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babyjinsu · 2 days ago

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heartlink - anton lee

it's a match!

wc; 2.8k slight fluff (for now :x) 002 here!

💭 hehehhehehhehehehhe there'll b a part 2 n a reddit post!!

you weren’t looking for love—you weren’t even looking for something casual.

it was boredom, plain and simple. besides, the semester just ended and you had nothing else to do besides attending your part-time job at a local cafe as a waitress. it was a quiet sunday night when the idea came to you—a way to kill time.

going on dating apps!

you created your profile—chose the best, prettiest selfie you have of yourself. you didn’t put much details in your bio, just a simple, just for fun! ◡̈. at first, it was just swiping for the entertainment of it. left, left, left… right, left… most of the profiles were almost the same—bad quality selfies, forced, corny bios, dudes flexing their muscles in bathroom mirrors… you weren’t expecting much, or anything at all.

then his profile appeared.

anton lee. 20 years old. likes music n playing them.

holy shit. this guy doesn’t even look real, you thought. he looked like he had been pulled straight from a magazine—the type of guy you just know you stood no chance with—his hair was dark and it fall just past his eyes and he had those handsome features and this anton dude just looked like someone who didn’t belong in dating apps (he definitely didn’t need one too).

you hesitated—but reminded yourself that this was just for fun. if you had no chance with this guy to begin with, what’s the harm? just have fun!

you couldn’t deny that he was exactly your type. painfully so.

you swiped right. and a second later, almost immediately, your screen flashed—

it’s a match!

——

it didn’t take long for anton to send you a text.

in fact, it happened faster than you’d expected that it got you wondering if he was the one who had been waiting for you to initiate a conversation. you thought that anton was just one of those guys who matched with girls to boost his ego—that he’s still relevant to the market, but you might be wrong.

anton lee: hey.

even the greeting suited him. short, simple, deceptively normal. or maybe you were just sooo starstruck by his appearance to think he was weird.

upon receiving the text, you stared at your screen—your thumb hovering over the keyboard. it was just a simple hey, but you were thinking too hard on the perfect reply. one that won’t leave anton ghosting you afterwards.

you hesitated for a second before typing back.

yn: hi. i didn’t think you’d text first.

you hummed in satisfaction, giving yourself a slight nod and smile. almost immediately, you got a reply.

anton lee: why wouldnt i?

you bit the inside of your cheek—why wouldn’t he…?—debating what and how to respond. now feeling a little bit stupid for asking him that. you should’ve just said hi back. you didn’t want to sound insecure, or ‘pick me’, but at the same time, realistically, it felt insane that someone like him, would even notice someone like you.

yn: i dont know lol. you look kinda out of my league. im surprised we even matched.

there was a pause after your text—read—and for a second, you thought you fucked up.

but then his reply came through.

anton lee: you think so?

huh, there was something about his response that made you… shift uncomfortably on your bed. a feeling—an unfamiliar one. it wasn’t a dismissal, nor was it a playful teasing. it didn’t even feel like a question…

before you could think too hard about responding, another message popped up.

anton lee: i think youre really cute though.

the unfamiliar feeling vanished as soon as it came—replaced with a now strange warmth booming in your chest. he thinks i’m cute, you thought, giggling by yourself. you reread the text over and over—flattered.

yn: i guess i got lucky then :)

anton lee: yeah you did ;)

——

for the next few weeks, you and anton fell into an easy rhythm.

it started slow—just a few, once or twice texts a day. but somehow, the conversations never died. surprisingly, anton knew how to carry a conversation, and he always came up with different topics to talk to you. you started to realise that anton wasn’t like any other guys on the app, or any guys you’ve talked to before.

he was calm, steady, and almost too easy to talk to—despite his looks.

the odd feeling never came back. he never bombarded you with clingy or needy texts, or pushed you for more than you were comfortable with. he never asked for your inappropriate pictures, or drifted the conversation to one. if you took hours to respond, he understood. if he sensed that you weren’t in the mood to talk, he was more than willing to hear you out.

anton was just always ready to pick up where the conversation was left off.

you found out that anton created his profile because of a bet—which he had lost a few hours prior to meeting you. and you told him your reason as well—boredom. he was also a student like you too, studying music performance (he didn’t tell you where though, but you understood).

additionally, anton had a sense of humour like yours—he wasn’t boring, or dry, or had no personality like most handsome guys you knew. he also wasn’t always flirting—but he’d say things that let you guess how he felt about you. there were definitely moments where talking to him was too good to be true, but you’d quickly remind yourself that it wasn’t serious.

and then, one evening, it happened,

anton lee: so… when are you gonna let me take you out?

you blinked at your screen.

of course this would come sooner or later—it was only a matter of time before he asked. seeing the question actually came true made your stomach flip in all directions. you bit on your bottom lip, your thumbs hovering over your keyboard.

you wanted to say yes so badly,

but a small, nagging voice in the back of your mind told you to think it through thoroughly. you had only been talking to anton for a few weeks, and you’d heard all the horror stories about meeting guys online—creepy messages, dates gone wrong, murders…

not that you thought anton would be like that… hopefully. if anything, he had been kind, patient, easygoing, and almost too normal. but… wasn’t that how it always started…?

on the other hand, maybe you were just overthinking it. what if it actually goes well? it’s like winning a lottery, you thought.

yn: i donno. are you as charming in person as you are over the text?

his reply came fast.

anton lee: only one way to find out

you didn’t realise you were holding your breath until his reply came.

anton lee: we can go to rain report in seongsu if you’d like.

anton lee: they have good pastries there

okay, a cafe. it’s an open, safe, neutral ground.

yn: that sounds good.

anton lee: saturday at 5?

you hesitated again for a split second—then shook the doubt away as soon as.

yn: okies, see you then?

it took anton a few minutes to reply.

anton lee: im looking forward to it yn :)

you stared at his response, your grip still around your phone. they felt strangely heavier than they should have.

you locked your phone and exhaled.

it was just a date.

what’s the worst that could happen?

——

saturday came by pretty sooner than you’d expected. too soon, honestly.

you had spent the whole week trying not to overthink it. that it was just a date. a date with a normal guy. except this guy was intimidatingly handsome and chill. in hindsight, there was nothing to be nervous about, it was anton who had asked you out. but you woke up that morning feeling like your stomach had been tied into a thousand knots and twists.

you weren’t a loser by any means. in fact, talking to guys wasn't anything new to you at all. but this was the first time ever that you’d be meeting up with a guy you’d only ever spoken to through a screen. one with a romantic intention.

that morning, while waiting for the perfect time to start getting ready, you distracted yourself by doing the laundry, studying—just whatever to keep your mind from spiraling. but the hours ticked by and the nerves started to creep back in. by 3, you started getting ready.

throughout the whole process of prepping, your mind went through every possible scenario that existed to a man—what if he thought you don’t look like your pictures? what if the conversation was awkward in real life? what if he prefers you over the phone?

4:30. the distance between the cafe and your apartment wasn’t that far—but it’d be nice to get there early and calm yourself. make a nice first impression.

you took a deep breath, smoothing your clothes down one last time in front of the mirror.

it’s just a date. but the nervous pit in your stomach refused to go away.

——

when you arrived there, anton was nowhere to be seen. for a split second, you thought anton stood you up. you hated that your heart sank at the possibility. it wasn’t like you were that desperate for the date to happen, but the idea of your date not showing up…

you scanned the cafe, trying not to look too obvious as you searched for a familiar face. people—teenagers and young adults your age, specifically, were chatting and laughing amongst themselves. but there was no sign of anton.

you exhaled sharply and stared down at your phone, debating whether or not to text him. you decided to ask; and then—

“you’re early.”

the voice came from behind you and it made you jump slightly. whipping your head around, there anton was.

he stood just a few feet away from you. dressed casually in a dark blue sweater with his hands tucked into his jeans’ pockets, his hair was slightly tousled like he had run a hand through it. he looked exactly like his pictures—better in person.

your breath hitched, and you felt stupid for thinking he wasn’t going to show up—after saying he was kind and all.

