#first date disasters

[samw3000]

While We Dine

Man! This is going less than great. Don’t you have a mandate for proper behaviour on a first date? Like knowing how to carry a conversation … to reciprocate? For starters, enough about how much time you spend at the gym. And please, I don’t need to see your pecs flex again. I don’t care about how much you can press—hmm. That rhymes with acquiesce and suggest. I digress. When did a muscle vest…

[blackchrysalys]

I think one of the best things about dipcifica (both romantic and platonic) is just that neither of them have a clue about what the other person is like.

Like yeah, Dipper doesn't have any idea about modern fashion and other stuff Pacifica values but Pacifica doesn't know either.

And if they even decided to date, both of them are gonna struggle planning it. Dipper 'overthinking' pines for obvious reasons

and Pacifica cuz, what is she supposed to do? Most of what she knows isn't going to work with Dipper like it would with other people.

Is she supposed to plan a date in the supernatural black market? Do they even have restaurants like the mall does?? Can she even reserve a table???

And what is she supposed to wear? An alien outfit? Dipper likes kissing aliens right? What fashion do aliens even have?!

[serenity--writes]

Peter Parker x Reader | Fake-dating gone wrong

You need a fake date for your family's get-together, and just as you run out of hope, someone agrees. Of course, the universe has it out for you, so your plan falls to shit remarkably fast. (Or, you attempt to fake date Peter Parker, but crime never sleeps.) GN! Reader, Unedited, 6.4k words. Holland Peter! (A/N: I can't look at this anymore. I simultaneously like it and dislike it. I read somewhere that even if you're not inspired, you should write anyway, and this is the result. I do have another fic in the works that I am remarkably more invested in, though!)

In a few days, you’ll think back to this moment and laugh about how stupid you’re being, but right now, you’re desperate. There’s no way Saturday can go wrong, and you’re desecrating your pride to make sure it doesn’t. 

MJ just thinks you’re an idiot, you can tell by the amused, borderline-murderous look on her face. “No way in hell, dude. Your family is nuts.” You glance at her sketchbook, which has a half-finished sketch of your face in it. There’s no way you look that…

“Horrible,” you mumble, scrunching your nose. Bringing your hands up to your face, you feel around your face to double-check, but nope, you’re still you. To say you look haggard would be a compliment if MJ’s portrayal of you is accurate.

She hums, shading in the shadows of your nose. You didn’t realize it was that weirdly shaped. Or maybe MJ’s messing with you…? “That’s what you get for staying awake all night, texting someone asleep and not going to answer.” 

“I had to try. I figured I could wear you down, but you didn’t read my messages.” You scowl, seeing her add another lock of hair to her drawing. You should’ve brought a comb or something, shit. “C’mon, I’ll owe you lunch for—” You glance at your calendar, grimacing. Go big or go home. “—a month! You can even get those crazy expensive nachos that give you indigestion the next day. Pretty please?”

“Nope,” MJ says, popping the ‘p’. She’s nearly done with her sketch, and the whole ‘drawing people in crisis’ thing is scarily accurate. You’re now one hundred percent sure you’re not imagining the panic attack waiting to happen; you have a radar for those kinds of things, and it’s brewing in your chest. “Just ask loser number one or two. You can watch Star Wars in exchange.”

Loser one and loser two—Peter Parker and Ned Leeds. Yeah. No fucking way. Your first two new friends at this school—you’re not counting MJ since you’ve known her for five years by now—and she wants you to ruin it by asking them to fake-date you? Social suicide might be a turn-on for her, but it’s not for you.

Besides, you vowed never to watch Star Wars years ago. Said vow is akin to a pact signed in blood; you can’t disregard it or you’ll die. Yeah, you’ve seen The Craft, and you know magic and blood and shit are not to be messed with. Your descendants would curse your name, spinning a tale about how wicked you were, how evil, how you ate children who didn’t go to bed at eight o’clock on the dot—

Coincidentally, your mom was a storyteller when you were a child. She, rather suspiciously, might you add, gave it up once you turned twelve. Your father calls bullshit on her doing it just to scare you, but you know better.

Anyway! 

“I’m three seconds away from getting on my knees and begging. MJ, please!” Your knees bend in preparation. MJ glares at you, drawing a line across her throat with her finger, and you swear her eyes glimmer as you gulp, straightening up. She’d make a good serial killer. Wow! 

“I’m not fake-dating you, end of story.”

You collapse into your seat and groan into your arms, head buried; maybe you’ll suffocate and won’t have to endure the torture on Saturday. Even as you think it, though, you know you won’t be so lucky. The wind in your metaphorical sails depletes like a popped balloon—Star Wars couldn’t be all that bad, right? Worth a blood curse or two, at least?! “I don’t wanna watch Star Wars,” you whine. “My bloodline hates me so much right now. I can tell!”

MJ laughs at you, the scratch of her pencil grating against your eardrums. ‘People in crisis’ you make a face against your arms, almost sticking out your tongue, but think better of it. School desks are probably not as clean as they should be. “Get the popcorn ready. You know how those two dorks are.”

“You’re joining us,” you say, popping your head back up and taking a deep breath of that weird school smell that none of you can exactly pinpoint. At least English class had those nice wax melts, Math just smelled like stale decay. Probably all the dead brain cells floating in the air.

“Nah.”

“You can’t just say ‘nah’ and expect to win the argument. That’s not an argument, even; we haven’t argued!” You pause. “… Argue with me. Debate me. Try to come up with a good reason not to endure Star Wars with me. I dare you.”

“I haven’t argued because I’m more mature than you are, and don’t resort to petty debates that have no bearing on my life. It’s called ‘picking your battles.’”

Ugh. “I hate you, MJ. I hope you know that.” 

She grins. “I hate you more!”

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You go to Ned first. He’s way less busy than Peter is, thus more likely to agree, and you don’t have a crush on him (not that you have one on Peter, but like… never mind), so it’s a win-win-win(-loss, because of the blood curse). You know, now that you think about it, Peter is busy. Between the Stark Internship, helping May at the F.E.A.S.T. shelter, or being a nerd in his private time, there’s always something going on. 

(You desperately need to join some extracurriculars.)

So, on account of the win-win-win(-loss) scenario, you ask Ned at lunch to be your fake boyfriend. You didn’t account for him saying no. You swear you see the gates as your heart gives out, but then you remember your trump card. Star Wars.

Except, he says no again. “My Lola needs my help on Saturday, so I’m not going anywhere.” You gape at him for so long that a fly darts inside your mouth and makes you choke. You’re too busy coughing up a lung to notice Peter until he’s putting a hand on your back and asking if you’re okay.

“Fine,” you croak, like the old hag from Snow White. “But also not. What the fuck. The world is turning against me. This is so unfair.”

MJ flicks your forehead. You yelp because what the fuck was that for?! “Peter, they have something they want to ask you,” she says. Your cheeks heat up instantly, realization kicking in. She’s setting you up!

“No, I don’t,” you retort as Peter puts down his sandwich. The poor guy looks too tired to deal with the combined bullshit you three are spewing out, but he takes it like a champ. You stare at him, but then he starts staring back, so you look away. Like a coward.

Ugh!

Ned snickers. Your friends are good at enjoying your misery. Sadists, all of them. Except Peter, because he’s more like an angel than anything else. “They need a fake date to get their family off their back, and MJ and I are busy. So…” Ned trails off, and you all watch as Peter puts two and two together. Horror paints your face, MJ smirks in smug victory, and Ned eyes the two of you knowingly. 

You don’t know what he knows, but you don’t like that he knows something. Smart bastard!

