished, she leaned forwards and placed it on the coffee table that stood between you both. “No.” She stated firmly, only for her eyes to narrow and then go back on the declaration, “Not entirely, at least.” 

You frowned at her, confused.  

“I wanted to call because I realized that you needed someone, too.” You froze instantly, suddenly feeling as if the air had been knocked from your lungs. “I’ve been so caught up with Peter and trying to find a way to help him that I nearly forgot he wasn’t the only one who lost someone.”  

May glanced up for perhaps the first time in this whole conversation. You couldn’t help but feel as if the roles had changed, sinking further into the cushion behind you. She took note of everything, your stiff posture, the subtle bouncing of your leg, the timid look in your eye. You had become the sheep, being carefully discerned by the lion.  

“I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I was—still am, for your loss, y/n. You didn’t just lose Gwen that night, you lost all three of them.”  

Her heedful words landed the final blow, feeling like a piercing knife against your throat.  

Suck it up, you kept repeating to yourself, change the subject.  

Scrambling to compose yourself, nearly choking on your own tongue, you tried to ignore the look of concern she gave you. You didn’t need sympathy. “I’m managing.” You told her roughly, only able to conjure a barely believable smile. “It could be worse.”  

“Sure,” May tentatively agreed, “but it could also be better.”  

You decided it was best to not acknowledge her words.  

“You said not entirely.” You reminded her, working hard to ensure that your voice didn’t shake. You weren’t sure why it was shaking in the first place, torn between naming anxiety or anger as the culprit. “When I asked if you wanted me to help Peter, that’s what you said. What makes you think I can help him?” 

May’s face screwed up, staring at you as if it were obvious. “Because no one else can. The three of you—you, Harry, and Gwen—were the only ones that could ever get through to him.” She paused, considering her next words. “And you’re the only one left.”  

There was a weight that settled on your shoulders, shoving you further into the couch. You didn’t like the way that it sounded, for more reasons than one. There was too much responsibility that came with it.   

“Columbia’s campus is big.” You told her, void of any emotion. “Do you know where he’s staying? Anything that might help me find him?”  

This time it was May’s turn to sink back into her seat, shoulders slouching forward as she turned apologetic. “I know he’s living on campus, but I don’t know which building. Whenever he writes he always keeps the details to a minimum.”  

As much as you appreciated any information she offered, it wouldn’t help you much. You had been right in your earlier statement; Columbia was a big school with at least two dozen residence halls. Finding Peter amongst those students was comparable to finding a needle in a haystack.  

You knew that you could enlist Betty Brant’s help, but even then, it could take days before one of you happened to find him.  

Finally, a bit exasperated, you dared to ask. “Anything else?”  

May smiled, weary and filled with regret. “Just be careful, y/n. I’m not sure what Peter had gotten himself into, but I’ve seen the news.” Her hands trembled as she spoke. “I know what they think he did. What Spider-Man might have done.”  

She spoke the vigilante’s name like a forbidden word, as if it were one she had sworn she’d never speak aloud, and your eyes grew wide as you just barely breathed out, “You know?”  

May’s smile remained despite the somber gleam in her eyes as she told you simply, “No one washes the flag.”  

You found the students at Columbia University nauseating.  

Most of them were pretentious assholes that stunk of cigarette smoke, not because they actually smoked them, but instead because letting them lazily hang from their fingers matched their desired aesthetic.  

They were all desperate to give off the same vibe as a fifteen-year-olds dark academia Pinterest board, leaning against a wall with a copy of Allan Ginsberg’s Howl tucked beneath their arm. You wondered if any of them had ever read it, snorting to yourself when you thought of how they’d likely dogeared a few pages to make the book look worn.  

“This place is huge.” Betty Brant marveled from beside you, spinning in a circle as she took in its vastness. When she was done making herself dizzy, she looked at you. “This is gonna be impossible.”  

You smiled at her inept observation, challenging her. “Why?”  

Her brows snapped together, a single hand incredulously waving around the two of you. “Have you looked around?” She quipped. “There are literally thousands of people here! If we find him today, then it’ll just be dumb luck.”  

You didn’t judge her for her innate pessimism. After all, you felt just as overwhelmed as Betty Brant did currently when sitting on Aunt May’s couch, listening as she told you that she had essentially nothing to offer in terms of helping to find Peter. It was easy to assume the worst in a field where you’re so often dealt the shittiest of hands—but Jameson and the other seasoned reporters at the Bugle had taught you well. There was always a way to turn things around.  

“Know your target, Brant.” You lightly chastised, a teasing smile that Brant felt looked out of place on you. While she still didn’t know you well, she’d seen you around the office a lot, and she struggled to remember a time when you didn’t have a permanent grimace etched on your face.  

Your fingers delved into your bag and reached for a few papers that you’d printed off at the Bugle, just moments before you’d snagged Brant up by her arm without warning and forced her to come with you to Columbia University. You held one of the papers out to her, which she swiftly took and began reading.  

"There are only two programs offered at Columbia that Peter would care about: photography or biochemistry.” You explained to her. “I went on their website and got an idea of a mock schedule for both and copied down the names of the buildings they’re in. It’s still not a sure shot-”  

“But it gives us somewhere to start.” Brant finished your sentence, her big eyes flickering back up to yours as she lowered the page you’d given her.  

You grinned. “Exactly.”  

“So, we’re splitting up?”  

She was nervous about that idea, clear by the way she started to tug at the edge of her royal blue cardigan. If it were someone other than Brant you might be concerned, but Brant always came off a little antsy, making it easy to brush it off; although it did leave you wondering why the girl stayed so high strung. One day you’d ask her about it, you thought, but not right now.  

"It’s better that way. We'll cover more ground.” You told her, your pitiless statement doing little to quell her nerves as she gave another sharp tug to her garment, anxiously looking around at the swarm of students passing around you both.  

You did your best to look sympathetic, “Just call me if you need me, alright?” Brant stared back at you, resembling a small child whose mother was dropping them off on their first day of school. It was pitiful, and you nearly groaned as you forced yourself to say, “If you call, I’ll answer. Promise.”  

Brant hesitated for a second before nodding, still uneasy but far more willing now to leave your side. As you turned away from her you reminded yourself to never have children, desperately hoping and praying to any God who might listen that Brant would not call you.  

As you started to meld into the crowd, falling into step with a group of girls around your age, the thoughts of Brant and her child-like anxiety were replaced with something far more juvenile. You had just barely glanced at the girls walking next to you, at first only giving them a quick glance. Soon, though, as you continued towards your destination, you found yourself fixating on them.  

They smelled like cloves and bergamot, probably the scent of some over-priced perfume you’d never even dream of taking off the shelf and their clothes were nicer than anything hanging up in your closet. One had a Tiffany’s necklace dangling around her throat like a collar and another had pin straight platinum hair. In short, they looked expensive. But, at the same time, they looked incredibly beautiful.  

It made you hyper aware of yourself, of how different you looked in comparison. You weren’t wearing any nice jewelry, and your hair was messily tied back, making you feel as if you were the opposite of both the girls that had caught your attention. Realizing this, you looked around at the other girls surrounding you, noticing that all of them looked that way. Posh, put-together, and completely and utterly gorgeous.  

A strange feeling crept up your spine, one you hadn’t felt since you were in high school. Self-loathing.    

There was a time when you prioritized your appearance, or at least more than you do now. You could still remember what it was like to stroll into an Oscorp charity event, dozens of eyes glued to you. Men would watch with bated breath as you passed them, silently dreaming of a day where you’d actually notice them.  

That would never happen, of course.  

You always went to those events with either Harry or Peter, and they often left you with little reason to acknowledge anyone else in attendance. Even so, you remembered the power you held. Remembered what it was like to feel desired by someone, even if it wasn’t by who you wanted.  

After the accident, though, you’d stopped caring about how you looked. It felt so trivial to put any more effort than necessary into your looks, often throwing on the same outfit several days in a row to save time in the mornings. But in this moment, you found yourself feeling differently, insecurity slipping into your mind. Had you let yourself go? Surely not...  

It didn’t matter! You suddenly shouted at yourself, fists balling up at your sides as you tried to silence the thoughts that were fueled by foolish insecurity. Despite believing every word of the statement, it didn’t help to make you feel any less self-conscious.  

Passing by the mirrored windows of the mess hall, you found yourself slowing down, falling behind the group of girls as you hesitantly turned to catch a glimpse of yourself. You cursed yourself for looking, hating that you even cared about this sort of thing right now. But once you looked into the reflection you froze, realizing that it wasn’t yourself that you saw in the reflection. It was Gwen.  

“It’s not that bad!” She would lie to you, her voice jumping several octaves as she did. A hand would reach out, sage green fingernails combing through the frizzy mess that framed your face, trying to flatten it. “It just needs a little...” her head cocked to the side, teeth exposed as she sucked in a breath, “work.”  

Gwen was always a terrible liar. She wasn’t like you; she never had been. She was completely incapable of hiding her hand, always living with her cards exposed for the world to see—for them to take advantage of. It was what you’d always admired most about her, her willingness to trust in everyone, to see the good in anyone. It was also what you despised the most about her, and you tried not to dwell on the complexity of that.  

“You know what? It doesn’t even matter!” Gwen’s shoulders lifted exponentially, a mess of blonde curls violently swaying as she shook her head about. “You still look hotter than half the girls here, alright?” She grinned at you, the same sweet smile that you missed more than anything. “I promise!”  

And she meant it every word of it, but rather than offering you any comfort, the words just filled you with envy. You envied Gwen far more than you liked to admit. You wanted to be like her, even now, to be able to see the good in every situation, to be even half as lovely as she was.  

You tried to swallow your guilt, though it only made your stomach hurt. You had promised yourself that you were done envying Gwen.  

But you weren’t done missing her.  

Still entranced by her doe eyed stare, you felt your phone begin to buzz in your pocket, distracting you enough that you turned your gaze to your bag, instinctively going to dig for the device. By the time you thought to look back up, the vision of her was gone and you were looking at only a reflection of yourself.  

You wasted no time in looking away.  

When you sobered up enough to read the caller ID, you groaned loud enough to turn a few heads of students passing by. Now, in an interesting turn of events, you wished that Brant was the one calling you, staring down at Director Samson’s name flashing across the screen. You silenced it.  

Not today. You started walking again, effectively trading your thoughts of Gwen for ones of Ravencroft and Harry Osborn. Or ever again.  

Dodge Hall was the first stop on your list.  

You were willing to bet that of the two programs you listed to Brant that Peter likely picked photography, which was precisely why you had delegated the biochemistry labs to Brant.  

There was a chance that you were wrong and that he’d decided to major in biochemistry, maybe in some desperate attempt to be like the father he swore he hated, but you held out hope anyway. You wanted to believe that even in whatever odd stage of life Peter was in he was working to forge his own path, rather than following the one he’d once considered his birthright.  

