#i say this with love but it's going to be another reason why he's like That
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
steddieas-shegoes · 2 days ago
Text
you and all of your new perspective
for @steddiesongfics using 'new perspective' by noah kahan
also on ao3
rated m | 3,513 words | no cw | tags: rock star eddie munson, good uncle wayne munson, mutual pining, yearning, post-vecna, love confessions, idiots in love, first kiss, implied sexual content, getting together
🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻
He’s looking down at the letter and wondering how the hell he’s supposed to be normal about Eddie visiting him.
In Hawkins.
Where Eddie swore he’d never come back to the moment he got his ticket out of here.
“Starin’ at it ain’t gonna make him not come,” Wayne says from across the counter. “Surprised he didn’t call ya to tell ya.”
“He…he left a few messages,” Steve explains, setting the letter down and resting his face in his hands. “I just figured he wouldn’t come if I didn’t call him back.”
Wayne raises a brow, gives him a look that Steve’s perfectly familiar with by now. Four years of weekly dinners with a man that’s well aware of your feelings for his nephew leads to some knowing looks and light teasing.
“Only reason he’d ever step foot in this town again is for you and you know that,” Wayne says as he opens another beer. He has three every Friday night, but no longer indulges during the week. Ain’t so young anymore, son, and I gotta stay active to keep up with all your chores, he’d told Steve when he asked. Steve thinks the doctor told him to take it easier. “I don’t think he even told the kids.”
“Don’t see why he would. They’re all over. He’s probably seen them on tour.”
Steve tries not to sound bitter. He woke up in his own bed or whatever the saying is. He can’t blame Eddie for doing exactly what he said he would, following his dreams, getting the hell out of Hawkins the moment he could. The kids did the same, but at least they visited.
“Well, they’ve been houndin’ him to come visit you.”
Steve lifts his head. “They what?”
“They just worry ‘bout ya,” Wayne shrugs. “So do I.”
“I went on a date last week! Robin visited two months ago! I see you every Friday!” Steve stands and starts pacing. “I’m gonna go visit Dustin at school in a month. And Will has his freshman exhibition that we’re all trying to meet up at. It’s not like I’m lonely.”
“Son, I think the only person lonelier than you is Eddie,” Wayne gives him that sad smile he gives whenever they talk about Steve’s social life. It’s like he knows it’s pitiful, and he knows Steve knows it’s pitiful, and he’s making sure Steve knows that he knows. “And he’s stubborn as a mule, but he cares too much about ya to let you suffer.”
“Who said anything about suffering?”
“It’s implied by the way the kids talk about you.”
“How’s that?”
“The word hermit has been used a bunch,” Wayne explains. “Now, I’m gonna finish this beer and you’re gonna stop workin’ yourself up over something that’s still days away.”
Steve rushes over to his calendar, holding up the letter, then checking the calendar.
“He’s gonna be here in three days!” Steve yells. “I can’t be ready by then!”
“What the hell do you need to be ready for? It’s just Eddie,” Wayne is smirking again and Steve’s tired of his teasing, but he’s not gonna say anything because it doesn’t do any good to draw more attention to it. “He ain’t expecting a welcome committee. Maybe a balloon or somethin’; You know he likes the show of it all.”
Steve groans.
He does know. Eddie loves dramatics, that’s what makes him such a good performer on stage. That’s what makes him a great DM.
That’s what made Steve fall in love with him.
“I don’t even know where to get balloons,” Steve says, resting his forehead against the wall.
“The new Wal-Mart should have some,” Wayne pats his shoulder. “We watchin’ the game or standing around havin’ a crisis in your kitchen?”
Steve breathes in. He breathes out.
“I’ll have a crisis tomorrow, I guess.”
“That’s my boy!”
++++
The crisis does come the next day, but this time Wayne isn’t there to make it worse or better. He considers calling Robin, but he knows she’ll just tell him to use his good cologne and try not to be weird. He even thinks about calling Dustin, but immediately shuts that down when he remembers that Dustin is the one who called him a hermit to Eddie’s face.
He finds balloons at the store, and adds streamers to the cart on a whim. He’s sure Eddie will love it. Eddie loves that kind of shit.
He also grabs a pie crust and apples because he remembers Eddie saying how much he loves apple pie with vanilla ice cream one time nearly five years ago.
Okay, maybe it’ll be weird that he remembered that.
He goes to put the apples back when Joyce bumps into him as she’s reaching for a bunch of bananas.
“Sorry honey!” She throws her hands out to catch him, even though she’s the one who almost falls. “I wasn’t paying attention. You doing okay?”
“Yeah, how’re you?” Steve gives her a small smile, trying not to show how panicked he is.
“Sweetie, you look stressed. Is something wrong?”
“No! No, just preparing for a guest,” Steve says, unsure if Eddie’s told anyone else in Hawkins he would be visiting and not wanting to ruin any surprises if he intended on doing that.
He doesn’t even know how long Eddie’s staying; He didn’t say in his letter or voicemails. Wayne hasn’t mentioned it either, which means he probably knows exactly how long he’s staying.
“Oh, is Eddie staying with you?” She asks, brows furrowing. “I assumed he was staying with Wayne. I helped him find an apple pie recipe for his visit.”
Steve looks down at the ingredients in the cart, the evidence of what he’s going to make even more obvious now. Joyce’s gaze follows his and she bites back a knowing smile.
“Ah.”
“Ah?” He asks.
“Uh huh,” she says, nodding. “I would make sure to get the green apples. He likes sour more than sweet when there’s ice cream.”
Steve looks over at the green apples and back at the red apples he was planning on buying. Joyce winks at him before she grabs the bananas and starts to walk away.
“Enjoy the visit!”
Steve doesn’t respond.
He grabs six green apples and shoves them in a plastic produce bag.
He’ll make the damn apple pie and Eddie will love it. Steve will pretend the apple pie isn’t filled with the love he can barely contain for the man, and maybe Eddie will enjoy it and leave as if he never came.
Maybe Steve can make it through this visit with dignity.
****
Eddie shows up at three in the afternoon on a Wednesday. Technically, it’s 3:03, but Steve wasn’t watching the clock or anything. That would be ridiculous.
He looks just like he always did, just like Steve expected. He’s smiling, and playing with the ends of his curls. Steve is never gonna make it through this visit with dignity.
“Stevie!” Eddie rushes in for a hug, and it should be more awkward than it is. Eddie didn’t exactly leave on the best of terms with Steve. They really only spoke a handful of times over the last few years, and most of those were forced by Wayne or Dustin. But it’s like he never left, like he’s been hugging Steve every day for years.
Steve soaks it up, falls into it and doesn’t care how it looks. If Eddie has a problem with it, he doesn’t say so. He holds Steve tighter, his breath warm against his neck.
Eventually, Steve invites him inside and it does start to feel awkward.
Eddie’s a rock star now, and despite how normal he looks, he’s different. He’s here to see Steve, but is he here out of guilt that it took him this long to visit or because he actually wants to?
Steve talks about work, and his dinners with Wayne, and spends more time than he should explaining Robin’s degree program even though he knows Robin already talked to Eddie when she got accepted. He goes on and on about what everyone else is up to because his life is pretty boring in comparison and he doesn’t want to bore Eddie away.
“Sounds like everyone’s doing good, but I already knew that,” Eddie eventually says when Steve’s rambled for much longer than he planned. “How are you?”
“I told you, I’m fine,” Steve says. “Kinda boring around here, honestly. How’s the tour been?”
Eddie laughs and Steve tries not to let it hurt. He doesn’t think he means it in the way Steve’s taking it and that’s a Steve problem, not an Eddie problem.
“I called you 37 times,” Eddie says instead of answering him. “Every city we had a show. The first few I figured you were just busy or asleep. I didn’t think about time zones. But then I started to realize you were avoiding me.”
He isn’t mad, or at least he doesn’t look mad, but Steve feels like he needs to apologize anyway.
“Yeah, sorry. After a while, it kinda…”
“Seemed worse to call since it was so long?” Eddie asks, small smile falling from his face when Steve nods. “It’s never a bad thing to hear from friends, though. You could’ve called the bus phone anytime. Left a message. We got an answering machine because Gareth’s mom always calls when we’re on stage.”
“Right. Good to know,” Steve says. Which, it is good to know, but he doesn’t plan on calling unless there’s an emergency. He can’t look as desperate as he feels and if he calls once, he’ll call twice, and then a hundred times. “What city was your favorite so far?”
Eddie tilts his head, looks him over for a moment before responding. “I liked Boston. All the kids were front row. Except El, she somehow got backstage. Still not sure how. Missed you, though.”
Steve feels his face heat up at the words. Eddie always said things in a flirty way, even though he doesn’t really mean it that way. Steve can’t let himself think that he means it that way.
“It’s a pretty big trip, so. I couldn’t miss work.”
It’s a shit excuse because he absolutely could miss work. It’s a grocery store in a small town, and he doesn’t care that much about it.
“They couldn’t find someone to cover a couple days for you?” Eddie sounds hurt now, and Steve can’t let him think that he’s the problem.
“I didn’t ask. I-” Steve has to be brave now. Wayne’s voice is in his head telling him to just tell Eddie why he’s been so distant, why he hasn’t been the one to reach out. “I was scared to go.”
This seems to throw Eddie off balance. His eyes squint and forehead wrinkles adorably as he tries to do mental gymnastics to find out why Steve of all people would be scared to visit him. Steve is known for throwing himself in the line of fire, being the first one to step in when everyone else is scared. Too bad this type of courage is different.
“Are you scared of flying? I didn’t know, maybe we could have figured out a hired car.”
“No, I don’t mind flying,” Steve admits.
“Then…why were you scared?”
“Because if I let you in, you’ll see how much I miss you and if you see how much I miss you, you’ll see how much I love you. And then you’d never wanna have me around and it would be just like everyone else I love who leaves because I’m not enough to keep them around,” Steve lays his head back against the couch. The Wayne voice in his head is suspiciously quiet.
So is Eddie.
Steve isn’t going to talk anymore; He’s said enough.
Eddie’s hand covers Steve’s. It’s warm and surprisingly soft, and bigger than Steve’s. He never realized that before, not even when he held his hand while he was in the hospital after Vecna or when he watched him play guitar for hours while he was trying to gain his confidence back.
“People don’t leave because you aren’t enough, Steve. They leave because the world is big and they want to be a part of it. Everyone wants you to do that, too,” Eddie says softly, carefully. “I think most of the kids hoped you’d leave Hawkins once they did. Dustin thought you’d come on tour with me.”
“Why would he think that?” Steve doesn’t remember ever having a conversation with Dustin that would make him think that, but his memory isn’t the best.
Eddie’s lips curl up into a smile and he leans forward.
“You know you’re incredibly obvious, right?” Eddie whispers even though they’re alone and there’s no need to be quiet. “You’ve always been easy to read.”
“What does that mean? Read what?”
“You wear your heart on your sleeve and it’s been right there with Eddie written across it since I was in the hospital, sweetheart.” Eddie points to Steve’s arm. He looks down as if he would be able to see the heart Eddie’s talking about. “You’re an open book.”
The timer in the kitchen goes off and Steve jumps up. He rushes to the oven, grateful for the distraction.
“Is that apple pie?” Eddie asks from a few feet away. Steve really should’ve known he would follow him.
“Yes, it’s gotta be perfect.”
“You made apple pie for me?”
Eddie’s right behind him now, and when he turns, there’s no space between them at all. Steve smells the airport on him, the rental car, the cologne he’s worn since Steve bought it for him before he left Hawkins.
He looks up and sees the years that have passed in smile lines on Eddie’s face, in a single gray hair that Eddie’s probably keeping because it makes him look cool. Steve hasn’t found any gray hairs yet, but he’s only 25. Eddie always said Wayne went completely gray by 30, so his genetics wouldn’t be as kind to him. Steve kinda hopes he’s right. Eddie would be beautiful with gray curls.
“Just like I said: heart on your sleeve,” Eddie whispers, leaning in until his lips are just barely brushing against Steve’s.
He’s waiting for Steve, to see if he’ll finally give in after years of near-silence, after whatever flirty and semi-codependent friendship they had before Eddie left to be a rock star.
Steve’s spent enough time waiting, and he thinks Eddie probably has, too.
His lips press against Eddie’s, sure of their movements despite the anxiety crawling through his chest and the unfamiliar taste of him on his tongue.
It’s full of hunger even though it only lasts a few seconds. Steve’s wanted this, wanted him, for so long, he puts everything he has into this moment. If it’s all he gets, he wants it to be perfect.
“You’re kissing me like you’re sending me off to war,” Eddie says when they’ve caught their breath.
“Feels like I am,” Steve admits, corner of his mouth turning up in a sad smile. “At least a little.”
“I think the odds of me dying on stage are probably extremely slim,” Eddie laughs. Steve doesn’t laugh with him. “Steve? What’s wrong?”
Steve pulls himself away, ignoring the way his chest aches at the separation. He’ll have to get used to that when Eddie leaves.
“You have a whole new life. You’re a rock star, Ed. I can’t force my feelings on you now.”
“Who said you forced anything on me?”
“I made you apple pie!” Steve exclaims, pulling away so he can breathe again. Having Eddie in his space alters his brain chemistry, maybe his DNA. “I bought all your favorite things so I could try to convince you I’m worth staying for, even though I can’t compare to going on a world tour with your band. I cleaned out the guest room and made sure I put your favorite shampoo in the shower as if you would even notice that. As if it would be enough to keep you around.”
Eddie steps closer, but Steve steps back.
“Your life is different now. It’s good. I wouldn’t add anything to it, and I don’t know why I even tried to make it seem like I would.”
Eddie steps closer, and there’s nowhere for Steve to go. He’s boxed in against the counter, and Eddie’s face is red with anger. He’s not scared– he could never be scared of Eddie– but he does swallow around a lump in his throat and try to take a deep breath to calm his racing heart.
“My life is different now, you’re right about that. My life doesn’t even feel like mine most days. I belong to fans, and the guys, and the record label. But you know what does feel like mine?” Eddie leans in close enough that his breath is hot against Steve’s face. “How much I love you. How much I have always loved you. You’ve always felt like mine, Steve.”
It’s a hell of a confession, and definitely not what Steve expected from this visit.
The Wayne voice in his head decides to speak again. Except this time, it’s something he’s said to Steve in person before.
He’s surrounded by people, but he seems pretty lonely. Kinda like he still needs a certain someone.
Steve’s brows crinkle as he thinks about the words Wayne said after a phone call with Eddie during the first part of his first tour nearly two years ago. The words were accompanied by a look that Steve has since come to recognize as his sad puppy look.
The same one Eddie’s giving him now.
Steve can’t help it; He laughs.
“You and Wayne could bottle that look and sell it to people who need someone to feel bad for ‘em,” Steve says. He cups Eddie’s cheek in his palm, rubs his thumb against the angry red that turns into a flushed pink. “I don’t know how you could love me-”
“Steve-”
“But!” Steve interrupts. “I know you wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t mean it. And you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to be. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t have taken the time to come back here at all, let alone stay with me. I won’t understand it, but I’ll believe it.”
“That was easier than Wayne said it would be,” Eddie’s smile grows slowly, lighting up his face and the room.
“He’s been buttering me up for years,” Steve shrugs.
“Doing all the hard work, more like,” Eddie leans forward, rests his forehead against Steve’s. “He must’ve been sick of hearing me yearn for your love.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “You know, you could have come back sooner. You didn’t have to wait until I was convinced I’d be alone forever.”
“And you could have called me to let me know I could visit sooner.” Eddie pokes the tip of his nose with his finger, smirking as he leans away to look back at the apple pie on the oven. “Especially if I could’ve been having apple pie on every break.”
“It might not even be good,” Steve says as he wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist.
“Is there vanilla ice cream?” Eddie pecks his lips.
“Mhm,” Steve kisses his cheek. “And you can have some if you promise to sit down and tell me everything about the band.”
“You wanna waste time hearing about Gareth drooling over every woman who looks his way? We could be making love on the couch.”
Steve raises a brow. “We won’t be making love anywhere but my bed. And it won’t be until we’ve talked more.”
“Fiiiine,” Eddie rolls his eyes, but grabs for the pie cutter on the counter. “Cut me a piece of pie and I’ll do my best to resist taking all your clothes off.”
“I never said you couldn’t do that,” Steve grabs the pie cutter.
“So I can take your clothes off?”
“Shirt only. And after pie…we’ll talk.”
“I thought after pie we’d be done talking.”
“How long are you staying?” Steve asks as he puts the slice of pie onto the plate and hands it to Eddie.
“Four days.”
Steve tilts his head side to side, considering what he can accomplish in four days.
In any other situation, he might be worried about how quickly he throws off his shirt. In any other situation, he would probably insist on talking to Robin before throwing his heart on the plate next to the scoop of ice cream Eddie just put next to his steaming slice of pie. In any other situation, he would take things slow and get to know rock star Eddie who left Hawkins to be someone.
But he’s finding that he’s okay with speed-running things.
He’s got a new perspective on Eddie’s visit, and maybe a new perspective on what their future will look like.
Steve drops his pants. Eddie’s eyes widen.
“Eat your pie. We’ll talk while we make love on the couch.”
185 notes · View notes
vanyzvat · 3 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
A DAMN GOOD ACTOR
You're a cookie that's been sent on a mission to the Spire Of Deceit, with the intent to get close to Shadow Milk Cookie and break his heart. The plan is to leave him confused and vulnerable, so your side can have even the slightest advantage when facing him during the upcoming war against the Beasts.
Surprisingly, you've done your job of playing pretend rather well (Your acting skills may or may not have improved thanks to him, ironically), and eventually, on one particular day, when push comes to shove...
You complete your task.
Potential Warnings: Shadow Milk Cookie is kinda genuinely obsessed with you in this, but it's pretty tame compared to some of the other stuff out there.
Shadow Milk Cookie's always loved to have all eyes on him. He's a performer, that's what he does, and he's very good at it! And he knows that, too.
So when you caught his attention, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary for him. Just like everyone else that had come across his path, you didn't mean anything to him at first.
...
Keyword "at first".
But then he saw something within you.
Something you've wanted to keep hidden, and was planning to take to the grave when you inevitably crumbled.
Something darker, something sinister.
A feeling of desire, of longing for something more, to be something more. Something more than this.
So he recruited you! Duh.
...And then paid attention to you.
And then you became closer.
And then you became inseparable.
You knew how he felt- At least, you've started to suspect it. But he was never open about it, of course he wasn't.
So, on a particular day, when you finally felt the time was right... You practically cornered him for answers.
...
"Be honest for once in your life," You know you're asking for a lot.
"Am I being like Candy Apple Cookie to you?"
He lets out a laugh.
"Come on now. All this time together and you still don't trust me?"
You tilted your head, smiling as you raised a brow.
"You're not just an ordinary cookie to me, you know!" He flew over to you, making eye contact as he turned himself upside down in the air.
"Oh? How come?"
...And he suddenly cringes, backing off.
He knows what you're trying to pull. You're trying to get him to say what he likes about you.
"..."
No. Not this time. You're so close to completing your mission, you just needed that one final push.
You grab him by his ruffle collar, yanking him close again.
And for once, he's... Frozen, looking at you with a confused smile? What's, uh, what's happening...?
"How do you really feel about me, Shadow Milk Cookie?"
Ah.
He remains flabbergasted for a few more seconds, before his expression shifts to anger.
"Let go of me." He demanded.
"Answer me." You shot back.
Why isn't it WORKING. Why aren't you letting go. Even with the most serious, anger-filled expression he can muster, it does nothing to you.
You're like Pure Vanilla Cookie sometimes. He tries EVERY trick in the book on you, and yet, nothing quite WORKS. Maybe it does for a while, but you're always adapting.
It's a reaction once, then a small one, and then none at all.
That's another one of the many reasons he feels like he can't get enough of you.
He'd never admit it, of course, but perhaps a part of him was obsessed- He always had his eyes on you.
You gave him a challenge.
He wanted to terrify you, to make you laugh, to make you frown.
He hated you, he loved you.
Whereas everyone else praised or feared his influence, his power- You made him feel... Small. UGH.
You made him feel like nothing, but also everything.
After a while of you just staring at each other's eyes, he's forced to teleport to get out of your grasp.
"You really want to know?"
You gave him a singular nod.
God, you're driving him INSANE.
"FINE."
He rolls his eyes.
Suddenly, the two of you are on the top of the spire. He's leaning his back against one of the pillars, his hair dangling off the edge as he has his arms crossed.
His face? Unamused.
...
But then he hovers up to you, quicker than you can comprehend. He's flying above you as he's in a lying position, barely enough to look down on you.
You're looking at him, but not quite.
Your eyes are looking up at him, but your head remained low.
He sucked in the air through his teeth, his lying position turning to him standing, still hovering above the ground.
Still looking down at you.
He turns around for a moment, mumbling under his breath in frustration before turning back to face you.
He reaches out and gently places a hand on your cheek, causing you to raise a brow again.
His expression- It's a mix of a lot of things.
Reluctance, disgust, maybe even the tiniest hint of nervousness.
Time feels like it has stopped.