Peter shrugs, nonchalant and not grossed out like you thought he’d be. Something in your chest settles at the sight. “When is it?”

Still, you’re not letting this happen. You’ll just suffer by yourself on Saturday. “It’s fine—”

“Saturday, at four,” MJ cuts in smoothly, throwing you a smirk as you glower at her. If you could, and didn’t fear her retaliation, you’d reach across the table and strangle her. 

Peter nods, considering it. This whole situation is so weird. God, why is your heart beating so fast?! “I think I’ll be free? Mr. Stark is out until next week, so there’s not much I can do. And…” Here, he looks at you knowingly. “Knowing you, we won’t be there for too long, anyway. So maybe—”

“An hour!” you blurt out. Then, before you can lose your nerve, continue, “We can stay for an hour…?” You fiddle with your hands as you wait for him to change his mind. He’s always busy, so he probably meant for the whole thing to be like thirty minutes, not an hour. You always open your big mouth at the worst moments, and now it’s biting you in the ass.

Peter smiles. “Sounds good!”

Oh!

Ned whispers something to MJ, and she smirks, but before you can ask her what he told her, Peter’s asking for the address, and you forget all about MJ and Ned as you talk with him. 

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Later, after knocking on the door and being let in by the ever-busy May Parker, you plop yourself down on his couch and wait for him to bring the popcorn. As you’re getting comfortable and accepting the oncoming blood curse, May clears her throat.

“Hey kiddos, I’ve got to head to work. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!”

Without looking, Peter calls back, “You would do so much worse, May!”

The door shuts after her, cutting off her cackle of a laugh. You smother a smile before her words sink in. Your lips quirk into a frown. What did she mean by that? It’s not like you and Peter are—

—Are anything! Did she know? There’s no way. 

Peter starts the movie, and it’s distracting enough that you’re no longer lingering on what May said, but boring enough that you stare at Peter from the corner of your eye. He doesn’t even realize how creepy you’re acting—hopefully it stays that way—but the smitten part of you mitigates the guilt welling in your chest.

But, not really, because he’ll never like you back. So, no crush! Just… platonic admiration. Yeah. (Yeah, so, maybe you’re kinda head-over-heels for this guy. So what? Nothing’s going to come out of it.)

You’re totally pining right now. God, you’re such a loser.

“Okay!” Peter’s voice startles you out of your self-induced pity party, and you jump. He ignores it, turning so that he’s mirroring your criss-crossed position, barely blinking as his knees jam into yours. Holy shit, he’s bony as fuck. “You’re acting weird. Why?” You can’t help but stare at him. His cheeks are kind of red. “W—is—do you not want me to go with you?” he blurts out.

WHAT. You shake your head immediately. “No, it’s not that! It’s just…” Quick, think of something. Anything! “Umm, my mom is not going to, uh, buy that—we’re a couple?” You say it like a question because you’re a moron, but hopefully it gets the point across.

Peter’s pinched face relaxes, and he sags into the couch. “Oh. That’s… all. Okay. Hm. We can practice being a couple? Maybe?”

You twitch. This conversation is not good for your pining heart, but you find yourself nodding all the same. They always say getting a taste of what you can’t have is torture. But Peter’s eyes are wide and so pretty, and you want to experience him, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

He sucks in his lip before reaching for your hand. “We can hold hands to start, if you want?” 

You’re grasping his hand before he can finish his sentence. Breath catching in your throat, you slip your fingers between his, feeling tingling run down your spine as his calloused skin presses against your own. You blink up at Peter from your slouched position, light-headed. You catch sight of the blush painting his cheeks an enticing red and wonder what he’s thinking, who he’s thinking of. He coughs when he notices your gaze. “We need to get used to it, so.”

Heart fluttering, you smile. It spreads across your face easily, and it’s too hard to beat down, so you don’t, and you don’t fight it when it grows into an elated grin. Suddenly, you’re not feeling bad about this whole thing. 

“You have nice hands,” you say, then grimace. Why is it that whenever you open your mouth, things get worse? It’s like a talent at this point. “That’s weird, isn’t it? Just forget I said anything!”

Peter ducks his head and laughs, squeezing your hand once before relaxing his grip; he must have felt you trying to let go. His eyes are bright when they look at you, shaking you to your very core. “You have nice hands, too. It’s, uh. Ours fit together kind of perfectly, huh?”

You hum in agreement, feeling yourself preening at his attention. “It’s nice. I’ve never really held hands with someone before, now that I think about it.” You raise your other hand in the air, wagging in back-and-forth til Peter gets the hint. Laughing, he grasps your hand in his own, settling both pairs on the joint peak of your knees.

You avert your eyes. “After this, what do we do next?” You speak calmly, and it’s suspicious, as if an alien replaced you—not unusual in New York, unfortunately—because you’re never this calm in front of Peter. But before you can ask him to check if you are still yourself, he pulls away, mumbling. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Gotta go,” he says, coming to an abrupt halt. His eyes are wide with sincerity. “We’ll continue tomorrow? I’m so sorry, I forgot to turn in the report Mr. Stark wanted, so—” He gestures to his front door. “I gotta go. But stay until someone can pick you up? If that’s something that…” His head jerks to the side, and you belatedly hear the distant sound of police sirens.

“Right.” You take a second to calm your pounding heart, then nod. “Right. We’ll continue this later. Tomorrow. Yeah. I’ll just take the subway while it’s still going. See you, Pete.”

He nods, practically bouncing on his heels. He mumbles a quick goodbye before rushing to his bedroom. Ah, yeah, he’d need to change out of his sweatpants if he had to book it to Stark Tower. Makes sense. 

More than weirded-out, a little hurt, but mostly elated, you stumble out of May’s apartment just in time to see Spider-Man fly by, webs pulling taught as he swings between buildings. 

Wow. He’s so fucking cool. You shut your mouth before it can collect any flies (again), and walk to the station with a bounce in your step. Peter won’t believe this. Talk about perfect timing, huh?

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“I’m telling you, MJ, I really saw him! He was swinging by Peter and May’s apartment—he’s so fucking cool, I swear to God.” You look around before ducking your head, whispering into the mic of your phone, “And he has a cute butt. But don’t tell anyone I told you. I’ll never live it down.”

“There are forums for appreciating his buttocks, you’re not alone,” is what she designs as an appropriate reply. It does kind of make you feel better, though, so kudos to her. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m interested in. How’d it go with Peter?”

There’s no way she knows. Right? “Nothing happened. We watched the first Star Wars movie, uh—it was called something Menace, I think? With uh, Han Solo? And…”

MJ snorts, disbelief radiating from her even through the phone. You pout. “Let me guess, he wasn’t in it.”

“Nope. Pete would have a heart attack if he heard you say that. Ned would’ve died from cardiac arrest. You’d have to bury them together.”

“‘We’,” you correct instantaneously. 

“No, it’d be just you. Because you aren’t telling me anything, and don’t deserve my help to bury your friends. Of whom you murdered.”

MJ is persistent, you’ll give her that. “Fine, we held hands. And they’re your friends, too. Obviously.” 

A pause. Clothes rustle as she presumably sits up in her bed. “That’s it? You only held hands.”

“Well, we watched Star Wars, too.”

She groans. “I thought you were going to kiss or some shit. Should’ve known you’d be too chicken. And Peter, too, he’s a coward when it comes to his paramours.”

“Hey!” you protest. Then, “What do you mean, ‘paramours’? As in plural.”

You’re not jealous, just… curious. 

MJ snickers. “You’re not slick. And anyway, loser number one gave up on said other paramour a few months ago. She doesn’t even go to Midtown anymore. Her dad turned out to be the Vulture, and they moved.”

