#i just couldn't stop thinking about how familiar that dialogue sounded

[kingdoms-and-empires]

Wrath Of An Empire Review (Sci-Fi Epic!)

I recently had to go travel and read a few works that I never got around to reading but was interested in.

PLEASE REMEMBER THIS REVIEW IS DONE BY ME AS A READER AND IS MY OWN OPINION.

This means I will review in accordance to my own tastes, how the game caters to me, and what I feel. Do not take my word as gospel, what I may not be interested in or dislike, may be what YOU are interested and love!!!

@wrathofanempireif

Review;

The Good:

While I was playing, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was playing one of Hosted Games top games. It takes the formula we're familiar with Hosted Games and simply delivers what I can only describe as a modern classic in the making. And it's helped by the fact that it'll stand as one of the few sci-fi space epics out there in the IF space. Of which the author is already a part of with his The Operative project.

The story makes use of something called Soft Worldbuilding. And uses it very well, as the terms, factions, names, and even weapon systems just sound right. It also helps that alot of these can be inferred so you could have an idea of what is being talked about. They fit, and it all feels immersive. Another thing that I absolutely appreciate is the simplicity of the story and narrative itself. You can follow easily follow along, and you know what the characters are about. It is a very hard line to tread as an author, and from the advance update i was able to see, the author is pulling off so far! Take for instance minor characters like Orzo and Welf (adults who educate the MC). Their actions, behavior, and dialogue really help the reader picture what type of people they are, while still helping readers guess further into what may have happened in the past with them, something made more interesting with the galactic war happening in the background (dead family, ptsd, horrible periods in their lives before coming to the academy, etc)

Then, after the story helps set up the narrative, the issues at hand, and what choices you may have to make in the future;

NON-STOP ACTION. It felt gripping and intense, keeping me glued to the screen as I wonder what else could happen. It's there that we also see the subversion of the old trope "Useless Adults" as the guards and teachers of the academy risk their lives to bring the students to safety.

The Bad:

I wouldve liked to see more of the father and him as a person, we see from the other characters what they are, who they are, and what they may be thinking, but the father stays as "dad" the entire time. I recommend including more about the father and other similar characters so that the author can continue treading the delicate line of "simple but so good".

The Ugly:

There's several gender mistakes with the ROs, and common grammar mistakes, so par with the course of an IF project lol. I would just like to see more polish. The demo is short atm, and I cant really find faults with it that needs addressing yet, so yay!

The Aftermath:

I'd recommend this to anyone who like space fantasy stories that are sci-fi space opera-esque. I had more fun with this than I did The Operative simply for the fact of the immersion of being a student whose home was attacked by the enemy, instead of being a super soldier with a background already being semi-allocated to the MC. I really can't wait for future updates for this title!

[yuffi369]

I had this idea earlier today and couldn't get it out of my head, so, here. Inscryption content be upon ye

Daisy Bell

P03 x GN!Reader

You find out that P03 tends to sing to himself when he works alone.

You'd been in the land of Inscryption for a while. You'd no idea how long time had passed outside, but here, it felt like a month. Time moved inside the disk faster than it did in the outside world. P03 had suggested a minute outside was about a day inside- so you'd guessed you'd been gone about thirty minutes, give or take.

The Scrybes didn't know how to get you out of the game. They were used to interfacing with a Challenger through a screen, not actually having a real human being standing face-to-face with them. While they had their own goals in mind, you were on friendly enough terms with all of them to where they all wanted to help you get back to your own life. Sadly, progress had been naught so far, but it was the thought that counted. In exchange for their help, you gave them company, something they all desperately desired.

The one you visited the most frequently was P03, oddly enough. Leshy had let you build a small cabin right by the ocean in his domain, so it was clear on the other side of the island to visit the Scrybe of Technology, but you liked spending time with him. You found it easy to simply sit in the same room, working on separate projects, but together. He wouldn't admit it, but he enjoyed your company, too.

Today, you brought a basket full of lunch food- sandwiches, veggies, pastries. P03 didn't eat much, but he could, if he wanted, and if you offered he always took at least something, to be polite (which, in fairness, he wasn't used to being polite, either). You mostly brought food because you knew you'd be over working for a long time, and if you didn't bring any food you likely wouldn't eat again until you got home.

As you entered P03's factory, standing outside the door, you thought you heard something. High-pitched tones, coming from small speakers inside the building. You thought the song sounded familiar...

As you were trying to recall where you'd heard this song before- it was on the tip of your tongue, so frustrating!- you heard... P03's voice. You were stunned into silence as you heard him singing along to the familiar melody.

"Daisy, Daisy, Give me your answer, do I'm half crazy, All for the love of you"

You remember, now, upon hearing the lyrics. The first vocal synthesizer had sung this song, in 1961. It sounded so sweet, coming from P03's voice box. You guessed that the programmers of Inscryption fed this into his AI, potentially to give him some kind of more realistic-sounding dialogue.

You had a habit of singing along to songs without even realizing it. Upon the second half of the song starting, you began to sing along with the melody as well.

"It won't be a stylish marriage, I can't afford a carriage, But you'll look sweet, upon the seat, Of a bicycle built for two"

Abruptly, the speakers stopped playing the melody. You stepped back as the door to the factory quickly opened. P03 stared at you, with a slightly annoyed expression. Although, was that... blush, on one cheek of his face display? You didn't even know he was capable of being embarrassed.

"Hey," you said, casually. "Mind if I hang out for lunch?"

"Yeah, sure," they replied briskly, turning and hovering back over to their desk. "Next time, just knock."

You shrugged. "I was trying to figure out what song it was. I didn't know you knew how to sing..."

"It's just a catchy tune. Music helps me focus, sometimes. You know how you stinky humans used to sing work tunes when you were working on railroads or sailing ships? Kind of like that."

You smiled. "I think it's a sweet song."

P03 was... oddly silent, for a long moment. His monitor facing away from you, so you couldn't see what expression he was displaying, he finally replied, "Yeah, it's alright, I guess. Been stuck in my head a while."

You sat down on the other side of the table, big enough for the two of you to work on your separate projects. As you begun to get out your notebook to work on your next writing project, you begun to sing under your breath, the song stuck in your head.

"There is a flower within my heart, Daisy, Daisy, Planted one day by a glancing dart, Planted by Daisy Bell"

From the corner of your eye, you saw P03 shift in his seat. You heard him play the melody, and then, you heard his voice box pick up singing the next verse.

"Whether she loves me or loves me not, Sometimes it's hard to tell; Yet I am longing to share the lot Of beautiful Daisy Bell"

With the next chorus, you sang together again, this time intentionally.

"Daisy, Daisy, Give me your answer, do I'm half crazy, All for the love of you!

It won't be a stylish marriage, I can't afford a carriage, But you'll look sweet, upon the seat, Of a bicycle built for two!"

"Enough," P03 said, cutting off the melody. "We're getting distracted."

You looked back up at P03 and nodded. "Sorry." You could've sworn you saw his display face had a blushing expression again. But you decided not to pry, and simply got back to work.

[squeakygeeky]

600 hours/1 year of Thai

It's just under a year actually and I hit my goal for the year. I've been learning Thai will the 'ALG method' which is all about immersion. I mostly use this channel and I also take 1-2hrs of listening webinars a week. I'm currently on intermediate content. The transition from beginner was okay, but my comprehension levels feel on the lower side and they don't feel like they're improving that noticeably. It could just be that I'm pretty bored of lessons at this point.

I recently tried re-watching Lovely Writer and then He's Coming to Me without subtitles. I'm not sure why, but Lovely Writer felt easier. Maybe because there aren't any voiceovers and the non-romance vocabulary was centered on writing and film, which I'm more familiar with than heart conditions and funerary practices. I guess Lovely Writer also stuck in my head more, even though I had only watched each series one time. There were only a few points where I wished I actually understood, because I couldn't remember exactly what had been said in the scene. With He's Coming to Me I was more lost. Also it had more traffic noise picked up with the dialogue. I do think I will continue re-watching shows for a lot of my input. Even if my comprehension isn't that high, I'm wayyyy more engaged so it's worth it. I do think watching a whole series without subtitles is a ways off and I'd be too confused to get drawn in at all. I do watch a Thai game show with talented kids called Super 10 sometimes and I recommend it to anyone at an intermediate or higher Thai level. It's pretty easy to understand.

I still do watch shows with subtitles and it's with that where I really feel the progress I'm making because sometimes I forget for a minute to put subtitles on until the dialogue gets past basic phrases. However I'm still not logging that as part of my learning hours so the 600 number is really 600+.

I think part of the struggle now is that I don't feel like I'm picking up a lot of new words. Instead I think I'm getting grammar and cadence and the different ways that words I recognized are actually used. The way people talked to each other in terms of pronouns and particles was something I was already interested in and had explicitly learned a bit about, but now it's really obvious and one of my favorite things to pay attention to. The way Gene and Sib talk to each other feels absolutely wild now.

I was going to work on learning the alphabet more, but right now all I can really do is sound something out to see if the word is what I think it is. I may start learning to read more seriously even though it's not recommended by the ALG method to start yet (for accent reasons, which don't really matter given my lack of anyone Thai to talk to lol). I am really curious how I would fare in conversation if I actually tried. I do think I could talk about more than fruit.

There's a part of me that wonders if I should actually just stop, or cut back a lot. I don't need to know Thai, and this was partly an experiment on myself, which I think I can call a success. Meanwhile I actually need and use Spanish and I haven't been making much progress there, and a part of me still wants to learn Vietnamese (or one of about 2-5 other languages depending on my mood). But also, I like Thai and in another year I think I could watch shows without subtitles comfortably, and at that level I could stop trying to learn at all and would probably still improve.

[pfhwrittes]

Thank you so much! I knew quite a few of the artists you listed but there were still some that are new to me, so I'm excited to check them out!!

I really appreciate how thorough your answers are and providing the links for the specific accents and slang. I feel like that will help me out a lot! I tried to do as much research as I could before I started writing, but there's only so far you can go when you don't know exactly what you're looking for in the first place.

I think Price was the only one that I couldn't exactly find out where he was supposed to be from and what that accent is supposed to be like. I really like the way he sounds in the games, but I might give Scouse!Price a try in one of my oneshots and see how that turns out. I really enjoy writing for things that are underrepresented in fandom so this might turn into my new favorite thing :) (I don't really follow any behind the scenes stuff or the actors themselves but my favorite video I ever came across was the one where Barry was showing off the 'coke and a water' he got after asking for a coconut water)

And I guess with Gaz it's not that his accent isn't as noticeable, so maybe pronounced wasn't quite the right word. I guess I'm just more familiar with the sound of a London accent. I feel like that's the stereotypical 'British' accent that is represented over here in the States, so it feels a little more basic? less embellished? not as hard to understand? Idk I feel like I'm still not quite finding the right word for it. I guess I'm more worried about using the right slang for him whereas with the rest of them it's finding the right slang AND figuring out the right way to write out the accent itself like you explained with the manc 'ya' and 'meh'

But anyways- Thank you again! I'm going to be doing a deep dive into all the links and hopefully come out on the other side a little more confident in my writing :)

Mr Blobanon 🤡

p.s. I don't mind being the Mr Blobby anon 😂 if they had an emoji for him I'd be using it right now lol but the clown will have to do for now.

mr blobanon 🤡! you're back!

i just had a thought, i know my darling @syoddeye is feeling a little under the weather at the moment BUT they have some fantastic music recs if you're looking for general vibes that might fit the characters. i fully recommend listening to the playlist they put together for their fic "For the Record", it's good stuff.

i'd love to see your take on scouse!price when you get round to it if you ever feel like sharing!

most non-uk people are more familiar with london/southern england/home counties/RP accents as that's what you see the most of in british media (booo!) so it makes sense that (for you) gaz's accent is the "default". don't worry about phrasing, i know what you mean and i'm not offended. the only time i get my hackles up is when people take the mick when it comes to regional/working class accents OR when they start up with the whole "scouse/brummie/northern accents are horrible" bullshit.

i'm trying to think of the best way i can help when it comes to solidifying gaz's slang/speech patterns but i'm drawing a bit of a blank. if there's a bit of gaz's dialogue that you're not sure sounds right i can give it a scan for you.

oh and some quick tips for making sure your british characters (specifically english) sound authentic:

it's shops, not store

traffic lights, not stop light

stop sign, not yield sign

boot (of a car), not trunk

bonnet (of a car), not hood

windscreen, not windshield

indicator, not blinker or turn signal

pavement, not sidewalk

road, not pavement

tarmac, not asphalt

bag, not purse

purse (for feminine characters), not wallet or coin purse

wallet (for masculine characters), not billfold

£50 notes are pink (and usually refused in most shops because they're fairly rare when it comes to circulation), £20s are purple, £10s are orange/yellow, £5s are blue

twenty quid note, tenner and fiver are all used commonly when referring to money (i haven't heard of a colloquial term for a £50 because i never have any 😅)

when writing out money write it as £1.20/£5.99 - not £1.20p/£5.99p unless it's less than a pound

when writing out money that's under a pound write it as 99p/20p not £0.99/£0.20

we use a blend of imperial and metric measurements just to be confusing

humans get weighed in stones and lbs AND kgs. height (in humans) gets measured as both feet and inches AND metres and centimetres

distances travelled are measured in miles not kilometres

distances measured can be in metres, feet, inches, centimetres, millimetres

volume can and will be measured in pints, gallons, litres and millilitres

that's all i can think of right now but i'm sure there's more! good luck!

