#i know that sounds super snotty but its really not.

[virq-qgo]

Wolverine x reader

Uh, yeah i know its been like two years LOL. Literately after posting my last fanfic my dog died of cancer. Got like super depressed lmao.. anyways i watched the new movie and i creamed my pants so i had to write the absolute worst fanfic ever. So like this is a warning, its been two years since ive touched my computer and my skills aren't that good anymore.

summary: going to the bar undercover with the man you hate the most had a twisted turn, not expecting to get shot or telling him your feelings.

warnings: cussing, bad writing, random character death, bad writing, not proof read, and this is really long for no reason..

You didn’t quite understand why you were being dragged along with this so called “mission”

It was just one bad dude who robbed a place, so why were you at a damn bar with the person you hate the most. Everyone was aware of this. You two couldn’t be in the same room together without an argument that almost leads to a fight. So why are you here?

So sitting on the bar stool with a glass of water in your hand, a skirt you were wearing too short and a top that left the mind to wonder. What made the whole situation worse was that your worst enemy was sitting next to you, the wolverine aka Logan Howlett.

You knew he was enjoying this by the way he was ordering shot by shot, it was disgustingly attractive the way the man could pour down the hardest liquor down his throat. Rolling your eyes, you focus back on the bartender, watching him make drinks and showing off to the drunken girlfriends or wives. Obviously ignoring the wicked glares he received from their partners sitting next to them.

“Hey, bartender.” you hear Logan call out. “I need something a little harder than this.”

“Nothing for the beautiful lady sitting next to you?” the man behind the counter smirks as he poured a drink for another customer. Totally ignoring Logan's request.

A soft polite smile sits on your face while trying to stuff down the unpleasant feeling you got from the bartender. “Only if it's on the house.”

“For you?” he smiles, “you can have whatever you like.”

Your eyes crinkle from disgust but to the bartender it was from joy. “Oh, you know how to touch a woman's heart.”

You hear Logan scoff while feeling his dark eyes on you. It’s been 10 minutes since you two have been here and you're already getting underneath his skin.

“Something wrong Logan?” you call him out, turning to face him instead of the creep you call bartender.

Logan rolls his eyes as he tosses his head back and downs his shot. “Show a little boob and wear a tiny skirt, and you get anything you want.” 

“Yeah, I would say you should try it. But you don’t have much to show..”

“Is that how you got here, getting passed around the team?”

 “Yup,” you say with a sarcastic smile on your face while pretending to count to the number 8 on your fingers. “Just gotta get into your pants and then I get my reward.”

Logan looks at you with a face of disgust not sure if you were messing with him or not. “Excuse me?”

Just as soon as you open your mouth to make a smartass comment. A sudden yell echoes across the room then the sound of wood breaking. Both you and Logan twist around to see the scene. There you see the “bad guy” you guys were supposed to be after. He had just brutally smashed someone's head into the table, successfully breaking the table in half.

“That a murder.” the words fall from your lips when you see the broken piece of the table

through the poor soul's head.

“Shut the fuck up you fucking clown. That's our guy.” Logan responded in a whisper. But when he didn't hear a snotty response he twisted his head to look at you, only to find your seat empty. Instead he saw you walking towards the scene, causing a deep growl to fall from his lips. Finding himself to chase after you.

Typically, you would leave this stuff for logan. But the guy was instantly on the run. And you didn’t really have a choice but to chase after him. “Hey excuse me!” You yell at the bad guy, instantly frowning as you see the blood cover his hands and shirt.”where do you think you're going, dude? Breaking that table and killing that poor guy? What an asshole!”

The bad guy looked at you, his brows furrowing. His body filled with rage. Who do you think he is and calling him “dude”. If you were here to stop him, then so be it. But you were just a girl, and women are weak. You were easy to dispose of. “Listen lil’ lady. I'll give you a quick death if you leave me alone.”

“I don’t think so, I need you to come with me anyways.”

The man sighs as he hears the words fall from your lips, “How annoying.” he thought.

“Hey, don’t you fucking run off on me like that.” You hear Logan say as he walks up next to you. Making you roll your eyes and turn your head to face him. 

It was so quick to happen you couldn’t even process it, the only thing that processed that very moment was the ear ringing bang that echoed through the air. Then Logan shouting your name. You remember seeing him running away, his face looking angry. It felt like you were standing there for hours, like you were zoning out. Then you remembered him, the guy you were supposed to get. But as soon as you took that first step, that's when you felt it. Burning pain spreads through your body making you want to cry out. Your hand instinctively reaches out to where you feel the pain, not expecting your hand to be bloodied when you pull it back to inspect it. 

You got shot. 

Now you remember why you guys were supposed to basically kidnap this guy, he was a mutant. His abilities were dangerous. The way he fought was with guns and his bullets being made by his blood, it's how he killed people. It was poisonous.

Soft curses leave your lips as you press your hand tight against your wound, but your blood was still pooling out. You felt weak, like you could barely stand and keep your eyes open. You felt as if you were gonna drop dead at any given moment. But you had to help Logan, you two were supposed to do this together. 

The first step you took, you felt your knee give out. Sending your whole body to the ground, but the impact never came. Instead you feel a strong pair of arms lift up your weak body, your eyes see logan. But you refuse to believe it was him. He wouldn’t do this. Why was your body seeing things?

“You idiot! Why did you run off and chase after him like that? You know you don’t have any special abilities to protect you if he attacked you, so why?” He yelled, Logan was truthfully more scared and worried than angry. He was running as fast as he could to the jet to get you medical aid. But he only had so much time to spare before your body was consumed by the poison.

“What happened?” your voice was soft when you asked.

“You were shot in your chest! I can see the huge fucking hole!”

“I can feel it.” Even though you were basically dying, you couldn’t help but make a simple joke. “Y’know, even though you’re a total dick. You have good arm muscles. I like the way they can hold me so tightly. I feel like a princess.” you smile “If it takes getting shot and dying for you to

care, then maybe i should get shot more often.”

Logan frowns as he hears your comment, still rushing to get you to the jet as fast as possible. “You’re so fucking stupid, you’re not dying. If you wanted me to hold you in my arms then all you had to do was ask bub.” 

A weight of relief went off his soldiers once he saw the jet, he was right there. But when he looked at you, he saw that your hand was pressed against his chest and your eyes were on him. Barely opened. “Hey, stay with me.” he comments. “Keep your eyes open, please. We're almost there!”

Your eyes scrunch together as you see his lips move but no words come out, it didn’t help much that you were fading in and out of consciousness. Growing up, you were told not to be afraid of dying because you could die at any given time. Despite all the missions you’ve been on and how many times you were knocking on death's door. You were never afraid. But today was different, why were you so afraid? Maybe it was because you're dying pathetically, or the fact that you're in the arms of a man you’ve fallen in love with.

“I’m sorry.” you tell him, your voice soft and weak. Blood drips from your lips and down your chin. Your hand grabbing his shirt. Everything was going by so fast. In the middle of a deep silence, you look up into Logans eyes, knowing these might be your last moments together. Pain rushes through your body and words fly out of your mouth before your brain can catch up, and you’re saying what you’ve always wanted to say. “I love you.”

He freezes, shocked at your words. He looks down at you, taking in your face, and the pained look on it. You can see his brain racing like a speeding train, and his breath catches in his throat. “You’re an idiot. Why did you wait till this point?”

“I- I thought I would have more time.” was all you managed to say before shutting your eyes.

Finally, Logan runs up the rail of the jet and sets you on the cot. Watching the aids surround you, immediately taking quick action. With the flight there and taking you into emergency surgery. They finally came up to Logan, who fell asleep in the infirmary's waiting room. Telling him that you were okay and would make a good recovery.

Without wasting a single second, Logan rushed to your room. His heart dropped once he saw your frail, weak body. Connecting to different types of wires and IVs. He felt terrible, guilt consumed his body as thoughts raked his mind, he could've prevented all of this, all of your pain. Only if he was faster.

Logan found himself staring at your body, wanting to reach out and take your hand. He pulled up the chair by your bed and sat down, his eyes switching from your resting body to the monitor. Finally mustering the courage to take hold of your hand. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t quick enough, I should’ve been the one. But I was so fucking slow, in my own god damn bloody mind.And  I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I love you back, I was just so scared. Scared that if I told you, I would never get to tell you so again. I was so fucking selfish. But holy shit, I'm so in love with you. It hurts so much. But I'll make sure to tell you every single chance I get. I love you.”

“You better get started.” you say with a smile on your face. 

Logan looks at you in a state of shock, not expecting you to be awake. Without holding back, he basically launches himself onto you. Wrapping his arms around your weak figure, wanting to hold you tight but being so gentle with you. “You’re okay” he breathes out of relief, “You’re an idiot, but you’re okay.”

“I love you too by the way.” The smile on your face was wide, you were in so much pain. But you were so happy. Never in your life did you think you would be here, but here you are. In the arms of the man you’ve pretended to hate for so long.

“Oh shut your pretty little mouth.” Was all he said before pressing his soft warm lips against yours. 

If someone had asked you what it was like getting shot, you would probably tell them it hurt really fucking bad and wouldn’t recommend it. But if they asked you on a personal level. You would tell them that you would do it again if it meant that you got to see Logan care for you. But it still hurt like a fucking bitch.

[theadventuresofgarlandodra]

The Adventures of Garl and Odra Manyboots- Just A Baby

Prev.

“Oh my gods, she’s so cuuuute!”

“Look at those little pointy ears. So this is Visom’s kid?”

“Yeah, her mom’s that one human at Fit For King’s that’s super tall and buff. Explains why he never had the time for you, Tiath, haha!”

“Oh sure, make height jokes about the gnome, that’s super clever. What’s her name?”

“Saballa. Look at all those dark curls, she looks just like her momma!”

“I could just eat her up!”

A gaggle of female adventurers had all surrounded the cradle that had currently been placed in the corner of the adventurer’s guild, cooing and aww’ing and just being so stupid that Odra was about two minutes away from barfing.

“It’s just a half elf, what’s the big deal?” She mumbled to herself- not quietly enough, since Tiath spun around to give the goblin a dirty look.

“I know your people eat them, but most people love babies,” Tiath explained, setting her hands on her hips.

Odra wrinkled her nose and shuddered. “Shows what you know, Tiath- babies taste too fishy. Bitchy gnomes with pink hair though,” Odra leaned in and licked her lips, “those sound real delicious about now.”

Vunno, the human woman with leaf shaped beads in her locs, had to grab Tiath to prevent a full out rogue brawl in the guild. “Tiath, she’s trying to wind you up, knock it off,” she said.

“Well, it’s working!” Tiath snapped, shaking her fist at Odra. “Wanna take this outside?”

Odra chuckled and leaned back in her seat. “I would, but I have so much to do today- count my gold, sweep my room, clean crud out from under my fingernails… really, my schedule’s full. No time to brawl with lil pinkie.” She tutted her tongue. “What a shame. I could use a quick work out.”

Tiath lunged for Odra again, but Vunno scooped the gnome up and tucked her under her arm to stop her from going anywhere. “Odra, I know Tiath starts it, but you really don’t have to continue it,” she said.

“Awwww, but it’s fun!”

Vunno sighed before she looked at the other adventurers. “Well, looks like Saballa’s asleep. Let’s go see what jobs are on the board.” She looked back at Odra. “Let the baby sleep, Odra. If I hear crying…”

“I have literally so many other things I’d rather do than be anywhere near that thing,” Odra scoffed, rolling her eyes and waving the ladies away. “Go, I’m waiting for Garl to sleep off his hangover before we look for jobs. Least he’ll be relieved that the kid’s clearly not his.”

Finally, the ladies left. Good riddance. Odra sipped at her breakfast beer and focused on a hole in the wall across from her. Yup. Interesting wall hole. Nothing else in this bar could be anywhere near interesting. Nothing at all. Especially not the drooling, snotty, smelly baby.

Odra gritted her teeth before she looked around to be sure that those adventurers weren’t lurking around. They did say they were going to check out the job listings at the board… which was all the way on the other side of the tavern. Nowhere near the baby.

She hopped off the chair and slunk over to the cradle, not even looking at it until she was close enough to peer through its bars.

Huh.

This close, Odra could see the subtle point to the infant’s ears, mostly hidden by the mass of dark curly hair on her head. Human babies didn’t usually have this much hair, did they? Maybe elven babies did, Odra had never really seen any elf babies, so she didn’t know if they had more hair.

Odra didn’t even realize she was reaching forward to touch the baby’s hair until her fingertips brushed the curls. Her hand jerked back like she’d stuck her hand on the hot end of a torch.

So… soft.

Luckily, the baby didn’t stir, so after making sure she was still alone Odra reached into the crib again to stroke those round cheeks. All smooth. Definitely not like goblin children- they got their bumps and leathery skin texture within a day or so. Little human babies though. Soft. Weak. Much easier to kill than a goblin baby. Basically useless for years.

But they didn’t have to be useful yet, Odra supposed. Human babies were born in cozy homes, with crackling fireplaces and gentle mothers, rocking them in their cradles. They had the time to be soft. Little.

… Cute. Very, very cute.

Odra smiled softly as she gently rocked the crib back and forth, humming something she remembered one of the parent goblins singing as he stopped by to make sure there was a healthy amount of bugs in the pen. Odra couldn’t remember the words, but she could remember the sound. The baby didn’t seem to mind at least. In fact, she even seemed happy. How long did it take these babies to smile consciously?

“Odra?”

Odra yelped and dove away from the crib to hide under the table. “I was just looking! Get off my cock!” she yelped. She peered out to see a woman with fancy make up and three gold rings on her middle finger looking down at her. Ah, that was definitely one of the employees of Fit For Kings, and since she had familiar thick dark curls on her head…

“You’re Odra, right?” The woman laughed quietly as she knelt down to get a better look at the hiding goblin. “Odra Manyboots? Garl’s talked about you a few times. And I don’t think there’s many other goblins employed by this guild.”

“There’s a few hobgoblins but they’re all dicks,” Odra grumbled as she scooted out from her hiding place. “You’re… I don’t know who you are. Garl doesn’t tell me who he bones.”

“I figured.” The woman ruffled Odra’s ears. “I’m Dalda. I’m Saballa’s mother.”

Right. Of course. Odra stared at her feet. “Right, I guessed, she looks like you. Listen, Visom’s currently out on a job, Garl’s hungover, I think your babysitters are busy getting work that pays, whadya want?”

Dalda cocked her head to the side before her gaze softened. “They didn’t want you close to lil’ Balla, did they?” she guessed.

Odra chewed on the inside of her cheek. “They didn’t, but that doesn’t matter, I didn’t want to be close to her anyway,” she grumbled.

“… Would you like to hold her?”

Odra gaped and sputtered as Dalda went to the cradle and gently scooped the sleeping Saballa up. “Hold on- who says I want to hold her!?”

“Sit down, come on, just for a few minutes. If she starts to cry, I’ll take her, don’t worry.”

Odra shook her head as she clambered up on the chair. “This isn’t a good idea. I’m just saying, I’m a goblin, Garl hasn’t made me bathe in like a month so there’s probably like plague all over me along with a thousand other diseases, when she opens her eyes she’s gonna scream, I’m- why are you still handing me a baby!?”

Odra shut her eyes as the baby was rested in her arms. Oh fuck oh fuck this wasn’t going to go well this was so going to blow up in her face-

“There! That’s not so bad, is it? Oh, this is so cute. If I could paint a portrait of you two, I would.”

Odra slowly reopened her eyes and gasped quietly.

She wasn’t sure how, but Saballa got even cuter when she was out of the crib and now in her arms. She was much bigger than a goblin infant, that was for sure. Odra carefully bounced her up and down in her arms, completely speechless as she stared down at this helpless little thing. “Am… am I doing it right?” Odra asked.

“You’re doing just fine.” Dalda pulled up a chair from the other side of the table and looked at Odra with her baby with a lot of… well, it was a nice look in her eyes, even if Odra couldn’t put words to it. “You’re even supporting her neck right. Do you have children?”

Odra snorted. “Oh fuuuck no, that requires getting it on with a guy and… ew.” She shook her head at the thought. “I’d barf. But um, when… when I was with the other Manyboots, I’d make sure to check in on the babies. They’re not nearly as stupid as your babies are, a goblin babe’s ready to be placed with the others in the pen after a few hours. They still need watching though, make sure they get enough to eat.”

Dalda laughed. “I’ve never really thought of how goblin children grow. I bet you were a natural when it came to taking care of the babies, huh?”

Suddenly Odra’s chest felt tight and a lump formed in her throat. “… Eh, I sucked pretty bad at it, honestly,” she said with a nervous laugh. She swallowed and offered Saballa back to her mother. “You better take Balla back, my arm’s cramping like a bitch and I’ll drop her.”

Dalda did take the baby back. “Hello, baby… oh, you’re awake! How long have you been awake, sweet baby?” She pressed a kiss to Saballa’s head before turning the baby towards Odra. “Look, Balla, it’s your Auntie Odra!”

If goblins could visibly blush, Odra would be crimson. Even now her face was burning hot as that baby looked stupidly at her. No thoughts in that brain at all. Clearly.

Then Saballa smiled and waved one of her hands around. Without even thinking about it Odra offered her finger and the half elf child grabbed onto it. Saballa cooed and gripped on as tightly as she could. Much to Odra’s surprise the little one was stronger than she would’ve guessed.

Odra slowly took her finger back and turned away, pushing away that painful feeling inside. “Yeah, um, better wash her hand before she sticks it in her mouth. Definite poison damage. I gotta go make sure Garl’s not choking on his own vomit,” she grumbled as she hurried away.

“See you later, Odra! Say bye bye, Saballa! Bye bye!”

Odra turned to see that Dalda was actually waving lil Saballa’s hand, who was still smiling. Odra jumped the stairs two at a time, but she was smiling the whole way up.

Next

[mywifeleftme]

142: The Muffs // The Muffs

The Muffs The Muffs 1993, Warner Bros.

I was super late to discovering the Muffs—a power pop-knower friend of mine texted me when singer/guitarist Kim Shattuck died in 2019 that she was embarrassed to have only given the band a try after the news broke, and I probably replied some garbled thing that implied I knew more about the band than I did while firing off a search of my own. I immediately and completely fell in love with the band’s 1993 debut, and while I’ve sampled their other records, this is still the one I’ve practically committed to memory. The Muffs is a ‘90s pop-punk record so it has like 16 songs, which my vinylized brain insists means it must be a double album though it’s a trim 41 minutes—my mind does the same thing with Green Day’s Dookie and Rancid’s …And Out Come the Wolves, two albums I would say are about on a par with this one. Still, even if the songs are short, when a band can boast this many hooky, memorable gems on one release, it conveys the same sweeping sense of a band at the height of its powers I get from your London Callings and Zen Arcades: “Lucky Guy,” “Saying Goodbye,” “Everywhere I Go,” “Better Than Me,” “From Your Girl,” “Big Mouth,” “Baby Go Round,” “Every Single Thing,” “All for Nothing”… these all shoulda been hits to my ears. But then, to my ears they are.

Style-wise, the Muffs are chugging skater punk with a heaping spoonful of Weezer/Teenage Fanclub-style power pop in the mix. Rob Cavallo (a year out from turning Green Day into megastars) gifts this one with the kind of triple-A radio rock production that makes the alternative landmarks of the era such pleasures to listen to (and presents us with the bizarre paradox of a hi-fi Angry Samoans cover). Like Nevermind, Weezer (Blue), and Siamese Dream,the guitar tones alone are an absolute feast. They sound like a fictional band from the third season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer who all the characters agree is the greatest in the world after they start a residency at the Brass, only by the end of the episode Kim Shattuck turns out to be a horned, blue-skinned demon using a charm to steal the lifeforce of teenagers when they headbang. I love that, while she’s capable of a girlish sweetness, she never tries to hide her edge: even while she’s swooning pensively through the turbocharged sock-hop ballad “From Your Girl” she lets just enough grain into her voice to remind you that just a minute or two earlier, on the snotty “Better Than Me,” she was shrieking like Courtney Love eating glass.

I don’t really know why the Muffs never blew up, though they had a lot of membership turnover between this first effort and 1995’s solid Blonde & Blonder. But if you’re a fan of the sound and this somehow missed you too, I fully encourage you to put your headphones on and inject some extremely high-concentrate 1993 into your ear canals.

