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nouearth · 1 year ago

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12 Months

peter parker x male reader.

summary: where you couldn't possibly imagine to find love and sanctuary anywhere else, you somehow find it in the presence of a boy named peter.

wc: 4.3k. genre: angst. warnings: loner!reader, sad!reader, implied abuse, implied bullying, high school senior year, slow-burn.

SEPTEMBER.

The big hand of the clock flicked closer to the end of the day, the small hand circling around the circumference to pass time.

Conversations of peers were usually drowned out with the help of your earbuds. The gentle strum of acoustics would counter the excitement of the students’ well-being; friends opinionated in after-school activities, athletes talked about the upcoming game with your rival school, artists boasted over the amount of commissions they’ve received overnight.

For the first time, you heard it all, and took it all in with an inhale, then silence as you stared at Peter Parker. The earbuds were slotted into your ear canals, but today, the wired nubs were worn to merely dull your surroundings as you awaited the intercom to bid the occupants of the building farewell for the day. Your leg shook, bouncing your book bag atop of it, and you held it steady when you hugged it close to your chest, chin resting at the strap. It appeased the throttle in your chest, but every time the classmate opened his mouth for a laugh, it swelled painfully larger. A pump to the husk of a balloon, a breath to the bubble of blue raspberry bubblegum, a vapor to the particles of billowed smoke, it continued swelling and roped your anxiety along for the journey. A part of you needed to talk to him, but the other part begged for reconsideration.

At some point, you forgot to breathe. Feeling blue in the cheeks, you finally exhaled the caught nerves. They drew out of you in shivers, spaghetti boiling in bubbling water if the warmth of your breath could change matter. While the man listened, then talked within his small group of friends, chairs and desks were gathered around to form a circle, you examined him cautiously. If Peter was to turn his head and meet the affection in your gaze, you were lucky to have the window by your side to turn back to, feigning interest in the clouds, the sky, the breeze in the trees. Until then, his smile unmasked pearly whites that rivaled the lights that illuminated the classroom. His russet hair was pushed back, wavy locks that were brushed simply so people could easily follow the pattern with one glance.

“Gooooood Afternoon, Midtown!” The intercom blared, and a warning from your teacher hushed your classmates into a sea of scatters. “Before we send you kiddos off, we would like to remind all of you that the Midtown Tigers will be playing against Weston’s Sea Hawks tonight! Show your support by attending the game and cheering for our team. Let’s show those dirty hawks that tonight will be the night that we can bounce back from our 18th consecutive loss!” It continued with its usual announcements of bus delays and afternoon activities before finally blaring that cathartic bell.

Footsteps crowded the halls, and your classmates joined its symphony in heavy to light strides. While you watched, your pace slowed deliberately as Peter’s friends bid him farewell. You overheard them asking him if he was going to join them in the mall, but he declined, blaming his absence on his aunt. They left one by one, until the only occupants were you, your teacher, and Peter.

“Peter?” You were up on your feet, approaching him from the back of the classroom as you slung the bag over your shoulder. Your voice cracked from the parched of your throat, mousy in performance, and you were unsure if Peter heard you. Your mouth opened again to call to him again, but he turned with a friendly smile, raising his brows in interest, and they closed.

“Oh, hey!” His face lit up when he saw you, or maybe you were convincing yourself. Not even your reflection looked at you the way Peter did. You were even surprised he recognized you. Cared to remember you. He hurriedly threw his books into his backpack before swinging it over his shoulder, meeting you in the middle of the row of desks. “What’s up?”

“I…” You’ve only spoken to him twice. The first was a mere greeting, and the second was a painful answer to his worry.

Are you okay? Yes.

The beating in your chest hiked in rhythms, compelled gravity to rob your voice, but you were conscious enough to steal it back, softly speaking. “I just want to thank you for… last year. I never got to… properly thank you. So, thank you…” You were intoxicated by the amount of times you said those appreciative words, but gratitude sobered you up, offering the latter a small, grateful smile.

“Oh…” The smile on Peter’s face simmered into a relieved line. He then nodded towards the door for you to follow him, and you did, silently by his side. “You don’t have to thank me, (M/N). I did what anyone would do.”

Everyone let it happened, except for you.

The hallway was quick to clear as students rushed to spend the remaining hours of their Friday without any regrets. The silence was deafening except for the squeak of your shoes and the whispered gossip between faculty members, and for a place you often labeled as your personal hell, it wasn’t so bad when it was purged of those that spawned that definition in your life.

Maybe you were walking slower, or you were keeping with Peter’s pace, or the hallways had undergone construction to stretch the floors, or the awkward silence between the both of you that blurred your perception, but the travel from your classroom to the exit of the building was a journey.

“Is he still bothering you? I don’t know if he’s in your other classes, but he’s not in mine, so…” Peter spoke up, alluding to the classmate who called you disgusting names, shoved your books to the floor, stole the change of your clothes during gym. And you wished it would stop there, at the actions of the cliché bully trope, but it never did. He pushed the door open, politely letting you out first, and you stepped into the warmth with a small thank you,’ and continued walking with him. Summer cicadas harmonized in their greeting.

“No, not anymore.” You lied, dropping that hand that once held onto the padded straps of your backpack to your side. The dark color of your pants masked the bruise on your wrist when you shoved it deep into your pocket. “I have him in a few of my classes, but luckily he’s preoccupied with his friends.”

“Geez, you got his friends too? That’s… gotta be a loud classroom.” He laughed, and you joined in to delude yourself, and Peter, into thinking everything was okay.

The sound of multiple engines running within the yellow busses reminded you how incredibly enamored you were with Peter. By now, motors would’ve been buried by earbuds, and the walk wouldn’t have been so deafening to your ear canals. But hearing Peter’s voice soothed the damage, and you wished you had a playlist of him saying your favorite words, reading your favorite novels, rescuing you with worried comfort. You wanted to continue the conversation, change the subject, but you never knew how, so it fell to silence. Again.

“I’ll see you around, Peter.” You spoke softly again, paused when you and Peter reached the end of the sidewalk. You were familiar with Peter’s route. He lived in the opposite side of your street, and the curved path to the right practically led him back to his apartment. All he had to do was follow the beige pavement. “…and thank you, again. It means a lot.” A genuine smile, one that you haven’t been able to sprout for weeks, months you could argue, and Peter’s breath hiked.

“Of course…” It took his breath away. The cloudy day was drawing in the last of its colors, but the rare hint of your teeth, the curve of your lips, made the sky above him, behind you, bloom in the softest blues, yellows, and whites. Selfishly, he wished you smiled more, because the release that was pulled from him evened the astonishment of a child seeing stars for the very first time.

“I’ll see you around, (M/N).”

OCTOBER.

The workload in your classes had picked up, and with the part-time job at the local bookstore, you were envious of customers who had finished their backlog of novels. Mainly working adults. Still, there was never enough hours in the day to immerse yourself in the world of a brave protagonist, slaying off demons and dragons in the pursuit of love. You never got to finish the fantasy novel you were reading, but you’d imagine it ended with the hero beheading the fire-breathing behemoth, and its head would be pridefully worn on a stick like cotton candy. Cheers erupted when the character returned, then roared when their love blessed them with one thankful kiss.

The ladder was anchored to the wooden, though creaky, floors as you held your breath from inhaling dust. When the door was pushed open by curious passersby, particles of dust sailed with the draft that was invited in, and you coughed into the crook of your arm whenever one floated into your throat. Though, you couldn’t be too annoyed. It also provided a test to see if the Halloween decorations could withstand the wind as they sat on hooks that were nailed into the ceilings. Spirals of orange and black ribbons roped cartoonish gravestones, black cats, pumpkins, skulls, ghouls, all the mascots of the holiday, from above. The draft animated them in gentle swings, delicate arcs that cooled the confined space of the bookstore, but as far as you could tell, none of them had landed on the ground.