Stopping in front of the building that housed most of the University’s photography classes, you grimaced. It significantly lacked character, offering nothing more than a bunch of lifeless bricks with boring cement pillars on either side. You had yet to see anything about this school that made it seem worth the astronomical tuition students paid to attend.  

“I know that look-” a high-pitched voice filled the air, the grating sound intensifying your already sour expression, “Dodge might not have the most intricate architecture on campus, but for what it lacks in appearance it makes up for in its rich and extraordinary history!” 

You didn't want to turn around, fully recognizing the chirpy she-devil by diction alone. Still, you forced yourself to do it anyway, realizing that there was no possible escape route. “Mary Jane!” The vile taste of her name in your mouth left you feeling queasy, “what’re you doing here?”  

No, seriously, what the fuck was she doing here?  

A perfectly manicured hand flew to her overly plump lips, packed full of filler and overlined with a red lip pencil. An exaggerated gasp somehow managed to slip past them. “Oh my gosh!” The copper-haired beauty squealed, sounding as if she had inhaled at least a few liters of helium. You forgot how much you hated her voice. “y/n! I didn’t even recognize you!”  

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” You droned, likely appearing just as displeased as you sounded. It was difficult for you to sound pleasant around Mary Jane.  

Mary Jane had always been a thorn in your side. For the most part she was entirely harmless, but her ever-so-perky attitude always left a bad taste in both your mouth and Gwen’s. On top of that, she lacked morals, made clear by the last time you’d seen her.  

It was immediately after Gwen’s funeral, and you’d just happened to find Mary Jane and a few other reporters from the Daily Globe swarming the Stacy family, pining for an interview. It was disgusting, and if you’d been in better shape, you swore that you would’ve knocked her square in the face that day.  

Mary Jane reached out and touched your forearm, giving it a firm squeeze. “You look so good!”  

You didn’t even bother thanking her, instead deciding to brace yourself for what might be coming next. You had known her long enough to know that all her compliments were a double-edged sword, an insult waiting just around the corner.  

“After Genna’s funeral you looked so thin and sickly,” her button nose scrunched up as she looked you up and down, “it’s so nice to see you look far more...” a slight tilt of her head, accompanied by a sickeningly sweet smile as she squeezed your arm again, “plump!”  

The smile you gave in return was far less pleasurable than hers, bearing a closer resemblance to a snarl. “Gwen.” You pointedly corrected, choosing to ignore her weak attempt at insulting you. “Her name is Gwen.”  

She only waved her hand, dismissing your correction. The simple act made your blood boil, teeth grinding together as you fought to stay silent. You didn’t have time to start a fight with her.  

“Ugh, silly me! I’m so bad with names!” She pretended to laugh it off, playing it as an innocent slip of the tongue. You could see the malice behind it, though, her emerald eyes glistening with spite. Mary Jane was a journalist, which meant that remembering facts was quite literally her job. Pretending to forget Gwen’s name was just another idle attempt at getting under your skin.  

It worked.  

“Did you check out the Globe yesterday?” She started right back up, trapping you in another conversation and preventing you from finding an excuse to slip into Dodge Hall and start your search for Peter. “Who am I kidding! Of course you did!” Mary Jane twirled a strand of red hair around her finger, her egotism on full display as she beamed. “Dozens of newsstands sold out within the hour! Amazing, right? To sell out physical copies in this digital age!”  

You only hummed in response, aware that she only wanted to hear herself talk. But God, you hated the way she spoke. Her constant need to enunciate every other word, her squeaky voice filled with false sincerity, always searching for validation in every conversation.  

”Bushkin agreed that we only sold out because of my story on the front page! He said my talent for writing could be enough to revive print entirely!” Her chest swelled with pride; hands clasped over her heart as nonsense continued to spew from her.  

Barney Bushkin was the publisher for the Globe, which made him Mary Jane’s boss. He also had a reputation for being a sick old pervert with an affinity for girls that were far too young for him. His opinion meant nothing to you since you knew that he would say absolutely anything if he thought it would increase his odds of getting a quick look up one of Mary Jane’s too-short skirts.  

”I’m not surprised you sold so many copies,” you egged her on, taking immense pleasure in the way her smug smile grew at what she mistook for praise, “fear mongering has always been a useful tactic for sales.”  

For a moment you could’ve sworn you saw her eyes turn as red as her hair, fiery rage coursing through her veins at your comment. But it was gone nearly as soon as it had appeared.  

”Well,” she cleared her throat, smoothing the wrinkles out of her white blouse, “I’d hardly call my article fear mongering. I just presented the facts.”  

You couldn’t deny that Mary Jane was a pro at composing herself, remaining collected even when you knew she wanted to explode. Image was important to her, meaning she couldn’t ever afford to let her nice girl act falter.  

”You called Spider-Man a murderer.”  

You didn’t always share her skillset, willing to let yourself come off as brash and plain-spoken.  

”And last I checked there’s an active warrant for his arrest.” Mary Jane retorted sharply, the only sign she was willing to give that you were annoying her. “So, like I said, I presented the facts.”  

You sucked in a breath, holding back your argument. You wanted to tell her that her facts were skewed, that she was reporting with only one source and effectively trying to demonize a man who had saved the city countless times. But you didn’t. Fighting with her would be a waste of time, and you had better things to do.  

"Yeah, well, I should really get going.” You gave a curt smile, nodding in the direction of Dodge Hall. “Always good to see you, MJ.” You took care to place extra emphasis on the nickname, fully aware of just how much she hated it.  

Still, she barely let it get to her, hiding her own scowl as you started to edge towards the building. You noticed the way her left eye twitched, though, showing that she was nearing a breaking point. If you had more time, you’d likely try and push her over the edge.  

“Why are you here?” Mary Jane suddenly mimicked the question you had first asked her, the one she had never actually gave an answer to.  

You paused, only having made it less than a few feet away from her. “Visiting a friend.”  

If all went to plan, that wouldn’t technically be a lie.  

“Peter?” She blurted his name out in a way that left you feeling strange. There was a hesitant look on her face, almost as if she were afraid that you’d say yes. You didn’t like it.  

“Yeah, actually.” You frowned, watching her face drop at the confirmation. “Why?”  

She refused to meet your stare, staring past your shoulder at the entrance of the Hall. “He’s not in there.”  

In all the years you’d known Mary Jane, you’d never heard her sound so uncharacteristically dispirited. Her perky persona seemed to vanish in thin air, leaving behind someone that was entirely unfamiliar to you.  

It was incredibly uncomfortable.  

“Wait, do you know where he is?” You asked.  

“Of course I do.” She quickly answered, cutting her eyes at you. “But if you’re the one meeting him then shouldn’t you know where he is?”  

Jealousy settled in. Why did she know where Peter was? Mary Jane and Peter had never been particularly close, likely due to the lifelong rivalry that you and Gwen had held with her. The idea of him even interacting with Mary Jane left you feeling unsettled.  

“Well, we were supposed to meet here.” You lied, turning a tad defensive as you shrugged a shoulder in the direction of the building. “But it’s been a busy morning. He might’ve forgot.”  

You paused, debating whether you wanted to continue. There was a good chance that you didn’t want to hear the answer to the question resting on the tip of your tongue, and yet you made yourself ask it anyway. “Were you just with him?”  

Please say no-  

“Yes.” Her answer came quickly. “We had plans to get dinner but-um,” she suddenly became extremely focused on her own feet, awkwardly kicking at the sidewalk, “he had to... cancel. Said he was gonna be too busy developing photos all night.”  

Her too-perfect face screwed up in an unsightly sort of way. You almost thought that you should feel guilty for accidentally making it seem as if Peter had ditched her for you. But you didn’t. Instead, you felt sickly satisfied, taking pleasure in her sorrow. You reveled in it, finding it easier to focus on that than the idea of why she and Peter were going to get dinner together in the first place.  

”Mm, that sucks.” You let out a disinterested hum, taking a page from her book as you continued without waiting for a reply, “Is that what he’s doing now? Developing photos?”  

Mary Jane gave a stiff nod.  

”Great.”  

Despite how painful it had been to sit through what felt like a never-ending conversation with her, Mary Jane had ended up being of vital importance. If Peter was developing images today, then that meant he had to be in the darkrooms. And, thanks to your Google research, you knew exactly where they were—Watson Hall, just a brief walk from where you were now.  

You wasted no time with stepping around Mary Jane, having no intention of even wasting a goodbye on her as you started towards your destination. But, as you moved around her body, she reached for you, her thin fingers once again wrapping around your forearm. She squeezed harder than last time, your head snapping in her direction, eyes narrowing in a threatening stare as she held you there.  

Surprisingly, she gave you a threatening look of her own.  

“Before you go,” you found it eerie the way her voice remained syrupy sweet, a sharp contrast to the menacing expression she wore, “I just wanted to tell you how much I adored that little sympathy piece you wrote for your friend in the looney bin.” 

You pulled your arm from her grip, your body going tense at the mention of the article you’d written to try and sway the public during Harry’s trial. Jameson hadn’t allowed it to go to print, reminding you that your judgment was still clouded by grief. He didn’t understand why you were so desperate to keep Harry out of Ryker’s Island, but he had hoped that by letting you at least post the article on the Bugle’s website that it would offer you some sort of closure.  

It hadn’t. It was shortly after publishing the piece that you had went straight to Harry’s lawyers, giving them all the information they would need to plead insanity.  

Mary Jane stepped closer, ignoring your effort to create distance from her. She was close enough that you could nearly feel the heat radiating off her body. You didn’t like it, but you refused to let yourself back away from her.  

“I can’t say that Peter agreed.” Her lips curled into a cynical smirk. “I mean, honestly, after the reaction he had to it I’m shocked that he can even stand to be in the same room as you!” The sound of her laughter infuriated you. “I suppose it’s true what they say about time, yeah? That it heals all wounds—even a knife in the back.”  

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, couldn’t think.  

All you could do was stare at the devilish woman in front of you, seething with a type of hatred that you were certain could eat you alive. Your nails sunk into the heel of your palm, an effort to refrain yourself from using them to claw that nasty complacent look right off her face.  

Mary Jane noticed this and decided to take your silence as a sign of her victory.  

“It really was great seeing you, y/n.” She gushed, the false tender statement only fueling your anger. As she turned to walk away, she glanced over her shoulder, winking at you. “Don’t be a stranger.”  

One day, you swore to yourself with a particularly loud huff, spinning on your heel and stomping in the direction of the darkrooms, you would kick Mary Jane’s ass.  

When you posted the article—the one you hoped would sway the public’s opinion of Harry—you knew Peter would see it. More than that, you knew that he would be adamantly against it. 

