#may be a little impatient with art so pretty pictures for now

[saltyafterhours]

you all should totally give me blog name ideas for the feral peepaws

[icequeenbae]

Dior Vernis | BBH

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Domestic au, husband!Baekhyun, pregnant!Reader, established relationship (obviously), slight angst, fluff, bits of humor (it’s Baek, y’all)

Rated: G

Warnings: husband!Baek’s so sweet you may need to visit your dentist after this

Word Count: ~1.5k finally

Summary: Baekhyun came home to find his pregnant wife crying. He’s ready to do what it takes to make her happy again. And it’s probably not what you think.

© Please do not copy/ post on other platforms without permission.

Author’s Note: This is just a cute little something while I work on bigger stories – those are taking forever to get edited… :( Feel free to DM me in case you want to help out with some of it (check out my beta reader post). I was trying something new in terms of structuring this, I hope it’s not too confusing. Anyways, please enjoy and let me know if you’d like more of these!! Thanks baekshoney for taking a quick look!

Baekhyun was incredibly focused.

The task at hand was not something he was used to undertaking, neither had he expected to be in this position tonight, crouched uncomfortably on the living room floor in front of you. He was pretty tired after work, and the stoop was making both his knee and his neck hurt. Not that he was going to say anything about the inconvenience anyway.

It was strangely quiet, seeing that this was your home, always boisterous. Loud with your laughter, your endless chattering, your purposefully bad singing, or even your arguments. But right now, the only sounds reverberating around the room were your residual sniffling and his concentrated breathing. You tried to take a closer look at his hands, quite unsuccessfully since your massive seven-months pregnant belly was in the way.

‘Don’t move,’ he asked, when you shifted slightly.

You nodded, effectively doing that again, so he shot you a dirty look and held you in place by the ankle, to which you muttered something apologetic.

‘Are you trying to make me mess up?’

‘Sorry,’ you mumbled, chewing on your lip to control your impatience.

You better let your husband do this – he definitely took his mission seriously. Of course, there was no way he’d mess up and make you cry the way you were when he came through the door. Simply no way.

Even if he had to crouch and do this for the next hour.

~

It couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes since he arrived home. At the time, Baekhyun expected you to be happy that he came early to spend some more time together, but instead found you sitting at the edge of the couch, bawling your eyes out.

At the sight of this he felt his heart skip a beat in fear. He very rarely got like this, usually the one to take a step back and look at any issue calmly and with a bit of humor. But now was a special time – you were getting ready to become parents for the very first time – which made him overly cautious and uncharacteristically fussy around you. Hence, while he stood frozen in the doorway, a million scary thoughts went through his panicked mind. His eyes searched your body frantically: there were no visible injuries, no blood, the bump was intact…

‘What’s going on? Y/N?’ He was trying so hard to cover up his terror that he instantly gave himself away by using your name like this. Too serious. ‘Are you hurt?’

He reached you in a second, kneeling in front of you and touching your wrists as you covered your face while crying.

‘Baby, tell me what’s wrong,’ he almost pleaded.

He wanted to help but had no idea what was happening. You looked fine from what he could tell and the TV was off, so it definitely wasn’t due to any tragic plot twist in your favorite series. Your shoulders shook with more sobs and he shifted his palms to rub them in calming motions. There was an unusual lump in his throat. He could barely stand seeing you, his partner and future mother of his child, like this. Sure, these past few months of your regular hormonal crying taught him some resolve, but that dreadful time was over weeks ago. He’d never even seen you this discomposed before, so the reasoning behind your state was to be determined as soon as possible.

‘Hey,’ he tried again, putting his gentle palm on your belly absentmindedly. ‘I need to know if you’re hurt, babe, so that I can help. Do you need me to call someone?’

You shook your head no, and he nodded to himself.

‘Okay. Why don’t you breathe with me for a second?’

With you getting upset during a good portion of your early pregnancy, Baekhyun had to train himself at the art of figuring out the reason and calming you down to talk about it. Breathing exercises seemed quite helpful whenever he could get through to you, and this was one of those cases. You must’ve been crying for a bit, since before he arrived even. That thought made his heart clench.

‘Breathe in with me, like this,’ he took a deep breath through his nose, ‘And exhale from your mouth.’

He guided you by example, and you subconsciously followed the suggested pattern.

A couple minutes later, your sobs were reduced to sniffling, and you lowered your palms enough for Baekhyun to see your red, watery eyes.

‘Aw sweetheart,’ he bemoaned, carefully investigating your blotched face.

He took his time wiping the tears off your cheeks while you sat there with your sweater paw pressed to your runny nose.

His touch was always so comforting in times like this. There was nothing like it. And everything about your husband gave you a sense of tranquility and security when he was near. Even Baekhyun’s breathing was doing its part in relaxing you.

He allowed you to bask in his affection, stroking your arm lingeringly and tracing the remaining wet trails on your cheeks with his fingertips. As your breathing slowly came back to normal, he could finally pay attention to the surroundings. There was a small colorful item on the floor that he’d noticed only now. Curious, he picked it up and read the label.