“Looks great, (M/N)! I think we’re good on the hanging decorations!” Your manager, Anna, gave the metal ladder a strong pat before tending to the fallen dust. It shook in fear, and you did too, immediately clutching to the fly to stabilize it.

“Any else? We still haven’t decorated the windows.” You climbed down cautiously, making sure she was in your line of sight because for all you could know, she could be an omen.

“The stick on the ones I got suck, so I was thinking that we’ll decorate it on Halloween? Before opening?” She said, opening the door after to sweep out the culprits of your coughing fits.

“Sounds good.” You collapsed the extension of the ladder once you stepped off, folding it into a thicker shape, and nodded before returning the ladder to its rightful place in the storage room.

“Doing anything fun for Halloween?! Parties?!” Anna’s voice boomed despite the door muffling it. The natural luminous of her voice was something you usually cowered away from, especially when she called for you in front of customers. Luckily, the store was closed, vacant of any witnesses to the flare of your cheeks. Cardboard boxes stacked atop of one another, and for some reason, you were suddenly determined to face your procrastination head-on. “Horror movies?!”

“Uh…” The volume of your voice was still muted despite forcing yourself to make it sonorous. It came out in staggered breaths as you flattened the boxes with your weight, stepping on them at the crease and fold, until you were able to fold them into neat, flat shapes. “Not really! I usually don’t do anything for celebrations.”

“Seriously?” The sound of sweeps came closer to you. They sounded like laughs, almost as if they were mocking you. When you looked up, it was Anna’s fretted expression that reminded you that they were just sounds. No one was here to hurt you. Laugh at you.

It was just you and Anna. And sounds.

“Mm-hmm.” You simply answered, packing the flattened boxes into a trash bag before storing it back to where the stack previously harbored. The room felt bigger now. You exited after switching off the lights, and took Anna’s broom to sweep up the fuzzy stray materials of cardboard.

“How come?” Her shoulder supported her leaning stance as she pressed to the wall, watching you diligently work with crossed arms. She gasped out of realization. “Oh no—did something horrible happen on Halloween? Is that why you don’t celebrate?!”

“No, nothing like that!” You laughed. It was always genuine with her. Anna was at least twenty years older than you, but she still kept the youthfulness of a child. You were envious of it.

“I just…” Big sweeps to walnut flooring kept your mind at ease. The thick hairs brushed evenly, catching lint in the hay. They clung protectively onto the strands the more you brushed, the harder as well. It reminded you of nights, lonesome in your bed. No matter how hard you tried to remove those pesky lints, they always stayed. Always found a way to intrude. “—don’t have parties to go to.”

Nor did you have friends to watch movies with, or a willing family to celebrate with if all plans fell through. It’s been you since you can remember, and you’ve gotten used to it. Though, you’d never admit that to her.

The trail of your voice and the mindless polishing of walnut immediately foiled your discreet speech, but Anna knew better than to prod. From the day you came in for the interview, she remembered the timidness of your slouch, your pattern of speech, your orbs. One could argue that they were nerves, universal tremors one every eighteen year old got when applying for their first job. Then, she trained you. It was just you and her, and the shelves of delicate books. Over the next few weeks, Anna learned that you were as frail as the old spine of donated hardbacks.

Her knowledge of you only sank surface-deep, barely a scratch or a wound. At one point, she thought it was because of her personality: chipper as a mourning dove, loud as her neighbor’s lawnmower on Sundays, but compared to how she met you five months ago, it delighted her to see progress. Slowly but surely, you opened up to her. She knew your favorite color, your favorite meal, your favorite novel, and she was no longer insecure. There will be a time when she’d meet the root of your soul, and if it took a month, a year, or another, she’d wait.

“Everything okay at school?” She’s been meaning to ask. It was an exciting time for a new business, but incredibly stressful as well. Most never made it after six months, especially within an industry where independent bookstores have become increasingly difficult to sustain with the presence of technology. Anna was just fortunate enough to have seen such quick growth.

Anna took the broom from your hand, stashed it back in the storage room, then guided you to a table for two near the entrance of the store. It was her favorite spot because she loved seeing the wonderment of her customers when they left with the book they couldn’t find anywhere else.

“Yeah,” You quickly answered and offered her a simple smile, devoid of any purpose but to pacify her worries. It worked on your parents, and you liked to think that it worked on Anna as well. “Well, they’re doing some construction in the school gym. I heard that they’re planning to add a room for—“

“That’s great, (M/N), but…” Her arms remained crossed, below her chest, and she nodded to the bruise on your cheek. Purple bloomed high on your cheekbone. Occasionally, it throbbed whenever a draft hit your frail skin. You assumed it was its way to kiss it better, and so you would let it in seek of sating the empty feeling in your stomach. “That. I meant the bruise…”

“Oh—“ Out of instinct, your hand reached up to dab at the purpling skin. Numbed at the first layer, but you pressed deeper, and you hid a jolt with a sudden clear of your throat. “Uh… cat— got me. My mom always said to never play with strays.”

It was a lame excuse and you knew it. Anna did too. Before you could see her face scrunch into a stew of concern, you turned the bruised cheek away and looked to the heights of the sky, out the window, and wished you could fly into the night.

On Halloween, the promotion regarding a sale on donated books, though only paperbacks, if you wore a costume propelled the place to a considerable height. The small size of the store felt even smaller, even more so as Anna’s playlist Halloween music blared in the wall stereo. The sound waves and chatters of excited customers confined you, and you shrunk yourself in corners where it would be coldest. Anna took care of the crowd of patrons, while you assembled the paperbacks in a neatly order within the shelves.

Anna didn’t expect you to comply in participating in the event of Halloween, so the elation in her face was immediately framed in your mind when she hugged you tight, bruising enough to beckon the former bruise on your cheek to reappear, in your Where’s Waldo outfit. Simple, but you were a simple man.

“Excuse me?” An inquisitive voice tore your focus from arranging the novels in alphabetical order. You were kneeling to fill the lower shelf that was too low for anyone to comfortable browse through, but maintained the position as the crowd seemed to have closed in on you. “Do you know if this book qualifies for the sale, or is it paperback only?”

You looked up through your artificial glasses, and the size of your eyes matched the roundness of your frames when it embarrassingly didn’t take you very long to uncover who was under the layer of green face paint. “Peter?”

“O-oh! (M/N), you work here?” His eyes also widened, but he was sober enough to reach his hand out for you to grab onto. “That’s fitting, I guess. You always went to the library during lunch—I-I mean, not that I watch you or anything. I just— happened to notice…” The heat from your palm jumped onto Peter’s when you held on and pulled yourself to your feet. You weren’t sure what to respond to first, but the closed distance between you and Peter was distracting. A fleeting feeling in your chest, and it still overstays it welcome when you backed a step away.

Peter’s never been so close to you. He could smell the scent of ocean mist that he likened to previous shopping trips ago. His aunt may would drag him to the nearest retail store and he’d spend every second of the agonizing trip smelling laundry scent boosters while she stocked up on the pantry. He laughed to himself. You seemed like the type to use those.

“Thanks, uh…” You carefully took the hardback in your hand, examining it with several cycles of flips. It was in mint condition. Usually, a poorer state allowed an extra discount. “The sale is only for paperbacks, but…” Your eyes scanned the room. Fewer people now. Anna was still busy entertaining those that came to participate in the costume contest, a sudden endeavor to drive engagement.