142/365

[itwas50yearsagotoday]

7/20/23: It was 50 years ago today, July 20th, 1973, Mott the Hoople would release their sixth record, simply titled Mott (their next album would be titled The Hoople... clever lads). This record is probably the pinnacle of the band's creativity... they definitely soaked in the Glam Rock from the previous breakthrough album All the Young Dudes, but this album steps slightly away from it and definitely sounds somehow... I dunno, wiser? Like they had some commercial success with that record's title track, but this record seems to reject the stardom approach and really doesn't have any big hit singles. The lead-off track certainly could have been a hit, and actually it was a Top Ten hit in the U.K... weird that it wasn't anything here, I mean it just screams Rock from the era, but alas no. It's a hell of a banger, and it has this great extended, almost atonal, guitar versus saxophone jam at the end... got this wonderful, infectious piano opening... just rollicking, very enjoyable... especially if played loud, because you're head-bangin' along at the end of every verse. If you watch the early Scorsese film Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore, this is the opening song that the kid is listening too (also very loudly). I like track two 'Whizz Kid' almost better... not sure if it is autobiographical from one of the members, but it's about living with an NYC woman, and it has some kind of cutting lyrics about just about everyone involved... it's a great guitar riff, and the bridge is super-cool. Now the two songs on the record I don't care for are somewhat similar: 'Hymn For the Dudes' and 'Ballad of Mott the Hoople'... both are slow and epic and talk about the band's experiences thus far. I just can't get into them... readers know how patient I am with slow songs... they'd better be really good! I think 'Honaloochie Boogie' has got a real pretty melody that springs out of the speakers at the start... Mick Ralphs being awesome on guitar, as usual. Before I speak further, I think this is Ian Hunter at his best, with his overly snotty voice it works with the material, especially on 'Boogie' and the proto-punk 'Violence'. But I want to say that Ralphs tears it up on a two-part song (much like on the previous record) with 'I’m a Cadillac / El Camino Dolo Roso'... I think I mentioned on the last two album reviews how much of an underrated voice he has... not as good as 'Ready For Love / After Lights' but still great. Ralphs would leave after this record and form Bad Company, which we will not get to (for better or for worse). 'Drivin' Sister' is exactly what it sounds like, a driving Rock & Roll tune. I used to not care for the album closer 'I Wish I Was Your Mother' but listening to it as a much older person than when I heard it last, there is something sweet and gentle about the kind of wistful melody. The more I write this blog the worse my creative mind rotates, so I'm glad I'm less than six months away from its completion--but there are still SO many records between now and then that are great, including this one. I really don't think this record would offend anyone... if you don't know it, give it Spotify spin. Also, they had two different album covers (I have the first one with the band as it was the U.S. cover... second one released in the U.K. is unique tho).

[quiisquiliae-archived]

Send memes, will do shortly. It's been a grumpy day.

[bbangsoonie]

teach me about love

member: kevin genre: fluff (preschool teacher!kevin au) word count: 2,120 synopsis: when your brother asks you to pick up your nieces from school, you find a teacher that you find to be cuter than the toddlers there.

a/n: happy birthday to our moonlight boy, kevin 🌙

You didn’t really like kids. They were adorable, of course, but they were snotty walking embodiments of germs and you had no idea how to entertain them. They were absolutely precious when sleeping but their tantrums terrified you.

Whenever they came up to you with those bright expectant eyes, you didn’t know what to do except pet their head. Everyone around you would scold you saying that they were children, not dogs. But in your defense, they didn’t seem to mind.

To be honest, you preferred dogs over kids. They were cute all the time.

Nonetheless, you still adored your nieces. The older one, Ahyoung, reminded you of your own past self. She was shy and reserved but sought out love and attention. She constantly needed assurance to fight early signs of anxiety. The younger one, Soyoung, was the complete opposite; she was loud and outgoing. She easily made friends with everyone and adjusted well to new environments.

So when your brother asked you for a last minute favor, you were more than happy to pick them up at their preschool. Unfortunately, however, you were terrible with directions and ended up 20 minutes late.

Apologizing profusely to the staff and teachers, you made your way throughout the building to find their classroom. That was another struggle of its own.

“Auntie Y/n!” you heard two familiar voices screech. You laughed as they ran up to you and hugged your legs.

“Sorry I’m late girls,” you pouted as you squished their cheeks.

“It’s okay, Auntie! Teacher Kevin was playing house with us,” Ahyoung beamed.

“Teacher Kevin was our dog!” Soyoung giggled.

You looked up to see a male teacher sheepishly escape from the tiny playhouse. You held back a laugh, pitying him for what the girls put him through.

“I’m sorry about that,” you chuckled.

“No worries,” he smiled. “It’s my job and I love kids. I had fun playing with them too.”

“I’m Y/n,” you introduced as you held out a hand. “I’m Ahyoung and Soyoung’s aunt. I came to pick them up since my brother got caught up in a work emergency.”

“It’s nice to meet you. My name is Kevin,” he said as he shook your hand. You knew it was unprofessional to think this but he was cute. Like, really cute.

Trying to leave before your smiling cheeks could reveal your thoughts, you quickly collected the girls’ bags and helped them put their jackets on. You bid their cute teacher goodbye and happily suggested an aunt-niece ice cream date. They cheered at the idea of sweets and raced to your car.

The next week, your brother asked if you could pick the girls up from school again. Apparently they had been bugging him to have their favorite aunt come every day.

You weren’t sure if it was his flattery or if it was their sneaky plan for ice cream but you didn’t mind. As a freelancer, you had a flexible schedule. You were glad to spend time with your nieces and catch another glimpse of their teacher.

This time, you made sure to leave your house early. You ended up arriving before dismissal and watched as the kids ran around in the playground. Something about seeing Kevin’s eyes sparkle in front of them made you soft. He seemed so genuinely happy and looked at each student with honey dripping from his eyes.

Soyoung squealed as she chased after a boy who tapped her free in a game of freeze tag. She was a little confused about the rules but the effort was there.

While still keeping an eye on the children, Kevin approached you and asked if you wanted a juice box. You kindly declined, thanking him for the offer.

“You’re really good with the little ones,” you complimented.

“Ah, no, they’re the ones who are good with me,” he shyly shook his head. “I’m thankful that they see me as a fun and respectable teacher.”

“I find young kids to be difficult,” you confessed. “I don’t know how to match their level.”

“I get you. It’s definitely not easy to figure out what they want and try to communicate with them with their still-developing language skills. I’m still not great at it. I just try to improve a little more every day,” he said humbly.

He was a lot better than you who was quick to give up and run away. His words made you reflect and feel slightly guilty.

The bell chimed, making the students rush to line up in front of the door. Kevin left your side to gather everyone together and take them back inside to gather their belongings.

By now, a handful of parents had arrived and were waiting for their children. One by one, the students walked out with their matching yellow chick backpacks, excitedly running up to their guardian.

Your nieces greeted you in that high pitched shriek you loved, body slamming into your open arms. With them in your embrace, you gave them a tight squeeze before getting up and holding their hands to take them to the car.

“Wait!” you heard Kevin call out. Turning around, you were surprised to see him running towards you. When he caught up to you, he held out a book. Taking it, you read the title.

“The Body Language of Toddlers”

“I thought you might find this book useful,” his hands fumbled awkwardly, not knowing where to go. His gesture brought you a warm feeling.

“Thank you, Kevin. I’ll be sure to give it a read,” you smiled.

“Ooooh,” Ahyoung wiggled her eyebrows, making both you and Kevin blush. You ruffled her hair and ushered her towards your vehicle.

Picking the girls up from school became a biweekly thing for you. Every Monday and Friday, you would arrive ten minutes early to chat with Kevin as he told you funny stories that happened throughout the day. And when you worked with a bunch of preschoolers, there were a lot of those types of stories.

You listened as he went on about how a little boy woke up from a nap thinking he had an argument with his friend because of a nightmare he had. Kevin had to convince him that it was all a dream and that his friend did not actually steal his gummy worms and lie about it.

The way he spoke about his students was endearing. He made them sound like lovely angels even when they were cranky and misbehaving.

“We’re looking for chaperones for the upcoming field trip if you’re interested,” he cautiously brought up. “We only had a few parents sign up so we’d really appreciate any extra helping hands.”

Panicking, you stuttered about how you didn’t have the confidence to keep rowdy kids in check at a public space. He assured you that your only responsibility would be to make sure no one ran off and to accompany kids to the bathroom if they had to separate from the group.

He was a smooth talker. He somehow persuaded you into agreeing and you couldn’t believe you left the school that day after signing the form.

“Auntie, do you like Teacher Kevin?” Ahyoung asked you in the car ride back home.

“Sure, Teacher Kevin is nice,” you hummed.

“No, she means do you like like him?” Soyoung pressed.

You feigned innocence and pretended not to understand what they were talking about. They grilled you about how often you talked with him and even pointed out that he didn’t talk to other parents like that. They sure were smart-witted for their age.

On the day of the field trip, you spent a long time deciding on what to wear. You had no idea how casual you were supposed to dress as a chaperone.

You ended up choosing a simple outfit and rushed out the door to avoid being late. You had to say you were excited. It had been ages since you last visited an aquarium. And maybe the extra butterflies in your stomach were because of a certain someone you were looking forward to seeing.

Meeting Kevin outside of the school felt different. He stood out in the crowd of tiny humans. Even more so once you entered the place and you noticed that most of the visitors were families, students, or couples.

You softly smiled as you watched the kids fawn over colorful fish and gawk at sharks. It felt like you were returning to your own childhood innocence. You followed Ahyoung, who was pulling at your sleeve, to the jellyfish section where she asked you to take a picture of her with the transparent creature.

The photos came out so incredibly that you had to immediately send them to your brother. He texted back almost instantly and you scoffed when you read his message.

“Heck yeah I made that. Those are my genes right there.”

Rolling your eyes, the corners of your lips twitched up as you put the device away. You guided Ahyoung back to the rest of the group and ran into Kevin who was coming back from the bathroom with another student.

“How are you enjoying the trip so far?” he asked.

“It’s nice. Honestly not as chaotic as I thought it’d be,” you admitted.

“Oh don’t jinx it. Lunch time will be hectic,” he warned.

He was right. Between picky kids and the kimbap packed by their parents, the unwanted vegetables were flown around the picnic table. You barely managed to avoid the carrot that was flung in your direction. Unluckily, you were unable to dodge the spinach that was now tangled in your hair.

Kevin laughed as he tried to help you take it out, cracking a joke about it looking like seaweed and you looking like a mermaid dragged out of the ocean.

“He means you’re pretty, Auntie!!” Soyoung eagerly translated on his behalf. “Mermaids are super super pretty. Like Ariel, the princess!”

This raised a teasing crowd of “ooh”s from the group of preschoolers.

“Teacher Kevin and Auntie Y/n sitting in a tree,” a boy began chanting, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

His friend made a face and screamed “ew,” making him laugh uncontrollably. Meanwhile, Kevin was trying his best to cover his burning ears. He pulled the beanie over his ears, not wanting to expose his embarrassment.

“My daddy said no boy is good enough for Auntie but I’ll tell him nice things about you, Teacher Kevin. Just specially for you,” Ahyoung proudly announced.

Awkwardly coughing, you stuffed her cheeks with another roll of kimbap. Her muffled cries of resistance were appeased with a juice box shoved into her mouth. The sweet drink diverted her attention away from you and back to her lunch.

You two were now officially shipped by all of Kevin’s students. Even the other teachers giggled as they passed by you.

By the end of the field trip, you were one of the last ones to leave. After all the other students and teachers departed from the aquarium, Kevin escorted you to the car with a sleeping Ahyoung in his arms and a sleeping Soyoung in yours.

You both carefully placed them in their car seats and closed the door after buckling their seat belts. Now that you were alone with him, you didn’t know what to say. Despite the silence, it wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable.

“So have you warmed up to the idea of kids yet?” he finally asked after clearing his throat.

“The book you gave me definitely taught me a lot of things,” you nodded. “Now I’m not completely terrified of them. And seeing you handle kids comforts me.”

“Really? How so?”

“I don’t know. It’s just… you so effortlessly take care of them and I can see how much you cherish each and every one of your students. I envy that.”

“Trust me, it’s not as easy as you think it is,” he chuckled.

Silence fell between you again but you simply enjoyed his presence. You turned your head to see him already staring at you. With your eyes, you wordlessly asked if there was something he wanted to say.

“So uh tomorrow’s Saturday,” he suddenly mentioned. He was fiddling with a loose thread on his sweater and hesitated to speak up again.

“Do you have any plans for the weekend?” he blurted. You couldn’t stop the smile that crept up on your face.

“Nope.”

“Would you like to um grab dinner with me tomorrow then?”

He anxiously held his breath as he waited for your response. Biting his lips, he wondered if he had ruined things by going too fast.

“Sure. How’s 6?” you finally answered.

“6 is great. 6 is lovely. Wonderful. Perfect,” he replied with a huge grin.

a/n: calling all kevin enthusiasts aka @reverienostalgia

i also may or may not have kinda wrote my little cousins into this fic.. 👉🏻👈🏻

[amphtaminedreams]

Sitting Front Row at...(On a Budget Obvs): Lookbook no.15

Hey to anyone reading!

And welcome to my fave lookbook I’ve done in a longggg ass time! Yes, that’s partially because it involved making collages and doing the low effort work of scouring Vogue Runway for “research purposes”, but I promise, that statement wasn’t made out of COMPLETE laziness-I am super happy with it too. It’s been a good use of pre-part-lockdown-lift time in the interim between that brief period of Christmas celebrations and eateries finally fucking opening again because let’s be honest, I always knew I was gonna get distracted by oat milk vanilla lattes and veggie all day breakfasts once I could actually sit down with them at my fave local cafe. You could say I was very much operating on a self-imposed deadline.

The “what I would wear to sit front row at...[insert designer here]” TikTok/Instagram reel trend was something I wanted to get on board with ever since I first saw one and whilst the option of doing my own live action take-I really cannot bear the thought of having to edit footage of myself awkwardly attempting to sit nonchalantly in front of a camera for hours on end-was off the cards considering my complete lack of screen presence, I decided a Tumblr text post would work just as well, and if not even better in a way. Given the absence of the time limitations you face when you’re making a reel or a TikTok I thought it’d be cool to present the looks as part of a mini moodboard for each designer which adds a bit of context to each look even if you aren’t familiar with their past collections and establishes the general vibe of the brand I’m attempting to replicate. Not to sound snotty or as if I am the font of all knowledge on anything high fashion related but even with my amateur knowledge I noticed that as the video trend took off and was adopted by big name influencers, it became less about the average person putting their own personal spin on the aesthetic of the labels we can’t ordinarily afford and more about them building outfits that only vaguely resemble the general public perception of the brand around the real corresponding (and often gifted and thus inaccessible to someone who doesn’t makes thousands for a sponsored post) pieces they own SO I thought I’d take the trend back to its roots and get a bit resourceful. All that being said, in no particular order, here are the outfits I would wear to sit front row at Gucci, Vera Wang, Miu-Miu, Marc Jacobs, Dolce & Gabbana, Brock Collection, Alexander McQueen, Etro, Burberry aaaand Saint Laurent based on their past collections and guess what? They didn’t cost a shit tonne of money :-)

-disclaimer: will include an asterisk before any new purchases if from a high street store though to be honest, I don’t think there are any, we shall see! I do include where I got old purchases from in case anyone wants to search anything on Depop/Ebay-

1. Saint Laurent (formerly Yves Saint Laurent)

-blazer from identityparty on Depop, pleather trousers from Zara, jewellery from Dolls Kill-

I know technically abbreviating Saint Laurent to YSL doesn’t really make much sense anymore given the brand’s name change in 2012, but I’ll always think of it as that in the same way I’ll always associate it with the slightly dishevelled yet simultaneously glitzy rock n’ roll aesthetic. The thing is, whilst YSL hasn’t done anything wildly out of the box for a long time, it’s rare they put a look on the runway that I wouldn’t wear; they never end up being a fashion week standout but the Parisienne take on grunge we’ve seen Anthony Vaccarello establish as his go-to will always have a place in my heart. 

2. Alexander McQueen

-embroidered leather jacket from Ebay (originally Topshop), harness from Amazon, dress from ASOS, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

Alexander McQueen is a brand that is pretty much universally liked, from the historically extravagant and groundbreaking shows the man himself put together to Sarah Burton’s more toned down but still beautiful collections. Obviously I didn’t attempt to do justice to the former, so I tried my hand at putting together a look inspired by Sarah’s blend of delicate femininity and nomadic edge, and it went...okay? Like it’s definitely not my favourite of all the looks because it does give off slightly cheap copycat vibes buuut outside of the context of this lookbook it’s cute.

3. Brock Collection

-boater hat from Ebay, midi skirt from morganogle on Depop, corset top from ownmode_, heels from amybeckett1, bag from Primark-

Brock isn’t as well known a brand as most of the others in this list but I adore everything Laura Vassar Brock does and I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to try and channel the vision of one of the OG pioneers of the cottagecore vibe through my own wardrobe. I mean fr, this woman’s work as a steady provider of meadow photoshoot worthy dresses and corsets and skirts is v slept on and I will not stand for it. I will sit in front of a camera and then write a paragraph in my blog post begging anybody who reads to give LVB (an abbreviation I acknowledge is unlikely to catch on because Lisa Vanderpump anybody?) some form of acknowledgement for her services to period romance novel inspired moodboards everywhere.

4. Marc Jacobs

-coat from House of Sunny, white shirt from Retro World Camden, co-ord from Sugar Thrillz, bag from Poppy Lissiman-

If there’s one thing Marc Jacobs always does, it’s COMMITS. TO. HIS. THEME. I just KNOW he has a secret Pinterest with separate boards for every fashion era of the 20th century and he is putting those boards to good use providing us with collections that are as immersive as they are eclectic year in year out. 

5. Miu Miu

-beret from H&M, hair clips from H&M, jewellery from Primark, coat from mollyyemmaa on Depop, shirt from YesStyle, sweater vest from YesStyle, skirt from Depop, diamanté belt from Brandy Melville, shoes from Koi Vegan Footwear-

We all like to talk about Bratz dolls and Monster High dolls and Barbies as fashion inspo but can we all focus on Cabbage Patch dolls for two secs so as to acknowledge the fact that a Miu Miu collection is basically all their fits grown up? And made boujie as fuck? If I want my fix of Wes Anderson meets Scream Queens (what a combo) inspired outfits, if I want prissy and girlish but also glam, if I want to look like a bratty rich girl whose one redeeming quality is her eye for vintage clothes, I know where to look and that is the Miu Miu section of Vogue Runway. 

6. Vera Wang

-blazer as in no.1, velvet bralet from catdegaris on Depop, harness from Amazon, skirt from Ebay, knee high socks from Ebay, lace up boots from Ebay-

Vera Wang’s RTW aesthetic, a blend of the ethereal, ultra-feminine bridal designs she’s known for and British style punk rock influences, is something I feel has only become firmly established in recent years but it is everything I ever wanted and more. I always find myself trying to balance the part of me that loves everything girly and delicate and pretty and the part of me that would love to be in a biker gang and Vera’s collections are always an inspirational reminder of just how well it can be done.

7. Burberry

-coat from charity shop, suit from emmafisher3 on Depop, top from simranindia, shirt underneath from Zara, jewellery from ASOS-

Now I’m not gonna lie, I’m not the biggest fan of Burberry but there have been a few looks over the past few years I’ve really liked and as someone who owns numerous trench coats, high necks and way too much plaid, I thought it’d be an easy one to replicate. Plus, if you can count on Riccardo Tisci for nothing else you at least can rely on him giving you some layering inspo which is very much needed in a country where it literally just snowed in April and where my plans for today have just been cancelled because the iPhone weather app did a Karen Smith and didn’t predict rain for today right up until it started raining so thanks for that one British meteorologists. Your incompetence strikes again.

8. Etro

-corset from Urban Outfitters, vinyl trench coat from Topshop, boots from Ebay, black slip dress from kaoanaoleinik on Depop, fur trim afghan coat from louisemarcella-

Like with Brock Collection, Etro isn’t a hugely well known brand, but it is always one of my favourites-to add a spanner into the works of any attempts to cultivate a firm sense of personal style, I live for the ornate Bohemian look that Etro does so well just as much as I love both grungy and girly pieces, and so I really wanted to include a brand whose collections go down that route. It was a toss-up between this and Zimmerman, the flirtier, free spirit counterpart to the dark romance of Veronica Etro’s designs; her vision really shines through the most when it comes to the brand’s winter collections, imo, and given that I live in a country where winter or some weather state resembling it does seem to take up 70% of the year, I did decide on channelling her work rather than that of the equally talented Nicky and Simone Zimmermann this time round.

9. Dolce & Gabbana

-flower crown from ASOS, tiara from Amazon, earrings from YesStyle, dress from alicealderdice1 on Depop, opera gloves from Ebay, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

D&G is a brand I felt really conflicted about doing-I don’t include their current collections in my fashion week reviews based on the actions of designers Stefano Gabbana and Domenico Dolce over the last few years because I don’t want to mitigate the collective effort of fashion critics to push them towards irrelevancy. Though people like to claim the brand has turned a corner since Lucio Di Rosa was brought on board as the manager of celebrity and VIP relations last year (they are as prolific a force on red carpet fashion as ever), we haven’t seen any real meaningful apologies or reparations made by Dolce and Gabbana themselves which once again leaves us in the all too familiar quandary of whether or not we can separate the art from the artist especially when it is far too much of a simplification to only credit the two men for their work given there’s a whole design team behind them. There are a LOT of shitty people working in fashion, the whole industry is a bit of a cesspit if we’re honest, but I don’t think that should stop us from at least being able to appreciate old collections if we make sure we aren’t engaging in any kind of promotion of current works whilst doing so. D&G are a brand of high highs and low lows, with looks that range from hideously ugly to showstoppingly beautiful in a single show-when the looks are good, they are GOOD-and their presence in the fashion world is most definitely felt whether we want it to be or not. It would just be shit to refuse to recognise the existence of some real iconic runway moments, the practical work that went into the ornate detail and opulence that helped cement D&Gs place in sartorial history, the styling that’s made goddesses and fairytale queens out of modern day women as they’ve glided down catwalks, the far more extravagant and, let’s be real, sexier version of our world D&G shows have transported us to in the past. Will I talk about D&G ever again? No, and if you Google the scandals their brand has faced over the past few years, there are more than enough reasons why, but just this once I did want to pay homage to some of the collections, the snippets of which I saw on my Tumblr dashboard back when I was about 13, that first got me into fashion.