‘Dior Ver- vernis? Is this nail polish?’ He asked in confusion and received a feeble nod from you.

Baekhyun could barely place this item in ‘the big picture’, so he tried asking you again.

‘So… Can you tell me what happened?’

You looked away, avoiding his eyes. He examined your face and was mystified by the embarrassed look that appeared on it out of the blue.

‘Y/N?’

‘It’s- I think it’s hormones again,’ you croaked and looked away.

While this was an excellent excuse, he’d known you well enough to understand that it was one.

‘Tell me everything, honey. What got you upset?’

His palm went back to caressing your baby bump, and you instantly felt loved and cherished from the simple action. Your fidgety fingers lowered to play with his.

‘It’s- nothing serious,’ you confessed. ‘I just- my feet got hideously swollen today… And I had a pedicure appointment. Had to cancel.’

Baekhyun nodded, still unsure of what exactly caused this outburst. Your feet tended to get swollen often these days, this wasn’t news to either one of you, and it was fine, your doctor had said. It couldn’t have been some randomly cancelled appointment that got you in tears, right? Or could it?

‘I- tried doing it myself,’ you continued reluctantly, noticing his puzzlement. ‘But it’s impossible. I can’t even see anything because- because I’m so huge,’ you stifled a sob. ‘And swollen, and clumsy, and-’

‘And beautiful,’ Baekhyun interrupted your rant that was headed the wrong way already.

He could see it now. This was definitely hormone infused but there was also something else underneath. Your husband hummed, a playful expression creeping up his face.

‘Why would this upset you though? You’re only ‘huge’ because you’re carrying our healthy boy,’ Baekhyun’s tone was thick with fondness as he said that. ‘He’s going to be a big one. At this rate I’m willing to bet that he’s going to be taller than Chanyeol. All thanks to his miracle mother.’

You snorted a laugh at his non-scientific statement, finding his warm palm on your stomach. He just loved touching it at all times.

‘What if it’s a girl?’ You whispered, and your husband gasped, now pressing both hands to your belly protectively.

‘Why would you say that! She’d be a model then, and I don’t want my little girl to be one. She’s mine to look at and cherish,’ he pretend grumbled before adding a softer, ‘Just like you.’

Nudging his shoulder timidly, you giggled and bit your lip to contain your bashful smile.

‘Hm, you know what?’ He clicked his tongue, looking like he’d had a revelation. ‘I’m sure pedicure isn’t rocket science; I can do it.’

You barely reacted as he swiftly took the fluffy slipper off your right foot and rested it over his knee.

‘No!’ You tried to retract the limb but he held you by the ankle. In any case, you were way too lumpish to do it gracefully.

‘Oh, come on! You think this can scare me? Those are just feet, Y/N,’ he scolded and looked down, almost jumping. ‘Holy mother of-!’

You squirmed and hid your eyes in your sleeve as he proceeded to laugh at your reaction.

‘I’m kidding, I’m kidding!’ He said in an amicable tone before continuing, ‘I’m sure I can find your toenails in there, somewhere.’

You whined at this and shoved your mischievous husband in the side with the ball of your foot.

‘Alright, alright, calm down. I’m going to put this exquisite shade of pink onto them as neatly as I can. But you have to promise me that you won’t cry if I mess up!’

‘Don’t you dare mess up. Or else you’ll have to make it up to me with three hundred foot rubs,’ you groused, sniffing again to keep your nose from running.

‘Got it. Phew, glad you won’t be able to see it up close anyways,’ he smirked, expertly shaking the nail polish in preparation.

‘Baekhyun!’ You reproached for his shamelessness.

Your husband let out a cheeky laugh and announced:

‘My foot’s falling asleep, so let’s do this!’

He was fully concentrated on your pedicure after that.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I was blown away by the feedback I received for the Duality of Baekhyunie, so I wanted to keep you entertained while I’m working on the sequel and other stuff. I hope you weren’t disappointed ❤

P.S. Tell me in the comments how fast you realized that it’s all about nail polish 😂

[vcg73]

FIC: Kurt Birthday Drabbles

Earlier this week @elledelajoie left a comment on something I wrote all the way back in 2014.  I had genuinely forgotten I ever started it, but the original idea was to write 21 Kurt Hummel birthday drabbles. I had written just 7 of them, but after we chatted about it, I decided to go ahead and finish.  

If you’re not familiar, a drabble is a scene of exactly 100 words, not counting title headers. Since Chris Colfer and Kurt Hummel’s co-birthday (May 27) is coming up this Thursday, here they are. This goes definite AU at Birthday #19. Because you know I would never sentence my beloved Kurt to a life of being a doormat to people who did not appreciate and value him.

Never underestimate the power of feedback!

~*~*~*~*~

Birthday #1

Kurt’s blue eyes went wide as a frosted cupcake was set upon his high-chair tray, a single candle ablaze on its surface.  

When Mommy, Daddy, Uncle Andy, Grandpa Curtis and Grandma Eileen started singing to him, he smiled and clapped both hands hard around the tempting pile of frosting.

Kurt laughed when the sugary topping went flying and a big splatter of white abruptly decorated Daddy’s surprised face.