Moreso than usual.
He knows he's going to regret this... But what's life without a little bit of risk, right?!
He leans in, raising your chin up, then finally closes the gap between you.
...
It only lasts for a second.
And then he pulls away, cowardly backing off again.
You're silent. WHY ARE YOU SILENT.
He's looking at you.
He's waiting for a reply.
An action.
Something, please give him SOMETHING.
Say something, do something, ANYTHING.
PLEASE.
...
But you only keep looking at him.
Looking at him with that same blank stare.
And he...
...
He sinks into himself.
Oh.
Ow.
He practically deflates like a balloon, slowly moving downwards until his feet hit the ground.
Ow ow ow.
Ow, he doesn't like this.
Ouchy.
This is not a good type of pain.
He knew this pain- The pain of bitter truth. The pain he founded this entire new world in order to avoid.
Is this what it feels like to get your heart broken? To get rejected?
He's never gotten rejected before.
Well, that's debatable...
But never like this.
Never under these circumstances. He knew that if he said the right things and acted the right way, he could get what he wanted from anyone else.
But he doesn't want "anyone else", he wants YOU.
Was he so stupid for trying to use honesty for once? You ASKED.
What does he say now? That you'll regret this? It's never worked. And he doesn't want you to hate him, so.
Ugh, why does he even CARE.
WHY does he bother.
...
You rolled his eyes at his state.
God, he looks like a sad wet cat. This idiot...
...
But you had to do what you had to do.
You take a step forward, and for once, he doesn't notice. Seems like he's too caught up in his wittle feelies to quite look at you.
You take another step.
And then another.
And another.
Until you're in front of him again.
"Shadow Milk Cookie."
He's suddenly alert again.
"...Yeeees?"
He forces the usual facade, smiling.
But you're used to his personality just shifting like this to disguise everything underneath.
You know now.
"Did you..."
"You didn't actually think I could ever fall in love with you, right?"
"Your feelings were just another lie, right?"
Owie... . . . . .
"That's not a very nice joke, y'know!"
A joke where he's the punchline.
Karma.
"Good. I hope it hurts. Now you know how you make everyone else feel."
...He doesn't say anything.
Usually he has a comeback for this.
Little ol' him? Playing mean jokes? Never!
...
But not this time.
"I thought- I thought..."
"You thought you knew me, didn't you. So much for being the Master Of Deceit..."
You chuckled.
"How dare you" He wishes he'd say.
But he doesn't.
Deep down, he had a hunch. He wasn't THAT stupid.
But he was hoping.
Hoping for that one little chance.
...Okay, maybe he was stupid.
And now look at him.
Now, he's the silly one.
What is this.
Why does this feel different?
It doesn't make SENSE for this to feel different.
Those under his influence praised him all the time. His every move, hell, even his every breath- There wasn't a SECOND they didn't love him.
You're doing something- You're doing something to him. No, you've done something to him.
He's confused, vulnerable.
...
And your job here is done.
"That's my cue to leave."
"Goodbye, Shadow Milk Cookie."
He needs to follow you.
Why isn't he following you.
Why can't he MOVE.
He can't just let you go, you're too important.
He needs to get revenge on those who put you up to this.
He needs to get you back.
You need to be his. You have to. You...
He began clapping. Who is he clapping for? You, obviously! You're the star of the show!
"Bravo, bravo!"
"What a performance, tricking the Master Of Deceit himself! What an actor, I must say!"
He's gotten used to this by now.
He had a role to play, and he played it well.
But you knew you had gotten to him.
And that was all you wanted.
You walk away, descending down the stairs, leaving him cheering for you at the top of the spire.
Eventually, the clapping ceases.
And he exhales through his teeth.
First Pure Vanilla Cookie walked away with half his Soul Jam, and now you walked away with half his heart.
He shuts his eyes, gripping at his hair and pulling in frustration. Oh, how he wants to scream and shout.
He feels something escape and roll down his cheek. But is he going to address it? NO. Of course not.
He had done SUCH a good job building these literal and metaphorical walls so NO ONE could reach him.
But you did. Despite it all.
He can't POSSIBLY be this weak, right?
He's a Beast!
He's the world's finest playwright, poet, director, actor, clown- And, of course, everyone's most beloved trickster!
He's Shadow Milk Cookie!
...
And you really are a damn good actor.
229 notes · View notes
unpretty · 1 day ago
Note
i said it in my original tags but i want to talk out of my ass and say that one place that a lot of current romantasy falls short for me is that it ends up being written by people who mostly read other romantasy without going back to the original genres of romance and fantasy. it's like a 'learn the rules before you can break them' kind of thing. you have all these magical macguffins to hit the tropes but can you make me believe that these characters have chemistry without that? is there chemistry, or did you tell me they're fated mates and now i'm supposed to assume this fight is sexy? does the fantasy aspect exist for anything aside from the magical macguffins? i'm not going to throw stones from inside my house made of worldbuilding designed to make all my fetishes happen, but the really fun part is when the lore spins out of control and you end up really going in depth on linguistic anthropology things that aren't relevant to the makeouts.
and the other thing is that you can't really sub in fanfic for this. plenty of fanfic takes characters from other genres and plops them into romance, but it's not the same. a good romance novel says, "here are two characters. you may know their archetypes, but you don't know them. you are going to get to know them, and you are going to love them, and you are going to want them to love each other, and when they love each other you are going to be happy for them". i love a rakish duke. when a man who's never had to do his own laundry is slutty as fuck that's my shit. but you still have to make me like him. you can take that archetype and make a guy who fucking sucks. most fanfic will not impart to you any knowledge about how to make a reader like a guy from scratch. you already know that guy. that's the whole point. fanfic with as much character building as an original work is the exception, not the rule.
the whole reason i get catty about fics that just make a different guy is that... you've made a different guy. i don't know who this guy is and i don't like him, and you haven't bothered trying to make me like him, because you slapped another guy's nametag on him like a cheat code. it's cool if you did make me like this new guy, but why is he wearing that other guy's nametag if no other aspect of him is present?
read the genres you want to write, obviously, but there's a reason the shitty comphet romantic subplot is a cliche. it's because romance is its own skillset, and if you try to fit romance in your thriller when you only read thrillers it's probably going to be the weakest part. if you want an ensemble cast then chemistry between characters is important regardless of whether they're going to fuck about it.
How did you get so good at writing??? Did you take classes? I feel like you should get paid all the money for this! (I subscribe to your website!)
after i dropped out of high school i found a torrent of like 5GB of OCRd romance novels and i read like 3 romance novels a day for a while
read enough romance novels and you will realize that they live or die entirely on technical skill. if you are new to romance novels then even bad ones can dazzle you with novelty but by the time you are on your 30th historical fake engagement between a bluestocking and a rakish duke you can grade them and you know when they've failed. when two books have what should be the same main characters hitting the same plot beats, but one of those books is delightful and the other fucking sucks, you learn some things. some books are bad and still delightful. other books are good but they just don't hit. you start to see the seams in the bad ones. 'oh, this is a weird out of character moment because she wanted to have the kabedon moment and didn't know how to get there'. 'she didn't want the ust to end but couldn't think of a better reason than this deus ex cockblock.' that kind of thing.
you could probably do this with other genres but i like romance because the plot is two people fall in love. that's it. everything else is set dressing. if you can figure out how to make that work you can carry it over into whatever other genre you feel like. mysteries would give you a different skillset around plotting that i don't have.
anyway after that i wrote a lot.
1K notes · View notes
taddymason · 23 hours ago
Text
Thinking about Jay’s role in the team, and I know I’ve mentioned before that Jay’s main themes are family, and that if given the choice between his close circle of loved ones and the greater good he’ll choose the former, but also another thing that sets him apart from everyone else is the reason why he’s a ninja. With characters like Zane and Cole it’s mentioned multiple times that their purpose is to take care of others, those who can’t protect themselves. Nya and Kai also have this duty/responsibility theme that makes a lot of sense considering the circumstances they both grew up in, and that they both have in common that they want to prove themselves at first and then focus on the role that “they’re supposed to” play (aka; Kai accepting that his role isn’t to be the green ninja and that his duty is to protect Lloyd, and Nya accepting to stop being the samurai X which was her way of proving herself even without being a ninja and in the end becoming the water ninja). Lloyd has a mix of all of this because he's constantly the chosen one in every situation since he was 10, and it's all he knows as a way of life, but back to the topic:
Jay has nothing to do with this.
And I'm not saying that Jay doesn't care about helping people, or anything like that. It's just that it's very interesting that he's the furthest away from having this motivation to be a ninja. Even Wu, in one of the books, confirms that Jay in the pilots saw the opportunity to be a ninja as an excuse to have exciting adventures after a rather humble life in which Jay was going from one hobby to another.
And while the other roles in the team always come back to the theme of protecting others and all that, the reason why Jay is chosen instead is because he's a dreamer. In the flashback and the Ninja of Lightning book Wu explains that the reason he chose Jay was precisely because he had this ability to think outside the box and motivate others with his sense of humor. In almost every first season there is an instance where Jay quickly adapts to a situation just by seeing the other side of things that others don't see, and having this amount of skills: He's the one who discovers how to do spinjitzu, who finds the temple of light, who adapts first to space/digiverse, who does best in the Ninja Roll episode, etc. It's not that Jay is the smartest or strongest, but give him anything and the guy, in some unconventional way, will try to take advantage of it and build a spaceship out of literal scrap metal.
There aren't really many examples of this in the later seasons, BUT, it's worth noting that Wu also chose him because Jay knows how to motivate others with his sense of humor. And what does he do in S12 when he's separated from the others and trapped in a video game? He makes a resistence to oppose Unagami and inspire people who were also trapped in that game.
With all that being said, I just wanted to point out how distinct Jay's role on the team is and his motivation for being a ninja in the first place. It's not like he has this heroic duty, or necessarily wants to do justice, he's just a guy with a normal life who wanted to have exciting adventures and tap into this creativity of his and do some good in the process if it ended up working out. Which is sad with how things are right now but whatever…
118 notes · View notes
stevie-petey · 2 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
i lied
The air is sweet between you, tender, though there’s a homesickness to it that neither of you can shake.  “Do you think we were doomed from the start?” You ask Peter as you continue to look up at the stars. You can’t take your eyes off of them. They’ve finally decided to spare you their beauty, their final dance just for you and Peter.  You feel him shrug. You’re both drunk and open and vulnerable. 
Summary: you and peter were drunk when you first fell in love at the edge of a rooftop. it was always going to end this way.
Rating: mature, slight cursing, suggestive themes but no real smut
Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, underaged drinking, mentions of burns and scars, reader has boobs
Words: 14k
Before you swing in: who wouldve thought that itd take me over a year to write my first peter fic ?? me ! anyways, here she is and she was inspired by an absolutely evil playlist that my beloved val (@southelroy) made for me specifically to write to. the songs are very sad so pls blame her ! please enjoy, this one is long n bittersweet <3
-
Sticky July air clings to Peter’s skin. The dampness of it leaves everyone else’s skin slick with sweat as their bodies knock against his. Music reverberates the apartment walls and Peter’s senses are going haywire.
He never attends parties for this very reason. They’re an overstimulating nightmare full of people who make him want to scream. 
Peter’s skin vibrates uncomfortably as he’s surrounded by a haze of drunken teenagers and sloppy movements. His eardrums sting when a girl next to him screeches something about needing another drink. The back of his fingers burn when said girl drops her new drink and he finds himself catching it before it can spill. 
“Woah,” the girl giggles, breath reeking of alcohol as she presses against Peter and paws at the drink he’s saved. “My hero.”
All Peter offers her is a tight lipped smile. The flashing of the lights are making him nauseous and he really doesn’t understand why he allowed Ned to drag him here tonight. He hands the girl her drink and shoves his way through the crowd, anxious to find his friend before he has a complete meltdown.
In the time it takes to find Ned, the guy is already incredibly drunk, and Peter has to take several deep breaths to calm himself down. 
“I thought you said you wouldn’t drink tonight,” is all he says to Ned, ducking his head down so that he can be heard over the music. 
Ned’s head almost knocks into Peter’s and he gives him a wide, messy smile that matches his glassy eyes and slurred speech. “Peter! What’re you doin’ here?”
“You dragged me here, remember?”
“No way!” Ned laughs gleefully, as if this is all some silly instance that warrants amusement. “That’s-that’s crazy, man. You’re like. Super strong! How’d I drag you?”
Peter runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “By guilt tripping me with us going to different schools soon, Ned. You made a whole deal about it.”
“Wait,” Ned’s eyes widen. “We’re goin’ to different schools?” 
“Alright, that’s it.” Peter grabs the teen’s shoulders and forces him to look in his eyes. He knows that whatever he’s going to say to Ned will be long forgotten tomorrow, but he doesn’t care. “We’re going home. This is stupid–”
“Peter!” Ned groans his name, long and child-like. He would stomp his foot if he could, but in his drunken state all he can manage is a slight wobbly step and pout. “We jus’ got here. Loosen up! Someone brought this yummy pink flavored drink and it’s–” he hiccups, startling himself, before continuing with his ramble. “It’s really good.”
“I don’t want to drink anything that’s ‘pink’ flavored.” Peter tries to push Ned through the crowd and out the front door, but the tiny apartment is overflowing with people and it’s damn near impossible to even take a step. 
Cursing under his breath, Peter looks around wearily. “This is definitely a fire hazard.”
“The obscene amount of alcohol or the sheer volume of people?” A voice from behind him says. “Either way, this apartment is definitely a fire hazard.”
Peter spins around, heart beating in his chest. For years now he’s relied on his senses to tell him where everyone is around him, but now, as he stands in front of a girl he’s never seen before, he’s disarmed. 
“Then again, it seems unfair to disqualify the fact that this building is in no way up to the city’s fire code. I mean, did you see the broken sprinkler system in the hallway?” In your hand is a bright blue solo cup, its color vibrant against the dark. You bring it to your lips, eyes never leaving Peter’s, and smile from above the brim as you drink. 
You’re waiting for him to say something, Peter realizes. 
“I, uh. Didn’t.” He breathes out, overwhelmed already with your presence. You’re standing really close to him now, almost as if you recognize him by the way you’re so familiar with his space, yet Peter is sure he would remember a face like yours in every lifetime he came across it.
“Not a man of words, are you?” You say, stepping even closer to him. 
Peter swallows heavily. His heart is racing and he forgets that he’s supposed to be taking Ned home. Distantly he wonders where his friend has slipped away to, but for now, with you in front of him, all Peter can think about is how strongly the scent of your perfume invades his senses in a dizzying manner. 
“I–” He can’t breathe. You’re so close and there are bodies everywhere and Peter is convinced that this is some type of purgatory because he’s in hell where your face resembles an angel that the gospels wail over. 
“It’s okay,” you step even closer to Peter, and now he can smell the woody undertones of your perfume. He has to stop himself from inhaling too deeply. “I can do all the talking for us. I’m Y/N, and no, I don’t come here often. This is my first time, actually.”
“I-I’m Peter,” he manages to laugh, small and amused as he unravels before you. “Do people really use that line on you?”
“Hello, Peter.” You smile even wider saying his name. “And you’d be surprised. It’s awful, so I figured I’d spare you the embarrassment.”
“Seems you’ve saved me, then.” Peter isn’t sure where this comes from or why talking to you puts him at ease. Your voice almost seems to dull the roar in his head. 
He can’t get enough of it. 
“Why don’t you repay me by getting me another drink?” This close, Peter can see flecks of glitter that line your eyelids. The movement of light behind you rains incandescent blues and reds across them. 
“Well?” You tilt your head at him, expecting an answer, and he knows he’s already lost. 
Peter’s hand lands on your waist. The flesh there is exposed, your shirt having ridden up slightly during your conversation. You’re warm, soft. Peter can’t help but squeeze the skin beneath his fingers and when you shiver, his heartbeat finally settles. 
“Let’s get you that drink.”
– 
Peter has spent a lot of time on rooftops. It’s a part of the job description, hanging around the tops of deserted buildings as he patrols. Senses on high alert. Waiting for a scream or a lonely passerby to trail home and ensure they remain safe. 
On every rooftop Peter has been on, he’s always felt a sense of unease. Even with his webbing and ability to stick to surfaces, he’s never been able to get past the feeling that one day he will slip and there won’t be anything to catch him. He would simply fall; there wouldn’t be anything he could do to save himself. 
Yet tonight, drunk and infatuated with you, Peter is on a rooftop dangling over the edge with a security he’s never felt before. 
“God, I hate rich people.” 
Peter’s head turns to you, his movements slow and messy. He’s lost count of how many drinks you’ve both had. “Why’s that?”
Your hands motion towards the sky, your movements also uncontrolled and childish. “The stars, dude. They’re all gone and it’s all their fault.”
Peter laughs, looking up as he lays on the ground with you next to him. Originally the plan had been to sneak up onto the rooftop and lay down together and stargaze. In your drunken states, it had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. Romantic, even.
Both of you forgot that you live in New York and that the stars always remain hidden behind clouds and smoke. 
“I don’t think they deserve all the credit,” Peter lazily responds. The July heat makes the night air thick and warm, but the alcohol in his system makes everything more tolerable. Especially with you next to him. “I mean, didn’t society doom the stars from the start?”
“That sounds very philosophical,” your head lands on his chest, and he curls into you. “And normally I love philosophical-ness, but I’m drunk and you smell good and it’s making my head all fuzzy.”
“Fuzzy?”
“Fuzzy.” You’re giggling now and Peter finds himself giggling with you. 
One of your hands rests against your chest and Peter reaches for it, the itch of being closer to you driving him insane. His fingers interlock through yours and your palm is flush against his and Peter thinks his hands were made to hold yours.
You hum at the contact, moving your body against his. You link one of your legs over Peter’s and angle your body so that you’re practically laying on him and his heart thumps every time you move. 
“‘Doomed from the start’,” you murmur Peter’s earlier words, lips dragging across his t-shirt. “Think everythin’ is like that?”
The numbness of the alcohol suddenly wears off. Peter stiffens slightly at your question and every cell in his body constricts. The reaction far exceeds the question, he knows this, but he’s reminded of everything he was trying to forget tonight. 
In a lot of ways, Peter does think his life was doomed from the start. The loss he’s experienced, responsibility he never asked for, an entire city to look after. All before the age of fifteen. 
“Peter?” 
He doesn’t look at you, and you think he hasn’t even heard your soft questioning. When you first saw him lost in the crowd, it had been his naivety that drew you to him in the first place. How delicate Peter’s face was, the way his eyes seemed to hold lifetimes unbeknownst to anyone.
Now, staring up at him after his body has gone cold from your mindless question, all that you see is a hardness in Peter’s face. Stone-like and secluded. A hurt and loneliness that sculptors yearn to replicate. 
“Is everythin’ okay?” Your hand comes up to his face, gently coaxing him to look at you. “Did I lose you over there?”
The tender way you hold his face rattles Peter’s ribcage. He exhales shakily, shyly, and to ease the worry that’s creased your brows, he places a kiss on your palm. “I’m fine… Still here.”
It isn’t enough for you, though. “Did my question offend you?”
“No,” he’s quick to reassure you, kissing your palm once again. “No, ‘course not. Just… caught me by surprise. That's all.”
“Too philosophical?” 
The adorable way your eyebrows scrunch in concentration lessens the remaining sting in Peter’s chest. He draws you in, wraps you around him so that he can feel all of you. “Not at all. I don’t think everythin’ is doomed from the start. Do you?”
Your head falls back against his chest. He feels you exhale deeply, yawn, before wrapping your arms tighter around him. “No,” you say sleepily. “I like to think this isn’t doomed.”
Peter pokes your nose. “What isn’t doomed?”
Your smile melts into his bones. It’s mischievous and teasing, holding the vague words to your chest, and you don’t let him in on your secret. Instead, you admire how pretty Peter looks under the moonlight. 
“What’re you starin’ at?” He asks you, voice hoarse and quiet. 
Your eyes roam the length of his neck, down the angle of his nose, across the moles that line his face and the eyelashes that fan his eyes. They’re a warm, deep brown. Almost black in the dim lighting. Youthful, trusting, yet guarded. 
Alcohol blurs your vision and yet you know that Peter is the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. 
“I kinda like your face,” you breathe out, hands coming up to cup his cheek. 
Peter leans into the touch with an almost embarrassing air of vulnerability. You’re warm. He forgets what the two of you were even talking about in the first place. “You like my face?”
You hum. “It’s charming. You’re charming.”
His face burns from your words. Something within him screams at him to run, to make up an excuse and leave you and the blurred lines alone. But he can’t. He finds that he doesn’t want to ever leave you alone. 
“Handsome,” your breath fans his face now, lips ghosting over the edges of his cheek. “Really handsome.” 
Peter doesn’t breathe. He’s worried that if he does, he’ll scare you away.
“I like your face,” your entire body rests on top of his. Your shirt rides up again and Peter has to bite his lip at the urge to grab the exposed skin. You notice this and you press your face against the base of his neck. “It’s a good face.”
“Yeah?” He’s overwhelmed with the possibility of you.