Unlike you, Harry hadn’t given Peter a reason to care whether he lived or died.  

If anything, he had done nothing but give Peter motive to kill Harry himself. You hated that thought. While you didn’t believe that Peter had murdered Sytsevich, you worried that if given the chance he would have killed Harry that night. You wanted to believe that he wouldn’t have been capable of following through with it, though. Just as you weren’t capable of sitting idly by as Harry was sentenced to Ryker’s Island, knowing that he would be as good as dead in there.  

Maybe you’d been stupid not to consider that the article was one of the reasons why Peter had never bothered to reach out to you, even once things had settled down. Maybe it was your own fault that he’d abandoned you, that the article had been the final nail in the coffin of your friendship.  

Your stomach ached, your mind still reeling as you shoved open the large doors of Watson Hall. A rush of frigid air washed over you, goosebumps erupting against your skin.  

Was it possible that Peter hated you as much as he hated Harry?  

No. It couldn’t be. What Harry had done was beyond abominable, something that could never be forgiven. You hadn’t done anything nearly as bad as him.  

Yet, on the other hand… is the one who comes to a monster's defense just as bad as the monster? You weren’t sure of the answer to that question, though you started to rationalize it to yourself anyway—you weren’t defending him, you just didn’t want to watch him die if there was something you could do to stop it! 

But why not? Gwen wasn’t a monster, yet you still watched her die, standing on the sidelines and doing nothing to try and stop it.  

There was nothing I could’ve done! Your mind screamed in defense of itself as you approached the staircase leading to the second floor, roughly gripping the rail as you started climbing up.  

Why had Peter talked to Mary Jane about the article in the first place? That question was easier to think about than the others, infuriating but still less emotionally taxing, so you let yourself fixate on it. As far as you knew, Peter hadn’t liked Mary Jane any more than you and Gwen did, always keeping his distance from the she-devil.  

When did that change?  

At the top of the stairs, nestled in a corner of the left, there was a single door with a large black sign hanging off of it. The words DARKROOM IN USE were written in bold letters. You stared at it for a moment, your mind finally going blank as you did.  

Peter was behind that door—your best friend, Peter.  

Your palms started to sweat as memories started flooding back. Instantly, you bit your cheek, trying to ignore them. Now wasn’t the time for a trip down memory lane, especially not when you could still recall the bloody way that road ends.  

A knock echoed through the somewhat barren Hall as your first collided with the door, your nerves growing with every passing millisecond. All you could do was focus on the different feelings fighting to consume you, the thudding of your heart, the slickness of your hands, the churning of your stomach.  

“Peter?”  

Saying his name felt wrong, but you said it anyway as you knocked again, a bit harder this time. “It’s y/n,” you told him, as if it were even possible for him to forget the sound of your voice, “can I come in?”  

Once again you were met with silence.  

You considered turning around. Maybe Jameson had been right in thinking that you shouldn’t chase this story. After all, it wasn’t your job to prove Spider-Man's innocence, and if Peter wanted your help, then he knew how to find you. You could call Brant right now and tell her that today was a bust, or even lie and say that Peter didn’t want to help with the story. You could walk away.  

But you didn’t let yourself do that, once again feeling that weight of responsibility that May had unintentionally placed on your shoulders. There was no one left in Peter’s corner, no one that would be willing to dig him out of whatever dark hole he’d landed himself in.  

You had fought to save Harry’s life, and so it only felt right that you tried to do the same for Peter.  

Without bothering to knock again, you reached for the knob and twisted, hastily slipping inside the room, trying to limit the amount of light the leaked in behind you. You didn’t know a lot about developing photos, but you’d never forgotten the way Peter would groan whenever you’d come in unannounced, accidentally letting the light ruin his work.  

The door clicked shut behind you as you looked around. It wasn’t a big room, just large enough for two or three people to comfortably fit inside. Any more than that, though, and they’d likely be bumping elbows the entire time. There was a table in the center of it, lined with tubs holding various chemicals that you’d never learned the names of. A clothesline hung around the perimeter of the room, a few newly developed photos lazily dangling from it. On the far wall there were two desks, various images and tools scattered across them.  

Everything in the room looked sinister, courtesy of the red tinted light that hung overhead.  

”Fucking creepy.” You muttered to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as a chill inched down your back. This room felt significantly colder than the rest of Watson Hall, only adding to its unsettling vibe.  

The darkroom was empty, despite the sign on the door saying it was in use. The realization nearly made you breathe a sigh of relief, a part of you finding comfort in the thought that you wouldn’t actually have to confront Peter right now. But as you stepped further into the room and towards the twin desks, all your newfound relief dissipated.  

Resting against the leg of the desk was a fluorescent yellow bookbag, decorated with a variety of cheap pins ranging from local bands to images of outdated memes. You remembered the first time you ever saw that bag, lying on the floor of Peter’s bedroom just a week or so before the start of Junior year. He threw a fit when Aunt May had come in, tossing the ugly bag on his bed and raving about how she had gotten it on sale just in time for back-to-school.  

You made fun of him for months, always making note of the way its vibrancy clashed with his darker style. Secretly you had loved that bag, silently appreciative for how easy it made it to find Peter in the crowded halls of Midtown High. He would always beg Aunt May to get a different bag, but she refused, saying that they shouldn’t buy another until he had worn the yellow one out.  

Looking at it now, it seemed that he had finally achieved that goal. The yellow fabric was a touch duller now, though not by much, and there was a noticeable tear in the seam of the front pocket. Kneeling beside it, you traced your finger over a trail of blue thread, having been carefully used to stitch the fabric back together.  

You wondered why he had decided to fix it instead of just replacing it like he had always wanted.  

Straightening back up, you scanned over the rest of the desk. There was a black reusable water bottle perched on the edge, a set of keys attached to a Deftones lanyard lying beside it. A bit of sweat trickled down the edge of the bottle, collecting on the surface of the desk. You reached for it, shifting it just enough to hear ice knocking against the metal walls. It had barely melted, meaning that it hadn’t been long since Peter had gotten here. Still, you had no clue where he was now.  

Closer to the center of the desk was a neat stack of already developed photos. A girl graced the top of the stack—pale skin with bleach blonde hair, neatly pushed back by a black headband. You reached for it without hesitation, a single digit tracing along her grinning face.  

Peter took pictures of a lot of people, you included, but it was undeniable that Gwen had always been his favorite subject. Looking at this photo, you couldn’t help but understand why. She was effortlessly beautiful, capable of taking your breath away without even trying.  

You could never blame Peter for always trying to capture that beauty, fully aware that if you were him, she would’ve been your favorite too.  

Without much thought you decided to slip the image into your bag. Peter had dozens of pictures of Gwen, while you only had a measly few. He could spare one.  

The other images were far more recent than the first, with only one or two others featuring Gwen. There were snapshots of random Columbia students, a few cityscapes, and even one of the devil herself—Mary Jane, posed in front of the same mess hall that had ensnared you earlier. In the reflection you could see Peter, smiling from behind his camera.  

You gritted your teeth and rolled your eyes at the image. Were they really friends? The picture seemed to serve as enough of an answer, but you still couldn’t help but hope that you were wrong. Had Peter truly traded you in for Mary-fucking-Jane?  

You roughly shoved that photo to the back of the stack, doing your best not to think about it as you continued to snoop through the rest of them. None were particularly interesting, save for the last two. Their dark composition offered a stark difference from the rest, while simultaneously making it difficult to tell what Peter was even photographing.  

Taking one in each hand, your eyes darted back and forth between them, squinting as you tried to make out the subject, a task that was made all the more difficult by the rooms dim red lighting. You brought one closer to your face, making out a few trivial details. At the far edge, there seemed to be a street sign's corner, and in the middle a few streaks of dim light reflecting off a rain puddle.  

Moving it away from yourself, you shifted your focus to the other one, thinking it appeared to be just a close-up of the first image. Then, slowly, you realized your mistake. It hadn’t been just a zoomed-in shot, as the reflection in the puddle made it something else entirely—a self-portrait.  

But it wasn’t the warmth of Peter’s familiar brown eyes being reflected in the hazy liquid. Rather there was an outline of the two lifeless white lenses that belonged to his other self, the version of him you sometimes wished to forget.  

The sight made you feel sick, sweat starting to form along your neck as you hastily flipped the photo over, desperate to avoid his sickening stare. However, what you saw on the back of the image was almost as bad as being forced to stare at Spider-Man's reflection. Scrawled in Peter’s barely legible handwriting was the date APRIL 2ND.  

A new panic quickly trickled into your veins, fully replacing the one that had been born from the lifeless gaze of his mask. You read yesterday’s date over and over again, as if it would suddenly change. It never did, and a sizable knot formed in your throat as you slowly began to look up, shifting your focus to the forgotten photos pinned to the clothesline.  

Your jaw fell slack, the photos in your hands following suit and landing on the desk below them. When you first entered the darkroom, you hadn’t paid much mind to the photographs hanging up, assuming they weren’t of much importance. Now, though, you recognized them for what they truly were—the sister images of the ones you’d been holding. Flashes of 102nd Avenue, Aleksei Sytsevich lying lifeless on the ground, milky white shards of bone peeking through his flesh. And there were photos of his mask, and those goddamn white lenses, spattered with Aleksei’s blood.  

Peter hadn’t just been at the crime scene; he had documented it.  

Your palm pressed roughly to your mouth, fingers digging into your cheek as you made yourself swallow the vomit fighting its way up your throat. Your own trauma fought desperately to rear its head as you analyzed the gory images, but you refused to let it take hold, scrambling to keep control as you forced yourself to snap into action.  

After grabbing your phone, you wasted no time snapping pictures of the photographs hanging from the line, of the ones sprawled on the desk, of everything you could find. You didn’t know yet what you would do with them, but you refused to leave this room without collecting every bit of evidence you could find.  

Once you were certain you had gotten it all, you worked to straighten the stack of pictures you’d gone through, adjusting them so they appeared as if they’d never been touched in the first place. Then, with your heart hammering inside your chest, you darted for the door without a second thought, paying absolutely no mind to the strange looks given to you by passing students as you rushed for the stairs.  

You couldn’t stop moving, only slowing your frantic pace once you’d nearly made it to the exit doors. You rounded the corner as you tried to pull up Brant’s contact with shaky hands, wanting nothing more than to call her and get the fuck away from this campus. But, as soon as you went to press her name, your phone went flying from your hand and slid across the linoleum, your body pressing smack against another.  

Sugary notes of vanilla flooded your senses, making your thoughts turn hazy. Your palms were flush against the soft cotton of someone’s shirt, and you could feel their fingers wrapping firmly around your shoulders, trying to steady you enough that you wouldn’t stumble back from the impact.  