Everyone else started laughed too, including the startled father, who retaliated by giving his birthday boy a sticky peck on the cheek and then helped him to blow out a new candle.

Birthday #2

Kurt looked between his presents, confused.

Mommy had given him the pretty dolly he had begged for at the store. Daddy had given him a truck, not big enough to ride but too big to live with the little cars Daddy gave him at Christmas.

His parents seemed to be mad at each other.

Kurt looked at the doll, then at the truck. He smiled and placed Dolly inside the truck and began to drive her around the carpet.

Mommy and Daddy seemed surprised by his actions, but then they laughed, and Kurt knew he had figured out the puzzle.

 Birthday #3

His shoes were black and shiny, buckles on the sides and 1-inch heels on the base. He clomped over the hardwood floors, listening to the click-tap-click-tap in delight. They went perfectly with his dove gray coveralls with “Kurt” sewn on the pocket in black sequins. Mommy had made the outfit for him.

Spotting Daddy watching him, Kurt threw himself into waiting arms. Daddy’s smile looked like he had an owie but was trying to be a big boy and not cry.

Kurt hugged him. “It’s okay, Daddy.”

Burt looked surprised but hugged him back. “Yeah, buddy. I think it is.”

 Birthday #4

Ballet girls were nice. When they heard it was his birthday today, they threw him a party. Kurt puffed up with pleasure when presented with cookies, a sparkly wand and a tiara that read ‘Happy Birthday’ in shiny letters. He was not as fond of the kisses they gave, but four was very grown up, so he screwed up his face and allowed it. The teacher even let him wear the special puffy pink tutu over his little black leotard! 

 He saw Mommy and Daddy up in the gallery taking pictures, so he waved.

Kurt hoped today would last forever.

  Birthday #5

“Can I have cupcakes?”

Kurt’s mother looked up from her book. “I don’t think we have any, sweetheart.”

“Can we have some Thursday?  My birthday is the last day of preschool.”

“It is?” she said, looking surprised. “Is it your birthday already?”

He nodded seriously. “Don’t you remember, Mommy? You were there.”

She laughed. “Well, you have me there.  What kind of cupcakes would you like, sweetie? And don’t say cheesecake. Those are two completely different kinds of dessert.”

Kurt’s hopeful expression fell. “Oh,” he said, clearly disappointed. Then his face brightened again. “Chocolate?”

She nodded. “That we can do.”

   Birthday #6

“Daddy!”

Burt sat up just in time to catch the little body that launched at him. “What’s wrong, slugger?”

“It’s my birthday!”

Grinning despite the way his heart was hammering at the abrupt awakening, Burt asked, “Yeah? I like birthdays. Do I get a present?”

“No,” the boy scoffed. “I get presents!”

 Burt squinted at the clock. 3:15am. “Not until morning, you don’t.”

Kurt pouted and tried, “It’s almost morning.”

“Not close enough, kid. C’mere,” Burt pulled him into the warm bed between himself and his wife.

Kurt snuggled down and went right back to sleep.  

Burt was less lucky.

 Birthday #7

Kids had started treating him funny this year. He was too fancy, too girly, holding hands was weird.

Nobody was coming.

“I’m sorry, sweetie.”

“Am I too late?”

They jumped as a little black girl with pom-pom hair popped out of nowhere.

“I’m Mercedes,” she greeted. “We just moved here. Mom said you would have invited me if you’d known.”

“I’m Kurt.” He smiled. “Do you like tea parties?”

“Is there cake?”

Mrs. Hummel beamed. “Cake, ice cream, and Kool-Aid.”

Kurt shrugged. “Nobody else came.”

She grabbed his hand like she’d known him forever. “More for us!  Happy Birthday, Kurt.”

 Birthday #8

Kurt took a deep breath, thought for a moment, and carefully blew out the candles. All but the extra one that his parents always put on his cake.

“Aren’t you gonna finish, bud?”

He looked from Daddy over to his mother, home again, but so frail he was sometimes afraid to hug her, worried she might pop like a fragile soap bubble. He offered her the candle. “Here, Mommy. Blow it out. Maybe you’ll get another year to grow on.”

The eyes of the two adults met, then Mommy nodded. The three of them blew out the final candle together.

 Birthday #9

Barely daring to hope, Kurt came down the stairs.  Birthday cakes and presents had been Mommy’s specialty.  Daddy had forgotten his own birthday and had nearly forgotten Christmas.

Kurt gasped when he saw it, waiting, shining and spectacular against the front door.

“A bike!”

Bright green, sissy bars with foil streamers, and a banana seat. Perfect!

Burt smiled. He had scoffed a such a “girly” bike when Kurt spotted it at the toy store. But now, looking at the all-too-rare joy in his son’s eyes and feeling the approving smile his wife would have given, he nodded. It was perfect.

 Birthday #10

Buying gifts was tough when your kid always clammed up on you. A dad had to be observant.

Ten years old. A landmark like that needed something special, but the only thing Kurt seemed into was clothes. He had enough of those for ten kids.  

He’d probably like a Barbie he could change in and out of different outfits, but Burt cringed at the thought.