“Can I kiss it?” You ask him sweetly, honeyed and warm. You’ve never kissed anyone before. No one has ever left you wondering how their lips would feel against yours until tonight. 
Peter swallows hard. His ribcage threatens to crack open. He’s never kissed anyone either, but he really, really wants to try with you. You’re staring up at him with open and wide eyes and it’s over before it’s even really begun. 
He grips the back of your neck and you taste like the sweet strawberry daiquiri he’s poured for you all night. The taste of it emboldens Peter, craving more of it, and his hesitancy morphs into something deeper, darker. He holds your face between his hands and drinks from your lips as you take everything from him. 
The kiss is a combination of every contrasting conjunction Peter can think of. Rushed and slow. Soft and hard. The kiss is perfect in a way that only something messy and needy can create. 
Your hands find their way under Peter’s shirt, nails scratching the sensitive skin kept hidden. He shivers, kisses you harder, swallowing the laughter that pours from you. The sound of it makes Peter’s head spin. He squeezes your ass, creating a dizzying pressure against his jeans, and soon your teasing laughter turns a breathy moan.
“There you are,” he sighs against your open mouth. He rolls his hips up, hisses when you land right where he needs you. “Stay right there for me, sweetheart.”
You muffle a moan against Peter’s neck, biting at any skin you can reach. “I’ll stay,” you whisper over and over again; a promise that won’t be recognized until it’s broken.
The rest of the night is spent exploring each other’s skin and drawing sweet sounds from parted mouths. In the early morning sunlight, something sacred is formed. When your head lands against Peter’s chest for the final time that night, the finality of it is lighter than the weight of everything else that sits within it. 
Neither of you knows who ends up falling asleep first. Peter thinks it was you, he remembers playing with the strands of your hair for a while before his eyelids became too heavy. You swear that it was him, remembering the steady heartbeat beneath you slowing to a quiet rhythm. 
Regardless, when the two of you do wake up the next morning, you greet the other with laughter and teasing. There is no awkwardness from the night before; only something delicate. 
“Thank you for sacrificing your back for me,” your arms stretch above your head, the muscles pulling taut. Peter can hear something crack and you wince under your breath. “I obviously already have enough back problems as it is.”
“Who said I willingly served as your pillow last night?” Peter tries to fix his hair, though he knows it’s no use. “You could’ve tricked me into it.”
“I’m trying to praise you here, Peter.”
“Horrible mistake on your part.” 
You laugh, and the way you do so is still as open and carefree as Peter remembers it being from the night before. His chest warms, everything is so easy with you. Gentle and lovely. 
Before he can convince himself not to, Peter grabs your hand and kisses the back of it, and in doing so, he laces his fingers through yours. In the daylight, he sees how pink your cheeks get when you blush. 
“C’mon,” he stands up, arms instinctively wrapping around you to help you stand. “I’m sure whoever owns this rooftop will kill us if we stay up here any longer.”
You roll your eyes, though you accept Peter’s help and allow him to guide you back downstairs. “As if Veronica’s landlord even remembers that he owns this building.”
“Veronica?”
You frown at Peter. “Veronica Haynes?” When he shrugs helplessly at you, your frown deepens. “The girl who threw the party? The one we literally attended last night?”
“No idea who she is.” He’s sheepish, desperately hoping that he isn’t insulting a girl who might be your friend. “I-I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry, buddy.” You pat Peter’s shoulder sarcastically. “I’m just really confused as to how you even got into the party if you don’t know the host.”
He opens the building’s door, revealing the summer morning heat as the two of you start walking down the block. “My friend Ned invited me. Said he knew a girl who attended Rockefeller High through his AV club who was throwing a party. Guess that was Veronica?”
“AV club,” you snort. “Bringing people together since the dawn of nerds.”
“Hey, I used to be in the AV club.”
“And my point still stands.”
Peter shoves you lightly, causing you to stumble into him, and he laughs when you shriek in terror. You whip around to face him, eyes alight, before he holds his hands up in surrender. “Easy, now. I was just defending my honor.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you knock your shoulder against his. “Otherwise we’d have some serious problems.”
Peter sticks his tongue out at you, throwing an arm over your shoulders and pulling you close. He’s sure May is expecting him home soon, but he doesn’t want to say goodbye to you. 
“So,” Peter says, kissing the top of your head. “Where am I taking you?”
“Ideally? France. Realistically? Home.”
“Home I can do,” he sways your bodies side to side, zigzagging across the sidewalk playfully. He tries to ignore the disappointment of walking you home. “I’ll need an address though, sweetheart.”
Even though Peter is a stranger with a last name that is unknown to you, you tell him where you live. He walks with you the entire eight blocks. Not once are either of you quiet. Reminiscent of the night before, you talk about everything and nothing as his arms remain around you. 
Peter asks about where you went to school, how Rockefeller compared to Midtown. You ask him what his favorite word is, if he’s ever regretted a haircut that he couldn’t hide. The two of you gossip about shared classmates and the colleges they’ve chosen, and inevitably you realize that come fall, you’ll both be attending Empire State University. 
“Guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other, then.” You’re at your apartment building now, though you linger, not wanting to let go of Peter just yet.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He raises an eyebrow at you, not wanting to let go of you, either. 
“Never said it was.”
Peter smirks at you. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Your nose brushes his before you kiss him. Unlike last night, this time he tastes slightly salty, earthy. His lips are chapped, rough around the edges, and you can’t get enough of it. But you have to leave, soon your mom will be wondering where you are.
You finally pull away, lips tingling. “I’ll be waiting.”
Peter smiles wide, and unable to help it, you kiss him one more time, then two more, then three, before you’re lost in it all over again. 
“Just…” Pulling away again, you look at Peter and find the hesitancy in his eyes has returned. “Don’t make me wait too long, okay?
But almost as if you’ve imagined it, the hesitancy is gone. Instead, Peter smiles wide at you. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
– 
When Peter first revealed to May that he’d been accepted to every college he applied to, she hugged him tightly and rambled about how proud she was for five straight minutes. 
Then, when he told her that he’d be choosing Empire State over MIT in order to continue being Spider-Man, May hit the back of his head. 
“Patrolling every night while balancing chem labs and papers?” She had laughed right in Peter’s face. “You’ll be wishing you were dead before the first semester even ends.”
Unfortunately, as usual, May had been right. 
“Drink up,” a steaming mug gets placed in front of Peter. Its warmth seeps into the air and tickles his face, lazily coaxing his exhausted eyes to open. 
You wink playfully at him when you see that he’s finally opened his eyes. Setting down your own mug, you join Peter at the kitchen table. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”
“Guessing I fell asleep at the table again?” Peter rubs his eyes, yawning. He isn’t surprised that you’ve let yourself into his dorm. He gave you a key the same day you gave him his. 
After spending the night on the rooftop in July, the two of you became inseparable. Dinner excursions, museum hopping, movie nights at your apartment, anything to stay together in the wonderfully intoxicating world you built together. 
Nothing changed when school began. If anything, the close proximity to one another and shared classes only made the two of you more unbearable. You joined the same clubs, befriended the same classmates, and now spend every waking second with the other. 
“Found you face down when I walked in, so.” You laugh at him, flicking his ear. “We’ve been in school for a month and you’re already falling apart.”
“Don’t remind me.” Peter drops his head back down onto the table. Peter’s roommate, Jude, is out of town for fall break, so at least he was spared the embarrassment of anyone else seeing him like this. “I just wanted to finish my lab report.”
“And did you?”
“No.” 
Though he really did mean to get work done last night. Peter had gotten back from patrol early specifically so he could at least format the report. Instead, his exhaustion won in the end. Again. For the fifth time this week.
Peter should really start listening to May. 
Your fingers tangle in his hair. “Poor baby,” scratching his scalp, you slowly begin to massage the tense skin. “If only you came to my dorm instead like I so graciously offered.”
“Y/N.” Peter tries to sound stern, but he finds himself sighing into your touch. Your words leak into his bones. He doesn’t want to give them a response, knowing that if he does, then he’ll spend the rest of the morning in bed with you. 
“All I’m saying Peter is that you could’ve spent a sleepless night with me instead of orgo.”
“I told you I couldn’t,” he winces, turning his head to look at you. “I’m convinced my professor is trying to kill me with this report.”
Which isn’t a total lie. He really does think he’s going to die at the hands of organic chemistry one way or another, but truthfully the reason Peter turned you down was because he had to patrol. 
You hum, stroking his cheek. “I’d admire your devotion to academia if it wasn’t so pathetic.”
“Finding me passed out on the kitchen table is a turn off?”
“Utterly so, lovely.”
Peter’s cheeks burn deeply at the pet name. You started using it the second week of sleeping together, whispering it against his ear so softly that he wasn’t sure he had heard you at first. As if he wouldn't be able to hear you over everything. 
You aren’t together. At least, not really. Sure, Peter spends most nights with you on his tongue, but he doesn’t stay. The moment he’s done, the moment you pull apart, he kisses your forehead goodbye and is patrolling thirty minutes later. He doesn’t tell you where he goes, and you don’t ask. 
The space Peter places between you in his life and Spider-Man is deliberate. It’s how it has to be. Even if neither of you are willing to talk about it.
“I’ll make it up to you later,” he grabs your hand and kisses it, silently apologizing for the lies you’re unaware of. “Scout’s honor.”
“Please don’t reference the Boy Scouts while flirting with me.”
Peter laughs and it’s the first time he’s done so since leaving your dorm yesterday afternoon. He tries not to think about how he only ever seems to smile these days because of you. Everything is easier, lighter, with you. 
After finishing your coffee, Peter helps you make breakfast. There isn’t much in his fridge, always inexplicably empty, but it’s become a sort of tradition between you. Quiet mornings at Peter’s dorm, using Jude’s coffee machine and toaster to make misshapen eggs and toast. The two of you work smoothly around the other, working together without saying anything. Synched and harmonious in a way only old habits can create.
“Gwen asked about you again yesterday,” you say, cracking an egg onto the pan Peter has already warmed up. “Says she expects you to be at her party tonight.”
“Is that so?” Peter hums, not really paying attention as he grabs his own egg to crack. 
“Yup.” Hot oil bubbles and move your hand quickly away. “I think she has a small crush on you.”
Peter looks at you, unsure how to gauge what you’ve just said. He finds that you aren’t even looking at him as you say this. Instead your gaze is focused on the eggs, watching to make sure they don’t burn. Your expression is cool, body relaxed. 
“Oh.” He stupidly says. It’s all he can come up with.
It’s not like Peter didn’t suspect Gwen’s feelings for him. He met her through his physics lecture and thought she was interesting enough. Similar to you with cunning eyes and a quick mouth. He had invited her out to coffee with you after class, figuring the two of you would get along, but the tension that followed told Peter that he had made a grave mistake. 
“You sound like I’m holding you at gunpoint, Peter.” You hit your hip against his, laughing. “Relax. I think it’s cute that she thinks has a chance.”
Peter nearly drops the egg he’s holding, making a pathetic squeaking sound when he scrambles to save it. You watch his reaction with interest in your eyes, lips turn upwards in amusement. 
He coughs, hitting his chest to try and dispel everything unspoken that gets stuck in his sternum. “She-uh. She doesn’t?”
You brush your hair over your shoulder, perfume invading Peter’s senses. Neck exposed, you tilt your head to the side and stare up at him. Eyes dark and wanting, Peter’s body draws to you without being commanded to.
When you have him right where you want him, head dangling down to try and kiss you, you whisper. “She doesn’t stand a chance, Peter Parker. Want to know how I know?”
He shivers. “Yes.” Voice weak and wanting. 
You lean in close, lips poised to his ear as if about to tell him a secret, before suddenly the warmth of you is gone. Peter is left grasping at air, and you’re across from him once again, giggling at what you’ve done. Cheeks flushed, pleased with yourself, you go turn the stove’s burner off and grab a plate for you and him to share. 
“That wasn’t funny, sweetheart.” Peter complains, helping you set the table. 
“You’re right.” Setting down the plate, you hand him a fork and sit. “It wasn’t funny. It was hilarious.”
Peter throws a napkin at you and you erupt into giggles again. He sits down next to you and nudges his fork against yours. You retaliate, stealing the piece of egg he’d been trying to get. It goes on like this for a while, eating together and sharing the small plate that has become a battle ground. 
“Do you really think Gwen doesn’t stand a chance?” Peter asks you, shoving the final bite of food towards you. He isn’t sure why he’s brought the conversation back up, or if he even wants to know your answer.
Yet, as you always do, you answer him with a quick thought and clever smile. All you ever seem to do is leave Peter standing at the edge of a cliff, holding his breath, anticipating a fall. 
“Lovely, orgo is going to kill you before she can ever sink her claws into you.”
It isn’t the answer Peter is expecting. There’s a slight sense of disappointment, but it gets masked behind his amusement as he snorts at what you’ve said. 
“Don’t jinx it, please.” Peter kisses your forehead, getting up from the table to start the dishes. “I’ve grown rather fond of annoying you.” 
“I think you’ve just grown fond of me.” You murmur, catching his hand before he can walk away. Your touch burns his skin, the hidden meaning behind your words chokes him. 
You understand Peter in a way that seeps terror into his bones. There are things you don’t know, that you can’t know about him, and yet you seem to always welcome the secrets with a warm embrace. Never questioning them. Never leaving.
It’s this warm embrace that first drew Peter to you. The solace in case he falls. Sometimes he wonders if this acceptance and way of seeing under his skin will hurt you in the end. 
“I’ll wash, you dry?” You spare Peter the trouble of admitting anything to you, grabbing the plate from him and turning the faucet on. 
Your face is neutral, content. As if you haven’t just toed the line. Hands under soapy water, you hum to yourself, the acknowledgement of Peter’s presence gone. 
– 
That night the two of you do end up attending Gwen’s party. Peter finishes his lab report earlier than expected and you end up outlining an essay a week ahead of schedule. 
Gwen’s apartment is huge, a penthouse in Chelsea that is almost impractical for her to have all to herself. All your friends will be there, alcohol is always provided, and the music is bearable. In all honesty, the only downside of attending would be the host herself.
“It’ll be fun.” You straighten Peter’s shirt, delaying the inevitable of ringing the doorbell and seeing Gwen’s delicate face. 
“Famous last words.”
You hit his chest and he clutches his heart, feigning pain. Rolling your eyes at him, you breathe through your nose and finally ring the doorbell. Music can be heard through the thick walls already and you think you can hear someone shriek in excitement when the bell rings. 
“Y/N!” Lily screeches when she opens the door. Suddenly she throws her body around you and Peter has to grab your hips to prevent you and the girl from tumbling over. “We missed you!”
“Hi, Lily.” You wheeze out with a laugh, touched by her sincerity. “How many drinks have you had already?”
“Only two.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m just excited to see you!”
“I’m here too, you know.” Peter playfully glares at the girl. “Not that you seem to care.” 
“Oh, I couldn’t care less,” Lily looks at him, smug. “But you know who might care a bit too much?”
“Is that Peter?” Gwen’s shrill voice cuts through the conversation. The music immediately gets turned down and the click of her heels announces that she’s already on her way over.
Lily sighs. “She’s found you.”
Peter gulps and you laugh at his misery. Looping your arm through Lily’s, you spin her around and leave him to fend for himself. You flee the scene just as Gwen arrives, perfume heavy as she clutches at Peter’s shirt. 
“What took you so long?” She purrs, ignoring you entirely as you leave.
Peter cranes his neck, nervous to let you out of his sight. He only came here tonight because you asked him to, and now you’ve abandoned him to deal with Gwen all alone. 
He should’ve seen it coming, honestly. 
“Y/N and I had some work to finish up.” Explains Peter, forcing a smile on his face. “Actually, she’s the only reason I’m here right now.”
Gwen’s seductive smile drops, quickly replaced with a scowl. With a huff, she turns around, not even bothering to say anything else to him. She leaves just as suddenly as she came, and Peter is left exhaling deeply, longing for you once more. 
He finds you with Lily and Harry, head thrown back mid-laugh as rum spills down your hand. Lily is saying something and Harry is looking at you with fondness in his eyes that makes Peter’s stomach twist. 
“Harry, back me up here.” Lily begs him, forcing him to look away from you. “You agree that Y/N should email her hot TA, right?”
“Sounds pretty unethical to me.” He knocks his drink with yours. “Isn’t he like, twenty-five?”
“Which would mean he has money, Harry.”
“You do realize my last name is Osborn, right? If you’re looking for money–”
Peter rushes to break up the conversation. “Okay!” He wraps a protective arm around you, exchanging a silent glance with Harry. “What are we talking about?”
Lily stifles her knowing laughter with her drink, but you don’t bother to hide your amusement over Peter’s poorly hidden motives. Sending Harry an apologetic smile, you lean against Peter’s body and offer him your drink. 
“According to Lily, I should ask out the TA I was telling you about,” then you point your drink at Harry. “And this one over here is yet again bragging about his rich father.”
He shrugs. “Isn’t that the whole point of generational wealth? Being able to brag about it?”
“Some would say it’s donating money to those who need it.” 
You elbow Peter’s side. “Ignore him. He’s just upset that I’m not giving him enough attention tonight.”
Harry snorts seeing the blood drain from Peter’s face and Lily cackles into her drink. You raise your drink towards them, laughing as well, and all Peter can do is shake his head at you fondly and tug at your side. 
“C’mon, you little menace.” 
“Where’re you taking me?” You try to resist, wanting to spend more time with your friends, but Peter’s hands are warm and his cologne is addicting. You leave without really meaning to, missing the pointed looks Harry and Lily share. 
Peter grabs your hand. “To the rooftop. Apparently you haven’t given me enough attention tonight?”
Your breath catches, stomach alight with desire, and you nearly stumble in your haste to follow after him. Rooftops have become something only for you and him. Whether it be at a party, inside the university’s library, or bored in your dorms, you always end up on a rooftop together. An homage to the night that started it all. 
The second the October air kisses your face, Peter is already kissing yours. 
He inhales you, lips aching and fast against your wanting ones. He doesn’t waste any time having you all to himself. His hands are everywhere, gripping your waist, squeezing your thighs, cupping your breast. Anywhere he can touch, anywhere that elicits soft moans from you that he adores. 
You let Peter do whatever to you. Allowing him to set the pace, to swallow the sounds he draws from your lips, to hold your hips against his and grind. When his hair gets caught in your fingers, every tug causes him to push harder against you. 
Peter uses his senses to find the nearest wall, desperate for more friction. He’s needy, he can’t get enough of you, and the moment your body lands on the wall Peter is moaning against your mouth. 
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he sighs into your neck, your entire body moving with his. He rolls his hips, feels the sweet heat between your thighs that he craves. “Fuck.”
Teeth graze your neck as Peter places his knee where you need it most. You throw your head back, moving even faster against him. He pinches your nipple through the fabric that traps it, sucking your lip with every gasp. 
“Stars,” you tug Peter’s hair harder, forcing him away. “The-the stars.”  
He makes an offended noise. “What?”
“There are stars.” Your heartbeat hasn’t slowed down yet. 
“Okay…?” Peter looks up, confused as to why you’re focusing on the stars when he has you throbbing underneath him. 
But then he sees it. Everywhere, across the entire sky, there are stars. Millions of them, more than he’s ever seen in his entire life. More than New York has ever had enough room for in its smoke infested skies. They glow bright. Winking down at Peter as if to say, about time, right?
“Oh, my God,” Peter can’t believe it. He’s spent endless nights patrolling under a dark sky. “Where’d they come from?”
“This might sound crazy, but I think stars are from space.” Peter pinches your waist in retaliation. You twist your body away, trying to avoid his attack. “Hey!”
“You know what I meant.”
You don’t respond, choosing to rest your arms around Peter’s neck and play with his hair; your eyes trace the sky. “We never did get to stargaze that night.”
The night you met. 
Peter draws you into him. Your head is against his chest. He kisses your forehead, staring up at the sky above as well. “Maybe the stars aren’t so doomed after all.”
He feels your laugh more than he hears it. The earlier desperation is gone. Your touch doesn’t burn Peter’s skin anymore and his lips don’t tempt you to open them. Instead, the two of you relish in the quiet together. A moment alone with only the stars as a witness. 
After the cold has set in and you ask to go inside, Peter finds that he no longer fears the rooftop’s edge. 
– 
Your parents announce that they’re spending Thanksgiving in Hawaii the day you’re supposed to go home for break. 
The announcement doesn’t necessarily surprise you, nor their lack of remorse for leaving you alone during the holiday. What surprises you in the end is the fact that they actually inform you before deserting you. 
Seems there’s a first time for everything. 
“Have you packed yet?” Peter asks you while he digs through his closet for clothes to bring home. “You leave in like an hour.”
You sit on his bed. “Nope.”
“Don’t you think you’re cutting it a little close?”
“Not really.”
“So you’re just going to pack when your parents get here?”
“They aren’t coming here.”
Peter pauses. He pokes his head out the closet and looks at you. “Are you taking the train home, then?”
“No.”
Your shoulders are drawn in. You avoid Peter’s concerned eyes, but he joins you on the bed anyways. You’ve never really talked about your parents, but beneath the indifference you’ve always presented, Peter has pieced together the hurt that keeps it in place.
