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[nino-rox]

PETER PARKER | BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS | M | GENDER NEUTRAL READER

Warnings: Sexual Themes, Mature/Explicit, Gender Neutral Reader, Tom Holland As Spider-Man, Not Proof Read

DISCLAIMER: Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post.

(Author’s Note: Requested by Anonymous user. My first time writing headcanons, I’ve barely even read any so I’m sorry if it’s not great ! Please request for more ! )

~What dating Parker feels like on a day to day basis

THE SKYLIGHT CATASTROPHE

One night, there’s a thud loud enough to rattle the walls, followed by an ominous silence. You know exactly what’s happened even before Peter pokes his head through the window, windswept and grinning sheepishly.“So, uh… surprise! You have a new skylight!”

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “You broke my roof again?”“Okay, technically, it was already fragile. I just… sped up the process.”

The next morning, you find him on the roof, duct tape and webs in hand, muttering to himself like he’s crafting a masterpiece.“Peter, you’re going to fall.”He waves you off without even looking up. “Relax! You’re being ridiculous. I’m Spider-Man—I won’t fall. Skylights are all the rage anyway. Just think of it as me upgrading your house for free!”

Right as he says it, his foot slips, and he stumbles forward, barely catching himself with a web against the gutter.“SEE? I caught myself!” he says triumphantly, cheeks flushed as he steadies himself.

You stare at him, appalled. “Peter, I’m not worried about you, you blithering idiot. I’m worried about my house! Fall on the road and break your head if you want, but I swear to god, if you break my house again—”

“Noted. No more house-breaking. Promise. Bob the Builder’s retired anyway,” he grins.

WEBBED LAUNDRY

You pull a ruined hoodie out of the wash—bright red, stretched beyond recognition, and sticky with web fluid. Marching into the living room, you hold it up like evidence.“Peter! Why is my hoodie fused with web glue?”

Peter looks up from the couch, cereal bowl in hand, his eyes widening. “Ohhh… yeah, about that…”

You glare, waiting.

“I, uh, might’ve had to yank my suit off super quickly after patrol last night—it was covered in webs—and I didn’t realize it stuck to your hoodie in the laundry pile.”

You narrow your eyes. “You didn’t realize?”

Peter sets the bowl down, flashing a nervous grin. “Look, web fluid is mostly water-soluble! If we wait a day, it’ll dissolve!”

You groan, holding up the ruined fabric. “It better dissolve. Or you’re buying me a new hoodie.”

Peter slides an arm around your waist, grinning. “Or… we could share this one? Exclusive Spider-Merch for my favorite person.”

THE GREAT SPIDER-MAN’S HANDYMAN FAILS

You and Peter finally move in together, which should have been exciting—except unpacking with Spider-Man is a nightmare.“Peter, where’s the box with the kitchen stuff?” you ask, arms crossed.

Peter scratches the back of his head, sheepishly pointing to a corner. “Uh… it’s webbed to the ceiling. I thought it’d save space?”

You sigh. “Okay, fine. But why is there a Spider-Tracer in the toaster?”

He grins nervously. “Security measure?”

Later, you catch him trying to web a shelf together instead of using screws.“PETER!”“What? This is structurally sound!”

THE HOODIE INCIDENT

Peter freezes when he sees you curled up in his hoodie, sleeves hanging past your hands.“You stole it again?”“Finders keepers.”

He steps closer, voice low and teasing. “Looks better on you anyway.”

Before you can respond, he tackles you onto the couch, hovering over you with a grin.“You’re not keeping it.”“Make me.”

MORNING HEATWAVE SNUGGLES

You wake up tangled in Peter’s limbs, his face buried in the crook of your neck. It’s cozy—until you realize he’s a human heater.“Peter. Let me go. I have stuff to do.”

“Five more minutes,” he murmurs, pulling you closer with ridiculous Spider-strength. “Spider-Boyfriend privilege.”

“You smell like sweat and bad decisions.”

Peter chuckles, his breath warm against your skin. “Want me to make another bad decision?” His lips brush your jaw as his voice drops, teasing. “I can make you sweaty too.”

Heat flares in your cheeks, but you manage to mutter, “You’re impossible.”

His smirk is pure trouble as he rolls you onto your back. “And you love it.”

SWINGING FOR BEGINNERS

The first time Peter suggests swinging with you, you laugh nervously. “No way. I like my life.”“It’s safe! You’ll love it—I promise.”

The moment he scoops you into his arms and leaps off the edge, you scream loud enough to wake half of Queens.“PETER, I SWEAR—”

“You’re fine!” he calls out, laughing as the wind whips past. “Just enjoy the ride!”

You bury your face in his shoulder, heart pounding. “I’m never letting go. Ever.”

Peter grins, holding you tighter. “Good. I wasn’t planning to let you go anyway.”

ROOFTOP MIDNIGHT ESCAPES

Peter swings into your room after patrol, his suit half-off, hair wild from the wind. “C’mon. Let’s go somewhere.”

Before you can finish protesting, he sweeps you into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.“Peter!” you yelp, clutching his shoulders as he shoots a web and leaps into the night.“Trust me, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his grin softening.

The wind whips past, adrenaline rushing through your veins as he swings effortlessly between buildings. When you finally land on a rooftop, he pulls you close, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re not scared, are you?”“Not anymore,” you whisper, and his smirk grows as his lips meet yours, slow and steady, grounding you after the thrill.

POST SWING MOMENTS

After a particularly daring swing where Peter narrowly dodges a billboard, he sets you down on a rooftop, his arms still firmly wrapped around your waist.“Are you okay?” he murmurs, his voice low as his thumb brushes your cheek.“I’m fine, Peter. You can let go now.”

He doesn’t. His grip tightens, and his voice drops to a husky whisper. “You have no idea how hard it is to let you go.”

Your breath catches as his lips brush yours softly at first, then with increasing intensity. His hands slide to your lower back, pulling you closer until the world disappears around you.

“SHH, I’LL MAKE IT WORTH IT.”

Peter returns from patrol late at night, finding you half-asleep on the couch. He crouches down, brushing a kiss to your temple.“You awake?” he whispers.

You mumble something incoherent, only stirring when his lips brush yours again, this time slower, more deliberate.“Shh,” he murmurs, pinning your wrists gently above your head. His grin turns playful as he leans closer. “I’ll make it worth keeping you awake.”

Your heart races as his kisses deepen, trailing down the side of your neck. “You’re impossible,” you manage to say, though the way your breath hitches betrays you.

“And you love it,” he murmurs, his lips pressing firmly against your pulse, his smirk growing when you shiver under his touch.

SHOWER?

Peter comes home sweaty and grimy after patrol, and you shove him toward the shower. Minutes later, his head pokes out, water dripping over his shoulders as he leans lazily against the doorway.“You know… showers are more efficient with two people,” he says, his grin pure trouble.

You roll your eyes, turning back to your book. “Peter, no.”

He steps closer, letting water drip from his still-damp hair onto your shoulder as he leans down to whisper in your ear, his voice low. “You sure? I could scrub your back… or hold you against the tiles.”

Your cheeks burn, and you push him away half-heartedly, glaring. “Peter—”

He catches your wrist, pulling you to stand, his eyes locked on yours. “What?” he murmurs, tilting his head, his smirk teasing but his touch firm. “You’d look cute all wet.”

“Stop!” you squeak, swatting his chest, but he’s already laughing, pressing a kiss to your temple before finally retreating back to the bathroom.“I’ll leave the door unlocked, just in case,” he teases before disappearing behind the steam.

DATE

Peter had promised to meet you at the café after your shift. You’d been looking forward to it all day—just a simple hour with him, no superheroes, no chaos. But an emergency call from Ned about some escaped tech left you waiting alone, watching the minutes tick by.