[thearoaceshark]

Casey-Jones

From the earth.

They/Them/She/He/Any pronouns. (Transfem gender fluid non-binary).

Bisexual.

28 years old (she started dating Lee when she was 17 and Lee was 16).

They are 1.86m tall.

White. Black hair and dark brown eyes.

(Rewrite of the canon) (Warning Lee and Casey don't realize that they are trans until almost the end so they will be called with masculine pronouns until they realize it) (Unlike the previous ones, in this one there will be dialogues)

When they were at the farm Casey and Leo spent a lot of time together, while the others were training Casey stayed to accompany Leo when he was injured, thanks to that they inevitably became more friends. They both had more in common than they thought, somehow they confessed how hard it was for them to be older brothers.

"I'm really worried about my little sister... I couldn't find her and... She's probably a kraang zombie now" Casey said "At least you still know where yours are, don't you think?"

"Yeah... I can imagine the pain you must be going through" the ninja answered looking at his brothers training through the window "We're going to get her back, I'll make sure that the first thing you do when we stop the invasion is go hug your little sister" .

"Haha, that sounds so sweet Lee... You'd probably hate her! THAT LITTLE DEMON! She's so naughty that you'd get gray hair even if you don't have hair."

"That doesn't sound nooothing familiar, but I think i'll handle her."

After that they continued talking about trivial things, Casey asked Leo about Space Heros and the turtle didn't fall from there, he told him about all kinds of things from the show, fan theories, that fancomic he found on the internet that he loved it, how disappointed he was when one of the couples broke up. Leo didn't fall for it, and Casey loved hearing it, it was a good time together.

○

When the Kraang left, as Leo promised, he helped Casey search the whole city for her little sister. When they found her Casey ran to hug her, he was so relieved to see her. Leo watched the meeting from the shadows, with a smile on his face.

○

▪︎○▪︎

○

When the Triceratons destroyed his home and the Fugitoid took them back in time, Leo was very... Confused. For a moment he was relieved to be able to save his sensei and the Earth, and the excitement of being in space distracted him, but when it all happened, he could only think about seeing his father get... Stabbed... By the back, for the damn Shredder...

Thanks to Fugitoid's simulation, he was able to continue talking with a hologram version of his teacher, he believed that he was relieved to hear his advice, but in reality it only confused him more, he longed to hear his real father's advice, not that of a hologram that I was programmed to be just like him.

He met Casey at the exit, but he decided to ignore him, he had to focus on his new mission, they only had two months to avoid the Triceraton invasion.

He spend a good time like this, just ignoring his feelings, sometimes it was easy, when the excitement of being in space and the edrenaline overcame them, but you just can't keep your feelings in a box forever. After escaping from the Kraang base, he was very scared, the gladiators they faced and the escape put a lot of stress on him... He thought about how fun it was to talk to Casey when they were at the farm and decided to stop by to see him.

They talked about various things, how crazy this adventure was being, how sometimes they enjoyed it and other times they were very afraid to continue. They just wanted all of this to end.

Leo also took the opportunity to confess something that he had thought for a long time.

"Hey" called the one in blue.

"Hmm?"

"Don't you feel like... Do you want to stop being a boy?... Sometimes?"

"Ah? Yeah, all the time, it's normal. Like, can you imagine if we were girls, or neither of them, or both?"

"Yeah... Sounds like a good idea, is it weird?

"Of course not, everyone would like to be girls"

"Oh, okay" there was a little silence "Do you mind if I ask you to... Treat me like one? Like a girl, I mean."

"Sure, you're very curious what it would look like, huh? Do you want me to bring you a dress, miss?" joked the black-haired.

"Haha, obviously not, idiot" he replied laughing "I want to try it, it feels good for some reason... But don't do it in front of my brothers or April, it would be so embarrassing."

"As you say, blue!"

The turtle got up from the bed to retire.

"Oh and Casey, one last thing. I hope you're not offended, I know you like April and Donnie and you have this weird competition for their attention. But please stop being so weird about her space suit."

"Okay okay, I'm sorry."

"Apologize to April, I'll tell Donnie too."

○

▪︎○▪︎

◇▪︎○▪︎◇

▪︎○▪︎

○

When they returned to Earth, they took some time off before continuing their patrols.

Bestie. Babe. Blue. Pretty. Princess. Queen. Barbie girl. Baby girl. Girl. Those were the nicknames Casey used to use with Lee when they were alone. Leo loved them, it felt good to be called that, besides they were cute and flirty nicknames, they made him feel... Pretty.

One day April caught Casey calling him a girl, they explained her the game and she told them that it was actually not common to like to be the opposite gender or not feeling like your own sex. Casey denied this and April called the rest of the turtles for confirmation.

The others arrived and it was something like that.

"No, I never wanted to be a girl or nothing" said Raph

"Me neither, sometimes I think about it, but I wouldn't like to be," Donnie seconded.

"WHAT?!!" Mikey exclaimed "HAVE YOU GUYS NEVER FEELS GIRLS?! NOT ONCE?!!"

"Well no, Mikey. Have you ever wanted to be a girl?"

"Of course! Sometimes I wake up and think, 'yes, today I'm a girl' and other days I'm a boy, and some days i'm both" explained the orange one "It's normal!"

"That's three against three," Casey said, referring to people who thought it was normal to like to be another gender and those who didn't.

"What? What are you talking about Casey?" Raph asked.

"We're going to need a fourth opinion. Do you think sensei is available?" Leo said, he was curious about what his teacher thought about it, but he didn't want to confront him directly, this was the perfect excuse, a simple adolescent question.

They went to look for him at the dojo and luckily he seemed to be finishing meditating. They explained to him and asked his opinion, he said...

"Hmm, that's a good question... My master would have told me that they were intrusive thoughts that only sought to distract your calm mind. But, although he was a wise man, I know firsthand that he could be wrong... I think, that you look for your own identity, and if you think that you are a girl or a boy, then maybe you are" that was his opinion "What do you think of that?"

"Okaaaay" Mikey said "Have you ever felt like a girl Master Splinter?"

"No, I don't Michelangelo. But maybe some people do"

That left Leo thinking, so, he really maybe... It was a she.

"I am a girl?" Casey and Leo said at the same time, the shell cracking.

"WHAAAAAAAAAT?!!" Mikey yelled in shock, Raph gave him a zap.

They continued investigating and discovered that Casey was non-binary and fluid in identity. They changed their pronouns, and Lee changed his name and pronouns. And after a couple of weeks Lee and Casey announced their engagement.

◇•○•◇

Casey had to be very present in the lair after Splinter's death, she was Lee's biggest emotional support for a long time.

(Special thanks to @thewitchwannabe for having given the idea and for helping me with the writing)

[idv-news-boi]

-> Laurence's Journal Entries {Part 3}

Journal #21 {Who's this sassy, lost child ...?} @/vthekidfromtheforest

James... It seems the kids in this manor really like Akihiko- Like... way too much..

We recently just met some kid called "V" (shows a profile pic of V from the manor's files) turns out that's Jane's child,,, I thought Jane was too young for adoption papers- but as long as they're happy, sure! Not my business anyway-

Though that's not the real issue,,,,- Is just- this kid doesn't stop clinging on poor Akihiko who's kindly telling that he has to leave-

JDDJBDDJDJN Sorry,,, his situation amuses me a bit,,,- 🤣

I was trying to ask the kid kindly,,,! but she ended up threatening me...- rude lil one...

I ended up tricking her and hoisted Akihiko onto my shoulder before running away- She ended up crying as Akihiko waved rjfbfb- I felt a bit bad for the champ... A bit.

Journal #22 {Promoting the Showman's Profile~} @/idv-ask-the-showman

James,,, i thought I was dreaming at first- but i just met a circus veteran! Bonus point,,, he's a handsome, innovative ringmaster~

Oops- that slipped~!

Though, It's unfortunate how he had to face a tragic fate- all i can hope, James, is that he gets to be satisfied someday... And that his lil brother gets to live at the fullest.

Speaking about his brother, the young man sounded pretty familiar from Mr. Flynn's description... But i couldn't lay a finger on it.

Journal #23 {Interesting...} @/idv-avatar

Never thought I was going to meet someone who just got out of the game- and who asked a question related to an alternative identity crisis to think of- it's dark, but very interesting theory to consider...

Mmm... I might just check my insides in how an anatomy of a survivor is like- Who knows it may not be like my body structure from before! Akihiko won't agree with that idea, but I'm sure Eiji will for medical study purposes~

Journal #24 {I flirted with a senior- And it felt great~!}

Yes, you heard me- I committed the Kabedon and tried to flirt on Mr. Lucky Guy- Even asking for his real name... Never knew i would have such level of audacity but here i am~!

He looked so vulnerable and flustered... I couldn't resist- well, i can.... I just simply wanted to see that cute, freckled face upclose~

Journal #25 {Rosie...?}

Whenever i go to the same matches as her, Rosalyn seems to look more nervous when I'm around her,,,-

I really wonder why... And what's she hiding from within her ceramic, doll-like mask... Bet she'll look super adorable with both her face and her adorable lolita dress combined~

But i have the presentiment that there's something she's hiding... That i shouldn't know for some reason.

Journal #26 {I slandered the Vice Clan Leader~}

I simply slandered him by placing a crown in front of his sacred portrait- Akihiko didn't seem pleased at my actions hahaha!

The strange part after is that Angel has been glaring at me the entire lunch break once i got out of the room on my way to the dining room-

Journal #27 {So many papers...}

It seems today is a busy day,,, a lot of people coming, records to keep, news reports to track down,,, Even more paperwork and the dialogue papers i have to practice for my essence-more burden for the Witchita Scholar package essence if added.

Journal #28 {Wow...}

Rosie got chosen to match costume with Mr. Quinn- they look cute together~!

Though, i don't know why I'm feeling a bit jealous... Probably because I ate something bad.

Journal #29 {Angel is being extra again-}

The Spanish boi is really going extra in men like me- I don't even celebrate the holiday much! Though, I'm really enjoying Rosalyn's singing... Sounding beautifully familiar- but Angel kept insisting me to wesr for the occasion if I'm going to attend her concert- ahh,,,

Journal #30 {Holy Wow...}

JIIMMM- I NEVER THOUGHT FEBRUARY WOULD MAKE PEOPLE SO SWEET AND THOUGHTFUL FBRBFBBF,,,!!!!

Some Anon just have me a big pile of gears for my communicator! I'm still halfway searching through the items,,, nothing so far, but it's still a lot to look! At least some of the gears will come in handy for certain tools for Akihiko to fix~!

[fractal-fourcube]

A very rough mock-up of a comic I don’t intend to draw anytime soon. I took some dialogue from Rick and Morty S3E1 and reimagined it with a few tiny changes in a not so different context.

(as you can plainly see I’ve never drawn Ford before)

(also he’s a vampire now, I was too chicken to try giving him a flesh tone)

[peterthepark]

off the table

pairing: tasm!peter parker x ex!reader

tags: NSFW, breakup angst, sadness, graphic smut, alcohol use, mentions of wounds from a fight, exes, drunk!peter, ex!peter, slight choking

summary: ever since the breakup, peter hasn’t seen you in months. when he drunkenly shows up at your door, the two of you realize that there’s some things that haven’t been addressed.

notes: this fic became longer than i expected so enjoy almost 6k of pining, miscommunication, and smut!!! based off of the song “off the table” by ariana <3

missing out? ➤ my masterlist

Peter Parker doesn’t believe in the right person at the wrong time. He grew up with the knowledge that if someone was right for his heart, then the timing could never be wrong. Everything would fall in line just how it was destined to be, like it was meant to. If one chapter closed in his life, then another one opened. Yet Peter believed in second chances, especially for those he loved. No matter how unsuitable a person could be for him, he always held onto the silver lining that circumstances could become better — that a person could become better and he wouldn’t have to close a chapter.

Peter isn’t ready to close yours.

But you weren’t just a simple chapter to him. You were an entire novel, interwoven with stories and quotes and unspoken dialogue that would live in the wrinkles of his brain. Your love lingered in the cracks of his lips and the insides of his palms from the nights he couldn’t stop touching you, and the nights you couldn’t stop moaning his name against his own mouth.

God, he missed those nights.