10. Gucci

-fur coat from Topshop, clips from Zaful, glasses from Ebay, dress from gracewright246 on Depop, shirt from Boohoo, blazer from charity shop-

Now last but, if you ever read any of my fashion week reviews (the likelihood of someone actually having read one of them and reading this is incredibly, incredibly slim lol, I wouldn’t read me either) you’ll know, definitely not least, is Gucci because Alessandro Michele comes through every!! single!! time!!

The man is truly the king of quirky throwback maximalism and it hurts my heart that a lot of people seem to think of it only as a brand associated with ostentatious displays of wealth. Year after year since Michele was made creative director he has released purposeful, fully-fleshed out collections which unravel themselves to us on the runway like time capsules containing the belongings of the rich and whimsical and yes that can sometimes result in outfits which are *ahem* a bit mismatched but it doesn’t matter because through fashion he manages to take us to a vivid version of the past where people could dress as freely and lavishly as they wanted to, into the wardrobe of a person unaffected by the side-eyeing of others. You get the impression he doesn’t design so much as plays around with some kind of enchanted dress up box and takes inspiration from there and to give that impression is only a credit to his talent-to make outfits so kooky and extravagant look like they were meant to be takes a boldness and genuine love for clothes that I do tend to feel a lot of the big name designers have lost in the pursuit of profit and the necessary placating of the dying customer base that keeps that coming in. Of course I'm not for a second saying Gucci does not care about profit, but at the very least, they have on board a creative director who genuinely has fun with what they’re putting out there and wants to make a statement too and that really shows; you can rest on your laurels and sell tweed boucle jackets to rich old white women for eternity but nobody’s going to mention your brand name and the word groundbreaking in the same sentence ever again unless they’re talking about what it was a century ago, you know (mentioning no names...unless...did I hear someone say Chanel)? That feels like such a shady way to end, lol, but I’m sure said brand will survive-to be fair, they’ve been included in every other What I’d Wear to Sit Front Row At video I’ve seen so although I’m always slagging them off for doing the saaaaame thinggggg year after year, for that same reason their aesthetic is instantly recognisable and so will always be a source of imitation. There are obviously pros and cons to being a brand which constantly reinvents itself but I think it’s totally possible to do that whilst maintaining an overall mission, and Alessandro Michele’s work at Gucci demonstrates that with ease.

Anyway, if you got to here, thanks for reading! I know I’m super behind on this whole TikTok trend and I know a Tumblr post instead of a video is a bit of a cop out but all the real, physically awkward ones out there know that watching yourself back is excruciating lmao, so I hope this does the trick. After this, I’m gonna get back to the reviewing S/S21 collections post though knowing me I’ll probs take a few days to get back into that because I feel like since I left full-time education (RIP me going back in a few months) writing continuously like this for any longer than about 15 mins fries what brain cells I have left. Again, thank you for reading and if you are, sending many good vibes your way! Stay safe!

Lauren x

[yoshichao]

the Smashers and their Host - Chapter ??? Preview

Series: Super Smash Bros.

Characters: Reader, Literally Everyone In Super Smash Bros Ultimate

Summary:  You’re an inter-dimensional being that owns a huge estate situated on the cusp of spacetime. You’ve been asked to rent out your mansion for the upcoming Super Smash Bros. tournament. What could possibly go wrong?

Tags: Reader-Insert, Romantic & Platonic Harem, Comedy, Fluff, No Smut

Read the fic here!

[hi a year ago i was writing a chapter about characters getting sick but then a pandemic happened, making this no longer as fun to write. as a result i’m not going to be posting this one for awhile... but i’m going to share the beginning portion of it anyways. hope you enjoy?]

"Room service!" you call out, peeking into the room with a friendly smile and a tray in your hands. Upon your arrival, Marth sits up in his bed and tries to offer a smile in return... but it is visibly weak, marred by puffy eyes and a flushed face.

"Well this is a pleasant surprise." The Altean prince's voice sounds different from what you're used to. It sounds like he has a stuffed nose... which he does, of course. "If anyone was to be bringing me soup, I would have expected it to be Peach."

You step fully into the room, nudging the door shut behind you with your hip before making your way over to the bed where the prince lies. "It was Peach's idea to make soup for everyone," you confirm, "but after we started delivering it to people, I think the full brunt of the illness hit her too and I told her to go lay down."

Upon discovering that over half the Smashers residing in your mansion had come down with a cold, you took it upon yourself to be a good host and play a part in helping everyone make a full recovery. Of course, having lived alone and illness-free for god-knows-how-long, you were a bit at a loss at what to do... and thankfully Peach was all-too-happy to lend a hand. You recall she seemed tired from the beginning but did her very best to hide it, and an hour and a cauldron of hot soup later, the exhaustion seemed to hit the princess all at once. It took some doing, but you eventually managed to convince her that you and the rest of the team could take it from there. She (and Samus, who was rooming with her while mansion repairs were still being done) was one of the first people you delivered to, and her warm, grateful smile was enough to convince you that you could do this. You can trek across the mansion for hours to deliver supplies to forty or so different people all day.

Even with your handy "shortcuts", it's more draining than you thought.

"Oh dear." Marth chuckles weakly at your explanation. "Thinking about it... for as long as we've been in Smash together, I don't think I've ever seen her fall ill before... I suppose I didn't even imagine it happening to her."

You have a feeling that Peach has gotten sick in the past - she is just very good at hiding it and powering through it. You're certain she would have continued doing that this time as well had you not convinced her otherwise. However, instead of saying any of this, you simply shrug while placing the tray on the bedside table.

"Well, she is a princess. You can't have royalty looking all unkempt and snotty - that wouldn't be right at all."

Marth needs a moment before he realizes… you are making a jab at him. The prince is flustered for a moment before he lets out a laugh, which you respond in turn with a cheeky grin.

“Do I look that bad?”

He is visibly unwell, but you feel inclined to soften the blow to his vanity. “Nah, I’m just teasing. Anything else you need before I go?” You can’t help but glance around Marth’s room under the guise of checking if anything in particular is missing. You respect your guests’ privacy, so you haven’t been in many of their rooms after the move-in - including Marth’s. His room is fairly plain and orderly - the only thing that really screams “Marth” in here is the mannequin that is adorned with his familiar Smash garb. Said mannequin also holds his sword, Falchion. You suppose storing an outfit with armour on it in this fashion is easier than trying to keep it in the closet or in a drawer. Though considering you don’t see any other articles of clothing lying about, perhaps the closet is just full?

...How many clothes does this guy have?

You’re curious now, but decide not to pry.

“Thank you, but I should be fine,” Marth replies, bringing your attention back to him. “You’ve done enough already. Merely visiting me was plenty - you’ve certainly been a sight for sore eyes.”

For a moment, you’re flustered… but then you remember this man is currently sick in bed. His thoughts are probably a bit jumbled and unfiltered. And really, who wouldn’t feel better knowing there was someone bringing them soup? Beauty comes from kindness and within, et cetera et cetera. All these excuses and more fill your head as you effortlessly wave away Marth’s silly words - you, a sight?! Ha ha! Why, isn’t that saying often used platonically as well? Yes? Maybe? You are drawing a blank.

You’re so lost in denial that you forget to respond aloud. Marth seems to take your silence and (unbeknownst to you) goofy smile the wrong(?) way and starts stammering out an apology, possibly growing even more embarrassed than you are.

“I-I didn’t mean… What I meant by that was… Well, it’s not that I didn’t mean it, but I mean, I find you… quite… um…”

“If you want a sight, next time you need something I’ll be sure to send in the cutest maid we have on staff,” you joke, easily shifting the conversation to more comfortable territory. Marth relaxes at the topic shift and chuckles lightly, still looking a bit embarrassed.

“I’ll never live that moment down, will I?”

“Nope!” Your first embarrassing encounter with any of the Smashers has been so diluted by increasingly hectic and bizarre moments that you find it more funny than embarrassing these days. Well, you say “these days” like it wasn’t just a couple weeks ago that that happened… So much has happened since then that it feels like it has almost been two whole years! Really, it feels like the tournament should have started by now. Crazy how time works like that, huh? Ha ha.

Anyways.

“Anyways,” you say aloud, not sure where that oddly guilty train of thought came from. It was almost like someone was trying to speak through you to express their feelings. But that’s ridiculous! Best not to think about it anymore. “I’ve got more soup deliveries to make, so if you need anything, just…”

Oh. Oh wait you don’t have a system in place for this, do you? And you’re pretty sure most of the Smashers don’t have cell phones… Gah, you knew you should have implemented an internal phone line! Maybe you can ask Master Hand to sneak it in there while doing mansion renovations for future needs. If you do it, you’d have to do it in every single room one by one, which sounds exhausting. You already have a lot on your plate today!

“Don’t worry,” Marth says, “it’s only a cold. If I need anything, I have enough strength to get it myself.”

You open your mouth to protest but… actually, he has a point. It’s not like anyone seems to be sick with the flu or anything. And most of the Smashers are adults - they are all perfectly capable of getting up and retrieving anything they may need or want. Well, R.I.P. to anyone staying on the top floor because you still don’t have an elevator, but… they can at least leave a message on the door or something. Whatever.

This is already proving to be a very good learning experience at how unsuitable your mansion is in its current state for hosting this many people. You’ll have enough experience and knowledge by the end of this that you could run a rental business in your realm if you wanted.

“Well, if anything changes and you start having trouble, just leave a note outside the door,” you decide definitively. Going door-to-door to check on people would be tiring (and you’d also risk disturbing people who are sleeping) - but taking a walk through the halls every couple hours to check for notes or whatever? Easy. Even your shortcut-less partners could manage that.

Speaking of your partners, you should really be getting a move on.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Marth replies, wordlessly giving you the go ahead to skedaddle on outta here. “Thank you again for this.”

And he gives you such a kind and warm smile despite his ailment that you are practically stumbling out of the door, unable to figure out why it feels like there are butterflies inside you.

...Helping people out is good. That’s all.

Shaking away the strange feelings this encounter brought, you pop yourself back into the kitchen, where you are instantly greeted with the smell of hot soup. The room is warm thanks to the literal cauldron y’all made a day’s worth of soup in with Peach’s help, which remains on perpetual heat. There are only two Smashers in the room right now: femme Robin, who is using a laddle to scoop the soup into bowls and prepare the trays for delivery, and R.O.B., who is just on his way out with a tray balanced on his metallic arms. He stops when he sees you appear from nothingness, staring silently at you for a moment before turning his head back to a neutral position and rolling out of the room. Shrugging off the encounter, you approach Robin and the table of food trays.

“A couple more down - how many are left?” You spot the stack of trays that haven’t been prepared yet, each with a Smasher’s name stickied onto them. “Oh. That’s how many…”

“You work a lot faster than the boys do,” Robin chuckles, her voice notably different-sounding than usual. You’re pretty sure she’s sick too, but unlike Peach, she hasn’t been overwhelmed by it yet and waves away any concerns you’ve thrown her way. “R.O.B. can only carry one order at a time, and the Pikmin keep spilling or dropping things… or eating it. Shulk is… well, I think the stairs are too much for him.”

“That’s understandable,” you chuckle. Yeah, your team is not the greatest for this job. But you’re still thankful for the help. “You are giving him orders for people on the lower floors though, right?”

Robin gives you A Look before gesturing to the soup and the pile of crackers and bread… among other world-specific foods that are apparently good to eat when sick. “Hey, I’m busy putting everything together here! I don’t have time to tell everyone where to go! Just pick up a tray and go, that’s what I’ve been saying.”

Oh geez, not even you’re completely familiar with the rooms that the Smashers chose for themselves. You can imagine Shulk having to search every floor just to find the name he’s been looking for is on the top… Thankfully Peach managed to round up any and all roommate scenarios before leaving to rest, or else this could be even more hectic.

“Fair enough,” you relent, unable to stop yourself from smiling at the others’ hardships. It is admittedly funny to think about, but you intend to work hard enough so no one tires themselves out at what would otherwise be an endless task. You’re hoping that after this first round, you’ll all have a break when you only have to deal with specific orders… until dinner time, of course. Then this chaos will begin again.

“Ugh, and no one has even delivered food to my poor, sweet Lucy yet!” Robin groans dramatically, hand to her head like she’s acting in a movie. “Here I am, selflessly toiling away for the sake of everyone else, while my only daughter continues to suffer! Oh, won’t somebody deliver this soup to her in my stead?”

“Uh… Yeah, sure, I could do that. Or if you’d want I could stay here while you--”

“Oh you will?!” Robin cuts you off before you can finish, grinning as she scoops up the tray with Lucina’s name taped onto it and forces it into your arms. “You’re a lifesaver! A knight in shining armour! I’m sure she will be SO happy to know someone as sweet as you is looking out for her…”

With an awkward (but amused) hum, you accept the tray and adjust it so you’ll be able to grab a couple more. Before you can start browsing the selection though, Robin starts coughing - first soft, but then she’s leaning over and hacking into her arm. Uh oh. “Robin, why don’t you go lie down? I think the rest of us can take care of things from here.”

“No no, I’m fine. Really,” she says, considerably less bombastic than before as she manages a smile. You can tell that it’s forced. “Someone has to prepare all this food and look after the kitchen!”

She’s… not exaggerating. Olimar’s Pikmin tend to sample the selection any time they’re in here to pick up another delivery. And then there was the one time Kirby came in today…

...Best not to think about that nightmare.

“Well… maybe you can at least take a break?” you suggest, not wanting her condition to get any worse via pushing herself too hard. You all may need the help, but… you’re sure you can manage! “There aren’t too many trays left to prepare--” Ten isn’t much, right? How much work could it possibly be to put food on a tray? “--and we could just have Shulk or R.O.B. watch the kitchen.” You’d volunteer yourself, but like Robin said, you kind of are the most efficient person on hand right now. Even Palutena has this cold - there’s no one with teleportation powers well enough to lend a hand.

Robin puts a hand to her face, clearly considering your offer. You notice how tired she looks now that she’s not overcompensating her energy to hide it. “Oh, but…”

“You could bring a tray with you,” you tempt. “Go lie down, eat, maybe read or watch a movie? Then maybe in an hour if you feel alright you can come back…?”

The tactician is silent, envisioning the possibilities you are proposing. Finally, she nods and steals a random tray, ripping off the name and sticking it on one of the empty ones. “Alright, you got me. I’m convinced. Say hi to Lucy for me, okay?!”

With a cheeky grin, she leaves the room with food in tow. Briefly you wonder if she had been looking for an excuse to go sit down for a while now…

After Robin is gone, you start browsing the trays so you can deliver more than one order in a single trip. Should you try for a bunch on the same floor as Lucina, or should you grab some for higher floors instead so your partners can catch a break? Just as you think you’ve made a decision, a certain Monado Boy enters the room with an empty food trolley.

“I ran into Robin on the way here,” Shulk says in lieu of a greeting. He looks tired, but devoid of any cold symptoms that everyone else seems to have. “She said she was taking a break but seemed rather… excited about it. I don’t suppose that means we’re down another member?”

“I guess we’ll find out if she comes back or not,” you chuckle. You’re pretty sure Robin is a fairly reliable person but… she can be rather sneaky about her true intentions. “Either way, I think we’ll be fine! We can do this!”

Your positivity is infectious; Shulk returns the smile, albeit weaker than yours. While you’re certain he’s probably just tired from running around so much to help people, you can’t help but ask him again:

“Hey, are you sure you’re feeling okay? You’re not sick too or anything?”

Shulk shakes his head. “I told you before, I don’t seem to have it. Really, I don’t feel sick at all.”

When you asked him earlier, he told you that he had a weird history of never getting sick at the same time as his friends. He just never seemed to catch the same bugs as them. His explanation for it was as good as yours - which was no explanation, because he doesn’t know how it happens either. Just luck and coincidence, probably. When you try to imagine Smashers with strong immune systems, Shulk would have never been at the top of the list. He just… he looks so frail! But you can’t fight the facts: he’s one of the only human Smashers who is still perfectly healthy right now.

“How about you?” Shulk asks, returning the question. “You haven’t started feeling sick, right?”

He must be worried that you are going to ditch him too. “Nope! Like I said earlier: I don’t get sick. Like, at all.” You honestly can’t remember the last time you had gotten sick. Certainly not since you “moved into” this world, which was… well, it’s been awhile! Assumedly, it’s just one of the many perks of who you are and the realm you live in. Regardless, it’s been long enough that you’re convinced that “virus immunity” is one of your many undefined abilities.

Unfortunately for you, “not being a clumsy fool” is not one of your cool superpowers.

“Oh no!” You let down your guard for just a moment and accidentally let the trays in your hands tip, dumping all the food and utensils onto the ground. Man, you’ve been doing so good today! Shulk helps you clean it up, but a certain issue remains.

"Ugh, what if specific foods were on those?" you bemoan aloud. "I can't remember what came from each tray…" And you don't know anyone's tastes well enough to remake them. Though you suppose you could just leave the soup plain… put a bit of everything on the side…

"Who were they for?"

"Lucina, Yoshi, and Villager."

"In that case, I think…" Shulk picks up a blue-and-white bag among the mess. "...this is for Villager."

This makes perfect sense. "Now for Yoshi… probably all the fruit?”

Shulk ponders for a second, then nods. This also makes perfect sense. The two of you put all the bananas, berries, and peppers onto Yoshi’s tray.

“That just leaves the soup for Lucina!” You grin and rush over to the still-warm soup pot and fill a new bowl. “That was easier than I thought.” You are pretty sure you didn’t make any mistakes whatsoever. Except… wait a minute.

“Didn’t I deliver this earlier?” At your query, Shulk glances over to the particular tray you’re pointing at. It’s labelled for Peach and Samus, but you’re certain that this was one of the first deliveries you made!

...Wasn’t it?

“Um.” Shulk seems just as puzzled as you were. “Honestly, I’m not sure…”

You try to reach further back into your memory, but it seems to get further and further the more you try. Today’s events have been a blur of chaos and confusion. “...I guess I’ll just do it again??” It doesn’t matter if you can’t remember doing it, if the tray is here then that means you have to deliver it! You pick up the tray and put it on your trolley, then start loading the trolley up with more and more trays until it’s full.

“Oops, I almost forgot…” You turn and look at Shulk, who is also loading up a trolley. “Shulk, can you take Lucina’s? Robin asked me to, but I’m out of space.”

The two of them seem like good friends anyways, you’re sure Lucina will be more happy to see Shulk than to see you.

“Sure thing.”

Not wanting to waste anymore time, you start pushing your food trolley out of the room. As soon as you’ve exited the kitchen, you warp to the second floor of the mansion. Static dances on your skin from the instant transmission, but you ignore it as you approach Peach’s room.

[hello again its me, this is the end of the preview. there wasn’t much to it and it ends on such a Nothing note but i hope you liked it regardless. one day this will end up in the fic, but not anytime soon i think lol. i hope you have a good day/night.]

[isa-ghost]

Hi, same anon who asked about ego shipping. I just saw you reblogged a post from an artist who is pretty well known for their ship art and I just thought you would've blocked them, so I got kinda confused by that. And I know people who ship egos also reblog your posts so idk. It's fine to not like ego shipping, I wasn't saying that it wasn't. You're allowed to like and dislike whatever. You didn't have to be so hostile like that :( I didn't mean to make you mad

Rereading it, my answer doesn't sound AS hostile as it was in my head when I first wrote it, but I'm sorry regardless! I tried not to be super aggressive, but I thought you were like anons about ego shipping I've had in the past that have sent similar messages to yours, but meant them in a rude way. You didn't really make me mad, I just thought I was dealing with another one of those anons so I responded the way I did.

I couldn't read the tone of your question as legit confusion and thought it was another of those. 😅

I've had shippers sneak into my askbox in the past sending me "Gotcha!" type messages like they'd ""caught me"" being an ego shipper and reaching at straws or just straight up being passive aggressive or really nasty to me because *god forbid* I don't like something they do. It's happened a bunch of times and usually when I get one, a bunch more shippers follow.

Since my idiot ass couldn't read the tone of your question as Actual confusion, I assumed it was one of them like uM i tHoUgHt yOu DiDnT LiKe iT?? because I've gotten snotty anons like that saying they're "confused" before. (¬_¬ )

I genuinely don't know of any shippers that I interact with [apparently regularly] unless I just don't realize they post that content. Shows how little I pay attention to shipping content though. xD

I'm not quite a "shippers DNI" person, its more like Just Keep The Shipping Away From Me And My Blog and people who disrespect that will catch these hands.