“Mother-fucking Liz?” you gasp. Not that you’re surprised. She always seemed to have her shit together. The universe must hate her, though, giving her a dad that turned out to be the Vulture. “Oof. Yeah, I remember. But, Pete really…?”

The call lasts until two in the morning, but you’re brimming with confidence. Whether MJ meant to, she gave you the confidence you needed to—

Well, to do something. 

Peter’s interested in you. And is too chicken to do anything about it. (Didn’t seem that way earlier, but you trust MJ’s observational skills.)

You’ll figure something out.

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Turns out, ‘figuring something out’ on the go doesn’t work with you. You’re completely blank as you march your way up to Peter’s door. You even stand around awkwardly for a few minutes to see if your mind can come up with something, but nope. Nada. 

You sigh. Of course. The time comes, and you fail. Story of your life. You knock on the door.

…

“Coming!” 

…

The door opens, and Peter’s face pops out. “Hey,” he says, smiling. He pushes the door to allow you in before turning around and diving onto the couch for the remote; Star Wars is already playing, and he turns the volume down as you come to sit beside him.

“So…” You both speak at the same time. 

You snort. Butterflies battle to the death in your stomach. You hope you don’t puke right now, but the chance is never zero. Experience has taught you that. “You go first.”

He raises an eyebrow but obliges. “Right. Uhm. Practice. Do you want to start with holding hands again?” His eyes light up as he wiggles his hand, with what you desperately want to be hope. 

But you’re on a different mission today. Please be right, MJ.

Your hands shake as you wipe them against your pant legs. You’re sweating like you’re about to pull out a gun to shoot at Peter, like one of those old western movies your dad made you watch. There better be a pot of gold at the end of this potentially vomit-covered rainbow, or you’ll throw in the towel called ‘life’ early.

“Actually…” Your tongue feels thick in your mouth, but you force the words out anyway, “Can we try…” Your cheeks burn. Just say it, you coward! Don’t disappoint your descendants! Or MJ! “Kissing!”

You pull back as you hyperventilate. After a second of silence, minus your rasping gasps for air, Peter’s concerned face falls into view. “Hey, uh, you’re okay! It’s fine! Just match my breathing, okay?”

He takes a deep breath, holds it for a second, then exhales. Rinse and repeat.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. 

—

When you come back to yourself, the first thing you feel is your aching knees. Youth has escaped you fast, and the world is kind enough to remind you. The second is the fact that Peter looks like he’s about to cry. The third is a mixture: what the fuck, why the fuck, how the fuck, and, ‘Fuck, my descendants are going to hate me.’

“Hi,” you say, pinching Peter’s thigh through his jeans. He blinks at you, then sags in relief. “Sorry. I don’t know what that was. Uhm. Can I still kiss you?”

Peter blinks, silent, then laughs. It’s loud and practically hysterical. You withhold a flinch to place a concerned hand on his shoulder. He looks like he’s a second away from collapsing on the floor. “Are you okay?” Guilt clogs your lungs and nearly chokes you with it, because you didn’t mean to have a panic attack, and you sure as hell didn’t mean for him to have to guide you through it. 

Peter drags a hand down his face. “You weren’t calming down, and May only taught me, like, three things to do, and I panicked a bit.” He takes the hand you place on his shoulder into his own. The rough skin grounds you. “Can I kiss you? If you still want to. Uhm, I don’t wanna assume—just, I think it’d be nice?” He looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole; he’s so cute, it’s almost unbearable.

“I’d like that. If you still want to.”

You’ve never felt more vulnerable, but you’re so eager, it’s debilitating. Peter cups your cheek, and it’s as though he’s lit a fire under your skin. You jolt, but quickly lean into the touch and cup his cheek, too, awed at the soft skin. 

“Just so you’re aware, I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit, with no small amount of shame. 

“Neither do I, but I looked it up—” He freezes, then stutters, “Uhm! N-not that I thought you were going to kiss me, or anything. I was just curious. And Ned was the one who looked it up. I just… read it a little…?”

You laugh, so endeared that your body can’t contain the feeling. “You’ll have to show me, then,” you say, laughter petering off into giggles. He nods seriously, almost solemnly, before tilting his head. Just like that, your world narrows, and you only see him. A shiver runs down your spine as he closes the gap between you, hands settling on your waist. His breath ghosts over your skin before your lips meet.

Wow. That’s your last coherent thought, fireworks dancing across your vision and flooding through your veins. Peter smells so unlike how you would imagine a teenage boy to smell, all eucalyptus and peony mixed with vanilla. He’s gentle with his hands as he explores the skin just under the edge of your shirt. His touch leaves trails of fire along your skin, reminders of him. 

You sigh into his mouth, breathing growing heavier, feeling like you’re soaring yet sinking as he bears down against you. You push back against him, swiping your tongue against his lip just to taste. And boy, do you ever—you never really understood the whole ‘flavored-chapstick’ thing until now, tasting cherries on his lips. 

Heat clings to your cheeks and spreads to your ears; it feels like you’re melting. Your brain is a mix of endorphins and electrical pulses that scream ‘more, more, more’ like you’ll die without him pressed against you. You break away for air, lungs burning, before scrambling into his lap, darting forward to kiss him again. He moans when you wrap your arms around his neck, and it’s the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard; his voice is better than music, and it’s all for you.

Then, the door opens. You fling yourself away, and Peter just sits there, staring at your face—no, your lips—mournfully. It looks like you killed his non-existent puppy. 

May eyes the two of you suspiciously as she walks into the apartment, no doubt noticing Peter’s red face and your rapidly rising chest. She stays quiet, though, just lifts her eyebrows meaningfully at Peter before walking further into the apartment.

You and Peter exchange silent glances before bursting into laughter. He brings you into a hug that you lose yourself in, feeling warm and safe in his arms. “I’ll see you tomorrow? We still have to practice before ‘showtime’. If you’re up for it.”

He stiffens, but you attribute it to speaking too loudly right in his ear. You apologize, your voice significantly quieter. “You’re good. And yeah, tomorrow should be fine. This was, uh, nice.”

You pull away, grinning. “Very nice. Don’t sell us short. We both did very well.”

“... And now you’re making it weird.”

“You like it, Parker.”

“Unfortunately.”

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The next day, Peter’s too busy to practice. 

You bully the disappointment down to the pits of your mind, and focus on pleasing your mother, who is very adamant about knowing who you’re bringing over tomorrow. 

“My boyfriend. Like I told you yesterday. No, I’m not lying, he’s my—Mom!”

She doesn’t believe you, which sucks. You’ll just have to prove her wrong tomorrow. 

You suck in a deep breath, then exhale. You remember Peter’s face, concerned and aching with the need to help, the tears that entered his eyes, the softness of his lips, the taste of cherries—

Your mom clicks her tongue, realization seeping into her face and into her voice. “Oh, honey. Tell him how you feel, hm? Don’t hold on to those feelings forever. Your father and I, well, we eloped almost immediately—”

You groan in disgust. “I’ve heard this story a billion times, and it’s still gross. Please stop talking.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have to tell it so many times if you learned from it, now would I?”

—

You don’t hear from MJ or Ned for the rest of the day, which is weird, but you’re not upset, too frazzled to do much other than wonder what you’re going to do tomorrow. 

Confess. It goes wrong; MJ was wrong, and Peter just wanted to get his first kiss out of the way. Bad ending.

Confess. It goes perfectly; MJ was right, and Peter kissed you because he has a crush on you, and he reciprocates your feelings. Good ending!

Don’t confess. Remain pining forever. Peter gets a girlfriend/boyfriend, and you grow up sad and alone. Alternate bad ending.