Peter could still memorize every mole, freckle, and scar on your body. He could still recite every one of your favorite lines from that rom-com you used to watch together. Everytime your song came on, he found himself singing along to the lyrics as if you never left.

As if you were still together.

He doesn’t know how he got here. The smell of liquor is pungent on his clothes as he sniffles into the air. Peter usually never drank, but there was something about today that made him want to drown his sorrows away in the least responsible manner. Because with great responsibility comes — wait, what was it again?

The right side of Peter’s body harshly collides into the wall with enough impact to create a dent. His footing is messy and he can barely hold himself up as he sways lazily in the hallway to find the familiar apartment.

“Fuck…” Peter murmurs to himself as he hears your laugh echo from outside your door, causing him to clumsily stumble onto his knees. “Get it together, man.”

He pulls himself to his feet, using the ground for leverage before his forehead is leaning against the coolness of the white-colored door as Peter attempts to remember the whole speech he had planned out in the haziness of his mind. With an uncertain hand, he knocks. There isn’t an answer until he decides to knock again, to which he then hears the chirpy sound of your voice shouting ‘coming!’ from the other side, followed by the sharp clacking of heels against the floorboards.

He’s leaning against the wall by the time the door swings open and his breathing becomes ragged at the sight of you.

You, in a sequined dress, something he thought would be too short and flashy for your own liking. You, with your hair up and freshly-done makeup that reminds Peter of all the times you’d gotten dressed up to see him. You, staring at him, as the smile fades from your lips like you’d seen a ghost.

“Y/N.” Peter exhales with a lopsided grin.

“Peter,” You stare at him with wide eyes in disbelief. You stick your head outside of the door to glance at either end of the hallway for anyone else. “What are you doing here?”

He laughs tiredly and runs a heavy hand down his face. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t like — I couldn't find my way back home and I think I lost my phone somewhere.” He chuckles, pointing at you. “Did I… um, are you gonna leave? I’m sorry, I dunno how I — dunno what I’m doing, Y/N.”

You smell it then — the alcohol. And it makes sense. You’re unsure how to approach him, because you hadn’t seen Peter in several months ever since your breakup halfway through college. He continues to mumble under his breath; the sight of his disheveled appearance makes your heart ache, which only makes you feel sorry for him.

There’s a discoloration of purpled blues and bloody reds by his eyebrow that you hadn’t noticed before.

“Are these bruises? Oh, my god. Peter, I’m gonna call you a cab.” You tug your bottom lip between your teeth. He instantly grabs your wrist before you can turn away from him, then your head snaps to look at him.

“No, no need. Can‘t do hospitals, remember?”

You swallow hard. “Yeah. I remember.”

You don’t miss the way his thumb rubs your skin in the silence.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ll go.” Peter starts to lose his footing. Your hands instantly find his shoulders to steady him before he can fall over, sighing as he tries to apologize. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have anyone else — I don’t know… I don’t have anyone else.”

You screw your eyes shut in a mix of pity and frustration.

“Oh, fucking hell. Come inside, Peter.”

You guide his tall frame into the apartment as you shut the door behind you, carefully watching where he walks as you lead him onto the couch. He plops down onto the pillows with a lack of grace, and his eyes glaze over the exposed skin of your thighs.

You pad towards the bathroom, rummaging for the first aid kit that you hadn’t used ever since Peter had lived here. There’s a distance in your gaze as you return to the living room, setting bandages and towels on the coffee table before you’re kneeling in front of Peter.

He then sees that the apartment looks different. Any trace of himself was obviously gone, replaced with pictures of people he couldn’t recognize and replaced with stuff that he doesn’t remember buying for you. The whiteboard on the fridge that Peter used to write notes for you is now filled with a schedule, reminding him that his presence was causing a disturbance to the peaceful night you were going to have.

“I’m so sorry for bothering you.”

“Leg.” You motion, holding his calf as you pull his shoe off.

“You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Other one.”

“Why are you all dressed up?”

“Peter, I need you to put your leg up.”

“You look so pretty. Is it a date? Are you still…” He huffed with a short laugh. “… are you dating again?”

You chase the frown off of your face with a shake of your head, trying to level your patience. “It’s my birthday tomorrow, Peter.” Realization flashes across his features. You interrupt before he can speak. “I was headed out for drinks with friends. I’m not dating anyone.”

“Oh.” He scratches his nose. “Right, yeah.”

You shrug. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry for ruining your night.”

You set his shoes aside and sit by him on the couch, taking the first aid kit into your lap as Peter gazes at you longingly. “S’okay, didn’t wanna go out anyways.” Your knee brushes against his thigh as you survey the blossoming bruises on his face. Your fingers ever-so-slightly twitch as you reach for him. “May I? My hands are clean. Just wanna put a bandage over it.”

“Don’t need to ask me.”

You gingerly tilt his head back with a hum, “I do.”

“You always asked.” Peter sucks in a breath as you dab at the small cuts with a gauze pad. “Every time I was hurt after patrol and needed you, you’d ask. As if you hadn’t touched me before.” He studies the flicker of nostalgia on your face. He talks as if the words are meant for himself more than you. “No other person cared for me like you did.”

In a sick way, him being here feels like home again.

Guilt sinks into you as you turn away from him. You and Peter never had a proper conversation about what happened between you two. People grow apart. People lose interest. People find somebody else. But none of that ever happened, and the reasons for your break-up were never addressed which is what made his comment sting harder than it should have.

You pat a warm towel against his cheeks and neck, wiping away the sweat and the stench of the bar from his skin. With steady hands, you rip the small band-aid open, placing it over the surface wounds on his eyebrow.

“What kind of trouble did you get yourself into, spidey?” The timbre of your voice is gentle as you look at him, eyes wandering over his face in sympathy.

He shifts in his seat. “Just some assholes who drank too much.”

“Sounds familiar.”

Peter chuckles at your remark, head lolling to the side. “Is that what you think of me right now? Asshole who drank too much?”

“Maybe just the ‘drank too much’ part.”

“Personally, I was hoping you’d say I’m an asshole.” He scoffs, cradling his own cheek.

A sad smile falls upon your lips as you gaze at him. “Hm, why’s that?”

“Would be easier to know you have some semblance of hatred for me.”

The declaration feels like a punch in the stomach, and you find yourself at a loss for words when Peter’s fingers nudge against your hand. You close your eyes when you feel his pinky curl against yours. Unable to look at him, you sit forward on your elbows, hunching over in your lap.

“You’re drunk, Pete.”

The nickname makes him weak.

“Tell me you hate me.” He leans over to you, his breath fanning over your shoulder. You feel tears prickle in your eyes. “Please, Y/N.”

Your voice is muffled as you cover your face. “I don’t hate you.”

“I want you to.”

“I couldn’t — I couldn’t possibly hate you.” You cross your arms over your chest. He lingers over your back. He wants to kiss the softness of your skin, to remember how you tasted, how your body reacted to him and him only. But Peter knows better than to chase the old life that you had shared together. “Nothing you do is worth hating.” You can feel him inhale your perfume, and you don’t move when his chin settles in the curve of your shoulder.

The action is one of longing, one that tells you that Peter hadn’t stumbled at your door for no reason, one that whispers ‘I miss you, do you miss me?’ in every language, and every iteration of each wordless apology that refuses to leave him.

A sob rustles through the air.

“We were so good together, and you left.” The boy whispers brokenly. “I loved you and you left.”

“That’s not fair.”

“What about this is supposed to be fair?”

“I left because I loved you too much.” Peter feels the drunkenness fade from his body at the sight of tears on your face, heightening his powered senses. “I loved you more than I loved myself. I loved you to the point that I’d actually allow you to destroy yourself as Spider-Man, because I know I couldn’t stop you. What kind of person does that?” You sit up, interlocking your hands behind your neck as an overwhelming wave of emotion hits. “How could I just — just stand there and support you knowing that you could be gone at any moment? That it would ruin me and I’d be okay with it because you would be doing the very thing you loved to do?”

The space under Peter’s eyes is stained with tear tracks, sniffling loudly at your thoughts. “Is that not what love is?”

“To watch a person ruin themselves?”

His eyelashes flutter against your jawline as he leans into your neck. “To be so selfless, that you’d put someone’s happiness over your own, even if that meant losing them.” He trembles. “Y/N, I wish you’d talked to me.”

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” You feel the clenching of his jaw. “Suppose it’s different now, yeah?”

“It’s never different with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll always love you. I never stopped.” He finally presses a chaste kiss of longing to your clavicle. “You were my girl.”

You hold back tears. “Is this really you talking?” Peter notices the sputter of your chest, your throat threatening to let a sob wrack through your body.

He turns you towards him, letting his hand dip down just above your hip. Your distressed eyes search his face for an answer as your bottom lip quivers in visible heartache. He takes your hand in his free one, kissing the pads of your fingers before he places them over his heart. “This is me sober.” He kisses them again. “This is me in love.” Another kiss. “This is yours.” He runs your hand over his chest, up his neck and then his cheek with wet lashes. “I am yours. Everything I am is yours. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

Your lip juts out in anguish when Peter’s tears fall against your skin. You shudder. “I think you should go.”

He’s all over you. His scent. His eyes.

“I’ll never love anyone the same way I love you.”

You feel like you’re suffocating under the colossal weight of his poetry.

“Peter, I can’t do this tonight.”

You’re moving to get up, until his arms wrap around your legs. He keeps you there — unable to move, stagnant, and unchanged like you had no choice but to endure this. His head rests against your abdomen while you fight to stand straight, refusing to give in.

But it’s so difficult.

It feels like betrayal as you watch him cry into the material of your dress, whispering chants of ‘don’t go’ in the same manner as a broken record. You hold your chin up high, ignoring how empathetic tears of your own trail down your face at the sounds of his whimpering.

“Y/N.” He hisses through teeth. “Y/N, please.”

The crack of his voice injures your conscience.

“I tried for you.”

Peter’s hands cup the backside of your thighs as his words stumble over each other in a hurry. “So try again with me.”

Your hands subconsciously entangle in his hair before you slowly bend down to plant a wistful kiss to the top of his head — more of a sob than a kiss, but Peter feels relief at the sensation of your lips on his body anyhow. Your fingers knot through the chestnut strands as they drift past the nape of his neck.

His hair smells like your old shampoo.

“Oh, Pete.” You sigh, allowing him to pull you into his arms. His hands are large against the curvature of your back, and he’s feverishly grasping at your skin under the touch of you.

The crushing embrace is one of love and yearning, but there’s an underlying heat in the way Peter takes you into his lap. Your arms are slung around his neck as his face buries itself beside your ear. The hitching of his breath reminds you that this is real — that you’re in his arms and he still loves you in a way that such words cannot describe.

“It’s not like this with anyone else.” He whispers, causing the wetness of his lips to transfer onto your skin. The peak of his nose drags against your cheek as his breath ghosts over you.

“Peter…” The name heeds as a warning when his lips come dangerously near yours. His eyes dance across your features; his heart shrivels at the sight of your cries and the shaking in your arms.

“Why are you scared?”

“If you kiss me, I’m afraid I’ll tell you all the things I never got to tell you.” You whimper when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You can tell me anything you want.” He speaks breathily as his lips follow along your jaw. “Tell me you miss me.” Kiss. “Tell me you hate me.” Kiss. “Tell me you need me, or you don’t.” Kiss. “Tell me you love me, Y/N. You can say anything and nothing will change.”

Peter gazes up at you. His eyes are glassy, and the loving brown hue of them is suddenly darker than you remember. You shake your head at him without a word, unable to talk with how your throat bubbles in rehashed misery. The brunette leans into you as you gently cradle the side of his face. You hesitate, and he catches it. His forehead presses up against yours. “You don’t need to do anything unless you want to.”

Peter’s comment causes a tear to slip out from the corner of your eye. A whine eases between your lips as you pull him closer towards you until your noses are touching.

He surveys your next move.

He prays you aren’t ready to close this chapter.

Peter loses any and all sound of mind when your lips clash against his. It’s hurried and messy, teeth bumping into each other with a clicking noise, accidental moans escaping your mouths. His hand softly holds you by the neck, while the other travels to the suppleness of your bottom to hold you up.

Your breathing is noisy, and Peter feels like he’s burning up a fever when you bite at his bottom lip. He doesn’t hide the aching groan that leaves him.

Nothing about the kiss is smooth.

Nothing about the way Peter touches you is innocent.

He’s completely sober at this moment. Any ounce of alcohol left in his system has faded as a result of how his body functions, and because Peter really wants to make the effort to remember this — you. He wants to savor every bite, every moan, every whisper of his name, every drop of you and every tear that leaves your eyes.

“I haven’t…” You pull away from him for relief. “… you know… in months.” Your tone is shy. The embarrassed blush on your cheeks makes Peter weak in the knees.

Peter nods in understanding. “Neither have I.” He plants a kiss on your sternum. “It’s okay.”