As far as them interacting with my posts, I can't control who likes or reblogs it and they only get blocked if they're an ass about me disliking shipping; which I think has only happened 1-3 times I can remember?? But honestly, probably more. I had at least one BIG shipper send a bunch of people to attack my askbox once.

I hate getting anons like that though, because now I immediately get defensive and snippy like I did with you. >:/ Again, sorry about that. I've legit never gotten someone ACTUALLY confused about it before.

What I don't get is that I've been quiet on the ego front aside from reblogging art for a While, and yet I've gotten at least 2 shitty anons about not liking shipping within the last year or so. I wonder if they stumble across old posts of me speaking against it or something... :/

Thank you for coming back to my askbox and letting me know you weren't one of Those anons. :') I really appreciate it, especially so I could apologize for making assumptions.

But yeah, you can ship egos and follow me. Just keep that stuff Far Away from me and my blog. 🙏🏻

[paganinpurple]

A Feline’s Family - MariChat May 2019

It’s been another hard week. Whilst I found a little time to edit, I found none to write. I’m gonna try writing some more today, but we’ll see. No promises on the next update as a result.

Autocorrect and I had a love-hate relationship during this chapter. It loves to tell me I’m wrong and I hate it because it’s deliberate this time.

Buy Me A Coffee?

AO3

Chapters (If there’s no link, it’s not written yet)

1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9   10

11  12  13  14  15  16  17  18  19  20

21  22  23  24  25  26  27  28  29  30  31

Day 22 - Sick

It was still the middle of the night when Chat awoke, briefly confused by the proximity of the ceiling above him and the darkness-muted rose colour of the duvet cover against his chest. As the memories of the sleeping arrangements from earlier caught up to his foggy mind, and the emptiness of the bed as well, he heard a muffled noise from the floor below.

Peering over he spotted a head of dark, messy hair – as its owner stood bowed over her desk, grabbing at something hastily. He noticed the tissue in her hand when she brought it up to catch her sneeze, tossing it in the trash in favour of a fresh one when she lapsed into a new bout of sniffles again.

“Are you okay, Bugginette?” he rasped out. He gripped at his throat as she looked up at him, the mere act of saying a few words feeling like an attempt to swallow a block of sandpaper.

“Kiddy?” she sniffled, her nasally tone making it clear that her nose was blocked up and interfering with her regular speech. “You should be asleeb. You need your res’ to feel bedder.”

“Looks like I could say the same to you.”

Taking advantage of his super-abilities, Chat leapt over the guard rail by the bed and landed almost silently beside her. She flinched for a moment at his reckless actions before giving him a half-hearted swat to the arm.

“You scareb me,” she grumbled when he laughed, her accompanying frown deepening when it transitioned into more of a coughing fit instead as his raw throat protested. “You shouldn’ do dat when you’re sick.”

“And you shouldn’t be down here without a blanket. Besides, I’m only a bit sick. You seem much worse off.”

“Nahb,” she told him, her voice adding a new consonant to yet another word that didn’t need one, “I always seemb worse than I actually am. I don’t feel too bad, excepd that I can’t stob sneezing.” She punctuated her words by grabbing another tissue to catch the next one that exploded out of her suddenly.

“Nuh uh,” Chat croaked out, catching her off her guard by sweeping her legs out from under her and scooping her up into his arms. “Thank God for enhanced abilities,” he thought as he wobbled for a moment, slightly weakened from his illness, but still plenty strong enough to carry her safely.

Keeping his tail  pointed straight out behind him for balance as he began to ascend the steps back up to her bed, Chat desperately tried not to think too hard about the feeling of her arms pressed against the bare skin of his neck or the way she didn’t seem to cling too tightly to him. She had absolute trust in him not to drop her and it made him glow inside with pride.

When he reached the top he gently sat her down, gesturing for her to scoot up the bed and climb back under the covers and -to his relief- she did so, though not without a pause for a sneeze or two on the way. He climbed back down to grab her box of tissues and situated them beside her except when he tried to retreat again this time, she gripped his wrist. He looked up at her face for further clarification.

“You comeb back to bed too,” she sniffed, her inflamed nose standing out even in the darkness.

“I will in a minute,” he smiled, “Just need to get a few things for us first.”

With a quick fumble for the no-longer-hot water bottle from earlier, Chat retreated again to prepare to take care of his Lady.

*

It seemed like only a few minutes later when the words, “Hey, you still awake?” roused Marinette from the restless doze she had slipped into.

“Hmm?” she murmured.

“I made us hot drinks,” came the whisper again, “Lemon and lots of honey with a shot of cold medicine mixed in. Like my mom used to make me when I was sick. If you breathe it in while it’s hot, it can help with the sneezing too.”

Blinking a few times, clearing away the tiredness from her eyes, she tried to focus enough to take the mug from him.

“Sit up properly first, or you’ll choke or probably spill it.”

“Dowing meb? I’ll do boff.” Huh, her nose seemed to be even more clogged than before. Maybe it was to do with her tiredness, or maybe she really was worse than usual.

She righted herself, pulling the duvet up to her chin before freeing her arms to take the mug from him. The steam wafting from it smelled delicious and she inhaled as deeply as she could manage through the one nostril that would allow it. It was with a pleasant surprise that she discovered it soothed her skin where she had rubbed it raw with the tissues.

A tiny, hesitant sip revealed it tasted as good as it smelled and gave way to a much larger gulp from the mug. It was followed almost immediately by a hiss in pain at the scalding temperature.

“Careful!” he scolded her, “It needs to be hot to help the sneezing. Breathe first, drink after.”

“How comeb you’re drinkin’ yours already then?” she huffed.

He smirked gently, not fully facing her as he took a long drink from his own mug. “Didn’t let the kettle boil for mine. Switched it back on for yours. It’s you who’s been sneezing; my throat just hurts.”

“Ohb. Well, are you at least feelin’ any warmer dow?”

“Yeah, much warmer. Which reminds me…” He leant over towards the end of the bed and snapped up the hot water bottle he’d forgotten about, boldly pulling the duvet away from her and tucking the cosy accessory against her pyjama top before replacing the cover.

“Uhb…danks,” she mumbled, a warmth spreading through her from both the water bottle and her sudden affection for his thoughtfulness. “You didn’t habe to dough. I would’b been fineb.”

“Marinette.” His words were chastising.

“I would dough!” she told him, sounding very much offended despite her affectionate smile.

“You’re only sick because of me, Princess. Now blow on it a few times so you can drink it down. I think Sleeping Beauty needs a little more sleep than she does beauty right now.”

“Are you drying to say I look ab mess, Kiddy?”

“A gorgeous mess,” he smirked slyly, “As always.”

She chose to blow on her drink and take a tentative sip instead of responding awkwardly to his dreamy gaze.

*

When her drink was over half empty and Chat had finished his, he took the mugs away, leaving them on the desk below to be dealt with properly in the morning.

Marinette took her time curling up under the duvet, finding the optimum position to sleep in with a nose as snotty and blocked as hers bothering her. She whined for Chat to hurry up the whole time she did so, acting as if he was deliberately trying to slight her by being out of the bed at all. His amused chuckle was quickly becoming her favourite song.

When he finally started to crawl over to her, he laughed at her sprawled form laying in the centre of the bed, gently poking her side to get her attention. “I need some space too, you know,” he snickered.

“Dere’s plenty of roomb if we cuddle dight,” she said back, the cold medicine loosening her tongue enough to be even more forward than she had earlier. She didn’t even notice his startled expression at her words, instead using her arm to sloppily beckon him towards her more.

He responded eagerly, sliding into bed and positioning himself so that her face was resting against his collar bone. She snuggled in close until her nose hit something. From his viewpoint, he missed the way she screwed up her face in irritation, so he had no opportunity to think of it as cute – though he definitely would have done if he had seen the expression.

“Your bell is in de way,” she grumbled, stubbornly giving the mentioned bell a tiny headbutt in defiance, “Be Adrien againd sob I’m comfy.”

He chuckled again, -louder this time- his throat no longer feeling particularly sore when he did, thanks to his drink and most likely to Plagg too. After all, the small creature must have been enhancing his own body’s natural defences to his illness.

“Anything you say Bugginette,” he said fondly, dropping his transformation and his eyelids too, as he started to drift off to pleasant thoughts and dreams for the remainder of the night.

Buy Me A Coffee?

[dothwrites]

161 please??

---

google doth always taking prompts

161--Where did that cat come from?

---

The rainstorm starts when Dean pulls into the space outside the bunker’s door. It’ll be a pain in the ass to reverse and pull into the garage, plus he and Sam have a trunk full of groceries, so Dean just curses and puts the Impala into park before he gets out of the car. Water droplets start to pelt against the top of his head and the back of his neck as he loads as many bags on his wrists and arms as humanly possible. 

From there, it’s a quick trip down the bunker stairs. Sam follows behind, with a more modest amount of bags swinging from his hands. Dean walks quickly, cognizant of his struggling circulation, not to mention the unpleasant wind of a single bead of water down his spine. Their steps echo down the bunker stairs, which would alert Cas to their presence, even if the “Cas, we’re home!” didn’t. 

“Shut up,” Dean automatically says when he hears Sam’s poorly repressed snigger. 

“Needy much?” Sam does a faulty reproduction of Dean’s voice, making sure to give him a falsetto. “Cas, we’re home!” He continues to snicker as they make their way to the kitchen. “You’re about one step away from Lucy.” 

“Ok, first of all, it was Ricky Ricardo who said those lines and secondly--shut up.” Ok, so not the best comeback. Blame the rain and his screaming wrists and arms. Dean flushes and turns away from Sam as he lifts the groceries onto the counter with a quiet grunt. 

“Nice job, He-Man. Maybe next time you could try multiple trips?” 

“Go out? More than once? For groceries? Sam, it’s like you don’t even know me.” Dean starts unpacking the bags, pausing when he reaches a certain jar. “Cas! We’re in the kitchen!” 

On the opposite side of the kitchen, Sam starts to hum something that sounds like needy baby needy baby. Dean debates throwing a can of green beans at the back of his shaggy moose head. He settles for lobbing a poisonous glare at Sam’s head and not letting up until his brother turns around. 

“Hey, he dipped out on grocery shopping. The least he could do is come and help put the stuff away.” Plus Dean bought a jar of the good stuff for Cas, organic, comb in honey. It cost him an arm and a leg, but it’ll be worth it once he sees the pleased, shy smile spread across Cas’ face, which he can’t see until his boyfriend makes his way to the kitchen. 

Sam must catch sight of the honey because he lets out a very unflattering snort. Dean defensively scoops the honey out of sight. “It’s good for the environment,” he defends, despite the fact that he’s never recycled a day in his life. 

“Sure.” Sam really shouldn’t sound so smug, Mr. I Drink Kale Smoothies and Poop Compost. “Look, all I’m saying is that if my boyfriend had me that whipped, then I would at least own it.” 

“Your boyfriend would run away from your ugly face,” Dean snidely digs. Far from dissolving into a snotty mess, Sam just makes a very rude gesture involving use of a singular finger, and turns around to continue stocking the freezer with pizza rolls. 

The first sign of trouble is a singular sneeze. Dean shakes it off--it was raining outside, pollen is in the air, and the bunker that they live in was made by a bunch of old, dead guys, so there’s bound to be some dust. 

The second, third, and fourth sneezes come as more of a puzzle. 

Sam, ever the solicitous brother, raises an eyebrow. “You dying or what?” he asks. 

“Or what,” Dean wheezes, though his eyes are watery and itchy. A rattle starts in his throat as another sneeze rocks through his body. This is not normal. In fact, he only gets like this when...

Cas walks into the kitchen, wearing jeans and one of Dean’s hoodies that’s just a bit too big for him in the arms (though it stretches delightfully across his chest and shoulders). As soon as he crosses the threshold of the kitchen, as if on command, Dean sneezes. 

Through watery eyes, Dean squints at the suspicious bulge in the front of the hoodie pocket. Castiel casually shifts to the side to hide it, but it’s too late. Dean just saw something move. Cas might be happy to see him, but he’s nowhere near that happy. 

“Whatcha got there Cas?” He tries to make it clear from his tone that his question is not a polite request. 

It’s not every day that Dean gets to see a former angel of the Lord acting shifty, but that’s exactly what he gets to see as Cas tries to sidle his way out of the kitchen. “Cas,” Dean barks. Cas shuffles his feet as he plasters a very unconvincing look of innocence on his face. “What’s in your pocket?”

His facade of hardass suffers from the sneeze that rockets through his body, but it’s enough. Cas walks into the kitchen. Sam, intrigued by the drama, draws closer, but Dean’s eyes are focused on Cas’ hand as it dips into the hoodie pocket. 

Castiel withdraws his hand, holding his burden out for inspection. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Sam’s mouth drop open in a paroxysm of delight (fucking softie). For his part, Dean greets the reveal with three consecutive sneezes, each one more violent than the last. 

“Cas,” Dean finally says, sniffling around his words, “where did that cat come from?” 

The cat in question can’t be much more than a kitten. It sits easily in Cas’ large hand. Luminous green eyes blink up slowly at him through a haze of black fur. As Dean watches, the kitten opens its mouth, revealing tiny sharp teeth and a pink tongue. A soft mew fills the space. 

Dean answers it with a sniffle. 

“I was out in the garden earlier today,” Cas begins. He doesn’t even have the good grace to look guilty as he pulls the kitten in close to his chest. Dean winces (that’s a hell of a lot of dander and fur that’s winding up on an article of clothing that still technically belongs to him) before he outright flinches as the kitten digs its claws into the fabric. Say goodbye to that particular hoodie. 

“It was just starting to rain and I found her.” Cas looks at him, all huge blue eyes and plaintive voice. “She was cold and shivering. I don’t think that she’d eaten for several days.” 

Great. Just great. Dean can already see where this is going and exactly what parts they’re all going to fall into. Cas, the crusader for justice and kindness, Sam, the well-intentioned supporter, and Dean, the cruel hand of logic. 

“Well, feed her, and then after the rain finishes we can take her to the shelter.” 

Next to him, Sam gasps. Cas’ mouth turns down in a stubborn frown. 

“Dean, the shelter is a kill shelter.” Sam’s voice sounds as scandalized as though Dean had suggested that they carpet bomb the whole town. 

“It’s a kitten. It’s cute. It’ll get adopted in like three seconds. I mean, it’s already got the two of you wrapped around its little dagger claws.” 

There’s something embarrassing about the soppy eyes that both Sam and Cas shoot towards the kitten. No angel should look that sickly sweet. 

“Dean, cats are fairly low maintenance,” Cas begins, which is exactly where Dean thought this talk was headed. 

“I have allergies!” Dean protests, to be met with unsympathetic looks from both his brother and his boyfriend. Traitors. “Plus, who’s going to take care of it when we go on hunts? We going to pay the neighbors to come over into our super secret bunker filled with satanic stuff?” 

Cas’ mouth flattens. “There are several establishments in town which cater to the boarding of pets.” Great. He’s already done research. “Also, many stores offer over the counter products designed to alleviate the symptoms of allergies.” 

Between Sam’s puppy eyes and Cas’ jutting lower lip, Dean feels his defenses wavering. “You’d better keep it away from my room. And if it starts pissing on the floors or tearing up the furniture, it’s out of here. And you’re,” he points to both Sam and Cas, “going to pay for my allergy meds. And you’re going to feed it and pay for all its stuff.” He’s never felt more like a dad than in that moment, lecturing his brother and boyfriend on the proper care of the cat. “This is your pet; I’m not going to take care of it!” 

Cas nods earnestly before he walks across the kitchen and kisses the bolt of his jaw, right in the sweet spot that always turns Dean weak in the knees. Bastard knows exactly how to play him. Dean turns his head to kiss Cas properly, ignoring Sam’s gagging noises in the background. Cas hums into the kiss, his teeth ghosting over Dean’s lower lip in a hint of a tease. 

Dean’s just ready to make it a proper kiss, Sam be damned, when he’s stabbed. Yelping in pain, he jumps backward, glaring at the tiny, cockblocking, ball of fluff still held in Cas’ hands. The kitten retracts the minuscule knives attached to its paws as it blinks innocently up at him.

“Oh, I think you must have squashed her,” Cas says, rubbing a finger underneath the kitten’s chin.

For its part, the kitten yawns at Dean before falling asleep. 

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, massaging at his wound (seriously, he’s bleeding and Sam is just laughing at him like an asshole). “Yeah, this is going to turn out swell.

(It comes to no one’s surprise, least of all Dean’s, when he goes to bed and finds not only Castiel, but the kitten curled up on his mattress. I said she’s not allowed on the bed, Dean tries, but the protest is weak at best, especially when Cas has decided to play dirty and is lying bare-chested with the sheet artfully draped over his waist. 

Well, I could take her back to my room, Cas murmurs, scooping up the kitten, and Dean’s going hellishly soft in his old age because he just says Over my dead body, before crawling over the mattress to where Cas waits. The kitten finds her way to the floor. 

In the morning, Dean wakes up with his nose running and his eyes gummy, due to the fucking cat who has decided to sleep less than a foot away from his face. The heated kiss that Cas gives him when he wakes up only partially helps to stop his bitching.)

[blankblankityblank]

Just, don’t wake up

Hi everyone! This is my fic for the @starkerkink exchange, dedicated to @vaguekiwi! I really hope you enjoy it :)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Tony Stark

High school AU, with superpowers.

Tony’s home life has never been amazing, but one night, it’s just too much for him. He flies blindly to the first destination he can think of in his battered suit, holding his breath when he realises exactly who’s house he’s flown to. He doubts this evening will be normal, especially when he realises there’s only one bed.

Warnings: Masturbation, Flogging, Name-calling, Restraints, slightly dub-con, both 17. Check ao3 for further warnings!

Read on ao3!

Tony arrived late to class, as usual. Peter sighed, the usual thought flitting through his head: How does he always manage to arrive late, even with a full body suit that flies?

The teacher for their class, AP Bio, glanced at Tony unimpressed but unsurprised-this was a regular occurrence, and it showed.

Tony waltzed to his seat with the usual I-really-don’t-give-a-shit attitude, plonking down and prompt executing a yawn. Peter rolled his eyes; did he always have that look on his hot face? How did he even get into AP Bio when he didn’t even pay attention? Oh yeah, that’s right-Howard Stark’s son, prodigy at 4, bla bla bla. Peter needed a break from the constant ‘Tony Stark made his own suit’ fawning that half the girls, and guys, constantly exhibited. Like yeah, big deal-was anyone gonna talk about Peter’s amazing skills to do with web fluid? Or crafting his own suits, which, well, didn’t always go particularly well?

“And today, we will be taking a bit of an off-topic turn into some neurobiology! Chemicals and hormones produced by the brain!” The teacher sang, trying to mask her own boredom with the unresponsive class, “who can tell me what the four main hormones to do with happiness contain?”

Peter shot his hand up, excited that he for once knew the answer to the question before smart-ass Tony.

“The four main chemicals are endorphins, dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin, often abbreviated as D.O.S.E,” Peter stated. Tony slowly turned around in his chair, and glared at him. Peter just smirked. ‘One day,’ he mouthed at the growingly frustrated classmate.

“Very good! Can someone tell me what each of these hormones’ functions are?” Their teacher again asked. Peter’s hand shot up for the second time, his mouth forming a smirk in sync.

--------------------------------

“Well well well, if it isn’t smart-ass Parker in a sticky situation?” Tony purred, his smooth voice richoeing off of the poorly-designed science lab. Peter sighed, closing his eyes in preparation before facing the problem.

“Does it look like I don’t know what I’m doing? Wouldn’t wanna steal your thunder now, would I?” He snarked back, trying to stir his web fluid in peace. The teacher had allowed his class 15 minutes of time to work on their various powers, any tweaks or fixes being attended to. Tony had apparently finished oiling up his suit, but Peter had no such privilege.

Tony flicked the back of Peter’s head as he strutted away, going over to talk to Steve and Bucky. Goddamned overpowered mutants. Ok, so maybe Peter was a tiny bit jealous of their friendship, but that was his business.

He dispensed the web fluid with a sigh, getting ready to pack up and head back to his apartment, and hopefully blow off some steam with a Star Wars movie night. He smiled softly to himself; maybe the day wouldn’t be so bad after all. He could chill with may, have some hot chocolate, quote every line of Empire Strikes Back because he totally doesn’t know it word for word.

The bell rang, immediately followed by a cacophony of bags zipping, several whirring sounds as various students fired up their ride home. Peter ducked his head down, knowing his power wasn’t as rich or powerful as his classmates’ privileged ones. And they didn’t even know it, how lucky they were. They’d never know what it’s like to be born with stickiness and a general strength upgrade. No super-advanced knowledge of tech, engineering, how to fly, being able to fly...everything that separated him from the rest of his peers.

Peter swung his backpack over his shoulder, cursing as his AP Bio textbook dropped onto the ground, setting off a too-loud thump on the concrete floor. A few heads swivelled in his direction, and Peter flushed as he hurriedly picked the offending book up, and returned it to its rightful place. Face still hot, he all but rushed out of the classroom, eager to change into his suit and get this day over with.