Don’t confess. MJ talks sense into Peter, and he confesses to you. You get together, grow up, do more than kissing, get married, move in together, and there’s no other person to get in between you, too! Alternate good ending!

Something else happens, and you spontaneously combust. Or something. 

“Right,” you mumble to yourself. “Just fucking do it. No take-backs, no ‘oh, I didn’t mean that, I was joking’, or anything. Just say it! ‘I like you, Peter. Would you like to be my boyfriend?’ It’s perfect. Nothing can go wrong.”

You go to sleep with the hope that tomorrow, the sun will shine mercifully on you for once.

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The day goes by quickly. Peter texts you an hour before the get-together that he’s getting ready. Your mom looks at you knowingly as you stare at the clock, willing the time to go faster. Your dad claps you on the shoulder and ruffles your hair until you squawk and shoo him away. 

3:30. No sign of Peter, but that’s not a problem. He still has thirty minutes, after all. You grab a couple of fries and pout at your uncle when he swats your hand away. “No more until the rest is done,” he scolds you. 

You don’t whine, but it’s close, “Fine. Party-pooper.”

“Ha! You know it, kid.”

Cousins you’ve never met before come up to meet you, and you smile and introduce yourself to cover up the nervous twitch of your hands when the time hits 3:45 and there’s no sign of Peter.

He wouldn’t bail, especially not after saying that he’s getting ready. It wouldn’t make sense. 

Your auntie comes up to you and sweeps you off your feet with her hug. She’s always had a heart larger than life, with love to spare. She encases you in it with a pinch to your cheek. “Don’t forget to give Lila some treats, hm? Poor thing is about to jump onto the grill, she’s so hungry.���

You laugh. “I will, I will.”

4:30. 

Your mom comes up to you and wraps you in an embrace. Tears roll down your cheeks. “Shh, it’s okay,” she soothes you. You only sob harder. 

“I really thought he’d come,” you cry into her blouse, voice cracking. She runs a hand down your back, shushing you. You shake your head. Your chest tightens, and you gasp for breath. Did he just lie to make fun of you? You didn’t think Peter would do that, but…

“Listen to me, honey,” your mom says. You quieted immediately, reduced to small sniffles. “Let’s not jump to the worst-case scenario, alright? Maybe he got held up in traffic, or an emergency came up, and he hasn’t been able to text you. Shoot him a text and see if he responds sometime tonight. If not, we’ll see about contacting his Aunt May. Sound good?”

You nod miserably. “Yeah.” You didn’t feel like texting him and being right about him using you. A terrible, horrible part of you hopes something bad warranted him not coming. 

“Alright,” your mom says, pulling you away to look into your eyes. She smiles, then presses a kiss to your forehead. “Go send that text and spend some time with Lila. She’s missed you these past few days.”

“Okay. I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too, baby.”

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When Peter finally responds, you’re about to take a nap. Dozing peacefully with Lila beside you, you’re just about to fall into sleep when your phone dings! You jolt up, running an apologetic hand across Lila’s coat before opening up your messages.

I’m so sorry. I got mugged and had to get some stitches. I’m fine now, but is the party still going? I’m really sorry.

“Oh my God,” you breathe, gaping at your phone, wide-eyed. Your blood turns to ice. Your hands shake as you type, not used to the lightning-quick pace of your fingers. Panic dances at the edges of your mind.

ARE U OKAY OMG YOU DONT HAVE TO COME IF YOURE HURT I THOUGHT YOU DITCHED BUT THIS IS SO MUCH WORSE PETER!!!!!! ARE YOU OKAY FOR REAL

He responds immediately.

I’m fine now, yeah. And I really hope the party is still going because I’m outside your front door. 

“Oh, shit.” You shake off your blanket and bolt out of your room, bursting into the front hallway like a person possessed. You swing the front door open. Peter smiles at you, but it’s strained. You immediately notice the pallid color of his skin, frowning. 

“Come in, quick. God, you look like shit. W-well, you got mugged. Obviously. Do you want something to drink? Eat? Peter, are you sure you can be here?” 

Peter accepts the glass of water you pour him, but doesn’t drink. He looks around your house curiously, and you realize that it’s the first time he’s been here. “Peter…?”

His head jolts up. “Yeah?”

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

You don’t know what to do in this scenario. Is he super traumatized now? Should you be metaphorically walking on eggshells, or should you just act normally? 

Peter shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’m just more tired than I thought I would be.” He rubs the back of his neck. A nervous tick, you realize. He always does that when you ask about his Stark Internship, or sometimes just when you ask about his day. “Well. Did you want me to go out and meet your family still?”

You frown. “No way. They’re rowdy and overbearing. You were—well, you know—and whatever. I can deal with their teasing. How about we just watch some movies? I can go grab you a plate of food.”

“Oh. U-um, if that’s okay. I could eat a horse right now.”

You reach over and hug him lightly. He’s stiff, but wraps an arm around your back, anyway. You pull away after a moment with what you hope is a reassuring look. “It’s not a problem. I’ll be right back. Oh, do you want fries or tater tots? Or both?”

“Both, definitely.”

���On it!”

—

Peter devours the plate of food when you get back, his black-hole of a stomach on full display. It puts you at ease to see him, and despite the shitshow of a day you both have had (Peter significantly more so, unfortunately), spending time with him makes you almost forget about it all.

“So, what’s this party for, anyway?” Peter asks. He interrupts your favorite scene, but you forgive him when he sends you a sheepish smile, barbeque sauce dotting his lips. 

“It’s for my cousin’s birthday. Everyone got invited because it’s the first birthday after the five-year life expectancy she got.” At Peter’s confused look, you clarify, “She had cancer. It’s officially been one year since the doctors told her she would be dead. Kind of, uh, heavy, but it’s a good thing.”

“Oh, definitely! Wow, that’s—ugh!” Peter chokes, his arm holding his stomach. 

“Peter?! What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

He whines, the small amount of color he’d gained by eating gone in an instant. You get up and grab your phone. “You need to get to the hospital. Did something happen when you got mugged? Did you get stabbed? Shot?”

Peter winces guiltily. 

“You got shot?!” You whisper-scream. You didn’t know Peter was this much of an idiot! “Why are you not at the hospital? Oh, fuck, Peter. You’re bleeding. You’re bleeding because you got shot, and you’re going to die in my bedroom—”

He grits his teeth. “I’m fine,” he insists. “I just need to re-do the stitches. The bullet went right through with no fragments. It was a clean shot,” he laughs without humor. You stare at him silently. 

Peter’s eyes go soft. “Hey, I’m okay. I’ve been sh—” He cuts himself off, but you’re not an idiot. 

“‘Shot before’,” you finish, body numb. With every word he says, the urge to cry grows. “Peter, I’m getting my mom, and we’re driving you to the hospital.” He protests as you stand up, but you dutifully ignore the ignorant, self-destructive boy until he curses and snatches your wrist.

He pulls you back down on the bed with a grunt. Sucking in a breath, he turns to you, “Okay. This isn’t how I wanted to do this, but here goes.” Cupping your cheeks, he brings his face far too close to yours; you’re nose-to-nose with him. You think he’s going to kiss you, and you resolve to slap him after. But he doesn’t.

“I’m Spider-Man,” he says instead.

You can see the way he freaks out when you remain silent. Can feel the regret bubbling underneath his skin. It makes your skin crawl. You don’t know a lot of things, but you know that Peter Parker is your friend (maybe boyfriend) who just revealed his superhero alter-ego, and that fucking freaks you out.

But he got shot, and that’s far more important to you right now.

“What does that have to do with you getting shot?” Why should I not take you to the hospital?