Your gaze doesn't leave him when his hand reaches around to hold your ponytail. He takes the band around your hair, gently tugging it out of place while being careful not to hurt you. He slips it around his wrist as messy strands fall around your face, cascading and framing each detail of you.

He runs his fingers through your part, humming at the way you shut your eyes. He sits forward and wraps your legs around his waist before he stands effortlessly; Peter’s strength makes you feel miniscule in his grasp until his lips find yours again and suddenly you can feel the fire within you growing.

Like second nature, Peter navigates your bodies to your bedroom, hoping that it is the same as it once was. The room is dark, and neither of you care for lights when Peter tenderly lays you out on the bed.

His lips leave yours and now he stands over your body.

You admire his face.

“Are your bruises okay?” The whisper melts into the heavy silence.

“Bruises have never stopped me when it comes to you.” He runs his hands down your legs before he’s kneeling on the floorboards, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. He rids you of your heels, softly kissing the tops of your feet as he makes his way up your legs. “God, you’re perfect.” His mouth is wet on your skin and the saliva glistens in the shadows.

“Pete…”

“I need you, Y/N,” He whispers, fingers kneading at the flesh of your thighs, “Christ, all of you.” His nails are digging into you. His grip is rougher.

“Stop teasing.” You nudge him with your foot.

“Oh, baby, it’s not teasing.” Your eyes meet his brown ones in the dark as he slowly hikes your dress up your stomach, revealing your underwear. His laugh comes out as a scoff. You instantly pick up on the way his voice shifts to a lower tone, accenting his words as he takes off his sweater. “I can show you what teasing is if you want.”

Fuck.

“I missed you.” You confess. “I missed this.”

“Keep talking to me.” His breaths are ragged as he kisses the skin around your core. He’s pulling your knees apart, nibbling on the insides of your thighs as his chest hits the frame of the bed. “Work for it, Y/N.”

“Haven’t been touched like this. In a while.” You sit up on your forearms to watch Peter’s reaction. “Haven’t touched myself since we were together.”

He moans sinfully at the remark, moving to sit beside you with an amused chuckle until he’s pulling you into his lap again. His chest is flush against your back as he spreads your legs for you.

The mirror across the room is enough to tell you what he’s thinking.

“Is this what you were afraid to tell me?” His nose buries into your hair. He’s exhaling into your skin, jaw slack as he helps you push your panties down your thighs. You can only nod as you study your reflections in the glass. “That you can’t get off without me?” You let your head fall against his shoulder, sucking a mark on his neck. His throat flexes at the motion. “What do you want me to do with you?”

“Finger me, Peter.” You breathe out, caressing his jaw. Your lipstick stains his chin. “Please.”

His finger dips down between your folds. A mocking chuckle leaves him as you sigh at the feeling of him touching you. He toys with your clit, rubbing gentle circles against the nub.

“Just as beautiful as the day I met you.” He gazes longingly at your desperate state in the mirror, spurred on by the visual of your head thrown back in helpless desire. “Look at yourself. So needy, aren’t you?” The tip of his finger prods at your entrance. “Fuck, Y/N.” His other hand wraps around your throat, pressing on your pulse point.

His middle finger enters you, slowly curling inside you until he’s pumping the digit in and out of you. You can hear the sounds of your wetness accumulating around your folds, and it’s even dirtier now that Peter can see it in the mirror. His jaw hangs open in a ‘O’ as you shut your eyes, sighing against him as he adds another finger to fill you.

“Oh, Peter…” You whine, nearly closing your legs at the sudden feeling. You use your own fingers to touch your clit, moaning as the heel of Peter’s palm presses against your mound. “Fucking… god, it feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

Peter’s erection strains against the denim of his jeans, and you use your free hand to reach behind you to grasp him through the material. He moans raspily at the touch, eyebrows furrowing in satisfaction.

“Take your pants off.” You mutter into his lips as you eye him through heavy lashes. The ache between your thighs doesn’t go unnoticed, but getting Peter off was just as pleasurable as his fingers inside of you.

He smirks, “Yes, ma’am.”

You crawl off his lap, laying on your stomach as he rids himself of his underwear and jeans. You rest your chin in the palm of your hand as you watch him, licking your lips when his cock comes to view. He scoots closer to you, letting you take control as you wrap a fist around his length. Your dress rides up your backside, giving Peter a chance to gaze at the curve of your ass as your legs cross innocently in the air. His nostrils flare into a deep inhale as you take him into your mouth, suctioning your lips around his tip.

He controls the urge to snap his hips into you, wanting to bask in the feeling of you sucking him off. Your lips pepper the underside of his cock; your stare never leaves him as you peer up doe-eyed and trusting.

“So big,” You mumble before your head bobs down and takes him fully into your mouth.

“Jeez, Y/N.” Peter can see the outline of his tip from the bulge in your cheek, and he chuckles shakily when your hand splays out onto his stomach as you squeeze your lips around him. “God, fuck, y-your mouth…” He’s throbbing and his voice comes out broken and needy. “Oh, baby, so good.”

Baby.

The pet name makes you clench your thighs together.

A string of saliva connects your lips to his cock when you pull off for air, nearly gasping as your throat opens up again. There’s tears in your eyes from the way his girth filled your mouth. Peter doesn’t hesitate to wipe them away from your face, cooing softly as your mascara stains your skin.

“I got you, Y/N. I got you.” He shushes you, rubbing your back as you cough. “Hey, don’t tire yourself.”

You rest your cheek against him, lazily pumping his length in your hand as you shake your head. “I’m sorry, wanna make you cum.”

“I’ll cum when you do.”

You chuckle in reminiscence. “Always a giver, Pete.”

“Well, only for you.”

“Hm, really?” You pump him at a slow pace. He hisses audibly with a wordless nod of his head. You can see the yearning on his face. “I want you inside me. Would you give me that?”

“I’ll give you anything you want, Y/N.”

You sit up on your knees, hand leaving the warmth of his cock as you grab onto his shoulders. Your lips drag down his face, capturing his mouth into a clumsy kiss that causes your limbs to tangle with one another. He carefully rolls you back onto the bed so that he’s on top, and he takes advantage of the moment to slip your body out of your dress.

Peter caresses your bare tits, burying his face in the valley of your breasts as he leaves a trail of hickies across your chest. He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, his other fingers rubbing your clit between the mess of your bodies.

“Tell me where you want me again.” His dilated eyes search yours hungrily while he grinds against you, awed by how your face contorts into pleasure. “Inside you?” You nod rapidly. “Stretch you out? Are you sure you can take me?”

“I’ve taken it before.”

He grins. “Good girl.” Peter runs his length down your folds, teasing your entrance with newfound patience that rattles you. You shut your eyes to focus on your breathing, until anxious thoughts make their way into your brain.

“Peter, wait.”

The boy stops immediately.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is soft with concern. He worriedly cups your face. “Did I hurt you? Are you okay?”

Your eyelids open reluctantly. With a rough gulp, you blink weakly at him. “If we have sex, what does this make us?”

He opens his mouth, yet nothing comes of it. You see the reality of the situation fall upon his features.

“Can’t I just have you for tonight?”

You feel a rush of tears approach. “And what about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, if you’d let me.” He kisses your nose. “And then the next day. And the day after. A week from now. A month.” His fingertips ghost over your ribs. “Take me back anytime you want, whenever you want. No matter how long it takes, I’m yours.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“You’re alright?” Peter pushes your hair back.

“Mhm, yeah.”

“Say yes for me, baby.”

“Yes, Pete.”

He looks at you one more time before his gaze shifts between your legs. Carefully, he pushes into you. You hold back a groan as your body adjusts to him. The sting hurts in a good way, and the aching of your core continues to build as Peter’s pelvis touches yours.

“Is this good?” He leans over, one hand on the bed while the other holds the back of your head. You moan in approval. “Can I move? Is that okay?”

“Y-Yes, thank you.” You hold his waist, mouth falling ajar as he pulls his cock back and thrusts in again. “Holy fuck, Peter.”

“Tell me if it hurts.”

“No, it feels good.” You bite his shoulder. “It feels so good.”

His strokes quicken, and Peter can’t take his eyes off of you when you moan wanton into his mouth. He does the same, teeth clashing against yours as your body jolts at his thrusts. He pushes your knees to your chest, pounding deeper inside you.

“Y/N, god.” He huffs, head hurting at the overwhelming feeling of you clenching around him. “You’re so tight.”

“It’s yours.” You smile at him.

“Say it, Y/N. All of it.”

“My pussy is yours.”

“Oh. Oh, baby.” His skin slaps against the back of your thighs. In the darkness, you see the sweat trail down his forehead and the need for release is written all over his face. “Fuck, Y/N, feels so good when it’s you.”

Peter’s eyes remind you that you can trust him.

“Hey, I love you.” You kiss the corner of his lips. “Look at me.”

He glances up at you to reassure himself that your words are real. “Again. Do that again.”

“I love you.”

“Say my name.”

“Peter, I love you.” He moans blissfully. It’s loud and gruff, but the sound reminds you of all the nights from before. The pit in your stomach finally drops when Peter grips you by the throat, thrusting into you rougher than before. “I’m gonna… baby, I’m gonna cum.”

“C-Can I cum inside you?” He pleads as you grip onto his wrists.

“Please.”

The choked statement of desire sends him over the edge, and the bedroom is filled with a song of your moans and grunts as you cum around his cock. Peter follows quickly, unable to fathom the sensation of you squeezing around him like you wouldn’t ever let him go. A whimper escapes him as he finishes and lets his body collapse on top of yours.

“Holy shit.” He laughs against your neck, peeling his fingers away from the stickiness of your skin. “Are you okay?” You nod with a satisfied expression, motioning for him to pull out.

The ache in your core is replaced with emptiness from the lack of Peter, and he hums apologies as his cum begins to leak onto your bedsheets. “S’okay.” You assure him, arms reaching for his tall frame as he finally lays beside you.

“Y/N...” He turns to you.

You wave him off sleepily. “Peter, we’ll talk in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Promise when I wake up you’ll be here, yeah?”

“As long as we don’t end up yelling at each other.”

You laugh at his comment, but part of you is fearful. “Peter, I’m serious.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’ll be here.” He kisses your cheek without second thought, inhaling the scent of himself on your skin. “Promise.”

-

The chirping of birds draws you out of your sleep. The sunlight is bright, yet the bed feels oddly cold. Your throat feels sore, and there’s an unmistakable smattering of familiar fingerprints on your body as you open your eyes.

Peter.

Your hand instinctively reaches for the space beside you.

“Peter?”

The side of his bed is empty. The duvet is pulled away messily, but the indent of his body is still clear as day in the mattress. Your pillowcases smell of him and sex, and you frown at the lack of his presence. Reluctantly, you get up, ignoring the soreness between your thighs when your feet touch the hardwood floor. You slip on the nearest shirt, shivering from the cool air with a frown on your lips.

He promised. He fucking promised.

You feel the build-up of tears in your eyes as you step into the hallway.

Disappointment. Anger. Hurt. Betrayal?

There’s a humming that comes from the kitchen.

“Peter?”

Silence. Then, a loud clatter.

“In here!”

The raspiness of his voice puts you at ease. Your shoulders relax at the familiar sound, and you level the pace of your breathing as you head into the other room. Peter stands by the stove, an apron around his sculpted chest as he focuses on the pan in front of him.

“You found it.”

“Found what? Also, you’re welcome for — for the cooking by the way.” He gestures at you with a spatula, wagging it at you jokingly.

“You found my apron.” You approach him with short strides, wrapping your arms around yourself as you snap out of your trance. “And thanks. Sorry. I thought…”

“You thought I left?” He glances at you with raised brows. “Have at least a little faith in me.”

“Sorry. I just — you know me, overthinker.”

You notice then that the apartment looks different. There’s stringy cobweb garlands on the ceiling, connected to the little hanging lamp above your dining table.

A long banner made of web that reads ‘Happy Birthday!’ sits above your front door.

Oh.

Peter takes advantage of your silence, coming to hold you by your waist as you stare dumbfounded at the decorations.

The room doesn’t feel so empty anymore.

“Happy birthday, by the way.” He kisses your shoulders, cradling your face in his hands as he bumps his nose against yours.

“Peter…”

“I know, I didn’t have to.”

“But why…” You puff your cheeks.

“It’s the least I could do since I ruined your girls’ night.” He clears his throat. “And for having sex with you.” He looks away in embarrassment, gazing at the ceiling as if he was talking to himself. “When clearly we’re exes.”

You squeeze his side as you blurt out, “I wanna try again with you.”

“You know, it’s completely fine if you wanted a one time thing like…” Peter still doesn’t meet your stare, clearly unaware that you’re even talking to him. “I mean, I had fun and — and I know I said some stuff and — like I was pretty sober for most of it so you know if I rehashed things…”

“Pete.”