”Oh-shit!, sorry! I didn’t even see you-”  

Their voice wasn’t the first thing you recognized, instead you found yourself caught up in the material beneath your hands. They were wearing a black Ramones t-shirt, a barely noticeable tear on the edge of the collar. But you noticed the tear instantly because you were the one who had bought the shirt. You got it at the record store on 6th Avenue—Rough Trade, was the name of it—and the man behind the counter gave it to you for half off all because of that tear.  

You only ever got to wear it once before Peter nabbed it off your bedroom floor, never to return it. 

”y/n?”  

Your body betrayed you, immediately melting as the familiar sound of your name falling from his lips rang through your ears. Your heart had still been pounding in your chest this entire time, yet as your eyes met his for the first time in months, it fell still.  

Peter didn’t fully share in your reaction. Instead of appearing as if he were lost in the same nostalgic haze you were caught in, he looked as if he had seen a ghost. His skin blanched, eyes growing unnaturally wide. For a moment you thought he was going to say something else, his lips parting, yet nothing came out.  

In your lifetime, you had only known of a few things that could render Peter Parker speechless. You had now become one of them.  

”Hi.” You squeaked out, a single hand lifting from his chest and offering an awkward wave that filled you with humility.  

This wasn’t easy.  

You weren’t sure how to act around him, how to behave. For nine months you had envisioned this moment, conjuring up countless things to say to him, all the insults you wanted to hurl his way. But now that it was happening, you found yourself torn between wanting to hug and choke him.  

It seemed best to do neither.  

”Um, hi?” Peter’s grip on your shoulders tightened, just for a second, as if he were trying to prove to himself that you were really standing in front of him. Once he seemed satisfied with your physicality, he stepped back and released his grip on you entirely, subsequently making your other hand fall from his chest.  

”You’re not-I mean-you don’t go here.” He rasped, laughing awkwardly as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself.  

”You’re right, I don’t go here!” You pointlessly confirmed, voice raising several octaves as anxiety took over. “Very observant.”  

You cringed at the statement. Very observant?-you thought to yourself, biting down on the edge of your tongue as you watched Peter’s brows knit together-could've said anything, and that’s what you picked?  

He didn’t even acknowledge the useless comment, only letting it hang in the air between you as he continued to wait for a true answer.  

“I came to see you.” You choked out an honest answer, starting to shrink beneath his heavy gaze. You tried to step back, instinctively wanting to create distance between the two of you, but all you achieved was pressing yourself against the wall.  

There was no escaping him.  

He was quick to respond, making it clear just how high-strung he was. ”How did you find me?”  

”I’m a reporter.” You reminded him, offering it up as a vague answer to his question. He’d likely expected the response, given the way his eyes narrowed in frustration. “Finding people is part of my job description.”  

Peter always said that getting an answer out of you was like playing a game of charades, one that others very rarely won. You were a pro at dancing around the facts, only ever revealing them when they served to benefit you.

It was one of the many reasons you were so good at your job. 

“Is that why you’re here?” His question carried a sharp edge, his irritation growing stronger now as his jaw tightened. “For the Bugle?”  

Your body became tense, your shoulders squaring off as anxiety once again tried to shove to the surface. As you thought of the images you’d seen, the ones that were hanging just upstairs, your blood ran cold. You did your best not to let it show, instead trying to hide your fear behind a look of confusion. “Why would I be here for the Bugle?”  

At first, he only stared at you, his brows raising in an incredulous manner. You forced yourself to stare back despite the discomfort it brought you. Then, finally, he answered. “You wanna talk about Spider-Man, right?”  

Your heart sank into your stomach, lips turning dry as they parted. There was nothing good about the way the vigilante’s name rolled off his tongue, and you didn’t like it one bit. The semi-hushed tone he’d spoken in, laced with an essence of bitterness that one wouldn’t expect from the person that donned the mask.  

Hesitantly running your tongue along your now chapped lips, you responded in a shaky voice. “Why would I wanna talk about Spider-Man?”  

Harry’s advice rang through your mind—the same advice that had been mirrored by Aunt May, to remain wary of Peter—and you suddenly felt lightheaded. There was no way he could know that you found out about his identity that night, right?  

No, of course not. It was impossible. 

Peter appeared far more relaxed than you, his shoulders lazily lifting into a shrug. He didn’t seem to notice the sweat forming along your brow, making you think that you were doing an alright job at hiding your emotions. “Jameson wants new pictures of him, doesn’t he?” He threw out a guess.  

Your shoulders instantly sagged with relief, your lungs aching as you lightly blew out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Given what you’d seen upstairs, you decided it would be best to stick to Harry and May’s advice. Peter didn’t need to know that you were aware of who wore Spider-Man's mask. Not right now, at least.  

“I'm right, aren’t I?” Peter insisted impatiently, interrupting your racing thoughts and snapping you back into reality.  

“Do you have new pictures of him?” You hastily snapped back.  

“No. I don’t.” He lied straight through his teeth, once again running a hand through his already messy hair as he squeezed his eyes shut. It was obvious that he wasn’t planning to share any details of Spidey’s newly developed photoshoot hanging in the darkroom, and it would be against your best interest to press further, so you stayed quiet. When he opened his eyes again, he stared directly into yours. “And I don’t plan on taking any, so if that’s why you’re here then you’re wasting your time.”  

You couldn’t recall ever hearing Peter sound so exhausted before. His recent lack of sleep was made painfully evident by the varying shades of purple painting the skin around his eyes. How long had he looked this way? Has it been since Gwen? In some sick way you hoped that you were right, knowing that grief being the cause was better than the alternative—the idea that his lack of sleep related to his involvement with Aleksei.  

A part of you still refused to consider the images you’d seen as damning evidence that Peter had been the one to kill Aleksei Sytsevich. You couldn’t let yourself think that, refusing to believe that Peter Parker was anything even close to a murderer. It wasn’t possible.  

But, as much as you hated to admit it, they proved that he was in some way involved. An accessory, at least. For some reason, hopefully a good one, he hadn’t stopped Aleksei’s murder from happening.  

That came with its own dangerous implications.  

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to decide what direction you wanted to steer the conversation in, which angle would serve you best. With a deep breath, you made your choice. “Well, it’s good that that’s not why I’m here then.”  

He looked surprised. “Wait,” he laughed awkwardly, “you’re not writing a piece on him?”  

There was a thin line creasing the space between his brows, a strange expression on his face. His reaction wasn’t entirely unexpected, especially because you were known for your articles on Spider-Man. But this wasn’t a look that showed he was shocked to hear you were passing up on a story, it was a look of pure offense.  

You fought the urge to ask him why he cared so much, curious to find out if he had been expecting you to rush to Spider-Man's defense in the media. The only reason you held yourself back was the fear that maybe you were wrong, that maybe he hadn’t wanted you to defend him at all; perhaps he just wanted more press for his potential crimes.  

”Seems like the Globe has it covered.” You told him, trying to sound disinterested. You hoped that he would buy your act. “No need to waste anymore ink on a story that’s already been told, right?”  

Peter knew you well enough to know that there was more to it than that. Fortunately, he was willing to reason that your potential avoidance of Spider-Man related to that night, the last night all of you were together, and the events that neither of you wanted to talk about. Besides, even if he did want to mention it, he couldn’t do so without exposing his identity to you, an identity he wasn’t aware you already knew about.  

So, as much as he didn’t want to let it go, he had no other choice.  

”O-kay.” He stretched the word out, shaking his head lightly as he worked to regain his bearings in the conversation. As he did so, a few strands of hair fell against his forehead. He was quick to push them back. “Well, if that’s not it, then why are you here?”  

There was only a second of hesitation, air hissing between your teeth as you sucked in a breath, crossing your fingers behind your back. You hoped Gwen would forgive you for the lie you were about to tell.  

”Helen Stacy.”  

The first emotion to wash over Peter was pain. It was obvious, showing in the way his shoulders slumped forwards and his bottom lip trembled, wincing as the surname of his dead lover echoed through his ears. It was the second emotion that was harder to detect, having been more cleverly concealed than the first. Anger.  

You could see it in his eyes, his pupils dilating as he started to see red. Your own gaze flickered to his sides, stopping on his clenched fists, knuckles turning a pale shade of white. It made you feel uncomfortable, especially since you were the one on the receiving end of that look. You nervously cleared your throat, starting to fiddle with the strap of your bag.  

“She called the other day and asked about running a memorial piece for Gwen’s anniversary. Obviously, she thought it would be best if Gwen’s friends put it together—you know, do it how we used to for the school paper. I’ll do the writing; you take care of the pictures.”  

It was hard to sound confident as you elaborated upon the fabricated situation, too busy trying to focus on anything other than his heavy gaze. You focused on the floor, mostly, staring over at where your phone still laid on the ground. Still, even without looking at him, you could feel the weight of his attention. The air around you began to grow thin, every breath turning into a battle. You felt like you were being slowly suffocated by his fury, your lungs burning within your chest.  

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea-”  

“You can’t say no, Pete.” You cut him off, forcibly lowering the walls surrounding your own trauma, using it to manipulate him. You didn’t feel bad about it, either. “We both lost our best friend that night, and that sucked. But Helen lost her kid. This is the least we can do for her.”  

As the last word fell from your mouth, you forcefully pried your gaze off the ground and begrudgingly met his once again. Terror slid into your veins as you did, your body already preparing itself for that seething look of his—but it vanished. There was no trace of anger on his face. All that remained was the slightest glimmer of remorse.  

His fists unclenched, mindlessly cracking his knuckles. Then he sighed, followed by a reluctant nod. “You’re right. She’s been through a lot, and if this will help bring her some sort of... I don’t know-” he waved his hands slightly, looking troubled by his own choice of words, “closure, then I’ll do what I can to help.”  

Your mouth curved into a smile.  

It seemed like a good sign, you figured, that he was willing to help. It reignited whatever hope you had left that despite whatever mess he had gotten into as Spider-Man, that he was still the same selfless Peter Parker you’d always known. He could still be saved. And, fortunately, you had now crafted the excuse you needed to get closer to him and figure out how to save him.  

”Great!” You spoke a little too loud, your excitement coming off a touch too strong. You tried to lessen it, though the uncharacteristic reaction certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed by Peter. “Meet me at Sylvia’s tomorrow at six, okay? We can start going over everything and make a rough outline for the memorial!”  

Peter immediately went still when he heard the name of the restaurant the four of you used to frequent. He hadn’t set foot in Sylvia’s since Gwen’s death, too afraid to face the memories hiding within its walls. He tried to speak, tried to tell you no, but he didn’t have the chance as you interrupted him again.  

“Here,” You pulled a business card from your bag, thrusting it towards him with a pointed look, “in case you forgot my number.”  

You didn’t hide the animosity behind the statement, using it as another tool to play on whatever guilt he might harbor for what he’d done to you. It seemed to work, given the fact that he promptly shut his mouth and chose not to argue. Instead, he cautiously reached out, plucking the cards from your fingers.  