“If they test my blood, they’ll know I’m Spider-Man. Then, who knows what’ll happen to you guys or Aunt May…” His voice is steady with resolve. “I can’t let anything happen to any of you. Besides, I heal fast. Like, abnormally, ‘I’m a superhero’ fast.”

You blink up at him through tears. “You better not be fucking lying, Parker,” you whisper. “Or I’ll sick MJ on you. You know she’ll bite.”

“Rabid dog MJ,” he sighs. “I know. No one else would adopt her.”

You laugh, but it sounds more like a sob. “She’ll kill you for that, Spidey-boy.”

Peter grimaces. “Yeah, no. Let’s not do nicknames right now. But, uh, you’re cool? With the whole Spider-Man thing? A-And, obviously, you can’t tell anyone. If you do…” 

You shake your head vehemently. “I won’t. I wouldn’t. Thanks for trusting me.” Your brow furrows. “Wait, is that the ‘Stark Internship’? Being Spider-Man?”

Peter blinks, then grins. “Yeah, actually. It keeps me a lot busier than typical intern work, that’s for sure. I’m almost certain my neighbors think I’m doing drugs, though. And May always knew I was sneaking out at night. It was a disaster.”

You hum in agreement. You’re sure it was. “But Stark knows you get hurt and still lets you go out? Aunt May, too?” You can’t fathom what they’re thinking, even with his super-healing. Getting shot isn’t the same as getting punched or kicked. 

“They couldn’t take Spider-Man away from me,” he says after a moment. “They just try to make it safer for me. But, y’know, things happen. Like getting shot.”

As safe as being a superhero can be, which isn’t very. “Your life is weird. I hope you know that, Pete.”

Peter snorts, watching you slide off the bed. “Well, duh. I live it.”

You grab your favorite blanket from your closet. It’s big, fluffy, blue, and Peter lets you wrangle him around in your bed until you’re both cuddled up beside each other, wrapped up like burritos in the blue cotton.

“Stay the night,” you demand. “I don’t want you going out again at all. And text May, too, so she’s not worried.” What you don’t say is, ‘I won’t be able to sleep if I can’t see you. I don’t want to wake up and find out that you’re hurt, or kidnapped, or dead. Please don’t leave me.’

Peter sees something in your eyes. The vulnerability, the longing, the protectiveness, the fear—you don’t know which, but it makes him frown. “I’ll be okay,” he says again. It’s a useless comfort. You don’t doubt it now, but he’ll get hurt repeatedly in the future. You don’t know if you can stomach it, but you want him to know he’ll always have a place to go to when he’s in need. 

“I really like you,” you breathe. Your words are quiet, but in the silence of your bedroom, they ring like a bomb going off. Your heart hammers in your chest, but your hands don’t shake when they go to cup his cheeks. You want him to know that you’re there. There’s no time for stuttering, for anxious ticks, just the here and now, the two of you together. “Would you like to be my boyfriend, Peter Parker?”

His yes tastes like cherries. 

“I’d like that,” Peter whispers against your lips. He’s shy now, under your gaze. Too much, your mind mutters. You ignore it. Waves of your emotions bedazzle themselves on your skin, engrave themselves in your touch, and you press them into Peter. It’s overwhelming, almost, but he settles against you so perfectly, pressing his feelings into you, that all your fears wash away, drowned out by the waves. He blushes pink and kisses you slowly, sweetly, and gently. It’s not unlike your first kiss, but somehow, it’s better.

It’s magical.

[kingstarkingslay]

Remus, taking Regulus to a Muggle café: "So, this is a ‘latte’—" Regulus, sipping it and immediately making a face: "This is bean water." Remus, laughing: "Yeah, pretty much." Regulus, grudgingly taking another sip: "...I hate that I like it."

[vaguely-concerned]

so for obvious reasons, rye is not generally all that popular with most of the senior watchers. however. I think there is a certain type of younger watcher to whom he is The ultimate hot badboy icon and fantasy. (we're talking about a group of extreme indoor kid goth nerds who've barely been outside. it doesn't take a lot ot achieve bad boy status in this context and the only thing in this world that lasts forever is a bad reputation in a small insular group like the watchers.) it's SO funny because rye thinks of himself as such a disappointing fuckup of a son of the grand necropolis. and meanwhile there are novices kicking their feet and giggling as they're like

'Ingellvar is so cool. no one knows where he's from he was found down here as a baby. mysterious orphan appeal. he could be a secret dalish prince or something for all we know. (*annoyed extra nerd watcher novice voice*: umm actually the dalish don't have princes, merrivar?? read a real book sometime maybe???) he's a rebel. he doesn't care what the senior watchers think no time for politics he just gets the job done. (*small sad rye voice* I care a lot what the senior watchers think actually. a pathetic amount, in fact. it just rarely seems like it helps anything at all) I heard he graduated almost top of his class even though he spent all his time as a student partying up in the city and having a torrid affair with the son of a noble family. sometimes in his spare time he wears a cool punk leather jacket but like the fantasy version of that. he has tattoos apparently but no one's seen them for years. yuh-uh it's true too, I know someone who knows someone he dated once. they say he saw a knife fight once. like, in a bar brawl, with living people. all that, and he's even sneakily emotionally unavailable. *starry-eyed sigh* what a dreamboat'.

needless to say this only grows worse with the events of the game, after he takes out the formless one and rumours start to spread that he maybe killed a god or something too???? and this being nevarra, more importantly he's out there killing dragons with his sworn companions?? like a fucking fairytale prince but with that devil-may-care rebellious streak???? he's the safely unavailable first crush at a distance of many a young watcher. now imagine the reaction when he shows up home for the first time in a year after the war of the banners accompanied by The one true bad boy fantasy to rule them all: literally the sad brooding crown prince of the crows of antiva in leather pants who has WINGS and a dark tortured side of his nature that he has to constantly battle against for the sake of those he loves.

(the perception vs. reality situation for both of these characterizations is. so unspeakably hilarious needless to say. consider how much of the above lucanis characterization is accurate to the person he actually is and then you've basically found the level of distortion lens being applied to rye as well. is most of it technically true? sure. 'technically' is having to do a whole world of heavy lifting there tho fhdfska)

what I'm really saying here is that there is a subsection of this group that's been ferociously writing rye/lucanis rpf from the moment they were seen trotting down into the necropolis depths together (other pairings within the lighthouse gang as a whole, caught in tantalizing glimpses as they visit the necropolis, of course having their own devotees), and when this fandom subgroup eventually discover they were right it's with all the insane glee of a sixteen year old fanfic writer on wattpad (is that still where the kids are these days. idk i'm getting old folks) finding out that their dark mafia prince AU is basically true. varric might be gone but the legacy of friendfiction lives on after him. the king of thedas rpf being the shoulders of titans that young watchers are standing on to write fevered WILDLY inaccurate depictions of the private life of two of the most low-key domestic quietly devoted and undramatic people on the continent, one of them being varric's own poor little meow meow slash mentee, is something that can actually be so personal. rye does not end up terribly famous in the end considering the shit he manages to get done in this game, and he thanks his lucky stars for it. but to a tight-knit community of mourn watch fic writers he is blorbo from my apocalypse. it's all I could have wished for him.

(funniest possible outcome of all this: myrna gets so fucking tired of trying to understand what the novices are being so tittery about that she asks rye 'watcher ingellvar with the realization that this is a long shot and the admission that vorgoth and I have exhausted all other avenues of investigation: do you possess secret insight about what an 'x reader' is. and also 'ship war'. your name seems to come up in this context a surprising amount'. 9000000 points of incoming psychic damage about to hit the fan.)