“Hey! Parker! Wait up, for fuck’s sake. You dropped two books, not one, you blind-ass bat,” Tony hollered, his feet slapping against the linoleum. Peter grabbed the exercise book from Tony’s offering hand, not dignifying the teen with a response. Ok, so maybe it was a bit harsh. But he had to stay ice-cold around Tony; if it got out Parker had a crush, it would not go down well. At. All.

“You’re not even gonna say thanks?” Tony spluttered in disbelief, hand still outstretched.

“Nope,” Peter replied, popping the ‘p’.

“Pretty sure I deserve some recognition, I could have just left that book on the floor for some other snotty-nosed kid to find,” Tony said indignantly, hand returned to his side.

“Well then don’t do it next time. I don’t give a shit, Stark,” Peter fired back, attempting to quell his progressingly noticeable butterflies.

Tony opened his mouth in a retort, but instead opted for an eye roll and spun on his heel. Probably to get back to his fancy 5 star penthouse, Peter thought bitterly. He headed to the bathrooms, diligently fighting his instinct to catch a glance of that ass. God, he was so, so gone.

-------------------------

Peter entered his apartment silently, not wanting to disturb May. He kicked off his shoes, deflating his suit and carrying the rest of his belongings to his room. Or, his cave, as May liked to call it. The 16 year old dungeon was another favourite of hers.

“May? ‘M home..” He trailed off when the bright Post-it note caught his eye. He frowned, peeling it off the bench and reading the bubbly handwriting. ‘Picked up an extra shift, be home tomorrow at 7! Sorry I couldn’t make it tonight kiddo xx’ Well. He could kiss his plans of venting to may goodbye, it seemed. Hot chocolate and a movie night still lifted his hopes, albeit less enthusiastic with no one to share it with now. The teen hummed the Star Wars theme song as he boiled the water and got his hot chocolate ready. He finished his task from earlier, dumping his stuff in an impossibly messy room that cleaning seemed impossible. There were things he didn’t want to uncover by doing so.

The TV flickered to life, selecting the chosen movie as directed by Peter. He sipped on his hot chocolate, swearing softly when the liquid burnt his tongue. It’d probably need to cool, considering the loss of feeling in his taste buds. The TV screen suddenly paused the movie, indicating the buffering icon as the infuriatingly slow loading bar popped up.

“For fucks’ sake…” Peter muttered, deciding to take a quick shower to pass the time. He didn’t bother getting clothes, seeing as he was the only one home. He padded to the bathroom, turning the shower on and watching as the water slowly began to produce steam. He then stripped, chucking his clothes into the overflowing hamper and stepping into the soothing water. He let it wash over him, adjusting himself to the temperature as he scrubbed himself with vanilla soap, the day’s events flicking hazily through his mind.

The teen looked down, noticing his growing hard-on. Maybe his thoughts about Tony had taken a...darker turn. He palmed himself half-heartedly, almost jolting when the spark of arousal ran through his body. He groaned softly to himself, putting more energy into pumping his hard on. His precum provided lubricant, his hand going up and down faster and faster until he was right on the edge and it felt so good, and-

Peter pulled his hand off, letting his erect cock bob helplessly in the air. He was breathing hard, not having reached his orgasm. It just...it didn’t feel right. He rubbed soap on his body again, his dick slowly returning to it’s normal size.

The shower came to a close after 15 minutes of staring at the wall, he may or may not have been thinking about a certain black head of hair, brown eyes flecked with gold, the body of a Greek god...maybe he lost track of time, but it was time well spent in Peter’s opinion. He towelled himself off with less energy, suddenly losing the motivation to actually dry himself off-probably because all his brain power was used trying to figure out a certain someone’s personality.

He plopped onto his nest of blankets and pillows, smiling when he saw the movie was ready to watch again. He hit play, content with the world at last.

That is, until some fucking idiot banged, not knocked, banged, on Peter’s door. He resolutely ignored it, turning the volume of the TV to max. Until, the banging didn’t stop. It just kept going. And going. And going-

“This better be a real good fucking reason,” Peter snarled, pausing his movie with more force than he probably needed to, and he stomped to the door.

The assault on the door didn’t stop, even when Peter yelled ‘Coming!’ to try and ease the banging. It did not succeed. He swung open the door, fuming, the epitome of annoyance as expressed on his face. He was ready to give this newcomer a piece of his mind, what, interrupting his fucking movie night, the audacity-

The words died in his throat as he looked up to launch a deadly glare, only to be met with chocolate brown eyes, flecked with gold, a soft pink cupid’s bow, the presence of stubble beginning to form a goatee, and oh wait, he’s seen this before, wait a minute-

“Tony?” He spluttered, taking a step back as he took in the scene before him. Tony, in a banged up suit he probably used as his transportation, his hand poised to bang at the door again. Tony’s expression mirrored Peter’s, a mixture of shock and confusion. Unlike Peter’s, Tony’s cleared quickly, and formed a new expression-one of almost desperation.

“Look, Parker, I’m sorry alright? I just...I need somewhere to stay tonight,” he rubbed a hand over his face, “forget it. I knew it was stupid to come, sorry for wasting your time I guess,” he muttered, already pivoting on his heel. Without his conscious consent, Peter grabbed Tony’s arm as he turned away. They both froze, neither knowing what Peter did.

“Wait, I...you can stay, Tony. You can come in, I just was watching Empire Strikes Back,” Peter ranted, gently tugging Tony inside. The latter seemed to be in a state of shock, obviously not expecting the positive response.

“Empire Strikes Back? You would be watching that, of all movies,” Tony snarked, recovering quickly from his bout of shock.

“You’re the guest, at least try to be nice,” Peter countered, blushing at the tips of his ears from embarrassment. He huffed, flopping onto his comfortable collection of pillows. He raised an eyebrow meaningfully at Tony, who looked a little out of place with his scratched suit. Peter was curious, but didn’t pry-there was obviously something that caused Tony to come in so suddenly.

“Being nice? To Parker? Talk to me when you have an achievable goal,” Tony grumbled, walking around to tour Peter’s apartment. Peter hoped it would be up to his standards. Wait, no he didn’t, Tony’s standards didn’t matter to him. At all.

Peter resumed his movie, soon becoming engrossed in the iconic plotline that he’d seen hundreds of times before, yet it never failed to make him excited. Tony watched his classmate from the shadows, the smile on Peter’s face contagious. His auburn curls, sharp jawline...Picture perfect Tony mused, as the lights from the movie danced across Peter’s angelic features. Tony shook his head, afraid of getting caught in the act-someone that beautiful would never return his feelings.

The depressing thought prompted Tony to emerge from the shadows, gliding over to where Peter was laying down and slumped nearby, resigning himself to the fact he’d have to watch this nerd movie. His suit whirred in the corner, fixing its own malfunctions as Tony had programmed it to.

“I don’t even know what the fuck is going on, Parker,” Tony muttered, the movie’s plot confusing him due to the lack of knowledge in previous films.

Peter just smiled, deciding it would take too long to explain the plot. Tony saw this, and a small smile spread across his face, too. It was nice to have a friend that just accepted you into their home, even if you had no explanation. Well, he couldn’t really tell the boy his explanation. Home was...a bit hard to go to at the moment, not that he’d ever tell Parker. He glanced at the serene expression on Peter’s face again, taking in the pure joy as he watched his seemingly favourite movie. Yeah, he was not gonna spoil that expression. Not ever.

--------------------------------

The movie’s credits rolled, signifying the end of the movie night. Tony softly blew out through his nose, wondering if it would be overstepping to stay the night. Before he could dig a hole of despair within himself, Peter noticed his obvious inner battle. Deciding to put the rivalry behind him for now, he reached out to Tony, gently touching his arm and effectively grabbing his attention.

“We should head to bed...if you’re ok with that,” Peter murmured, gently tugging Tony’s arm as he stood up.

Tony sucked in a breath at sparks of pleasure that rippled through him as Peter’s hand lingered. He got to his feet, following Peter through the apartment, taking in the few decorations and pictures. He paused at an old picture of an obviously much younger picture of Peter, sitting on a man’s shoulders. He looked so...well, happy. Tony frowned; what had happened? Not wanting to intrude, he tucked the question away for later, and hurried to catch up with Peter.

“So, this is it. The humble abode, I guess,” Peter chuckled nervously, giving a dramatic wave with his hands. Tony looked around, taking in the worn twin bed, well-read books mounted on shelves that looked as if they could fall at any minute, the stained dresser, obviously the victim of many late-night hot chocolate spills. Tony could feel a slight smile tugging at his lips-this felt like Peter.

“Humble, huh. Didn’t know you were a Potter fan,” Tony smirked, gesturing at the aforementioned books. A red blush tinted the teen’s cheeks as he rushed to defend himself.

“I’ll have you know Harry Potter is a very famous series, thank you very much,” he huffed, crossing his arms. The following silence was comfortable, Peter rifling through his dresser as he looked for his pyjamas. He succeeded, muttering a soft ‘aha’ at the victory, and turned to head to the bathroom.

“Get yourself comfy, you can sleep wherever, couch or bed,” Peter stated, trying not to blush for a third time in an hour. He made quick work of changing, exiting the bathroom once he was satisfied with his appearance. A new toothbrush smacked Tony in the back of the head, credits of Peter.

“The fuck, Parker? Why couldn’t you just ask me to turn around,” Tony muttered, grabbing the toothbrush and making his way to the meager bathroom. He cleaned his teeth, checked his face for any signs of, well, outstanding blemishes, and once satisfied, returned to the bedroom. Peter was already in the bed, having turned off the lights and receiving a wave of sleepiness that he couldn’t refuse.

Tony hesitated before quietly sliding in beside Peter, careful not to touch him in hopes of keeping him comfortable. After all, this was Peter’s bed. He shifted, finding the proximity a little too...exciting.

Peter stirred, muttering something incomprohensive that sounded suspiciously like ‘Stop fucking moving,’ which Tony grudgingly obeyed. He found himself drifting sooner than he usually did; maybe it was the company that finally got his eyes to close, who knows. It just felt good to be cared about.

--------------------------

“Fuck, harder Tony,” Peter cried out, relishing the feeling of the flogger on his burnt ass, “please. Please Tony, ah!”

Tony whipped mercilessly, painting the teen’s ass and lower back a pretty scarlet colour. He knew Peter loved it, despite the whimpers of pain as he relentlessly assaulted his body, again and again.

“Little slut, begging for me to stop like a good little bitch. Ask me nicely, I might consider,” Tony snarled, drinking in the moans that came tumbling out of Peter’s mouth at the sentence.

“P-please, I promise I’ll be your good little cockslut, please just let me go,” Peter repeated, rolling his eyes back from pleasure. His cock twitched at the constant stimulation, begging for touch, but Peter couldn’t move, the restraints preventing him from relief.

Tony growled, pausing the flogging at 15 hits. “You better live up to that, whore,” he snarled, taking in the sight before him. Peter, bound to the bed face-down, bent over the back, ass on display. His petite frame quivered in anticipation, preparing for more of the flogging.

“Yes, Tony, I promise I’ll be good, no more,” Peter begged, too aroused to care how desperate he might sound. He jerked his hips forward, trying and failing miserably to acquire friction for his painfully hard dick.

Tony untied the restraints slowly, careful not to hurt his lover any more, now that the scene was over. Peter sobbed, reaching down almost immediately to try and relieve his aching cock. Tony slapped Peter’s hand away, taking the matters into his own hands.

“Such a naughty boy, trying to touch yourself without permission. What do we say?” Tony crooned, teasing Peter’s tip. The latter cried out, grinding against Tony’s hand in hopes of release.

“‘M sorry, so sorry, please, please let me-ah!” Peter abruptly cut off his rambling as Tony took him in hand, stroking along his length tantalisingly. Peter sobbed, crying out as the feeling grew. He centered in on the sensation Tony was giving him, pumping his dick with such earnest it was almost too much, the heat building in his lower abdomen, ready to burst-

Peter woke up with a start, acutely aware of his burning arousal. Oh. Oh shit. He just had one of those dreams...about Tony. Who was right next to him. Peter sucked in a breath, his eyes going wide. He calculated his options, quickly realising he couldn’t move without waking him up.

He cursed the lack of space in the bed, horror taking over as his arousal became too prominent to ignore. He whined softly into his pillow, at loss with how to deal with the predicament. How did things go so badly wrong so soon?

As if things couldn’t get any worse, Tony elicited a groan in the silence of the room and shifted to that his hip was pressed against Peter’s...problem. He unconsciously bucked into the stimulation, immediately regretting the action as Tony groaned again and moved, if possible, closer to his dick. Well, wasn’t this just amazing.

----------------------------

Tony awoke from his sweet abyss of darkness, groaning in annoyance. What had woken him up? He thought he’d heard a whimper, but that couldn’t be right. He shuffled closer to his warm pillow, which promptly moved back against him. Tony froze; pillows weren’t supposed to move. Pillows...also didn’t have a bulge. He recovered quickly, a smirk slowly growing when he realised what had happened here. Parker was hard. So, so hard.

Tony groaned again, this time intentionally shifting against Peter’s bulge to try and gauge how exactly this was going to play out. He was met almost immediately with a response as Peter grinded against him. Tony stifled a moan; it was insanely hot, how responsive Peter was. He was obviously trying to hold back, covering his mouth as he desperately sought relief against Tony. The latter helpfully shifted again, receiving a small squeak in response. Peter’s hand snaked down to his cock, unable to hold back anymore. Tony closed his eyes, savouring this moment-possibly the only time he’d get to be this intimate with his crush, even if he was ‘asleep’.

Peter palmed against his sweats, the pleasure making his breathing uneven as he neared his climax. He felt so bad for doing this with Tony in the same bed, but he was past the point of being able to control his movements. The pressure built up inside him like a spring coiled at it’s base, as he desperately rutted against his hand, when it all became too much-and Peter went rigid. The white-hot pleasure consumed his body, racking through him in wave after wave as he tried to silently ride out his orgasm. The spurts of come soaked his boxers, but Peter was too out of his mind to care as the high slowly came down. His breathing was hard and his sweats were cold and sticky, but the aftershocks of the orgasm jerked his softening cock.

The world slowly came back to him as Peter blinked a couple times, trying to orient himself. The first thing he thought was oh shit, now I’ll have to lie in this mess until Tony wakes up.

That is, until he realised a tiny detail. Tony’s back and hip was completely covered. In. Peter’s. Cum.

Peter looked up slowly, the horror beginning to consume him. His entire body froze when Tony looked right back at him.

[narcissasdaffodil]

48 for drabbles, Marisol x MC <3

48: I called you at 2am because I need you

So I lost the prompt list but I’m going to take these from another one, hopefully that’s fine x Also, I hit 200k fic wise, so I’m posting a little something extra from my drafts x

Alecto had decided to visit Abby for 2 weeks in Los Angeles. She had decided to go on a whim after winning Love Island with Marisol earlier in the summer, but it being so incredibly last minute meant she had to leave Marisol behind in the UK.

Abby was still the same as ever, just as obsessed with rare bookshops, coffee and trying out new things. They hadn’t seen each other for years, but appeared to catch up in no time. Abby was writing music and pursuing her dreams, uni was definitely the wrong choice for her all those years ago.

Abby had managed to secure tickets for the Dodie concert, and they were just returning back to the apartment, arms laden with food and drinks. Both of them were high off adrenaline and happiness, their throats were sore from singing at the top of their lungs. Surprisingly, there was an actual queue for takeout food, and they had got delayed. Alecto always left her phone on silent, and had no real need for it throughout the night, apart from taking photos with Abby and experimenting at taking more types of photos. Photography was a passion for her, and she had gained some great shots. She would never do it for a career, her dream was to be a doctor so she followed her destiny there.

She rested her box of food, and her tiny bag on the side table, leaving her phone face up next to it, sitting cross legged on the couch and starting to tuck into her burger. Abby sat next to her, both of them focused on their food. The apartment was silent as they ate, both of them ravenous after the concert. Long hair started to slide out of the clip, making its way down Alecto’s shoulders.

Abby finished her food first, despite starting later, and removed the large hair clip from Alecto’s hair, pushing it out of her way and putting the clip safely on the side table. She heard a loud beep, and retrieved her phone from the table, her eyes drawn to the light coming from Alecto’s phone as she grabbed her own phone.

“Looks like someone keeps trying to reach you there, might be a good idea to check it.” She said, curling up and resting her phone on her knees, checking it.

Alecto nodded, giving her a thumbs up. Her mouth was full with burger, and she was always a very neat eater. She finished her mouthful and set down the empty box, retrieving her phone. She checks the time, noticing it was 2am. Her phone lit up again, and started to ring, Marisol’s name and picture on the display. Wait. Why has she texted you so many times? You do hope she’s okay.

Alecto pressed answer, putting her phone on speaker and turning the volume up.

“Hello?” Marisol sounded unsure, and her voice kept wobbling.

“Hello, are you okay? It’s 2am, but it’s fine.”

“I’m sorry... Forgot about the time difference, it’s 10am here. I haven’t been able to sleep at all, it’s been worrying me. But I don’t want to keep you up.” Marisol’s voice breaks slightly, not as sure of herself as she usually was.

“We came back from a concert not too long ago, we’ve only just had time to have food. That doesn’t matter though, if you need to talk it’s completely fine.” Alecto’s voice was soft and soothing, the sugar and energy from the concert forgotten. She hoped she could do the thing that Marisol did for her: being able to soothe her with just simple words and a warm hand.

“I’ve just been stressed about starting my second year of uni. It’s still a bit off yet, but I’m still nervous. And I struggle to sleep usually, but it’s different with you there, I can actually sleep properly. I kept waking up throughout the night, until I just gave up. I forgot what it was like to struggle to sleep, even though we haven’t been together for long at all. Sadie has been helping though, she loves me quite a lot currently. It’s surprising how much I miss you, and feels so silly.” Her voice sounded watery and kept shaking, getting considerably quieter. Alecto had to strain her ears slightly to hear, and turned up the volume on her phone.

“Do you want to have regular phone calls before you go to bed until I’m back? Will that maybe help a bit with the sleep issues? Also it isn’t silly! The same happened to me, when Abby first moved, and when I first went to uni. My sleeping pattern went out of the window a bit. When you care about someone and love them, it’s understandable to miss them if they’re not there with you constantly. I’m glad Sadie is a good stand in for me though, it’s a miracle she loves you as much as me! That’s so rare, you must be a cat whisperer or something.” Alecto heard a teary and snotty laugh on the other end, and grinned.

“If it’s not too much of a bother, that would be lovely. It’s surprising that I’m actually upset hearing your voice on the phone. I never got homesick when I first left home in the slightest, I was so independent from my family in general that I didn’t really miss them when I left. But you...it’s different. You care about me so much, you’re my safe space, my home. Sadie has been amazing company though, having her has helped a little. I’m not sure if part of my issue here is that...I don’t really have many friends in uni, or in general. I’ve never felt overly lonely, but for some reason, now I do.”

“Not actually surprising. When I first heard my dad’s voice on the phone, I did get pretty upset. Aww, the fact you feel that way about me does warm my heart. I guess if you’ve always been an outcast, it’s hard to deal with other people being different and actually having friends. I was the same when I first got closer to Abby, having two very toxic friends landed me with a shed load of issues and took a lot of courage to let them go. So finally having a healthy friendship and healthy family relationships was strange. But once you find your own friends, you’ll be okay. I understand that scares you, and you prefer to cut yourself off instead and stay at a distance, using the analysis thing as a defence mechanism but I hope that you’ll stop relying on it so heavily with me by your side. You’re not alone either, you still have Hope and Bobby, and both are long distance friendships but still equally as valuable.” Abby prodded her in the arm, trying to hint that she wanted to speak.

“Abby wants to speak to you, let me know if that’s okay.”

“That’s definitely fine.”

“Cool, handing you over now.” Alecto handed her phone to Abby.

“Hi. You clearly mean a lot to Alecto and you’re super special to her, so as her best friend, I’d like to talk to you more and get to know you better. Most of the people she’s dated previously I haven’t been too keen on, but you’re different. I know it might be a little weird, as I did date her before, but we’re still friends and all, and I’d love to extend that to you.”

“Really? I don’t have an issue with you two being friends in the slightest, from what I know, you two were friends first then started dating, so it wasn’t great that people expected you to give that up. Exes can be friends, there’s nothing against it! I’ve never done that myself, but ended up having a lot of messy breakups, even dated my best friend in secondary school and that completely broke the friendship. Olivia did break my heart, so the fact that I could open my heart up enough for Alecto is a big deal. I’m rambling now, but if you’re fine with it, cool.” Marisol was speaking pretty quickly, causing Abby to grin.

“Yup. I definitely mean that, the fact you don’t see me as threatening means a lot. Some people who Alecto’s dated, like only once or twice, had such an issue with it, that it did both of our heads in. I mean, I have a girlfriend now, so I’m not going to ruin anything, like people assumed. I do understand though, and I like you because of the way you and Alecto operate. So that’s all, I just wanted to let you know. I’ll hand you back to Alecto then.” Abby grinned, her voice warm.

“Okay, thank you! It does mean a lot.”