“Try not to ghost me for another nine months.” You playfully added on, the words joined by a smile that resembled something of a threat as you reminded him, “After all, I know where to find you now.”  

Peter just returned the smile, tight lipped and far less ferocious than the one you’d given him. He knew that eventually you’d want an answer as to why he’d been avoiding you, but not right now. Now wasn’t the time for it.  

So, he stuffed the card in his pocket as you skillfully skirted around him, going to grab your phone off the floor. Once you had it in your hand, you started towards the exit, already starting to dial Brant’s number. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.” Peter called after you, watching as you pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold.  

There was an eerie sense of familiarity accompanying his goodbye, one that left your heart swelling as the words sought to soothe any of the still-bleeding wounds that remained from that night. The comforting feeling was almost enough to make you forget about the images you’d seen in the darkroom, the ones that now also lived within the camera roll on your phone.  

Almost—but not quite.  

Brant answered on the first ring, seemingly overjoyed as another lie easily fell from your lips, confirming with her that Peter agreed to help take photos of Spider-Man so you could try and plead his case to the public—the reason she thought the two of you were searching for Peter. She was just as eager as you were to leave Columbia’s posh campus, swiftly agreeing when you asked her to meet you outside of the mess hall so the two of you could head back to the Bugle.  

Now, waiting alone in front of the mirrored windows, you stared silently at the reflection in front of you. A girl with platinum hair, neatly tucked back by a black headband, stared back at you with her familiar bright green eyes. They were filled with enough dismay to make your chest ache, ridding you of any comfort that Peter’s familiarity had given you.  

”You’re gonna have to see him again.” The somber tone she used was unbefitting of someone that you could only think to describe as sunshine personified; everything you ever wished you could be. “You’ll need his help.” Gwen told you. “You know that don’t you?”  

You knew she wasn’t talking about Peter.  

When you didn’t reply, she decided she needed to convince you further, tailoring her approach so it had the best chance of swaying you. She reached a handout, and you knew that if you had closed your eyes, you would be able to feel her fingertips brush against your palm as she squeezed your hand.  

God, you missed that feeling. You missed her.  

And it was because you missed her that you refused to close your eyes. Refused to let your brain mimic something that was no longer real.  

Gwen’s doe eyes turned glossy, her rosy lips puckering into a pout that could make even the most unyielding man fold. ”He’s gonna need your help, too, y/n.” 

You bit your cheek, thinking of the bottle of pills laying in the bottom of your bag, the ones you hadn’t had to take in so long now. You were getting better.  

"You can’t save one without saving the other.” Gwen tried to tell you, although it only served to make you angry at her, unable to figure out why she would feel that way. She shouldn’t want you to save Harry, not when he was the reason she wasn’t here right now!  

If she were here, really here, then maybe you would tell her that. Remind her of how well her altruistic lifestyle had ended.  

But she wasn’t. So, you didn’t.  

Instead, you turned on your heel, forcing yourself to turn away from the reflection. You immediately saw a flash of royal blue in the sea of students as Brant forced her way through the crowd. Fine—you thought to yourself, offering Gwen a silent answer as you started to make your way towards Brant.  

”This place is a goddamn maze!” You heard Brant huff noisily once you were in earshot of each other, her bobbed hair swaying manically. She clearly hadn’t had a good time, but you weren’t really interested in hearing about it, either. Instead, you found yourself distracted by her appearance. Her neatly styled hairstyle, sharp winged liner, and stylish outfit. It made you think of the girls from earlier, the ones who had made you so self-conscious, and it gave you an idea.  

If you were going to do this—follow Gwen’s advice and save both of your boys—then you needed to try and save yourself, too. And, luckily, you and Brant seemed to be about the same size.  

“Do you wanna go shopping?” You asked bluntly, watching as Brant doubled-back, clearly not expecting your question.  

She blinked, thinking it over before hesitantly replying, “Um, sure?”  

Ravencroft could wait until tomorrow morning. 

tag list - @pompeygirl89 @pockyandme

a/n - hi anyone who's bothering to read this! i'm super excited about this chapter for a variety of reasons and i hope that you enjoyed it! feel free to leave any comments or tips, i always appreciate them and can't wait to write more harry & dark!peter content in the next part <3

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

MASTERLIST

SERIES:

You're the Only Girl for Me- [ONGOING]

All I Want Is You - [COMPLETED 8/29/2023]

LOVE - SEQUEL TO ALL I WANT IS YOU. - After getting back together, Janelle finds out thats she's pregnant. Follow along with Josh and Janelle as they deal with the highs and lows of her pregnancy. [ONGOING]

ALL FALLS DOWN- Kiyana Fatu's world is now in shambles after her husband comes home and tells her he has been having an affair. [COMPLETED 03/25/2024]

REBUILD & RESTORE - SEQUEL TO ALL FALLS DOWN [ ONGOING]

Neon Hearts - Chantelle aka Honey is a 33-year-old stripper who works at The Blue Thunder. What happens when a blast from the past blows his way back into her life. (COMING SOON)

DRABBLES/ONE SHOTS:

You're the Only Girl for Me ; May 200 Word Challenge - A part of my You're the Only Girl for Me series. Set in the future

YTOGFM - May 200 Word Challenge (2)- A part of my You're the Only Girl for Me series. Set in the future

REQUEST:

Miss Independent - Can you do a story where jey starts dating this girl and she is veryyyyy independent and like to do everything her self but jey has to always tell her to sit down and let him do basically Ms.I can do it myself meets mr.sit tf down imma do it plz 🤭

4 a.m Cravings - a part of my LOVE series but also requested. Request: heyyyyy can we get a short lil page or story of Janelle’s pregnancy cravings pls🤍🤍🤍

Jey Rizzo - Okay so yk how the raw before war games when they were mentioning how they needed a 5th member? Well, this universe, it’s a mixed war games so Rhea is in. Cody makes his “call” Randy and a former NXT, newly signed Keiarie or Kabana Love for her ring debut with them. Mr. Main Event takes a notice to her and tries to yk, get his game on the whole night with her

SERIES:

Sorry [ONGOING]

DRABBLES/ONE SHOTS:

May 200 Word Challenge - An excerpt from a One Shot that I have been working on for a while

Untitled - Jimmy Uso x OC (Alani) *

REQUEST:

The Bridesmaid- I hope you’re having a good day! I wanted to request a fic with Jimmy (or jey, I love them both) where the mc is a bridesmaid at their sister’s wedding and she meets one of the groomsmen (Jimmy) and they start to really like each other. The sister warns mc that Jimmy is a playboy but things start to heat up quick between the two anyway! You can add or take away any aspects, have fun with it. Thanks, I love your writing!

ONE-SHOTS

Til Further Notice - (based on Travis Scott's song) - He's been gone for 4 months. 118 days without a phone call or a text. What happens when he finally shows back up to work? Will he give Kaela the answers she's looking for?

Til Further Notice - The Reactions: How did the WWE universe react to the first time Roman was seen in 4 months...

ONE-SHOTS

Tongue-Tied -

[bookishly-ariel]

As someone who read the Acotar series once, I dove into the sailboat my brain branded Elriel and by the end of Acomaf I realized it wasn't a small sail boat anymore.

By the time Azriel flew her to the house of wind the boat was decorated with Cobalt sails, flowers, and shadows. At end of Acomaf it was built for the deep seas of a shipping war I knew I'd eventually have to sail through if I wanted to enjoy online content of them.

By the end of Acosf I was looking out across that ocean from a Destroyer.

And through it all my love for the story and the characters was not overshadowed by the ship I had built from the small moments given between two characters who were briefly shown through the eyes of Feyre, Rhysand, Nesta, and Cassian but mostly through Sjm's words.

I loved Feyre's story, but I did not hate her sisters, I did hate her father, tamlin, and more of a dislike for his decision to let Tamlin bring Feyre beyond her breaking point and still support him, Lucien.

(Yes, I loved that papa archeron showed up and saved the day, still mad it took Fae intervention and healing to get him there but Feyre still loved him anyways. Tamlin's help at Hyberns camp was the only thing I let slide cause he owed it to them. Lucien . . . Well, I don't forgive him turning his eye on all the bullshit, but I do hope we get to see him grow and I do have a small ship in my head for him and vassa and a small enjoyment on how him and Gwyn would be as friends if not partners.)

I loved Nesta's story, but I supported them having an intervention because she was killing herself and through her healing, the friends she made and she found herself along the way. Actions taken by Nesta did upset me but so to did the actions and choices of others in the book.

(This book was therapeutic to the eldest daughter in me who was a shit sister to her own baby sister till something happened and we patched our relationship.)

I know I will love Elain's story, but I am content in my knowledge that Feyre shipped Azriel and Elain, humored it aloud to Rhys even.

Nesta wasn't blind either, she too realized her friend was distant and when finding out why she did not chase him off or shut down his feelings and neither did she blast him to the whole Inner circle. She understood and offered a small comfort.

I don't know how anyone who has read the books over and over cannot see beyond the sails of their sail boats.

These characters are more than their ships, and to claim your thoughts and opinions as those of the characters is baffling.

All this to say, You don't decide that someone can't be a Nesta Stan and support Elriel because "Nesta would never"

It's right there in A Court of Silver Flames, did you not read the book? I'm just saying, Nesta is many things but she isn't the type of woman to bite her tongue when she disapproves of something.

It's right there in the books, just saying.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello beautiful librarians! Thank you for keeping me sorted with fic to fill the long gap between now and series three. (As I'm writing this S3 hasn't been commissioned yet but who knows, maybe by the time you post it will be?!)

Anyway, I'm looking for some recs for spicy fic, Aziraphale/Crowley pairing, where one of them is wearing lingerie / stockings and the other is taking their time to appreciate it fully before ravishing them. Any gender presentation, any "downstairs effort", as part of a larger fic or just a smaller delicious scene. Anything is welcome! I just saw some lingerie type fanart and I need moooore! Big thanks in advance!

Hi! We have a #lingerie tag. Here are some more fics to add...

The Way That You Hold Me by AngieWords (E)

"Have you ever had any thoughts about my other...forms?" Crowley is interested to find out how Aziraphale will react to exploring a different corporation together. Aziraphale is very interested indeed. Or: Crowley gets nostalgic for his femme-presenting days

Underdrawing by spunknbite (E)

Lace. Just a hint of it: white, peeping out from under the waistband of Aziraphale’s trousers. A finely woven pattern of sprigs of roses and briony linked together with intricate diamond thread work. There was something vaguely Victorian about it, suggesting a handcrafted wedding veil or perhaps the contents of a hope chest. The lattice clung tightly to the pale skin beneath it, pearly lace on pearly skin, creating an almost tattoo-like appearance as if the design was threaded onto his very flesh in only a shade lighter than his own tone. Well, fuck.