When Peter finally arrived, his hair disheveled and guilt written all over his face, you didn’t even need to ask.“I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, his voice tinged with desperation. “There was this thing—Ned needed help—and I couldn’t just leave it—”

“It’s fine,” you said sharply, though your tone betrayed your disappointment. “I get it. You have other responsibilities.”

His shoulders slumped. “No, it’s not fine,” he muttered. “I messed up. And I know it’s not the first time.”

You sighed, softening as you saw the guilt etched across his face. “Peter…”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, almost pleading. “Just… give me a chance.”

Later that night, he showed up at your window with a bouquet of daisies that looked like they’d survived a tornado and a homemade playlist.“I know it’s not much,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “But these reminded me of you—bright and sweet. And I put all your favorite songs on here, so… I hope it makes up for me being a total idiot.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you took the flowers, pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered.

“Lucky you think I’m cute,” he teased, kissing your temple. “I’ll do better next time. Promise.”

TRIVIA NIGHT

Ned had invited you both to trivia night, but no one warned you how competitive Peter could get. It started innocently enough, with Peter rattling off science and history facts like a human encyclopedia. But when the questions shifted to pop culture, his confidence started to falter.

“You’ve never seen Mean Girls?” you asked, incredulous.“Uh, no?” he replied, looking genuinely confused.MJ rolled her eyes. “Peter, how do you even function as a person?”“I fight bad guys!” he defended, flustered. “I don’t have time for… whatever this is!”

As the final round approached, you noticed the way Peter’s brows furrowed, his shoulders tensing like he was about to swing into battle. Leaning over, you cupped his face gently, forcing him to meet your gaze.“Peter,” you said, your voice teasing but warm, “you’re cute when you’re losing.”

His jaw dropped, and before he could protest, you kissed him in front of everyone.

Ned let out a dramatic gasp. “In public? With witnesses?!”MJ snorted. “That’s disgusting. I’m rooting for you two.”

When you pulled back, Peter’s face was a brilliant shade of red, but the grin he gave you was dazzling.“I don’t even care if I lose now,” he whispered, leaning in for another kiss. “This is so worth it.”

HANDMADE

Peter had been acting strange all week—fidgety, distracted, and overly secretive. You were starting to wonder if something was wrong when he showed up at your door with a small, carefully wrapped box and a sheepish grin.

“What’s this?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as he practically shoved it into your hands.“Just… open it,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Inside was a sleek black flashlight, surprisingly lightweight, with a small engraved spider emblem on the side. You turned it over in your hands, curious.

“It’s not just a flashlight,” Peter said quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “I, uh, noticed you sometimes leave the light on at night, and I thought… maybe this would help.”

Your chest tightened. He’d picked up on your fear of the dark without you ever telling him outright.

“It’s also kind of… Spider-Man-approved,” he added, gesturing nervously. “There’s a tracker inside, so I’ll always know where you are. And if you press the button three times really fast, it sends an SOS directly to me.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of it all. “Peter…”“I just want you to feel safe,” he said softly, his brown eyes earnest. “Even when I’m not around. You’re my world, and I want you to have something to remind you that I’m always here for you.”

Your throat felt tight as you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. “I don’t even know what to say,” you murmured against his shoulder.

“‘Thank you’ works,” he joked, though his voice was thick with emotion.

Pulling back, you met his gaze and smiled. “Thank you, Peter. I love it. And I love you.”

His face lit up, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding you close. “I love you too. Always.”

SPILLING

Peter had always admired how hard you worked. While he juggled Spider-Man and school, you balanced late-night shifts, studying at your rundown public school, and still somehow found time to make him feel like the center of your world. But admiration wasn’t the only thing he felt—sometimes, he felt inadequate.

On the other hand, you often wondered how you ended up with someone like Peter Parker. He was a literal superhero, acing advanced physics while you struggled with Algebra II. You worked part-time jobs just to help keep the lights on at home, and there were days when you felt like you’d drown under the weight of it all.

That tension finally bubbled over one evening. Peter swung by your place unannounced, but his usual warmth was absent. He dropped onto your couch with a sigh, his shoulders slumping.

“You okay?” you asked, sitting beside him.

He shook his head, staring at his hands. “How do you do it?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Do what?”

“Everything,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “You don’t have superpowers, or Stark tech, or a fancy school helping you out. And you’re still… incredible. You’re better at life than I am, and I’ve got every advantage.”

The words stung—not because of what he said, but because they mirrored your own insecurities.

“What are you trying to say?” you asked, your voice cracking as you braced yourself for what felt inevitable.

Peter hesitated, his jaw working as he tried to find the right words. “You deserve someone who can keep up with you. And I’m not sure I’m enough.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could stop them, tears began streaming down your cheeks. “Wait, are you saying this is over?”

“What? No!” Peter sat up straight, his hands shooting out to reach for yours. “That’s not what I meant! I’m talking about me, not you! I’m the one who’s not enough!”

“You are enough!” The words burst out of you, but the crack in your voice betrayed how deeply his statement had shaken you. “I’m the one who’s not enough, Peter. Look at you! You’re saving lives while I’m just trying to keep the lights on at home.”

Peter’s brows furrowed, guilt flooding his features. “What? No—no, don’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” you whispered, pulling your hands free and wrapping your arms around yourself. “I can barely make it through my shifts without wondering if I’m going to mess something up. And then I see you—perfect Peter Parker, superhero and genius—and I just… I feel so small.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you. Then Peter moved closer, carefully placing his hands on your shoulders. “You’re not small,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping your eyes. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Peter insisted, gently tilting your chin up so you’d look at him. “You don’t have powers, but you work harder than anyone I’ve ever met. You care about people. You care about me. And I…” He trailed off, his voice breaking. “I don’t always feel like I deserve that.”

Your breath caught at the raw vulnerability in his words. “You don’t have to be perfect, Peter. You don’t have to save me, or prove anything. I just want you.”

He stared at you, his eyes glistening. “I want you too,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m sorry I made you think otherwise. I just… I don’t always know how to keep up with someone like you.”

“We’re both trying to keep up,” you said quietly, leaning forward until your foreheads touched. “And that’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.”

Peter nodded, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you into his chest. “Yeah,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Together.”

The two of you sat like that for a long time, the weight of your shared insecurities fading, replaced by something stronger—a quiet, unshakable love.

SERIOUS

Peter comes home late—bruised, bleeding, and far too casual about it. You snap.“Do you like scaring me to death?”“It’s just a scratch!” he argues, dropping his mask on the couch.“Peter, you’re not invincible. What happens if one day you don’t come back?”

He pauses, guilt flickering across his face. “I can’t stop being Spider-Man.”“And I can’t stop worrying about you,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

He looks away, fiddling with his web-shooter. “I don’t want to scare you. I’m sorry.”

MAYBE NOT SO SERIOUS?

Later that night, Peter finds you sitting on the fire escape, staring out at the skyline. He hesitates before sitting beside you.“I hate fighting with you,” he says quietly. “You’re the only person who makes all of this feel worth it.”

You exhale slowly, leaning into him. “Then don’t make me feel like I’m losing you.”His arm wraps around you, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ll do everything I can to come home to you. That’s a promise.”

He presses his forehead to yours, and when his lips brush yours, it’s soft and full of unspoken apologies.