“I can make an exception.” There was a swell in Peter’s heart when you gave him a smile, an uncertain small one, but nonetheless, a smile that warmed his insides. He wouldn’t have minded if he had paid full price anyhow, but he also wouldn’t reject the opportunity to save money.

He followed your steps to the back, away from the engaged crowd, and stilled as you began checking him out. “Just one book?” You looked up, and his lips were already parted as if he was about to say something, but he nodded instead.

Another moment of silence as you took his card after applying the sale to his book, and your fingers drummed to the beat of the music to fill it out, awaiting the receipt to print out. Whenever you had the courage to look at him, he was immersed in the ambiance of the bookstore. Smiling to himself, to Anna, to the laughter of the crowd, and you couldn’t help but hide one yourself, to the ground. When Peter faced you again, you quickly looked away in time, and the receipt rolled out in one smooth motion.

“How are you? Is it always this busy? I’ve never heard of this place.” Peter had a habit of stacking multiple questions with his own observations, with statements, with more questions. Rambles, people would call it. He was attentive, curious, and it all made him the more endearing.

“I’ve been doing okay. Tired, mostly. Miss Wilson’s been keeping me up though.” It was your attempt at a joke, and luckily, it landed when Peter laughed in agreement, elated as if he’d been waiting for the culprit of all-nighters to be of subject.

“Right?!” Peter shook his head when you asked if he wanted a bag, and continued, tucking the book in his armpit when you returned it to him. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love her—she’s awesome. But chill out on the essays! An essay about our essays is a task sent from the devil himself.”

A chuckle escaped from your lips, and a wider smile brimmed your face in support. For the first time, you felt compelled to talk, to engage into conversation. “Yeah, I missed a few deadlines, but she’s pretty lenient with late work, thankfully.”

“Really? I have a feeling it’s because it’s you! You’re probably her favorite student since you always get the right answers when she calls on you.” He laughed again to escape the awkwardness of his compliment. Subtle, but he hoped you took it pridefully.

Peter looked to the side to see if anyone was coming to conclude their purchase for the night, and was delighted to see the hardwood floor left unattended. “Are you doing anything after this? It’s Halloween, so I imagine people are probably out partying or something.”

“I’m not really a party person.” You nodded to assure yourself, mindlessly rearranging the supplies around the desk to avoid the gaze of his eyes. It sucked you in once, couldn’t look back even if you tried. It was only when Peter turned himself away that you were no longer staring into warm chestnuts. “I only dressed like this since I’d probably look a little out of place if I showed up in my usual uniform, haha.”

“You look cu—“ Peter hurriedly cut himself off, frantic before smiling again. “Nice. You look nice.”

“Thank you,” You returned his smile, soft in form. “What about you? Are you doing anything?”

“Well, I’m not a party person either—oh! There’s this new horror movie that came out a week ago! I’ve been dying to see it,” Peter sparked, gently bouncing on his toes as hope frayed within his words. “If you’re free, would you want to watch it with me?”

“Oh—“ For the first time, you had the option to say ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ and for some reason, Peter was always at the crime of your firsts. “W-what time? I’ll have to see if it’s okay with Anna if—“

“Let me see…” Light reflected off of Peter’s faced as he searched on his phone, but a buoyant smile that revealed his teeth shined brighter. “One showing at eight, another at ten, and one final one at midnight!”

“Is… midnight okay?” You hesitantly asked, and Peter brightened.

“Midnight is perfect.”

When you left from work, you didn’t bother to call for your parents. It would’ve gone to voicemail anyhow. Instead, Anna took the excited initiative to drive you to the theater despite your assurance that walking would’ve sufficed.

Nonsense! I’m getting my coat. Hold on! Stay right there!

The mystery of what held the rest of the night for you frightened you to the core. What if everything went downhill from here? What if Peter never showed up? What if this had been a prank all along? During the car ride, you breathed, and breathed, and breathed.

And then, breathed.

Inhaled.

Blew in one continuous breath.

Inhaled.

Your chest ran steady again.

That night, Peter made you feel normal. As normal as someone like you could be.

You didn’t plan on getting your fingers buttery, but Peter assured you that his popcorn wasn’t going to finish itself. You shared your sour gummies in return. Peter jumped when a ghost flew to the screen, and you did the same from his own erratic movements. You watched the film through half-closed eyes, peeking between the cracks of your greasy fingers, prepared to be startled by the sound of a door closing, and you laughed silently to yourself because it was silly when you flinched to a cat scurrying away.

While you focused, the structure of your nose and lips, your entire side profile, were handsomely illuminated by the flickers of the screen and Peter took in the animation of your presence, a behemoth contrast of the you he’d known silently for years; the you that kept to himself, ate at lunch by himself, did group projects by himself, studied in the library by himself, walked home by himself. It was pathetic, many would heckle to their circle of friends. Peter overheard the tease and taunts, and he wanted to defend you in those moments. But he couldn’t, not until he knew you.

When you felt the air thicken, you turned to Peter and his gaze unfurled the heavy cloud between the two of you until it vanished into smoke. It sucked you in; his eyes. And you stared wide-eyed, bewildered and lost in the sea of broken stars the screen illustrated in Peter’s orbs. They twinkled with every cut of the scene, sparkling under the terror of the performer’s haunting, until they no longer didn’t when he turned away.

Crimson blanched and wilted into his face, radiated even in the dark when you followed and turned back to the screen. You felt your cheeks rivaling in swatch.

For the first time, you weren’t scared.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x male reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker fic #nou.fics

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sunnysagereblog · 2 months ago

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(Credit to @tiny-tk for making this.)

1. I was 18.

2. A discord server I was in had started an agere channel, and I was curious what agere was, so I did some research, and the rest is history.

3. Kiddo, kid, small fry, sweetie, shorty, and tiny.

4. A little. I love mlp music and bubblegum pop music like E. T. by Toy-Box.

5. Dekomori from Love, Chunibyo, and Other Delusions, Filo from Rise of the Shield Hero, and Milim from That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime. I don't really relate to them when I'm not regressed.

6. Involuntarily. I've tried to force it. It does work as well.

7. Music and/or certain anime like Black Clover, Love, Chunibyo, and Other Delusions, and Madoka Magica. Other than that, it's kinda random.

8. I want a real caregiver so bad. Currently, all I have is fictional caregivers which is nice but I'd still love a real one.

9. Nothing official. I do have genuine reason to believe I have ADHD and Autism due to extensive research I've done on the topics to become more educated about them, but it's not official, so take that with a grain of salt.

10. Kinda. My brother and few friends know, I even have a best friend who age regresses. I'm definitely more open about it online tho.

11. Home. It's safe at home.

12. Spelling things incorrectly. I do have some minor spelling quirks when I'm regressed, but it's very different from what I see most age regressors do.

13. I become a bit more excitable when regressed but also more nervous when I'm alone in a public setting. I'm more outwardly happy when I'm little, unlike when I'm big, I'm more inwardly happy if that makes sense.

14. No. I'm a Christian and don't believe in changing your name or pronouns (no hate to people who do, tho. I still love and respect you regardless)

15. Tumblr and sometimes youtube.

16. I don't know, honestly. Does watching Black Clover count?

17. Green! I love my plants (I really need to water them 😬)

18. Gon from HxH, Akko, and Diana from Little Witch Academia.

19. Fuyu from Blush Blush, Raph from Rottmnt, Sundrop from FNAF, Captain Yami from Black Clover, Kunikida from BSD, and Tfa Optimus Prime.