Pin An Angel Up by Dibs_Drabbles (E)

Aziraphale was a lingerie model for a newlyweds' magazine, under the guise of Miss Azra Fell. Despite her short-term career, Miss Fell was granted her own special edition magazine, featuring her and only her. The angel had kept it hidden in plain view, quite oblivious to the chance of a certain demon stumbling upon it. And that certain demon was very much thrilled with what he found. - Aziraphale modelled for a lingerie magazine back in 1950, Crowley finds them and thus uncovers a whole arsenal of kinks to explore for the two of them.

Spread Your Wings by foolishlovers (E)

In the glamorous world of high fashion, Crowley shines as a household name. Unfortunately, so does supermodel Aziraphale, who repeatedly lands bookings for the same jobs. When a photoshoot mishap traps them in a studio overnight, their simmering animosity escalates to its peak. Literally.

Tryst at the Ritz by almaasi (E)

Aziraphale nodded, and said, sweetly, “After dinner, Crowley, you and I, we’re going up to a private, luxury suite, and we’re going to make love.” Crowley blasted red wine across the table in a fine spray. (A fic in which Crowley and Aziraphale get a wiggle on, in the Biblical sense.)

Dangerous like Spun Sugar by Nejinee (E)

Crowley really wasn't prepared for any of this. She was a demon of hell, a fallen angel, and also - evidently - a fucking idiot. -- Or, how Crowley had never cared about the inherent sexiness of lingerie until Aziraphale started talking about her own lingerie.

- Mod D

[thelampisaflashlight]

A Lack of Engagement Pt. 8: Save The Date

[Previous Part: Here. The final installment in the ALOE series. I am first and foremost a delighter in chaos. This is what happens when you let me write while ill.] Below the cut.

While the groundskeeper drags the lake closest to the docks for any signs of the giant dick that started this whole mess, Rain and Dew spend their afternoon digging holes and carefully planting the blueberry bushes Bea had entrusted to them.

It's a tedious job, especially since neither of them knows how best to approach the situation; Whether it's better to dig all the holes first, or simply dig them one at a time, but either way the task is distracting enough for the two of them to spend most of it working in near silence.

Rain digs the holes and Dew sets the plants into the ground, carefully covering the roots, his nails slowly becoming encrusted in soil.

They wind up making a loose circle, spacing the bushes out with room to grow, and by the time they finish and take a moment to stand back and admire their hard work, Bea's approaching them once more.

"Hm, good job." she nods approvingly, placing her hands on her hips, "I appreciate the help."

Rain smiles, then looks past the woman towards the docks, "How did the search go...?"

Bea scratches her fingers through the short hair on top of her head, glancing back over at the water herself.

"Well, there's definitely something in the water over there," she says, "but that's the thing; There's a LOT of things in the water by the docks."

She gestures for them to follow her, and they all find themselves standing on the edge of the dock, staring out over the water.

"The water here is relatively clear, so you can see the bottom pretty easily." she explains, "I didn't have to search long to find an abnormality, but..."

She points to several odd shapes in the silt below, "It's kind of a mess down there."

Rain frowns, the groundskeeper is right, there's all kind of debris in the water by the docks, and none of it really looks like what they're searching for.

"You said the statue you were looking for was made of metal, so I thought I could just sink a magnet on a line and see what it stuck to, but, then again, there's so much garbage down there... and I think y'all said the blasted thing was made of bronze, yeah?" She asks, and the pair nods, "Yeah, see, you can't use a magnet to find bronze, because the shit's not magnetic, well, not unless it has nickel mixed in-"

Bea cuts her rambling short and shakes her head.

"Anyway, point is, short of diving in there and having a look around, I can't really go in there and shift things around much more. Taking a net to the lighter debris is one thing, but I can't be hauling up anything heavy and potentially waterlogged manually." she sighs, "Personally, I'd have the Creature From The Black Lagoon over there-" she gestures loosely at Rain, "-take a dive and see if anything fits the bill."

"We appreciate the help either way, Bea." Rain says, "Sorry to take up so much of your time."

Bea shrugs, "Ehn, it's whatever. Besides, if I had known earlier how messy this area was, I'd have probably come out here sooner and organized a group to help sort out all of this..."

She places her hands on her hips.

"I'm going to talk to Copia about getting some machinery in so we can remove some of the larger bits from the water, but it'll probably take a while for that to happen, so..."

Rain hums.

"We'll figure something out in the meantime, go have your fun with Mountain already." he does a light shooing motion, "Just shout if he actually tries to kill you."

"Aw, so kind of you to think I'd have the time to scream if he really wanted me dead." Bea places a hand on her chest, "But yeah, I better get going, or he'll be upset... I did promise I'd let him make dinner afterwards..."

As Bea leaves with a bit of a skip to her step, Dew can't help but turn to look at Rain and mouth a simple, "What the fuck?"

.

.

.

"So a plan B is in order." Rain announces after surfacing for the fifth time, "I've found two car fenders, a large rock that looks like a penis, but was definitely a rock, and, like, three shopping carts at this point."

Dew kicks his feet in the water, "We have to order a giant purple dildo and send it to Limbo via express shipping?"

Rain pulls himself up onto the dock, "We have to order a giant purple dildo and send it to Limbo via express shipping."

"Man..." Dew flops backwards, sighing, "I was kind of hoping we'd find the dick, I kind of wanted to see that ridiculous thing again..."

"I mean, yeah, it was pretty funny to look at." Rain agrees, laying down next to him, "...Dew?"

"Yeah, Rainy?"

"Why do you think that dick showed up here in the first place?" he asks, turning his head to face Dew, who is already looking at him when he glances over, "Like, the sudden rumors, it just appearing and disappearing and all of that... It just feels... odd, you know?"

"Mn." the other ghoul thinks for a moment, "Well, strange things happen here all the time, it's just the nature of things, I suppose... I don't want to dismiss it's... oddness, but, I guess I've bore witness to a lot of weird shit over the years so this didn't really register high on the list."

"But it is weird, right?" Rain wonders aloud, "Touching that statue, winding up in that other... dimension? World? Whatever that was... and then traveling to Limbo, getting out of there so easily because we could bargain with the Toll Man... Hell, even Bea being willing to help us search the lake... it all feels too convenient to be real."

Dew reaches over and trails his fingers down Rain's side making him twitch slightly before letting out a yelp as Dew pinches his sensitive skin.

"Ow! Hey-"

"Well, we can rule out the idea that this isn't real or a dream." he chirps innocently, "But I get what you mean. It's like someone is guiding us somehow, and I'm not entirely sure how to feel about that."

"Who do you think it is?" Rain asks, "Guiding us?"

"Honestly? It could be anyone." Dew says, sitting up again, "You said you heard the rumors about the dick from eavesdropping on the siblings, right?"

Rain nods.

"Well, the siblings all study the arcane arts, at least the ones living here in the abbey do. It wouldn't be hard for a couple of them to concoct some weird multi-dimensional, teleporting penis... no matter how fucking weird that sounds now that I'm saying it." he turns to look at the abbey in the distance, "Point is, whoever made it probably just wanted to test out the statue on some poor saps curious enough the try it out... Or ministry actually shelled out cash for a giant metal dick statue, but that doesn't feel like a Copia purchase to be honest."

"Definitely more of Terzo purchase," Rain chimes in, "or Ome-"

"Omega!" Dew gasps, "Why didn't I think to ask him before??"

"Huh?"

"Omega manages the arts department! It's... kind of a holdover position from when Terzo was still around and they'd do 'still life nights' that were just an excuse to fuck each other covered in paint, but he's basically in charge of deciding what pieces go on display and which ones get vetoed or shipped elsewhere for viewing." Dew explains, "He'd know if the dick is still in the collection if it's not in the lake!"

"...Can we go back to the having sex covered in paint part?"

"Rainy."

"What?" Rain pouts, "I'm a connoisseur of the arts myself... Also was that one of the instances where you and them..."

He brings two of his fingers together, then, after some thought, tries the same motion but with three instead.

"...I will admit that Terzo did occasionally school me on my... brushstrokes."

Rain whistles and Dew kicks him in the side lightly.

"C'mon, ya perv, let's go see Omega."

.

.

.

"...A giant metal dick?" Omega's mouth hangs open as he processes what Dew has said, "No... I don't think we have one of those. We do have a rather large, um, Georgia O'Keefe style statue that has a similar story to it, but it involved rubbing the clit and some people had a bit of a hard time finding the right spot to-Anyway. No, no large metal dicks."

"Aw, fiddlesticks." Dew snaps his fingers, "...Any idea where we can find the pussy statue by any chance?"

Omega eyes him wearily.

"No dice, huh?"

The older ghoul nods.

"Circling back," Omega says, waving his hand about dismissively, "you said you two held hands in front of this dick statue, rubbed it, wound up in another universe where you were married, then traveled through Limbo, came back here, had the groundskeeper -who is currently getting railed by Mountain, a detail I didn't need to know- search the lake and came up empty... which lead you to here, am I correct?"

Rain and Dew nod.

"Yeah, that's basically everything."

Omega leans back in his office chair, bringing his hands up in a prayerlike gesture.

"Boys, have you been eating out of Lucifer's cabbage patch...?"

"Lucifer's... Are you asking if we're high??" Dew balks, "Omega, it's a Monday! I'd at least wait until Tuesday-"

"Professionally, no..."

Rain clears his throat, "We're being serious, Omega. We experienced something really weird, and now we're kind of... It lead to some... emotions. So we just... we want to confirm that it, ya know, actually happened, and also we kind of sort of promised a ten foot tall demon in Limbo that we'd send him back something he could ride, and the giant metal dick that started all of this seemed like the obvious choice."

"Ten foot tall demon in Limbo..." Omega looks between Rain and Dew, "...Dewcifer Maurice Drop, if you're telling the truth, did you-"

"Fuck the Toll Man again? No, not this time."

Rain throws his hands in the air, "He knows about that, but you never told me-"

Omega holds up his hand, "As a medical professional and a man of science, I needed to know how-"

Dew slaps his hands down on the desk.

"He can shrink down!"

"OHHHH!"

As the sun finally begins to dip below the horizon, Dew, still reeling from their conversation with Omega, lets out a sigh as he and Rain fall onto the couch in the ghouls' common room.

"Well... we're back at square one." he says, letting his body sag into the cushions, "...Can you get me my laptop?"

"Gonna order the dildo for the Toll Man?" Rain asks, "You sure you don't want to wait and see if the metal dick doesn't show up somewhere?"

"Nah, let's just... We're the only people that seem to know that thing exists. I'm tired, and I have a giftcard that expires soon, so... Two birds, one stone. Laptop, please." he shrugs, "Oh, and my reading glasses!"