THANK YOU FOR READING ! PLEASE SEND KINKMAS REQUESTS AND PROMPTS! <3 Please Request if you’d like me to expand the headcanon into SMUT <3

[polarisjisung]

WHEN LIFE GIVES YOU LEMONS

synopsis: Lemonade stands, cootie-proof forts, love songs, and endless arguments—some things never change. But this time, Chenle’s finally ready to win the only fight that ever mattered.

wc: 2,6k pairings: schroeder!chenle × lucy!reader genre: fluff, romance, peanuts gang au, childhood friends to lovers au, lwk crack warnings: none! notes: I'd sell my soul to the devil for chenle to write songs about me

The first time you decided Zhong Chenle would marry you, it was a Tuesday. 

Specifically, a Tuesday he was supposed to be admiring your lemonade stand. You put all that hard work into impressing him, yet instead, he was hunched over a tiny piano in the school music room, plinking out a melody that sounded suspiciously like a funeral dirge.

You marched over, fists on your overalls. “You’re doing it wrong,” you announced, leaning so far over the piano keys your braids brushed his hands. “Love songs are supposed to be sparkly. Like glitter. Or… or soda.”

Chenle didn’t look up. His bowl cut bobbed as he muttered, “This is sparkly. It’s Chopin.”

“Chopin’s boring. Play our song.” You slammed a juice box on top of his sheet music.

“We don’t have a song—”

“Yes, we do! It’s called ‘Future Mrs. Zhong’s Lemonade Stand Jam’.” You began humming loudly, off-key, while Chenle groaned and covered his ears.

By recess, you’d dragged your lemonade stand and a disgruntled Renjun hauling his security blanket, next to the playground swings. Chenle was there, of course, because the universe hated him. He’d brought his piano again, a portable keyboard balanced on the slide.

“Five cents for lemonade!” you barked, ignoring Renjun’s sigh of, “Unrequited love is statistically improbable before puberty.”

Chenle squinted at you. “Your sign says ‘Psychiatrist’.”

“It’s a package deal.” You shoved a cup at him. “Drink. Then tell me why you’re allergic to romance.”

He took a sip and immediately spat it out. “This is just straight up lemon juice!”

“It’s advanced lemonade.” You crossed your arms. “For advanced love problems.”

Valentine’s Day was your magnum opus. You spent hours gluing sequins to a card shaped like a grand piano, then shoved it into Chenle’s hands during naptime.

“Here. It’s a down payment for our wedding.”

He blinked, cookie crumbs on his cheeks. “…Thanks?”

The next day, you spotted it poking out of his piano book—as a bookmark? How dare he.

You seethed while Chenle played a concerto, oblivious… until you noticed him gently smoothing the crumpled corner of the card when he thought no one was looking.

By fifth grade, Chenle’s desk looked like a war zone.

He’d stacked recorded Beethoven albums into a precarious tower, draped a raincoat over the top as a “roof,” and taped a Lunchables box to the front with a crude drawing of a dragon that vaguely resembled a dog. The pièce de résistance? A sign scribbled in red marker: “NO GIRLS ALLOWED. ESPECIALLY LEMONADE GIRLS.”

You surveyed his fortress, hands on your hips. “Is that a sock puppet guard?”

Chenle peeked over the wall, clutching a pencil like a sword. “His name’s Daegal. He’s allergic to cooties.”

“Cooties aren’t real.”

“Prove it.”

You lobbed a love note over the wall. It fluttered into his lap, adorned with a glitter bomb heart.

“GAH—” Chenle swatted it away, accidentally knocking over his “Moonlight Sonata” CD. “I’m serious! This is an anti-girls zone!”

By lunch, you’d engineered a catapult from rubber bands and a spoon to fire candy hearts into his fortress. One hit Daegal in the eye.

“Ceasefire!” Chenle yelled, waving a white flag that seemed oddly like a napkin.

“Never!” You reloaded with a gummy bear. “Love wins, Zhong!”

Renjun looked at the chaos and merely sighed. “This is why I don’t leave my blanket.”

You were finally 16 now. You hadn’t officially given up on Chenle. You just… upgraded.

“Arguing is just verbal jazz,” you declared to Renjun, shoving a stack of debate notes into your locker. “And I’m Miles Davis.”

Renjun, now permanently fused to his security blanket, sighed. “Jazz doesn’t involve threatening to sue the cafeteria over soggy tater tots.”

“Alleged tater tots.” You slammed the locker shut just as Chenle rounded the corner, his growth spurt leaving him all elbows and awkward angles. He froze, sheet music slipping from his hands like confetti.

“Oops,” you said, stepping over a stray page titled “Lemonade Stand Blues (Draft #47).”

“I��� It’s not— It’s a metaphor,” Chenle stammered, scrambling to gather the sheets. His voice cracked. Twice.

You arched a brow. “For… plagiarism? You never paid me royalties.”

He opened his mouth, but you were already gone, heels clicking toward the debate hall where Haechan waited, clutching a wilting daisy.

It seemed like Haechan had asked you out for what you thought was the third time that month behind the gym bleachers, his baseball cap on backward and his shoelaces tied together.

“So, uh… I heard you like justice,” he said, kicking a pebble. “There’s this new documentary about… lawnmower regulations?”

You snorted. “Are you asking me out or questioning me about my interest in running for city council?”

“Yes?” He grinned, all crooked. “I’ll even let you yell at the popcorn guy if he skimps on butter.”

You glanced over his shoulder. Chenle was lurking by the water fountain, pretending to fix his Walkman while blatantly staring. 

“Deal,” you said, loud enough for Chenle to hear. “But only if you be a little more careful next time.”

Haechan tripped over his own feet celebrating.

  While you seemed to have everything under control, Chenle’s piano compositions had gone rogue.

Gone were the moody sonatas. Now he hammered out synth-pop bangers during lunch, lyrics scrawled in the margins of his math homework. “She’s got a heart like a lawsuit / Lemonade empire, no parachute.”

Yangyang, now his self-proclaimed manager, danced on the cafeteria table with a ketchup bottle microphone. “THIS IS A BOP! CALL IT ‘OBJECTION: NO, THAT’S WRONG, IN THE NAME OF LOVE’!”

“Quiet, if you say ‘bop’ one more time I'll hit you.” Chenle hissed, cheeks blazing as you walked by with Haechan.

You paused, tilting your head. “Sounds peppy. Selling out, Bach?”

“It’s experimental,” Chenle muttered, slamming the keyboard cover shut.

“Experimental garbage, what happened to the classical stuff?” you looked almost sad, but Haechan. sweet, very nice… but dumb, Haechan gave Chenle a thumbs-up.

“Nah, man, it’s fire! Trust. Keep cooking.”

Chenle looked ready to implode.

He also started to realize he probably had a tiny crush on you the moment he started “accidentally” lingering by your locker.

Today’s excuse? A very important conversation about the “Dangers of Over-Caffeination” 

“You don’t even drink coffee,” you said, snatching the pamphlet.

“I’m… preemptively concerned.” Chenle’s glasses slid down his nose as he leaned too close. “Also, I heard Haechan eats fries with a fork. Red flag, right?”

You smirked. “Jealousy is a red flag too, Zhong.”

“I’m not— It’s not— UGH.” He stomped off, colliding with a freshman carrying a tuba.

Yangyang slow-clapped from the trash can he’d been hibernating in. “AND THE OSCAR FOR ‘MOST OBVIOUS CRUSH’ GOES TO…”

The first time Chenle asked to tutor you, you thought someone had kidnapped him and replaced him with a fake. 

“Hi.” You looked up, startled to see him squinting at you in the library. His fingers drummed a nervous rhythm on the table, his glasses fogging slightly. Inside was a 10-page study guide titled “Algebra for the Romantically Disabled” in Comic Sans. Comic Sans. Of course it would be in comic sans. 

You snorted. “Is this a self-help book?”

“It’s efficient,” he muttered, cheeks pink. “And you’re failing.”

“I’m strategically failing. It’s called rebellion.”