20. Idk. I was pretty well informed from the beginning.

#age regressor #agere #sfw agere #20 agere questions #age regression #agere blog #agere community #sfw age regression #age dreaming

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bookshelf-dust · 2 years ago

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colors

dad!eddie munson x gn!reader

word count: 2,717

warnings: swearing, single dad!eddie, mentions of money problems, fluff

a/n: so this is very new for me! i should preface this by saying that i do not have children, and my experience with them is limited. i’ve also never written super young kids or parent characters before, so i hope it turned out alright. i did my best, and tried something different. i’m being brave and stuff. maybe you’ll like it. maybe. hopefully. also you can thank @clovermunson for being my enabler. love you! :)

————

“How’s that one, huh?” Eddie asks. The little boy perched on the counter nods, curls bouncing every which way. Eddie tried to tie up the front portion in a little bun, but now he just looks like Pebbles Flintstone. “Better? Good.”

Eddie pats the boy on the knee—a knee currently covered in Garfield pajama bottoms—but continues to keep watch over the tooth-brushing that’s happening before him. James is getting much better at brushing his teeth on his own, but he still needs a little help from Eddie occasionally.

Tonight they’re trying strawberry flavored toothpaste because the bubblegum was not a winner. The boy pulls the little green toothbrush from his mouth, brandishing it upwards with both hands like it’s a sword.

“Help. Please.” He’s got a mouth full of foam, so it comes out sounding a little more like “pwease.”

He does this when he can’t get his back teeth right or if he just wants dad to do it instead. Eddie will take what he can get.

“Open up, bud.” James yawns first; it’s the same kind of slow and lazy yawn he’s had since he was born. It pulls at Eddie’s heartstrings, but he powers through, doing his best to clean those little teeth.

When he finishes, Eddie is careful to take James’ hair down and wipe his face clean, which the boy doesn’t enjoy.

“So, what’s the verdict? Strawberry the best?”

He taps James on the nose with the tip of his pinky. It makes him grin, chubby cheeks going all rosy. “Good,” James says.

“Yeah? Would you say it’s berry good?” Eddie’s hands find his boy's sides, tickling away. The giggles follow immediately, and Eddie takes his chance to heave James up and over his shoulder, little fingers tangling in his mess of curls.

“‘S berry good!” James squeals, clearly pleased with his dad’s joke. Eddie tries to soak up as many of these wins because he knows the jokes probably won’t be funny forever.

He pats the boy on the back, hand big enough to cover the entire expanse of it. Eddie lowers him onto the bedroom floor, watching as James waddles towards his bed and flops down on it, scooting up towards the pillows and the mountain of stuffed animals he insists join him in his slumber.

It doesn't seem to be anything special, the bed. But Wayne built it for his grandson, so it means more to Eddie than any toddler bed he could’ve found at the store. And the mattress is currently made up in Scooby-Doo bed sheets, which James is very fond of.

Eddie settles on the floor next to the bed, knowing damn well it could never support his weight. He tries to lift the covers up, but there’s a little grunt of irritation, signaling that James doesn't need his dad’s help.

Eddie tucks the blankets in faux-aggressively against his son’s sides, making him grin, but it’s a very tired one at that.

“You know, I don’t even think you’ll make it through a story tonight, kiddo. Y’seem pretty sleepy to me. And if you wanna go to the art store in the morning, well then you gotta get some shut eye.”

James looks up at him, big brown eyes blinking ever so slowly. Eddie isn’t entirely sure he’s coherent enough to understand the words being spoken to him right now.

Eddie brushes the curls back from the little boy’s face, all pale skin and freckles and these insane eyelashes. His hair is a little too long because Eddie still hasn’t taken him to get a haircut, but last Eddie asked, James was still content with his hair. It’s well past his shoulders at this point, maybe twice as wild as his dad’s.

He’s asleep now. Totally knocked out. It amazes Eddie how he can just pass out the moment his tiny head hits the pillow. “Goodnight, Jamie.”

Eddie stands and stretches, yanking the chain on the bedside lamp, and he moves to creep out of the room—one lanky step at a time.

————

Eddie Munson never pictured himself being a dad.

Hell, he never really had the time to think about it. Eddie’s dad was a piece of shit, and so he busied himself trying to do enough to make Wayne comfortable–especially since Wayne hadn’t ever signed up for being a father.

But here he is: essentially working two jobs with a three-year-old boy tottering around after him like he hung the moon and stars himself.

Wayne opened up an auto repair shop after the plant shut down, having saved enough to get a good handle on things. It’s where Eddie works pretty often now, but really he doesn’t have to. Corroded Coffin makes plenty of money now, money Eddie could live off of whenever he so desired, but that’s not how his brain works. He knows it won’t last forever, and he was raised to at least be somewhat careful with his money.

And there’s Jamie.

Eddie loves that boy more than he ever thought possible. He such a cool fucking kid.

He’s pretty shy, yeah, and it takes a lot of encouragement from Eddie and Wayne, but he’s a tough kid. And he’s so creative. Jesus.

That creativity is how Eddie finds himself getting his ass out of bed on a Saturday morning to take Jamie to the local art supply store. It’s like an indie, but for art, he’s decided.

Eddie is pretty well off at sketching. He took a few art classes in high school and had a thing for charcoal, and of course he’s drawn up maps and characters for Hellfire—he still does that—but art wasn’t something he actively did in his freetime like it was a passion.

Eddie is also not a morning person, so he isn’t sure where James got it from. But the boy does respect this, seemingly not wanting to wake dad up, some part of him understanding that dad isn’t ready to get out of bed.

James is ready to get up though, so he waddles down the hall, little fists rubbing at his eyes.

He pushes Eddie’s door open, which is usually left open just a crack for these instances (or if there’s an upset tummy in the night), and he pulls himself up into the bed. Eddie’s always been a heavy sleeper, but now it’s like he’s attuned to the little added weight to his mattress, to the shift of tiny knees.

The funny part is that James won’t get upset that his dad isn’t up yet. He just wants to be near him, to hang out. And lucky for Eddie, James is quite the snuggle bug.

The boy stops inches from his dad’s face, and somehow Eddie just knows. He stretches, arms going over his head, and James takes the opportunity to sneak under a limb and face plant into Eddie’s chest.

“Mornin’ Jamie.”

The boy grasps at Eddie’s shirt in greeting. “Mornin’,” he sniffs.

James is wide awake, puffy eyes staring up at Eddie, and while the latter feels like he could sleep for another twelve hours, he doesn’t have it in him to doze off with a kid on his chest. A kid who is much too cute for his own good.

“How are you this morning, my child?”

James sits up, clearly confused. He shrugs, little shoulders rising up towards his ears.

Eddie snorts, proceeding to imitate the shrug. “You dunno?” The boy repeats the movement, a small smile making an appearance on his face, a face that remains to have pillowcase imprints on it.

Eddie gets his hands under James’ arms, pulling him up and onto his stomach, though trying to be careful of fragile places.

“Still wanna go to the store? Yes or no?”

James nods vigorously. “Yes, please.”

A large and calloused hand pats him on the back. “Solid. Let’s go then.”

By the time Eddie gets both himself and James ready, out of the house, and across town to the art store, the place has been open for a whole twenty minutes. Eddie figures the only people up at this point might be the elderly. He’s also quite grateful for the quiet of the store, knowing how crowds can make Jamie nervous. He supposes it tends to be one too many of the big people compared to his little body. Quite nerve-racking.