Abby grinned, moving to sort the boxes of food out and sort the mess in her apartment.

“Back to me again. Does that help? You do seem considerably happier, which is reassuring.”

“Yes, I am. It’s sweet of Abby to care about me, so that helps. I’ve never talked about Olivia to anyone apart from you before. So that’s a big deal. But I should probably let you go to bed soon, it’s really late in LA, I know.” Marisol’s voice was still watery, but she had gained enough stability to reassure Alecto a bit.

“Goodnight then. Call you tomorrow, well later today! Let’s organise a time via text or something.”

“Goodnight. See you.” When Marisol hung up, her voice sounded warmer already.

Alecto yawned, getting to her feet. She made her way to Abby’s guest bedroom, getting ready for bed. Once in bed, she dropped off quickly.

[supersickies]

Summary: “It went without saying that getting bitten by a radioactive spider had its perks.

But apparently a cure for the common cold wasn’t one of them.”

-

College final exam season leaves Peter sick with a nasty cold, and on his wonderful girlfriend Michelle's first day of her summer internship too. Now it's up to mama Pepper and little sis Morgan to nurse their favorite spiderling back to health.

A/N: This was intended to be a little drabble based on a post I saw (I can’t find it for the life of me but once I do I’ll reblog it asap) but it ended up being a 5k+ fic of sweet sick Peter and his mess of a family. I couldn’t help it I love them all too much. You can read it on Ao3 or under the cut! Whatever what works for you!

Spider-Man can, in fact, catch a cold. This was something that Peter was surprised, yet annoyed to discover. Before the bite, Peter was a sickly, asthmatic, all around fragile kid, and while it wasn’t something that he was exactly confident about he never let it crush his spirit. However, that didn’t mean that as soon as the spider bite rid his body of all his past ailments Peter wasn’t overjoyed. He could finally run a mile without having to stop a quarter of the way through or eat a PB&J without having to instantly call an ambulance. It went without saying that getting bitten by a radioactive spider had its perks.

But apparently a cure for the common cold wasn’t one of them.

He and Mr. Stark discovered this about a year after he was bitten when he had come down with a nasty case of bronchitis that had him hacking all over the compound for four days. Since then Peter was bound to catch a bug here and there, much like he used to before the bite just less severe. It was harder for him to catch things as well, his immune system was usually a force to be reckoned with, unless for any reason Peter was not at “peak Spidey performance” as Mr. Stark would say.

Which leads us to now, a mere 24 hours after the last final exam of his junior year at Columbia, Peter was laid in bed suffering through what he would consider the nastiest cold he’d ever had.

It was barely after sunrise, the clock reading a taunting 5:30, and Peter doing everything he could not to sneeze. With deep, even, wheezy, breaths, the spider-boy was using all his strength to keep the sneeze at bay for one reason. MJ. His lovely, wonderful, amazing Michelle who was starting her first day of her summer internship at nine and would massacre Peter if he woke her up before her alarm. The girl loved her sleep, and Peter would be damned if he deprived her of it.

Think of anything else Peter, literally anything. Remember that big biker guy you helped on patrol the other week? He was pretty nice…oh god it iiihhtches…no, enough Peter, biker guy. Right he had that cool jacket with the patches, I bet I could pull off a leather jacket. Maybe put a spidey patch on the back? Fun…cool…really gotta sneeze. Ugh, FUCK! Okay, okay maybe if you just do that pinch-y sneeze, like Ned and Natasha do…heh imagine Ned knowing he had the same sneeze as Black Widow, he’d flip. Ehh..fuhhhhuck okay thats it, pinch-y sneeze please don’t fail me.

With a shaky hand Peter pinches his nose between his thumb and his forefinger, the motion instantly making his nose tickle more and within seconds Peter was attempting, and failing, to stifle his sneeze.

And it failed hard.

The sneeze was stronger than it seemed and instead of being held back and becoming a noiseless stifle, it came out louder than it should have as it scraped the back of his throat, causing barking coughs to escape as well.

Well everyone, bid him farewell, this will be the day that Peter Parker meets his untimely demise. He instantly feels MJ stir against him with a groan. She was up, oh god sound the alarm she was awake.

“P’ter? That you?” She slurs, sleep lacing her voice.

“Umb, yeah. Sorry embjay I didn’d mbean to sndeeze.” God how he wished his could blow his nose, but he was not going to poke the bear any further.

It was quiet for a moment, Peter knew that he was in danger. MJ was plotting how she was going to murder him and it was only a matter of time before she-

“You feeling okay, baby?” Her angelic voice rings as she turns to face him on the bed. “You sound terrible.”

It was like music to Peter’s ears. He would live to see another day! He was almost shocked, she didn’t even pepper in the classic “loser” nickname. She was concerned. Wait, did he really sound that bad? Should he be concerned?

Peter clears his throat before responding. “I-I thingk I’mb combing down with sombthing. I’mb sorry I’ll try to be quieter.” A wet sniffle concludes his sentence. Damn it he really wants a tissue.

Almost as if MJ could read minds, she places a soft white Kleenex into his hand. “Blow your nose, Pete. I’m gonna go get the humidifier, you’re way too congested.”

“O-Oh, okay. Thangk you Emmby.” He uses her absence to sit up a little and expel the nasty gunk from his sinuses. He still can’t completely breathe, but it’s better than it was before. MJ comes back into the room moments later, carrying the chunky machine. The water inside of it sloshes a bit as she set’s it on Peter’s bedside table but as soon as she plugs it into the wall, a warm soft mist starts flowing from its lid. Peter can’t tell a difference now, but he knows it’ll make a difference the longer it runs.

Satisfied with how the humidifier is working, Michelle sits beside Peter on the bed and looks at him quizzically. “How’d you get so sick?” She questions, her fingertips reaching to brush Peter’s bed head away from his eyes. His forehead moderately warm, but it doesn’t feel like anything that provokes worry.

He hums at her soft touch but shrugs his shoulders at her question. “Don’t kdnow,” He presses the tissue to his nose as it starts running, the humidifier must be working. “I felt fidne yesterday. Mbaybe kinda tired but ndot sick.”

“You know what it probably is?” Michelle says. “All those nights up late studying, not to mention all that trash food you ate-“

“What is this, mbake fun of your poor sick boyfriend day?” He gives a wet coughs for emphasis, and because he really needed to cough.

“Sorry sicky,” She giggled. “what I’m saying is that you had a long hard week and you weren’t exactly taking the best care of yourself. No shame in it, I mean, it happens to everyone but I think your body is so used to you eating well and exercising often that as soon as you stopped your immune system freaked out.

Clearing his throat, Peter nods. “I guess that mbakes sense.” He looks down with a sigh, thinking of all the things he was scheduled to do today. “I better call Todny and tell him I can’t combe in to the lab.” He sighs and reaches for his phone but MJ intercepts.

“First you’re going to go back to sleep until a reasonable hour. It’s almost 6 a.m. Parker, and my alarm goes off at 8, so I’d like a few more hours of rest.” She jabs, pulling the covers up to his chin and kissing him softly on the cheek. “And you definitely need the beauty sleep.”

Peter chuckles at that, which only lead to more hacking coughs. MJ softly pats his back until the coughs subside. With a tsk she tucks him into bed once more before rounding the bed to lay back down on her side. “Rest, I’ll let you know when I’m about to head to work.”

With his eyes closed and his breathing only slightly less congested, thank you humidifier, he smiles contently. “Thank you Emmby, love you.”

“Love you too, snotty.”

Peter wakes again to a kiss on the forehead and the scent of strong perfume making his nose tickle. Before he even opens his eyes, he curls in on himself and muffles three sneezes into his pillow. Ugh, gross. He opens his bleary eyes to see MJ smoothing out her work outfit in their full length mirror. She looks amazing as usual, Peter notes, but her perfume is strong. Or maybe he’s just way too sensitive, a super cold and super senses probably don’t mix well. Without warning, two more sneezes barrel out and he barely has time to cover them. With a groan he sniffles thickly and reaches for the tissue box conveniently placed on his bedside table. He get a warm and fuzzy feeling as he realizes MJ had put them there for him, as they weren't there when he had woken up earlier. It’s the little things. He blows his nose, which get’s MJ’s attention.

She glances over to him with a smile. “Good morning, again.”

“Good mbornding, you look ambazindg.” He rasps, a goofy smile painting his face.

MJ breathes out a laugh at her dopey boyfriend. “Thank you, dork. How’re you feeling?”

He snuggles deeper into the bed, closing his eyes again and coughing weakly. “Call a physiciand,” Peter jokes in a congested and bad British accent. He throws a hand over his forehead for good measure. “I believe it mbay be the plague.”

MJ snorts a laugh at her boy’s dramatics. “Okay, you sickly child king.”

Her heels clack against the hardwood floor of the bedroom as she steps over to where he lies in their bed. As she sits on the bed, her soft hand cups his forehead and then his cheek. “You’re soft.” He mumbles, leaning into her touch.

“And you are running a bit of a fever.” She rubs her thumb sweetly over his cheek before standing back up. She tells him to sit tight and goes to the bathroom to grab a digital thermometer. She returns to find him dozing so she gently brushes his hair back to get his attention. He lifts his eyes to see the thermometer in her hand and opens his mouth just wide enough that she can slip the device under his tongue. “Give that a minute.”

MJ walks out of the room a moment later and Peter hears running water from the kitchen. The thermometer beeps right before she reenters, ice water with a straw in hand. Peter didn’t realize until he saw it just how thirsty he was. He stares at her lovingly as she takes the thermometer from between his lips. “Are you a mbind reader?” He asks, only semi-joking as he sits up slightly to sip the water.

Michelle scoffs lightly. “You bet your ass I am.” She jokes looking down at the medical tool. “Hm, 100.8. Not horrendous but I don’t love it.” Once again she’s gone, this time to the bathroom where Peter hears more water running, making him want to take another sip of his water. He sighs as the cool drink soothes his dry throat. MJ strides back to the bed with a damp face towel folded in half. When she starts to dab Peter’s forehead with the cool cloth he can’t help the shuddering sigh that escapes him. She stops. “You alright?”

Her boyfriend just nods, opening his eyes to look up at her with a small smile. “Feels good. Cold.” He explains. She smiles back at him, taking the cup of water from his hands so he can lay back down. She continues to wipe his brow with the towel and doesn’t stop until a snore leaves his mouth. MJ can’t help the giggle that bubbles up, but to be fair she’s never heard Peter snore before and right now he was quite a sight to see. His hair was sticking up at all angles, even in his reclined position, his nose nearing a shade of bright red, and his mouth open just wide enough that the tiny snores were heard.

She couldn’t help but snap a quick picture to send to Tony.

MJ:

your favorite little mentee won’t be in today…Spidey caught the sniffles : /

Old Man Stark:

Wow he looks rough, you have your internship today?

MJ:

yep first day

dont wanna leave him like this tho

Old Man Stark:

Don’t stress, this is a big day for you. I have meetings all day but Pep would be more than happy to stop by and make sure all is well.

Morgan too

She’s in her “wanting to be a doctor” phase

MJ:

you trying to say she cant be a doctor, stark?

Old Man Stark:

Good lord of course not

The kid is smarter than me and she’s barely 11

I’m just saying wasn’t there a point in your life when you wanted to be a doctor too?

MJ:

yeah of course

Old Man Stark:

And you’re now getting a degree in…?

MJ:

journalism

Old Man Stark:

so…

MJ:

i could be a doctor if i wanted to

Old Man Stark:

I know

And thats why you terrify me

MJ:

>:-)

Old Man Stark:

Go to work!

Let us take care of Peter and we’ll keep you updated as you break into the great big world of being a working adult.

MJ:

:P thanks T-Star

Old Man Stark:

Don’t call me T-Star.

Michelle pockets her phone and grabs her computer bag that’s packed and ready in the living room. Quickly she takes out a stray piece of paper and jots down a quick note for her boy just incase he wakes up alone.

Petey,

Had to get to the office (wish me luck lol) but Pepper and Morgan should be by soon. Please don’t die while I’m gone. I’ll be pissed if you do that. Wash your hands, blow your nose, and don’t leave used tissues on the bed that’s gross. Love you. Feel better.

-M

Satisfied, she leaves the note under the tissue box, gives him one last kiss on the forehead, and makes her way out the door. But not before sending Morgan that goofy picture of Peter.

MJ:

here

use this as blackmail

tell him you’ll post it on insta next time he says he won’t take you to mcdonalds

Mo Mo Stark:

HAHAHAHAHAHA

Peter wakes to his front door closing and whispering coming from the living room. He panics for a moment before realizing that the voices belonged to Pepper and Morgan. As the fan blows above him, he hears a piece of paper flutter next to him. With a shaky hand he grabs it and reads over the note that MJ had left for him. He cant help but blush, just at the thought of his girlfriend. He wonders how her first day is going. He misses her a lot. Then he realizes his fever must of gone up, as he definitely wasn’t this emotionally fragile when he had gone to sleep.

With a yawn, he sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed and grabs the quilt at the end and wraps it around his around his shoulders. With a huff he slides off the bed and makes his way to the living room. He finds Pepper setting grocery bags down on the kitchen island and Morgan already situated in front of the TV, some YouTube vlog video playing over the speakers.

“Morgan Hope, turn that down before you wake your broth-“ Pepper stops when she notices Peter standing in the doorway. “Oh, afternoon sweetheart! Did Morgan wake you? I’m so sorry I told her to quiet down-“

“Pep, it’s okay, I actually woke up whend you guys walked ind.” He rasps, congestion still heavy in his horse voice.

“Oh honey you sound awful, come on now, on the couch. You shouldn’t be up.” Pepper says, guiding him with a hand on his back to the couch. Morgan scoots a bit to make room for her big brother.

“Hi, Dr. Mborgand, you brindg any of the good drugs today?” Peter jokes, making the girl roll her eyes.

“Mom, Peter says he on drugs. He needs to detox stat. Get me an IV with glutathione, vitamin C, and vitamin B.” The youngest Stark states.

Her mother sighs as she returns to the kitchen. “Alright, that’s enough Discovery Life for you. Why can’t you just watch Disney Channel like a normal eleven year old.” Pepper mumbles as she starts taking items out of the grocery bags.

Peter and Morgan just giggle, which leads to a coughing fit from Peter. Morgan’s tiny hand pats his back as he hacks into his elbow, he murmurs an apology as the coughs taper off.

“You need to lay down Petey, and you need tissues.” Morgan articulates as she stands and looks around the apartment.

Clearing his throat, Peter points to the bedroom. “There should be sombe tissues by mby bed…if you could grab those that’d be ndice.”

Morgan nods confidently and makes her way to the bedroom. Seconds later she reemerges with the tissue box in hand and places them in the crook of Peter’s arm.

“Thangk you doctor.” Peter smiles, causing Morgan to smile in return.

“You’re welcome!” The girl returns to her spot on the couch and presses play on the video she was watching. It was vlog about makeup, Peter assumed, as the YouTuber was covered in a very impressive, glossy, look and was showing off makeup pallettes. Peter watches as the video cuts and suddenly the makeup artist is bare faced and begins to work on the look they had previewed in the intro.

Pepper chuckles as she approaches the couch, mug of hot tea with lemon and honey in hand. She hands the cup to Peter, who is drowsily watching the makeup being applied. “You don’t have to watch this you know.” Pepper whispers to him. “This is your apartment and you’re sick, turn on whatever you want.”

Taking a sip of the tea, humming as it soothes his sore-ish throat, Peter shakes his head. “Ndo, this is awesombe, look at how precise he is with the brush. Oh, thangks for the tea…also.” Pepper chuckles more, kissing the boy on the top of the head, and leaving him with Morgan to watch some internet celebrity do a perfect line with their liquid eyeliner.

Pepper had called May in the morning after hearing from Tony that Peter wasn't feeling well, knowing the boys aunt would have all the inside knowledge on how to care for a sick Peter. It wasn’t as if Pepper had never seen Peter sick, though. Since Tony had introduced them to each other way back before Morgan was even a thought, Peter had spent some sick days in the tower, the compound, and even one or two in the lake house. Yes, Pepper had seen a sick Peter Parker in her lifetime, however this was the first time she was his sole caretaker. However, after the quick call to the boy’s aunt, Pepper had a pretty good idea of how to care for the sick Spiderling.

“Oh for a cold?” May had responded. “Simple, grilled cheese and tomato soup for every meal, he’ll probably want to watch Parks and Rec all day, oh and he has Tony’s old MIT hoodie in his closet and he always wears it when he’s not feeling well.”

Pepper smiled at that. When Peter decided to stay in New York for college, for family and spider-y reasons, it was no secret that Tony had been a little disappointed. No, Tony hadn’t done anything special to get Peter into MIT, honestly because he didn’t have too. Peter’s grades and test scores were good enough on their own, but he still would have loved to have seen the kid at his alma mater. When Peter had told him of his college decision, scared out of his mind might he add, Tony just hugged and told him he was proud of him. Tony reassured the kid that where ever he went to school was fine by him and that he’d support him the whole way through. “I am going to need that MIT sweatshirt back” Tony had joked, waiting to be met by a “shut up Tony” or an eye roll, but instead he was met with tears— big fat ones that welled up in Peter’s eyes. Tony was quick to see he had messed up and it took about twenty minutes to reassure the boy that he didn't want the sweatshirt back and that “of course I still love you Peter”. Since then Peter has kept the garment close to him at all times, just incase Tony ever thought about taking it.

Pepper goes to Peter’s closet, instantly spotting the faded maroon hoodie and taking it off of the hanger. Both he and Morgan are still mesmerized by the YouTube video, but they glance up when Pepper walks over again. Peter’s eyes light up at the sight of the hoodie in her hands. He’s close to making grabby hands for it but she hands it to him first. He puts it on and settles back down onto the couch. “Thangk you Pep.”

“Keep it safe, can’t have Tony snatching it.” She jabs as she walks back to the kitchen to start the grilled cheese.

Peter, though thoroughly invested in the new makeup video Morgan put on, can’t help but doze off as the ambient sounds of his apartment lull him to sleep. He hears a shuffling on the couch next to him and opens one of his eyes, seeing Morgan giggling at him. “Can I braid your hair Petey?” She whispers. In true college kid fashion, Peter had let his hair grow out a little bit, and while it wasn’t long enough to braid it all together, Morgan liked to do tiny braids with tufts of his hair for fun.

Turning onto his side away from Morgan, giving her better access to his hair, Peter chuckles at his little sister. “Go for it Mborgie, mbake mbe beautiful.”

With a squeal of delight, the eleven year old Stark pulls tiny hair-ties out of her pocket and gets to work. Peter, who had always loved having his hair played with, lets the braiding put him right to sleep after only a few tiny braids were done.

If Morgan laughed at the snores that came from Peter moments later, she didn't tell him. He did let her braid half his head, anyway.

The rest of the day passes in a sleepy haze for Peter. He remembers waking up a few moments after falling asleep on the couch. Pepper helping him sit up and setting a tray of his favorite sick day meal in his lap. He had to hand it to Pepper, she made a mean grilled cheese soup combo. He finishes the sandwich and about half of the soup before he feels his eyes grow heavy again and the tray is taken from his lap.

“Go back to sleep, hon. Morgan and I are here if you need us.” Pepper reassures the boy, so Peter does.

The next time he wakes was when Morgan and Pepper we’re on their way out. He vaguely remembers sluggishly thanking them for staying with him and Pepper saying something about MJ being home in just a few minutes, but as soon as the apartment door closes Peter was out once more.

The final time he wakes up is to Michelle gently shaking his shoulder, attempting to wake him from his short slumber. His eyes open, but quickly close again as he stretches his whole body, somehow exhausted and sore from his long day of sleeping.

“Emmby, you back?” He asks, not yet opening his eyes again.

He hears her adorable laugh and his heart soars. “Yes, dork, it’s me. Wanna open those pretty eyes for me, Tiger?”

Obviously wanting to see his beautiful girlfriend, he opens his eyes again. MJ looks tired from her first day but extremely happy.

“Was it ambazing? Everythindg you could have hoped for?” He asks, nuzzling closer to her thigh, much like a cat.

She hums an affirmation, bringing her hand up to trace random shapes along his arm. “It was everything and more. Honestly I can see myself working there forever. It was…it was perfect.”

Peter smiles at that. MJ deserved the perfect job and more. “Babe, that fandtastic. I’m so happy for you.” He says horsely but sincerely. He moves closer to her, raising his head a bit to lay it on her lap. With the motion, one of Morgan’s many little braids in his hair make themselves apparent and Michelle can help but burst with laughter.

It causes Peter to jolt up in a sleepy state of panic. “What, what happended?” He asks sitting up slightly, eyes half closed but alert.

She reaches up to ruffle the tiny braids that cover the right side of his head. “What is this? Did Morgan just learn how to fishtail braid because these are honestly kinda good.” She inspects the braids as Peter’s cheeks blush.

He smiles, coughing slightly and gently shaking his head so the braids flop around. That gets another laugh from MJ. “Mby sisters pretty talendted, huh?”

MJ nods, very amused. “An interesting look…but I’ll give it points for creativity.”