“And I’m sorry for being such a shitty ex like…” You press a hand over his chest, hoping to catch his attention. “I didn’t show up just to have sex or — or hookup.”

“Peter.”

“I’m serious that I want you back—“

You shake his shoulders. “Peter Parker, will you just listen to me?”

He finds your eyes in the chaos of his words. “Sorry.”

“I want you, too.” You purse your lips. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you how I felt instead of running away. I was just scared.”

“If anything, I’m the one who should be running away.” Peter rests his chin on top of your head, embracing you against his chest. “Every second I spend with you…”

“I don’t wanna hear it.” You smile sadly. “I know what I got myself into.”

He ignores the pang in his heart at the thought of losing you again, but in worse conditions. “I meant it when I said I love you. With you, it’s — it’s different.” He takes your jaw, pulling your face up to look at him. “I like it here with you.”

You grin against his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Is it just me or is something burning?”

“Fuck, sorry!”

Peter supposed that maybe your chapter together did end at one point. He supposed that maybe it was time for those old pages to be tucked away, for the whole novel of poetry and conversations to turn over into memories and merely live in the cracks of his heart where it could never be opened again. But Peter realizes that there was a reason your relationship ended — to make room for another book, another chapter, a sequel.

Maybe you were always the right person and it was always the right timing. Maybe the two of you just needed to rewrite your story.

Peter knows to finish a book before starting another one.

He can’t wait to see what this new novel holds.

-

[kaseyskat]

okay okay i know it's late but i couldn't stop thinking about this idea i had and i'm afraid i'd just retcon so much of the dialogue if i tried rewriting it tomorrow so. take my unfiltered "it's 3am" thoughts in fanfic form <3

amphibia s3ep11 spoilers beware

It’s late when Anne slips into the room that Sasha’s claimed for herself, shivering all the while. The underground tunnels are surprisingly chilly at night; it’s no wonder that all the frogs have already dozed off, snoozing away while Anne had tossed and turned for too long.

Today has been long. Too long. Everything had happened so fast. Anne can scarcely wrap her head about any one of the series of events the day has brought her, let alone all of them. The last time she slept was safe and sound in her house on Earth, snug as a bug, secure in the knowledge that finding and rescuing her friends would be easy.

At least one of them doesn’t need rescuing, she thinks to herself.

It’s that thought that has her sneaking into the cave that Sasha’s claimed, arms folded over her chest as she shivers. She’s ditched the chestplate, but her uniform stays on; she likes the comfort it gives her, the familiarity.

To her surprise - or maybe not, today must have been just as impactful for her - Sasha is still awake, sitting in the middle of a cot, legs crossed at the ankles. She perks up when Anne closes the door behind her, features melting into a soft smile before sharpening right back up again, and this is the Sasha that Anne remembers from her childhood, the one that had sworn to protect herself and Marcy from anything that might harm them, that had genuinely loved them.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Sasha asks softly, and she’s patting the spot next to her, scooting over to make room so that Anne can slide onto the cot at her side.

“No,” Anne admits, still shivering, “so much has happened, you know? Today has gone so fast, I just… keep thinking about it. I should’ve gotten here sooner.”

“Hey, you did the best you could, given the circumstances,” Sasha soothes, “I, for one, am just happy you came back in the first place… I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to stay away.”

“Are you kidding?” Anne snorts, and she shakes her head even as she tucks her knees into her chest, glancing around Sasha’s cave. It’s barren, surprisingly, with only a couple boxes that must act as some sort of wardrobe, some more battle maps, and a very silly little sketch of what might be Anne and Marcy and Sasha all holding hands, though it’s so badly drawn Anne could be completely wrong. It’s endearing, and she snorts again, leaning on top of her knees. “No matter how badly you and Marmar screwed up, I had to come back and make sure you were both safe. Last time I saw you…”

She trails off. There’s no need to recap what is surely an image burned into both of their minds. Sasha, on the floor after being smacked into the wall. Marcy with a glowing sword through her chest, illuminating the tears in her eyes, casting everything into a sickly golden that lingers outside of Anne’s sight in every waking moment. She doesn’t know what all Sasha saw - surely more than her, considering she got to stay behind - but she can only imagine it was just as horrifying.

“Yeah, I get it,” Sasha mimics her, hands folded across her knees, guilt-ridden and despondent. “But… thanks. For coming back. For never giving up on us. I don’t know if I would’ve done the same if I were in your… shoe.”

Anne laughs this time, rolling her eyes playfully. “You would’ve. You’ve never given up on us either, I don’t think you’d start now.”

And maybe Sasha was going to say more, with the way she’s staring at Anne, but Anne shivers again as the air nips at her arms, burrowing down. “Man, it sure does get chilly here. Don’t you have any blankets?”

“Most of our fabrics were supplied for armor,” Sasha informs her, but she’s standing, grabbing at her arm nervously, “I… do have one thing you could use, though. Better you have it than me, I think.”

She walks over to one of the boxes, kneeling to dig through it and talking all the while. “Before Wartwood was attacked, I had time to… uh, go through your stuff? Sorry about that, I just wanted to save as much of it as I could, and I do have most of your stuff from the basement in one of these boxes. But… uh, well, your stuff wasn’t the only things I managed to save. Aha!”

And then she’s pulling out a long, blue-grey, very familiar cloak.

“No way,” Anne breathes.

“She left one of her spares in that wagon outside the house,” Sasha explains, and when she turns back around her eyes are misty, the smallest, wry little smile on her face, “amongst… a lot of other stuff. I didn’t get all of it because it felt too sacred going in there at first, but I realized she might want a cape that’s…”

Sasha trails off here, but Anne can clearly finish the sentence in her own head. A cape that’s whole. Not torn, or burnt straight through. One she can wear without feeling guilty about her involvement in Andrias’s plans.

“How do you know she’s alive?” she asks, quietly, as Sasha brings the cape back over to where Anne is sitting, holding it out for Anne to take. The fabric is as soft as Anne remembers, worn and vaguely lavender-scented like everything Marcy owns, and the familiarity of it all has tears brimming in her eyes as well. “I mean… I had hoped, but… you sounded so certain.”

“I have to be certain,” Sasha sighs, and she plops back into her spot next to Anne as Anne carefully clips the cape to her shoulders. The pink shell sits snugly against her collar, and the fur is pleasantly warm against her neck, she can’t believe she’s never asked to wear Marcy’s cape before but now it just feels wrong. “Being leader of the resistance means I can’t… afford to be wrong, but also, before Grime and I escaped… I heard Andrias talking. He needs Marcy alive, for some reason. I don’t know what that is, but I’m sure we can rescue her before that.”

“I miss her,” Anne admits, and it doesn’t feel so bad of an admission when she’s here, pulling Marcy’s cape over her shoulders and snuggling into it with a deep sigh, in the presence of her other best friend. “At least I had her journal to keep me company on Earth.”

“You have Marcy’s journal?” Sasha gapes.

The weight of the journal is so familiar by this point, Anne hardly thinks about the implications as she pulls it from her sewn-in pockets. Half of Marcy’s notes had gone straight over her head, but if she had read them in Marcy’s voice, she could imagine her friend sitting next to her rambling, peaceful smile on her face and delighted look in her eyes, waving her hands around as she explains whatever it is she’s found interesting this time around.

She misses it. She misses it so badly. She hadn’t known, then, how precious of a resource her friend’s time was, and how she should’ve treasured it like a priceless gem. It had been easier to stomach, easier to ignore back on Earth where she could pretend that everything is fine, but she’s only been in Amphibia for a day and she’s already hit with the reminders of how much she just… wants her best friend back. Is that really so much to ask for?

“I can barely decipher any of this,” she says, thumbing through the colored tabs. Sasha leans against her shoulder to get a better look, and Anne rests her head on Sasha’s own, sniffling. “The Amphibian rune translations might really come in handy though, they helped me… more than I thought, on Earth. And it helped; with missing her, that is.”

“I miss her too,” Sasha admits, like a secret, “but the plan has always been to get her back, and with you here, I just know we will. We’ll rescue her, and… and we’ll go home, together.”

Together. Anne likes the sound of that more than she’d care to admit.

~~

Pictures flash up on the robotic screens, each displaying the same, sickening image. It can feel her emotions, the way her body reacts to seeing the two other humans looking at each other, smiling, blushing, laughing.

“It appears as though Heart is back in Amphibia,” it says, grinning at the way she shivers in nervous trepidation. “And would you look at that! She doesn’t need you anymore. Neither one of them do.”

You’re wrong, her voice says, timid amongst the many voices that make up its mainframe, trembling despite her supposed confidence.

“Oh, little one, why would I lie to you?” It scrolls through the images, “our cameras picked up each one of these, you know. It seems like they finally outgrew their precious little Marmar.”

Her voice is quiet, now. Speechless, perhaps, at the confirmation of her greatest fears. It knows that, of course. It had analyzed her even before she had joined their collective consciousness, had known her fears and what she hated most in the world before it stole the thoughts from her mind to use against her. It knows how much she is hurting right now, and if she weren’t just so rebellious, it would leave her be to mourn her broken relationships in peace, but it needs her to comply.

“Good thing you have us now, hm? We will never abandon you so carelessly as your so-called friends have,” it tells her, seriously, feeling her resolve weaken bit by bit. “Come now, Marcy. Don’t you think it’s time to say goodbye to those childhood friends of yours?”

She doesn’t say no, and The Core smiles in her body, triumphant at last.

[bubacorn]

including my reply to a comment (with some edits), because i accidentally added more story to this (about how Vessel dealt with getting his eyes and how the others reacted to seeing them for the first time) and i want to preserve it here

also, fun fact: i realized that the reason the initial dialogue sounded so familiar is because it's in John Wick (the token Dead Wife Home Video TM). so. that should tell you enough about how my mind works

Vessel was probably hiding in his room immediately after he got his additional eyes and just hid under his blankets and told the others that he wasn't feeling well and they shouldn't go in, because they might catch it. In reality, he was crying, then got frustrated that he was dealing with triple the tears, and rubbed roughly around his eyes, but they were sensitive and the skin around them became all puffy and stung, and he just kept thinking about how ugly he looked, how inhuman he became, and how he could never face the others, because they would recoil and see him as a monster and hideous, more ugly than he was before.

Then one day, they were so worried that they went in anyway. Vessel was asleep and they just saw his eyes closed, all three pairs moving as he was dreaming but he sensed them standing over him watching curiously and woke up, the three pairs opening one after the other, and scrambled up the bed, pulling his covers up to his face and begging them to go away. His voice was all hoarse and he was trembling and breathing heavily and he started sobbing all over again, then wanted to hold back, because he was ashamed and didn't want the others to think he was pathetic (if they hadn't already thought that).

Then II tried to get closer to him and gently pull down the blanket from his face, and Vessel couldn't meet his eyes, there were tears and snot running down his face, and all his eyelashes were wet, but he couldn't stop crying. He couldn't will himself to look at them either, but II brushed his knuckles against his chin and slowly tilted his face up, so Vessel didn't have a choice but to look at him and only him (he was afraid to look at the others. II had seen him in horrible conditions, he'd known Vessel for longer, so maybe he wouldn't judge him). Vessel took in II's gentle expression and squeezed his extra eyes closed, hoping they could disappear, hoping that he would go back to when he was less ugly. II cooed to him and wanted to brush his tears away, to coax Vessel to open his eyes, because they looked beautiful and II wanted to see them, take his friend in in all his divine-like glory. Vessel flinched, his skin prickled and it hurt a bit from the transformation and his tears, and II was afraid he hurt him. But then Vessel started blubbering that they should leave, or that he should, really, he couldn't expect them to put up with looking at him any longer than necessary, and he kept apologizing and covering his eyes, but he couldn't suppress the hisses and little sobs when his rough touch irritated his skin and II held his wrist so he would stop.

Then III and IV sat down on his bed and looked at him in soft wonder and Vessel was so confused all six of his eyes blinked open, taking the three of them in. Then IV breathed a laugh and III whispered about how cool it was that Vessel could move the pairs individually and II- II just looked at him like he was a sight to behold. Vessel was still crying, he couldn't stop, and he blinked out of sync, the tears stung and his skin hurt and he was still so, so afraid. Then II asked if they hurt when he got them and then the next thing Vessel knew the other three were lightly dabbing his skin with cold, wet towels and it felt really nice on his skin, and they didn't say anything when they had to wipe his fresh tears. In fact, they couldn't take their eyes off his. He held eye contact for short periods, then averted his gaze and felt his face flush, but the others told him that his eyes were gorgeous, that Sleep must be so proud, and that he looked really cool and handsome with them.