Eddie realizes suddenly that he has no idea how to navigate an art supply store. “Uh, Jamie, do you have something you wanna look at first?”

He looks up at his impossibly tall father. “Colors?”

“Okay. We can do that.”

Paint. Eddie can find paint, right? Why didn’t he bring Wayne? Wayne’s the one that’s been supporting this hobby anyways. Fuck.

He’s frantically looking around at the signs when a voice breaks him out of his stupor.

“Can I help you find anything?” You ask, just as nervous as they probably are. You’ve never been very good at having to ask the customers this, but it is your job to assist them.

You keep your hands behind your back, that way they can’t see your insistent fidgeting.

James is quick to move behind Eddie’s leg, and he knows the “stranger danger” alarms are going off in his boy’s head. Eddie doesn’t think you’re scary, though.

“Hi. Yeah, actually. We’ve never been here before, and I really have no idea what I’m doing.”

Your grin is the sweetest damn thing Eddie Munson has ever seen in his life. Aside from Jamie, of course.

“That’s okay. I can show you around if you need, or if there’s something specific you’re looking for. We aren’t very busy right now, so I don’t mind.”

Eddie releases a breath he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding. “That would be greatly appreciated. All I’m working with right now is that he wants to look at colors, which means paint. Other than that, I’m at a loss.”

You chuckle. “I can do colors. They’re not far.” You start to walk away, and Eddie moves to follow, James holding tight to his hand.

“It’s okay, kiddo. They’re helping, alright?” James’ eyes look more watery than usual, and if he doesn’t let up, Eddie will break.

You’re quiet most of the way, but at one point, in a hushed tone, you ask, “Shy boy?”

“Yeah,” Eddie smiles. “Definitely.”

“I get it. I was the same way.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Dammit. Why is this the day he proves to have a vocabulary consisting of “yeah” and “okay?”

“Yeah,” you smirk. “Here we are. All the colors. Watercolors, acrylics, more big kid stuff. There’s also washable paint, if you feel that’s necessary.”

“Shit. Sorry. Wow, I meant to say. That’s a lot.”

“Anything he normally likes?” By this point, James has seen the pastels and let Eddie go. You watch him patter towards a set of watercolors that are placed at just his height.

“All he’s used so far are watercolors, my uncle bought them for him, and he’s said he likes them. I usually just ask him what he wants to try.”

You’re smiling at him again, and he catches the way your fingers fuss with the hemline on the little smock you’ve been forced to wear as a uniform. “That’s a good strategy. Seeing what he’s most drawn to, you know?”

Eddie’s hands are sweating. Someone hasn’t flustered him this much since freshman year of high school.

“Works most of the time,” he tells you. Eddie moves closer to James. The boy is holding a little paintbrush with a blue handle, and his eyes are glued on the same set of watercolors he’d seen when he walked down the aisle.

“You like those ones, bud?”

“Yep. Pretty.”

Eddie looks up at you with a smile on his face, like he can’t believe this is his kid, and it makes your heart swell. Usually the families that come in here are much more rowdy, mothers holding expensive purses and telling their kids not to scream. There’s a difference between the people who want to make art versus those who use it to keep their kids busy because they don’t want to parent. You can tell Eddie cares about his boy, that he’s his whole world.

Eddie pulls the set out: a silver tin with two rows of square pans, each filled with a different color. They aren’t the obnoxious ones you get for cheap, the ones only covering the bright rainbow shades—these are the ones that would let you paint a little more of a picture. He flips the tin over out of habit to check the price. It’s not as bad as he’d thought.

He holds it up to you. “What do you think about these?”

“I like those ones. I’ve used them before, and they’re very easy to work with. They’re pretty pigmented, so they’d allow him some room to sort of figure out how much water he needs and how he wants to use them. And there’s a good range of color, so he won’t get upset about missing too many.”

Eddie is in awe of you. He knows it’s your job and all, that you’re getting paid for this, but he thinks he could listen to you talk about paint for the rest of his life.

He’s grinning at you and you’re suddenly worried you’ve said too much. “What?” you ask, your mouth ticking up just as his is. “Too much of the art nerd?”

He stands up. The full height of him is much too pretty. You think he might even be too pretty for his own good.

“No. Definitely not. That was very helpful.” James has migrated to stand between the both of you. He hands you a brush, which you take gratefully. He smiles, cheeks all pink and freckled.

“What about brushes?” Eddie asks. “The ones he’s got now shed like crazy.”

You run your thumb over the one you’re holding, thinking on it.

James follows you when you crouch to look at some. You set down the one he’d given you, hoping he won’t be too upset.

You find the beginner ones you’d been looking for, and hold them out to him. “Do you like these?” The handles aren’t blue, but a dark green color.

“Mhm,” he hums. “Very cool.”

You turn to face his dad. “Cool,” you mouth. It makes him laugh.

James takes the brushes from you and holds them up to Eddie. “Can you buy? Please?”

“Yeah, Jamie.”

“That’s a sweet name,” you remark, standing up.

“Thanks. It’s James actually, but y’know. Oh, I’m Eddie, by the way. I realize I never actually said that.” You tell him your own name, assuring him that it’s okay.

You spend a little more time with them, wandering down a few more aisles when James says he’d like a sketchbook. You find him a spiral bound one, that way it’ll be easier on him to turn or rip out pages.

You ring them up, and almost start to feel sad about their departure. You move around the counter, and James walks up to you. “Thank you for helping,” he says.

“You’re very welcome, sweetheart.”

Eddie watches your exchange, and he can’t help but feel like you’ve made a connection with James. Like you understand him.

“Wanna come paint?” he asks, big brown eyes looking at you hopefully. You realize he wants you to come home and paint with him. Your heart shatters a little at the wholesomeness in his request.

Eddie puts his hand on James’ shoulder. “I think they’ve gotta work, squirt. Maybe another time though?” He looks up at you. They’re both looking at you now and you’re afraid you could never deny them anything. Not with those big doe eyes and wild lashes.

“Yeah, sure. I can paint anytime. Given that’s okay with your dad.”

“That’s more than okay with me,” Eddie tells you. “But don’t feel pressured.”

He doesn’t say that this has literally never happened before, that James usually avoids contact with others. He doesn’t tell you that this is groundbreaking shit.

“I promise I don’t. We could set something up, yeah?”

“Yeah. Totally. Thanks for today.”

“Anytime, Eddie.”

You exchange numbers, and suddenly they’re out the door, matching curls flying in the wind, hands interlocked as they work through the parking lot.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#savannah’s fics #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson comfort #dad!eddie munson #single dad!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff

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baby-alien11 · 2 years ago

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Being Miles Quaritch daughter

Due to being only you to against the world, the both of you traveled to Pandora, with you only being a child

At first, it wasn't easy because of the hostality of the planet, causing Miles a group of nasty scars thanks to a palulukan, and you having a medium scar in your leg due to a fall in the woods

But within the years, it all got better for both of you

While Miles ascended until he became head of security, you often spend your time with him or with the scientists when he was in a mission

Thanks to you still being a child, his squad usually take care of you, becoming like uncles to you

Lyle was more the big brother type, the one you could play with and get into little trouble

"Lyle, why are you holding my child upside down", Miles asked watching as Lyle in his AMP suit hold you upside down by one of your legs

"She wanted to play", Lyle excused himself without letting you go

"Hi dad", you laughed

"Put my kid down carefully", Miles order

Z-dog was the cool aunt who often give you candys, especially bubblegum

When Mansk was the one taking care of you, he would share his collection of glasses with you, which were a lot bigger in your little face