He did doodle pretty good though. Sure, it was mostly pictures of clothes, but that was a start.

A fancy sketchpad with a case and a hundred different colored pencils. Yeah, that was the ticket.

 Birthday #11

“Dad, where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Kurt sighed with exaggerated impatience. He had come home from school to find Dad waiting at the truck, ordering him to get in, then not saying another word. The suspense was killing him.

“Ta-Dahhhh!”

They had pulled up in front of a nondescript brick building. “Columbus Culinary Arts?”

“You like to cook right?  Well, we’re gonna fix your birthday dinner this year with the help of a real chef. Lessons are once a week for the next couple months.”

Gourmet cooking lessons!

“Oh wow. Dad, this is amazing!”

Burt grinned. “Happy Birthday, kid.”

 Birthday #12

Last year’s surprise had gone so well that Burt had decided on a repeat. But when he saw the excitement on Kurt’s face at finding a pair of tickets inside his birthday card turn to disappointment and horror, quickly masked with a fake smile, he knew he’d goofed.

“I know baseball isn’t your thing,” he said, almost pleading. “But you’ve never seen a live game before. It’s a whole different experience. It’s a home game. We can yell and scream, and cheer our team on with thousands of other fans.”

The stiff not-smile never wavered. “Sounds . . . fun.”

 Birthday #13

Dad had bought out one of the partners at the garage this spring and now owned a majority share of the renamed “Hummel Tires & Lube”. Kurt wanted to snicker at that name, but he was proud too.

His birthday this year coincided with Friday Night Dinner. Dad had invited all the mechanics over for a potluck. They’d had Mary’s special fried chicken, Cassius’s homemade cornbread, and Davy’s mac’n’cheese. Now Dad brought out the cake.

Kurt laughed. A sheet-cake with a tow-truck and two little plastic mechanics for decoration.

“You and me kid. Partners.”

The mechanics cheered and everybody dug in.

  Birthday #14

Kurt froze when he saw tickets peeping out of his card. Not again. Noise, sunburn, unhealthy food, tacky uniforms, and Dad trying so hard to make a boring sport seem like fun.

He sighed and pasted on a smile, which quickly transformed into shock.

“Wicked?” he squeaked, staring hard at the little papers as if the printing might change if he dared to look away.

“Embassy Theater is giving regional business owners a discount this year,” Burt said apologetically. “It’s just a traveling production, not real Broadway, but I …”

His apology was cut off by a joyful teenaged hug.

 Birthday #15

“Don’t worry, son, you got this.  Just remember everything I taught you.  You got a whole year to get ready for the practical test.”

“I know.”

“And it’s okay if you don’t get it right the first time. Not everybody does.”

“I’m fine, Dad.”

“I’ll be right here waiting for you when you’re through.”

“I know that, Dad. I’ll be okay, really.”

At that moment, Kurt’s name was called and he sprang from his hard green plastic chair. His dad’s repeated reassurances were making him jumpy.

Twenty minutes later, a brightly grinning Kurt was waving his freshly minted driver’s permit.

 Birthday #16

Burt patted the giant blue bow the dealership had provided over the hood of the shining black Lincoln Navigator.  

Kurt was gonna flip! He’d passed his DMV test with flying colors and was no doubt showing off his shiny new license to all his friends at school.  

He paused. Did Kurt have any friends to share this accomplishment with? He always seemed so alone.

Maybe that’s why he had decided to spoil his son with a huge birthday gift.

It wasn’t right for such a good kid to be all alone. Maybe having his own ride would help change that.

  Birthday #17

A dozen teens gathered in Kurt’s basement to celebrate the end-of-school, non-disbanding of Glee, and Kurt’s birthday, all in one.

“Not like ten years ago,” Mercedes said to Kurt, as they watched Mike and Brittany dance.

“Ten years?”

“Your seventh? It was just you, me, your mom, and lots of chocolate cake.”

Kurt was astounded. “That was you?”

“You forgot?”

“I remember a little girl who showed up and invited herself to my party.”

“And I remember a little boy who needed a friend as much as I did.”

He squeezed her hand. “Thanks for coming.”

She squeezed back. “Always.”

 Birthday #18

Kurt stared at his birthday cake, unable to think of anything to wish for.

He was 18-years-old today, a legal adult. He had new family in Carole and Finn, his dad was on the mend, he would be back at McKinley for senior year, he had made his first visit to New York City, and he had a boyfriend! One who had just told Kurt that he loved him for the very first time.

‘I wish for next year to be as good as this,” he thought, taking a deep breath and blowing.

The flames flickered out, all except one.

 Birthday #19

Senior year had been a disaster, and now he had not gotten into NYADA, despite his well-praised audition.

“Blaine wants me to spend another year here,” he whispered. “I just can’t.”

Burt’s callused hand squeezed his neck. “Then don’t. You’re 19 now, a man. You got talents galore, work experience from the garage, enough drive for ten kids, and your mom’s life insurance money to give you a start.”

“But…”

“No buts,” Burt said firmly. “You go on to New York and grab life by the balls.”

Kurt felt his optimism rise. “Help me look for apartments?”

“You got it.”