“Rebellion doesn’t get you into college.”

You rolled your eyes but flipped open the binder. As the two of you began studying, you noticed how his handwriting was frantic, margins filled with doodles of lemons and tiny pianos.

Yangyang crashed the session halfway through, wearing a fake mustache and a name tag that read “Dr. Love, PhD.”

“I’m here to supervise the tension,” he announced, tossing gummy worms at Chenle’s head.

Chenle batted them away. “This is a library—”

“And this is a crime against chemistry!” Yangyang gestured wildly at the two of you. “You’re sitting three feet apart! The laws of physics demand a climactic moment!”

You lobbed a gummy worm back at him. “Go bother us somewhere else, Snoopy.”

Chenle’s knee bumped yours under the table. He jerked back like he’d been burned. Weird. 

By week three, you noticed things.

Like how Chenle’s sleeves were always rolled up now, showing off his… quite boney… wrists. How he’d hum under his breath while you worked before clamming up when you glanced over.

One afternoon, you caught him staring at your debate trophy on the shelf.

“What?” you said, snapping your gum.

“Nothing. Just… you’re good at arguing. Obviously.” He fidgeted with his pencil. “But you’re also… weirdly good at this.”

“At failing?”

“At Math. When you try at least.”

The room felt suddenly smaller. You broke the silence first. “If you’re nice to me, I’ll start charging for lemonade again.”

Chenle’s laugh was quiet, almost shy. “Worth it.”

Jackson’s house was a neon-lit warzone. Music throbbed through the walls, someone had duct-taped a Wii remote to the ceiling fan, and Johnny was screeching, “WHO WANTS TO WATCH ME BEAT MARIO KART BLINDFOLDED?!”

You arrived with Shotaro, your latest and most confusing date. Shotaro was a soccer star with the vibes of a golden retriever who’d never really heard of the word sarcasm.

“This place is… loud,” he said, blinking at the chaos.

“Stick with me,” you said, steering him toward the punch bowl. “Survival tip: Avoid anything labeled ‘Johnny Juice.’”

Chenle had been lurking by the snack table for 20 minutes, holding a soda and glaring at Shotaro’s hand on your shoulder.

Why did I come here? he thought, watching you laugh at something Shotaro said. She’s dating a guy who probably thinks “Beethoven” is a type of kitchen appliance.

Yangyang materialized beside him, holding a suspiciously glowing drink. “You look like you’re plotting murder. Want a drink?”

“No.”

“Want to commit murder?”

“Yes.”

“Okay hear me out…”

Thanks to the help of YangYang’s foot, Chenle managed to ‘trip’ on his way to the punch bowl. Red liquid seemd to soar through the air, making contact and drenching Shotaro’s white hoodie.

“Oh my god,” you said to Shotaro, staring at the stain spreading. “Are you okay?”

Shotaro blinked down at himself. “I… think so? Is punch supposed to smell like gasoline?”

Chenle froze. Why did I do that? His chest tightened. I don’t even like her like that. Do I?

You burst out laughing, taking Shotaro’s hand up. “You look like you fought a ketchup monster.”

Chenle’s stomach dropped. She’s laughing. She’s not mad. Why does that hurt?

“I— I’ll get napkins,” he stammered, fleeing before you could see his face crumple.

Chenle locked himself in Johnny’s bathroom, gripping the sink.

“Ai-ya, why am I like this?!” he hissed at his reflection. “You’re a composer, not some dumb rom-com villain!” He’d written entire songs about her, memorised the way she twirled her pen when she was annoyed, and still couldn’t admit why. Why he was like this at all.

A knock. Yangyang’s voice: “Open up, I’ve got a emotional support Choco Pie.”

“Go away.”

“You’re not a bad person! Just a little deranged. Love makes us stupid!”

“I’m not in love—”

“Then why’d you even think about listening to me?”

Silence.

Chenle slid down the door, head in his hands. “...I don’t know Yangles. Something’s up with me I guess.”

You found him later, sitting on the curb outside, staring at the stars.

“Sulking?” you said, tossing him a juice box.

He caught it, wary. “Where’s Captain America?”

“Emergency stain-removal mission.” You sat beside him. “You’re a terrible actor, by the way.”

Chenle stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The ‘trip’? The glaring? The ‘Algebra for the Romantically Disabled’?” You smirked. “You’re not subtle, Zhong.”

He looked away, throat bobbing. “...I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

“You didn’t.” You bumped his shoulder. “Shotaro’s nice, but he thinks Beethoven is a type of kitchen appliance.”

Chenle’s laugh was shaky, relieved. “It’s not?”

“Nope.”

He met your eyes then, and for a second, the world felt still—no pianos, no punch, just the weight of 10 years hanging between you.

Then Yangyang screamed from inside, “THE CEILING FAN’S ON FIRE! THE WII REMOTE IS STILL UP THERE. I REPEAT THE WII REMOTE IS STILL UP THERE.” and the moment shattered.

And so what they say, maybe you had given up on love. You hadn’t exactly lost touch with your friends over the years, but you never chased Chenle the way you used to. You seemed to have forgot about it, that was until you received a letter.

It was buried under coffee-stained interview transcripts. You almost missed it. Almost. Renjun, now a tenured philosophy professor still dragging his security blanket to brunch, plucked it from the pile.

“Fan mail?” he said, eyebrow raised.

You tore it open. Two gilt-edged tickets slid out, along with a note scrawled in familiar, frantic handwriting:

“Lemonade Stand Serenade – World Premiere

You owe me 15 years of therapy sessions. Front row or I sue for emotional damages.

– Chenle”

Yangyang, now a TikTok-famous DJ with a beagle sidekick, FaceTimed you mid-eye-roll. “He’s been working on this for years. It’s like twilight but with less vampires.”

“I’m not going,” you said, tossing the tickets aside. “He probably wrote a symphony about how annoying I am.”

Renjun sipped his tea. “Denial is the first stage of…”

“Don’t.”

The concert hall was all velvet and gothic architecture. You sat stiffly in the front row, arms crossed, as the lights dimmed.

Then Chenle walked onstage.

Gone was the gangly boy with a bowl cut. This, modern Chenle wore a tailored suit, his hair swept back, confidence radiating like a smirk. But when his eyes flickered to yours, he fumbled his sheet music. Same old Zhong, you thought, biting back a smile.

The first notes were a playful clash of piano and synth, like childhood arguments set to music. Then the screen behind him lit up with your doodles. You saw images of the lemonade stand, the “Keep Out” fortress, the Valentine’s card he’d kept all these years.

Your breath caught.

The symphony swelled, weaving pop beats with melodies you vaguely recognized. He played the songs he’d hummed during study sessions. The piece was suddenly interrupted by a loud screech.

“CHENLE, GET OFF THAT PIANO! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO LOVE ME!”

The crowd laughed. You didn’t.

Because suddenly, it all made sense.

You found him pacing behind the curtain, muttering to Yangyang. “—what if she hates it? What if she sues?!”

“Relax,” Yangyang said, tossing a potato chip in the air. “She’s already mentally drafting your wedding vows.”

“Shut up—”

“Too late.” You and Renjun stepped into the light, with you holding up the program with his symphony’s title emblazoned in gold. “Explain.”

Chenle froze. Yangyang saluted and ducked out, dragging a cackling Renjun behind him.

“It’s… a metaphor,” Chenle said, fiddling with his cufflinks. “Of our… dynamic.”

“Dynamic.”

“Yeah. You know. Rivalry. Friendship. Uh.” He swallowed. “More.”

You stepped closer. “Define more.”

He laughed, shaky and raw. “You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”

“Say what?”