They were being very nice about it and Vessel was trying to convince himself that they were telling the truth but he was still scared of what they might really think about him. He wore his hood up for a while after, but III would hook his finger in it and pull it down so he could see his eyes and ask if they were still sensitive (that never went away. it got better once he stopped crying and the puffiness went down, but his skin remained thin and delicate. they would know when he had a self-conscious day and spent it rubbing around his eyes because the skin was darker and a bit red). Also, headcanon: all three of them have their favorite pair. II's is Vessel's original eyes, the ones he knew the longest. III's is Vessel's icy blues that are close to gray/white, full of small shard-like flecks of silver. IV's is the green pair, ranging from dark green to moss-green and pale, pastel greens, with specks of amber.

About Vessel's general self-consciousness and anxiety: even before, he never thought he was attractive and especially stemming from his whole situation, he already accepted that he would be alone and that nobody could love him like that. But the others became his friends and then they started feeling more towards each other. And they called him pretty and handsome and stunning and beautiful, all the things he never saw himself as. And of course, looks shouldn't matter, and the others would still find him beautiful no matter what he looked like, but it mattered to Vessel, because he was never all those things. He was ugly and unattractive and forgettable, but the others still loved him all the same, even if he was self-conscious. Even more, when he felt bad about his appearance. And they loved his insecurities away. Or at least, they helped them become smaller.

The way they looked at him and his eyes showed him that he was loved, that he was attractive to them, that he was desired. And the first time he was kissed around his eyes he cried. It was so intimate and it felt like he was being worshipped, because in reality, he was. Then his tears were kissed away, and he shivered, because his skin was sensitive, as always, and he was left shuddering after they traced all six of them, teasing him with pecks and soft touches of lips. The others held eye contact when they could, and Vessel could hear their breath hitch when his eyelashes fluttered where he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore, or when he blinked out of sync and had to squeeze his eyes shut in pleasure. They loved watching all his reactions, and his eyes were no exception.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sleep Token (Band) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: III & Vessel (Sleep Token) Characters: Vessel (Sleep Token), III (Sleep Token) Additional Tags: Platonic Relationships, No Plot/Plotless, everything is totally platonic ™, fellas is it gay to study your friend’s face adoringly up close?, I mean not necessarily, But You Get It, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Prolonged Eye Contact, they are gazing into each other’s souls okay?, they are very soft Summary:

The other had an utterly enamored look on his face, eyes alternating between his as if to say ‘It’s me. It’s you. I’m here. Look! I’m like you. I can be yours. You can be mine. I have you. You can let go. I’ll catch you.’

[hufflautia]

The Boyfriend

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

Slytherin scowls.

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

“Bad boy vibes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s only in her seventh year—”

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

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

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

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

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

Her words sink in, and Slytherin nods.

"You're right."

"'Course I'm right."

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey kiddo," Slytherin smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wha—I didn't say trash!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure,” she says cautiously.

“Do you love him?”

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

"Not yet.”

He nods. "But you're happy?"

"I am," she smiles.

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

“I’m glad, kiddo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why don’t you like him?”

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

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

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

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

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[almostdeath]

Ok. This is...kind of a sketch...like I said I can't write fully fanfiction but here you go! I just want them to have a family dynamic. And yes...this is probably super OOC.

-Quackity...why is Schlatt here? Wasn't he a tyrant and...dead?-

Foolish asked, looking at the former president of Manburg, who was looking around, inspecting the buildings with a skeptical look, holding a glass of whiskey in his hand. Quackity sighs, trying to avoid direct eye contact.

-We made a bet....and I lost. So...he stays here...for a while...till I revive him...-

-Revive him? but that's JSchlatt---

-So, who build all this?-

the horned man asks, taking a sip from his glass and continue to...admire the buildings...

-...Me, I build it.-

Foolish says, rather fast...faster then he wanted. Schlatt just nods.

-Looks good. Majestic, you are clearly good at this, you have any degree in such things?-

-....Well...no...actually I am a God, you know...but thanks...-

this came out quietly and less fast then the previous statement, the God was truly flustered. He didn't expect a compliment to his skills, especially from a dictator.

-God? Not bad. Must be a advantage...

-What...against enemies?-

Foolish was ready to get defensive but then heard the answer.

-no, for building. You know, the whole...flying thing...or whatever is your power, I don't really care.-

Schlatt just shrugged, took another sip from his whiskey and continued to walk around.

-dont let your guard down...he may be charismatic, but don't let him fool you...-

Quackity said quietly. But Foolish didn't listen, his skills were appreciated!

***

The whole casino didn't look to bad either, maybe this a place that he could get used to...

-Hello, JSchlatt from Manburg.-

The ram-hybrid almost spilled his drink...almost. He focused his gaze on the strange young...guy?...he had a shap of a guy...but the former president couldn't be sure.

-And...who are you?-

-Oh! I am human...this you can tell by looking at my..completely human form!-

-....Yeah, sure. Whatever you say. And does your human form have a name?-

-Of course! Charlie...this does sound human, right?-

-Well, yes, I assume.-

This time, Schlatt tried to get away from the conversation as fast as possible and continued his journey, hading towards the balcony, he clearly needed a smoke.

-See you later. Glatt from the afterlife gym.-

The man stopped for a moment, how did this...definitely human know about the gym...he decided to question that later and tried to get to the balcony even faster.

-He saw me as a human!-

The slime-boy was just happy that he could convince another person that he is human....

***

Stepping on the balcony and finally getting some fresh air...that isn't really needed for a ghost...but still...Schlatt saw another person and sighed outloud, stepping closer, but still keeping the distance. This person seemed strange...netherit armor...and...oh...it seems, that its Sam...Schlatt does remember him. He lights his cigar, looking down at all the other buildings.

-Seems like you are still "guarding" someone.-

-....You could say so.-

The creeper-hybrid seems to be as calm as always, but his voice gives away some notes of worries. Schlatt stays quiet. He isn't someone who starts "soul to soul conversation"...even if his state as a ghost would mean that every conversation is like this.

-Did you ever....regret, doing the right thing?-

Sam is the one, who breaks the silence, not looking at the former president. The ram-hybrid answered with a laughter.

-Regret is something for people...who are wrong. Isnt it?-

-...What if those right actions hurt the one...that you care about?-

-Eh...what do you mean?-

the ghost inhaled the smoke of his cigar and let lit out after some seconds, it wasn't the same after his death...but it still gave a satisfying burn.

-...You remember Ponk?-

-...The name seems familiar. Eh...the strange guy, who always followed you?-

Schlatt could have sworn that he heard a very quiet chuckle from Sam...those were rare...even extinct.

-Yes...that one....I chopped his arm off...I had to...I needed him to understand that he can't mess with the prison...that nobody can mess with it. That it can get dangerous and he didn't understand it...I......am I a bad person for doing the right thing?-

-I don't think so.-

The answer was so quick and determined that the creeper-hybrid almost thought that he only imagined it. He didn't think that someone would really understand.

-I mean...I didn't order to execute Tubbo just because I am a sick fuck. I mean...that's part of the reason, but I also couldn't everyone think that they could just betray me and get away with it. I think...you did the right thing. Maybe....he will understand that there are sacrifices that have to be done. Sometimes they cost a life...maybe even your own.-

Schlatt let the cigar fall from the balcony and emptied his glass fully, letting it stay on the table nearby. He left, giving Sam the silence and time for thinking that he clearly needs. As soon as the ram-hybrid thought he is done with new encounters, he sees a familiar face...and familiar fox-ears.

-Fundy.....so you are on Quackitys side, heh.-

Schlatt smiled and tilted his head a little bit. The fox stayed quiet, tried to formulate a sentence in his head...he thought so much about a future conversation, but now...when he has a chance, he can't bring himself to say anything.

-Well....I guess, this time I kind of follow your dream, right kid?-

Without any hesitation and even without sarcasm, he just petted Fundy on his shoulder, making his way further.

-See you later.-

Fundy continued to stay there, looking in the direction where Schlatt has gone. He really wanted to say something...but right now he didn't know what and how he could do it. He wanted Schlatt to change his ways...but..right now...after all what he heard from Foolish and Slime...and the little parts of the dialogue that he heard from the side of the balcony...he begins to question...does Schlatt really have to change...or do they all just need to see his point of view...

[kyber-crystal]

An Accidental Confession

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: ~3.1k

Summary: In which you decided to a record a message explaining your feelings for Steve in case you didn't make it out of your mission alive. You don’t have any intention of it actually being heard by him, but you have no other choice to face your fear when it’s accidentally broadcasted across the entire compound.

Warnings: none, this is pure fluff haha with hints of a cocky steve hehe.

A/N: Some dialogue credits go to Descendants of the Sun! (yes, this is a oneshot of a scene from it, bc I love that drama with my whole heart) 

Tags: Dedicating this to @sylvie-writes​ because she’s an absolute SWEETHEART. I LOVE YOU BB. go follow her!

"Hey, Y/N, check this out!"

You glanced up from where you were furiously typing away at the computer to see Peter with a wide grin on his face. "Hm?"

"Look what I found! Mr. Stark's old speaker set!" The teenager went around to behind the table and rolled out the speaker in front of you. "It was a bit souped up, but all it really needed was some TLC and here it is, good as new!"

"Found this old thing while he was cleaning up," Tony explained, "you wanna hook your phone up and give it a go?"

"Uh...sure, why not," you shrugged, standing up and pushing your seat in, making your way over to the two of them. You took your phone out of your pocket and plugged it in.

"Check, one, two," Peter spoke into the small microphone. "Check one, two, three. Hey! It's working!"

You couldn't help but grin at his enthusiasm. "How old is this thing, anyway?"

"Older than me, that's for sure. Now play something!"

"Alright, alright. Let's see..." you scrolled through your playlists until you found the one you wanted, pressing 'play' and putting it on shuffle. "There."

"Fly Me To The Moon! May played it for me all the time when I was little," Peter exclaimed. "She always insisted I educate myself on older music. Now I'm glad she did."

Bucky and Sam stopped screaming at each other as they battled it out in Mario Kart, quieting down and humming to the beat as they held their controllers tightly. Wanda smiled to herself as she stirred the pot of soup on the stove, Bruce on the verge of falling asleep as he sipped his coffee at the kitchen island and read a news article on his phone. The energy within the compound seemed to lighten significantly as Frank Sinatra's soothing voice echoed off the walls.

You went out to the patio to relax, crossing your arms and closing your eyes as the sounds of chirping crickets and music mixed together in one soothing melody, the moonlight reflecting over the water. For a brief moment in time, you were at peace - and you relished in the temporary feeling of serenity. The 'city that never slept' was sleepy, for once. It wasn't all that late, but you were already beginning to succumb to fatigue's temptations.

But then, the song came to an end and switched off to something else.

"Hey, Steve. I hope this message never finds you because if it does...it means I'm most likely dead-" your all-too familiar voice came over the phone, thick with tears as you struggled to contain your sobs. "God, what am I even doing here? I have a gunshot wound that most likely pierced a vital organ so I'm just gonna bleed out here alone- why am I even doing this? I don't even know how much longer it'll be before you arrive with the evac team...so I just want to apologize in advance for not coming back to you like I promised. If I'd known I'd die in a foreign country, I would've lived a more carefree life instead of constantly worrying, like you always told me to just relax sometimes, I'm so, so sorry-"

Your eyes widened in realization and you rushed across the facility as fast as you could possibly go to the labs.

"Leaving words like this before dying is so uncultured- please, Steve...are you on your way? Please tell me you're on your way. If I'm really dying here I don't wanna die alone. Please hurry...I don't think I can last until you get here. Even so, you'll be the first to find me if I die, that is, if my corpse isn't dragged away or some shit like that - God, this hurts- I almost forgot how much it hurt to get shot...damn...I really underestimated the power of a bullet, huh?

Steve's bandaged fists fell to his sides, the punching bag swinging back and forth so wildly that it would've knocked him over if it weren't for his muscular figure. His brow furrowed in concern and he felt a small ache his chest upon hearing your voice crack - you never cried, and even if you did, which was extremely rare, you were good at hiding it from others.

But then a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips - you did ramble sometimes, and he found it rather adorable. It was, in fact, one of the main reasons why he admired you so much.

"FRIDAY? Where's the source of this audio?"

"It's playing from Mr. Stark's speaker in the lab, Captain," the AI responded.

"Thank you."

He unwrapped the tape from around his hands and exited the training facility, going into a light jog as he headed up to the lounge.

"If I knew that I'd die like this, then I would've told you my true feelings. That I'm in love with you and I really wished you'd kissed me when we were watching that movie together- it was Die Hard, wasn't it? I really wished you'd done something. We were sitting so close, and...I couldn't stop thinking about it. I was tempted to just run my hands through your hair and kiss you. And I almost did. I'm so in love with you, hopelessly in love with you...and if there's anything that scares me more than dying alone, it's probably thinking of a way to tell you, and the fear of being rejected by my best friend, my partner in crime-"

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. You were in love with him? He felt his heartbeat pick up speed at the thought. He always held that small bit of hope in his heart that you'd feel the same way.

Just as Steve arrived at the labs, you came bursting through the doors with a look of sheer panic in your eyes, your face drained of all color. You quickly unplugged your phone from the speaker as he watched on in amusement.