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

First Date: Chaggie

Chaggie Week of Firsts - Day 2

-On the hotel back patio-

Razzle: (dressed in an extra spiffy sequined suit with a little top hat and holding a sign saying "I just met you, and this is crazy. But I really like you, so date maybe?") Baaaap!

Dazzle: (also dressed to the nines in sequins with a flower wreath snapped around his neck and a silver platter of chocolates balancing on his head, his super long tongue trying to sneak up and steal a chocolate) Baaaaap!

Charlie: Okay, she'll be here any second now. I'm just going to ask Vaggie out on a date. Nothing too serious. Just... if she says no, then I've basically outed myself and told her I like her. Like like-like her. Then I have to deal with her possibly wanting to leave because she doesn't like girls and is uncomfortable to even be around me!

Razzle: (looking sad) Baaap?

Dazzle: (eyes catch something in the yard, and he excitedly elbows Razzle) Baap! Baap!

Razzle: Baap? (Sees where Dazzle is pointing and grins) Baap!!!

Charlie: (taking a deep breath and not noticing Razzla and Dazzle tiptoe away) Okay, okay, okay, holy shit... I can do this. I'm the Princess of Hell! I can do whatever I want! (Deflates a little) OooOooOOoh!!! Who am I kidding? I'm a wreck! (Sighs) At least I have you guys with me.

-Silence-

Charlie: (face falls) Razzle? Dazzle?

SPLISH!!! SPLASH!!! SQUISH!!!

Charlie: (turns around in horror as she sees the sign, flowers, and chocolate platter scattered across the patio) BOYS!!!!

Razzle & Dazzle: (splashing and rolling around in a mud puddle) Baaap! BaaAAaap!!!

Vaggie: (slightly nervous as she steps onto the patio) Hey, Charlie. You wanted to talk to me?

Charlie: Vaggie?! H-Hi!!! Uh, just a sec! (Turns to the demon goats as her horns grow) Razzle! Dazzle! Get out of the mud right now!!! I swear to my dad, that had better just be mud!!!!

Vaggie: Pfft! (Tries to hide her laugh as she looks at the mess on the patio. Her eye catches the sign and she blushes) Uh, Charlie?

Charlie: (horns disappear as she turns back sheepishly) Yes, Vaggie?!

Vaggie: (smiles warmly) Do you need help reining the boys in? Maybe some assistance getting them a bath?

Charlie: (glances out of the corner of her eye)

Razzle: (blows bubbles in the mud pit through his nose)

Dazzle: (rolling somersaults with bleats of joy)

Charlie: (defeated) Yes, please....

Vaggie: (gives Charlie a quick peck on the cheek) It's a date. (Turns to Razzle and Dazzle and squares her shoulders) Alright, you two tin can connisours! Get out of the mud before I have to dive in after ya! Don't think I won't!

Razzle & Dazzle: (stop what they're doing briefly, exchange glances, and blow raspberries)

Vaggie: Oh! That is it! (Launches herself off the patio)

Charlie: (hearts in her eyes as she touches the spot on her cheek that Vaggie kissed)

[samazing0831]

The Only One I Want - Bucky Barnes x Reader

1.2k words

You thought helping Bucky navigate the world of dating apps would be a fun way to spend the evening - until it turned into slow, aching torture. Watching the man you love swipe through profiles of people who aren't you? That was bad enough. But when teasing turns to tension and quiet confessions finally bubble to the surface, you realize Bucky may not be as clueless - or as unavailable - as you thought. A heart-on-the-sleeves friends-to-lovers moment filled with longing, vulnerability, and one hell of a first kiss.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Fluff, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers

Bucky Barnes was sitting on your couch like the whole world rested in the palm of his hand. Or rather - your phone did. Same difference. His vibranium fingers hovered over the screen like it might explode, brows furrowed in deep, surgical concentration.

"Alright," he muttered, squinting. "So... I just swipe right if I like 'em? Left if I don't?"

You nodded from your spot beside him, doing everything in your power not to let your feelings twist this moment into something more painful than it already was. You weren't sure how this had become your evening - watching the guy you liked, really liked, comb through dating profiles like he was flipping through a menu - but here you were.

He tapped on a profile, reading aloud. "'Live, Laugh, Love, and if you don't have a boat, don't even bother.'"

His face twisted in confusion. "What - why is a boat a requirement?" He swiped aggressively, muttering something about people being ridiculous.

Another swipe. "'Fluent in sarcasm, tequila, and bad decisions.'" Bucky let out a half-laugh, glancing sideways at you. "Yeah, that's a no. Do people actually think that's a selling point? Bad decisions?"

His smirk was playful, but you saw the hesitation behind it. The self-doubt he tried so hard to keep buired.

Swipe.

"'Looking for someone who can match my energy.'" He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Doll, if they had my energy, they'd have a metal arm and ninety years' worth of trauma. I don't think that's what she means."

Your lips twitched despite yourself, trying to hold back the laugh bubbling in your chest. Watching him struggle with this app was equal parts hilarious and devastating. Hilarious because he clearly hated it. Devastating because every swipe reminded you he was searching for someone - and it wasn't you.

He glanced at you again. "Am I being too picky?"

His eyes held yours, like he actually cared what you thought. Like your opinion mattered more than anyone else's.

You shifted on the couch, trying to focus your brain and not your heartbeat. "Well," you said gently, "dating apps are hard. A lot of people are just looking for quick hookups, or... something temporary. I've never had much luck with them."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?" He tilted his head, curiosity lighting up his features. "Didn't take you for the dating app type."

"There's no judgment in his voice," you told yourself. But something about the way he said it makes your heart flip.

"No luck, huh?" he went on, leaning back with a teasing grin. "Guess that means no charming cowboy pictures or picture-perfect guys have swept you off your feet yet?"

You smiled awkwardly, shaking your head. "Not even close."

He sighed, staring back at the phone. "Y'know, maybe this whole thing's a waste of time. Feels like everyone on here wants easy. And easy's never really been my thing."

You looked at him, his profile lit by the dim glow of your lamp. "What about you?" he asked, turning back to you. "What is it you're lookin' for?"

Your throat tightened. "Well... I guess someone old-fashioned. Someone who isn't afraid to show me they want me. Someone vulnerable, someone with a soft side. The kind of guy who'd sweep me off my feet and treat me like I'm the only girl in the world."

Bucky went still. Not the combat-ready kind of still - this was something quieter. Thoughtful. His hand gripped your phone a little tighter, but his eyes never left your face.

"That's... a rare thing to find these days," he said softly.

His knee brushed yours, but he didn't pull away. If anything, he leaned in slightly, something flickering behind those steel-blue eyes.

"Someone old-fashioned, huh?" he said. "The kind of guy who pulls out chairs and gives up his jacket when you're cold?"

There was a half-smile on his face, but his eyes stayed serious. "You ever think maybe you've been lookin' in the wrong places?"

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist in a way you couldn't ignore anymore. The tension between you wasn't subtle. Not anymore.

You let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah, tell me about it... Sometimes it feels like guys don't even notice me. Like they wouldn't give me a second glance, or even tell me the time of day."

His smile dropped.

He sat forward slightly, setting the phone aside like it didn't matter anymore. His hand ran through his hair, and when he looked back at you, something in his expression had shifted.

"You really think that?" he asked, voice low. Quiet but intense.

"Doll... if some guy isn't givin' you the time of day, it's 'cause he's blind. Or stupid. Or both."

You blinked.

"Hell," he continued, "maybe he's just scared. Maybe he's been sittin' next to you this whole time, tryin' to work up the guts to tell you that he'd give you more than just the time of day - he'd give you whatever you wanted. If you'd just look at him the way he looks at you."