 Birthday #20

What a difference a year made.

He’d dumped Blaine after being cheated on less than a month after leaving Lima.  He was enrolled at FIT and sharing a shoebox apartment with a fellow design student and a Broadway hopeful, but both were young gay men from small towns, and they had a lot in common.

“Happy Birthday!” Elliott shouted, tossing a handful of glittery sequins at him.

Adam came in playing the birthday song on a kazoo he had gotten from who-knows-where. “Ready for Callbacks? $20 on who gets the first hot guy’s number!”

“I already have yours. I win!”

 Birthday #21

“I have the honor of presenting your first official grown-up drink,” Adam said, smiling lovingly at his grinning boyfriend of nearly a year. He set down a martini glass with a cherry floating on top. “A Manhattan seemed appropriate.”

Kurt beamed and gave him a kiss, then took an experimental sip. “I’ve had alcohol before,” he admitted. “Mostly wine, though.  Mm, this is good!”

“I thought you’d like it. Happy Birthday, my love.  May the future bring every good thing you wish for, and never more heartache than you can handle.”

Kurt could not have asked for a better sentiment.

THE END

[krowfics]

Logan’s Problem

Fandom: Sander Sides

Ship: romantic logince, platonic analogical

Plot: Logan was in love, this is a problem. He’s not going to tell Roman, of course.