“That I’ve been in love with you since you called Chopin ‘sparkly’. Thought you were dumb. Didn’t understand you.” His voice cracked. “And yet every song I’ve ever written was about you. And I kept your stupid Valentine’s card like a loser—”

You kissed him.

It wasn’t very romantic or graceful. He stumbled into a prop table, sending sheet music flying. But his hands found your face, and for the first time in 20 years, the world made sense.

“Took you long enough, Beethoven,” you whispered against his lips.

He grinned. “Beethoven was a bachelor though.”

You twirled his tie around playful with your fingers, “And yet here we are.”

tags: @yizhrt @suzayaaa @nanawrlds @sinisxtea @dearlyminhyung @flaminghotyourmom @jisworlds @jenobubbles @nctdreamchaser @lotties-readings @mystverse @chenlezip @blondemrk @17ericas

[ashthesalamipiece]

Human Jungle Gym (And She’s Dying Inside)

You were just trying to live your life.

Maybe get through a training day without your spine being realigned by two clinging koalas who had mistaken you for a jungle gym.

But no.

Today was the day your siblings entered their “we live on you now” phase.

---

8:30 a.m. – Initiation

You walked into the dorms.

Your sister? Instantly leapt on your back like a spider monkey. Arms locked around your neck.

“Don’t let go,” she whispered like it was a hostage situation.

Your brother? Climbed up your leg like a tiny rock climber and latched onto your side.

“I live here now.”

You: “Guys. Please. My scoliosis is winning.”

---

8:45 a.m. – You Try to Function

You waddled into the common room, both siblings fused to your body like weighted accessories.

Mina gasped. “Y/N’s a mech suit now.”

Kirishima: “She’s got DLC upgrades: Chaos and Screaming.”

Midoriya, frantically writing: “Enhances strength, drains sanity. Very rare quirk mutation.”

“Guys,” you pleaded, hunched over. “They won’t get off. Help me.”

---

9:10 a.m. – Everyone Tries to Help

Attempt 1: Kaminari tries to bribe them with candy.

They just hissed and clung tighter.

Attempt 2: Jirou played threatening bass riffs.

Your brother yelled, “THE VIBES ARE OFF!” and slapped her headphones.

Attempt 3: Momo gently tried to pull them off.

Your sister bit her.

“AH! SHE BIT ME!”

“She’s rabid!” Sero screamed. “We have to call someone!”

---

9:15 a.m. – You Accept Your Fate

You collapsed onto the couch like a haunted horse, your siblings STILL glued to you.

“I haven’t peed in 3 hours,” you mumbled, dead-eyed.

“They’re like clingy barnacles with teeth,” Tokoyami whispered in awe.

Bakugou finally snapped.

He stomped over and yelled, “GET. OFF. HER.”

Your brother looked him dead in the eye and said, “She is our meat mech. Leave.”

Bakugou short-circuited and walked into a wall.

---

10:00 a.m. – Emotional Damage

Your sister finally slid off to grab a juice box. You took a breath of freedom.

Then your brother reattached to your leg and muttered, “My battery was low. I’m charged now.”

You screamed into a throw pillow.

---

Bonus:

All Might tried to intervene once.

Your sister clung to his leg too and said, “You are now part of the hive.”

He cried.

[ganondoodle]

was watching another totk video and through that found out what the reward is for completing koltins quests, honestly im not really surprised but also baffled and it really just shows, once again, that totk kinda does exactly what you shouldnt do in a sequel imo.. double down on all the bad stuff of the previous title

at this point i have talked about various problems in detail but i just keep realizing over and over just how much of the wrong lesson they seemed to take from botw, they recycled almost everything from botw by changing some paint or some words, made a giant game even bigger and filled it with boring and tedious busy work that has mediocre to insulting rewards EVEN MORE than botw

game too big and empty? make it TWICE as big, change barely anything about the map of the previous title and the new added map(s) is ONE biom that almost everywhere looks the same and even emptier with little to do

too many krogs? MAKE IT MORE and double down on the literally shit reward bc its the SAME just with one more stack of shit

too many shrines with short puzzles? ADD EVEN MORE and make them even shorter and easier to complete, alot of them not even involving a puzzle and multiple being an utterly out of place tutorial that could have been explained to you in a single text box

rewards in the overworld being mostly either a krog or a shrine which gets repetetive with shrines being ALOT and krogs being wayyy too many? add even MORE shrines and EVEN MORE krogs, but now add over a hundred of caves to it that all get repetetive after just a few of them and you only do them for a shrine or a currency you have to collect to get one cool looking but pretty bad to use armor set and a piece of cloth for your parasail that you can only use one of at the tiem and to switch have to go back to a specific NPC, theres ghost lights to collect which only serve to yet again buy one armor set from a set of NPCs and ar meaningless afterwards, the light roots dont require you to do anything but walk to them and the reward for finding them all is a "you did it" sticker that doesnt even stick (its useless)

weapons break too quickly? well make the weapons you can find even worse to force you to fuse a material to it so its at all usable BUT IT STILL BREAKS and when it does it breaks not JUST the weapon but ALSO a material, materials that you will need for now EVEN MORE EXPENSIVE armor upgrades too, weapons cannot be rewards anymore either bc they will always have to be fused with something to make them stronger bc none is strong on its own- this also applies to THE MASTERSWORD, something ALSO complained about that it still 'breaks' even after empowering it through the DLC in botw, and now it cant even BE empowered (bc no DLC) unless you fuse soemthing to it (to. the. MASTERSWORD.) EVEN THO EMPOWERIGN THE MASTERSWORD IS THE ENTIRE POINT OF ZELDAS ULTIMATELY MEANING- AND CONSEQUENCELESS SACRIFICE !!

the dungeons were to samey and simple? make them look different but keep the core structure (activate terminals in completely seperate from each other "puzzles", fight boss) while also makign them be even more skippable (climable walls, the ceiling jump ability- something the titans DIDNT have) with incredibly easy bossfights that end with an embarassing copy and paste scene that hits you over the head with long known and obvious information over and over

people didnt like how the story was so detached from everything in the present? well, make the story and the present EVEN MORE detached from anything in the present, so far in fact that there is literally no connection to it aside from zelda who is the only connective thread and is also only treated as such (she is as personality lacking as sonia as soon as shes yoinked into the past) and the suddendly and out of nowhere intruduced architecture and history that wasnt a thing in botw but is treated like it was always there

people didnt like how far botw was detached from all other zelda games? ok totk is not only FURTHER detached from those it also completely detached itself from its on predecessor :)

people didnt like the memory system? ok make it WORSE then, its a linear story now that you can ruin by seeing even one out of order, they are super short and dont give you anymore context to anythign than the things you could figure out yourself or were already told really, instead of giving you views into a characters personality you get to view a basic plot summary of a story that is so flavorless and predictable i knew what would happen from the start yet acts like its being vague and cool that i felt like i was beign treated like a literal toddler

too few enemy types? well, we will reuse the old ones EVEN MORE thant before over twice the map and the new ones that are there are either utterlly irrelevant to change up the gameplay or largely feel like the old ones just with a paint job (constructs), the griocks looked cool at first but are just a more annyoing version of the lynels (who feel like an actual duel, akin to a proper boss)

even the things that were adressed, or attempted to, didnt fully work, like the bosses ARE more unique, but also still so incredibly easy and ALSO have multiple duplicats just sitting around in the underground despite them being supposedly the root of the problems of the regions (i like refighting bosses, but id rather have a character that lets me choose ok i wann fight this one again and teleporte me into a vision or sth- also the most fun fights arent even part of it (koga) )

the rain complaint got a new effect type to counteract it, which ... doesnt work well, you need specific materials to make potions with that effect which you also need to upgrade the only armor set wit hthat effect that ONLY works once you upgrade it (i think ... i dont know how high i got it but if even the full upgraded set doesnt negate the rain effect i will not be surprised either lol) also it adds just yet another effect type that spams your inventory and you dont really need .... or i might be the only one that saw no value at all in the "attack up when hot" new type of effects bc it felt so specific and situational while also having a way better option (just make it a standard attack up thing?) at least in my eyes-

... ill stop here .... this got longer again didnt it O-o

[brainmelissa]

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[tf-kinky]

Finn had always lived in the shadow of his older brother, Brock. At nineteen, Finn was a wiry, pale kid with a mop of greasy black hair and a knack for tinkering with tech. Brock, on the other hand, was a chiseled twenty-two-year-old jock, six-foot-three with biceps that strained every shirt he owned. He’d been the golden boy of their small town—star quarterback, prom king, the works. Finn? He was the weird one, the kid who’d rather debug code than throw a football. Brock never let him forget it, either. “Hey, Finn-tastic,” he’d jeer, ruffling Finn’s hair like he was still a toddler, “gonna build me a robot girlfriend since no real girl’s gonna look at you?”