"Aye, aye, Captain." Rain salutes him and Dew rolls his eyes, smiling softly as the other walks away.

As soon as Rain returns, Dew opens up his laptop and clicks on a pinned link below his search bar.

"...You just have this site on quick access?" Rain's eyes grow wide as he takes in a barrage of colorful sex toys in some... unconventional shapes and sizes, "On your unlocked laptop no less?"

"If anyone opens my laptop without my permission and the worst they see is a bunch of penises than I think it's fine." Dew says, pushing up his reading glasses as he scrolls through their options, "This isn't even my main computer... Anyway, let me know if you see anything you want."

"...You're gonna buy me a dildo?"

"Or a vibe or one of those stroker things, whatever your perverted heart desires, I'm feeling strangely generous."

After a bit of searching, and spending way too long customizing not one, but two absurdly large sex toys, Dew carefully inputs the details on the gift card and confirms his purchases...

...Just in time for Swiss to walk in dragging a certain metal dick in what is effectively the ghouls' front door.

"You guys will NOT believe what I found-"

Rain and Dew exchanges looks.

"MOTHERFUCKER!"

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Arpeggio

Chapter Twenty

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Sam/Madison, Bobby/Annie, Pam/Lee, OFC Gibson, Ash, Benny, Cesar/Jesse, Kevin, Cas, and Charlie

Word Count: 4031

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, recreational drug use, surprise birthday guests, Dean being a giant kid, actually it's everyone, more history and an uh-oh, unbeta'd

A/N: You know how you outline bullet points that you need covered in a chapter and then you write all day long and forget one of the biggest ones until literally the last sentence? Yeah, me neither.

Anyway, I can't believe we are TWENTY whole chapters into this beast. Thank you all, so SO much for hanging around. xoxo Stu

Series Masterlist

Dean’s morning began with a blow horn blast compliments of Sam, who then received a bitch slap from his very frightened and at odds older brother. 

“Rise and shine, jerk. It’s the last year of your thirties!”

Dean groaned and buried his head beneath the pillows, poorly hiding from anymore horns. “Hephha waaff to wff agy hpp birfay”

“WHAT?! I can’t hear you?!”

Dean flipped Sam off and rolled over. “Helluva way to wish a guy Happy Birthday.”

Sam laughed. “Don’t worry, that’s not all.”

He pulled out a bag of the greasiest breakfast burritos from a shop around the corner from Charlies that they had discovered after being up all night gaming, drunk and caffeinated out of their minds. 

“Oh my god, you do love me!” Dean snatched the bag out of Sam’s hand and grabbed a burrito and cradled it to his chest. He looked up at Sam and said fervently, “I take back every mean thing I’ve ever said to you.”

“No you don’t. You’re just hungry. You want me to leave you two alone or should I take it back downstairs where the coffee lives?”

Dean stared down at the warm lump in his hand and honestly considered eating it right away, but Sam was right and scrambled eggs and peppers were not something he wanted to clean off his sheets whenever he found them again after the coming festivities.

“Yeah, thanks, let me grab some clothes and I’ll meet you down there.”

“You got it,” Sam took the burrito back as Dean dropped it into his outstretched hand. 

“No fucking with it now, I know how it’s supposed to be wrapped,” Dean warned with a firm pointer finger.

Sam rolled his eyes and his hair along with them and stalked out of Dean’s room towards the backstairs that led into the kitchen.

They ate breakfast in relative silence, coffee and contemplation and all that. Just two brothers celebrating a year that both of them were worried wouldn’t come. Aging might be a bitch, but it is definitely better than the alternative. And for the Winchester brothers, a blessing they weren’t ever quite sure they deserved.

Charlie and you slinked in just after noon, after Dean and Sam had half-heartedly worked off their breakfasts and showered for the day. You had the most obnoxious balloon cowboy hat for him while Charlie presented him with a ‘birthday prince’ sash that he was under orders to keep on all day.

Dean eyed you both with a simmering shame-twinged annoyance. This wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. He already got looks when he went out as it was, plus only a douche of a grown man demands strangers acknowledge his birthday that way.

“Guys, come on. I’m not— this is a little ridiculous,” Dean didn’t want to be ungrateful.

You sighed. “Okay, fine, spoilsport. Just let us take a few pictures and you can ditch the hat.”

“Oh! The hat was the best part!” Sam lamented.

“Can it, Sammy,” Dean snipped.

Charlie chuckled. “Okay, but you can totally wear the sash where we’re going, because nobody else will even be there to see you in it, just your friends.”

Dean pursed his lips and looked the redhead in the eye, she wasn’t going to let him win. “Great—- just great.”

Lee and Benny were gonna have a field day with this one.

“Atta boy! Say CHEESE!” Charlie chirped, taking way too many shots and angles with him and his birthday attire.

They hung out and shared a joint, picking at a cheese tray that Sam had pulled out. Sure they had places to be, but that was the beauty of being the guest of honor, everything revolved around Dean-time. And as absolutely narcissistic as that sounded, Dean could get used to that kind of schedule.

The party bus arrived just before two. It was actually the band’s touring bus, which meant it was roomy and stocked to the brim with alcohol and edibles. Bud itself was never left on the bus to dry out. Inside were Benny, Cesar and Jesse, all moderately sober as they were also acting as light security detail for the day. Pam and Lee brought Gibson along, which told Dean wherever they were headed was going to be fun, however wholesome. Madison and Annie were there with Bobby upfront driving ‘The Proud Mary’ as the bus was so lovingly called. And around the table in the small kitchenette were Kevin, Ash and Cas.

Holy shit, Dean had to blink.

He turned around on the stairs and looked at you, who were the only one daring enough to pull this off. “Are you kidding me right now?!”

“What?” You smirked and batted your eyelashes with fake innocence.

Dean looked at you and felt something in his chest crack.  But before he could get overrun by the emotions, gratitude, fear, even anger, Sam cleared his throat.

“In or out, Dean, air’s on.”

Dean nodded and blinked away the awe. “Thank you,” he grunted beneath his breath and turned to the cheers and jeers of his people.

“There he is!”

“Birthday boy!”

“Hey Winchester, I like your do-hickey,” Benny teased.

“It’s a sash, dumbass,” Cesar quipped, flicking the brim of Benny’s cap.

“HAPPY BIRTH-DAY,” Pam started offkey and then everybody joined in. Dean nodded along, faux-conducting and fighting the blush on his cheeks with every out of tune note.

He bowed as the song ended and then griped, “Yeah, okay, enough of that. Let’s get this shit started, shall we?! Uh, Gibson you good to DD on the way home, buddy?”

Everyone laughed.

“UNCLE DEAN! I can’t drive yet.”

“You sure?”

“I’m only six!”

“I don’t know,” Dean said thoughtfully, bending to look the stringbean over. “I think you could pass for seven or eight maybe.”

“Nuh-uh!”

Dean ruffled his hair and pulled him into a hug. “Fine! I’ll let Bobby keep his spot for today, but when you get your license, come talk to me about a job young man,” Dean promised.

Dean eased onto the bus, with you and Sam on his heels until you broke off to find a seat. He nodded and accepted hugs and high fives before he made his way to the table in the back, well that section’s back. The bunks and the bathroom were down a short hallway past the eating area and bar.

“Hey guys, thanks for coming,” Dean said broadly, but his eyes couldn’t stop looking for Cas’.

“Of course, man! Gotta celebrate another trip around the sun,” Ash exclaimed, his hair bouncing with his enthusiasm.

Kevin sniggered as he looked up at Dean and back across to Cas. “You know he’s real and everything.”

“He even speaks,” Cas deadpanned, turning his glare at Kevin.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Happy birthday, Dean.”

Dean felt the lurch of the bus entering traffic and panic resurfaced. “Good to see you. But, uh, we’ll catch up at some point? I gotta,” Dean sputtered and thumbed toward the general direction of the side-by-side seats along one wall.

“Of course,” Cas nodded, but gave Dean a tentative smile. Dean felt lightheaded but he felt better when he had a solid seat underneath his ass. Talk about a mindfuck. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and silently thanked the universe that he agreed to these super secret, group, birthday shenanigans.

The adventure park was suspiciously abandoned, even for a weekend day. But Dean took it as part of the present, no paps, no families with kids too young for school clogging up the Skee Ball lanes or having accidents on the go karts. He was kind of amazed y’all were able to pull this off, but it was far enough away from the busier parts of town that maybe you had scored a good deal. Or maybe Dean didn’t want to think about how much you and Sam and probably Bobby had shelled out for the day.

Even after years of his own success, Dean felt guilty whenever people spent money on him.

“Okay, line up for your wristbands. Everyone gets one, if you run out of tokens, tough luck. Laser Tag and Go Karts are available if we ask, just make sure there’s a big enough group to make up for the staff being pulled to those locations. Pizza will be set out as a buffet at five. I’ll get pitchers of water and soda out in the meantime,” you used a teacher's voice over the rowdy crowd as they beelined out of the bus and up to the gates.

Dean was almost giddy; he was so excited.

You bestowed a lanyard over his head, instead of a wristband. Which meant unlimited tokens for games and a turn in the vortex machine where paper tickets floated around and he was supposed to catch them for prizes. He was banking on letting Gibson take that responsibility, but hadn’t said anything because he knew Pam hated to spoil him, especially on someone else’s birthday. Oh well, being a surrogate Uncle held some leeway afterall.

“First one to the gokarts is a rotten egg!” Ash called out, making everyone turn on their heels and book it through the doors.

Dean laughed at the reversion to grade school taunts, but definitely tripped Sam on his way passed.

Somehow, Bobby and Annie got the first kart, but then again Dean didn’t remember seeing them as you made your little announcement, so they must have had a head start. The line was a mass of people bickering for a turn, which color kart they wanted, or which number if you were Charlie and Kevin. Dean had his shotgun attached at his hip, bouncing on the soles of his feet. But everytime he glanced up and saw Cas talking to Sam or nodding at something Pam said, he had to do a double take.

In all, they filled nearly all the available twelve karts. Dean and Gibson were in number 11, Lee, Benny, Pam, Cas, Ash, Kevin, Cesar, Jesse and Charlie all drove solo. While Sam and Madison, Bobby and Annie paired off. No one could get you in one of those things if they tried, and they all knew better than to try. Which Dean was grateful for, he hated rehashing your shit for other people’s understanding.

They did four lap races for almost an hour, with Dean sneaking past Bobby for the final victory. But everyone (except for Ash and Charlie) had lost count of their stats by the time they got inside to chug some soda and hit the arcade area before dinner.

Dean was sweating, faux satin clinging to his back through his shirts as he polished off a cup of flat cola. But he couldn’t keep the grin off his face long, seeing all of his favorite people milling around, trying to one up each other or just beat one another to a coveted game. It was the stuff of childhood birthdays he had only ever dreamed about, but you had made possible.