The world stilled.

Bucky Barnes just admitted it - admitted something that sounded an awful lot like he wanted you.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering.

"How do you know I'm not looking at him the same way?" you asked quietly.

His eyes widened just slightly. The smallest flicker of disbelief crossed his face as he processed what you said.

"Am I just too damn stubborn to notice?" he whispered, voice hoarse.

He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair again. "You're tellin' me I've been makin' a fool of myself with these stupid dating apps, when the person I shoulda been payin' attention to was right next to me?"

You didn't speak, you didn't have to.

He looked at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered. "Tell me if I'm wrong, doll. If I'm readin' this all wrong, say the word, and I'll shut up right know."

You reached out, fingers wrapping around his. Steady. Certain.

"Bucky," you said, voice barely above a whisper, "I've been single since I met you. Don't you think that's a sign of something?"

He sucked in a breath like you'd knocked the air right out of his lungs.

"You mean... all this time-?"

You nodded, inching a little closer.

"You really mean that?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly under the weight of it all. "Because, doll, if there's even a chance you feel the way I do -"

You didn't let him finish.

You reached for his hand - his warm, human one - and squeezed it tight.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," you whispered, leaning in closer, heart pounding.

His expression softened in an instant, the vulnerability in his eyes making your chest ache. "You got nothin' to be sorry for, doll," he murmured.

He laced his fingers with yours, lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "If anything, I should be apologizin'. For wastin' time swiping' left and right, when the only person I wanted was right here."

He reached up, his hand gentle against his cheek, lingering there as he looked into your eyes.

"So..." he said, voice low, "what happens now?"

You didn't answer with words.

You leaned forward, closing the distance, and pressed your lips to his.

And kissing Bucky Barnes? It was like breathing - like something you were always meant to do.

[warydoom]

🌈🎨 COLLAB FIC DROP: What if flirting was just bad communication and yearning? 🎨🌈 A.k.a. “What draws me to you”, aka soft trans boy, found family, posh art shops, and James Potter being a dumbass in love.

🚨 THIS IS NOT A DRILL 🚨 My soulmate of chaos @viki23spots and I have unleashed our shared brainchild onto AO3 and it’s full of feelings, flirting fails, found family threats, and the kind of romantic tension that makes you want to scream into your sleeve at 3am.

📖 Title: What draws me to you ✍️ Authors: Mia_Da_Cat & viki23spots 📍 WIP | 3 Chapters | 7.4k words 🔗 AO3: What Draws Me To You (Restricted, sorry guests!)

What’s it about, you ask? James Potter is tired. He’s creatively blocked. He has a half-dead writing assignment staring at him like a curse. His band’s on a time crunch. His best friend Sirius sent him on a paint errand. Life is a lot.

Enter: the fanciest, poshest art shop in town.

Enter: the cashier who might actually be a religious experience.

Regulus is quiet, precise, impossibly pretty, and has the kind of “I will destroy you with a single eyebrow raise” energy that sends James into full cardiac confusion.

James: “Uhhhh. Do you… have paint??” Regulus: “Do you have a brain cell?” James: “No. But can I have your Instagram. If you let me.”

Reader, he gets it. Somehow.

This fic contains: • One (1) Trans Regulus Black with standards so high the air is thin • James Potter panicking because the hot cashier looks a bit too much like his best mate and he might be in love • Soft but firm boundary-setting (yes, we are about communication here) • An entire found family of shop owners ready to murder James Potter gently if he hurts their boy • McGonagall giving romantic advice like the true academic battleaxe she is • A very serious rule: James must arrive at 5:45PM for the date. Not early. Not late. 5:45. Or he dies. • 24 unhinged texts in 5 minutes. One real apology. Actual consequences. • James being a disaster bisexual golden retriever of a manchild and Regulus going: “I like him. Dear God, why do I like him?”

💌 Coming in Chapter 4: A first date under soft gallery lights. A Van Gogh exhibition titled Poets & Lovers. And James trying very, very hard not to say something that makes Regulus leave him in the gift shop forever.

📎 Why should you read it? Because it’s gentle. Because it’s messy. Because it’s queer and real and warm and sharp all at once. Because Regulus deserves softness and safety and a boy who will actually listen. Because James is trying his absolute best. And because this fic will hold your hand and gently scream with you about how hard it is to be seen.

[coffeecatcraze]

So I've seen some comments about how once Charlie and Vaggie patch up their relationship, Vaggie will have to deal with "fell from heaven" and other angel-related pickup lines from Charlie, but honestly that might be giving Charlie too much credit. I love her, but I'm not sure she could manage to get through pickup lines like that, even with her own girlfriend she's been with for years. She's precious and sweet and loving, but I do not have full faith in her ability to flirt coherently, especially if she's actively trying to do it.

But you know what I'd love to see? Angel teasingly throwing those lines at Vaggie. Not with any kind of flirty intent (obviously, he's gay and she's a lesbian in a very committed relationship), but as his way of casually showing her he still cares about her even knowing the truth about her past. Accompanied by Vaggie pretending to be pissed, but actually knowing what he's trying to say and appreciating it. Him tossing angel-related pickup lines at her every few days and her insincerely telling him to shut the fuck up would be so good, and a great way for his care and support to show through within the bounds of their existing dynamic.

[wayfinder-family-lover]

Your sky bl boys distinguished, functional, disaster chart based on my hc

Some more thoughts:

Yeah I believe in my heart that fahrak are greyaroace4greyaroace (also rak is pan and fah bi), both are sex and romance favorable. Therefor they have no idea that their relationship toward love and sex are actually not like everyone bc they are just THAT attracted toward each other and they have no negative feelings over it. For me they only experience it for few people and mostly each other, actually I think while Fah had experience romantic attraction toward his ex, he didn't sexual one (also I'm aroace so I love seeing more aroacespect relationship even if this one is basically an allo one)

I put Teerak in functional bc I feel overall he is pretty functional, sure he can overthink making him have few disaster moments but I think he did try to do his best and it's not as much as Fah lmao. For me Rak is in between functional and disaster but a little bit more in functional

Actually for me Real is demi gay, but I thought it would be fun to have everyone in their own case so I choose to put him in gay

Honestly I would have put Hia in functional too, but few last episodes make me realize he is disaster lol

I actually think Lee is pan but I forget to change the section in bi/pan and then got lazy

Leeghlai are the superior queers and you can't change my mind, Fah, Real and Hia are actually lost without Lee

[disasterbuck]

Hi!!! Ooooh There is so much to choose 🤪🥰💕❓️💻💖🤝🤖🌎🥵

omg just go ahead and make me write everything lol (affectionate) I couldn't keep myself to strictly 3 sentences for all of these, so they vary a bit 🥰

🤪 - clumsy

first time in MONTHS I've written anything for this wip 🥰

This lasted for approximately five minutes before the bell went off and he found himself piling into the truck next to Eddie. He'd tried to slip into another seat, but Chimney had gotten there first and shot him a curious glance. After that, Buck had resigned himself to his fate and sat down beside the love and torturer of his life.

🥰 - confession / surprise date

this one ran away with me a little, how exciting!!

Eddie's lips parted in surprise as Buck began ladling the stew into their bowls. Buck was nervous, accidentally moving a bit too quick and splashing some sauce out of the bowl onto Eddie's shirt.

"Shit! Sorry," he said, moving the dish back to the island bench and taking a step to go and fetch a wash cloth.

Before he could get far, Eddie grabbed his arm and gently reeled him in until he was standing right beside Eddie's chair, looking down at him.

"Relax," Eddie said softly.