As the couple laughs again, Peter brings two fingers up to massage his temple as he feels a dull ache in his head.

“Headache?” Michelle frowns.

“Mhmm,” Peter confirms. “I thingk Mborgan made the braids a little too tight.”

“That’s no good.” MJ sympathizes, lowering her boy’s head back down onto her lap, braid side up so she can work on undoing the little knots. She makes quick work of it and within minutes, Peter’s hair is braid-less and the throbbing in head head dies down. In thanks, Peter snuggles his face closer Michelle’s middle, wrapping his arms around it as well.

“You thingk you can use a vacationd day tomborrow? I mbissed you today.” Peter whines, partly joking but sorta kinda being serious.

“From what I heard, your eyes were open for about thirty minutes today. Too busy sleeping to miss me that much.” MJ giggles at the sniffly boy with his head in her lap. He just shrugs in response, and she can feel his body relaxing and congested breaths evening out. “You going back to sleep on me already, Parker? Not even gonna let me tell you about my day?” She jokes again.

Peter snorts involuntarily as he turns his head to look up at her, eyes glossed with fever and sleepy but apologetic. “I’mb up I’mb up, tell mbe everything.”

She grabs the sides of his face sweetly, slightly squishing his cheeks while she kisses his forehead and then his nose. “I’m kidding, Peter. God your brain must be frying, come on let's go to bed.” She pats his cheek lightly and helps him sit up.

He yawns with his whole body, his hands stretching into the air and his back arching. “But it’s only like six, arend’t you hungry for dinnder?” He coughs into his fists while Michelle takes his other hand, helping him lift off the couch.

“Let me rephrase. You’re going to shower, put new pajamas on, and get in bed while I make us grilled cheeses, your second one today I'm assuming. How does that sound?” MJ asks, leading him to their bathroom.

Peter clears his throat as he sits on the closed toilet. “And…umb…and the tombato soup?”

The shower roars to life as MJ turns the handle. “You think I’d forget the most important part?” She scoffs, feigning hurt. Peter just smiled, the dopey smile he gets when he thinks about how in love he is with this girl. With two more quick forehead kisses she leaves him to shower.

Peter exits the shower feeling refreshed, less stuffy, and hungry once more. Thanks to the shower stream he can faintly smell the toasty cheesy smell from the kitchen and it gives him a nostalgic feeling.

As he grabs pajama pants and the MIT hoodie, Peter thinks of the first time he got sick after going to live with Ben and May. It was the first day of what was considered flu season and the sickly kid had contracted the virus at the drop of a hat. He was miserable the whole day, crying and wallowing in the aches and pains of the illness. The biggest issue, however, was that he refused to eat anything, that is until Ben decided to make himself a grilled cheese for dinner.

The older Parker noticed Peter looking the sandwich with feverish eyes. “Look tasty, bud?” Ben questioned, raising an eyebrow. Little Peter just nodded and Ben smiled, extremely relieved that his nephew was finally going to eat.

Sticking his pointer and middle finger in his mouth, Peter watches as his uncle stands from the couch and starts on another sandwich. “Uncle Ben?” Peter asks in a small voice. Ben looks back over to the kid and nods. “Do you have any of the-the red soup? Mommy always made grilled cheese with red soup.” Peter nearly whispered.

Ben thinks for a minute, not completely sure what the boy meant by red soup, but then it clicks. “Oh! Tomato soup?” He smiles as Peter nods. Ben open the cupboard to him and pulls out a can of tomato soup, flipping it in the air once to see Peter smile. “Tomato soup and grilled cheese coming right up monsieur Parker.” Ben says in a horrible French accent which makes the six year old giggle, as sound that was music to Ben’s ears after all tears. From then on, Peter would only insist on eating that particular meal anytime he had so much as a headache.

The door creaking open as MJ pushes it with her hip brings Peter out of his thoughts. She has the tray of grilled cheeses and soups in her hands and an amused look on her face. “You okay? Need help with something?”

Peter blinks and remembers that he’s sitting in the edge of their bed, in a towel, pajamas in hand. “Oh…no I’mb okay. Just thinking ‘bout stuff.”

MJ sets the tray down on her bedside table. “You already sound less stuffy. Maybe you should sleep in the shower.” She quips, not missing Peter's sweet tiny giggle as she grabs the water tank from the humidifier and takes it to the bathroom with her.

Peter gets dressed and settles into bed. He notices that Pepper has changed the sheets and his heart clinches, nearly overwhelmed by the love he feels from his family. He takes out his phone to text her a thank you but is intercepted by a string of texts from Tony.

Tony Stank:

Morgs is showing me pictures of the wonderful makeover she gave you

Honestly thought you pulled it off really well

…but you need a haircut

Please kiddo let me get you in with my hair guy

You’ll love him

Spider-Tot:

sorry pops but I am fully committing to this college hair thing

mj says she wants me in a man bun by graduation so

cant let my girl down

Tony Stank:

I swear you two are conspiring against me

Oh well

How you feeling bud?

Spider-Tot:

still kinda gross

snotty

but i think my fevers kinda lower

so thats something

tell pep thank you so so much for today

i was barely awake when they left

i feel bad I didn't get to say anything

Tony Stank:

I gotcha Pete don’t worry

If you need more company tomorrow let me know I’m free all day

Spider-Tot:

wdym ill just come in to the lab tomorrow

Tony Stank:

That’s a negative Petey Pie

As your gracious boss i’m giving you the next three days off

I want all this crap out of your system before you’re back in the lab

Spider-Tot:

three days ??

boooo

u stink old man

Tony Stank:

Good lord

You’re the only person I know that complains about getting days off from work

Get a good nights sleep and maybe ill bring you a circuit board to mess with tomorrow

Good enough?

Spider-Tot:

hmmm

fine

Tony Stank:

Good

Now go rest

Don’t bother your girlfriend too much

She complains to me when you do

Spider-Tot:

now I think its you two conspiring against me

:P

night tony

love u

Tony Stank:

Love you too bambino

Michelle returns from the bathroom, makeup off, hair down, and humidifier tank full of water. She sets the tank back in and turns the machine on, steam filling the air. After quickly putting on her own set of pajamas, MJ takes her and Peter’s dinner from the side table and places it on the bed between them. Peter wastes no time digging in, groaning in admiration for the food. He mumbles a thanks with his mouth full and MJ laughs, wiping a bit of soup off of his lip with her thumb.

“You’re welcome, loser.” She teases, beginning to eat her own meal. After a few bites she take the TV remote by her side and flips on Peter’s favorite sick day show.

As the Parks and Recreation theme song begins to play, Peter looks up at his girlfriend with appreciative eyes. “You’re too good to mbe.”

“You remember that next time I make you vacuum and you get pissy about it.” Michelle deadpans, but Peter knew she was messing around.

“I’m not messing around.” She clarifies, turning to look at his with one eyebrow raised.

“You really are a mbind reader.” Peter whispers with feverish wonder.

Throwing a paper towel at him playfully, MJ laughs and Peter joins her. They finish their food as the TV continues to play in the background, Peter yawning and coughing quietly as soon as he swallows his last bite. Without a word, MJ takes the empty plates and tray back to the kitchen. She turns off the bedroom lights as she reenters and tucks herself back under the covers. It's barely after 7 p.m. and the sun it only just starting to set, making the room glow a with dark blues and purples.

Peter is cuddled into her side as soon as she's back in bed, head resting on her chest and arm around her waist. “What am I gonna do with you Peter Parker?” She sighs, twirling her fingers through his already messy hair.

“Love mbe, no matter what? Even if I’mb yucky like this?” He pulls out the puppy dog eyes for this one. MJ may be stoic on the outside but not even she can resist the sweet sparkling glare.

“If I must.” She agrees, holding him tighter and resting her head on top of his.

But she’s happy to do it. Loving Peter Parker is an extremely easy thing, MJ thinks.

[ofbloodmagick]

ROSE ARABELLA GORE

pronouns: SHE & HER + THEY & THEM

age: TWENTY - FIVE

sexuality: PANSEXUAL * DEMIROMANTIC * MONOGAMOUS

astrological signs: GEMINI SUN * SCORPIO MOON + ARIES RISING

occupation: BARTENDER @ DUTCH’S + MULTIPLE SIDE HUSTLES

+ traits: PERSUASIVE. ARTISTIC. RESILIENT. FASCINATING. ORIGINAL. RESOURCEFUL. WISE. ADVENTUROUS. BOLD.

-- traits: ECCENTRIC ( CREEPY ). SECRETIVE. DAMAGED. RESTLESS. TWO-FACED. JUDGMENTAL. RECKLESS. IMPULSIVE.

faceclaim: BILLIE LOURD

soul sounds: PLAYLIST !

aesthetic: ( TW: BLOOD ) BOARD !

YO YO YOU YO — it’s lydia here with my lil blood witch arabella , i have yet to get the chance to  r e a l l y  play her and i’m super excited for the chance bc i love them so very much. i have headcanon after headcanon for them , so hit me up if you want to do something bc i am ready to do some shit. anyway , LYDIA ( nary , nettle , snottie , etc. ) here again and i love a good name change , i’m twenty-five years old , a pansexual demigirl ( she / her * they / them ) like arabella themselves , and i reside in the central timezone ( FLORIDA IS HELL ). continue reading to learn all about ARABELLA GORE — the intense , mysterious clever little powerhouse that loves to be number one. 

PERSONALITY

RULING PLANETS: pluto — planet of power & regeneration * mercury — planet of communication * mars — planet of war & energy BODY PART: crotch * reproductive organs * shoulders * hands * head * face GOOD MOOD: resilient , magnetic , passionate , loyal , protective , artistic , brave , fascinating , original , resourceful , wise , adventurous , unstoppable , bold , devoted  BAD MOOD: obsessive , possessive , jealous , secretive , vengeful , manipulative , eccentric ( creepy ) , restless , two-faced , judgmental , proud , self-centered , impulsive , bossy , stubborn , reckless  ( SOME ) FAVORITE THINGS: obscure underground music , spicy food , an air of danger , one of a kind objects , organic ingredients , vinyl , magic , the color black , horror films , blood , fast cars , guitars , new clothes , road trips ( in fast red cars ) , expressing themselves through stunning verbal and physical feats ( SOME ) THINGS SHE HATES: simple small-minded people , insincere flattery , personal questions , living at someone else’s house , mornings , dress codes , authority figures , silence   SECRET WISHES: to have complete and total control +  to have all the answers + to be number one HOW TO SPOT THEM: intense eyes , hawk like gaze , smooth movements , dry blood/bruises/cuts/scars on pale skin , silver hair , big black bow , mischievous twinkle in their eyes , talking with their hands , focused or manic energy , aggressive stance WHERE TO FIND THEM: listening to bauhaus in her dark room , sitting at the corner table of a shitty underground bar smoking a cigarette , selling her magic and / or blood in some dimly lit room  KEYWORDS: intimacy , secrecy , power , intensity , obsession , cleverness , wittiness , inventiveness ,  ingenuity , willpower , initiative , determination , passion , self-belief

arabella’s mind and mouth are busy machines , always moving at warp speed. this witch is one of the most curious and cutting-edge individuals you will meet. there are at least two personalities inside of her at all times. adventurous , she can change her mind faster than the weather and is constantly flipping between moods. 

a true pioneer and trailblazer they’re the first to initiate things , fight for their beliefs and fearlessly put themselves out there. headstrong and determined , ella’s energy can be stubborn and willful a lot of the time. she does have a tendency to dig in her heels , stand her ground and absolutely refuses to be pushed around. 

they will butt their own metaphorical horns against the same obstacle until they break it down — often with sheer force of will. extremely confident , she believes in herself and will on occasion champion others she deems worthy.

she does love to chatter and has a million great ideas , always keeping a notebook handy to jot down her thoughts and ideas at any time. at times , their energy can circulate in a quick and frenetic way , the silver haired wiccan is known to inspireswitty wordplay and dynamic dialogue. 

when she applies herself , arabella is great at brainstorming and socializing. she also craves her “ twin flame ” and kindred spirit’s energy , always up for an intellectual meeting of the minds. 

under the influence , they find themselves with the gift of gab; talking and conversing with others for hours , hopping from pop culture trends to deep political topics. beware “ gossip girl ” ella though , they can crank up the rumor mill sometimes unknowingly. as renowned dr. bernie siegel says , “ [ we ] have the ability to cure with either ‘ words ’ or kill with ‘ swords. ' ” 

powerful and sensual arabella is perhaps one the most misunderstood and mysterious person you could ever meet though. secretive by nature , this southern witch tends to linger in shadowy and hidden places that most wouldn’t usually have the courage to face.

she believes strongly in life , death and resurrection and arabella embraces these life cycles. she is continually transforming and reinventing herself. there are actually more like four sides of arabella and it really just depends how she feels about you.

the first is venomous and possessive like a scorpion ; the second as slippery , charming and deadly as a snake ; the third like a soaring eagle whose piercing gaze sharply observes the landscape ( and its prey ) below ; and the fourth side ever burning and all seeing as a phoenix that rises up from the ashes into eternal rebirth.

your muse may find themselves dealing with an intense individual with lots of energy. she has been known to hole herself up late at night to process complex emotions or channel her overwhelming feelings into focused work and creativity.

the essence of arabella’s personality is magnetic , fascinating , original , passionate , loyal , protective , trendsetting , controlling , unstoppable , bold , powerful , resourceful , wise , adventurous , focused , bond oriented and brave. on the flip side though , she can also be obsessive , possessive , jealous , prideful , self-centered , impulsive , bossy , stubborn , reckless , competitive , two-faced , judgmental , overwhelmed , secretive , vengeful , to even cruel , calculating and manipulative. 

she channels her intuitive tides into a forceful stream of psychic and healing energy. arabella excels in exploring the darker , unexamined sides of life. it has given her excellent research and sleuthing skills , helping her plumb the depths and peer below the surface. this witch likes a challenge , but she does have to really try hard not to fall into being selfish and domineering.

she will without question help out in the darkest hours; this witch bitch is not afraid to go into the murky waters of the emotional and spiritual unknown. intense feelings surface around her closest ties , but around those she isn’t close to ella has a wall up.

believes strongly in merging , bonding and sharing resources. she may get obsessive about a passion project or lover ( forrest ) , even becoming jealous or insecure. this mysterious demigirl wants to hide all of their vulnerabilities. yet , those raw and unprocessed feelings are often their access to power.

arabella can be tricky to understand. with her reserved persona , she seldom starts a conversation or expresses interest in others openly — unless she feels out the situation first.

once you get her to open up , however , you’ll feel her scorching passion for whatever topics fascinate her. be warned: arabella can focus on one subject to an extreme , so you may be in for a deeper dive than you or your muse expect — or want lol

her natural charisma can quickly pique someone else’s interest in the topic too though. 

another way to spot the witch ? look for her piercing gaze , which is hawk like at times narrowing in on her “ prey ”. if you happen to be the focus of that look , watch out.  you will feel read as easily as a children’s book as arabella seems to just KNOW all your secrets , soft spots and fears.

their focused attention can be addictive , even painful when pulled away. be careful how quickly you fall down their rabbit hole — it’s not as easy to crawl back up once you do. when you befriend them , you are likely entering into a power couple or formidable alliance. while she doesn’t give up loyalty and trust easily , once she does she’ll stick with you through thick and thin.

don’t even think about double crossing her tho bc she WILL unleash her fury on you , divulging secrets and airing dirty laundry or worse. revenge is her favorite dish to serve and it’s ice cold. on a positive note , arabella’s like the perfect person to help explore darker emotions or sexuality , happy to guide most through fifty plus shades of irresistible and soul communing experiences.

arabella can come across as clever and quick-witted , but part of the fun ( and curse ) of interacting with the witch is that you’re never quite sure which personality you’re going to experience. will it be the vivacious jokester or the snarky , mean-spirited critic ? 

although they may crave complete and utter control over everything , they secretly yearn for the very thing they fear: true intimacy with others. it takes a lot for ella to reveal her vulnerability , so guard that privilege with the utmost care. as she opens up and learns to show her shadow side , she can heal in ways that are truly profound.

highly impatient and competitive , they have the fighting spirit. ella were born to be number one , a star who steals the spotlight and inspires with her confidence. yeah , they can be impatient , even a little bossy , especially when they don’t get their way. she need lots of attention and can throw quite the tantrum when she doesn’t get it. fortunately , arabella rarely has a problem turning heads.

others love to follow as they take the lead on the latest adventure. she has to be reminded to make sure and let other people be the boss every now and then too , because she has a tendency to alienate potential allies. when they focus their competitive streak into a diva-worthy goal and delegate , they will always rise to the top !

they have a lot of energy , which they apply to everything from tackling supersized projects to unleashing their lusty libidos with forrest. this confident demigirl is known to leap before looking , diving into each new experience with a zest for life that few others can muster. 

they love to be number one and can be a bit of a trendsetter. she has been described before as ‘ a true original who inspires the rest. ‘ with all of their fire power and can-do attitude , there’s nothing arabella can’t ( or won’t ) take on. at times , ella can be selfish or overly focused on herself and it can be a “ blind spot ” for them , they may need a gentle reminder from time to time to share. 

she likes to shatter glass ceilings but can also be off-putting to people in extreme doses. this go-getter can come across as abrasive or overly aggressive , however; arabella will never back down from a challenge and can take on being the champion of those in distress when need be.

BACKGROUND

( TW: child abandonment ) so arabella doesn’t know her parents are but she does know that they ended up in some small southern town called suspiria , located in virgina of all places. her mother was really into the surface level southern gothic aesthetic suspiria offered and the unlikely couple settled there until arabella was born. her parents didn’t keep her very long though seeing as their shotgun wedding was never built to last and after she was born they both returned to where they came from or at least that’s as far as the story goes if you ask anyone in suspiria. 

( TW: military ment. , death ) her parents actually went their separate ways , her mother returned to her wealthy family and comfortable life never to seek out the unnamed child she’d left behind in some no name town. her father went on to join the military and was lost in the line of duty with no one to even pass that knowledge on. 

the infant rose , as they were first called back then , was left on the doorstep of an orphanage and that was where they would spend their childhood. it was not a pleasant place to grow up at all , but she was incredibly lucky in finding her twin flame in a sad , lonely young boy also growing up there.

little ella was never once adopted and she made damn sure to change the minds of anyone who so much as looked in her direction or asked her name. they grew an unhealthy attachment to forrest almost the minute they laid eyes on him , but they are connected very deeply and even as children arabella was acutely aware. 

growing up ( maybe even to this day ) they were considered a loner , an outsider , the weirdo , a creepy kid , etc. and the bullying only got worse. the people in the shitty children’s home and the tiny backwoods town in virginia ? they didn’t really respond too well to the two strange kids that collected animal bones and hunted for ghosts. 

in their early teen years ella started practicing satanism , but that was really just a gateway religion into wicca and her true passion , witchcraft. forrest took to it just as quickly as they did and soon the two had formed their own little coven , something that didn’t stay secret very long.

forrest , being the more scholarly of the two , found himself working for the governor on his campaign and eventually recruited arabella to do the same , but she worked more closely with the governor’s wife and the children. it only took a week , two tops , for the power hungry woman’s true intentions to came to light — dark magic.

( TW: cheating , infidelity )it’s true that ella helped with the gardening , the children , the cleaning , the cooking , all the usual suspects but she also did a number of spells involving blood and shadows. the items they created most for the governor’s wife was their own recipes for love potions and anti-aging blood serums. the woman was extremely suspicious of her husband having affairs with younger women , pretty self explanatory as to why she was seeking help from a known magic user. 

( TW: blood ment. , devil ment. ) it was something of a hot topic in suspiria , the governor and his family hiring the two freaky orphans and why. not long after , a photo was leaked of the governor’s wife as arabella painted her face in the bright crimson blood serum they had concocted themselves. it was common knowledge by then that the two practiced witchcraft and suddenly every headline was about the governor and his wife being ‘ corrupted by the evil devil worshipers the kind family had taken pity on. ‘ 

( TW: assault ment. , death , arson , house fire ) the town ? literally ready to burn them at the freaking stake and the two couldn’t go anywhere without fear of assault of some sort or worse. to make matters all the worse , the governor’s wife and children perished suddenly in a terrible house fire and who was the easiest target to pin it on ? arabella and forrest , the two town rejects , which is exactly what the governor did. they were treated as murderers , hunted like criminals , which is why as soon as they found out about the raging fire they left town. 

( TW: death ) for the next four years arabella and forrest were on the run from the governor and his goons , not stopping in any one place for very long for fear of being caught up to. over a year ago they finally got word that the governor had kicked the bucket and that anyone still looking for them likely had stopped by now. not long after , arabella came across a beautiful , vintage gothic home far more expensive than it was priced , but luckily for them the home had a rather grisly history and had been on the market for so long that the owners had cut the asking price tremendously.

( TW: scamming ) arabella was convinced that it was a sign from the universe letting them know it was okay to settle down for good now and once she’s convinced there’s no real changing her mind. so , by halloween of 2019 they were moving into the beautiful gothic home of the witch’s dreams and not long after they had rooms in their ‘ haunted home ‘ listed on every website possible to lure in dark tourists everywhere. how true everything is ? well , the two did take quite a few creative liberties and the occasional diehard , truly experienced fan of the paranormal would ( possibly have ) call them con artists. 