“i—” you swallowed, feeling caught. you let out a small dry laugh. “i thought maybe you stood me up.”

anton tilted his head slightly, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “why would i do that?”

you didn’t have an answer.

before you could think of one—anton smiled softly, god he looked so good.

“come on,” he hummed, nodding toward the open cashier. “should we order?”

you nodded quickly and followed his lead as he made his way towards the counter.

“what do you want?” he asked, glancing down at you beside him. the height difference was apparent. he was so tall too. you stared at the menu displayed on the television screen above, humming in thought.

“vanilla latte, i think.” anton nodded then turned to the cashier to order. he got himself a classic latte. the employee rang it up, and before you could even reach for your purse, anton was already tapping his card on the terminal.

“oh, i could’ve paid…” you murmured softly, not wanting to say it outloud in front of the staff. you know it’s a thing where it is expected for a guy to pay on the first date—a gesture of chivalry. but still, you felt guilty.

anton gave you a soft smile and shrugged, tucking his wallet back in the back of his jeans. “don’t worry about it,” he said. “next date, then.” he added, casually.

your brain short-circuited for a moment. next date?

he said it so effortlessly like it was given. like anton had already known there would be a second one. you felt your face heat up, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. was it his sheer assumption that made you flustered?

either way, it didn’t seem like anton noticed. or he probably did and was just enjoying watching you squirm.

minutes later, after you both had settled at a nice, quiet table by the corner—and anton had grabbed the drinks from the counter—an odd silence sort of just… settled between you.

not awkward, exactly… just charged.

you wrapped your hands around your cup, focusing on the warmth against your skin instead of the man before you. anton, on the other hand, was a lot more calm—leaning back against his chair as he stirred his coffee absentmindedly. his eyes laid on you in quiet amusement.

for anyone who didn’t know the context, it didn’t look like a date.

“you always this nervous?” he asked, cocking his head to the side slightly as he tapped the mocha spoon on the rim of the cup before putting it down.

“i’m not nervous.”

he raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was suppressing a smile. “really?”

you hummed and nodded before letting your eyes meet his’. “maybe a little. i’ve never done this before.”

anton leaned forward slightly, placing his elbow on the table. “meet guys from tinder?”

“yeah.”

he hummed in understanding, bringing his coffee to his lips. “don’t you wanna know why i swiped right on you?” he asked. you blinked at the question, slightly caught off guard. of course you do. so you nodded shyly.

anton set his cup down, his fingers traced the rim of the lid deliberately. “i thought you were pretty,” he said, a smile playing on his lips. “really pretty, actually.”

a warmth crept up your neck—you weren’t used to being complimented.

you wanted to thank him, but he cut you off. “and you looked cute too. i didn’t know you could look better in real life,” he let out a soft laugh, humming. “i’m so glad we matched.”

okay now, you were sure your face was as red as a tomato. blood was rushing, sprinting to your cheeks.

“thanks, wow,” you brought your cup to your lips, trying to conceal how flustered you were.

anton smiled, just a little, “and i feel like i’ve known you.”

your breath hitched, “what?”

anton tilted his head, studying your reaction. “i don’t know. i feel like i’ve seen you before.”

out of nowhere, something cold curled in your stomach. what did he mean by that? was it just one of his flirting pick up lines? you forced a small laugh, keeping your voice light. he looked way too calm, maybe you were just overreacting. “you… haven’t though, right?”

what is wrong with me? you thought, why couldn’t you shake off the uneasiness?

anton didn’t respond right away. his eyes flickered over your face, and he wasn’t smiling. then, after what felt like hours long of pause— “no,” he finally said, lips curling slightly as he looked down on his cup. “just a feeling.”

——

if you were being really honest, the date felt a little strange.

you didn’t mean it in a bad way—anton was really nice. he never made you uncomfortable (in an obvious way), and he paid for your drink—oh, and he bought you some pastries to take home too. the conversation flowed as well enough, and you learned a lot about him. he had been playing the cello since he was young; and he was also a part of the swimming team during his school days.

but there was just something—you couldn’t name it—about him that sat in your chest.

maybe it was the way anton looked, watching you when you weren’t looking at him. or maybe it was the way he spoke—so calm and collected, so nonchalant about the things he was saying. his mannerism, perhaps? the way he never broke off eye contact when you were talking about your university life?

but then again, who were you to judge? you had never been on a proper date before. heck, you didn’t even know how a date was supposed to go, to feel. for all you know, it could be normal for girls to feel the way you did upon their first dates too. maybe you were just overthinking—so many maybes.

anton lee: i had a really nice time today yn :) you looked even prettier up close.

you found yourself smiling as you locked the door behind you.

yn: thanks! i had fun too ><

yn: you’re just as handsome anton

it wasn’t a lie, at all. you did have fun, and he looked even better in person.

anton’s reply came just as fast.

anton lee: i’d love to see you again soon.

you bit your lip, typing a response—that you too, looked forward to seeing him again.

totally ignoring the way your stomach was twisting.

💭 AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH creepy anton ill probably proofread n edit this l8rrrrrr

#riize #riize oneshots #riize imagines #riize fic #riize x reader #anton oneshots #anton lee #riize anton #anton imagines #anton fic #anton x reader #anton smut #dark anton

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thefandombringer · 2 days ago

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Rewatching season 3 right now and I feel like the fact that this little scene exists is on its own such conclusive Byler endgame evidence like

Why would they include the line about will thinking that he’s not going to fall in love if that were going to be the case? The only reason to include a statement like that in writing would be to disprove it later on. It’s basic foreshadowing and irony, topics that are covered in high school english classes. If Will wasn’t going to fall in love (and be happy!! Jonathan is happy in this scene!!) then they would have no point to outright say it and they would show, not tell this fact (not even gonna go into how bad of a message it would be that a gay kid will never find love).

To preface the argument that I know will be said, “what if Will falls for someone else in season 5? What if they introduce a new character?” If the plan was to make Will end up with an outside character with him being such a relevant character, then they wouldn’t have made him so clearly and hopelessly in love with Mike. That would just be bad writing.

Byler endgame for the win 🙌🙌🙌

#Byler #byler endgame #byler analysis #jancy #i also love jancy and love when they parallel byler #ignore my messy room

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drdemonprince · 3 days ago

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A little positivity for your inbox :). I'm a queer, autistic generally gender-fucked individual and I wanted to share how much your posts ab building community and putting yourself out there have helped me. I moved to Chicago 9 months ago and felt like the most miserable version of myself. I had like 1 friend and felt too socially inept to pursue any other connections. My anxiety had me locked in a state of inaction. Seeing you post about the merit of just GOING to things, just putting yourself in spaces helped me feel like that was something I could do too? And so I did. I would go events (with my 1 friend) I never really knew what to do with myself I would just kind of...be there. And for a while it was really uncomfortable and I would freak out afterwards. Like every time. But it felt good to be doing SOMETHING to improve that part of my life. It was one of those things that sucked until it didn't I guess. Cut to present day and I'm a version of myself that I didn't know I could be? I go to parties where I know almost no one and I talk to people even when I'm a little scared to approach them. I have so much confidence?? I have to acknowledge that this was more attainable for me than some because I'm an autist who's able to mask. Even still, I was able to find people like me who I can unmask around by venturing out a little. It is possible. My friendship circle has grown into this beautiful collection of neurodivergent weirdo freaks who I never would have known had I kept to myself day in and day out like I wanted to. I'm also not someone whose body meets most standards of desirability, it made it harder but not impossible. Anyways, thanks for being loud and obstinate and also hopeful! You make people's lives better by doing these things. I hope you have a wonderful weekend and enjoy the little bit of sunshine being thrown our way ♥️♥️♥️

Yay thank you. I most want to share this ask so that other people can see it and think about whether your experience could be relevant to their own lives. A WHOLE lot can happen just from showing up to things a bunch of times, getting a little *less* uncomfortable being there (even if you always feel kinda uncomfortable forever, i still do!), participating in what you can, becoming a familiar face, talking to people, and seeing who you vibe with. that's the work. that's everything. and you can do it being shy/anxious/awkward/having highly particular needs/being visibly othered/etc. It's HARD and not everyone is gonna be your people but it is possible. It's a lot of work but it's worth it.