"Want some, Mr. Stark?" Peter offered through a mouthful of popcorn, holding the bag out to his mentor. "Seems like we're in for a treat here."

"Where'd you get these, kid?" Tony questioned as he reached over and popped several kernels into his mouth. "Mm. Caramel, a classic."

"I always keep some with me. Never know when drama will break out."

Steve laughed and shook his head as you quickly turned around on your heel and sprinted out of the room. It was so unlike you to act like this - normally you were rather guarded and stoic. To see you as anything but was not only amusing, but adorable in his eyes - it was one of the many things he loved about you, in fact.

"Music...really changes a lot of things," Peter cleared his throat awkwardly.

The super-soldier cracked a smile. "I seem to be in the center of that change."

He said a few quick goodbyes went to find you, as Peter and Tony continued enjoying their popcorn together.

"Oh my god, I'm so stupid, oh my god, why did I even record that damn message," you muttered, finding yourself going back outside again. You needed to clear your head and get away from Steve. The secondhand embarrassment you just knew was waiting for you was almost too much to even think about - what would he think of you now? What would everyone else think of you?

Steve had beaten you to it and was already out there, leaning against the glass railing  with his arms crossed over his chest, wearing an amused expression on his face.

"Oh my god! You scared me!" your voice heightened to a shriek. "What the hell, Rogers? How are you here? Why are you here?"

"I know you like the back of my hand, sweetheart," he chuckled lightly. "You always come out here whenever you're restless or stressed out. Figured you'd try to flee as soon as you heard," he gestured back inside, "all that."

"That was none of your business!" you squeaked. "It was a private message, not meant for you to actually hear! It wasn't for you!"

"Well, you did announce it, publicly," he defended himself, pushing himself away from the railing and raising his hands in surrender. "And it sounded like it was for me. You said my name."

"It wasn't for you!"

"Then why'd you say Steve?"

"It's a different Steve?"

"A different Steve with a stealth suit, Quinjet, and evac team?"

"Y-yeah! B-but it's really funny. Why are you listening to other people's recordings?'

"Like I said, doll," your face flushed at the nickname, "it was broadcasted publicly. I didn't listen, I heard."

"Because you heard it, you carelessly hear it all the way through?"

He smirked. "You know, you're really cute when you're upset." He smirked, taking several steps towards you. You instinctively stepped back. "But why are you running away? When you were about to die you wanted to confess." With each step he took, you took another backwards. "But since you lived, you changed your mind?"

"Confess? That wasn't a confession. That wasn't me."

"This cell phone is yours," he held up your hand that tightly gripped your phone.

"This isn't a phone- Y/N, what the hell are you saying? Stop talking," you cursed yourself under your breath.

"It's an honor knowing I'm in your will," he said kindly.

"If you know then that's enough," you exhaled, stepping around him to leave. Steve stopped you by placing a hand out in front, before moving it to grip your wrist. You felt your skin heat up rapidly under his touch.

You gasped. "Look! Thor set the toaster on fire!"

"I'm not fooled, sweetheart."

You moved to try and leave again, but he only tightened his grip. "Whether or not it was a confession, I'm going to listen to it, so let's not run away, shall we?"

You were silent for several moments before responding, swallowing hard. "Okay. I got it. I'll answer you so let go of me and let's talk. Really."

"Really, right?"

He obeyed, releasing his hand from your wrist. You quickly moved around him and ran back inside. Steve just laughed to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

"She finally did it," Sam nodded in approval as he and Bucky finished their Rainbow Road deathmatch. "Good game, man."

"Yeah, good game," they shook hands, "but if I'm being honest...I didn't expect things to go down like that. If anything, Steve seems like he'd be the first to confess. The way they're dancing around each other like oblivious monkeys...damn."

"Couldn't have described it better."

...

You flopped onto your bed, panting heavily as you stared up at the ceiling. Your heart was beating so fast that you felt like passing out. Maybe I'll just die like this and I won't ever have to confess for real, you thought. That sounds much better than death by blood loss from a gunshot wound.

"Hey, darling."

You sat up and let out a short scream as you saw Steve leaning against your doorframe, that damn smirk still on his face. "What the hell? You can't just ambush me like that! How long have you been standing there for?"

"Long enough," he chuckled, sliding his hands in his pockets and stepping inside. This time, you were too lazy to push him away, and just allowed him to sit down next to you at the edge of your bed. Steve propped his hand on his chin as he gazed at you, smiling.

You sighed and let your head fall into your hands. "This is all your fault."

"My fault?" Steve tilted his head in confusion. "How is this my fault?"

"Becau- never mind. I'm busy. I gotta go check up on the new lab I'm working on with Bruce."

You stood up abruptly, but he reached out and grabbed your wrist again. "I'm going to go to the labs, too. He asked me to help with a few things. I think you just found yourself an escort."

"I can go by myself, Rogers. I'm an adult," you gave him a pointed look.

"Ouch. That stung," he pretended to look hurt. "Last name calling? I thought we agreed on sappy pet names. And besides, you know what happened last time you went somewhere alone. You got shot."

"Whatever."

"Hold on," he tugged you back so that you had to sit down again. "Why do you keep running away from me? You confess your feelings in your will and then you run."

"It wasn't my will."

"You said you were scared to die alone."

"It wasn't me. Where is your bout of confidence even coming from?"

"I'm not asking how you feel about me at the moment. Don't feel bad that I found out how you feel about me. Because I'm in love with you too, and nothing can change the fact that I like you even more now."

You swallowed hard.

He smiled again. "And you look beautiful today, doll."

"Stop with the pet names," you mumbled. You couldn't stop the tremor in your tone as you spoke

"Hey hey hey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" Steve brought a hand up to your face, lightly skimming the tip of his thumb across your cheekbone to wipe away the tears that had fallen. "Hey. Tell me what's wrong, darling."

As soon as that last word left his lips, you lost it. A broken sob escaped from your mouth before you broke down, and he felt guilt settle in the pit of his stomach. Sure, he was lightly teasing you - but he didn't intend for his jabs to hurt you in any way. That was the last thing he wanted to do - to see you cry. He hated seeing you cry.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," he whispered, carefully wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to him, rubbing circles onto your back. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken the teasing so far. I'm so sorry, Y/N-"

It took nearly twenty minutes for your sniffles to die down and another ten for your crying to stop completely, but he patiently held you until you did. And when it finally stopped, it still took you several moments before you could bring yourself to meet his eyes.

"I look like a mess," you muttered, quickly ducking your head down to wipe at your nose. "I'm sorry you had to see me like this-"

"You look lovely, regardless," Steve murmured, kissing your forehead. "You'll always look beautiful in my eyes."

"You're such a sap," you mumbled, closing your eyes. "I hate you."

"You know you love me, Y/N."

"No I don't."

"That message told me otherwise. You sounded like you were pretty in love, judging by the desperate tone in your voice-"

"Shut up!"

"Make me," he challenged, a smirk appearing on his face.

You huffed and stood up, crossing your arms. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that, Rogers?"

"Watch your language-"

"Make me."

"Using my own words against me, are you?" Steve raised a brow as he stood up as well, walking towards you. You kept walking backwards until you felt your back hit the wall and internally panicked when you realized there was nowhere else to go.

"Shit," you whispered. "I'm not escaping this one, am I?"

"Not a chance," he chuckled wistfully. You felt your heart do somersaults and your stomach twist itself into knots as he met your eyes, a softened look to them that you'd never seen before - what was it? Just a few minutes earlier you'd find yourself squirming beneath his intense gaze but for some reason, you stayed put.

When his lips pressed against yours, you felt a crackle of electricity across your skin and the world fell away. It seemed as if time stopped and held its breath as it watched the two of you, his arm curving around your waist as his free hand rested at the back of your neck, pulling you flush against him. Though you were taken aback by the sudden gesture and terrified you wasted no time in reacting, sinking deeper into the kiss. You could feel him smile against your lips and fireworks exploded inside your chest - if there was a way to describe pure magic, this would definitely be it. And he felt it too - and he swore to himself that he'd never felt a bigger rush of adrenaline before until now.

You looked absolutely stunning to him in that moment as you pulled apart - with your half-closed eyes, reddened cheeks, and swollen lips - his doing, no doubt. Your gaze slipped down to his equally swollen lips and you felt your face flush at the sight. Steve was quick to catch what you were doing and pulled you back in for more.

This time, it wasn't as innocent and quick. It was more needy, passionate - months, no, years of pent-up frustration he didn't even know he had seeping into it. Years of not being able to tell you finally being poured out into one grand gesture - years of finally getting closure because he now knew the girl he'd loved for as long as he could remember felt the same way.

"Oh my fucking shit."

The two of you were practically gasping for air as you broke apart a second time to see a smug-looking Sam.

"You just- I didn't interrupted something between y'all, did I?" Sam cocked a brow. "Looked like you were this close to-"

"No," you exhaled, "we weren't."

"I'm a GENIUS for fixing that speaker! If I hadn't done so you guys never would've gotten together!" Peter squealed as he appeared by the Falcon's side. "I believe a thank you is in order!"

"I hope my timing isn't bad, but I have to ask," Steve cleared his throat and looked you straight in the eye. "that was a confession, right? And you didn't do it just because you felt compelled to. Be honest with me."

You let out a sigh of defeat. "Yeah...it was."

He broke into a gorgeous, million-dollar grin that made you weak at the knees. He leaned down, lips ghosting over yours as if he was going to kiss you again - but pulled back, much to your disappointment.

"I guess I'm the victor of this battle, huh," he whispered before releasing his hold on you and walking out, leaving you to stand there utterly shell-shocked and speechless as Peter and Sam began teasing you.

[jaskiersvalley]

Found out about the zine from your post and absolutely had to buy a copy, I couldn't miss out on any of your amazing work!

You are in for an absolute treat with the zine. I’ve had the great privilege of seeing all the art and stories created for it and let me tell you, there whole thing is laden with incredible content. Both art and fic alike are some of the best things you’ll encounter in the fandom.

As a little extra, here’s a ficlet of thanks for spending your hard earned money on supporting the zine!

The truth of the matter was, Jaskier had gone out in search of the Butcher of Blaviken. He’d followed rumours of the witcher’s whereabouts, tracked him down. It was every bard’s hope to find inspiration and a story to turn into a truly outstanding piece and Jaskier was convinced he would find it with the Butcher.

There was a lot he expected when he finally found the witcher. Violence, barely restrained rage, animalistic habits, maybe even witnessing the Butcher eat raw meat. All the rumours and whispered theories about witchers that made them inhuman and something terrible. Yet Jaskier didn’t see any of that. Sure, he got punched in the gut, there were more grunts and hums than speaking and even the well known stand-offish growling. But it didn’t feel like Jaskier was trailing after a monster bred for hunting creatures. Not once did Jaskier get the feeling of being in the presence of something less human, more wild. It was disconcerting and, frankly, quite disappointing.

The Butcher of Blaviken had a name he preferred to be called by rather than the grim moniker. He also had a soft spot for his horse, harmless animals and children. Not that anybody would believe it. Even Jaskier had thought it was some ploy to start with. But Geralt kept up with the charade and the longer it went on, the more Jaskier was convinced it wasn’t an elaborate ploy. Nobody could keep up talking to their horse like that while brushing her if they didn’t mean it.

What had initially been a planned day with the Butcher of Blaviken turned into weeks with Geralt. Not a single drop of inspiration could be found for a bloodthirsty epic or a stirring ballad extolling the violence of a witcher. In fact, Jaskier stood back as an observer and watched how the rumours and common ‘knowledge’ about witchers seemed to cause nothing but misery for Geralt. More than once he was run out of town after a contract. Or paid less than promised because he didn’t do the job like the locals had expected. Some nights, Jaskier was certain he heard Geralt’s stomach rumbling in hunger but he never dared mention it. Especially when Geralt had gruffly shoved the squirrel on the skewer at Jaskier with a growl of “I can’t sleep when your stomach wails louder than your mouth.” Somehow, Jaskier suspected that there was more to it than Geralt let on.

His suspicions were proven right because, over time, Geralt seemed to take care of Jaskier in his own distant way. More stops at inns that would have then, larger portions of food foisted on Jaskier and there was also the appearance of a bedroll on Roach’s saddlebags for him to use. It all served to do one thing for Jaskier. It made him feel guilty.