"I just want it to be perfect," Buck said. "But now I've already gotten food on you and we haven't even eaten anything yet and–"

Pushing his chair back to stand up, Eddie silenced him with a kiss.

💕 - first kiss

Eddie wasn't sure what to say to that. The truth was he was scared, but he knew he needed to face this no matter what. If Buck had picked up on enough to think they were dancing around each other, that had to mean something.

❓ - is this a date?

It turned out that there was only one table left, which Buck accepted eagerly.

"Alright, up you get," Buck said once the booking was finalised and he'd hung up the phone. "There was only one slot left and it's for 6:45, so we've gotta hustle."

Eddie let out an exaggerated groan as he got to his feet.

💻 - eddie's online friend

this is a goldmine that I completely forgot about lol. I might have to share more snippets at some point.

Stranded: so?

Stranded: are you gonna ask him if he's into men?

GI: stop asking me that

💖 - sorry but I fell in love tonight

Buck watched in delight as the fear drained out of Eddie's face, replaced with wonder.

that's all I've got in me for this one atm

🤝 - touches

The next escalation comes one evening as they're curled up on Eddie's couch together. Eddie sits between Buck's legs, his back to Buck's chest, when Buck takes a risk and slides his hands up the man's thighs. Eddie hums, happy, and tips his head back.

After that, they kiss whenever they can.

🤖 - who's got a crush

a few extra lines for this one as well 🥰

Had Buck really just said what he thought he'd said? No, he couldn't have. Eddie must have misheard.

"Sorry, what?" he asked, giving his head a slight shake.

"Oh my god, Dad!" Chris exclaimed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "He wants to have your babies!"

"Christopher!" Buck wheezed.

🌎 - alternate universe

How could he be right about when Christopher was coming back, but wrong about so many other things? Why didn't he have any memory whatsoever of getting married to Eddie? It couldn't be amnesia, because he had too many other memories all packed into his brain.

🥵 - that's hot

A moment later he heard footsteps and turned to see Bobby and Eddie walking towards him. Bobby looked extremely proud, and Eddie looked…

"Marry me," Eddie said, eyes fixed on Buck's face.

Make Me Write ✨

taglist:

(I hope it's okay that I'm adding you all here! Just thought you might like to read some snippets, and figured this was a good post for it since there's such a variety. If you're interested in even MORE, go to my blog and search 'make me write'. I've tagged all of these asks with that tag.)

@dluoser @taketheplanspinitsideways @loudenthusiastic @wallywise @mxrcjqckspnchqsc

@i-am-married-to-my-fandom @therosesaredying @stillfuckingtired @classtrialguru @speggle

@awesome-igi @natnuszsstuff @olliesrants @crazyfangirlallert @delirium1995

@brah3280 @meanceclosetohell @anythingeverythingallofthetime @izzysbeans @sunflower-eddiediaz

@darkrose6578 @veronae-buddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @loveyouanyway @inell

@spicyrottingbrains @gnoeltop @idealuk @donationwayne @lemotmo

@smilingbuckley @realpersonwithrealfeelings @superlock-in-the-tardis @mjthe14thdoctor @strxwbereee

@idontknowwhatimdoing777 @ashleigh2658 @mari-lwyd-fannibal-blog @mineyneedsmoney @faithhopeandmisery

@spotsandsocks @unlifeira @tofanasmuse @pirrusstuff @buddiedaydreamer911

@littlevampireprincessuniverse @misshiss727 @i-put-the-star-in-bastard @hermioneindisguise @dangerpronebuddie

Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed 💕

[wildlife4life]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @exhuastedpigeon, @fortheloveofbuddie, @disasterbuckdiaz, @forthewolves and @giddyupbuck You are so wonderful and I'm so excited for what it is to come ya'll!

Not much else to say, NFL Buck. Here is a bit more from Buck and Eddie's first date.

“He’s a good kid. Don’t break his heart.” The older man warned, who Eddie later learned was Red, the owner of the restaurant and a retired fireman. Evan had changed out of his jersey and sweats, into nice khakis and a soft pink sweater that made his birthmark stand out even more. Eddie clenched his fist tight, fighting down the urge to reach out and press his thumb to the pink splotch, cupping the younger man’s face in his hand. He gets a few more steps closer to the table before Evan notices him and his entire demeanor lights up.  Once again Eddie feels his heart skip a beat the moment the guy smiles and he immediately panics. And in his panic, he blurts out… that. Evan startles back a bit, eyes going wide, completely taken by surprise and then he begins to laugh. A full body laugh that makes every nerve ending in Eddie’s body fizzle with fervor. Whoa.  He had only felt this kind of warmth with his son, and he wanted to chase it right back to the source. So, he does.

Eddie is a gay disaster who hasn't realized he's a gay disaster and it was so fun to write. Hope you all enjoyed! If you want to see more NFL Buck just go here.

Tagging (no pressure): @ladydorian05 @devirnis @eddiebabygirldiaz @thewolvesof1998 @wikiangela @loserdiaz @thekristen999 @lizzybizzyzzz @hippolotamus @try-set-me-on-fire @jeeyuns @spotsandsocks @spaceprincessem @shortsighted-owl @monsterrae1 @lover-of-mine @watchyourbuck @theotherluciferr @rogerzsteven @eowon @911onabc @911-on-abc @cowboydiazes @cowboy-buddie @cowboy-buck @brokenribsdiaz @buck-coded @bvckandeddie @housewifebuck @transbuck @elvensorceress @glorious-spoon @bigfootsmom @eddiediaztho @buddierights @athenagranted @rainbow-nerdss

[dilfsisko]

The fact that Sister Monica Joan is canonically a Doctor Who fan is EVERYTHING to me

[darkestwings]

911 ABC IF YOU DEPRIVE ME OF MY CHANCE TO WATCH BUCK & TOMMY ON A WEDDING DATE I WILL BITE U I S2G

[librarisxng]

did not expect Haknyeon to be kicked out of The Boyz.

[hope-ur-ok]

Hi! Part of my work involves researching ownership and operations of old mines - I might be able to help with the mine research you’re doing! What’s the full name and any aliases of the mine? Location (state, county, nearby towns)? Years of operations? Full names of companies that owned and/or operated the mine and the time period each company was associated with the mine?

You’re right that a lot of the old operational info isn’t digitized and publicly available online but a lot of areas have historical societies that will scan and email you documents for free. Sometimes it’s just about finding the right place/person to ask.

Hi!! First thank you so much for offering, I would take any help people can give me, I know it's just a personal project and not really important but even though I don't know what I'm gonna do with all the research when it's done it's still important to me, you know.

Anyway, I've tried to find everything I can, which is unfortunately not much, especially for Jamison No.7. Both mines were in Barrackville, WV, Marion County. Jamison No.7 was owned by Jamison Coal and Coke Company - if it was never sold it would have ended up under Consolidation Coal Company with the other Jamison Mines but it would have been closed before 1950 and the Jamison Mines changed hands in 1954 so I'm not sure how helpful that info is. (Honesty the Jamison coal and coke had 3 major disasters in their numbered mines before joining consul and another after so finding info about just one mine is muddy.) It starts appearing in the mine reports in 1910 so I assume that it opened in either 1909 or 1910, and it disappears from the report in 1921 so that would have to be when it was either closed or sold to Bethlehem, but I have been unable to find any specific dates. Bethlehem No.41 is still owned by Bethlehem Steel Corp (or Bethlehem Mining Corp - I've seen both listed) and it for sure closed on 2/15/1983. It starts appearing in the mine reports starting in 1921 as well but again I can't find a date for either it's opening or acquisition. You might see No.41 listed as just No.41 or as Barrackville No.41.