“You’re not going home for Thanksgiving.” He doesn’t say it with any pity or accusation. 
You let out a bitter laugh. “Thanksgiving in Hawaii. Who knew that was a thing?”
“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Peter’s parents died a long time ago, but he can’t imagine the pain of losing parents you never really had in the first place.
“It’s fine.” Your voice doesn’t hold its usual confident cadence. “I mean. Guess now I have time to start prepping for finals. We have to present a case study for physics, remember?”
Peter can’t believe that you’re trying to spin this into some academic advantage. “There’s no way I’m letting you spend Thanksgiving break alone.”
“Not really much of a choice, buddy.”
He laughs at you. When you try to ask him what’s so funny, Peter shushes you and pulls out his phone. “Watch this.”
“What–”
“Hey, May!” 
You don’t move from the bed, terrified of the scene before you. Peter paces the room, chats with his aunt about his packing progress and when to expect him, before he turns to you with an evil grin. “By the way, May. My friend doesn’t have anyone to spend Thanksgiving with. What are your thoughts on that?”
Twenty minutes later you’re in a taxi heading to Queens with Peter’s smug grin bearing down at you. 
“Stop looking so amused.”
He flicks your forehead. As if he was going to let you win. “You’re so naive. It’s cute.”
May Parker is what you can only imagine the word “warmth” would be if it were a person. She’s soft, maternal and lovely, but there’s also a bite to her that cautions you to do as she says without argument. 
You fall in love with her the moment she shoves past Peter to hug you first.
“It’s so good to finally meet you!” May squeals, still holding you in one arm while she snaps her fingers at her nephew. “Peter, get her bags. Don’t just stand there.”
“Yeah, Peter. Get my bags.”
You stick your tongue out at him, pleased, and he rolls his eyes. Peter isn’t upset, though. If anything, he’s missed being commanded by May. He enjoys it even more now that she has you to help her order him around. 
“Yes, dears.” He says dryly, leaving you and May to talk as he gets the rest of your things and his. 
“You raised him so well, May.”
“Oh, he’s only being nice to me because you’re here.”
Peter sighs. He’s already resolved himself to a long week. He takes your things to his room, figuring that’s where May has planned for you to go anyways. There isn’t a guest room in their small apartment, and she knows that you’re special to him. While he hasn’t told his aunt the specific details, she understands that Peter really likes you.
“Peter Parker, don’t you dare unpack your things in your room.” May’s stern command causes Peter to jump. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest with you next to her. “You’re not sleeping here.”
He blinks slowly. “I’m… not?” 
“No. Y/N, honey, you can take his bed.” May turns to Peter. “As for you, you’ll be sleeping on the couch.”
Peter looks at her as if she’s crazy. “May!”
“I can take the couch, Mrs. Parker–” You also jump in, struck by a sense of intruding. You feel bad enough for barging into their home, but kicking Peter out of his bed feels extreme.
“I don’t want to hear it.” May holds her hands up at the two of you. “Like you said, I raised my nephew right. He’ll sleep on the couch, you’ll sleep in the room. There will be no sharing of beds so long as you’re under my roof.”
You cover your mouth, terrified of her implications. Peter’s face is on fire and he coughs awkwardly.  “Mrs. Parker, Peter and I aren’t–”
“This conversation is done.” May claps her hands together. “Now, who wants to help me bake some cookies?”
Unknown to you, the Parker apartment regularly hosts a Thanksgiving feast for all of Peter’s friends. It’s tradition, and there’s a warm tug in your stomach at the idea that you’re now a part of it. 
You meet Ned first. He’s a sweet guy, a bit shy, and he spends the entire time talking to Peter about the latest Star Wars installment and stories from MIT. His girlfriend Betty is a sweetheart who asks you nonstop questions about who you are and what you do. Flash is loud and obnoxious and you have to throw a roll of bread at him to get him to shut up, but eventually he grows on you and you offer him some advice regarding his girlfriend back home. MJ is quiet, but interesting, and towards the end of the night you end up sharing analyses regarding your favorite poets together.
As for Peter, his eyes don’t leave you the entire night. 
He watches how easily you get along with the people he loves the most. How you’re patient with Ned’s stammering shyness, how you entertain Betty’s journalistic interests, that you manage to defend yourself against Flash, and how MJ opens up to you within minutes. 
Peter has never let anyone see into this part of his life so intimately. Without fear and unease. Everyone falls in love with you that night, and, one night years from now, Peter will realize that this is the night he fell in love with you, too. 
“She’s great,” May hands him a plate to wash, looking over her shoulder to admire you as you talk to everyone in the living room. 
“She is.” Peter smiles down at his hands, shy. 
May grabs another plate, clearing any leftover food on it before handing it to her nephew. “Are you going to patrol tonight?”
“I have to,” he sighs. “It’s a holiday. You know how people can get.”
May doesn’t give him a response. She only hands him more dishes to wash so that she can store leftovers for tomorrow. They work quietly together side by side, neither disrupting the silence. Peter knows that May is still uncomfortable with Spider-Man, and she knows that he will never give it up.
“Does Y/N know?” 
Peter’s body freezes. He doesn’t look up at May, afraid that if he does, he’ll collapse. 
“No.” He coughs slightly. “She doesn’t.”
“She’s smart, Peter. You have to know that she’ll figure it out eventually.” She isn’t disappointed in him. Not really. May understands that there are aspects of being Spider-Man that she will never agree with.
Peter drops his head. “I know.”
“Then why haven’t you told her?”
He doesn’t know how to answer his aunt. How can he explain to her that the reason Peter kissed you that July is because you quelled the roar in his head? That being with you is easy and nothing in his life has ever been easy. That when he’s with you, Peter can pretend that he’s normal. That death doesn’t hang over his head every day. 
There’s a quiet that comes with being with you, and all Peter’s life there has only been excessive noise and thunder. 
If Peter tells you who he is, he’s terrified that the quiet will fade and all that will be left is blinding sound.
“It’s too dangerous for Y/N to know.” And it isn’t a lie. The more people who know his identity, the more people Peter is putting in danger. 
His aunt pinches the bridge of her nose. “And what about me? Ned and MJ? Why do they get to know, but not Y/N?”
“That’s different.” It isn’t. Not anymore. But his hands are shaking and Peter has to remind himself to breathe. 
May sees his loss of composure and she finally backs down, placing a comforting hand on her nephew’s arm. She rubs small circles, rhythmic and soothing, just like she used to do when he was a little kid.
“I only want what’s best for you, Peter.” She kisses his hair, though he’s grown since she’s last seen him and it isn’t as easy to do anymore. “There’s a spark in Y/N that I admire, but she also seems very prideful. I’m worried that hiding who you are will only jeopardize your relationship and hurt you both in the end.”
“We aren’t in a relationship, May.” The words are bitter on Peter’s tongue. “She’s just a friend.”
May finally looks at him, pauses slightly as she takes in the boy she raised. For the first time tonight she sees the exhaustion in his eyes. Bruises that line his knuckles, the scar on his eyebrow. The slouch of his shoulders from the weight he always seems to carry. 
“That’s why you haven’t told Y/N.” She whispers, eyes softening in understanding. Peter wants to ask her what she means, but when her gentle hand touches his face, all he can do is lean against it and rest his tired eyes. 
“I hope one day you allow yourself to have everything you’ve ever wanted, Peter.”
Someone calls May’s name, forcing her hand to fall from his face. She leaves Peter standing alone in the kitchen with nothing but her words to bear witness to his self destruction. 
He thinks of slow mornings spent with you. The curve of your neck. Coffee stained mugs. Your cold fingers through his underneath the covers. Late night study dates. Chasing one another through empty alleys. Rooftops and the buzz of something deeper than lust. 
Peter already has everything he’s ever wanted. Even if it isn’t really his.
– 
As long as the bullet doesn’t hit any major organs, Peter can heal from a gunshot wound in roughly eight hours. Sure, he’s sore for a while and it leaves a faded, silk-like scar, but he still thinks it’s pretty cool. 
If he’s stabbed? Peter is up and running again in less than six hours. Unless he needs stitches. Then it gets a bit trickier. Overall though, he can’t complain.
But a fire that takes out six entire blocks in the east village that the mayor is calling the worst incident New York City has seen since 1990? Currently, Peter is on day two of laying in soaked t-shirts and aloe oil. 
“Have you changed your wraps yet?” May asks him over the phone. She’d seen the fire on the news and wasn’t surprised when Spider-Man appeared. 
She also wasn’t surprised when the newsreel catches him crashing into a wall of fire five seconds after saving a little girl. 
Peter shifts in his bed, wincing when the fabric rubs against his raw and burned skin. “Changed them an hour ago, May.”
“And you’ve been icing?”
“If you count a bag of frozen peas as ice, then yeah. I’ve been icing the burns.”
“Peter.”
“It’s a little funny, May. C’mon.” Peter hears her sigh. He closes his eyes and softens his voice. “Look, I’m fine. No need to worry about me, okay? I’m just… a little warm, right now.”
May doesn’t dignify what he’s said with a response. Instead, she reminds him to apply a fresh coat of aloe before hanging with an exasperated goodbye. 
Peter tosses his phone down, ready to go back to staring at the ceiling because that’s all he can physically bring himself to do right now, but then a message appears on its screen. 
earth to peter?
Suddenly his entire body is cold. Your name accompanies the text and your face greets him. Peter hasn’t seen you since the night of the fire. He hasn’t spoken to you, either. 
Half of his body is burned to shit and he inhaled so much smoke trying to get everyone out that it sounds like he’s smoked twenty packs a day for five years. How the fuck is Peter supposed to explain any of that to you without revealing everything he’s worked so hard to mask?
peter? 
anyone there?
The influx of messages only further constricts Peter’s chest and doesn’t know what to do. 
it’s been almost two days, dude. answer me or die.
unless you’re dead. in that case: please come back to life. i miss you :( 
Cursing under his breath, Peter carefully picks the phone up and types what he hopes is enough to satiate you. 
I’m alive! Just sick right now. Bleh. 
But, predictably, this only makes everything worse because you immediately call him. Peter tries to hit decline, but with burned fingers and sore bones, he answers, and he really wishes the fire had knocked him into a coma instead of singeing his eyebrows. 
“Peter?”
He holds his breath. 
“Peter, I can hear you holding your breath.”
“Can you?” He cringes at how broken his voice sounds. He clears his throat, ignoring the sting of smoke still lingering. “I-I mean. Hi.”
“Jesus.” On the other end of the line, you sit up in bed, worried. “You sound horrible.”
Peter fake coughs, though it then turns into a very real, very painful cough. “Sick.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Wait–”
“I think I have all the ingredients for chicken noodle soup, and I remember seeing celery in your fridge a few days ago. Is it Jude’s? Actually, he’ll probably let me borrow some if I offer to make him some soup as well–”
Peter manages to raise his voice slightly, desperate to get your attention. “Y/N. You can’t come over.”
You’re silent for several long moments. This is the first time he’s ever denied you. “And why not?”
“I’m… sick?”
“And?”
“I’m contagious?”
You laugh, short and slightly endearing. “Lovely, are you forgetting that we literally swapped spit at the New Years party? I’m probably already contaminated. It’s fine.”
Peter really, really hates how stubborn you are sometimes. “But why risk it?” He coughs again into the phone, emphasizing how rough and disgusting the fake illness is. “Hear that? You really want to see the consequences?”
“I really want to see you, Peter.” You pause again. “Why are you being so weird about this?”
She’s smart. You have to know that she’ll figure it out eventually, May’s voice echoes in his head. He really needs to start listening to her. 
“I take respiratory health very seriously, Y/N.”
Both you and Peter know that he doesn’t, but you’ve been spiraling over his silence these last two days and at the very least, you know he’s okay. Taking whatever you can get, you give in. “Fine. But can I at least drop the soup off on your doorstep?”
The sincerity in your voice, the willingness to still take care of Peter despite his insistence not to, is what makes him give in, too. “Of course, sweetheart.”
He hears you smile, a sound he loves, even if he doesn’t know the name for it yet. 
“Hey, Jude!” Peter calls through the wall after you’ve hung up the phone. 
A thud. “Yeah?”
“Y/N is bringing me some soup and leaving it on the doorstep. Do you think you could bring it in?”
“Depends,” Jude has long become familiar with your presence in the dorm. “Can I have some?”
Peter rolls his eyes at his roommate, though he isn’t surprised. Jude adores everything you make for him and Peter. He’s even made it a rule for you to not make lasagna without him. 
“Yeah, whatever.”
“Wait, is it tomato soup? I don’t like tomatoes, they taste too red.”
Peter drops his head in his hands. He doesn’t have the energy to respond. Instead, he shifts in bed and carefully re-wraps the bandages that litter his body. When he crashed into the literal wall of fire, his suit luckily took most of the damage, but not without Peter’s skin searing and losing all body hair. 
Not that he had a lot of body hair to begin with, but still. Tough loss. 
Peter is about to call May to ask her if he should take an ice bath when his phone rings. He looks down at it, confused, and his confusion grows more when he sees your name flashing once again. 
“Y/N? Did you finish already–”
“Cut the shit, Parker.” 
His blood drains at the ice in your vocal chords. “I-I’m sorry?”
“You’re sick, correct?” You sneer at him. This is the most venom Peter has ever heard drip out of your plush mouth. 
Even without his spidey-sense, Peter would know that he’s on the precipice of a trap. “...Yes?”
“Funny. When I called your aunt to see if I should bring you anything else, she was touched that I was helping you take care of your sprained ankle.”
He’s so unbelievably fucked. 
“I, uh. Forgot about that!” Peter laughs nervously. “Sprained my ankle real good. And got sick. At the same time.”
“And how did you sprain it?” You don’t miss a beat. 
Another trap. Peter wracks his mind, tries to think of what May could’ve possibly told you, but he’s in the palm of your hand, ready and wilting. 
“Riding a bike?”
“Go to hell, Peter.”  
His heart jumps in his throat. “Y/N, let me explain–”
“You know, if you didn’t want to see me, you could’ve just told me.” The anger in your voice dissipates, slowly replaced with something akin to hurt. Peter can hear the slight tremor as you speak. “But lying to me is fucking pathetic.”
“I do want to see you,” Peter rushes out, practically begging. He hasn’t felt your touch in days and his skin misses yours. “God. Of course I want to see you, sweetheart.”
You want to believe him. Silence stretches over the phone, hesitancy that longs for solace. With every breath you take, every second that passes between you and Peter, he can feel you trying to hold onto the idea that he’s yours and good and whole. 
“Then why did you lie?” Whispered and raw. Everything that there’s left to give Peter.
“Y/N…” But he’s a coward. 
You take his silence as absolute. “Goodbye, Peter.”
The line goes dead. 
– 
Peter doesn’t hear from you for the rest of the day. 
The next morning, he checks his phone before his eyes have even opened, but there’s nothing. By the afternoon, Peter starts to lose his mind. His skin itches at the loss of your voice, he can’t sleep, his stomach is in knots, and all he wants to do is whisper apologies down your spine as he traces your back with his lips.
I’m sorry.
Peter’s thumb hovers over send. He rereads the message over and over again, convinced somehow that the words are blurring together. 
He deletes it, types something else. 
Can we talk?
You hate it when he grovels. 
Just call.
Too demanding. 
I miss you too.
Too vulnerable. 
Peter has never been good with words. He’s never had to be when it comes to you. You’ve always been able to read him, handing him water before his body can even recognize the thirst. In the six months he’s known you, you’ve become intertwined in the webs that surround him. 
It’s this worry for you and intertwinement that leads Spider-Man to your windowsill. 
This isn’t Peter’s proudest moment, he’ll admit. Using his masked identity to crouch in front of your window, hidden in the dark of the night, aching to catch a glimpse of you. He tells himself that he’s only doing this because he cares about you and that the burns that still mar his body aren’t healed enough for you to see him yet. 
But really Peter knows there’s something else behind why he’s doing this; he just isn’t ready to face it yet.
You’re in your small, cramped kitchen. The university dorms are hardly big enough for one person, let alone two, but your roommate Emma is gone for winter break and it’s only you home tonight. 
Peter’s heart lodges in his throat when he realizes that you’re wearing one of his old Midtown High hoodies. You stole it months ago, claiming it was vindicating to rep a school that your soccer team won against when you were sixteen, but Peter catches your nose buried in the collar when you think he isn’t looking. 
A dog barks and the screech of car tires force Peter’s attention elsewhere. He narrows his eyes, ears ringing trying to locate the source of the sound, but the night falls quiet again. He sighs, turns back around, only to find your window open, staring directly at him. 
Peter yelps in surprise, nearly slipping on the lamppost he’s on. 
“You’re smaller than I imagined,” you watch him trip over his feet in a desperate attempt not to fall. “I figured you’d be broader.”
Peter catches his breath, unsure what to do in this situation. You’re leaning out the window, hair falling over your shoulders, and the moonlight illuminates the apples of your cheeks. Your eyes don’t leave him, curious, amused, but tired.
Your eyes are tired. 
“What, are you just gonna let me imply that you’re scrawny?” You laugh at your own joke. “Thought you were known for your quips.”
“It’s ‘thwips’, actually, ma’am.” Instinctively Peter deepens his voice as he speaks, but the fact that he’s even responded at all, on top of his horrible joke, makes him want to slam his head into the lamppost. 
Your eyebrows scrunch together, though they do so as you smile. “‘Thwips?’”
“My webs, they make this…” Peter shrugs helplessly, thankful his mask hides the embarrassment. “Thwip sound? And I’m known for–well. My webs, I guess?”
“You didn’t plan this joke out very well, did you?”
“Not at all.”
The admission is quick, he doesn’t hesitate to confess to you that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and the stark difference between Spider-Man’s response and Peter’s is a harsh reminder of everything you still don’t understand about him.
“Well, at least you’re honest.” You laugh, the edges of the sound tinged with bitterness. Nails picking at the window’s frame, you swallow hard. There’s always a lump stuck in your throat these days. “How heroic.” 
Peter closes his eyes. The words are aimed at him, and yet you have no idea who you’ve revealed this to. 
He swallows hard as well, reflects your own uncertainty. “Do you, uh. Want to talk about whatever is on your mind, ma’am?”
You tilt your head. “I didn’t know Spider-Man had an emotional touch to him.”
“Oh, trust me. Everything about me is emotional. I cried the other day saving a mouse from a glue trap.” Peter risks jumping onto the ledge of your window, landing softly with your body now inches from him. You gasp, surprised, and he smirks down at you. “I can be very cathartic to talk to.”
You don’t move away, the hum of his body next to yours is familiar, as if the skin underneath the suit remembers you, but in the years you’ve spent living in New York you’ve never encountered Spider-Man before. His skin has never met yours. 
“Was the mouse okay?”
Peter knew you’d ask him this. “He was fine. Bit my hand, but I like to think he did it with love.” You laugh, and he scratches the back of his head, not wanting to ruin this just yet, but he knows he has to. “But, um. Are you okay?”
The laughter dies and the smile lines on your face fade. You look away from Peter, nails picking at the window once again. “I met a guy at a party this summer.”
“Do we like this guy?”
“He’s my best friend.” You confess, a slight tremble in your bravado. “He’s-he’s more than that, even. I think he’s nestled himself between my fifth and sixth ribs, but to him I’m just…”
Unable to finish, your voice trails off. You can’t bring yourself to look at Peter, and he can’t bring himself to look at you. 
“There’s this hurt in him that he won’t let me see; he doesn’t trust me to see. Burdens he has to carry, that he thinks I don’t know are there.” Peter watches as your eyes harden, though there’s still a fondness for the boy you’re talking about that he knows is in his own eyes for you. “But I know him. I know Peter. Even if he doesn’t want me to.”
“He’s only been in my life for six months.” You inhale, close your eyes, and open them upon release. Your eyes find Peter’s and you hold his gaze, long and steady. “But I’ve memorized the dip of his back, the freckles around his thighs. He lets me touch him so softly, but he still thinks I don’t know who he is.”
Peter hangs his head, breaking his eyes from yours. His skin crawls. You know too much, and yet you know nothing at all. 
“I think knowing someone can be stifling,” he says, crouching down to face you. This close, he can see the flecks of remorse that line your eyes. Your breath ghosts his face. “Maybe Peter is still learning to breathe you in how you want him to.”
Give me time, he pleads silently. You fill my lungs every time you whisper my name, but everyday I choke on what I can’t tell you.
“Real poetic, Spidey.” You cup his cheek, the fabric of his suit softer than you expect it to be. Your gaze is sad. Lips downturned, bittersweet with melancholy. “I hope someday someone allows themself to breathe me in.”
The last of Peter’s resolve crumbles. He’s never seen this side of you, vulnerability lacing your weathered insecurity. The insecurity that he put there. All because he thinks this is what’s best for you. Holding you at a distance, the separation marring your bodies with longing. 
You’ve bled yourself dry for Peter, and the realization leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. 
I hope one day you allow yourself to have everything you’ve ever wanted, Peter.
This isn’t what he wanted. You fell into Peter’s fragile hands and he hadn’t caught you. What he wants, what he has to allow himself to do, is catch you before the fall kills you both.  