Finn had taken it for years, swallowing the bitterness like a jagged pill. But last week, when Brock “borrowed” Finn’s laptop to stream a game and spilled beer all over it—ruining months of work—that was the final straw. Finn wasn’t just mad. He was done. He’d had enough of Brock’s smug grin, his effortless charm, his stupid, perfect life. Finn wanted something for himself, something Brock could never take away. And then he found the app.

It was buried deep in a dark web forum, a sketchy .apk file called “PermaMorph.” The description was cryptic: “Transform anything—or anyone—permanently. No takebacks.” Finn’s pulse raced as he downloaded it onto his cracked old phone, the kind Brock mocked him for not upgrading. The app’s interface was simple: a single text box to type the target’s name, a dropdown for the transformation, and a slider labeled “Sensory Amplification.” Finn didn’t hesitate. He typed “Brock” into the box, scrolled through the options—dog, toaster, chair—until he landed on “Tesla Cybertruck.” He’d been drooling over that angular, futuristic beast since it hit the market, but at $80,000, it was a pipe dream. Until now. For the sensory slider, he cranked it to max. If Brock was going to be a truck, Finn wanted him to feel every second of it. Then he hit “Execute.”

The change happened fast. Finn was in his basement room, hunched over his phone, when he heard a muffled yell from upstairs. He bolted to the living room, where Brock had been sprawled on the couch, midway through a protein shake. Now, Brock was frozen mid-sip, his body shimmering like a glitchy video game character. His skin turned metallic, his arms elongated into sharp, angular panels, and his legs fused into thick, rugged wheels. His face—oh, his stupid, handsome face—flattened into a sleek windshield, his eyes becoming headlights that flickered once before going dark. The protein shake clattered to the floor, splashing across the hardwood as Brock’s massive frame settled into the unmistakable shape of a Tesla Cybertruck. Silver, gleaming, and utterly lifeless.

Finn stood there, mouth agape, as the transformation finished. The room smelled faintly of ozone and burnt rubber. Where Brock had been lounging moments ago, a full-sized Cybertruck now took up half the living room, its front bumper nudging the coffee table. Finn reached out and tapped the hood. Cold. Solid. Real. He grinned.

But Brock wasn’t gone—not entirely. nside the inanimate shell, Brock’s mind was screaming. Every vibration of the floorboards as Finn paced around him felt like an earthquake. The hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen was a deafening roar. The faint breeze from the open window scraped across his metallic surface like sandpaper. He could feel it all—every scratch, every speck of dust, every shift in temperature—but he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even blink those headlight eyes. He was trapped, a prisoner in a body that wasn’t his anymore, hyper-aware and helpless.

Finn didn’t know that part, and he didn’t care. He climbed into the driver’s seat, running his hands over the steering yoke. The interior smelled new, like leather and factory steel. “Hey, Brock,” he said, patting the dashboard. “Guess who’s useful now?” He turned the key—well, pressed the start button—and the truck purred to life, its electric motor rumbling softly. Finn laughed, a sharp, triumphant sound, and peeled out of the driveway, tires squealing as he left tire marks on the street.

For Finn, it was freedom. He cruised through town, windows down, basking in the stares of neighbors who couldn’t believe scrawny little Finn was rolling in a Cybertruck. He didn’t care that Mom would freak when she got home and found Brock missing. He’d figure out a story—Brock ran off with some girl, maybe. For now, this was his victory lap.

For Brock, it was hell. Every pothole Finn hit sent shockwaves through his frame, every honk from passing cars pierced his nonexistent ears, and every bug that splattered on his windshield felt like a personal violation. He couldn’t scream, couldn’t beg, couldn’t do anything but endure. Finn had his dream ride, and Brock was it—forever.

Hope you enjoyed the story! I was aided by Grok AI

[sol-consort]

Shepard's so sexy and like powerful I think everyone's in love with her, I think I've said this before but it's still true, everyone on the Normandy (whichever model) literally wants to munch Shepard's box.

100% of everyone who has ever met Shepard wanted a piece of that pie, a bite of that cherry, a taste of that nectar.

Shepard is famous in-universe, there is an illegal VI coded to be your complete picture perfect copy, with stolen data replicating your own voice as well. They just tweaked it to be more..."friendly" more eager and pliant, to fulfil your fans' fantasy of meeting their hero! The powerful first human spectre Shepard praising them, treating them like an equal and being so responsive to their flirting.

Shepard probably ruined families and whole marriages without realising it. Gave too many people their gay awakening simply by wearing those tight suits and leather armour, by handling a rifle a little too intimately, by agreeing to an interview right after coming from a rough fight, blood splatters, halfway clad in their armour, the underarmour skin-tight suit ripped and exposing their tender flesh underneath.

Or the pictures that got leaked of a half-naked Shepard training in the gym. Muscles sculpted by the gods, a greek statue come to life, a lean yet athletic build, the most delicious thighs, god that round plump ass.

I'm just saying, a lot of the missions ingame would've been solved very quicky and peacefully if only had Shepard batted their eyelashes a bit, pouty lips and and sleepy eyes. A sultry voice as they offer a "reward" for the person if they cooperate, a private show in a secluded bedroom?

Who wouldn't immediately fold when offered the Commander Shepard on their lap, ready to please and tease them? People's brain would short-circut, blow a fuse if Shepard even winked their way.

I'm telling you, Joker was definitely selling "exclusive" pictures of Shepard behind your back to your own fanclub to get a little money on the side, buy better upgrades for the Normandy paid for by your very own tantalisingly clad form as you walk around the ship with nothing but an oversized T-shirt and boxers.

Because it's not normal for a whole crew to be this down to dating their commander, in three whole games no matter who, strangers or not, anyone in the crew came running if you called them into your private quarters. Shepard was the closest thing to a mythology hero, the Heracles of the decade. Immensely powerful, unbelievably gorgeous with a hot voice that could bring anyone to their knees.

Samara herself sends you as bait to go seduce her daughter in that one mission because "you're her type" BECAUSE YOU'RE EVERYONE'S TYPE. She knew no one could resist you, the fact you were the closest person to get a justicar almost break her code just to find out how your lips taste???

Everyone wanted you.

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

Okay! I need some opinions! I now realize how complicated it is to have several stories going at the same time. My main problem being reader vs Phoenix (my oc). I just don't like writing about both anymore.

One that I have come up with a solution for. Or rather two solutions, that some may not like... At all. But these are the choices. I can either 'fuse' the two characters or completely stop using Phoenix.