Words: 2,586

Notes: Highschool AU, Virgil is into minorly illegal things (graffiti), there's a slightly nsfw joke(?), discussions of diet and food, misunderstandings (it’s pretty brief), kissing

~~~

Logan had a problem.

Frankly, he had lots of problems everyday but none were actually ‘real’ problems per say. He had plenty of math problems that equations and formulas could fix. He had problems with the classmates he tutored as their problems became his own. He had a problem when one of said classmates needed to cheat due to being unable to pass otherwise, not for lack of effort on Logan's behalf or their own of course, and Logan had almost gotten caught sneaking a picture of the answer key from the teacher's paperwork.

He had problems, he'd had some bigger problems in the past, but none can compare to this.

Logan was in love.

He didn't come upon this purely on his own, he did need to credit his local emo for planting the idea in his head.

It was a brisk night, but nothing too chilly, still that hadn't stopped Virgil from wearing his regular hoodie, it only encouraged him considering the fact that he usually wore it even on the hottest of days. Logan watched him as the delinquent sprayed the school's brick wall with fresh paint.

"He's infuriating." Logan said.

"Tell me about it." Virgil was clearly preoccupied with his piece.

Logan hastily ran his fingers through his hair, almost knocking off his glasses but not caring. "He just-" He sighed, "He's smart, and yet he's an idiot. He's an oxymoron! Schrodinger's cat but if the cat was some majestic beast who was both simultaneously perfect and flawed in the worst ways."

"Mm." Virgil hummed.

"I mean, for example," He began, "He works out everyday, he has a strict schedule of alternating which parts of the body to focus on which days to allow proper muscle growth and avoid unnecessary pains, something I do as well, but! He also spontaneously gets ice cream when out with the theater club! I've no problem with eating ice cream, obviously, but I'm not trying to be that toned."

"You got a thing for muscles, huh?" The emo cocked his head.

Logan felt his face flush with pure heat, "Ah- er- no. No." He stuttered out in response, "I mean, yes. But no. That has nothing to do with my point. My point! Is that he's somehow figured out how exactly to do spontaneous things like that without ruining the ability of others being able to see his abs by the next day- Abs are hard to retain is what I’m saying."

Virgil laughed, spinning on his heel to look at his friend, "Ignoring everything you just said about abs." He tried and failed to stifle another laugh, "We're talking about a boy who confused a frog for a turtle."

"I know!" Logan said far too dramatically but he didn't pay any mind, "And yet he aced the last biology quiz!"

Virgil blinked, "Did he cheat?"

"No." Logan waved his hand with a sigh, "I checked, besides, he cares too much about ‘honor’ to do that."

Virgil twisted his face at that, a clear grimace of disgust, "He's a goody two shoes. You have a crush on a goody two shoes. Gross."

"It's not-" Logan stopped himself, it only took one strong stare from Virgil for the truth to spill, "Holy shit, it is a crush."

Virgil stepped over to pat his back halfheartedly, "There, there."

"Okay but! Everyone in the school has a crush on him."

"I don't!" He defended.

"You did."

"I did." He conceded.

"Exactly." Logan said, "I'm not special, I'm just one of the many onlookers. Besides, it's to be expected that I am... attracted to him. He's physically fit and otherwise conventionally attractive, and very good at make up when he wears it for productions and he's kind to strangers and holds open the door when a teacher asks me to carry an absurd amount of paperwork and he usually offers help with that smile. You know that smile, right? That he gives and it's like it triggers a panic attack but good?"

"I think you're in love."

"I'm not!" He gasped.

"You are."

"I'm not."

Virgil stared at him with a deadpan look for a long moment before shoving his spray paint cans into his backpack, Logan glanced up and vaguely acknowledged that it was done and was an impressive work of art as usual. "Uh-huh." Virgil said, occupied with taking a picture of the graffiti with his phone.

"I'm not."

He was.

He was in love with Roman Prince.

This was a problem.

This problem became significantly more apparent when he ran into the boy in question at school, or rather, Roman ran into him. Literally.

He’d turned a corner, perhaps a bit too quickly and definitely too distracted by the sheer amount of papers he had in his hold. It was at moments like these that he almost regretted being such a teacher's pet, almost but not quite. it did have its perks along with its downsides, he wasn't exactly sure which one crashing into the other student was. 

He had yelped and dropped nearly everything, losing his own balance along with the papers. Luckily he was caught and held up by a strong arm, unluckily, being caught made him drop the final pages he’d managed to hold on to. He and Roman stared at each other for a long moment, Logan was almost certain he hadn’t breathed and his face flushed an embarrassing color. Roman had righted him but hadn’t let go of his arm yet, “Are you alright, Specs?”

“Uh- erm, yes.” He readjusted his glasses, both as a way to try and distract himself from his blush and to actually fix his glasses as they were skewed from the collision, “My apologies, I wasn't looking at where I was going.”

“Oh no, that’s on me.” Roman said, only then letting go of the other’s arm and Logan tried to not be disappointed at the loss of contact with the other student, “Don’t tell anyone but I may or may not have been running in the halls.”

Logan looked around, “Well, there’s no hall monitors or teachers in view so I could hardly blame you for trying to travel quicker.”

“What’s this?” Roman laughed, “Is the teacher’s pet encouraging rule breaking? How scandalous.”

Logan rolled his eyes with a smirk, “I can assure you, my loyalty to the staff is a purely fabricated illusion.” And that probably something he shouldn't say. It definitely wasn’t something he’d say to just anyone, really only Virgil and a good few of the more trusted classmates he tutors knew that he wasn’t actually fond of the teachers, it’s easier to break rules when teachers think you couldn’t lie to save your life, but Roman wasn’t just anybody, was he? Logan turned, hoping what he’d just said hadn’t been a blunder, and stared at the floor with a sigh. 

He crouched down to start restacking the pile, thank fuck they were all copies of the same page and thus didn’t need to be in order. Roman joined him on the floor, “So, to which teacher do we owe the pleasure?”

“Mrs. Libelle.” 

“That fiend.”

Logan snorted at that, “If you’re in a hurry, I can handle this.” he offered.

“Are you kidding?” Roman gawked, “First of all, what kind of gentleman would I be if I did not help a nerd in need?”

Logan refused to acknowledge his returning blush, he instead squinted at Roman and opened his mouth to respond but was quickly cut off.

“Second of all,” He continued, “This is like a thousand pages to many for one person. And third of all, I have nowhere that I need to be in a rush, I’m just impatient.”