“I’m sure Peter will be ready one day.” To you, the words are merely reassurance. To Peter, they’re a promise. He’s tired of hiding. Of suffocating you both with secrets only meant to be his demise. 
“Goodbye, Spider-Man.” Your hand drops. He misses your touch the moment it’s gone. You move away from the window, he thinks he sees tears in your eyes, but then you’re gone, and it’s only Peter and a lonesome dog beneath him. 
The next day, the rest of the burn scars fade away. Peter’s skin is left baby-pink, new and sensitive. His hands still ache when he flexes them but his body aches even more being apart from you any longer.
Peter knocks on your door with flowers in his hand. He’s going to be better for you. He’s going to finally try, breathe life back in what’s gone stale between you. When you answer, you hold onto Peter so tightly that for a second he’s afraid you know everything he’s hidden from you. 
“You came,” your tears wet his chest, but neither of you pull away. 
Peter’s hands cradle you, holding you with the delicacy that he should’ve from the start. “I always will.”
And you know he means it, you know that the flowers Peter has brought you symbolize more than just an apology, and it’s almost enough.
The distance grows. Everything is cold where it used to be hot. A harsh winter wilts the flowers from Peter, its petals dead upon your desk. 
Everyone has secrets, trust comes with fallacies of vulnerability, but Peter’s soak through your stained hands and he slips through your fingers. 
You stop calling. Plans go unmade. Early morning breakfasts together become lonely. Some nights Peter is still yours, he kisses your breast and hovers over your heart, but as the days pass the pleasure turns into a hurt and slowly it all comes to an end. 
It isn’t Peter’s fault. None of this is, really. You’ve come to love him in a way that terrifies you and yet this was never something he wanted. It isn’t his fault that he can’t be honest with you, not when he never asked you to hold him accountable. 
“Still haven’t called Peter?” 
Spider-Man has become your new friend in the wake of losing your dearest one. He comes to your window most nights and his humor and mannerisms remind you so much of Peter that you can’t bring yourself to turn him away. 
“You’re oddly invested in my pathetic love life for someone who wears spandex every day.”
Peter snorts. “Sue a guy for needing breathable material to save civilians.” 
“But did you really need to wear a bodysuit?”
“I’m confident in my body, thank you,” He stands tall, long ago having been invited to sit in your kitchen for your late night talks. Gesturing to his chest and down, he stands proud and tall. “Can’t hide all of this from New York.”
You shove him, ignoring how strong the man’s chest is under your palm. “I thought heroes were supposed to be humble?”
“I’m the most humble person I know, Y/N.”
Peter’s response makes you laugh, and it feels so good to be able to do that again. Winter has taken its toll on you, paling your skin and sallowing your eyes. March is slowly creeping upon you with its fresh rosebuds and blue skies, and for that you’re thankful. 
“So,” Peter sits back down, kicking his feet up on your window. “Any exciting plans for spring break now that Peter is dead to you?”
“He isn’t dead to me.” You shove his feet down, hurt simmering under your ribcage. “I miss Peter, and I still care about him deeply, but until he figures out how to be honest with me and let me in, I’m done picking at an open wound.”
Peter holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I get it. The guy has problems, but who’s to say he isn’t working on them?”
“We sleep together every time we’re alone in a room. Can’t exactly get over any problems when you’re under them.”
“Not really understanding how Peter being unable to keep his hands off you is a bad thing.” He says, looking at you smugly. “I mean, you’re hot. I don’t blame him.”
You blush at Peter’s bold words, but the irony isn’t lost upon you. “Lust and love aren’t the same thing, Spidey.” 
“And if he does love you?” Peter leans across the table, his suit stretching the length of his body and accentuating the lean lines of his muscles that you force yourself to look away from. “Then what? Still going to give him radio silence over spring break?”
Have I lost you? He wants to ask, but you haven’t called Peter in a month and if this is all he’ll ever get from you again, talking with you while disguised as someone else, then he isn’t ready to let go of you just yet.
You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t love me, and as for spring break, I plan on getting incredibly drunk with my friends and pretending that for once in my life I can get what I want.”
And you do. 
The following week Lily invites you to some club with her and Harry, and before it’s even midnight you’re already drunk. Harry pays for everyone’s drinks, Lily spins you around as you dance together, and for a brief, addicting few hours, you forget. 
Bodies press against yours. Lily grips your hands while Harry finds your waist. The music in the small but packed room is nearly deafening. You’re sweaty and your hair clings to your neck but you don’t care. Harry’s hands feel good against your skin. The heat of his palms, the scratch of his nails. 
“Gwen’s here,” Lily shouts, pulling your attention from Harry. “I’m gonna go get her. Are you good with Harry?”
You look at him, finding him already looking down at you with interest, and you squeeze Lily’s hand. “Go, I’ll be fine!”
She smiles coyly at you, sending Harry a knowing wink, before leaving. “Have fun, lovebirds.”
Harry laughs, pulling you even closer, and his hands slide down to the curve of your ass and the weight of his touch feels different from Peter’s. His is softer than Harry’s. More protective than possessive, but alcohol burns your tongue and the grief of a love you once had clouds your mind. 
“This alright?” Harry asks you, lips skimming your ear. You nod, shivering at the sensation. With your permission, Harry draws his lips down your neck. 
Your head moves to the side, allowing him more access, and Harry murmurs something into your skin, but you don’t bother to ask him what he’s said. All you want is for him to keep kissing you, to trace over the path Peter once carved himself, to erase any excess of him that you’ve missed. 
Harry’s hands squeeze your ass and he pushes his hips into you. His hard on digs into you, he nips at your collarbone, and it’s all too much. None of it feels right. Peter never bites into bone, he doesn’t shove against you without satiating you first. 
Your stomach lurches, all the vodka from tonight threatening to return, and you pry yourself away from Harry. He says something, but you can’t hear him over the ringing in your head. Your legs manage to find an exit and you collapse onto the filthy sidewalk outside the club.
Hot tears run down your face. You’re a child, lost and alone. 
Numb fingers fumble for your phone. The screen is bright and you’re crying so hard that your entire body shakes. You try to type his name into your phone, to call the only person you can think of, but your fingers keep missing the “P” and you can’t breathe.
“Hey, miss? Are you alright?” A body lands next to yours. Their hand gently touches your shoulder and when you look up, all the air escapes him. “Y/N?”
Spider-Man kneels before you, arms encasing you as you tremble against the night’s cold. Phone forgotten, you cry into his chest, finally allowing every ache, every hour spent mourning, to fall down your cheeks. 
“What happened, sweetheart?” He whispers against your ear, hand running through your hair. The term of endearment only makes you cry harder, and all Peter can do is hold you through it. He doesn’t see any injuries on you. The smell of alcohol strong, your hair matted. 
“I wan’ to go home,” you slur out, breath hitching with fresh tears. “Please.”
Peter helps you stand up and gently instructs you to wrap your arms around his neck. You comply, and when he’s sure you’re secure, he grips your legs and wraps them around his body. He hasn’t held you like this in what’s felt like years. To have your hips around him again, to hold the weight of your body in his arms, it’s almost too much for Peter. 
But then you cry again, your head tucked against his neck, and he knows that he would bear the pain of relearning your touch over and over again if it meant your nose always remained pressed against his skin. 
Thankfully the club Peter finds you at isn’t far from your dorm. He swings as slowly as he can, weary of how many drinks you’ve had tonight. You don’t react in his arms. The view of the city below you goes unnoticed as the wind drowns out your cries. 
Emma is asleep when Peter carefully sets you down through the window. You’re shaky on your feet, body still pale and weak. He crawls in after you and rests his hand on the small of your back.
“Let’s get you to bed, okay?” 
You don’t say anything. Peter guides you to your room and in your drunken state you don’t think to question how Spider-Man knows which room is yours. He pulls the bedding off your bed, helps you lay down, before he brings the blanket just under your chin. 
When Peter goes to get you a glass of water and some tylenol, your hand stops him. 
“Stay,” you whisper, looking so small in your twin sized bed.
He bites his lip. “You need to drink some water, get some electrolytes in you–”
“Please,” begging, pleading. Liquid honey and nostalgia that is like sap in Peter’s blood. 
Weak for you, drawn to you as he always is, Peter crawls into your bed and you welcome him home. You place your head on his chest, splay your hands around his waist, wrap your body around him as you’ve always done. 
Peter’s heart pounds in his chest; you still remember your way around his body. You still smell like peonies and copper. You still press your nose to his neck as if it were made to fit where his collarbones rise. 
“Doomed from the start.”
He almost doesn’t hear you. He almost doesn’t ask you what you mean, he doesn’t want to bring it to light. “What’s doomed, Y/N?”
And, like the very first time you whispered the vague words to him, you hold them close to your chest. Only this time you don’t smile up at Peter, you don’t etch your name into his skin with lazy kisses. All that’s left within your words is despair. 
“I fell in love with a ghost,” you murmur, eyes tracing Peter’s masked face, as if you can see past the material. As if you know who lays underneath it, the freckles you’ve kissed before. “He won’t leave.”
“Y/N…”
Your eyes close. “I miss you.”
Peter tightens his arms, relishing in the proximity and admission of grief, even though you’ve mistaken Spider-Man’s body for someone else. Your breathing becomes steady, and he knows that he’s lost you again
That night, Peter doesn’t sleep. He spends the hours tracing his fingers over your skin, memorizing the lines of your skin, the scars and freckles that make you whole. Once, this body was his to worship. 
Morning comes and sunlight floods the room. You don’t stir, body exhausted still from the events of the night before. Your phone buzzes to life and Peter finds himself looking down to read the messages. 
Most are from Lily.
Babe, where did you go?
Harry said you got upset?? Did you go home??? Please call ASAP.
I called Emma. She said she heard you come in late last night. Call me when you wake up, ok? I love you!! If I need to kill Harry, I will <3
The final message is from Harry himself. 
I’m sorry about last night. I know you and Pete aren’t talking right now and I shouldn’t have acted on my feelings so soon. Whenever, or if ever, you want to talk, I’m happy to take you to coffee in a strictly platonic way. 
Peter wants to be angry at Harry, his fingers itching to flex into a fist on instinct, but when he looks down at your sleeping body, he knows he can’t. You were never his. Harry respected him enough to keep his distance while Peter kept you at arm’s length.
All he ever did was keep you at a distance, and now he’s learning how painful it is to be displaced. 
Peter sneaks out the window before you wake up. He almost leaves a note, asking you to call him, but then he remembers that it was Spider-Man who came running when you called, not Peter Parker. 
Both will always find their way to you, but last night it hadn’t been the one you needed.
– 
Months pass. Spring turns to summer and freshman year ends in a hazy and slow manner that Peter can’t quite remember. He doesn’t see you on campus. You stop going to all your usual places. 
Lily stops sitting next to him in bio, Gwen gets a boyfriend, and Harry stops greeting Peter whenever he sees him.
Summer break comes and Peter moves home.
“Will Y/N be visiting?” May asks him, prodding for an answer as to why you’ve stopped calling her. 
Peter shakes his head, silent, and it’s all his aunt needs to know that you’re gone. The smile she gives him is sad, understanding, and Peter misses the smile she’d give him when you called and teased him alongside her. 
He still patrols the city as he’s always done. A local pizza shop posts an ad for a delivery boy and Peter figures that the work will be a welcome distraction from everything that reminds him of you. It’s grueling and exhausting running around Manhattan, but the pain is enough for him to forget how you looked naked and on top of him. 
Ned stops by every day. He never asks Peter what happened and where you went, but he’s full of new stories from MIT to fill the silence you’ve left behind, and Betty sometimes tags along. Flash asks if he can still call you for girl advice and Peter doesn’t bother to answer him.
MJ isn’t as delicate and she punches his arm the moment she sees him. It hurts and leaves a bruise, but Peter doesn’t mind. He knows it’s what you would’ve wanted, and he misses knowing your wants and needs.
June seeps into July and there’s a party that Ned insists on attending. 
Peter knows he shouldn’t go. He worked all day and can’t afford to skip a night of patrol, but Ned doesn’t feed into his excuses and suddenly they’re in the same fire hazard apartment building from last year. 
He doesn’t know when he starts drinking or when Ned leaves, but he does know that when he sees you again after months of depravity, Peter’s heart stops. 
You’re dressed in red. The dress is short, it glimmers in the light, and your hair is pinned back and loose and your makeup is smudged and you smile wickedly when you notice him staring. 
“You come here often?” You’re around Peter now, the music is loud and you’re so beautiful. 
He laughs at you, remembering the way you warned him to never say that pickup line to you when you first met. His hands run up and down your waist, eager to relearn every inch of you, and Peter is drunk and so in love that it hurts. 
“I was here once last year,” he shouts over the music. He plays along. “There’s a rooftop I think you might like.”
And then you’re running through the crowd of people, giggling like little kids together, racing to the rooftop of where everything began. Peter opens the door. The July air greets him kindly, welcomes him back after being apart for so long. 
You sit on the concrete and Peter joins you. Your head rests on his shoulder and his arm hangs loosely around you. Up above you there are stars, bright and alive despite the city that tries to choke them. 
The air is sweet between you, tender, though there’s a homesickness to it that neither of you can shake. 
“Do you think we were doomed from the start?” You ask Peter as you continue to look up at the stars. You can’t take your eyes off of them. They’ve finally decided to spare you their beauty, their final dance just for you and Peter. 
You feel him shrug. You’re both drunk and open and vulnerable. 
“I was an idiot,” he mumbles. “I still am.”
“You were,” you agree softly. 
“I tried so hard to be what you needed.” The regret in his voice pulls you to look at him, and Peter is still as devastatingly handsome as the night you met. 
“I know.”
“I’m…” He hesitates, at the palm of your hand, before he accepts that this is how it will always be when it comes to love. Peter holds his breath, his fifth and sixth ribs tremble, and he reveals everything to you. “I’m sorry for the ghost that never leaves.”
The echo of the words that fell from your drunk lips in the spring meant only for Spider-Man to hear. 
“I know, Peter.” You tell him, undoing the weight of a secret that crippled Peter almost his entire life. “I always knew you were Spider-Man. I knew. I was just waiting for you to trust me to help you carry the weight of it all.”
But he never did. The shame of it burns Peter’s face, deteriorates his muscles. How naive he had been to think that it was easier to keep you in the dark than to have shared the light with you. 
Dread fills his chest, accompanied by the longing of what could’ve been, and all Peter can do now, all that’s left to do now, is hold you beneath the stars, stargazing together like you used to. 
“I loved you, you know.” Cards on the table. Peter shows you his hand. He hopes that the cards you dealt to him a year ago are still the same as the ones tonight. 
“I know.” And that’s all you have left to say.
-
⌑ writing masterlist
⌑ if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎
⌑ please feel free to like, reblog, and comment. i adore hearing from you guys :)
119 notes · View notes
quantumfeat72 · 2 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
ok, on the subject of "what if siffrin really was an assassin." i feel like this siffrin wouldn't make the same wish as canon siffrin, for a few reasons:
while in canon, "i love my friends" is an easy-to-acknowledge fact about themself and "i sometimes wish time would just stop and we could live like this forever" is a selfish, shameful thing they try not to think about, in this au it's very much the other way around. (isn't it selfish, to think of someone you initially intended to kill, and the people who risked everything to support her, as your friends?)
also unlike canon siffrin, he doesn't even consider at this point that continuing to travel with his friends is a possibility (after all, they're going to find out tomorrow why he first approached the group. he'll be lucky if they're still speaking to him after that)
they don't have canon siffrin's thought that there's no need to add another "save vaugarde" wish to the pile, because a. this siffrin is already aware that wish craft is a thing, so it stands to reason that another wish could strengthen it, b. they know roughly how powerful the king is and that any edge they can get might make a difference, and c. the way they see it at this point, freezing vaugarde would save it
which is also why he doesn't wish for victory, or to stop the king. he's willing to acknowledge that part of him doesn't want that. he's convinced that the king is correct - the universe led him on this path, so it must be what the universe wants. so instead of going for a small, reasonable wish, he asks the universe to change course and listen to the vaugardians' wishes
but, i hear you ask, isn't this wish actually fulfilled by the king dying? where are the horrors?? and to that i say no, it comes back to the fact that siffrin is specifically thinking of what their friends want - for mirabelle and the others to get the futures they've been fighting for - under the assumption that it doesn't overlap much with what siffrin wants
and it's a bit more complicated, here, but his friends still want to keep him in their lives
91 notes · View notes
rwrbficrecs · 3 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
the mountchristen pharma job by @coffeecatsme (book-verse)
@suseagull5914: Another unique, fun fic! Heist AU meets just a hint of Christmas feels, and combined with the fact that it jumps around in time, this author constantly keeps you on your toes, wondering what will happen next. A must read!
The Flight Before Christmas by @indomitable-love (book-verse)
@dot524: Alex is a flight attendant, and he’s good at what he does. But for some reason, this tall blond guy annoys the heck out of him. What will happen when they are both stranded in a snowstorm over the holiday and stuck sharing a hotel room? I’ll give you three guesses. This one had great banter and a dab of angst, and it was such a fun read!
If You're Not Made For Me (Why Did We Fall in Love?) by @captainjunglegym (book-verse)
@na-dineee: Not going to lie, this was a challenging read, which lingers long after! Henry and Alex are in an established relationship, so certain of their future together. Then they stumble over the question of having kids... What follows is messy and ugly, touching and relatable, almost destructive, but resovled in a very sensitive way. This hurt phenomenally good!
london's so nice, back in your seamless rhymes by @firenati0n (book-verse)
@na-dineee: Alex, newly moved to London, meets Henry on his first day of work while riding the bus into the city. From that day on, they commute together every morning and evening, and with each passing day, their feelings for each other grow. What can I say: it was soft, it was fluffy, it was so sweet. It was everything I needed to feel all warm and happy.
I'm a risk (please take it) by dazedandconfused (book-verse)
@na-dineee: A rom-com.' Yeah—my ass. But, Wikipedia says rom-coms focus on romantic relationships and the associated dramatic twists and obstacles. Fair enough, that fits. 3.5 years of pining, angst, hurt—but a happy ending. This fic was incredible !! I can’t stop thinking about it, weeks later I’m still imagining how Alex & Henry might be doing now. Absolutely brilliant!
kiss me on this cold December night by strwbrryfox (book/movie-verse)
@suseagull5914: If you like holiday fics and coffee shop AUs, this is the fic for you! This fic is oblivious Alex, pining firstprince, and the ins and outs of being part of a workplace environment during the holidays all wrapped up in a pretty bow that will leave you swooning.
Tell Me All Your Secrets by @everwitch-magiks (book-verse)
@dot524: Every time Alex visits his sister in NYC, he ends up hanging out with her best friend, Henry. Henry’s been gone on Alex from Day 1, but he assumed Alex was painfully straight. When a short-term relationship with Liam helps Henry realize that’s not the case, things start to change. The story culminates with Alex experiencing Pride in NYC for the first time. A delightful slow-burn with lots of yearning and realizations - such a satisfying and fun read.
I Will Follow You Into The Dark by @here-queer-jointpain-severe (book-verse)
@suseagull5914: This fic, the author's fic for the A Royal Big Bang event, has everything: introspection, fantasy, Alex going above and beyond for his love for Henry (as he should!), and the complex plot and suspense that will have you clicking the next chapter button until you reach the end. This fic is such a good glimpse into so many of the relationships in the book from such a unique angle!
Like Flowers In The Springtime, Every Day Is Valentine’s (That’s What Your Love’s Like) by @rockyroadkylers (book-verse)
@na-dineee: This has to be some of the fluffiest post-canon fluff ever written, I’m sure of it! After two years together, Henry is more than ready to sweep Alex off his feet in the most extravagant way possible. Of course he is over-the-top—what did you expect? And Alex, bless him, is completely here for it—he loves it and loves Henry, and I couldn’t help but melt into a puddle. An absolutely wonderful comfort read!
check out our past Monthly Faves here ❤️
88 notes · View notes
callsign-rogueone · 2 days ago
Text
some girl on a horse
Sawyer Henrick x reader (peach!) words: 4k 🏷: major iron flame spoilers in this one, peach is a horse girl lowkey, temporary heartbreak, miscommunication (or just lack of communication), sawyer should really be in the doghouse here but he's too damn cute to be mad at, sweetheart cameo... that's all I got. onyx storm tomorrow! why am I dreading it...
With each passing day, it has become more clear that you and Sawyer are done playing pretend. He’s fulfilled his duty, and is probably glad to be done with it, not having to cross the bridge to go see you every day, or to spend his weekends with you in town. He has better things to do as a rider, and an executive officer at that. 
Maybe this was the will of the universe, having your paths split, then cross, then split again. It was childish to think that you’d stay close forever, that he’d stick around longer than he had to. He’d invited you out with his friends as a nicety, and then been too polite to decline when Rhiannon had volunteered him to be your knight in shining armor. You’d been an obligation to him, nothing more. 
But there had been so many moments where you saw something like love in his eyes when he’d looked at you, felt it in his touch and heard it in his words.
He’d have made a great stage actor.