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jraker4 · 1 day ago

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"I concede that evidence currently shows the Bibas family was killed, and a body belonging to someone not a hostage was returned. It's a travesty. However, I can't condemn Nat Turner, and in the same token, I can't condemn Hamas." Considering the rest of your remarks prior to this, what a marvelously brazen display of chickenshit behavior. After all of your bemoaning a lack of sources-while offering exactly none of your own, mind-when you're given one, it slides off your back better than water off a duck's. Don't get me wrong, it doesn't mean you're obligated to concede your entire argument or anything, but a person of integrity would at least have the stones to admit 'I eat crow on this claim I made over and over again. I think in time more evidence will reveal I'm right, but right now that's not the case'. But you don't need integrity, because you've got The Cause, right? You don't have to be accurate, because you're Right. Like when you compare the plight of Palestinians to that of African chattel slaves in the early 19th century. Which is for starters just a buckwild stupid comparison to make, and in any event lacks any sense of nuance: it's *completely possible* to condemn specific actions of someone without insisting that they then condemn an entire movement or goal. People do it all the time, they're perfectly capable of it. You're doing it right this very moment with Palestinians...and yet, somehow, even conceptually you can't make that little reach further. And also condemn others while doing it. Let's see, what else: you don't know what carpet bombing is. If Israel were carpet bombing Palestinians, there wouldn't be Palestinians *left*. That doesn't mean the conduct of the war in Gaza is good or beyond reproach, far from it, but again we come back to your not needing to be accurate because you're Right (supposedly). Terms like 'carpet bombing' have meaning, and it's not 'prolonged air strikes'. But why be right when the term is so sexy? Ethnostates: I wonder how many ethnostates there are in the region and, indeed, the world, and what's the cause behind your total fucking silence on this relevant question? Actually I don't wonder, and if you're going to insist on using the term I'm going to have fun mocking you for it.

'Colonial'. One cannot colonize one's own indigenous land. Obviously that doesn't mean taking it is OK, there are more ethical questions to be asked and answered than 'are you indigenous or not', but *by definition* Israel isn't doing A Colonialism because you can't colonize your own native land. Now, there *are* plenty of words that already exist to describe the sorts of behavior you're trying to describe, but they're way less sexy than 'colonialism', so why trouble usin' `em, amirite? Say, I wonder how the regional nations around Israel got their start, what's their history, surely there ain't any colonizing going on there, right? What? That don't matter? Happened too long ago? Well, OK, so what's the exact expiration date then? While Israel would prefer other options, I think they'd be happy to know that the standard is 'hold out for a few centuries and then it's yours in the eyes of the world', since they're already determined to hold out for centuries anyway. What? That's a ridiculous standard that it isn't fair to make? Why? If you're going to use a term like 'colonial', we're going to talk about colonizing. That ain't limited to Israel.

What’s more likely? Hamas killed two crucial bargaining chips, then, instead of simply saying the bodies were lost under the rubble, returned the remains proving they’d murdered them.

Israel killed them when they carpet bombed Gaza, like everyone warned them would happen, lied about the kids being alive for over a year, are now lying again to invoke genocidal fervour and break the ceasefire?

This is the “40 beheaded babies” debacle all over again. The truth will be acknowledged eventually but by then it will be too late.

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rayyanishere1 · 1 day ago

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"Studying? Yeah, Totally."

A Short FiddleStan Oneshot

(Part of the Loser Ford AU, but isn't relevant to the lore whatsoever lmao)

One night, Ford announced that he'd be at the library for a couple of hours.

"Knock yourself out, Sixer."

Once he left, Stan and Fiddleford looked at each other.

"Wanna..?"

"You don't even have to ask."

Stan led Fiddleford to the couch with only one motive in mind.

Forcing him to watch trashy television! They spent good money on that TV, and by God, they were gonna use it.

"Ladies and Gents, welcome back to 'Your Guess Could Be Royally Wrong!' The show where you don't win prizes, but you don't get punished, either. I'm your host, Zain Squalus—"

Ah, yes, gameshows. The peak of entertainment.

"Is this really what you wanna watch?"

"It's either this, weird chick dramas, or the news."

Welp, can't argue with that.

Fiddleford tried many times to make a move; pretending to yawn to wrap his arm around Stan's shoulder, not very subtly inching his hand towards Stan's thigh. Hell, he tried to go in for a kiss at least 3 times!

Without fail, something would make Stan dodge his advances. Oh, he suddenly has to shift a little in the opposite direction to grab something, oh, something shocking happened and he needed his whole body to react to it.

Seems fate was planning on cockblocking Fiddleford today. Not cool, man. Not cool.

During a commercial break, Stan left to get some snacks. That gave Fiddleford some time to think.

It was obvious that subtlety was getting him absolutely nowhere. He just had to be a little more direct, right? Yeah, that's definitely it.

Stan returned with a bowl of chips and sat back down. Now was time for Fiddleford's master plan.

He used every tactic he knew all at once. Wrapping an arm around Stan's shoulder, leaning in closer. Maybe he should also try getting Stan's mind off of this weird gameshow he was so invested in...

"You know, Stanley, we're home alone."

"I would hope so, yeah."

"And we aren't doing anything."

"Yes, we are! We're watching Your Guess Could Be Royally Wrong, the totally original gameshow based in Oregon."

"I just thought that, with Stanford gone, we'd be doing something else."

"...I don't follow."

That's Stan Pines for you, folks. The dumbest genius on Earth.

"Stanley..."

Fiddleford didn't know if he wanted to laugh, cry, or scream. Instead, he decided that his plan of being direct was the right way to go.

"Stanley Pines."

"That's my name. Am I in trouble?"

"You're going to be if you don't kiss me right now."

"Haha, what?"

∆∆∆

The TV buzzed on in the background as they practically devoured each other's faces.

"Fidds, if you were this—hah—pent up, you could've just told me.."

"I tried to! For an entire hour!"

"Wait, really?"

"Lord, yes! I suppose something was keeping you from noticing."

"Uh huh.."

Deeming the couch to be too uncomfortable, Fiddleford took it upon himself to bring them somewhere more suitable for their.. Activity.

He picked Stan up like he weighed nothing and carried him to the bedroom.

Many kisses later, the two were shirtless and all over each other. It was like they were trying to fit multiple days worth of making out into one session. To be fair, though, it wasn't often that they had alone time like this.

Stan pulled away for a moment, much to Fiddleford's dismay.

"Ford's been out later than usual. He could come back any minute..."

Just as he said that, they heard the front door open.

Oh, God.

They rushed to put something on, not bothering to check what they had grabbed. If Ford saw them like this, in their shared space, Lord knows they'd never hear the end of it.

"Wait, are you wearing my—"

Too late to change now!

A few lazy knocks came from the door before Ford went in. He didn't even look at them, he just dropped his bag on the floor and flopped face first onto his bed.

Stan sighed in relief. It was a good thing that Ford was so tir—

"Wait."

The couple tensed up, expecting to get berated for their "inappropriate behaviour." Instead, Ford just took his glasses off and put them on his side table before promptly passing back out.

That was close...

#fiddlestan #fiddlestan rulez #fiddleford mcgucket #stanley pines #stan pines #ford pines #for like the last 2 seconds #loser ford au #gravity falls #gravity falls au #fanfiction #btw how's the clickbait in the beginning #took me a solid 5 minutes to make it make sense

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traincat · 2 days ago

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i’d pay you real money for that “maybe baby” fic.