Lee held Gibson on his shoulders as they took Sam on at the free throw alleys. Charlie and Madison were playing some kind of shooting game while Kevin and Cesar watched them, obviously impressed by their stances with the fake rifles. It made him think of Jo and Big Buck Hunter for the briefest moment, but he tucked that away and chose to relish in the moment instead. Cas and Jesse were at the air hockey table and Bobby and Ash huddled by the wall of Skeeball machines, not partaking themselves, just watching you as you sank ball after ball into the 300 or better rings.

Dean couldn’t pick what he wanted to do next, so he just watched for a few minutes, soaking in the joy around him.

Eventually, his stomach chose for him. The pizzas were delivered in a tidy row down a side table of every cheap topping option available. There was even a mushroom option, which was probably the only thing close to a vegetable in the place, but it meant Sam couldn’t bitch. Everyone chowed down, standing and sitting in hodgepodge groupings, laughing and debating on what to do next.

Pam was comparing Cas’ and Kevin’s tattoos as Dean approached, paper plate firmly in hand, chewing as he silently butt into the conversation.

“Looks good, I mean, he’d hate them, but you know that would only be for show,” Pam said about the late Rufus.

“Yeah,” Cas agreed, pulling his arm back.

“Crotchety old bastard,” Dean added between bites.

“May he rest in peace,” Pam added, respect and mirth flitted in her eyes.

“So, Cas, how’s the kid and the band and fucking everything?” Pam changed the subject.

“Uh, we’re—- making progress,” Cas said simply, clearly unsure what to do with Dean’s presence. He worried at his lip ring like he always did when he was uncomfortable, but Dean was too damn curious and stubborn to take the hint.

“They’re finding their sound, it’s kind of cool to see it happen. You should go with me sometime to their rehearsals. It’s very organic,” Kevin explained. “It’s like they can sense what the other is thinking and just go for it.”

Dean couldn’t even pretend that that didn’t sting.

He cleared his throat. “So, where do you guys practice?”

“Oh— my place,” Cas said.

The fact that Kevin had been hanging with Cas and getting tattoos was one thing. The fact that he was in on this new band and its budding chemistry all while getting to spend time in Cas’ space was nothing short of getting his knees kicked out.

Not to mention, Cas had barely a townhouse with only one extra bedroom. He always preferred to live simply, as he put it.

“How does that work?”

Pam crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, seeing where this was going better than Dean. “Are you a garage band, Cas?”

He just shrugged.

Dean chuckled under his breath. “That’s what you meant by organic,” he said to Kevin.

“Not exactly— that’s part of it, but I don’t know if it’s like some gene thing or a psychic connection. They’re just really good together.”

Pamela inhaled as Dean squinted at Cas, who had gone stock still with Kevin’s words.

“Gene thing?”

“Dean—,” Pamela warned.

“Oh, crap,” Kevin said, realizing too late that Dean was apparently more in the dark than he’d known.

Castiel remained silent, eyes boring into Dean, waiting for the explosion. It made Dean sick to realize that Cas was afraid of him, of his temper, still.

Dean set down his slice of pizza and squared his shoulders, trying to keep it civil. To not be that guy anymore. “Cas, come on man. What’s that about? He some long lost cousin or something?”

“Jack’s my kid, actually.”

Dean sputtered. “Yeah right, nice one.”

Everyone glared at him.

“You’re serious? How? When? I would have fucking noticed if you had actually boned down some chick—- I mean how old is he?”

Cas rolled his eyes and Dean had the sinking sensation that absolutely none of this was his business. But Cas had been his best friend for most of their lives— it was important information to have, even if it was twenty years too late.

Kevin and Pam silently agreed to disappear, but Dean couldn’t pinpoint the moment it happened. They were there and then they were gone.

“Dean,” Cas chastised.

“No— I deserve to know. I mean, what the hell? A kid?”

Cas raised his eyebrow, the one with the damn ring in it and Dean wanted, not for the first time, to yank it out.

“Kind of like I— like we deserved to know you were in an underground fighting ring? Like you had some sort of deathwish pact with a pimp and a known murderer?”

Dean felt an icy chill run down his spine, his hands instantly turned to fists and he had to breathe to keep the rage at bay. But his chest was so tight and the shame had become worms in his stomach. He wasn’t going to puke at his own birthday party, not from something as pathetic as his own mistakes. Alcohol would have been an easier taste in his mouth.

The party continued around them, but Dean didn’t reply. He couldn’t.

Cas seemed to register that and looked down at his boots before meeting Dean’s eye once more. “Dean, I’m sorry— that— that was uncalled for.” 

Dean swallowed down the bile and exhaled.

He unclenched his fists, shaking them slightly to feel something other than overwhelming emotion, the kind he’d need a few sessions with Missouri to even name.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean grunted, head down as he got himself together.

“Dean— we should talk, but I can’t really explain myself in front of everyone.”

Dean hummed.

“It’s just— I think there’s a lot we never got off our chests and it only made the last couple of years harder— on both of us.”

“It seems like everyone else already knows your business, Cas. Just kind of sucks to be the last to know.”

Cas nodded, eyes still tight, still on guard.

“But I guess the way I was— kind of makes sense. I didn’t deserve to know.”

Cas’ face softened. “Dean— that’s not. Let’s not, right now. Later. Okay?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Dean inched around the corner, weapon drawn and head on a swivel. He couldn’t see much, but endless nooks for the enemy to hide. The arena was dark, out of necessity, but it only added to the adrenaline pumping through him. Dean nodded to his teammate and they spun around the next edge, fingers on their triggers as they stood back to back. 

He really wished they had communication between the other members of Green Team, but that was just rich people thinking for a family entertainment center. It wasn’t like they were storming the beaches of Normandy here.

Something moved in his periphery but before Dean could turn you shot behind him, getting Kevin square in the chest. You both watched as Kevin fell dramatically to the floor, one down, five more to go.

“Nice shot,” Dean said out of the corner of his mouth.

“I feel like that was too easy,” you replied, searching the area while you whispered.

“Might have been a scout,” Dean agreed.

“Yeah, but—” 

He felt you shift behind him and he rounded to cover you, but Benny was already there, a near wall of guns behind him. 

“It was a fire fight!” Ash screamed out of his spot above them, taking Charlie out with the distraction.

You kept your body turned, lessening their target and fired without even blinking, but Sam had height on you and you ended up taking each other out. Dean, unable to make a shot connect, cursed, turned tail, and ran, ducking down a ladder and trying to loop back on Benny and Pam.

Three down to his team’s one, that he knew of, still good odds.

But then he saw Jesse sitting with his back against a wall, clearly down. Dean needed to find Cas and Cesar yesterday. Or they wouldn’t be able to call it in their favor. He crouched down and checked his back, without you to watch his six he felt extra exposed, though he kept to the edges, using the shadows to his advantage.

He heard whispering and he immediately hit the deck, rolling until he was flush with wall length-wise. But the voices stopped about ten feet away, either on the level above him or around the corner out of sight. Dean waited, gun drawn and senses on overdrive.

The telltale electronic chime of a chest plate activating sounded off and the voices turned from whispers to shouts of shock. Someone had gotten Pam. 

Which meant that Lee and Benny were the only ones left from Sam’s team.

And Lee was alone looking to the rafters from the sounds of it.

Dean army-crawled around the corner and got Lee from underneath, his cackle of victory the only way Lee even knew he was there.

“You sonofabitch!” Lee griped, helping Dean up before disappearing to the land of misfit toys, aka following Pam to the nearest exit.

Cesar appeared, seemingly out of nowhere and nodded Dean back to the rest of the team. Cas and Ash were still alive and kicking, strategizing on how to find or draw out Benny. But before Dean could turn and let Cesar back into the huddle, his chest piece crackled to life: Benny had shot him in the back.

Dean waved him off, trying to catch up with Benny’s trail, as Ash and Cas flanked him widely. They tried to cast a broad net, but instead they left too much space and Benny wound around them and took Ash out without Dean or Cas even seeing him.

Dean looked at Cas and Cas nodded, doubling back and letting Dean take point. 

It felt like hours, but really it only took maybe five more minutes of creeping around the obstacles in the center of the arena for Dean to catch sight of Benny. His sturdy frame ducked behind a pillar as Dean slowly followed. But he was too slow, because Benny had spun around and had his gun on Dean’s back plate before Dean could move.

“Bang bang,” Benny taunted, but he didn’t pull the trigger. He wanted Dean to surrender, but that wouldn’t do anything unless… Benny didn’t know Cas was still out there.

Dean held up his arms, but he didn’t drop his weapon.

“Alright, cher, nice and easy,” Benny coaxed Dean to turn face him.

“You got me,man,” Dean huffed, playing it up.

“Well, even the Birthday Prince loses sometimes.”

Then Benny’s chest flashed to life.

“What the—”

“And sometimes they still win,” Cas’ deadpan interrupted Benny’s surprise.

“Nice one, Cas!” Dean held up his hand for a high five, but Cas just cocked his head as the overheads snapped on, blinding them all in sudden light.

It wasn’t the first time that Dean thought Cas had some super-human senses. And he was happy to think that it probably wasn’t the last time either. Not anymore.

Everything considered, Gibson won the day. Every single adult, even Kevin, forked over the prize tickets they had wracked up on their wristbands for Gibson to exchange for a four foot long stuffed dog from some show or another. Dean fist bumped him and helped him carry the thing back onto the bus. But before Dean could haul himself up the first step, Sam pulled him back to the curb.

“Here— don’t say I never got you anything.” Sam handed him a massive rainbowed Slinky.

“Holy shit! I didn’t even see that! This is awesome,” Dean geeked out. “Thanks, man.”

Sam just shook his head and grinned.

Everyone got back on the bus and started in on the adult beverages as you sorted the tab and made sure everything was alright with the staff. Dean sat on his hands, forcing himself not to run back in and add on his own tip. He really did trust you, but some habits were hard to break. 

“Ready?” Dean heard Bobby ask you before cranking the door shut.

The bus rumbled off the curb and into the neverending traffic of the city at night. But they had everything they could possibly need on board. And when you sat down in the spot beside him, Dean couldn’t think of a single thing that could make his birthday any better.

He looked over at you and smiled, soft, just a hint of it on his lips, trying to keep himself from saying something stupid. You rolled your eyes and smiled back. And yeah, today might have been one for the books. But there were still chapters left unwritten between you two and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to wait anymore to find out what they’d said.

Then his phone rang. “Dean? Happy birthday! How did you want to go celebrate?”

It was Bela.

He had completely forgotten to invite Bela.

And apparently, somehow, so had you.

Fuck.

Tagging:

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Chapter 22: Dolce