Now if I 'fuse' these two characters than reader will get several upgrades' per se. All of Phoenix's powers or well most of them will be turned into artifacts that reader uses, and reader will be the only one who can use them.

Artifacts would include -

Shield amulet - an amulet that can summon an impenetrable forcefield

Glamour mask - a powerful mask that can glamour reader in several ways

Phoenix Stone - with this she beis able to summon phoenix wings, and create and wield some fire * she would wear this as a necklace or single earring *

Forest Stone - with this she will be able to grow a variety of plants and heal wounds (only if she's touching the person in question though)

Gauntlets and boots of - wait those were gonna be Reader's any way.

And these artifacts (the Phoenix and Forest stones) cannot work in the extreme cold aka winter.

Other notes

Reader would get the nicknames Phoenix and Rose

My Phoenixeclipse stories will be discontinued/ rewritten to align with this new narrative.

Why am I just using Reader over Phoenix? Simply because she is easier to write and I enjoy writing her more.

Link to Concerns on the Artifacts

This question will not guarantee anything, it is simply to give me more insight on which decision I will make. Ultimately my blog my choice but I do want to hear every ones thoughts on this via vote, comment, and/or ask box.

[spidori]

Doctor Danny Fenton: On The Run

Danny knew he was on borrowed time.

Sure, he was harder for Clockwork to find than most- something about it being harder to look for an acausal nexus than a causal one, and the medallion fused into his core severing him from standard causal flow, Dan had explained it to him once, before he... no! Focus Danny! You don't know how long you have until he finds you!

Dragging himself out of his dissociation, Danny took stock. He still had the Infinimap in one hand; it was still green and dripping from something he couldn't afford to think about right now. Where and when had the Infinimap interpreted his shout of "a way to run away" as asking to travel to?

"Dann'O! You're just in time to see our newest upgrades to the speeder!"

"Uhhh... You made it look like a Volkswagen beetle?”

"Oh, Sweetie, no. See!" his mom said, opening up a control panel and poking around, then stepping away from what was now a cargo van.

"Your father and I finally figured out how to fuse ectoplasm with metals to make ecto-alloy! We rebuilt the speeder from it and added a camouflage circuit. Now it can change shape into whatever will blend into the surrounding environment for any ghost hunting scenario."

"And the best part is, it even gives off an ecto-signature! Those spooks won't know what hit 'em when you ambush 'em from this one Mads!"

A transforming vehicle with its own ecto-signature to hide inside? Yeah, that might work, even though Danny remembered the camouflage feature had been a short-lived modification because of how often it would get stuck and have to be put through a hard-reset to get it changing again. And judging by the way the Infinimap was subtly tugging towards the improved speeder that's exactly what it brought him here for.

"Mom, Dad, whatever happens next, I love you, and I'm sorry."

"Danny, sweetie, is something wrong?"

"More than I have time to explain, mom. Look, if you see Jazz... If this timeline... Just, tell Jazz I love her too, ok?"

"Dann'o, you're scaring us."

"I know. I'm sorry. Hopefully you'll have the chance to be able to forgive me for this. Going Ghost!"

Ok. He had made it into the speeder. The new metal wasn't phase-proof, there were pros and cons to that, ones he would consider later if he made it that far. At least the interior was pretty much unchanged, so he'd been able to get the speeder started before he'd heard the sound of a clock tolling and his parents' banging on the door had suddenly stopped.

He'd gunned it into the portal quickly enough to get into the relative safety of the zone before its stop sign frame and hazard pattern doors dissolved into obliterated nothingness along with everything else he had been able to see, or sense, of his home dimension...

Something else to be stuffed in the trauma box to be unpacked never if he was ever able to stop running 'later,' something to unpack 'later.'

The tugging in his hand was getting stronger, so at least he was probably heading in roughly the right direction.

He tried veering a little to the right to see if he could get a better sense for the direction the map was tugging, only for its pull to remain unchanged.

Confused, Danny glanced down to see it was actually tugging towards the dashboard.

Or rather, the ectoplasm- all that remained of Dani... 'LATER!'- which coated it was tugging towards the dashboard.

Desperately hoping this meant there might be something of his favorite halfa left to save, Danny pressed the coated map to the dashboard, and prayed.

Within seconds, the map was gone, absorbed into the speeder. Then things got even weirder.

Weirder than the group of ancients putting aside their many feuds to team up on him had been.

Stranger than those ancients somehow getting the Observants on their side.

More out of the blue than the Observants using their binding vow with Clockwork to force him to try to eliminate any timelines with Danny in them, as well as anyone who was even part Danny.

It had been a hell of a day.

And now the speeder had apparently grown absolutely gigantic after absorbing the Infinimap if the anachrofuturistic room Danny suddenly found himself in was anything to go by.

And according to the view screens it was generating a relativistic time, space, and dimensional tunnel?

Oh Lord. Danny was going to have quite the time explaining this one to his parents if he managed to undo enough of this to have a timeline to return to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tunnel let out in a universe with low-to-minimal ambient ectoplasm according to the external sensor arrays.

That phrasing! That was Exactly how Clockwork had phrased it the last time Danny had talked with him as 'Clockwork'; after the Observants took control of him with their vow he had called himself Chrona, which was the first thing which clued Danny in that something was wrong.

What was it Clockwork had told him?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Local ambient ectoplasm levels are an important consideration for stronger ghosts, Danny. Your perception is skewed by the limits of your experiences, as well as your unique biology, but Amity park and the Infinite Realms as a whole are essentially the top of the scale for ambient ectoplasm levels.

Normally, ectoplasm is a renewable, but much more finite resource. A sufficiently powerful ghost can easily consume all that is available in an area with a normal level before they are able to accomplish anything worth the effort if they aren't extremely frugal with their use of power. Normally, it makes any plans which would involve other realms simply not worth the effort and energy expenditure involved, especially with the additional up-front cost of breaching the veil.

There are even locations with low-to-minimal ambient ectoplasm, which makes them practically immune to ghostly influence. Only the very weakest of shades, ones who require next to no ectoplasm to maintain their current state of existence, can naturally persist in such places. Well, them, and extremely rare exceptions such as Halfa's, whose unique state of existence allows them to generate nearly all of the ectoplasm required to sustain their ghostly half. Any other ghosts would have to gather all of the ectoplasm they would need before going to any such spot, like how the astronauts you love so much need to bring everything for survival with them into deep space.

Actually, the deep space metaphor is particularly apt, as there are whole dimensions with far lower levels of ectoplasm than the one you call home.

Should you ever find yourself able to indulge that space obsession of yours, that would be a good place to do it. Most ghosts would be unable to follow you there, and even those who technically could would have great difficulty sustaining themselves once they arived."

"Geez, Gramps, you're feeling talkative today. Usually I can't get anything nearly this direct out of you."

"It will be important for you to understand your options, my young halfa. Speaking of which, keep in mind that your specific nature is vital to your ability to so easily sustain yourself in such environments. Even other halfas will have much more difficulty surviving in the lowest ecto-level locations as a result of their less balanced compositions. I know your young mirror's obsession also involves exploration, but she would require near constant fulfillment of her obsessions to have a hope of generating enough to get by without supplementation for you or another living being with a similar drive to seek new experiences. Mr. Masters would be better off due to his greater degree of human biology, but would also be hindered by the less complete connection to his ghost side. He would likely find transformation essentially impossible outside of survival scenarios- though you yourself probably would as well- and even his human form would experience side-effects like pounding headaches, or the constant sound of his heart pounding in his ears like a drum as it was pushed to maintain his starving ghostly side."

"I'm sure Dani and I could manage. And if we couldn't, we could always call you to pick us up."