You can have it for free, but I do have a ko-fi if anyone is interested: https://ko-fi.com/traincat.

Anyway, the baby fic! Based on Fantastic Four Annual 2010, set nebulously post-Secret Wars (2015). I started this in 2016, so we didn't have any definitive answers for the Fantastic Four's return, but it's not really relevant to the fic anyway. I'm still putting together a list of the other WIPs I'm willing to release, but this is one is easy, so here it is.

Baby fic!

***

a torch for you @JSTORM 1h well this is still less complicated than the time i rescued a highlander

a torch for you @JSTORM 1h aw she likes her uncle benjy @clobberintime #rockstar

a torch for you @JSTORM 1h good thing about this is @peterbparker never checks his phone so he's still gonna be surprised

The first thing Peter registered was the vaguely defensive look on Johnny's face. The second was the baby.

"Wherever you found it, you put it back right now," he said.

The look Johnny gave him was venomous. "Oh, sure. Let me just toss the helpless infant back where she came from! What a great idea, thank you, Peter!"

"I'll get the portal ready," Val said. She was sitting crosslegged way on the other end of the room, holding a tablet computer like a shield and eyeing the baby like she might try to bite her.

"Shush," Johnny said, but it wasn't clear whether he meant it for the baby or Val or possibly for Peter, whose jaw had started making a strange grinding noise of its own volition.

Peter leaned forward to get a better look. The baby had ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes and she was squirming in Johnny's arms even as he hummed and hushed and bounced her up and down, still dressed in his costume. She was so small, wrapped in what looked like one of the shock blankets from the Fantasticar's emergency kit.

"If I put her down, she starts to cry," Johnny confessed.

Peter's heart was doing something disturbingly close to melting. He tugged off a glove and reached out with tentative fingers, stroking soft cheek and wispy dark hair. The baby yawned, barely batting an eye.

Peter looked at Johnny and said, "Why are you doing this to me?"

Johnny wasn't looking at him, though - his gaze was fixed on the baby, eyes soft.

"Look, Peter, you need to know before this part gets out - Reed ran all the tests. She's mine, Pete."

That threw Peter for a loop, but looking for traces of Johnny in the baby's face - yeah, he could see it.

"How? And don't tell me the usual way. Where did she come from?"

Johnny told him: the club, the girl, the supervillain. Peter hissed in sympathy when he hit the part about Psycho Woman spending two months hanging around in Johnny’s brain, touching his fingers to Johnny's temple. Johnny's voice wavered as he got to the end: the fall, the jump, Amy's disappearance through time.

"But time travel's weird. And we've torn everything apart and rebuilt it so many times… Amy never came back after she made the temporal jump," Johnny said, sliding Peter a cautious look, like he thought he might - what, upset? "I've gone looking for her before, but if she was out there, she didn't want me to find her. And then today we were just looking between dimensions, you know?"

"Just your typical Sunday," Peter said, mouth on autopilot while the rest of him was stunned. Johnny's child, here, safe in Johnny's arms - and to think Peter had swung in to ask about dinner and beating up the Shocker.

"Reed found traces of a familiar cosmic radiation signature," Johnny said, shaking his head. "Mine. And then we found her."

"So," Peter echoed, feeling lost. "She's yours. Really yours."

"Yeah," Johnny said, nodding. "She was all alone and in between. But she's alive and she's mine."

Peter leaned his head against Johnny's. "She's a little small for the Future Foundation."

"Well, the weird thing is," Johnny said, smiling, "they don't stay that way for long."

Val put the tablet down and said, "Oh come on, are we seriously not going to throw her back?"

Peter Parker @peterbparker 15m he promised me life would never be boring…

It had been at the end of the world. The incursion had been fast approaching, and this time - this time Peter could feel it in his bones. The end, just over the horizon.

It had scared him more than he ever wanted to admit.

"You're coming with us," Johnny had told him in a voice that brooked no argument. He'd caught Peter's hands in his own inhumanly warm ones, squeezing. "Reed says we'll have time once we're beyond. We'll work something out. We can fix it."

Peter had wanted it, so badly - but. Always the but.

"I should stay with the city. You've got room for, what, a hundred people?"

"Sixty," Johnny admitted, forehead creased in worry. "Peter - you're one of the big brains. You belong with us."

"One of, but not big enough," Peter said. "You need my spot for someone smarter, someone who can help fix this -"

The kiss had been unexpected, a tentative thing, just the soft press of Johnny's lips against his masked mouth, Johnny's fingertips careful as anything underneath his chin.

"You're family," he said, breaking apart, his forehead resting against Peter's. "And you're coming with us. We'll have time."

Peter took a deep shuddering breath and said, "Okay."

He let himself have this one selfish thing, standing on top of the Statue of Liberty with Johnny Storm the day before the end of the world.

He let himself be selfish, and then the raft split apart and Johnny paid the price. He knew it deep in his bones, every second he watched Johnny fall away. Maybe that was why he didn't say anything when they were returned safe and sound to their own world. Or maybe it was cowardice, him waiting for Johnny to make the first move a second time. Maybe it was the way he still remembered blinking the spots from his eyes down in Battleworld, staring at the sun in search of a familiar face.

It didn't matter. He had Parker Industries, and Johnny had moved on with Medusa. Peter had gotten one kiss at their usual spot - if that was all he was granted, well, it was more than enough for two lifetimes. He could live with it.

Except he lost the company, Medusa worked it out with Black Bolt, the missing members of the Fantastic Family returned with a fairly literal bang, and Johnny and Peter ended up crash landing in a rooftop hotel pool.

Parker Luck, doing its very finest.

He'd taken the brunt of the hit, thankful for it - he was more durable than flamed-off Johnny - but the rush of cold water made him gasp, fighting his way to the surface. Johnny surfaced beside him, gasping, and Peter grabbed a handful of his collar. He dragged them both to the shallow end as tourists scattered left and right.

"We're fine, thanks for asking!" Peter shouted after them. "Can anybody grab me a towel?" Johnny was laughing by the time Peter collapsed against the steps, languishing in knee deep water. "New Yorkers. What's so funny?"

"You," Johnny said, looking at Peter with shining eyes. He started laughing again when Peter groaned, shoulders shaking with it. Peter slid a hand over the back of his head, checking for bumps.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Peter said. He told himself to take his hand off Johnny, but he didn't. He just kept touching him, pushing Johnny's soaked hair up off his forehead. Johnny was staring at him, all traces of humor gone from his face. Now or never. Peter swallowed hard. "Johnny, you know I -"

"Just shut up," Johnny said, climbing into Peter's lap. He shoved Peter's soaked mask up over the bridge of his nose, twining his arms around Peter's neck. "Shut up, shut, god, Pete, why don't you ever say anything important?"

The kiss made Peter's head spin -and he had to grab Johnny by the shoulders and put some considerable strength into prying him off just long enough so he could talk.

"Me? What about you?" he said. "I thought - you never said anything when we got back."

"What about me?" Johnny said, pouting a little when Peter wouldn't let him lean forward again. "You're supposed to be the smart one."

Peter couldn't argue with that without walking straight into a trap.

"Dammit," he said, and pulled Johnny back on top of him until security showed up.

May Parker-Jameson @mayparker 3m When you learn important family news from TWITTER of all places

"May - May, I am telling you, I did not know about this," Peter said, standing in the doorway with the phone sandwiched between his shoulder and ear, one hand in his hair, the other on his hip. "Because I'm pretty sure you knew before me, is why. No, I don't know - I got home and he was holding a baby, okay, that is the extent of the story. He found her. Yeah, like, with a dog - I'm not calling your grandchild a dog, your grandchild, what, whose side are you on?!"

Johnny was laughing at him from the other room, which he thought was completely unfair. Peter threw strangling motions at him, scowling. Johnny stuck his tongue out. The baby cooed.

"Can I put him on the phone? Can I make him explain this to you?" he said, listing to the side until his head hit the doorframe.