“I see,” Logan said, gathering a few more stray pages, “In that case, thank you.”

“No problem, Nerdy Wolverine, it was mostly my fault anyway.”

“Agree to disagree,” Logan replied instead of addressing that nickname.

Once all the papers were picked up and Logan had to watch Roman stretch up to release tension in his back, and no, don’t stare at his stomach Logan. An inch or so was revealed when his shirt was lifted with the stretch, it’s just a stomach, stop staring.

Logan cleared his throat and reached for Roman’s stack, “Thank you for the help, now I’ll be on my wa-”

“Ah ah ah!” Roman leaned away, taking the stack of papers with him, “Lead the way, Pocket Protector.”

Logan stared for a moment, but didn’t argue. He started walking and the other followed, “I’m not even wearing a shirt with a pocket to be protected let alone a pocket protector itself.”

Roman snorted, “Whatever, Nerd.”

Logan failed to suppress a smile, “You have used that one already in this conversation.” He pointed out, “I thought you were more creative than that.”

Roman gasped, “Oh, how you wound me!” he said overzealously.

The nerd in question just rolled his eyes.

“I was going to call you dork, but Remus told me what that word came from the other day and I can't stop thinking about it.” Roman faked a gag.

“Ah yes, plenty of curses have odd origins that have little to no resemblance to its in current use,” Logan said, turning a corner and glancing over to see Roman still following, “But I do understand being disturbed by whale penis.”

Roman gawked, “By the stars! Not you too- How do you know that?”

Logan stopped as he reached his designation and spun on his heel to look at the other boy, “I’m a nerd.”

“Yeah yeah,” Roman shifted his grip and stepped past Logan to open the door that was already slightly ajar.

“Oh you don’t…” Logan started but trailed off at Roman’s raised eyebrow, “Thanks.” He said instead of finishing, ducking his head as he walked into the room.

Logan spotted a clear enough spot at a desk and set his pile there. This was just the first stop however, Mrs. Libelle had instructed him to bring half the copies to Ms. Leading’s office and the others to Mr. Sanders, because Logan was just her loyal dog, apparently. He sighed and walked up to Roman, who was standing there, looking like he was waiting for instructions. Which was kind of cute.

“Thank you for helping me,” He found himself struggling with eye contact, “I can carry the rest on my own, so you can head out now.” He reached for the stack and Roman pulled it away from him for the second time today.

Logan looked up to see Roman staring at him quizzically, “Do you want me to leave?”

“What? No,” Logan blinked, “I don’t want you to- No, you can do whatever you’d like.”

“Woah, hey, it’s okay Nerd.” Roman said, causing Logan to notice the tension in his shoulders, “I did something wrong, right? I’m a dumbass, I say the wrong things all the time. I’d like to know what I did but you don’t have to tell me, it’s okay-”

“Oh my god, you’re an idiot.” Logan breathed.

Roman tilted his head, which was absolutely adorable, “Thank you?”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, “You haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t- I don’t want you to leave.” Logan sighed, mostly at himself, and looked at the other man. He tried desperately not to let his face flush but it didn't really matter right now. He’d make Roman think he’d done something wrong, and that chivalrous bastard wasn’t even pushing for an explanation. Honestly, he was too nice, too perfect for his own good. “My apologies,” Logan started, “It had been brought to my attention that I... retain romantic feelings for you, and it has made me anxious, I suppose. So I attempted to have you leave quickly. I’d understand if you'd like to leave now if knowing this makes you at all uncomfortable.”

The other boy blinked at him, “Simplify, please, Nerd.” He said very quietly, as if he was already aware of what Logan said but wanted to make sure.

Logan cleared his throat and readjusted his glasses, which probably didn’t need the readjusting at all this time, “I have a crush on you.” he clarified quietly, “And I’m not confessing, really, just giving an explanation for my behavior. Thank you for the help. You may leave.”

“You like me?”

Logan nodded, “This can’t be much of a surprise.”

Roman shook his head, “Did you not just call me an idiot?”

Logan’s eyes widened, “I assure you, I meant no negative connotations-”

“Chillax, Nerd.” Roman waved a hand, unknowingly giving Logan a moment to decipher whatever ‘chillax’ means before, “I like you too.”

And that left Logan reeling. Because no. No? How? Roman was the high school’s pretty boy, their prince, their designated hot guy with abs. How does the hot guy with abs like him back? There must’ve been a miscommunication. Somehow.

“Come again?” Was all he managed.

But Roman smiled and Logan’s heart went from beating out of his chest to figuratively soaring, “I like you too. Or uh, I retain romantic feelings for you too.” He chuckled.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Well, this was unexpected, “What do we do now?” Logan said, more to himself than the other.

Roman shrugged, “What do you want to do?”

“I honestly never planned to get this far.”

Roman huffed out a laugh, stepping around to the desk so that he could set his pile down next to Logan’s, “Well,” He said, making his way back to the student, “I could kiss you.”

“I-” Logan felt like a metaphorical deer in the headlights, but in a good way? If that was even remotely logical, which it wasn’t, “I wouldn’t be opposed.” His voice came out a whisper.

To that, Roman reached up and gently cupped his cheeks. Roman’s eyes flicked down to Logan’s lips and Logan found his eyes doing much of the same.

The kiss was soft, absolutely nothing like he’d expected from the student before him, but not bad in the slightest. It was short, too short, Logan found, so he took to pulling Roman back in only a moment after the first ended.

Roman pulled back again, rubbing Logan’s cheek gently with his thumb as he did so. He smiled so warmly, Logan thought he’d melt. 

“And…” Logan vaguely noted that he probably sounded a bit out of it, “What do we do now?” he smiled at the other.

“Hm.” Roman hummed, “Ice cream?”

“Ice cream sounds good.” Logan agreed. He had a date. A date with Roman Prince. “But, papers.”

“Papers?”

“Papers.” He pulled away begrudgingly. He grabbed half the papers and went for the door, stopping only for a moment, “I'll be right back.” He then slipped out the door and speed walked to the other teacher’s classroom. Mr. Sanders was there and had made small talk that Logan managed to survive. He was gone as quickly as he arrived, rushing back to Roman and finding him just stepping out of the door of the room he was left in.

Roman grinned when he saw Logan approach, he reached for Logan’s face again once he was in range. He pulled him in for another kiss, something Logan could hardly argue against, “Ice cream now?” Roman asked, face still impossibly close to the other’s.

Logan nodded slightly, “Yes.” finding his hand in Roman’s a moment later, being pulled down the hallway. Roman’s unabashedly happy smile was sure to match his own.

So, maybe this wasn’t a problem after all.