And then, Paz Socorro entered your life

You knew who she was because she was one member of your father's flying team, and she was nice to you, often helping you to do your hairstyles

But when you were ten, you went to your fathers room in the middle of the night because of a nightmare, and knowing he didn't left his door locked, you entered watching an image that your inocent eyes weren't meant to see

Your father and Paz sleeping in his bed, and both of his clothes gattered in the floor

Inmediately, you closed the door returning to your room in front of his, covering you completely with your sheets

The next morning, Miles noticed your attitude change around him and how you would spend more time in the scientist bay

But during lunch, he lift you to carry you to his gym and asked what was happening, and finnaly you tell'd him what you saw

After apologizing for exposing you to that scene, he explained that he and Paz were in a strange relationship

But you didn't mind because she was nice to you

And before you know it, she announced that she was pregnant

After hearing that, Miles just stood there with an incomprehensible look, while you just smiled and run to hug her

During the months of pregnancy, you spend more time with Paz to help and take care of her, also promising to love your sibling to born

But when Jake Sully arrived at Pandora, everything went down

Fortunalety, little Miles born before everything exploded

Unfortunately, all of your founded family had to go to the war

"Dad, please", you cried holding his hand trying to stop him to go, "Don't go, please"

"I have to go, kiddo", Miles sighed realising himself from you, "It's my job"

"But the blue people haven't done anything", you argued, "They are good"

"Stop it!", Miles yelled causing you to flinch, "Now go back to your room and take care of your brother"

Watching as you nodded with your head, Miles left the place leaving you with tears in your eyes

What felt like an eternity, ended when someone open the door to your bedroom where you were taking care of little Miles, revealing to be Dr Max Patel, one of the scientist that worked in the avatar program

When you knew everything that happened during the battle, you started crying without letting go of your brother in your arms, you lost your father, your mother figure and uncles in one day

Due to the fact that Miles was still a baby, he couldn't go back to earth in the crio cams during the travel, so you decided to stay in Pandora with

You couldn't leave the only family that was left

#avatar #miles quaritch x daughet! reader #miles quaritch x reader #quaritch x reader #spider socorro #quaritch headcanons #quaritch imagine #miles quaritch

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kgraces · 1 year ago

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A quick Dick & Tim Drabble (fluff)

“Happy birthday, Tim!”

Dick hugs him tight with one arm and shows him what he’s holding in his free hand—two tickets.

“How’d you know?”

Tim blinks, looking away from Dick’s hand and into his face, searching. He feels like he’s treading into unfamiliar territory. He’s only been Robin for a few months now, and he wasn’t expecting anyone to remember his birthday—or care enough to get him a present.

“It’s in your file, baby bird,” Dick replies, grinning. Tim allows himself to smile back, looking shyly at the tickets. When he doesn’t take them, Dick waves them in his face again. “C’mon kiddo, these are for you. Well,” he winks, “one is for you, and the other’s for me.”

“You got us tickets to a photography exhibit?” Tim asks, expression brightening. “Some of the best photographers in Gotham are having their work displayed! That’s so cool, Dick, thank you.” He returns the hug, smiling in excitement.

“Grab your coat. We’ll go out for lunch after—my treat.”

“You sure?” Tim asks. “I mean, you probably have something important to do today, right?”

“Aw Timmy, nothing’s more important than family.”

He’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. *Family.* Tim thinks it’s a present in itself. What could be better than having Dick Grayson—Robin, Nightwing—as his big brother?

The drive to the art museum is filled with bubblegum pop and singing at the top of their lungs, and Tim is practically bouncing at Dick’s side as they climb the steps to get inside. They meander around for a short while, looking at artsy photos of famous citizens (Dick and Tim giggle at the less than flattering pictures of Bruce), landmarks, and local wildlife. The center of the hall houses the best part of the display, and when they wander over to the display, Tim gapes.

Those are *his* photos. He turns to Dick, whose grin has turned knowing and pleased.

“Happy birthday,” he says again. “And congratulations for getting picked.” He smiles and points to one of the newest photos, one Tim had taken on a stakeout, of himself as Robin, bickering with Nightwing. “That one’s my favorite.” His smile turns softer, fond and gentle. He elbows Tim in the ribs, and Tim swats at him in return.

“Very brotherly,” Tim says. Dick laughs and loops an arm around Tim’s shoulders, pulling him into another hug.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure Nightwing loves that punk kid more than anything.”

“And Robin probably thinks Nightwing is a huge nerd but loves him, too.”

It’s his best birthday yet.

#dc #batfam #batbros #dick grayson #tim drake #nightwing #red robin #Robin #my writing

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theclaravoyant · 6 months ago

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AN ~ from this prompt list ; 8. a platonic kiss. ft. the buckley-hans. hurt/comfort, set during 7x10 (written before airing, no spoilers).

shoutout to twinpoles , apparently an aussie thing ? truly the mvps of tummy no feel good

Maddie strokes her daughter's hair and moves a little closer. She breathes in the smell of her bubblegum shampoo and her sleepy little smile and the way her chest rises and falls gently. She wishes for the thousandth time that she could wrap her whole body around this little one and protect her for the rest of time. Her heart aches for Hen and Karen, and Denny for having this ripped away. For Mara, and that cheeky little laugh she'd only just started letting out. And now for Chimney, for Buck, for Bobby... for the hits that won't stop coming for them.

She glances toward the bedroom door. She can't quite see Chim, but the way the light cuts tells her he's still in the kitchen. Probably still at the bench, nursing the glass of wine, right where she left him. She sighs quietly, wishing she could help relieve the weight of the world, and presses a kiss to the top of Jee's head. On his behalf? To channel this overwhelming sense of love to him? Just for something to do, because she feels so helpless.

Jee-Yun looks up at her.

“Mummy sad?”

“Yeah, sweetie,” she confesses. “I'm sad.”

“Why?”

“Because your Daddy's sad.”

“Daddy sad.” Jee looks out to where he should be. “Why?”

Because his Captain is dying, Maddie thinks, and she swallows down a haunting echo of the ventilator. Because his best friend is having her life ripped apart from the inside. Because this world is sometimes such a cruel and brutal place to be, and it's not fair.

“Because,” she settles eventually on, “...his friend isn't feeling very well.”

“Oh.”

If there's one thing to be said for a three-year-old Buckley-Han, it's that she's resilient. And surprisingly optimistic. And she gets herself out of bed before Maddie quite knows what's going on (“Oh, Jee honey-”) and she's padding off toward the kitchen on those little toddler feet, resolute.

Jee knows just what to do in this situation. Not feeling well? Why didn't they say so! It's hard work to pull the freezer open but she manages it, and she gets a bowl and her favourite popsicle. It's the best for sore tummies. It's yellow and pink and you can snap it in half and both have one. Even better, for Daddy to share with his friend.

“Hey, kiddo,” Chimney greets uncertainly, hoping his voice doesn't crackle too much. He's hyper conscious of the tear stains down his face but Jee doesn't seem to notice. She's still concentrating on the present she's brought her silly parents. These things are so simple to her, and it's sweet, and it hurts. “What's this?”

Chim glances toward Maddie, who's chased-without-chasing Jee out of the bedroom and currently looks like she's about to melt into a puddle of heartbreak and admiration right there on the floor.

“I told her your friend isn't feeling well,” she explains.

“Oh.” Yeah, turning into a puddle would be great right about now. Instead, he reaches down and pulls Jee-Yun up into his lap. “Thank you, sweetie. That's very thoughtful.”

She presses a sloppy toddler kiss to his cheek, and still doesn't seem to pay mind to the tears. Or maybe she does, and maybe that's why she did it.