"Hi, May!" Johnny called cheerfully, making the baby wave. He was a monster and Peter deeply hated his coalition with his aunt. He zoned back in time to hear "- you're my nephew, I want to hear it from you."

"I'm your nephew, yeah, but he's the one who went time hopping and found his kid." He sobered, rubbing at his forehead. "Honestly, May, I'm telling you, I know as much as you do."

"Well, I could do with knowing her name," May said, clucking her tongue.

Peter blanked. He cupped a hand over the receiver and leaned forward. "Johnny. What's her name?"

Johnny blinked, then looked down at the baby. "Um."

"Yeah, May?" Peter said into the phone. "We're actually going to have to get back to you on that one."

Jennifer Walters @jenatlaw 30m Some days it's just not worth your custom ordered MAC foundation. "Crocodile” btw.

Jennifer Walters @jenatlaw 30m Told the woman I was really more of a shark. She didn't laugh. It's not easy being green, folks.

Jen dropped off paperwork with a lot of eyerolling, a threat of resignation, and an order that the baby be kept away from her.

"This is Stella McCartney," she said, gesturing to her blazer. "You keep that thing out of range."

"Hey!" Johnny protested.

(...)

Jen gave the baby one last warning look and then whirled out on her heels, moloid kids flocking in her wake.

"Auntie Jen is a scary Hulk," Johnny told the baby. The baby gurgled in agreement.

"Auntie Jen heard that!" Jen yelled from the hall. "Start with picking a name! Jennifer's a great one!"

"Have you considered Petunia?" Ben asked nonchalantly.

"I have never and will never consider Petunia," Johnny said blithely. "Next suggestion."

"Howzabout Benjamina?" said Ben.

"No," Johnny said. Peter made a hemming noise and he repeated, forcefully, "No."

"Benita?" Ben said, rocky brows raised high. Peter stifled a snicker with a fake cough, ducking his head.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Johnny asked Ben, scowling.

"I came back from space for this family and this is the treatment I get," Ben grumbled, getting up off the sofa. He paused in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. His gaze went all soft at the sight of Johnny and the baby. Peter couldn't blame him. "Hey, kid. I'm really happy for ya."

Johnny looked up at him and smiled, tired and real. "Love you too, Rocky."

Ben heaved a great sigh like Johnny's love was some kind of terrible life sentence - Peter knew the feeling - and left the room.

"This is hard," Johnny said, throwing his head back. The baby was asleep in his arms, blissful in her ignorance. "Can I conference in Victor?"

"Please don't," Peter said. He stroked the baby's soft, downy hair with one gentle finger, feeling an equal mix of awe and terror. "Marie?"

"Like Mary?" Johnny said, contemplative. "My mom's name was Mary."

Peter shifted. "Uh, sure. But also like - Marie Curie?"

Johnny looked up at him, eyes narrowed. "Are you serious?"

"She discovered two elements!" Peter said, defensive.

"She died from radiation poisoning!" Johnny said. "I don't care if it worked out for you!"

(...)

"Just in the grand plan for my life, this is not how I thought it'd go," Peter said.

"And then you got bit by a radioactive spider and all the rules went out the window," Johnny said, yawning. "Old news. Pete, you know I'd never ask you to do anything you're not ready for. I want this, but if you don't -"

The sincerity on his face was unbearable. Peter cupped a hand to his face and shut him up the only way that ever really worked.

"Aimee," Johnny said at last. His head fell to Peter’s shoulder; Peter curled a hand in his hair. "After her mom."

"I like it," Peter said, watching her sleep. "Aimee it is."

Aimee Benni Storm was what was written on the birth certificate in the end. Johnny looked Peter straight in the eye and said, "You tell Ben and you're a dead man."

(...)

"See?" Sue said, humming. "Living with the in-laws has its perks. I remember this age - it's a good one. Just wait 'til they can talk back."

"I love you," Peter told her. "Leave Reed and run away with me to Majorca."

Sue smirked, leaning over to palm his cheek. "You're adorable."

"Whoa," Miles said, flipping out of nowhere and matching his swing with Peter's. "Is that a baby?"

"Here," Peter said. "Why don't you hold her for a sec?"

"Oh, I don't, um, okay, wow, hi, baby," Miles stammered when Peter didn't give him much of a choice. Aimee was a sucker for anyone in webs, so Miles ended up making alarmed sounds when tiny hands tried to grab his mask. "When did you get a baby?"

"She's the Human Torch's baby, technically," Peter said, stretching.

Miles looked down, clearly alarmed through the mask. "Is she gonna light on fire too?"

Aimee cooed.

"Nah," Peter said, arms high above his head. "Probably not."

"Peter!" Miles said.

"I am like 98% sure she will remain flame free," Peter said. "But fine, give her back."

Peter was pretty sure the only reason Miles didn't thrust Aimee back was because he was too afraid to make any sudden moves. She made a sleepy, annoyed noise when Peter lifted her from Miles's arms.

"Why do you have the Human Torch's baby?" Miles asked, a very quiet version of shouting.

(...)

"Last chance to keep her," Peter said.

"I'm good," Miles said.

“Okay,” Sue said when she found them in the kitchen at three in the afternoon. Johnny was still in pajamas; Peter was wearing half his spider-suit. Aimee was wearing brunch. “Enough is enough. When was the last time either you left this building?”

“Carjacking,” Peter said, yawning. “Guy dressed like a possum knocking over a Chase. Do I need to go on?”

Johnny was trying to get mashed banana out of his hair. “I don’t know, I think I did something - Tuesday? Was it Tuesday? I had that interview.”

“You cancelled that interview,” Sue told him.

“Huh,” said Johnny, then made an outraged squawking noise when Sue swept in and grabbed the baby from him. “Hey!”

“You’re going out tonight,” Sue said, eyes narrowed. “Together.”

Johnny and Peter stared at each other.

“Together, like, him and me?” Peter said, gesturing between them.

“I think we used to do that,” Johnny said faintly.

“Save the comedy routine,” Sue told them, bouncing Aimee in her arms. All the mashed banana didn’t seem to bother her. She jerked her chin first at Johnny, then at Peter. “You, put on something nice. You - try to do the same. I’m making a reservation for you someplace nice, without supervillains or babies.”

“Do we have to?” Peter asked.

“Can’t we just sleep instead?” Johnny said.

“No,” Sue said. “It’ll be good for you.”

“This is not paying me back for all the times I babysat for you!” Johnny called after her as she carried Aimee from the kitchen down the hall.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sue said. “Ben owes me a favor.”

Johnny scowled at her back. “She took my baby.”

“Aw no,” Peter said, plucking at his spandex. “I’m going to have to wear a dinner jacket, aren’t I.”

Peter came through the door so tired he couldn't see straight, only to have a baby shoved into his arms. Aimee gurgled happily when Peter's arms came up around her automatically.

"Oh no," he said. "Johnny, I'm about to fall over -"

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Johnny said, not sounding very sorry at all. He leaned into kiss Peter - that Peter kissed back was muscle memory, he was pretty sure, because the only thing he felt towards Johnny in that second was the sleep-deprived urge to strangle. "I've got that photoshoot, remember? I'll be back soon, I promise. Love you!"

Peter watched him go with narrowed eyes.

"Should we tell him his shirt's on backwards, Firebug?" he asked Aimee. She put her head down against his shoulder with an annoyed sounding little sigh. "No? No." He hummed to her, heading for the couch. "I'm gonna go evil and I'm gonna kill your dad, yes I am. This is my supervillain origin story."

(...)

"Peter? Are you awake?" Franklin whispered.

"M'just resting my eyes," Peter replied.

"Okay," Franklin said hesitantly. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Peter cracked an eye open. "Do you have a Galactus stashed in the basement?"

"No," Franklin said, looking a little put out about it.

"Then go for it," Peter said, yawning.

Franklin was quiet for so long Peter had almost drifted off when he spoke.