Hot tears slip down your cheeks, blurring your view of the setting sun. You’ve started spending your free time out by the end of the bridge. You can’t cross it, but you can sit there and wait. And wait you do — a book laying in your lap unread, your hands numbing from the cold wind as you gaze across the river.
Your heart leaps every time anyone comes by, falling harder each time you realize it’s not him. It’s getting dark earlier each day, getting closer to the solstice. If Sawyer and his friends have really dumped you, then that’ll be a lot fewer presents to make. 
But the boy you’d grown up with wouldn’t do this to you. He was good to the core, always one to do the right thing, the one person you could always rely on and could always trust to keep your secrets, that you’d been content to die beside when that fire had swept through the village all those years ago.
That’s what’s kept you putting on the necklace he’d given you each day after you say your prayers, kept you reading the death rolls every morning for his name and waiting out here every afternoon for any sight of him — the belief that he’d come back to you if he could.
He’ll be back tomorrow, a little bruised but otherwise intact, and you’ll bandage him up, and everything will be alright. It’ll go on like that until July, when you graduate and get shipped off… somewhere, and then maybe the gods will be kind enough to let your paths cross again.
You’d quietly accepted that you’d drift apart at school, but now that he’s back in your life, losing him is going to hurt so badly.
Your friend bursts through the doorway, panting. “The riders are leaving.”
“What?”
“Look,” she wheezes. 
Your heart drops at the sight: at least a hundred dragons all flying straight overhead. Dozens of them are red, and any one of them could be Sawyer’s. Did he leave with them? Where are they going? Is something terrible happening, and they were called in as reinforcements? 
They’re headed south, not west — not to the border with Poromiel. Navarre probably isn’t going to war, then. But what else would demand that much firepower? 
Nothing good, that’s for certain.
————————
Rumors swirl around the quadrant for the next few days, every patient and healer having something to say about the week’s events.
Are we sure this isn’t just another one of their games?
Traitors, the lot of them. They should be rounded up and hung.
I’m sure there’s a reason why they left. Maybe they know something we don’t. 
Someone calls your name down the hall; Yara, a scribe cadet you’d befriended last year.
“It’s good to see you— oh!” you squeak in surprise as she pulls you into a hug — you hadn’t taken her for a hugger, and you really aren’t that close.
“Don’t react,” she whispers into your hair, “but his name is on the list. He left, and the rest of his squad, too. The Sorrengail girl, at least.”
You blink, stunned. “To where?”
“They’re saying Riorson led them all to Tyrrendor. That venin and wyvern are real, but the leadership and the crown are ignoring the threat.” She breaks the hug, painting on a bright smile. “Me and some of the girls are going out for drinks this weekend. You should go.”
You search her eyes for some indicator that she’s hinting at what you think she is.
“It’ll be a bit of a hike,” she continues, “but we’ve done crazier things.”
Have you, really? What she’s suggesting would be capital-I Insane, and potentially land you in prison. And wyvern and venin are just fairy tales, aren’t they?
You chew your lip, thinking. If Yara is right, and Violet, the smartest person you know, had left with the rest of them, there must have been some pretty damning evidence to convince her. And if she left, then Sawyer, Ridoc, and Rhiannon definitely went with her. 
“Maybe,” you respond a moment later than appropriate for the conversation you appear to be having. “I don’t know if it would be the best idea — I have a botany test that I really need to study for.”
“Understandable. Let me know either way. Good seeing you!”
“You too,” you manage, your heart and mind both racing. Did she really suggest that you follow them to Tyrrendor, or are you going completely insane?
There’s only one person you can talk to about this.
—————
“I can’t decide if this is the best idea you’ve ever had, or the worst,” Sarah offers around a yawn.
“Hopefully not the worst,” you reply, looking around the barn. Your eyes settle on a chestnut mare, the only one awake at this hour. “Hi, girl. You wanna go on an adventure with me?” She snorts softly, happily letting you scratch at her chin. “I’m taking that as a yes.” You turn back to Sarah. “If anyone asks…”
“I have no idea where you are. Do you have everything you need?”
“I think so. I took everything I care about, so if they want to assume I’m dead, I’m fine with you burning it all.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that point.”
“Thank you for everything,” you say softly, pulling her into a hug. “I’ll write from the road — or your uncle Fergus will. Leave her stall and the barn open. Some idiot forgot to lock up properly and she bolted.”
“This is why you’re the smart one. Too bad you’re absolutely nuts.”
You laugh, quieting as you realize that it’s still very much four in the morning, and you’re supposed to be making a silent exit. 
“I really fucking hope you’re right about this,” she whispers, holding you tighter.
“Me too.”
The horse lets you saddle and mount easily, walking you toward the door. “Alright, girl,” you say, patting her neck. “Let’s see how fast you can go.”
————————————
“Did you need something?” Brennan asks the infantry officer, looking rather peeved that he’d interrupted his lecture. 
“We have a bit of a situation,” he says quietly, embarrassed. “There’s some girl on a horse outside, says she’s a healer. Came all the way from Basgiath.”
Second squad exchanges a look.
“There’s only one healer I know that’s crazy enough to do that,” Rhiannon whispers.
Violet looks over at her, incredulous. “You don’t think…” 
Ridoc grins from ear to ear, clapping a hand onto Sawyer’s shoulder. “Why are you still here? Go get your girl.”
Sawyer bolts from his seat, ignoring Brennan’s protests as he races down the hall toward the front gates. “She’s on our side,” he calls, and the two guards lower their swords, letting him through.
Your head snaps up at the voice, your body flooding with relief at the sight of him. You spring forward and hug him tightly, clutching the black leather of his jacket for dear life. “You’re alive,” you breathe, and his heart cracks right down the middle. “Gods, Sy, I was so scared… The leadership wouldn’t tell us anything, and I didn’t hear from you or Violet or Ridoc or anyone… I waited for you at the bridge every day, but you never came, and I thought…”
He wraps his arms around you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, peach,” he whispers, rife with guilt. “It hurt so fucking bad to leave you behind, but I knew you’d be safer there, under the wards.”
You’re crying now, tears slipping down your cheeks and seeping into the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t tell me that anything is safer than being with you.”
He holds you a little closer, rubbing your back gently — slow sweeps of his palm, up and down, up and down, letting you get it all out. 
“I mean it,” you sniff, still clinging to him. “I need you, Sy. I don’t ever want to be away from you like that again.”
“Hey,” he soothes, holding you closer, “I swear to every god who’s listening that I will never leave you behind again. You have my word.”
“Good,” you say in that same cracked whisper you’d used when you’d agreed to let him protect you from James, to play pretend with him.
He continues to whisper soft reassurances to you, rubbing your back. “I’m okay. Everyone is okay. They’re all here, Ridoc and Violet and Rhiannon and everyone. They’re all safe.”
That makes you feel a little better — you’ve become deeply attached to his squad in the last three months, and you couldn’t bear the thought of any of them being injured, or worse. “Is it true?” you ask softly. “All those fairy tales about wyvern and dark magic?”
“It is,” he says quietly. “All of it.”
You exhale deeply, sitting with the information for a moment. “I don’t know what to say,” you admit.
“That’s okay,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to say anything.”
Your tears have dried by now — you don’t have any left, likely because you’re so dehydrated. Water had been scarce the last few days. 
He finally puts it together. “Did you steal a horse?”
“I prefer the term liberated,” you wheedle, and Cinnamon chuffs softly in agreement.
“From who?”
“Some poor infantry cadet. They didn’t treat her right, anyway.”
He laughs, bewildered. “You’re absolutely crazy, Peach.”
“Yeah,” you laugh, waving him off, “but you love it.”
He holds you tighter, letting you lean into him — you’re exhausted, your entire body sore from your journey. “I do,” he says softly. “I do love it. I love everything about you.”
Your breath catches. “Sawyer…” you whisper, a warning that you’re getting close to something you can’t ever come back from. 
He ignores it. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m so grateful that you came back into my life when you did. I don’t want to play pretend anymore. I want this to be real.”
“I want that too,” you say quietly. “I was going to tell you the day that you left.”
“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “I promise you that I’ll spend the rest of my days making it up to you.”
“I don't think I was ever really pretending,” you admit into his shoulder.
He laughs softly, his chest shaking against yours. “I wasn’t either.” You shiver, burrowing into him further — it’s freezing out here, but he’s impossibly warm. “Alright. Let’s get you ladies inside.” 
Cinnamon lets him take the reins easily, trusting him to be gentle with her after seeing the way you ran to him and hugged him so tightly. 
You stay tucked into his side as you make the short walk to the stables. 
He turns to you after a moment, pausing his work of undoing the tack. “Wait. It’s a twelve-hour flight from here to the school… When did you leave?”
“Nine days ago,” you answer tiredly. “It would have been eight, but there was a rockslide in the mountains, so I had to double back and take the long way round.”
“Nine days?” he echoes. “How did you…”
“I followed the south star,” you explain, gazing up at him. “And then a friend of ours found me, and led me the rest of the way here.”
“You’re welcome,” Sliseag adds.
Sawyer blinks for a second, processing. “You two never cease to surprise me.”
You laugh, the puff of breath visible in the air. “Him and I have an understanding.”
“Evidently so,” he agrees, finishing up.
You step outside, tilting your head up to watch the flakes fall. “Just like home.”
He smiles, tugging you closer. “Just like home,” he agrees, leaning his head down…
You put your hand in front of your mouth to stop him. “That’s not a good idea,” you squeak, your cheeks warming. 
He looks at you, confused and a little hurt.
“Sy, I’ve been camping for the last three days,” you prompt, embarrassed. “There weren’t any inns between here and Deaconshire.”
It dawns on him after a second. “Ah.”
“Yeah. So if there’s a bathtub and a sink in that castle back there, I’d like to use them.”
———————
He isn’t expecting you to start stripping so fast, but you’re so eager to be out of your dirty clothes and into the warm water that you don’t think about the fact that Sawyer is still standing there.
He whirls around as soon as he realizes.
“Facing the wall and closing your eyes? I’m almost a little offended,” you tease.
You can see how red his cheeks are in the mirror as he responds. “It’s called being respectful. I’m gonna find you some clean clothes. I’ll be back.”
You hum, letting your head tip back against the tiled wall. By the time Sawyer returns, you’ve washed up, and are just relaxing, enjoying the moment of peace. The warm water is so nice after the freezing cold weather outside, and besides the last week of traveling, you haven’t taken a real bath in two and a half years — showering at Basgiath just isn’t the same. 
“You about ready? It’s almost dinnertime, and you need to eat something.”
You whine in protest, sinking deeper into the water.
“Okay,” he concedes. “Five more minutes. But you’re gonna get all pruney.”
You wiggle your fingers at him playfully. “Oh, it’s too late. I’ve been pruned.”
He rolls his eyes. “What am I going to do with you?”
“C’mere,” you coax, sitting up a bit and resting your forearms on the edge of the tub, leaning toward him.
He settles onto the floor, at eye level with you.
“I brushed my teeth,” you tell him. “So I’m ready for that kiss now. Are you gonna do it, or should I—” Your sentence is interrupted with a soft whimper as he pulls you forward with a hand on your jaw, guiding you into a dizzying kiss. Water sloshes against the side of the tub as you rise up onto your knees, wanting him even closer, but you have to pull back for air. 
“Minty fresh,” he pronounces, brushing his nose against yours.
“Gods,” you breathe, “Why didn’t we do this earlier?”
“I have no idea. But we have the rest of our days to make up for it.”
It’s your turn to tug him forward. You bring a hand up to cradle his cheek, sending water droplets running down the side of his neck, but he doesn’t seem to mind, still entirely focused on you as the kiss gets deeper and deeper, making up for lost time.
He pulls back after a moment, and you whine softly, pouting up at him as he stands. “Dinner,” he reminds you gently. “We can pick this back up later tonight.”
That seems to appease you — there’s that mischievous little twinkle in your eye, the one he loves so much. “I’m holding you to that,” you warn.
“Please do,” he answers a little too quickly, holding out a thick towel and turning his gaze to the wall so you can get up.
“Averting your eyes again? Ouch.”
He reddens, still looking away. “If I see you naked right now, we won’t make it to dinner.”
You giggle, taking the towel from him and pressing a kiss to his flushed cheek. “You, Sawyer Henrick, are adorable.”
He clears his throat, gesturing to the pile on the counter and changing the subject. “I think these should fit.”
Black on black, of course. This castle… palace? fortress? is full of riders. At least it’s cotton fabric and not all leather — that would be a bitch to put on with wet skin.
You throw your still-dripping hair into an easy style; you’ll take the time to dry it and detangle and everything later. “This feels like a hallow’s eve costume. All I need is the jacket,” you joke, examining your reflection.
He shrugs his off, draping it over your shoulders, and your heart nearly stops. 
You’d had his tongue in your mouth not three minutes ago, but this somehow feels even more intimate — wearing his jacket, with his name over your heart, being wrapped in his scent and the warmth of his body that lingers on the fabric... Definitely against regulation, but so are a lot of things you’ve done in the last week, namely taking an unplanned and unsanctioned leave of absence from Basgiath with no real plans to return. 
You’ll deal with those consequences later. Maybe.
—————
You freeze at the sight of the group of people entering the hall, their brown uniforms and the quivers of arrows over their shoulders marking them as gryphon fliers. You’ve never seen one in person before. 
“It’s a very long story, but they’re on our side now,” Sawyer explains, but he still holds you a little closer anyway — it’s unclear if he doesn't fully trust them, or if he just wants to comfort you in the presence of the people you’d been taught to treat as enemies.
“That should not have been a surprise after everything else you told me,” you laugh, but the sight of them still makes you a little nervous. 
He stops at one of the long tables and drops a kiss to your forehead. “Sit. I’ll get you some real food.”
Rhiannon is the first to spot you. “I told you it had to be her!”
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Violet says, wide eyed.
You laugh, settling into an open spot on the bench. “I feel like a little kid playing dress-up. But at least I don’t stick out so much anymore. The blue was a little…”
“I thought it was nice,” someone says quietly — a girl sitting next to Ridoc with a book open in front of her. You recognize her from the infirmary; he had brought her in one morning, covered in cuts and bruises. A little butterfly had fluttered around her the whole time, landing on your arm once as you worked.
You offer her a soft smile. “Glad to see you in one piece.”
“I hear you’re our newest healer,” someone greets — a man who looks a bit older than you. Your eyes catch on the Lieutenant Colonel insignia on his jacket, and then the mender’s patch. He must be the equivalent of Nolon around here.
“Yes, sir,” you answer shyly, suddenly a little embarrassed to be wearing someone else’s uniform. “Or one in training, anyway.”
“We’ll take what we can get. Come by the infirmary tomorrow, and we’ll get you started.” He pats Sawyer on the shoulder in passing, giving him a knowing smile. “Your squadmates can fill you in on what you missed this afternoon.”
Sawyer reddens. “Thank you, sir.”
You wait until he returns to the head table before you look back at Violet, wide-eyed. “Is that…”
She nods. “Officially, he isn’t. But yes, that’s my brother. How did you know?”
“You have the same smile. And the signet patch — Nolon talks about your brother all the time. He’s the best mender there’s been in a hundred years.”
“He’s pretty good,” she concedes. “Second only to Lieutenant Avan, but don’t tell him I said that.”
Your ears prick up at the mention of the girl. “Is she here too? How’s she doing?”
“You know her?” Ridoc’s girl asks, curious. 
You nod. “She came in all the time with Professor Carr to practice. Oh, I hated that guy. Poor girl always looked so uncomfortable around him, and he’d work her to the bone every time. I talked back to him once, telling him to let her stop before she keeled over, and I was sure that he’d get me in trouble for it, but he just gave me that creepy stare and left.”
“I know the one,” she says with a shudder. “He’s the worst.”
“Food,” Sawyer prods before you can reply, pushing the plate closer to you.
You roll your eyes at him, but you finally realize how hungry you are, tucking in to your first real meal in days — nothing fancy, just some kind of fish and vegetables and brown bread, but it’s much more appetizing than anything you’d had at any of those terrible inns in Deaconshire, and with much better company. You had to cut everything with one hand, the other under the table clutching Sawyer’s dagger to defend yourself against any of the other patrons, but praying that you wouldn’t have to. Mercifully, they’d all left you alone.
It feels like you’re back at school, crammed around one of the tiny tables at the tavern you’d frequented — the same laughter and easy chatter, as if you aren’t preparing for a war of proportion you don’t yet understand.
You keep up with the conversation for a little while, finishing your plate and resting your head on Sawyer’s shoulder for a moment, a gentle gesture of thanks. He wraps an arm around you, tucking you into his side as the squad continues to discuss several things that go in one ear and out the other, but are likely important to this effort — journals and runes and wards and the original six.
You can’t keep your eyes open. Now that you’ve reunited with Sawyer, gotten cleaned up and eaten something, the adrenaline has faded, and you just want to sleep for the next four days — in a real bed with real blankets, not a thin sleeping bag on the frozen ground.
“M’sorry,” you murmur. “Just really tired.”
He chuckles softly. “It’s okay, sweet girl. Let’s get you to bed.”
You bid everyone goodnight, trudging up endless flights of stairs to a barracks room that’s devoid of anything except a bed made up with plain sheets and the pack you’d taken from school. 
“Home sweet home,” he announces. “At least you don’t have a roommate. I get to deal with Ridoc twenty four hours a day now.”
You manage a laugh, kneeling down to look through your bag and setting a few things on the empty desk. “Now it’s home.”
He raises his eyebrows, amused. “Glad to see that your bunny made the cut when you were packing a bag to commit treason.”
“I wasn’t going to leave him behind after twenty years,” you defend, a little embarrassed.
“Understandable,” he offers. “Alright. You’ve got pajamas, bathroom’s down the hall, you have your key… you all set?” You nod in affirmation, and he kisses your forehead, giving you a soft hug before he turns toward the door. 
You whine softly, holding on a little longer. “You’re leaving?”
“I need to shower, but I can come back after, if you want.”
You cover a yawn with your hand. “That would be nice.”
“Alright. Get changed. I’ll be back.”
The door unlocking and the movement of the mattress under his weight stir you from your sleep. 
The bed is just barely big enough for the two of you, but you don’t mind, curling into his side and nuzzling your cheek into his shoulder. He’s warm, and the weight of his arms around you is soothing.
He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest. You’ve had a long week.”
70 notes · View notes
dock57 · 2 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
[Jumping over to EP 3 as I was taking screenshots from it for future posts. I actually have noticed this a few times from watching it, but I would like to point it out as well. I love how these four paired up in this episode. You have Scratch and Shrike who are constantly at each other's throats, while you have Beebs and Scritch who are getting along.
I love how Scritch stays to Beebs' side for the rest of the episode. Scritch sticks with Beebs because right now, Beebs is the leveled headed one here. He's the voice of reason. Scritch is just as tired of this crap as Beebs is as well.
Tumblr media
Scritch never says a word, but I love how helpful he is. How concern he is for their wellbeing but for Beebs' as well. Giving him little guidance and help to safety for all of them.
Tumblr media
I love this shot too! You can see Scritch is concerned for Beebs. How much energy Beebs is using to keep them alive, but to see that he is doing it damaged as well. I love how Scritch looks to him with concern and wants to help, rather than complain or cause any further problems unlike his brother, Scratch. He's looking at his cybernetic arm and wondering how that affects Beebs and how it can be fixed.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Its hard to tell, especially since this shot is focused on Shrike, but you can also see in the background that Scritch is helping Beebs at pulling away the green veins from the console. Then you have Scratch, who is, doing nothing...
Tumblr media
It is funny for him to let Beebs know that well, the ship is heading straight towards the star/sun. I feel like that was already a known fact, but I love how Scritch still has to point it out to Beebs. Like in this moment, he looking to Beebs and asking with those eyes "what are we going to do?"
I think about it now, but, I also think that maybe the reason why Scritch sticks to Beebs' shoulder is because he knew Beebs would listen to him. His brother and Shrike as of right now are being irrational. They're trying to prevent from you know- burning up into a star, but still are fighting with each other while doing so. Scritch would probably have no way to be able to get their attention, especially Shrike who is not the best at reading others anyway...
Beebs is a rational guy and right now, the one thinking the most rational... So I love that Scritch reaches for Beebs' attention because he knows that he can trust Beebs to make the right decision. I mean man, don't blame Scritch- I would trust Beebs with my life too...
Tumblr media
And of course, at the end of the episode. They're out of danger finally, where they are gather to say goodbye to Us- and of course get Scratch to apologize for well, you know...
I love how in the end, Scritch decides to help Beebs one last time and at least patch up his cybernetic arm so that Beebs can play his guitar to communicate with Us. Gives it a little pat to make sure its sticking on tight. I love how its green as well, the same green that matches' Scritch collar/backpack. I love this little friendship that these two seem to have.
I mean really I love the dynamic between the four as well, this episode really captures the 'brother relationship' that they all share. Which once again, is something else I would love to talk about in another post!
Tumblr media
Scritch you are such a precious little bean. Thank you for keeping your brother Scratch in check...