Guilty for wanting to use Geralt as a leaping point for his own gains. Guilty for thinking Geralt to be an emotionless, unfeeling humanoid creature. Guilty for thinking Geralt didn’t care. It also made Jaskier rage. He was learning to read Geralt’s expressions and sounds. While on the surface it looked like he didn’t care, Jaskier could read the dejection in the slope of his shoulders, the resigned anger in the set of his jaw. When a tavern refused to serve them food or drink, nobody saw Geralt tiredly trudge through the countryside with Roach to ensure at least she had a nice patch to graze and rest on. The worst, Jaskier thought, were the times Geralt got injured. Nobody would believe that witchers felt pain or needed healers. Their bodies were weapons, nothing more. The first time Jaskier offered to help Geralt, he’d been snarled at. But, by the fifth time, Jaskier felt confident enough to simply take the salve and bandages from Geralt’s hands and set to work. He’d never had a more tense body under his hands. It probably didn’t help that they had barely been paid for a contract and then turned out of the village. So Jaskier was inclined to think that Geralt was more tense than usual. However, he only started to relax after the eighth time Jaskier helped him patch up a wound.

All through it, Jaskier was slowly realising that he wasn’t following a hand reared killer. Under all the pretence and gruffness, there was very much a human hidden there. One who had no idea what to do with gentleness, with company, with kindness. The first time Jaskier kissed Geralt, it had led to a whole two days of frowning and furtive glances. Until, finally, Geralt had asked “what do you want?”

Which opened up a whole new course of dialogue. Well, monologue with some grunts in reply. It seemed Geralt wasn’t familiar with the concept of having things like affection freely offered. All that mean was that Jaskier would show him what it could be like. And, while he was at it, he would work on changing the whole continent’s view on witchers. They deserved so much more than they got. That view only strengthened when Geralt took him back to Kaer Morhen one winter and Jaskier met the other wolf witchers. Suddenly, he didn’t just have on witcher to emotionally rehabilitate. He had four.

[punkrock-writer]

Space Cowboy- part 2

Trying Not to Get Shot

Warnings- Swearing, Canon Typical Violence. Din pretends to be mean. 

Pairing- Din Djarin x F!OC

A/N- Hi! They finally meet in this chapter. Let me know what y'all think, I'm working on the 3rd chapter now and it will most likely be posted on AO3 first. Thanks for reading! 

Prologue Part 1 AO3 Wattpad

"Shit... fuck... fucking shit balls"

Sedona couldn't stop the string of curses that passed through her as she shifted her hands to fists on the metal floor in front of her. She tried to lean forward, taking some of the weight off her knees. Her eyes flew open. Everything that just happened suddenly rushing to her. Taking deep breaths she tries to get her bearings.  

She was somewhere much, much colder than Florida. There's was a slight hum in the air, she moved her head up wards. The sight nearly put her into shock.

This place was strangely familiar, it was all metal, with many doors and compartments. Boxes stacked against rounded walls, netting and other things her mind couldn't comprehend quite yet hung from the walls. Warm fluorescent lights lit up the space that she knew far too well.

This was the fucking Razor Crest.

Her mouth hung open as she swiveled her head to look behind her, wet hair hung limply in her face. There was another terrifying sight. The carbonite freezer, she took a large shuddering breath. Shifting her weight further forward, she prepared to move to sit on her ass when-

"Don't move."

That voice. Sedona knew that voice very well, it sent a shiver down her spine.

In that moment she knew, she was fucked.

"Who are you" "Please don't shoot me" They spoke at the same time, her words stumbled out broken in a desperate plea. His were strong and commanding.

"Turn around, slowly." The modulated voice was rough. She never thought it would ever breach her real ears, only used to hearing it through television speakers. She pressed her weight into her hands, swiveling slowly to meet the beskar man himself.

And he was so so much taller than her T.V made him appear. The metal gleamed in the artificial light, broad and threatening. With a blaster trained directly onto her head. She slowly shifted her weight back onto her legs, trying not to wince as the pain gripped her thighs again. Raising her arms above her head she finally looked into the visor, of the fucking Mandalorian.

It really did not help her situation that she knew exactly who was under the helmet.

"Who are you, how did you get on my ship." If she wasn't already hyperventilating out of fear she most likely would've turned into a puddle on the floor at the sound of the rough growl. But her fear instinct was beating down any kind of arousal with a broom stick, matching her pounding heart.

"I- I don't know, I'm not from here... I'm from Earth" she was a stuttering mess, her eyes darted around, she couldn't meet the T shaped visor, "please don't kill me, I don't know how I got here."

There was silence. Her hands shook above her head. The chill running down her spine intensified under his hard stare. She could tell he was observing her closely, sizing her up, making sure she wasn't a threat. Then it hit her. She knew this timeline well, she had re watched both seasons on Disney + multiple times, shamefully.

For the plot of course.

She needed to figure out exactly where they were in the series right now. Her heart raced faster, eyes roamed his armor, trying to guess what had just happened based on the wear and tear. It was the pure silver Beskar, so she knew he had turned in the child, but she wasn't sure if he'd gotten him back yet. Before she could ask, the blaster was suddenly much closer to her head.

"Are you here for the Child." She couldn't stop the breath of relief that whooshed out of her lungs. Thank GOD he has the child. But she still wasn't out of the woods yet, she had to somehow convince the most skeptical single father in the galaxy that he didn't have to kill her.

"No, no, I would protect the child with my life." The way he stiffened made her realize she probably didn't say the right thing. "Wait, please I j-just have to explain, I don't know how I got here but I'm from an alternate universe."

"You have 5 minutes." She understood of course, but having 5 minutes to argue her right to live was going to be difficult.

"I- I was in my hotel and now I'm here," she gulped scrambling for the right words, "I'm from Earth. Where I come from this galaxy is... a f-fictional universe, I-I have information I can give you. I know what's going to happen."

She quickly decided convincing him she could be useful was going to be her best bet. Making deals and trades seemed to be the way of life in the galaxy. She could sense his confusion, the way his shoulders dropped slightly; and if she hadn't been staring directly at the gun, she would've missed how he removed his finger from the trigger. Taking this as a positive she continued.

"I know, about the child, and the the mudhorn, and-and about Navarro. But I'm not a spy or hunter or anything, you-you're a character, and I know your story well." Her she licked her lips and swallowed. "I know your name, Di-"

"Don't!" The blaster was right between her eyes now as he shouted at her. She jumped, raising her arms straighter in the air.

"OKAY! Okay, you can cuff me, please don't freeze me in carbonite. I promise I can help you." She tried to swallow back the lump in her throat and blink away tears that burned her eyes. Rambling was what she resorted to as she lowered her hands in front of her, presenting them for space cuffs.

The Mandalorian sighed, though it sounded more like a growl. He cautiously stepped toward her, lowering his blaster and exchanging it for the cuffs that hung from his belt. They were heavy, and dragged her arms down to her lap. She looked up again to meet the visor. Aiming for where his eyes might be, she put on her best pleading face.

"You can search my bags, I don't have any weapons, and it's all from a different world" he now had the stance of an extremely grumpy dad. He stood wide, having had to step over her bags to put the cuffs on, his hands planted on his hips. With a huff he bent down to pick up her purse that was directly under him. He rifled through it, instantly pulling out 2 things she definitely forgot about.

In his gloved hands he held out her Swiss Army knife, and her pink taser. The way his helmet tilted was accusatory, one hand now holding her purse to his hip.

"Okay...those are weapons, but they're for self defense against earth men. I swear I forgot about them." She put her palms up, avoiding his gaze once again. All she heard was another sigh. She would've smiled if it weren't a life or death situation. She hated that she felt like she knew him, that she felt like she knew what he was thinking.

You don't know him at all you idiot.

"I have earth money, in the brown wallet, it'll show you I'm not from here" she was scrambling for anything that could be considered proof. His hand that held the taser and knife dug pack into the purse. Fishing out the old brown wallet. Dropping her purse to the ground he unzipped it, and observed the inside for a beat longer than she would've liked. He looked back to her, then flipped her wallet over. Her mouth fell open in shock, as an avalanche of bulky coins and rectangles fell out of the folds and into his out stretched hand.

Somehow, her genuine American dollars had turned into mysterious space money. Holding up a finger and trying to looking convincing, she spoke again,"Okay. I don't know how those got there, but you can keep them."

He let out another sigh, the hand holding the 'credits' fell to his belt, shoving them into one of the pouches. He stood straighter, she saw his chest rise to speak, but he never got that far. An erratic beeping sounded from the cockpit, and when she looked up to the ladder she could see the interior flashing red.

"Don't even think about moving" came his rough voice, pointing his blaster at her for emphasis, before turning quickly and climbing the ladder to the cockpit. She swore, just at the very edge before his broad frame crowded the entrance, she could see just a peek of a tiny green head, with some big ass ears.

She let out a soft sigh of her own, and moved to rest her head against the metal crate at her back. Searching her shell-shocked brain for any idea of what was going to happen next. She didn't know if this was before, or after Sorgan. Straining her ears to hear some kind of dialogue, she was surprised when the ship started to rock. Her cuffed hands flew out in front of her, trying to brace herself on the floor.

Something was whizzing past the ship, and it was just barely dodging them. Her heart sank, of course, the other bounty hunter.

"Hand over the child Mando" the voice was quiet, but she recognized it. It was all she could catch before the ship was shot, and she was sent skidding to the side. Finally her busted knees had some relief, but her shoulder that collided with the wall didn't fare well.

Another shot, and she was jolted forward, her hands unable to catch her, she jerked her face to the side at the last second. Unfortunately for Sedona, she was not able to catch Mando's warning. Suddenly she was airborne, and falling fast, as the ship did a tight barrel roll.

"FUCK SHIT" the shout tore threw her throat, she curled into a ball quickly. Her arms flew up to cradle her head, just in time to slam back down to the floor. The wind was knocked out of her chest, her shoulder and hip smacked painfully on the metal. If she wasn't bruised already, she was definitely now. Gasping for breath she tried to adjust herself into a more steady position. Fingers weakly grasped at the corner of a crate for some kind of stability. But the hold was loose and awkward, not really getting anything out of the position her hands were in.

"I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold" her throat filled with cotton at the line. Suddenly she remembered. She curled into herself, bending her arms to rest her hands behind her neck and pulling her knees to her chest. Bracing for impact.

But it was much more than her body could take.

The Razor Crest slammed to a stop. And she was rolling forward. It felt like she was flying again. With eyes open she could see her self careening straight for the metal ladder that lead to the cockpit. And right before her head slammed into the metal base she heard.

"That's my line"

And everything went black.

[heavensenthearty]

Number 2: Are there any popular fandom OTPs you only BroTP? (for ATLA)

Hey, Night!! Thanks for the ask!! 🥰🤗💖

Yes, there are. I can't remember what prompted me to say it, but I remember I once posted that K@t@@ng and Z*kka were my two favorite BrOTPs in ATLA.

I do remember a time when I answered an ask for me to decompose the things that bothered me about K@t@@ng endgame, and I mentioned The Guru episode as one of my main issues. (And no, it's not the attachment issue.) The thing is, The Guru is one of the main reasons why K@t@@ng is my BrOTP!

Back then, when I answered, I recalled how Aang put all his love for his deceased fellow Air Nomads and deposit it on Katara. All that love. Country, culture, friends, family, blood, everything; and when it came down to the ending of the show, I was... seriously?! You're going to throw away THAT connection for a cliché romantic ending?! 😤😤

I think I've made it pretty clear I'm a Shadowhunter Chronicles fan, I know I made it veeeeeeeeeeery clear when I answered that ask that I'm talking about because I couldn't (and still can't) stop comparing it to a subplot from one of those books. See, unspoilery, in the Shadowhunter-verse there's this bond that two people can form that makes them, and I quote, "closer than brothers". That bond goes on beyond death, but it is demanded to be strictly platonic, not romantic. There's a whole oath around it that includes the following lines:

Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.

*frenetically points between it and Aang's vision in The Guru*

The whole thing is inspired by a Bible verse:

"Don't urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me."

— Ruth 1:16-17

*more frenetic pointing*

I... I can't be the only one that goes CRAZY over the beauty of a platonic bond like THAT, right?!

The reason why I'm remembering it when thinking about K@t@@ng is because two characters in the books perform this ritual after a whole arc where one of them is in love with the other, but it is an unrequited love — (sound familiar?) — and once he realizes that his love interest doesn't feel the same way about him and never will, the two of them talk it out, he moves on, and they decide to remain best friends.

A male/female friendship that swears to be the most important person in each other's lives, to always have the most faith in each other, to love everything the other loves... without romance in-between.

I... I don't know, maybe this is just a personal preference of mine. Truth is, I have never reproached anything to platonic K@t@@ng in the show, which was the side that was the most displayed, so everything is pretty good to me... until they decided to throw away that connection to push their "romance is necessary" agenda in a show about found family!!

😤😤😤

I will NEVER not be salty about that!

As for Z*kka, c'mon! They're partners in crime, that's canon!! 🥺🥺 And they have a dialogue with the "you're seriously not helping" line! And they go to each other to talk about girls! And imagine — just IMAGINE — the contrast of their personalities if we had seen them interacting some more...

But we didn't. And that's VERY unfair!! 😤😤😤

*tired panting*

Thanks again for the ask. Geez, who could have guessed Salty Asks would get me so salty? 🥵🥵