“Daddy not sad anymore?”

“Daddy's still a little bit sad,” he says. “But happy now, too.”

She laughs. “That doesn't make any sense.”

“I know, kiddo.” Chim sighs. “It will one day.”

For today though, he hitches Jee onto his hip and carries her back to the bedroom. He and Maddie cradle around her like two wings of a butterfly, and watch her fall asleep smiling; dreaming of a world where all problems can be solved with a pineapple raspberry popsicle stick.

Maddie reaches her hand across the bed and he takes it, and they eventually drift off too, with their little girl between them and fingers intertwined.

#madney #the buckley-han family #jee yun buckley han #tv: 911 #911 fic #prompt me stuff #clara's fic tag

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the-possum-writes · 2 years ago

Note

Hello! This is a fluffy piece. Can you do a Marceline x Baby!Reader x Bubblegum (just fluffy famillial stuff) oneshot where the reader is the child of Marceline and Bubblegum and the reader has a nightmare and Bubblegum and Marceline goes to calm the reader down? To me it just sounded absolutely adorable, and I hope you feel the same. Also I love your fanfic posts!

Nightmares and Night Guardians

❥Characters: Princess Bubblegum, Marceline

❥Tags: Family, domestic setting, child!reader, sfw

❥Synopsis:

Nightmares are terrible, luckily you have the most patient and loving parents you can ask for.

❥Taglist: @watchingfromthefloorboards @foxpearlwilder

A/n: It's definitely the cutest thing! Also, thank you and I hope you like it

_____

Maybe it's the sugar you had after bed or the scary movies PB told you not to watch. Either way, when a nightmare becomes too much you practically fall out of bed screaming, convinced that whatever monster you dreamed of is real and will follow you here. Your eyes dart across the room as you scramble to break free from the blanket prison you've unknowingly wrapped yourself in; despite the fact that there's a lamp by your nightstand, you're unconsciously huddling to the night light for comfort. The vampire queen doesn't take long to break through the door in her bat form, reaching your room that quickly due to her power of flight. She turns on the light switch and looks for anything threatening you, but the sight of you and your blankets on the floor tells her everything she needs to know.

"Another nightmare, kiddo?" She scoops you up without hesitation, cradling you against her massive fluffy body as she transforms back into her more humanoid form. You didn't hold back, sobbing into her chest in response to the scare as well as the relief of knowing your vampire mom is there for you. Bubblegum enters the room immediately after Marcy, her reaction slower due to her lack of vampire powers and also because she took longer to wake up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she steps into the room.

"What happened sweetie, you alright?"

""I don't remember what it was about, but it was chasing me," you sobbed, Marcy wiping away crocodile tears with her human hand.

"It wasn't real, sweetie. It's just a byproduct of rapid eye movement..." Bubblegum was about to go off on a scientific tangent to comfort you in her own way, but Marceline saw fit to cut it short.

"What she means is that, if you ever have another nightmare just call us we'll kick its butt, right PB?"

Both you and Marceline stare expediently at Bonnibel, she un crossed her arms and playfully flexed her bicep. "Yeah, we'll kick it's butt."

This reassuring moment of validation and care is all you needed for the tears to stop, replaced with a tender smile and a small yawn. Marceline flies you back into your bed while Bonnibel picks up the discarded blanket and tucks you in, slowly but surely the sleep starts kicking in again, shutting your eyes after feeling two loving kisses on the forehead.

Once the door is closed Bonnibel gives Marcy a stern look. "No more soda after bed..."

#reader insert #Princess Bubblegum #marceline #Domestic au #bubbleline #Princess Bubblegum x marceline

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m34gs · 1 year ago

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You know, we talk a lot about the Housewardens, but I want to know what are the vice housewardens' favourite ice cream flavour? 👀

Ooooh this is gonna be lots of fun to answer! Thank you for asking, I agree we should discuss the vice housewardens more too!!!

Trey - Honestly, I think Trey would like vanilla the best. It pairs so well with almost any baked dessert, and it isn't an overwhelming flavour. I think he would enjoy the sweet simplicity of it. I also think he would love having it with fresh-baked pies.

Ruggie - Ruggie comes from a family that probably didn't spend a lot on ice cream, and it's hinted at that there's young ones he helps look after (siblings? cousins? neighbourhood kiddos? I don't really know but any of those is just as likely) so I imagine that when ice cream was bought, it was bought in a large quantity that was probably on sale, in a flavour that was probably "safe" as in, popular among the majority. For this reason, I think Ruggie would be in love with stuff that is more unique than plain old vanilla or strawberry or chocolate because 1. he didn't get those as a kid, and 2. it means he gets to have it to himself and enjoy it all. I think his number one favourite flavour would be pumpkin ice cream, because it's a different flavour...not too outlandish but definitely not one that is common among ice cream parlours.

Jade - Jade...Oh, Jade. Why must you torment me even in my own headcannons. Alright, so Jade has a favourite ice cream (technically a gelato). It's called "Byakuya". BUT, he's only allowed it on Very Special Occasions. Why? Because it is $6696.00 per serving. PER. SERVING. JADE. Why is it so gosh-darn expensive? Because it is made with Very Expensive white truffles. And look me in the eye and tell me that Jade wouldn't try an ice cream that comes packaged with truffle oil? (I'm sorry I just...I don't know what truffles taste like but research says they're savory, and my personal taste does not like to mix a lot of sweet and savory). And a hand-made metal spoon???? Part of me wonders if he lists this one as his favourite just so he can watch Azul break the bank on the twins' birthday. But honestly, I read about this ice cream here, and couldn't help but think about how it was Such a Jade Thing.

Jamil - I think Jamil would like Vanilla ice cream with some Cinnamon sprinkled on top. It's simple, but a yummy combo, and I think at the end of the day he wants an easy dessert he can enjoy. Plus, he pretty much never runs out of it; those are two ingredients you can find anywhere.

Rook - Rook likes a soft serve vanilla and chocolate ice cream in a cone. It's swirled beautifully and the two different colours really bring out that shape. He enjoys both chocolate and vanilla for taste, so in his mind this is the perfect mix of both. Also, it means he gets romantic ice cream cone dates with Vil. :D (in my opinion, ice cream is completely fine in either a bowl or a cone, but it is 100% More Romantic in a cone).

Ortho - Bubblegum for Ortho. It's a fun colour (usually blue or pink) and it has chunks of candy in it! What's not to love? I think Ortho is a "try everything" kind of person, but I think he would just really love the appeal of the bubblegum flavour ice cream. I also feel like it reflects his fun attitude and child-like wonder very well.

Lilia - Again. Why must I be tormented. But you cannot expect me to think Lilia would go for something normal...No no, he likes to experiment. He is out there trying anything and everything that he can, for the experience. Just a dude living his life to the fullest, and I love that for him. I think Lilia would list Pizza Flavoured Ice Cream as his favourite. Based on the pizza ice cream listed here, made with tomato, basil, oregano, salt and garlic, it would be very savory. Maybe a bit like a cold slice of leftover pizza? I'm not sure...but regardless, he is thriving off of it.

There you go! Those are my headcanons! What are yours, friend??👀 Also, no judgement towards anyone who likes the savory ice creams, it is just my personal preference that I do not.

#twisted wonderland #vice housewardens #headcanons #ice cream #favourite ice creams #my headcanons #for fun #I love my chaotic gremlins but I think Jade is gonna give Azul a heart attack over spending one of these days...

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einsteinsugly · 1 year ago

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Early June, 1986. Having It All.

After a long day at work, Hyde kicks off his boots.