Also-
Tumblr media Tumblr media
These silly moments I captured too. Lord these two are such polar opposites from Beebs and Srcitch and I love that. I love the dynamic between them so much.
Also if you noticed any grammar issues- this is what happens when you write a post at 3 AM, whoops!]
66 notes · View notes
frillydolle · 2 days ago
Note
not sure if you're still taking requests but low honor arthur morgan with a new/relatively new gang member who reminds him of mary? (this might be a self insert bc i got the same mole on my cheek that mary has help im going insane for this man
Tumblr media
low honour arthur morgan x nervous female reader
꒰ 𝝑𓏲 ꒱ slight angst at the start , come onn u remind him of mary , super cute and sweet by the end!!
Tumblr media
he didn't talk to u. well, he did, but barely. he'd talk to u only if he needed to, and u had no idea why. u didn't do anything wrong, did u? well, u weren't in all the action, but u were a helpful girl within the camp grounds, u even didn't get upset if ms. grinshaw was giving u trouble!
he'd stare at u, and if u catch him, he'd look away almost immediately. but u weren't sure if his gaze was of annoyance, or disappointment, maybe more... longing? heartbroken? u would go up to him but u just didn't know what to say, u know? he was in and out of camp time and again. although, u were determined to talk to him even if u were very intimidated by him.
he couldn't believe it. he couldn't believe how much u reminded him of mary and he hated it. sometimes late at night he still yearns for her, just to touch her once more, to feel her soft skin against his rough skin, to smell the wealthy perfume that she always used just once last time. but he knew he couldn't go back like that, they ended for a reason and grew a sort of resentment for that whole situation between them.
u were kind. he knew that, maybe, too kind. u were nothing like mary, really. there were even times u brought him a coffee with a nervous “for you, mr morgan.” that would leave ur lips, and he hum softly as a thank u, still seeing mary linton than yourself. or u would give him a bowl of stew with a small “there you go, mr morgan.” he didn't have anything against u either. he knew how hard u worked.
he was just back from doing a job in dutch's favour, it was easy, of course. nothing could kill the big, burly man they call arthur morgan. maybe a few o'driscolls but that's nothing for van der linde's most trusted associate. he's sitting on the edge of hid cot, head down into his journal as he writes another page about u. if invaded some people might think he's sweet on u but he really couldn't handle how u looked so much like her. that identical mole on ur cheek didn't make his feelings any better.
“... mr morgan?”
“evenin'.”
it was u. of course, it had to be u. he looked up and there u stood, wearing a white blouse that paired perfectly with ur light dusty pink skirt, u were also holding a rifle... why? why are u holding a rifle? what the hell do you have planned-
“why the hell do ya have a-” “for you! its for you... i overheard that u didn't find a rifle yesterday and while u were out.. i- i bought one for you. its nothin', really-” oh, u looked so anxious under his intense gaze and he didn't feel a little guilty about it, knowing that u had no idea about his past love life and he knew it wasn't ur fault at all. but he quickly pushed the guilt away.
u saw his gaze soften just slightly, realising that u bought a gun for him as u heard him complain about not finding one, and to maybe ease the one sided tension between the two of u.
“well, ain't u a sweetheart? thanks, sugar'.” “i just wanted to... i wanted to make your huntin' a little easier.” what a silly lie, u thought. u really just wanted him to talk to u a little more. but u smiled just a little bit, hearing a chuckle leaves his lips from ur words.
“maybe i should take ya with me someday.. would ya want that, dollface?”
“...'course, mr morgan.”
Tumblr media
56 notes · View notes
quarterlifekitty · 1 day ago
Note
Sliding into your dms because your pretending to be a man idea got into my brain and won't leave me alone. We'll have to suffer together okay.
Imagine you're a daughter of some lowly destitute baron, he died and now all you have is a house and your brother, Alex. You have to sell the house because your father had debt that hasn't been settled. Luckily, you'll still have money left from the sale. Unluckily, the money is not much. You can either use it to send Alex to the royal academy or you can use it as your marriage dowry, of which your prospect isn't great anyway since you're poor and barely even a noble. Alex wants you to use the money, he's long been disillusioned with the king (Shepherd) and he wants to go help the neighbouring kingdom fight off their invader. He'll sleep easier knowing you have a roof over your head. Still, the thought of being married to some strange old men makes you want to throw up. You think you'd rather die. But you also don't want to stop Alex from pursuing his dream. So you and Alex came up with the idea that will satisfy you both: you will take his place in the royal academy and he can leave in peace, knowing you'll be safer in the academy than alone without a house in the countryside. He'll tell people that he's sent you to live with some distant relatives somewhere.
Years pass and you thrive in the academy. You graduate and despite having no connections or wealth, your capability lands you a job inside the palace. It's nothing fancy, and likely you won't go very far working under a neglected concubine, but she's very nice and funny. The salary is also good enough that you think if you keep working for a few years you can buy a small house and retire back to the countryside. Maybe you'll even stay longer just to accompany your mistress.
All in all, life is nice and uneventful. The great nobles and the king might be fighting, but you and your mistress are so far down the political ladder it barely affects you. Or so you thought and so it should have been, if not for your mistress starting a genuine love affair with Marchioness Laswell.
Your mistress' affection for you causes Laswell to pay attention to you. And unfortunately for you, she's seen the real Alex before. She knows you're a fraud. You think you're done for, but Laswell says she understands why you do it. She says she won't let the public learn your secret.
And she doesn't, because Duke Price isn't the public. He's just a Duke in desperate need of a wife. Someone to help him escape the disadvantageous match that will only put him under Shepherd's control once more. What a good luck he has to meet you, a noble who is unaffiliated with king, at this exact time. Surely you'll be willing to help him out? Being a duchess is certainly better than pretending to be a guy. It's definitely less risky, he says. Do you know that using someone else's identity can get you to jail? What if the king finds out and thinks you're plotting treason? Off with your pretty little head then. Surely being his duchess would be safer. He'll protect you. Take care of you. Spoil you, even. You and your good birthing hips and however many kids you two will have.
TLDR, you pretend to be a guy to escape marrying strange old men only to marry another (worse) strange old man
So first of all. I LOVE THIS. And now for my paltry additions….
I think that once Price found out about you, he became extremely fixated for a number of reasons. One? He’d met you before. He visited the academy as an alumni, occasionally donated to the institute, and would visit to check on the allocation of those funds.
And he remembers seeing you, swimming in your too-large uniform. Absolutely decimating your studies. In his observation of the academy, he’d unwittingly found himself following you around to your different lessons and seeing you sweep the floor with every other student. It was clear you were extremely bright, and he heard the whisperings about you.
A shame about your lowly birth. You might’ve made a fine tactician.
Price, as a rather meritocratic man, wanted to have you in his service as soon as you graduated. But as with many of the finest things in the kingdom, you were plucked up and handed off as something of a present to one of the king’s newer, shinier consorts.
So when Laswell starts her dalliance with that very consort, it sparks a memory in Price. And he asks after you. Which gets Laswell to commit you more to memory when she meets with you. And suddenly it’s quite obvious. She tells Price all about it, with amusement on her face, at one of their weekly meetings.
Suddenly there’s a little click in his brain. Like everything’s slotting into place. He was denied you once, in one way, and it won’t happen again. Now he can have you in all ways. With the forces at his disposal, and your brilliance in tactics and writing, he may well have the makings of some serious political sabotage. With him as your husband, you could soar in a way your class and gender never would’ve allowed. And at the end of it all? You’re quite pretty. A new dress and a circlet for that boyish cut of hair and you’d be bewitching. He was eager to see what those loose tunics had been hiding.
You can’t refuse his offer. Suddenly, Alex is called by letter to care for an ailing relative who has no other means of support. The same relative that had supposedly taken you in. And John quite selflessly takes you in following, and from a public perspective, it all went so naturally after that. What could be more heartwarming and dreamy? A generous noble taking in a common born girl in an act of charity, and the two falling in love, enough to defy the gaps in their stations and marry. It’s the kind of thing that only happens in fairy tales.
But despite all of John’s political aspirations, he knows it must appear as if nothing is amiss. That means doing what any noble would do with a young, pretty bride. It means spoiling you with all the finery he can… and it means making sure that you’re with child within the year.
58 notes · View notes
larluce · 1 day ago
Note
First I wanted to say hello and tell you that I love your works. They really have me on the edge of my seat every time I read them.
Second. Can you imagine that Merlin, in some new alternative universe, for some reason, upon arriving in Camelot, arrives with a baby? It's all still a Merthur ending, it should be noted.
Like, we know that Merlin was already a bit of an outcast in the village for the reason that nobody knew who his father was and even more so because strange things were always happening around him.
The situation gets much worse when he finds a crying baby in the middle of a burnt tent near the village.
Will and his mother try to help him for a while, but with the visits of the evildoers to the village becoming more and more frequent, Merlin and the baby have no choice but to go to Camelot.
And so the adventures begin!
Only now Arthur wonders if they can make crowns for babies, because he is willing to marry Merlin and legally adopt the baby as his own.
And Morgana… well, she and Gwen enjoy dressing up the baby in all the clothes from her old dolls. Not to mention that she notices that by taking naps with the baby she no longer has nightmares.
The knights become, in some way or another, glorified nannies. The servants and maids must chase after a baby who never stops causing mischief in the castle.
And Merlin just wants to survive colic season and potty train his baby… and everything would be easier if there weren't a murderer or a resentful wizard trying to kill Arthur every 3 minutes.
First, thank you so much for the compliments! 🥹🤧❤️
About the concept. I love it! I don't think going to Camelot to live would be Merlin or Hunith's first option for a baby that can't control their magic at all. So I firmly believe Hunith would send Merlin with the baby there so Gaius can take them to a druid camp so they could take refuge there.
The problem is, before Gaius can do so, Merlin is made the prince's personal manservant. Merlin can't exactly deny the king and he does need the money to take care of his baby so he decides to stay to Gaius dismay. Gaius and Merlin try to keep the baby hided at first so they take turns taking care of her (in my mind is a her) in Gaius' tower in secret. It works out for some weeks but then the plague (Nimueh's Afanc) happens and Arthur searches Gaius' tower.
Arthur: (enters Merlin's room) Merlin: (running inside) Arthur, wait! Baby: (sitting on the bed, looks up at Arthur and gives a cute giggle) Arthur: (Turns to Merlin slowly) Merlin? Merlin: Yeah? 😅 Arthur: Why is there a baby in your bed? Merlin: (in panic, shouts the first thing that comes to his mind) She is mine! Arthur: ... Arthur: What? 😧 Merlin: (repeats more quietly but more firmly) She is mine. (runs to hold her up and embraces her) She is my daugther. Arthur: (thinking) But... but he is so young. (says) Where's the mother? Merlin: (with pain as he remembers the burnt tent) She passed away. Arthur: (his heart hurting for Merlin) I'm so sorry. But Gods Merlin, why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have given you so many chores if I knew... (thinking) And I almost sacked you. I almost sacked a single father with a baby in arms! (says) And why the hell are you hiding her? Merlin: I... wasn't sure if I could keep her. Arthur: Of course you can keep her! What kind of master do you think I am? Knight x: (from outside) Sire? Arthur: (shouts back) In a minute! (to Merlin) What's her name? Merlin: Brigitta. Arthur: (repeats softly and smiles) Brigitta.
From then on, Arthur doesn't give Merlin as many chores and raises his salary considerably. And then everybody else finds out about Briggitta and go "I've only met Brigitta for a day and a half, but if anything happened to her, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself".
Some events would change, obviously, and some would remain the same but with a new perspective. I don't think Merlin would have time to make Lancelot a fake seal, for example, having to look after Brigitta and all. I can imagine Lancelot becoming Brigitta's first unnofficial babysiter, then Arthur makes it official so poor Lancelot has a salary and a place to stay in Camelot. The Poisoned Chalice episode would remain the same, except Arthur would be more in panic mode and desperate because MERLIN HAS A DAUGHTER! BRIGITTA CAN'T LOSE HER FATHER TOO!
I think it would be The Beginning of the End where Arthur and Morgana find out about Brigitta's magic and Merlin's magic. Not because they discovered her, surprisingly, but Merlin decided to tell them all the truth about her and himself after seeing how they saved Mordred. Also, since Merlin saw Brigitta's possible future in Mordred, he wants to leave Camelot too to keep her safe. Screw all what the dragon told him about destiny, his daugther comes first.
So Merlin and Brigitta are about to leave with Mordred with the druids. They are having a heartfelt goodbye with Arthur, who scorted them there, but then...
Brigitta: (cries very loudly in Merlin's arms and the earth starts shaking a bit) Merlin: I know, I know, baby, but we have to go. Brigitta: (cries more loudly and extends her little arms to Arthur) Arthur: (barely containing his tears) I'll miss you too, Biddy. But this is the best for you- Brigitta: ATHU! 😭 Arthur: (open his eyes wide) What did she just said? Brigitta: (still crying and making grabby hands at him) ATHU, ATHU, ATHU! 😭 Arthur: (tears roll down his eyes) She said my name... Merlin, she said my name! (grinning widely) Let me hold her one more time, please! Merlin: (gives Brigitta to Arthur) Druid leader: (urgently) We need to leave now! Merlin: (looking at Arthur and Brigitta tenderly and smiles) Leave, we'll stay.
I also can imagine Nimueh going after Brigitta's life instead of Hunith, and having to confront not only a very furious Merlin, but a feral protective prince.
That's how far my imagination can go. If you have any ideas of how Merlin and Arthur or other character would act in other episodes now with Brigitta in the equation, share it in the comments or reblogs. I'll be happy to read you 🥰
66 notes · View notes
dootznbootz · 2 days ago
Note
Hello, I want to ask this question but I don't want it to sound disrespectful, I really want to know and I'm not trying to be rude.
Why are Helen and Menelaus one of your OTPs? I mean, at least the versions I know Helen falls in love with Paris and willingly goes to Troy with him (but I have to say that this was told to me, I didn't read it from any legitimate source, so I could be wrong) so I'd like to know what makes you love them! And that's all, I hope you have a nice day:3
YIPPEE! :D First of all, I wanna say thank you for being polite and genuine with your ask :3 I really appreciate that you seem to be coming from a genuinely curious perspective and want to know why! I hope you have a lovely day too <3
And then~ Ima put some links to other posts of mine (AND some other lovely folks) that discuss Helen and Menelaus and the whole thing with Paris. Most have text evidence :3
I have made the ones that I think are most important to read in bold
Menelaus in the Iliad talking about how Paris stole Helen
A fantastic essay written by another Tumblr user (deactivated now. you will be missed!) that delves into the reality of Paris and Helen's relationship alongside Paris as a person
My own essay about how Odysseus and Helen play "similar roles" in their stories. I'm assuming you've found me through my Odyssey and Water Wife stuff, so you're probably an Odysseus fan so this kind of delves into how I, personally, believe that Odysseus and Helen mirror each other in many ways plot wise. So if you are also in agreement that Odysseus couldn't have cheated because cheating requires consent, Helen is basically in the same situation. Paris is just basically having Aphrodite strongarm Helen for him.
My Own personal feelings on Paris
A neat essay on how, narratively, the story fits into the themes of the whole Epic Cycle and the Iliad if Helen was actually kidnapped
Some stuff on Menelaus being a soft man in canon :3
My Own post delving somewhat into Helen's unwillingness with some text evidence
I recommend reading most of these (or at least the ones that intrigue you) and then I can chatter about these sillies below 🥹
So in canon, just for the Iliad and the Odyssey, Menelaus is often portrayed as a quiet, shy even, and I would even go so far as to call him gentle, man. (It's kind of a collective fanon headcanon that Menelaus is austistic coded based on his behavior in the texts) It's something really interesting that one of his epithet's is "War Loving" and yet, he's one of the more "peaceful" kings there.
Adrestus rolled out of the chariot beside the wheel, face down in the dirt. Menelaus, son of Atreus,                        stood there over him, holding his long-shadowed spear. Adrestus clutched Menelaus by the knees and begged: “Take me alive, son of Atreus—you’ll get good ransom. My father is a wealthy man, owns lots of things—bronze, silver, well-worked iron. So he’ll give you a splendid ransom, if he learns I’m by Achaean ships, alive.”                             Adrestus pleaded. Menelaus’s heart in his chest was moved. He was about to hand Adrestus to his attendant, to take back captive to the fast Achaean ships.           But then Agamemnon came running up to him, sharply criticizing Menelaus:  “Menelaus, you soft-hearted man, why are you sparing men’s lives like this? In your own home, Trojans treated you exceptionally well, did they not? So don’t let any one of them evade a terrible destruction at our hands— not even the young child still carried in his mother’s belly. Let no one escape.                         Let everyone in Troy be slaughtered, without pity, without leaving any trace.”    
(Book 6, Johnston)
Like the main reason WHY Menelaus is fighting this war in the first place and fighting so hard, is because he just wants Helen back. Literally the most "violent" we've seen Menelaus is, imo, during his fight with Paris, the man who kidnapped Helen and is forcing himself upon her. As he literally starts DRAGGING Paris by his helmet on the ground. And when Paris offers Treasure in place of Helen, Diomedes' declines on his (and technically all the other Achaeans') behalf as Menelaus was injured.
And if you've looked at the bolded links I put above, you'll see how Helen also desperately does not want to be there and just wants to go back home, missing Menelaus and their daughter, Hermione.
And with Helen, she literally basically tells Paris that since he would've lost the fight with Menelaus, therefore would've been killed, if not for Aphrodite, that he should kill himself because that's what's honorable.
“You’ve come back from the fight. How I wish   you’d died there, killed by that strong warrior who was my husband once. You used to boast you were stronger than warlike Menelaus,  more strength in your hands, more power in your spear. So go now, challenge war-loving Menelaus to fight again in single combat. I’d suggest you stay away. Don’t fight it out man to man with fair-haired Menelaus, without further thought. You might well die, come to a quick end on his spear.”  
(Book 3, Johnston)
I honestly fucking love how Helen straight up says to Paris' face that she wished Menelaus killed him. Deserved.
In some ways, I think Paris is a very neat contrast to Menelaus in how Paris left his wife and child behind to start a life with a new "better" wife, while Menelaus is willing to go to war to bring the wife he loves so much back home, safe and happy, with him. Menelaus can't even think of the idea of just "starting anew".
And in the Odyssey, it's just... It's just so sweet seeing how these two interact when Telemachus goes to Sparta to talk to them. Helen is no longer in tears, and while she's still dealing with her self-loathing and guilt, so does Menelaus. They share this burden together and are very gentle with each other. The way she's back to being so happy and hosting as a happy Queen and wife should, is so SO different from how we see Helen in the Iliad, as she's finally happy, safe, and at home. 😭
Like, please look at how silly these two are when they see Telemachus:
Right away she started speaking to her husband, asking him some detailed questions:                                   “Do we know, my divinely cherished Menelaus, who these two men who’ve come into our home claim to be? Shall I speak up and pretend, or shall I tell the truth? My heart tells me                            I must be frank. I can’t say I’ve ever seen                            someone who looks so much like someone else, whether man or woman. When I see it, I’m amazed—this man looks just like the son of brave Odysseus—I mean Telemachus, who, when he left home, was a new-born child, when, because I’d acted so disgracefully, you Achaeans all sailed away to Troy, your hearts intent on brutal warfare.” Fair-haired Menelaus then answered her and said: “This likeness you’ve just noticed, my dear wife,               I’ve seen, as well. His feet are similar, as are his hands, the glances from his eyes,                                              his head, and his hair on top. And just now, as I was remembering Odysseus, discussing all the troubles he’d endured because of me, he let a bitter tear fall from his eyes and raised the purple cloak across his face.”
(Book 4, Johnston)
Like??? She feels free to speak and state her mind because she IS free with Menelaus. She feels respected and loved in her own house and is the queen to his king and slkdjf kljdsfalj THEY'RE HAPPYYYYYY
In the Odyssey also, it was she who interpreted the omen that Telemachus and Pesistratus even though Menelaus was asked to interpret it! ANOTHER EXAMPLE OF HER HAPPILY BEING A QUEEN AND HER AND HER WORDS BEING RESPECTED.
Menelaus, for all his warlike qualities, was at a loss to give him the correct interpretation, and his beautiful wife forestalled him. 'Listen,' she said, 'while with such inspiration as I have I explain this omen and what I feel sure that it portends. [...]
(Book 15, E.V. Rieu)
LOOK AT EURIPIDES' HELEN
Tumblr media
Like to me, these two in canon are kind of "opposites attract" while OdyPen are "Likeminded". As Helen is definitely one to chatter more and Menelaus is perfectly fine letting Helen talk for him.
And while young, Menelaus and Agamemnon after their father, Atreus, was killed by their uncle, they had to flee Mycenae to stay safe and were exiled. And where did they stay during this time?
In Sparta, WITH TYNDAREUS AND LEDA, HELEN'S PARENTS >:3
And with most depictions of Menelaus and Odysseus when getting married to Helen and Penelope, both are usually beardless, implying youth/same age. So I love the idea of them being childhood friends to lovers. (that's just MY interpretation though) It's part of the reason why Helen picked him out of all the suitors (though yeah, another interpretation)
AND look at this depiction of them reunitiing!!!