"When Dad and Mr. Reece and I were putting the universes back the way they should be… I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I knew Uncle Johnny was going to be lonely without us, and I think I maybe accidentally gave him Aimee back."

Peter rolled over onto his back, fully awake now. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, thoughts tumbling - how unfair it was that any kid in the universe should be able to do what Franklin could. How glad he was that if any kid could, it was Franklin.

"But I think I messed up," Franklin said. "She didn't end up where she was supposed to."

(...)

"Okay," Peter said, "I know this might not be the best kind for this conversation -"

"You are gifted with the understatement!" Johnny shouted as he streaked by a little too close for comfort, a rush of flames and heat.

"Spidey," Johnny said, swooping down to hover in front of him. "Get to the point, please."

"My point," Peter said, as best as he could with Johnny so bright and so hot and so close, "is that we might need a nanny."

Johnny turned his face towards him, his eyes glowing embers and his face barely more than an outline in flickering flames - and then he burst out laughing.

"Oh," he said, darting away. He circled a group of bugs, leaving them huddled together and clacking while Ben bagged them. "Now he wants a nanny. Do you believe this?"

(...)

Ben Grimm @clobberintime 1m when you wanna watch the game and the marrieds + kid are asleep on the couch. what a revoltin development.

Peter woke slowly, drifting in and out of consciousness, too warm and content to care.

"Ben took a photo of us and put it on the internet," Johnny said, waving his phone.

***

And that's the WIP! Not much action, just Johnny and Peter being cute with a baby.

#*replies #spideytorch #myfic

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autisticrosewilson · 3 days ago

Note

Steph walks over to where the others were loosely scattered around the cave.

“You’re late.” Bruce sighs. “Why. I told you this was an important briefing.”

The blonde rolls her eyes, scoffing at him. “I’m sorry, would you rather I let Nocturna break into the old planetarium? I had to stop her, and then she said her usual cryptic bullshit about me reminding her of someone she once knew or whatever.“

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and opened his mouth.

“What did you just say?” Steph jumped slightly and turned around in surprise. She had never heard Jason sound like that before. She couldn’t place the emotion in his voice, and his face was pale, almost drained of blood.

“I… had to take a detour to stop Nocturna?” She answered cautiously.

“That’s not possible. She died when I was still Robin.”

Dick interjected, his voice off in a way Steph didn’t understand as he turned an accusatory glare on Bruce. “Did you not tell him?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.” The oldest man replied stiffly.

Steph’s brow furrowed. “I’m missing something. What—”

“Not relevant?” Jason straightened up, turning wide eyes on Bruce. “You don’t think it’s important for me to know that my— that she— she’s alive?”

Dick’s eyes narrowed. “Bruce… does Nathalie know Jason is alive?”

“…No.”

Jason’s knees buckled slightly and Dick rushed to catch him.

“Steph,” He said firmly. “I know Nathalie gave you her number for emergencies.”

“Yeah that was weird, I don’t know why—“

Dick lowered himself and Jason to sit on the ground as he steamrolled over her interruption. “Call her. Now. Tell her she needs to get here ASAP.”

“Nightwing—“ Bruce grumbled.

He snapped. “You shut up. I’d even suggest leaving if you don’t want to get killed when she gets here. Now, Steph.”

She grabbed her phone, eyes darting between Bruce, who was standing tensely with his arms crossed, Dick, who was glaring at him from the floor, and Jason, who hadn’t said a word and was clutching Dick’s arm like he would die if he let go.

“Okay.” She sighed. “But why? How would she even know how to get here? Why does she know how to get here?”

“She just does. And if she tries to say no, tell her I’m calling in the favor she owes me.”

Steph stepped away to make the call and as she did Jason finally spoke.

“She owes you a favor?”

“Yeah Little Wing, she does.”

Both of their voices were so, so fragile, and filled with something she didn’t understand.

The phone rang twice. “Spoiler, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am… not really sure.” Steph replied, voice still laced with confusion. “But I’m supposed to ask you to come to the cave. I didn’t even know you knew the cave existed.”

Nocturna exhaled sharply. “No. I haven’t set foot in there since— no. You can ask anything else of me Spoiler, but not that.”

“I’m also supposed to tell you if you say no Nightwing is calling in his favor.”

“Give him the phone.”

Steph stepped forward, holding the phone out to Dick.

“What are you playing at Richard?”

Steph and Jason both inhaled, but for different reasons. Steph was surprised. Nocturna knew their identities? She glanced at Jason and saw something that seemed like hope shining in his eyes.

“Nathalie, please.” Dick whispered.

The woman on the other end sighed. “Alright.”

Click.

Jason sobbed, and Bruce turned away.

AOUGHHHHH

Bruce stop hiding the deaths of your children's families from them challenge!!

#KILL HIM NAT #dc #jason todd #bruce wayne #dick grayson #stephanie brown #natalia knight #Nathalie Knight #< personal tag #ask #mutual mayhem

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youryurigoddess · 2 days ago

Text

Books and crumbs

Probably most speculative post in this little series, but nonetheless marked as spoiler. As always when talking about S3 locations and related content, appropriate level of discretion is advisable — due to the obvious sensitivity of this material, please tag it accordingly and share only with the fans consenting to know potential spoilers.

By now most of you probably have seen this post published on the Till’s social media on Friday. Super cute gesture and a lovely way to let the fans know that even the staff is shipping Aziraphale and Crowley (told you they have Muriel vibes!).

Technically the bookshop wasn’t the only off-set location, since we already know of some others, including the parallel film shoot happening on the same day, but still! Do you think that this display could be a Clue? Are we going to see a sword-fighting angel again? Let’s see if the books here (neither is currently listed on their website and wasn’t there at the time of the filming) might feed us some information crumbs.

The first thing I can notice about this display is an open copy of The Pilgrim’s Progress (already noticed on Aziraphale’s desk in the Good Omens: Lockdown special) open on yet another illustration by Harold Copping, this time titled ominously “In the Valley of the Shadow of Death” with a quote: “So he cried in my bearing, o Lord, I beseech Thee, deliver my soul”.

This fragment of the actual book could be potentially relevant to the plot:

“At the day of doom we shall not be doomed to death or life, according to the hectoring spirits of the world, but according to the wisdom and law of the Highest. Therefore, thought I, what God says is best, is best, though all the men in the world are against it”‬.

The book behind The Pilgrim’s Progress can’t be identified at the moment, but reminds me of the illustration of the War in Heaven for Milton’s Paradise Lost by Gustave Doré:

What can be easily identified here is a leather-bound copy of Angel Pavement, a 1930 novel by J. B. Priestley depicting the struggles of shopkeepers and traders of an imaginary London street in the wake of the Great Depression, additionally stirred up by a mysterious and charming newcomer.

Priestley’s social panorama of London depicts many perspectives, but focuses on the employees of the firm Twigg & Dersingham, suppliers of veneers and inlays to the cabinet-making trade, under No. 8, Angel Pavement (a small cul-de-sac in the heart of London’s commercial district). Interestingly, both BBC adaptations of the novel — a 1957 and a 1967 TV series — are considered completely lost.

The red spine is the only one I recognised from my visits to the bookshop in question — a leather bound copy of Dombey and Son by Charles Dickens. The 1848 novel tells a story of a wealthy shipping firm owner coming to terms with the death of the son he dreamt of continuing his business with and eventually embracing his daughter’s love when it seemed lost as well after years and years of neglect.

His boy had faded into dust, his proud wife had sunk into a polluted creature, his flatterer and friend had been transformed into the worst of villains, his riches had melted away, the very walls that sheltered him looked on him as a stranger; she alone had turned the same mild gentle look upon him always. Yes, to the latest and the last. She had never changed to him – nor had he ever changed to her – and she was lost.

The daughter eventually returns to reunite with her father after starting a family of her own, and years later the changed and aged merchant dotes on his granddaughter as if to make up for what he’s done to her mother by abandoning her due to patriarchal values.