Becca is dozing away, and Jackie is getting ready for bed, he knows that much. Jackie does her show right after the crack of dawn, and he heads out right after she gets back at around ten.

"No PR today, doll?"

"Thank God, no." She slips off her heels with relative ease, running her fingers through her loosely permed locks. "But I got another call from Donna about the interview with that Ukrainian guy. You know, the guy who just moved in across from Vic and Maura."

"You mean the guy who lived in Chernobyl?" Jackie nods, and Hyde awkwardly clears his throat. "At least he got the hell out."

After giving him some updates, some welcome and some long-winded and generally unwanted, he shuffles out to a fucking slow rat race. Chilling out at Grooves, tolerating whatever new shit the mainstream music machine has to offer. That bubblegum pop Jackie loves, and worst of all? Hair metal. Motley Crue, Twisted Sister, all that shit.

"Yeah, I learned today that Becca hates Motley Crue." Hyde adds, "She screams at the top of her freakin lungs."

"Good for her." Jackie nods in agreement, with a jovial laugh. "She loves Blondie."

He adds a notable caveat. "And Zeppelin."

But this evening, Jackie rushes into the living room, and Becca is in her mother's arms. In a little Zeppelin shirt, gazing at him with her bright blue eyes.

Jackie kisses his cheek, leaving a red lipstick stain, and Becca clings onto his neck, refusing to let go.

"I can't get her to go to sleep." Jackie dramatically sighs, running her fingers through her loosely permed locks. "She's a night owl, just like you."

"She likes white noise, just like you. Or just noise." Hyde blows a raspberry, and Becca giggles. "Think I should turn on some Zeppelin? Stairway to Heaven?"

"I think you mean Blondie," Jackie competitively proclaims, "Zeppelin won't get her to sleep."

"Neither will Blondie."

"How about Peter Frampton's guitar solo?" Jackie suggests, only half joking, "But really, she likes your voice."

Sensing her cue, he takes a squirmy Becca from Jackie's arms. Becca quickly settles, like a handprint in cement. "I think it's time for bed, kiddo."

Her blue eyes go wide, as her clammy hand awkwardly collides with his face. "Da da."

He smirks, only vaguely attempting to hide his elation. "Did she just say..."

"She did." Jackie interrupts, and Becca rubs her eyes. "I think she's tired."

But Hyde is nearly gobsmacked. "You're not gonna ramble on and on about her saying Da Da first?"

"Oh, I will," Jackie exclaims, kissing his cheek, "Later."

#that 70s show #that 90s show #jackie and hyde #jackie burkhart #steven hyde #my ficlets #my fics #becca hyde #i know nobody asked but we

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princepipper · 8 months ago

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Can we hear about Pipper's story with the other ocs you listed?

Yeah!!! >:3

So I talked about Bitter, and you already know how One, Swag, and obviously Gabe tie into Pip's verse.

So I'll just list the others with some bullet points for easy reading!!

Dani:

Pip met Dani through One, discovering them smoking by the bleachers at school- Dani, who at the time was putting on a "tough girl" personality and initially thought of Pipper as a bit soft and naive, quickly warmed up to her

Pip's naturally pink hair vs Dani's dyed pink hair was kind of a funny thing, because Dani asked Pip how she'd managed to dye her eyebrows and then was gobsmacked upon learning that Pipper just was blessed with those bubblegum locks

Pipper LOVES Dani. She was the first true friend she made in Thornville who wasn't a boy, and she also admires Dani for being a hard as nails punk who takes 0 shit. She also likes to state stuff about "pink hair solidarity" which is really just a joke, but basically used as an excuse to always have Dani's back (and vice-versa)

Dani is also genuinely impressed and supportive of Pip, who more or less had to raise herself after Iris died. She confides in Pip about her own home life, and the fears she holds about her future, and envies the younger girl in some ways for her seemingly carefree attitude on life... mind you, Pipper tends to hide her problems, so when/if Dani discovers something is troubling Pip, she will immediately be like "wtf that's SO not allowed" and do everything to help her haha

Janice:

On the topic of Pip's girlfriends, we have Janice, who is quite a different cut than Dani but still a great friend to Pipper

Like Dani met Pip through One, Janice and Pip met through Swag. Janice, like most who meet Pip, was also a little unsure of the odd personality and habits that Pip held. Unlike Dani, she didn't leave after the first meeting thinking very nicely of Pip either!

Basically Pipper's chatterbox tendencies and daydreamy attitude kind of annoyed Janice, who is very to-the-point and focused on moving forward. She wasn't mean to Pip or anything, but not very nice either. And when Pip left, Janice even mentioned her feelings to Swag, expecting him to agree

But Swag of course told Janice that Pip was just Pip, and that he had no issues with her for it. Janice wondered to herself why Swag, who was such a bold and blunt individual, would speak so nicely about Pip, and if maybe it was just to be friendly out of pity or something. But she doesn't ask, and instead decides that she'll have to learn for herself by talking to Pipper!

Naturally, once she actually takes the time to get to know Pipper, she discovers that Pip is a big sweetheart and also a lot smarter than people realize, in some aspects

Janice and Pip bond over things like fashion and design, which of course is Janice's area of expertise but Pip has a good eye for as well. Janice likes to model Pipper sometimes, finding it nice to have someone who isn't tall and skinny to wear beautiful outfits! And they go on occasional outings to shop for clothes and such, though Janice is sometimes exasperated that Pip sticks to comfy clothes, doesn't really wear make up, and can't do her hair because it's so short haha. That said when she learns Pip loves beautiful dresses, she makes a mental note of what Pip tends to like, and one day uses these things to put together Pipper's wedding gown <3

Mr. O:

Lastly, we cannot forget Thornville's wackiest (and most beloved) teacher. Pip, like the other kiddos, meets Mr. O naturally as his student.

Despite Pipper not being nearly as studious as people like Gabe, she doesn't perform poorly in class. She loves to participate and hold discussions, always going the extra step to try and do well on her assignments. Mr. O acknowledges that and often compliments her for doing a great job, and his quirky personality mixes well with her own!

We all know that Mr. Ogleby likes to keep a happy face on for the kids. He's still a person with his problems, but the students are his priority and he'd do anything to help them succeed and be happy. He and Pipper did have a time when he was there to help her in that way, after her and Gabriel had that bad fight as teens that made her so upset.

Mr. O could see that Pip is like him in some ways, putting on a big smile and pushing any grief down for the sake of her pals. And while he admitted that he was a hypocrite for saying so, he told her that in the long run she had to learn to respect herself as much as she did her friends. She obviously was hurt by Gabe, but was blaming herself for his rude words- she needed to understand that in this case, Gabe's actions had nothing to do with her being a bad friend, because she's not. And she was allowed to feel upset by him, it didn't mean she wasn't still supportive of his wellbeing or feelings.

Pipper listens to Mr. O's advice, and decides to try her best to learn self-love, and Mr. O encourages her because he knows she's not a quitter and that she can do anything because she's an excellent kiddo!! Live laugh love haha!! ...but he also seriously tells her that if she ever needs an adult to talk to, he's there for her, as he is for all his students

That's all I got! Basically, Pip's friendships in Thornville seem to stem from her being a loving and caring person who does her part to hold everyone together, not just with each other but in general- she wants them to be happy, and doesn't care if she's not... but that's why her friends are there. They won't let Pip fall behind, not a chance. And even if it's hard, they'll keep doing what they can to help her see how important she is to them, and how much they love and appreciate her like she does them!!!

#ths #ask #pipper #dani #janice #ogleby

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