Tumblr media
So for the context for this specific version/interpretation of them reuniting, he has just killed Deiphobus, Paris' brother that Helen went to after Paris died, (Troy was fated to fall, if Helen was returned, Menelaus and the other Achaeans would go home and Troy would be left alone, so... Fate interfered with Helen even possibly going home) and she was in the room when it happened. Helen, being somewhat scared that Menelaus would try to kill her, started to run. (That's Helen on the Right, the left is supposed to be Aphrodite, who, while she did keep Helen in Troy for Paris, is still the goddess of love. So that's why she's there.)
BUT LOOK HOW HE TOSSED HIS SWORD TO THE SIDE TO RUN TO HER?! 😭
In general, I love the dynamics that play into their relationship AND how their relationship even plays with other characters like OdyPen. I'm not as detailed with their lives as I am with my OdyPen, they're still heavily involved in my ideas and they're all very close. They go on double dates!
Heck, since I have the whole "childhood friends" stuff in my stuff, Helen, Menelaus, Penelope, Castor, and Deiphobus all grew up together and were kind of a goofy lil crew :3 (I have aged up Clytemnestra to work with my Agamemnon more with how I have my timeline work out :') The timeline is a mess and this is how I'm making it work)
Like, My OdyPen are my "Freak4Freak, Likeminded, ADHD, squirming, wriggling, giggling, nuzzling noses and constantly moving and chattering" couple while my MenHelen are my "Slow and relaxed, long kisses, Helen chatters while Menelaus listens, Menelaus is Helen's weighted blanket person who eases her anxiousness with his quiet demeanor, staring at each other with big eyes." couple 🥹
Snippets of my goobers being affectionate in their own special way, my OdyPen one from my one longfic and my MenHelen is just a snippet I wrote recently.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
OdyPen squirm and wriggle while MenHelen stare at each other with big eyes and are each others safe place.
My dear friend, @thehelplessmortals (One of MenHelen's super fans! Check em out if you're even more curious about them! they have their own fanart and headcanons for them too!) doodled my version of the goobers being silly. My Helen is Chubby and 6'4 (Zeus' child and most beautiful woman in the world) and she likes to wrestle, and Menelaus is 6'2, she can pick him up >:3
"DAD, I WANT THIS ONE!"
Tumblr media
Also~ Here's my list of Odyssey translations I've gathered :3 Feel free to pick one if you ever wanna read the actual text.
60 notes · View notes
txrully · 3 days ago
Text
toxic till the end
Tumblr media
·˚ ༘ ꒱ genre angst
·˚ ༘ ꒱ warnings toxic relationship, emotional abuse, attachment issues, neglect and abandonment, self-doubt, manipulation, codependency
·˚ ༘ ꒱ song inspo toxic till the end - rosé
·˚ ༘ ꒱ a/n never in my life did i think that i'd write down those warnings- but this song was stuck in my head for so long i had to write smth abt it :')
Tumblr media
his favorite game is chess, who would ever guess?
you like to reminisce about the times when you played chess together – the concentrated look on his face as his hair covered his eyes. that look would always stay in your head for the remainder of the day after you (horribly) lost your little match as always. there are no hard feelings though, it's all fun and games in the end.
playing with the pieces in my chest
"not now, y/n. i have to do something important." he'd tsk as you removed yourself from the (one-sided) hug. "okay..." you almost mumbled inaudibly. he let out a small sigh and quickly mentioned that he'd make it up to you soon. that's how it always was, after all.
now he's on the screen, saying 'don't leave'
"y/n, don't do this to me—to us. just come back home and we'll talk this out." you read the text over and over. how could you come back? it felt like a never-ending cycle from love to pain. at first, he'd always act like the oh-so-perfect boyfriend you fell in love with. but then it's like a rock hits his head and in the blink of an eye—he acts cold towards you. why should you return to the "love of your life" if he keeps breaking your heart?
you stole that line from me, 'cause you're just jealous and possessive
"who are you talking to?" it was as if he suddenly appeared out of thin air to check the reason why you were laughing so hard. "uhm, just my friends... why?" you'd awkwardly answer. "nothing... let's go for a stroll in the park for now." any thoughts of doubt you had were immediately thrown out the window as you let out a small smile. it's been a long time since you both hung out together, so why not enjoy yourselves?
so manipulating, honestly, impressive
"i recommend you try this one—it's one of our best sellers!" an employee suggested to you. "well, i think you should try this one." your boyfriend handed you another item. in all honesty, you preferred the employee's pick more than his, but... it wouldn't hurt to try it, you supposed. seeing the look on your face, he immediately added, "do you not trust me, love?" your eyes immediately widened a bit. "huh? of course i do! you know what, let's just take your recommendation and leave, yeah?" the poor employee nervously looked between the two of you, unsure if he was intruding or not.
you had me participating
"come on, it wouldn't hurt to try?" he'd chuckle a bit as he saw the nervous look on your face. out of all the things you could do together, it just had to be skateboarding. "but wouldn't it get annoying if i fall?" you hesitantly asked. after all, you've never touched a skateboard in your life. and again and again, he'd tell you, "nonsense. i'm here." he really liked playing with your heartstrings, didn't he?
back then, when i was running out of your place
you like to think of yourself as a patient person. and that meant that between the two of you, you were definitely the more easygoing one in this relationship. although in this moment, it certainly didn't seem like it. "how could you forget our anniversary!?" you were beyond mad—maybe even livid. today marked another year of putting up with... this. he stayed silent. sometimes, you wonder if he ever cared about this day as much as you did since he always seemed to forget it. today seemed like the world had everything against you. from getting up late because the stupid alarm didn't do its job, leading to you falling down the stairs from being in such a hurry, preparing each other's lunch, arriving late to your destination and getting scolded for it, and finally, this? there's only so much a person can take. without uttering a single syllable, you grabbed the keys to your car, avoiding eye contact with the "only one who'd understand you."
i said, 'i never wanna see your face'
i meant, 'i couldn't wait to see it again'
not long after, you found yourself walking in the rain, back to your shared apartment after taking a stroll in the park, all alone. even though you were mad at him, you couldn't really blame him. 'he was always stressed during this time... he probably didn't notice the date then... so it was... my fault?' drenched in cold water, you unlocked the door quietly, noticing a dimly lit candle with a small gift next to it. "you're back." he said while leaning on the bedroom door. it's almost as if he predicted you'd come back at this time. oh right... this always happens. "well, get cleaned up. i'm heading to bed." you left to the bathroom in a hurry. you hated this endless cycle the two of you seemed to have, yet at the same time, you didn't want to leave him. you loved him too much. maybe you can sort things out in the morning? love conquers all... doesn't it?
we were toxic till the end
— rin, sae, kaiser, ness, nagi, reo
© txrully
( do not republish, translate, copy or plagiarize my works )
note. some characters are ooc bc... well i did 6 characters in one ☠️😭
Tumblr media
62 notes · View notes
ephie-om · 3 days ago
Text
A Gentle Wrath (Part 2)
Part 1
Satan’s hand rests comfortably in yours as you walk slowly down the sidewalk. The late-night air has a slight chill to it, but he made sure to check the weather before walking you home and brought an extra jacket for you just in case. It was lucky enough that you were able to find a job safe for you in the Devildom; he wasn’t about to take any chances that you could get sick or hurt on the way back to the house. His thumb strokes your hand idly as you walk and he matches your pace effortlessly.
You talk about your day aimlessly, wandering from topic to topic and he listens happily. Truth be told, this is his favorite part of the day, finally reuniting with you at the end of it all. The conversation includes anything and everything that comes to mind. Your classes at RAD, the book he read today at lunch, how you need to get new work shoes, plans to sneak a taste of Lucifer’s newest demonus variety. 
He always prefers to listen more than talk during these walks. Back at home, you’re a little too indulgent of his brothers’ whims to walk all over you in a conversation. This is the only time guaranteed to him to hear your voice in the quiet. Every time you trip over your words or laugh at your own joke is another tally in his journal of reasons to love you. 
The front gates of the House of Lamentation come into view all too soon for his liking, but you heave a relieved sigh. “Your feet hurt?” he guesses. You nod and push open the door. The warm air hits both of you like a wall, and he can hear your stomach rumble as you catch the smell of meat from the kitchen. “How long for dinner?” he calls out. Levi’s voice answers him, echoing through the foyer. “Maybe thirty more minutes, if I don’t burn the damn noodles again.”
You chuckle and Satan looks over at you, mirroring your smile easily. “You have time for a quick shower, if you’d like.” 
“Definitely,” you answer quickly. “But he’d better have that done by the time I get back down here, or I might turn into Beel.” He laughs and watches you head upstairs, deciding he had better stay and make sure dinner gets done on time. 
Tumblr media
You and Satan find yourselves sprawled across his couch with full stomachs and eyes fluttering shut. He’s propped himself up against the arm of the couch to hold you. The feeling of your head resting on his chest with his arms around you is second to none. He lets his eyes close, reveling in the moment, when you break the silence. 
“Satan?”
“Hm?”
“Do you remember the first time we ever did this?”
He laughs, his torso making your head shake. “Of course I remember. You fell asleep on me during the movie that you picked out and then apologized about a hundred times when you woke up.”
You smile into his chest. “I felt so bad. I really didn’t mean to fall asleep, but that was before I knew how comfortable you were.”
He grins. “Honestly, I was just happy you trusted me enough to sleep.”
You raise your head to look up at him, confused. “Why would I not trust you enough?”
“Well…” he trails off. “I didn’t know if you could. Not after everything I did.” He glances down to see you still frowning. “I mean, I threatened you into making a pact with me, spent most of my free time pissing you off, tried to kill you multiple times, then tried to play nice with you. I wasn’t sure if you were ever going to trust me.”
You huff in annoyance. “None of you liked me when I got here, remember? A lot’s changed since then.” He opens his mouth to agree with you before you cut him off. “Wait a minute. Is that why I saw that stack of books in your room about humans the night I fell asleep on you? You were trying to figure out how to get me to trust you?” Satan can feel the blush rise to his cheeks.
“You could say that,” he mutters.
“Well, what would you say?”
He takes a deep breath, trying to find the words. “I would say that every time you picked me up off the ground when I fell, every time you tended to my wounds before whatever I broke in my rage, every time you tried to cheer me up, there was this… tenderness behind it. It broke me more than being angry. Being angry is something I’m used to; it’s woven into my being. But being cared for is still new to me. And I was so scared that despite everything you did for me, I would never be able to give you the same care. My research on humans yielded almost nothing, which certainly didn’t help. But somehow you still fell in love with me. And more importantly, you let me love you.” He feels his throat tightening as he speaks, and he presses a kiss to your forehead to stifle his emotions. “I know I’m not the most experienced lover or the most romantic, but you’re still here, so I think I must be doing something right,” he says softly, almost to himself more than you. 
You brush your fingers idly over his arm. “I don’t know how I could ever not trust you. You think this isn’t gentle?” He bites the inside of his cheek. You were right. Of course you were. It was so gentle, so caring, the way you relaxed into his body and the way his arms rested on you. “I trust you,” you murmur. “I wish you knew how much I do. And I don’t ever want to hear you say you don’t deserve to be cared for, alright?”
He mutters a quiet “okay” into the top of your head, and you pretend not to feel his chest heave. His fingers run up and down your back, proving to himself again and again that you were here and you weren’t going to leave. 
You fall asleep in his arms again that night. And for the first time, he falls asleep too.
46 notes · View notes
fatalism-and-villainy · 1 day ago
Text
@beechicory:
I think one interesting aspect is that Garak doesn't ever pretend to be 'good' in the same way that so many other people and institutions Bashir gets angry at do. He doesn't pretend to be moral. He doesn't lie about it, unlike most institutions/people Bashir feels anger at (from Starfleet, to Sisko in In the Pale Moonlight, etc). I think, in that way, perhaps there isn't the same level of betrayal. Another potential thing is that Bashir can be very, very forgiving of people he cares about. It's obviously on a different scale, but Miles deliberately destroys Julian's work to help the Jem'Hadar be free of Ketrecel White. Julian is angry, and they acknowledge the whole 'it might be a bit before another darts game' thing, but we are left with no doubt that they will reconcile. Even though what Miles did went strongly against Julian's wishes and ideals; yet Julian understands why he did it, and loves his friend nonetheless. I wish Garak and Julian had had at least an episode like that.
Yeah, I agree that Garak being upfront about his shady qualities (and Bashir being kind of into the excitement and intrigue surrounding him early on) does give their relationship an interesting texture. Despite Garak's reputation as a liar, he is very emotionally honest with Bashir in The Wire, and indeed very insistent on Bashir knowing the truth about what he's capable of. So I don't think Bashir would necessarily feel "betrayed" by Garak's actions in the later seasons, at least not in the same way as he does by people and institutions he trusts - but I do think there are reasons why he might keep more distance from Garak once there's a war on and he's forced to seriously contend more with the political/ethical implications of what's going on.
I love Hippocratic Oath (honestly I think Bashir's friendship with O'Brien is at it's most interesting when they disagree) and that final exchange between Bashir and O'Brien in the runabout is very illustrative of the kind of vibes I'd have loved to see between Bashir and Garak - the disappointment and break in communication and trust combined with the inevitability of their continuing to care about each other. That said, while O'Brien destroying Bashir's work is pretty dire, it's in service of saving both their lives, which is a goal that Bashir can much more readily sympathize with than he can with, say, trying to destroy the Founders' planet.
In the Pale Moonlight is interesting to consider here, because Garak murdering a small group of people is ultimately a sort of "needs of the many" thing that has the potential to save billions of lives - which is the kind of long-reaching preservation of life that Bashir was arguing for in Statistical Probabilities. So I think he could potentially come around to understanding Garak's perspective, though I still think it would be very hard for him to accept. But I do think his forgiveness of his friends still necessitates an evaluation of their motives and actions, even if he'd understandably be more biased in favour of people he cares about (as a lot of us would).
I’m trying to untangle The Problem of Garashir (not the least because, well, I’m writing the pairing) -
and I think honestly one of the biggest… roadblocks? bits of untapped potential in the pairing? is that we never really see their relationship put a strain on their ideological convictions.
Which is to say, “the societal institutions we’re subject to are corrupt, but our love is pure, so we’re going to abandon those institutions for each other” is, whether implicitly or explicitly, a common framing in fanfic featuring them (such as I’ve seen) - and to be fair, it’s a common romance trope in general. But I can’t say it works for me for these characters. And part of that is that imo the show doesn’t sufficiently set that up with its development of the relationship between these two characters, but another part of that is that I simply don’t see a world in which that kind of relationship dynamic/approach would fit with their characterizations.
To address the first point - there are never any situations involving these characters in which their fundamental values or institutional loyalties are challenged as a result of their relationship. At no point does Garak, for example, have to choose between Cardassia and his affection for Bashir. (I’ve seen people read The Wire that way, but I don’t think the reading works - The Wire is a fantastic showcase for Garak’s worldview and value system and the cracks and contradictions therein, but even though Bashir’s unwavering commitment to helping him despite what he’s done is certainly unprecedented and moving to him, his underlying value system hasn’t changed by the end of that episode.) And while Bashir’s faith in Starfleet and the Federation does get rocked quite a bit over the course of the show, it’s never because of his friendship with Garak.
Instead, I’d say that with some exceptions (like The Wire), their friendship in the early seasons is usually framed as a respite from their serious responsibilities or moral dilemmas. This especially true of Garak, who is likely not used to someone simply enjoying his company with no ulterior motives whatsoever, but the narrative maneuvering of the show also does a lot to shield Bashir from the reality of who Garak is. Yes, he gets a taste of that in The Wire, when Garak goes out of his way to impress upon him what the reality of his life as a spy truly was. But that’s still only verbal testimony, and only confined to what Garak has done in the past. Bashir is largely absent from all the shit that Garak pulls during the show!
And I’m not complaining that, say, the events of The Die Is Cast take place between Garak and Odo, because it makes thematic sense for it to be Odo for that arc. (And I love that friendship.) But Garak and Bashir do not get a plot like that, or like In the Pale Moonlight, where Bashir is directly exposed to or complicit in Garak’s immoral behaviour. The closest we get to an actual serious ethical clash between them is in Our Man Bashir, which is a goofy comedy episode. (And it’s worth noting that Bashir calls Garak’s bluff and shoots him in that confrontation! Yeah, he likely missed on purpose, given what we later learn about his magic hand-eye coordination, but he’s still unwilling to compromise on his heroism for Garak’s sake. It’s actually a pretty Cardassian gesture, which is probably part of why Garak loves it so much, but it does say a lot about where their priorities are re: their commitment to their values vs. each other.)
And I think the lack of more serious, plot-relevant ethical conflict between Garak and Bashir is a real loss for the show, because one thing I find really interesting about their relationship is that - in contrast to the examples of Odo and Sisko up there - Bashir is the person in the cast most able to hold Garak accountable. He’s repeatedly established as one of the most firmly moral members of the cast, and his righteous anger at seeing those morals trodden upon is one of his most defining character traits in the later seasons. His unconditional forgiveness of Garak in The Wire is lovely, and it is an important moment in the development of both their relationship and Bashir’s character. But in the long term, once we get into actual serious, consequential war and espionage plots? And if we’re imagining them in a long term committed relationship? It wouldn’t be sustainable, and it doesn’t feel in keeping with Bashir’s character that’d he have endless reservoirs of patience and understanding specifically for Garak. And it’s precisely because Bashir is uniquely able to grant Garak forgiveness that he’d also potentially be uniquely able to chastise him.
(This is why, by the way, my headcanon as to the in-universe reason why they don’t seem as close in the later seasons, paternity deathbed reveals and occasional flirty bantering notwithstanding, is that Bashir was seriously fucking pissed at the stunt Garak pulled in Broken Link, both in terms of the personal betrayal and the destructiveness towards sentient life, and that it created a significant rift between them.)
All of that is to say - my biggest regret with the show’s sidelining of their dynamic isn’t the fact that their relationship never becomes romantic (not a chance of that in the 90s, and also these writers were pretty terrible at writing romance) but that they never get to have an argument. An actual serious, non-flirtatious, two-sided, genuinely-angry-at-each-other-argument. I want to see conflict! (I honestly think that their exchange in What You Leave Behind comes the closest to the kind of conflict I’d like to pick up on in post-canon fic - where they are conciliatory in the moment but still have this really wrenching chasm between them, and unresolved frustration as a result of that chasm.)
So as an extension of these thoughts, I actually really like that we’re not given the basis for a traditional “us against the world” style romance plot. I like that these characters are clearly deeply fond of each other and significant to each others’ development, but have other important connections (Garak especially, since despite being only a recurring character introduced through Bashir, he integrates into the broader cast) and other priorities besides each other.
Furthermore, despite the significant differences in their value systems, one very fundamental thing they have in common is how passionately devoted they are to their respective causes. For Garak, it’s Cardassia. And while his idea of what it means to serve Cardassia, and what Cardassia needs, undergoes a lot of change over the course of the show, I don’t see any version of Garak in which Cardassia is not his first love. For Bashir, it’s altruism and helping people, as well as his intellectual curiosity - aims which are reflected in Starfleet and the Federation for him but ultimately higher ideals.
And I don’t think either Garak or Bashir would admire the other nearly as much if they were willing to let go of everything they hold dear for the sake of romance. They’re both far too committed to being a part of the world. Garak may have some fun with trying to shake Bashir of his optimism, but ultimately Bashir’s goodness, his fierce conviction that no one deserves to suffer, are among the most compelling aspects of his personality. And if Bashir is ever going to actually enter a serious relationship with Garak, he’s got to move beyond flirty intrigue and literary banter and see Garak as someone who’s proactively committed to goals that Bashir can respect. If they’re coming together as a couple, it’s because their aims and beliefs have come into alignment in some way.
And to be fair, a lot of post-canon Cardassia stuff is doing the latter. But I also want more… conflict within that framework, I guess? I don’t want a romantic relationship and the act of getting together to be the endpoint of whatever reconciliation of values they need to work through. And that’s part of what I’m trying to untangle in planning this fic of mine - especially regarding how fraught romantic commitment feels for them. For Bashir, there’s the problem of not only reconciling himself with what Garak has done, but also of choosing to be with someone whose impulses and entire cultural belief system places duty and institutional loyalty above personal feelings. And for Garak, there’s the fact that the most devoted and emotionally intense relationship he’s had in his life thus far has been with Tain, who embodied Cardassia for him - and as a result, I doubt he quite knows what to do with the possibility of a serious relationship with Bashir, who is very emphatically not Cardassia. He’s not used to being divided in his passions!
It’s not that I’m never capable of being moved by post-canon stuff that involves Bashir being charmed by how slippery Garak is, or them generally being quippy and fond of each other (I’m not made of stone here). But I’m never satisfied with just that, because that escapist element never feels like it translates well from the early seasons of the show to post-canon, and because it never engages with what I find the most fascinating about what’s set up with their whole dynamic. (And I especially dislike it when it feels like Bashir’s character is getting shortchanged in terms of his complexity and moral convictions being excised in order for Garak to get everything he wants.)
110 notes · View notes