Father figures and their sons or, in particular, daughters seem already pretty significant in the S2 context, as described in e.g., On Love and Sacrifices and Dysfunctional Family Dynamics, but they hit particularly close to the potential S3 themes in relation to both Aziraphale’s changing position in Heaven (and in Metatron’s eyes) and Jesus and his role in the Second Coming and the Last Judgement.

The big open book at the bottom is a first edition of Heroes of Folk Tale and Legend by Vladimir Hulpach (1970). Illustration by Miroslav Troup represents the monster Grendel, known from the Old English epic poem Beowulf in which he was slayed by the titular hero.

Grendel’s sudden appearance at the royal banqueting hall described on this spread is similar to the demonic attack on Aziraphale’s bookshop at the end of S2, but can also be seen as a foreshadowing of yet another danger to come and/or the beast from Revelations, the Antichrist.

He even looks similar to the engraving Anathema had hanged on her murder board, don’t you think?

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens finale #good omens 3 #good omens s3 #good omens s3 spoilers #good omens s3 speculation #seriously don’t read it if you want to avoid spoilers #i’m dead serious about this #teal we meet again #angel pavement #the book of revelation #aziraphale’s desk #anathema’s murder board #yuri is doing her thing #channeling detective aziraphale #hyperfixating on used and antiquarian books

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lsunstreakerl · 2 days ago

Note

For the kink prompt: max wanting unconditional love and family bonds and Charles wanting max to be happy and pampered and then accidentally stumbling on the

Biggest breeding kink

That ever existed

this is kind of that? charles ran away from me tbh.

900 words, charles POV. kink prompt, explicit.

pairings: charles leclerc/max verstappen

relevant warnings: uhhh charles wants to get max pregnant, even though it's literally not possible. however you want to call that.

Max is holding one of the children at the party on his hip. Charles knows this because it's all he's been able to focus on for twenty minutes– he's completely lost his train of thought anywhere else, stuck on the way Max is shifting his weight to one side, hip cocked to accommodate the younger girl.

It's one of Pierre's friend's children, Charles is pretty sure. He isn't entirely confident, because the only thing he can think right now is that Max looks good– good in a way Charles didn't know he was into.

He feels like his brain has short circuited. It's not even that Max is doing anything sexy, it's just–

He's so casual about it, carrying on his conversation with some other guy, occasionally readjusting his grip so she doesn't fall.

He'd be such a good parent.

It's not a topic that's come up– their careers are in full swing, and Charles has a feeling discussing kids would be a minefield and half, considering how Max was raised, but–

Max is a natural. Charles wants to see him with a kid of their own, Max's blonde hair and round cheeks, Charles' eyes and dimples.

Charles wants it bad.

------

Charles isn't stupid. He knows it's not possible to actually get Max pregnant. This has not stopped his stupid brain from going on a complete trip lately, bending Max over counters and the couch, fucking him raw and wanting to keep it there, elevating his hips slightly after sex just in case it fucking–

He knows it's not possible.

Max is currently writhing underneath him, coming around Charles' cock as he fucks into him deep, because he wants to give them the best possible chance, wants to give Max all the stupid little round faced babies they could possibly want.

"Charlie, Charlie please–"

"I know, chéri, almost– I am so close, just a little longer–"

Charles slides into him again, presses their hips flush together, grinding in soft circles as he comes into Max again.

It's the third time today, and he hadn't even needed lube this time- Max had been open and slick with cum from this morning.

Max shudders underneath him, eyes hazy as Charles pulls out.

He presses two fingers into him, bullying one of their pillows under Max to keep his hips up.

"So good for me, going to be such a good–"

Charles cuts himself off, pushing cum back inside Max.

Max whines softly, twitching around his fingers. He's not exactly coherent– Charles can probably get away with it.

He's still not going to risk it. Doesn't even want to say anything out loud, because what if this time it really does take, and he's finally done it?

It's not possible. Charles knows that, but–

Their entire careers are about doing the impossible, so Charles is going to keep trying.

------

Max is eyeing him weirdly over the kitchen table.

"You are being weird lately, Charles."

Charles freezes, thumb hovering above where he's been scrolling nearby schools.

"No?"

Max narrows his eyes.

"Yes, you are. What has gotten into you?"

Charles winces, carefully bookmarking the tab into his private folder as he turns his phone off.

"Nothing. Why do you think I'm being weird? Maybe you're being weird."

Max sets his fork down, glaring at him.

"Not that I do not enjoy fucking, but it has been nonstop. And I of course do not mind raw either, but it has been– you are being weird about it, it's like you're trying to get me knocked up or something."

Charles blanches, wincing involuntary.

Max's jaw drops open.

"Are you serious? What the- Charles, what is going on with you?"

Charles slumps back into his seat, giving Max his best puppy dog eyes.

"I know it is not possible, don't give me that face– I just–"

He sighs.

"That party a few months ago, at Pierre's– you were so good with the kids, and it was– it looked so good on you chéri, you're a natural. And it has been stuck in my head every single day since then."

Max is looking at him like he thinks Charles is insane.

"So the solution was to– what, fuck me like we're trying?"

Well when he puts it like that...

"Oui."

Max drops his face into his hands, but Charles can see the tips of his ears flushing red, the way his fingers fidget across the bridge of his nose.

"That is so stupid, Charles."

"It is hot."

Max makes a soft noise, eyes wide when he looks back up at Charles.

"It is weird."

Charles slides out of his chair, stepping around the table to gently hold Max's face in his hands.

"Not at all."

Max looks away.

"Charlie, I do not– I am not sure if I..."

Charles brushes his thumb across Max's cheek, patient.

"If I actually want kids. If I could handle that."

He bends down to kiss the top of Max's head, shutting his eyes for a moment against the well of emotions behind his chest.

"I am not asking you for that, chéri. I promise. We can have that conversation when you are ready– if you ever are. It's okay if you aren't, Max."

Max huffs softly.

"And in the meantime you are going to keep fucking me raw, I assume."

Charles makes a face.

"You like it raw."

"But it is weird now–"

#ficlet #kink prompt #charles is weird about it for literal months #and it takes max that long to even pick up on it #max is also definitely into it

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wisteria-lodge · 22 hours ago

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This is an interesting theory, and fun to think about. Where I start running into problems is - okay. The entire last book is structurally a McGuffin plot / fetch quest centered around a super-powerful mythical wand. It always was - Book 7 briefly had the working title "Harry Potter and the Peverell Quest" before becoming "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows."

It would have been so easy to slip in a reference to a super-powerful mythical wand as a thing that exists in this universe. And JKR *loves* it when she can make some minor thing introduced in an earlier book really important in an unexpected way later on (the cloak, diary, vanishing cabinet, early intros to the locket horcrux and the diadem horcrux...) She loved throwing in the "is snape a double agent or did he betray dumbledore" and "who is RAB" riddles for fans to debate. People would have gone back and forth on who has this mythical super-powerful wand, how it's going to be involved etc. I think JKR would have loved that. But, nothing. And as a result this Deathly Hallows stuff comes out of nowhere in Book 7, in a way that honestly feels pretty structurally off.

However, I do think this gives us a lot of insight into the way JKR *does* write. She writes self-contained little narratives. She'll come up with an element that needs to be put in place for the single story she's telling right now to make sense... and then, when that story is over, often she doesn't want to deal with that element anymore.

Time-Turners are probably the most obvious example. But like... Lupin transformed once in book 3 and never again. The fact he's a werewolf is not important to - anything really, except being used as an excuse to get him off the page. *He's* not important. Book 2 is a story about a house-elf going rouge... and then house elves aren't mentioned even once in Book 3. When they come up in Book 4 the tone is a little... salty, more mean spirited than usual. The house-elf stuff is easily the weakest part of what is honestly a very strong book. It's as though she's saying - I didn't want to have to focus more on house elves, but here you go. Grawp is a weirdly large part of Book 5 because he features in the climax, then he's no longer important. Book 5 is all about the Ministry making pretty serious inroads at Hogwarts, but then in Book 6 there is absolutely no ministry presence at all.