( TW: scamming ) not only do they rent out rooms , but they also have the occasional ‘ murder tour ‘ of their ‘ serial killer ‘ house. what it really boils down to is arabella has been hustling their whole ass life and it’s never going to stop. there is quite a bit of truth to their stories , but though both ella and forrest have encountered the paranormal multiple times in their lives , not just in pleasance either , they’ve never had any real activity that could count as reliable proof. everything involving the businesses run out of the house are little more than sideshow entertainment for pleasance dark tourists.

( TW: blood ) the witch also has a part time job working for jules at dutch’s , her official title would be a bartender but she really just does what is asked of her. you probably guessed it already , but she does also have a side operation selling her blood magic from underneath the bar at dutch’s and they’re hopeful that their boss is none the wiser.

ETC.

she does still have a slight accent because she is from such a small town where everybody had a drawl or twang. she doesn’t have a good education by typical societal standards , because she had such shitty public education growing up as an orphan and no one who enforced her learning or attending. they are , however;  incredibly street smart and by no means stupid. they have since taught themselves how to learn in a way best for them and are always devouring book upon book in order to teach themselves things otherwise she may never know. 

( TW: blood ) ella is a blood witch and often uses her own blood , animal blood , someone else’s blood , pretty much if there’s blood in any form she’s set. she 100% sells her magic to anyone who wants it and does dabble in the shadow side. it might not actually work all the time , but that’s not entirely her fault. 

( TW: bruising / injury ment. , blood , scar ment. , self harm ) a pretty big feminist , used to be in an all femme band called the hex girls ( come for me ) , goth and proud ??? a really big horror movie fan , pansexual demigirl representinggg ! always has bruises and cuts , dried blood covers their skin a lot where they miss it or just don’t care to hide it , also has quite a few scars from where she’s cut too deep ( some maybe on accident , some maybe on purpose ).

( TW: blood ) ella’s very creative ! they like to read , write , make art — out of blood lol she uses blood of all types to create a lot of art. she takes blood baths ( animal blood ) occasionally on the full moon , drinks animal blood during certain rituals , etc. also super into bone and taxidermy , you can definitely find her at deblanc’s. they also like to haunt the cemetery and creep around spotlight cinema , film is a big passion of hers. 

( TW: drugs & alcohol ment. , blood ) DOES imbibe lol a partaker of alcohol ( prefers animal blood with red wine or vodka ) and certain drugs. ella definitely smokes weed & cigarettes , they enjoy partying just like the rest but she’s more reserved and likes to people watch.

okay so it’s getting late and i can’t believe how long this intro actually took me to finish tweaking , but if you want to plot with me pls pls pls hit me up bc i’d love to do some stuff !! my tumblr DMs are always open and you can always hmu on discord too !! i also write bryce winslow ( milo ventimiglia FC ) but you likely know that lol. i’m sure there’s more i could say about arabella honestly , but if you have any specific things you’d like to know or it seems like i left something out or need to take a second look at something i’d appreciate any / all feedback. can’t wait to get some replies out , but that might have to wait until the morning. @phqextras​

[marvel-lucy]

The Walking Disaster - Chapter 9, the end

Way too long, way too rubbish writing, but here it is, the end!

All chapters are on the Walking Disaster Masterlist

I don’t know how long I sit there. I’m drunk, and upset, and time isn’t really making sense right now. But by the time I hear a door slam, and footsteps, I’m so cold I’m shivering and I feel like I might throw up. I’m very sober, but right now I kind of wish I wasn’t.

After I left the club, I just walked. It was like I was sixteen again, right back to when I’d go on double dates with Bucky and I’d turn around and my ‘date’ would have gone off with someone else. It doesn’t hurt any less, no matter how old you get. It starts to rain, because of course it does, but I just keep walking until I’m completely lost.  I flag down a cab, give him my address, and slump into a corner. When I get home, the front door’s open again, so I slam it hard behind me, which at least expresses some of how I’m feeling. Then I head upstairs.  And outside Apartment 3, there’s a soaking wet, slumped shape. She lifts up her head, because of course it’s her, and she looks a mess. Mascara down to her chin, eyes red and swollen, hair plastered to her face. Her lips are blue and she’s shivering hard.

‘Steve…’ I try to speak clearly but my throat’s thick with crying, and I’m shivering, and I sort of hiccup out a noise.  ‘They threw me out, the club. My bag’s there. My feet.’

She pulls herself up to standing and she looks so small and pathetic, that even with my heart hurting, I feel for her. I look down at her feet, which are bare. They’re grey with dirt and there are streaks of blood on them. I have no idea why they’ve thrown her out, or what’s going on, but I’m not going to leave her out here to get hypothermia.

‘You’d better come in and get dry,’ he says, opening his door. I wince a bit walking into his apartment, I can feel my feet more now I’ve sobered up. I stand just inside his door, dripping slowly on the floor, while my brain runs around in circles like a hamster in a wheel, trying to think of what I’m supposed to say next. I’ve got nothing. Steve’s disappeared somewhere inside, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to follow him, so I just wait, dripping forlornly. He reappears after a minute.

‘Go have a shower, you’re freezing and your feet need cleaning. I’ve put some stuff in there you can wear after.’

He half-smiles as he says this, and I start to think maybe it’s OK and he didn’t see anything, but it’s just his way. He can’t do mean, he’s a good guy. He turns back to the kitchen, so I hobble through to the bathroom.

Even miserable as I am, you know I take a moment while the shower warms up, to just appreciate being in Steve’s bathroom. It’s clean and tidy, everything laid out with military precision. There’s plenty of thick towels and what looks like sweatpants and a sweatshirt on a stool by the door. I step into the shower and when the hot water hits me I realise just how cold I was. I let the water run over me for a while, then I reach for the shower gel, and it’s only when I pour some onto my hand that I realise it smells like Steve. I couldn’t even have told you he smelt of anything before, but now I smell it, it’s this. This shower gel, plus the smell of goodness, the aroma of wonderful… you get it. I close my eyes and it’s almost like I’m having a shower with Steve. Barring the fact he’s probably sitting in his kitchen hating me right now, of course.

When I’m clean, I get dry and try to drape my wet clothes over his radiator, before I put on the clothes he’s left out. I have to hold the trousers up with one hand to stop them sliding down, which would be fine, except I can barely find my hands inside the sleeves. I feel like a child dressing up.

Deep breath, unlock door. Deep breath, open door. Deep breath, walk down corridor. I’m practically hyperventilating by the time I reach the main room; I’ve been so busy trying to keep myself calm.  

He’s got himself dried off a bit – at least he’d been wearing a jacket and shoes – and changed into something else. His hair is still fluffy and sticking up and all I want is to ruffle it, but he just points me to the couch.

‘Let me see your feet.’

I perch, about as far away from him as possible, and lift my feet up. Haven’t said a word yet since I got inside. He takes hold of one foot, and pushes the floppy trouser leg up a little out of his way. Even miserable, the feeling of his hand wrapped around my ankle sends little tingles all up and down me.  He puts that foot down, and picks up the other, frowning slightly, then reaches for a tube on the table. He squeezes some ointment onto my foot, peering down, puts a Band-Aid on top, then puts my foot down.

‘I’ll get you some blankets; you’d better sleep here if you’ve lost your keys.’ And before I can shout I didn’t lose them or I’m sorry, he’s gone, coming back with a pile of blankets and a pillow, which he drops by me on the couch, then he says good night and I hear his bedroom door shut.  If I wasn’t all cried out, I know what I’d do right now.

I wrap myself like a human burrito in the blankets and burrow my head into the pillows on the couch. I’ve told myself that dramatically I’ll toss and turn all night because of the trauma and suffering that has happened, but I’m warm now after being so cold, and the couch is surprisingly comfortable, and there’s still a lot of alcohol in my system, and it’s about 3am, and… then it’s about 9am and I wake myself up with the sound of an unholy snore, and blink.

It all comes crashing back down on me, at about the same time the hangover does. I moan curse words to myself, and pull the blanket up over my head, but then I hear a clunk and a jingle and reappear.  Steve has just put a mug of coffee, and some keys, down on the table next to me.

‘Got them from the super, for your apartment.  You look like you need coffee.’  He’s very deliberately not looking at me, but as I emerge from the blankets, arms stretching upwards to free myself as I’m wrapped too tight, I hear an unintentional snort.  ‘Actually, you look like you need to be committed.’  I doubt he’s wrong. Last night I wrapped myself in blankets with wet hair, and I know my face always balloons like a puffer fish when I cry, so I probably look even more calamitous than normal. Not that any of it matters any more.

Once I’ve managed to wriggle a hand free, I reach for the coffee and take a mouthful. Caffeine hasn’t tasted so good before.

‘Thank you, for the coffee, and the keys, and letting me stay. Steve, I…’

‘I’ve got to go out. Take your time.’

And with that, he’s gone. I hadn’t got some great apology speech planned out, was very much going to wing it, but I didn’t even get a chance to say sorry, or to explain. Shit.

It’d be weird staying in Steve’s flat without him there, and although I secretly want to nose through all his stuff, even I have my limits. So I fold up the blankets, wash up the mug (I’m being so polite), grab my damp clothes, head to the door… head back and pick up my keys from the coffee table… head to the door, and go home.

Home, where I find Nat pacing up and down (she has keys. ‘In case’ I lose mine. Like I would…). She looks ready to shake me, but when she sees me wearing what are obviously Steve’s clothes, she pauses.

‘What the… where have you BEEN? We got back to the table, and you and Steve were both gone, but your bag was there, and all your stuff, and someone said you’d been kicked out, and I couldn’t get hold of you. Were you with Steve? Did you sleep with him? Is that why you’re dressed like that? JESUS I could kill you!’  With that, she launches into a giant hug, squeezing me uncomfortably tightly while quietly screaming in my ear.  And when she finally lets go, so do I, and I sob. Full-on snotty, ugly, swollen face, hiccupy blubbing, and I spill it all to her. It’s a lot less coherent the way I tell it, but I think she finally gets the idea, and sums it all up for me.

‘So let me get this straight. I already know you’re crazy about Steve, but then you got yourself all freaked out last night, ended up drunk and panicky. Thought Steve had left, self-pity danced with another guy, Steve saw and left, creepy guy mauled you, you assaulted creepy guy, you got chucked out, Steve took pity on you, you slept on his couch. That it?’

I blubbed a bit more. It all sounded so insignificant when she said it, but she forgot to sprinkle on a coating of low self-esteem so that everything was unsolvable, disastrous, and a sure sign that everything I touch turns to garbage. I may have said this out loud, because I suddenly felt a smack around the back of my head.

‘Go brush your hair. You look crazy. Put on some normal-person sized clothes. You’re not garbage. I’m going to call Bucky.’

I did as I was told. You would too if Nat was being forceful. In my bedroom I was forced to face my own reflection, and I couldn’t help but smile. My hair was stuck up on one side, plastered down on the other. My face was red and swollen, and had attractively broken out in spots due to all the crying and make up. I was a catch I tell you. I threw on some of my own clothes, tried to salvage my hair a little, rubbed some moisturiser on my sore face, cleaned my teeth and went back out.

Nat was still on the phone, so I headed for the kitchen, trying not very hard not to listen.  There was still no food – we’d eaten all the cheerios and M&Ms yesterday (‘we’. I wanted more ‘we’), so there was just dry pasta and a jar of something that had lost its label.  I didn’t-listen some more.

‘… definitely… I’ll do it from this end, you do that end… I know! The pair of them… yeah OK, you too, see you later.’  She looks up at me as I walk back into the room.  ‘So Steve’s moping. Bucky says he won’t answer the phone and he’s indulging in some major self-pity.  You should probably go talk to him…’

I throw myself onto the couch.  

‘He went out. I don’t know where, but he obviously hates me, and always will, so there’s no point in anything any more.’  I can feel myself starting to cry again when the back of my head gets slapped once more.

‘You have two options. Option one. You could text him, or call him, or wait for him to get home, and then talk to him, because ever since humanity invented speech it’s been quite useful for ironing out problems. Try it. Option two. You can lie here and feel miserable, and Steve can be wherever he is being miserable, and you can both wallow in it until you shrivel up like prunes from all the tears, and meanwhile Bucky and I will go have fun without you.  Your choice.’

I’m lying face down on the couch at this point, probably leaving snot trails on the cushions, but that feels only appropriate.

‘Option 2 sounds good.  OW!’ That’s another slap. Then Nat pulls me up by the back of my sweater, almost strangling me. She’s freakishly strong when she’s angry.

‘Get your shit together. Use your words. Text me when you’re an adult.’  She kicks my bag, which she’s obviously collected from the club, and brought back for me, then she leaves. I pick up my bag, dig out my phone to see a ton of missed calls and texts from a worried Nat.  I open up the messages and then sit there, trying to work out what to say to Steve, but I get nowhere, and I’m still staring at the screen when I hear footsteps walk past my door, and his front door open.

So I wipe my eyes, even though I know they’re going to be red and swollen, and I pick up my keys carefully, and I walk out my door, and turn right, and walk a few steps and then I’m outside apartment 4. And for all I know he’ll shut the door in my face, but I’m going to try. I’m going to do it. I’m going to do what maybe I should have done long ago, with myself, and my friends, and my exes. I’m going to be truthful, and honest, and put myself out there. If I hadn’t started off with the assumption that nobody could like me, that I was just the butt of a thousand jokes, and nothing compared to Nat, just maybe I wouldn’t be where I am now, but I never do.  Maybe sometimes I really should listen to Nat.

I’m really scared that it’s not going to be enough, because I’ve barely known Steve a few weeks and there’s no reason he should even care about what I have to say. I’m just his neighbour, right? But yesterday this building was the scene of the best Saturday ever, and now it seems to be the setting for the worst Sunday of my life. I’m the victim of my own disasters, and this time it feels more painful than the broken bones, more humiliating than the trips and slips.  This time I feel like I’ve taken something I really really liked, and I’ve dropped it and broken it into a thousand pieces, and I’m worried I’m never going to find them all and piece it back together.

I know, I know, I’m being melodramatic. I danced with another guy when I had my eye on Steve, that’s all. But my head’s hurting and my feet are sore, and I’m tired, and I’m also coming up with a million and one excuses why I don’t have to knock and talk. Ugh, talking. Like an adult. Bad concept.

I knock.  There’s a long pause, then I hear footsteps, and the eyehole darkens for a minute. Then the door opens. He looks at me, waits.

‘Hi,’ I start, and my voice is a bit choked up with embarrassment. I could really be setting myself up for a fall here, and I’ve had enough of those.  ‘So, you’ve seen me at my worst. I’ve fallen over, and dropped things, and thrown cups at you, but those were all kinda standard for me. But last night I really dropped the ball, and I’ve come to say sorry. And explain.’

I leave a long pause, hoping that he’ll take pity on me perhaps, and I’m just about to give up and accept that I no longer am friends with the Boy Next Door, when my stomach, which hasn’t eaten since last night, lets out the noisiest and longest rumble you’ve ever heard. I’m pretty sure that earthquakes alarms start ringing two states over.  It just doesn’t stop.  I’m standing there, he’s standing there, we’re not breaking eye contact and we’re both just listening.

He breaks first. My face is now scarlet, and as the sound dies away, the corner of his mouth twitches once, twice, then he lets it go, and clutches at his chest and just laughs and honestly, it’s such a relief. He opens the door wider, silently inviting me in while he pulls himself together.

‘Do you wanna talk over breakfast? I can’t offer cheerios and candy, but I have pastries. That’s where I went. I was kinda secretly hoping you’d still be here when I got back, but I know I was being arsey, and I don’t actually have any right to. Sorry.’

Wait. What? He’s apologising? He is apologising? This communication thing is really confusing. I’m just standing there, looking a bit dumb, and so he makes a sweeping gesture, still trying to invite me in like I’m a really reluctant vampire. I step in, and try not to think about biting his neck. He heads into the kitchen and I hear rustling, cupboards opening, before he reappears with two mugs of coffee and a box of pastries, which he puts down on the coffee table.

‘Sit?’ I perch myself on the couch where I’d slept the night before and procrastinate by picking up a coffee mug, and staring into it as if I’m seeing the future. Worryingly the future looks very dark, but that may be because I drink my coffee black. I pick up a pastry and take a bite instead.

‘OK. So. Well. Here’s the thing. You see… What it is, is…’ I look up, and he’s waiting expectantly, as if I’m going to say something intelligible. Ha, sucker! Not from these lips! I put the cup back down, straighten my back, take a deep breath in.

‘OK, so I’m a disaster. I’m always a disaster, and I’m convinced that because I screw up so much, that no one could ever like me, because well,’ I gesture towards myself, taking in the messy hair, scruffy clothes, red skin, pastry crumbs, ‘so last night, I thought you’d left, and I assumed it was because I was a hot sweaty mess who throws cups at your face. So then because I was kinda drunk and stupid, I tried to make myself feel better by pretending someone liked me, even if it couldn’t be the person I wanted. Only he was a creep. And I kneed him in the balls.’

I’m staring at the bruise on his nose the whole time I speak, because it’s safer than making eye contact, but it means I have no idea how my little speech has gone down, and it also means I’m now slightly cross-eyed from focussing on one point. Steve lets out a little cough, and I let my eyes flick to his, then decide to focus on his chin instead. He’s not shaved today and there’s this adorable stubble, that is making me just want to reach out and stroke his chin, but I suspect that might not be the most appropriate thing to do right now.

‘Ok. So. First off, can you please make eye contact with me? I know you’re avoiding my eyes but my chin is getting paranoid.’  Ugh, I can’t help smiling at that, so I meet his eyes, then quickly busy myself picking up my coffee again and looking into that.

‘I can’t. Because I feel too awkward and also now I can’t remember how much to look and how much to look away.’ I mumble this into my coffee, but I know he hears, and remembers our previous conversation.

‘Look deep into my eyes. Gaze into my eyes forever. Get lost in my eyes.’  What the…? I look back at his face, and he’s grinning.  ‘Made you look!’

How is he being so… OK? I came around here thinking I’d have to prostrate myself and beg for forgiveness, and he’s… OK. Is this how normal people behave? Weird.

‘So now you’re looking at me. You got thrown out for kneeing a creeper? I’m impressed. Good for you. I mean, sorry you got thrown out and all, but I’d have liked to see that.’ I can feel myself starting to smile, and it’s such a relief, but I’m sure I don’t deserve to get away with being such an arse, so I look down again, and eat more of my pastry. Then I notice the mess I’ve made, how many crumbs are all over my trouser leg, so I start trying to brush them all into a pile. I’ve got them pretty much sorted, when his hand reaches over, brushes them all onto the floor with a sweep, then holds onto mine. Oh lordy.

‘Can you listen, for a second, instead of avoiding me?’ I give a small nod, even while I will my hand not to get all sweaty. ‘Yeah, it hurt my feelings when I saw you dancing with that guy, although it sounds like you didn’t enjoy it much either. But you don’t owe my feelings anything. I thought we were getting on, and I let myself get hopeful, but maybe I misread it. And then I was drunk so I sulked and stormed off, because I’m an idiot. But no harm done. I’m hungover and need to watch Netflix with a good neighbour, if you know any?’

Wow. Nat said that talking worked, and it really does. Someone should copyright this approach. Talking helps reduce misunderstandings. Who knew. Except…

‘You didn’t misread it.’ I’m going to do it, I’m going to meet his eyes, talk like an adult, and make Nat proud. ‘We were getting on, and I do really like you, and I’m sorry I screwed it up. I tripped over my own issues and, yeah. Sorry. But I do like you. A lot.’  

He cocks his head on one side, then very slowly, giving me time to change my mind, leans over. He stops when his face is almost touching mine, and his eyes are crazily blue, almost matching the bruise on his nose. I think he’s going to kiss me. I know he’s going to kiss me. I can feel my eyes drifting shut in anticipation. His voice, when he speaks, is so soft that I feel it like a breeze on my cheek.

‘You have pastry crumbs in your eyebrow.’

My eyes fly open, and he’s smiling at me with the wickedest grin.  I let out a shriek, and give him a huge shove away from me, but he grabs onto my arms as he topples. His leg flies out as he tries to balance, banging into the table, and his coffee mug tips, then rolls onto its side, coffee pouring down onto the carpet just as we fall half off the couch, with me lying on top of him.  His arms wrap around me and it’s so unbelievably warm and comfortable.

‘I’ve decided the safest thing for everyone, when you’re around, is to just hold on tight and not let you go.’  He wriggles slightly, so we end up completely on the floor, but true to his word, he keeps a grip on me.  ‘Can’t fall over if I’m holding you, right?’

And then we do kiss. I don’t know if he kisses me, or I kiss him, but it happens. We don’t bang noses and our teeth don’t clash and the roof doesn’t cave in. His lips are as soft and warm as I’d imagined, and his arms stay wrapped around me, so I’m not going anywhere, and it all feels so completely right, that I don’t know how I could ever have imagined otherwise. I’m falling for him, hard, but for once, I’m happy to fall.

----

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