"Untrue, actually. Any location with low enough levels to cause young Danielle to suffer would also be extremely difficult for me to reach. Such low levels could require anywhere from days to centuries in order to push enough ectoplasm through the veil to form a link, possibly more if an entity- such as an injured halfa- or anomaly- such as a rift of any kind- on the other side is draining whatever bleeds through. Your own presence may act to shorten that time somewhat if you can generate enough ectoplasm on site, but even then I would have to find you first. My abilities as an ectoplasmic entity rely wholly on manipulation of ectoplasm, and that includes my near omniscience. Should you ever find yourself in a location with sufficiently low ectoplasm, I would have a great deal of difficulty locating you; the link between our cores would mean that I would always be able to locate you eventually, but you would need to stay in one place for quite a while, which would rather defeat the purpose of emergency rescue."

"So if I ever need to hide from you because I actually manage to pull a prank on you which you don't see coming, all I have to do is find and then literally flee to one of a very select subset of alternate dimensions?"

"Pretty much. Although if you're hiding from me you would want to actively muddy the waters as well."

"Setting aside that I don't think I'd ever want to hide from you, Gramps, muddy the waters?"

"I'm a conceptual entity, Danny. I anchor to that concept in every single reality in which it exists. If the concept of time is sufficiently redirected to something or someone else to any degree, whatever portion has been redirected is therefore unavailable for me to latch onto. The same idea applies to Nocturn not being able to enter the DC Dimension because of their Dream of the Endless. Meanwhile, Pandora could enter almost at a whim if not for her guard duties, because that universe associates hope with her almost directly. In my case, anything strongly associated with the flow and concept of time could hinder me, while spreading my own name would allow me a greater share of any ectoplasm generated by the dimension.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ok.

Danny could work with this.

He would have to keep traveling so that Clockwork- no, it was Chrona now- couldn't lock onto him or Dani-fused-to-the-dimensionally-traveling-speeder (He would have to workshop that).

If possible, he would also have to find a way to make a myth associated with time in an abnormal manner; the question was how to do that?

And he would need to do all of this while expending as little of his ectoplasm as possible, and probably supplementing Dani's whenever he could if she was ever going to have any chance of reconstituting.

He could definitely work with this; he refused to accept otherwise.

Maybe his parents had left some things he could use in the speeder before they were- 'Later!'

Hmm... No tools lying around... There was the weapons locker, but he should probably use whatever was in those ecto-batteries immediately so they wouldn't act as some kind of concentrated-ecto-homing-beacon. Maybe they could help Dani heal?

As he brought the disconnected batteries to the console in the center of the room, he saw it. There, sticking out of one of the panels which would probably have originally been the cup-holder in the center console before everything was transformed, was his dad's favorite 'screwdriver.' Not that it was even remotely recognizable as a screwdriver anymore; his dad had modified it so many times that it looked more like a futuristic laser pointer now. It had become his favorite hobby project before he was- 'LATER!'

He recognized this one as the version which required next to no ectoplasm to work, but as a trade-off had been completely unable to interact with wood for some reason. Something about still partially living matter and destructive interference with foreign emotional resonance as a naturally evolving survival mechanism in- Ramble 'later', focus on surviving now.

And Danny was actually starting to feel like he could find a way to survive with what he had. It was like his dad had always said about the screwdriver.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"See how many things it can do now, Dann'O! If I had tried to turn it into this version from the start it never would have worked; I would have gotten frustrated and had to move onto some other project for the sake of my sanity, and our house's walls. But since I took it one small change at a time, look at what I've been able to turn it into.

Incremental change, son! It's how any real change happens. If you want to accomplish something big, you try to choose the things which you think will lead towards wherever you want to end up, especially when they won't get you all the way there, big easy changes like that almost never stick for one reason or another. Over time those small steps add up, and you end up somewhere a lot better than where you started. So, what do you think you can do to apply that to working on your grades?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yeah, Danny could start to do something with what he had. He was still half alive, and could keep himself that way as long as he never stopped running long enough for Chrona to find and catch up to him. He had a Time and Dimensional and Relativistic Space ship (still not quite right, but better) with Dani fused into it to help him do just that. And he had his dad's screwdriver and advice.

So where should he start?

Well, if he wanted to build a myth, and to fulfill his obsessions wherever possible, protecting people while exploring all of time and space was probably as good a way as any. A time-traveling madman with an ever-changing camouflaged space-ship and a 'screwdriver', just passing through, helping out, was sure to get some attention.

It just needed a name to really give people something to latch onto.

He had just gotten his doctorate in engineering before everything went to hell, but as much as he'd like to use Dr. Fenton, that was just laying down a trail and begging Chrona to follow. His real name would probably have to be a closely guarded secret; the title was good though, so instead, he would just call himself

The Doctor.

Now, where should he run to next?

[sngl-led-auto-lights]

How do you fix flickering headlight bulbs without replacing them?

Flickering headlights are almost always an electrical issue, not necessarily a failing bulb. Here’s how to diagnose and fix it without replacement, step by step:

🔧 Step-by-Step Solutions

Clean Ground Connections (Most Common Fix)

Locate ground points:

Check the battery terminal ground cable (clean with baking soda/water or wire brush).

Trace wires to the engine block ground (often bolted near strut towers).

Find the headlight harness ground (usually behind headlights or near radiator support).

Clean thoroughly:

Disconnect the battery, unbolt grounds, scrub metal surfaces with sandpaper/wire brush, and re-secure tightly.

Check Wiring & Plugs

Inspect the headlight harness plug:

Look for melted plastic, corrosion, or loose pins. Spray with electrical contact cleaner and reconnect firmly.

Test for voltage drop:

Use a multimeter:

Healthy circuit: ≤0.5V drop between battery (+) and headlight plug during operation.

1V drop indicates a bad connection.

Replace the Headlight Relay

Why: Weak/failing relays cause intermittent power cuts → flickering.

Find the relay:

Check the under-hood fuse box (refer to owner’s manual). Look for labels like "HEAD," "LOW," or "LIGHT."

Swap it with an identical relay (e.g., horn or A/C relay) to test.

Cost: 5–15 for a new relay.

Upgrade to a Headlight Wiring Harness

For older vehicles (like your Avalanche):

Factory wiring often degrades, causing voltage drop.

Install a heavy-duty harness with relays (plugs directly to battery + headlights):

Ensures stable 12V power.

Kit cost: 20–40.

Test the Alternator & Battery

Voltage check (engine running):

Healthy: 13.8–14.8V at battery terminals.

Below 13V → failing alternator/voltage regulator.

Flickering when revving engine?

Classic sign of a bad voltage regulator.

🚫 When Bulb Replacement IS Necessary

Bulb filament visibly broken (shake it – rattling = dead).

Moisture inside the headlight housing (causes short-circuit flickering).

Bulb base is corroded or melted.

⚠️ Safety Notes

Disconnect the battery before handling electrical components.

Avoid "LM386 modules" or "anti-flicker capacitors" sold online – they mask underlying issues.

For halogen bulbs: Never touch the glass (skin oil causes hot spots → premature failure).

🔍 Diagnostic Flowchart

graph TD;

A[Headlights Flickering] --> B{Both or One?};

-->Both

C[Check Battery/Alternator/Grounds];

-->One

D[Check Bulb Plug & Ground];

--> E[Clean Grounds → Test Voltage];

--> F[Clean Plug → Test for Voltage Drop];

-->Still Flickering

G[Replace Relay];

-->Still Flickering

H[Test Wiring Harness];

& H -->Fixed?

I[Done];

-->No

J[Install Relay Harness Upgrade];

If these fixes fail, the bulb itself may be faulty – but 80% of flickering cases are wiring/ground issues. Prioritize electrical troubleshooting before buying new bulbs! 🛠️