I also think that JKR very deliberately set out to write a school story, and so keeping Harry at school more or less the whole time was always the intention. JKR also seems to be really dependent on the structure the one-book-per-year thing imposes: each year we start with the Dursleys, Harry gets away, goes to school, there's a new DADA professor who has thematic and plot relevance, etc. Also the seven years thing is established in Book 1, and it makes sense to have Voldemort come back halfway through, so his re-appearance can both justify and mask a fairly big tone shift... which was a masterful marketing move honestly, because she did write a series that grew up with its readers, while something like A Series of Unfortunate Events did not

(and I love A Series of Unfortunate Events. I think it's more cohesive, better written, and honestly more original than HP, but the fact that the kids don't really age and it stays at the same level of young-ness throughout... did hurt its franchise potential.)

Personally I think that the Epilogue was written at the same time as the beginning of Book 4. (I also think this is where the Snape-was-in-love-with-Lily plot was added.) The biggest tell is Percy - the jokes about him talking about broomstick regulations in the Epilogue are extremely similar to the jokes about him talking about cauldron bottom regulations in the beginning of Book 4 - while also being a weird departure from him punching Pius Thickness in the face at the end of Book 7 and saying "Minister, did I mention I'm resigning?" I think there are a LOT of hints that books 1-3 were plotted and written as a set - Sirius Black showing up in the first chapter of Book 1 for instance. Then every book after those three was written in it's own little bubble, which is why Book 6 can be Mackenzie Rowling Murray's "ink and paper twin."

(Perhaps controversial) theories on Harry Potter first drafts/story structure

I've been reading some more old Harry Potter meta (critique) (damn I miss those LiveJournal esque communities) and after some of the theories I've read I'm now 90% sure that Deathly Hallows was actually the third, or maybe even second book that Joanne started writing.

I love deconstruction and I am a writer, so this kind of thing interests me on a personal level as a high-profile reference that a lot of people might be familiar with, even as generally I have strong critiques for Joanne both as a person, and as what I consider to be something of an impostor in the fantasy genre, as a writer who both openly (at the start of her career) disavowed fantasy classics as beneath her, claimed not to be writing fantasy, and in my opinion, heavily plagiarised works of other authors within the genre and then played ignorant when called out on it by people who by that point had less power and industry clout than she did.

This is going to be critical of JKR, so for those not interested in that, maybe don't read on below the cut. It's not my intention to make anyone feel negative about something that's special or sacred to them.

Some members of the LJ community noted that Deathly Hallows (DH) has many, many recurring references and callbacks to the first book, Philosopher's Stone (PS), with certain characters even seeming to regress to those versions of them in terms of their behaviors, motivations, and what they centrally held as important.

After considering it again I've also come to the conclusion that that's one aspect that throws so many readers off DH as a conclusion to the series, a series that has 'grown up with' the reader and consciously shifted from children's lit to YA; and from a series of fantasy holiday movies helmed by Chris Columbus to a fantasy adventure series with gruesome monsters and wands becoming essentially the ranged weapon variant of lightsabers or the conduit for MCU-esque superhero abilities... that in terms of the writing, the morals, and the overarching themes, actually DH goes backward in that regard to the Roald Dahl-inspired simple morality of the first book where violence was cartoonish, monsters were existential rather than grounded, and Harry and friends were essentially young children trying their best to solve a mystery; rather than the adults the world has contextually by now established them to be.

Joanne has boasted that she had written the Epilogue very early on. What if she had in fact written out a lot of DH very early on?

She knew the books were going to cover (at least) seven school years. I think she decided after the first one, she would write (most of) the end of the series, and then if she needed to, she could write more than 5 other books in between.

DH takes place when Harry isn't in school. But nothing about the story means it has to take place when Harry should be in school.

Thematic and character-based parallels-wise, it might have actually made a lot of sense for Harry to be the same age that his parents were when they passed away, in Deathly Hallows, to make the walk through to the forest with his parents' ghosts, back the same age as they were when he first saw them in the Mirror of Erised more of an exact parallel tearjerker.

And a lot of the criticisms that DH faces - "why didn't we see inside Hogwarts during Snape's regime, and what happened to Neville, Luna and Ginny and the rest of the kids in Harry's year?" - would be nixed if this story was never meant to take place in Harry's final school year.

I suspect that what happened at some point during the height of her fame and blowup is that Joanne realised that a) she was so successful already she wouldn't have to write as many books as she had originally planned; especially because b) movies were now also in the works or being released, and the actors would only be believable as teenagers for a certain duration, but this led to c) now she had a smaller total possible number of books in which to fit all of her vague ideas of where the story would end up going and what the big setpieces were planned to be. (Hence the lengths started to balloon)

I might end up writing a part 2 to this because (ironically) I don't want to make this post so long, but as a starting point I would theorize her original outline may have gone something like the following:

Book 1, Harry Potter and the Philsopher's Stone. Establishes our characters and the main setpieces; Harry Potter, Ron-and-Hermione (who essentially function as a two-headed sidekick machine), Snape, Dumbledore, Voldemort, James-and-Lily-Potter

X number of books, as-yet undefined, at least one per school year, but potentially many more, like most contemporaries to her went in to their careers expecting to write, that expand on the young characters' relationships in small ways, with Draco Malfoy, his foil friends to HRH, and his family, as minor antagonists to drag out the series as long as possible - and never intended as more than that, while Dumbledore and Snape bubble away in the background

Harry's final year of school, in which Dumbledore is killed by Snape in front of Harry at the climax of the year, is buried in the school grounds, and Snape ascends to the Headmaster role

Only then at some point, Voldemort is resurrected and takes pride of place as the main villain, pushing Snape down into the secondary villain/antihero role

The final book in which Harry returns to Hogwarts a la Lord of the Rings/The Empire Strikes back, too late to have a confrontation with Snape (a classic tragic beat) and instead has his showdown with Voldemort, finishing his parents' legacy and completing what they themselves could not do.

I genuinely believe that all of the following were late additions to the story that ended up taking on a life of their own with the fandom, that Joanne never planned for, never really anticipated, and - because we know that she is both stubborn to change in general, and sees herself as a visionary above steer or critique - refused to meaningfully update or edit around in the final version of the last book:

Sirius Black existing at all

Remus Lupin existing at all

Peter Pettigrew existing at all

Fudge, Umbridge, and the Ministry-vs-Dumbledore/Harry sideplot - which, knowing that Joanne is a woman of faith, reeks of a 'skeptical nonbelievers vs true Christians of faith' plot

Luna

Everything about the Triwizard Tournament

Everything about the Yule Ball

Everything about the World Cup (I would go as far as proposing these were originally planned as three episodic books that she ended up blending together)

Spotlight Death Eaters like Barty Crouch and Bellatrix Lestrange

The Founders, the Basilisk, and the Sword of Gryffindor

The Horcruxes

Anything about magical creatures, aside from as episodic flavor to provide a one-off background character

International characters like Fleur, Krum and Madame Maxime

Most fight scenes, including everything with the Dept of Mysteries

Grimmauld Place and Kreacher

And perhaps controversially, most of the racist/blood war elements of the conflict in the books. Because, in DH, apart from flavor description of what the Death Eaters etc. are doing...

The conflict described seems, as it did in PS, to be primarily a personal one, with Voldemort's vendetta being against Harry specifically, and as a proxy, Dumbledore's followers, and people who believed in him and his ideals.

And maybe that's why Harry, the character, never seems to end up caring that much about the foundational principles of why they are fighting the war, and who it is actually there to protect, besides his personal connection with Voldemort as his personal nemesis...

Because Joanne never originally wrote it that way. Voldemort dies, and "all was well."

#hp #doylist analysis #jkr critical #writing stuff

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