~~~

This is actually a fully fleshed out au that i will probably write more of, idk- no promises

my,, hyperfixation on health and exercise kinda slipped into this one? im sorry, i don’t know what happened, but Logan likes muscles i guess asjkdkls

also i do not know how american high schools work at all, i was homeschooled so im going off fanfics and anime (which doesnt help with the american thing-)

[dawnie1988]

Summary: When setting up a dating profile, a picture really is worth a thousand words. And it turns out that, sometimes, getting that perfect photo requires the assistance of a helping hand

Words: 1,853

Pairings: Dean, Unnamed OFC - Who may or may not be loosely based on the same woman who inspired this whole thing in the first place

Warnings: Language, Bad Lighting, Impatient Doggies......That should just about cover it

A/N: Umm, so surprise! I did a thing! Inspired by this *gif set* and the subsequent conversation after with the amazing @thoughtslikeaminefield​​ regarding just how it was Dean got that profile picture for the dating app. It was only meant to be a fun little joke type thing of sorts, but after getting love and encouragement from some very fine ladies that I admire greatly, it is now seeing the light of tumblr. Miss MJ was also kind enough to give it a look through for a little clean up and any major mistakes and created the fantastic header! It really does pay to have friends in high places 😊

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

This was stupid.

 He was, he had no problem saying, one of the best hunters in the world. He had saved the world multiple times. Yeah, ok, maybe Sam helped a little, but still. He had fought both heaven and hell more times than he could count anymore.

 And yet, here he stood, unable to get one decent picture of himself.

 Stupid.

 It was the only thing left to do to complete his profile, to add his profile picture. He had been very tempted to just leave it blank, or just put a logo of something he liked. But that wouldn't do. You go on a dating site and refuse to put up an actual photo of yourself? Pshhh, yeah, because that doesn't just scream: STRANGER DANGER! I HAVE SOMETHING TO HIDE!

 The whole point was to attract potential dates, not scare them away before he even had a chance to lay on the charm. And, plus, how would he attract anyone without actually showing off the goods?

 Advertising. It's all in the advertising.

The problem was, try as he might, he couldn't get a fitting picture of himself. Not one that truly showed off his full appeal.

 What? He wasn't allowed to think himself a handsome son of a bitch without being considered arrogant? Screw that! Body positivity, man. We're all beautiful in our own way, we should all believe it.

 Maybe he should put that in his profile too? Didn't chicks dig shit like that? Whatever…

 The photo. That was the issue. He couldn't ask Sam to do it, fuck no. He'd never let Dean hear the end of it if he knew he even had a dating profile. Besides, this was none of Sam's business. What Dean did in his private time was his and his alone.

 But, as it turned out, Dean wasn't very proficient in the art of selfie-taking. For one, the lighting in the bunker was horrendous. He'd gone all throughout their underground home and the results were either him bathed in shadows or being completely washed out underneath the harsh, fluorescent lights.

 And trying to find a flattering angle was damn near impossible! How the hell all those social media people did it was beyond him. Clearly, they were using every filter imaginable to improve their outcome. Not him though. Artificial was not his style. No enhancements needed.

Self. Love. People.

 It was as he was pacing around in the garage, trying to formulate his next plan of attack when inspiration struck. He caught Baby's eye — er, headlight, and Yahtzee!

 Baby was a total chick magnet. And, where did they both shine the most? That's right, out in the clear wide open. On the road, sun shining, not a care in the world. Natural lighting.

 Perfect.

 He drove for a while, scouting possible locations along the way while also simply enjoying the quiet time with Baby. Even if he was on a mission.

 Eventually, he pulled off the road near a lakefront that also served as a nice walking path for nature lovers. It was a beautiful, clear day, the whole scene very idyllic.

 This was it. This was the spot.

 However, there was still the hiccup of actually getting the picture taken. After the slightly traumatizing experience of trying to take his selfie, he couldn't bring himself to attempt that avenue again. He thought he could still do it himself regardless. There was a fence nearby, all he had to do was set the timer on the phone and presto! Done!

 You would think, that is.

 In reality, every time he tried to prop his phone up it would fall back down before he could even make it back to Baby.

 Just as he was about to throw the godforsaken device, like an angel from heaven — the fairytale kind, not the dicks with wings — she appeared.

 "Need some help there?"

 As if he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to, Dean quickly whipped around and was greeted by the lovely sight of a woman, perhaps a little older than himself, walking her two dogs.

 He took just a moment, because he simply had too, to admire her beauty. Sun-kissed skin, freckles that put his own to shame, friendly hazel eyes that held a multitude of warmth…

 Yes. An angel seemed a very apt description.

 Dean cleared his throat before an uncomfortable amount of silence was allowed to pass between them, feeling a slight blush tinged his cheeks when his mind came back around to acknowledge her question.

 "Uh, actually I umm… yes," he fumbled out.

 Why was he suddenly nervous? He felt so out of place now, he didn't like it. Still, he continued.

 "You see, I…"

 The woman cut him off — a mercy killing, it felt like to Dean — with a raised hand.

 "Let me guess, dating profile?" she asked, not at all trying to hide the knowing smirk.

 Something in Dean loosened at the understanding he found in his new acquaintance’s gaze. Shoulders relaxing, he let out a slightly bashful chuckle while giving a one-shoulder shrug.

 "Guilty. That obvious, huh?"

 She gave a small shake of her head. "Game recognizes game. I have my own experience and horror stories involving the dreaded profile picture. If you want, I can give you a hand?"

 Dean's eyes lit up at the offer. He knew it. He was not ashamed of it.

 "Yeah?"

 She laughed at his eagerness, a sweet-sounding melody, Dean noted to himself.

 "Sure. After all, I couldn't just leave you here without putting you out of your misery first. I'm no monster."

 She was teasing, of course. It didn't stop Dean from having to bite his tongue and swallow the comment about monsters that begged to be spoken. If only he had a nickel for every time he had heard that line.

 "Okay, awesome. Thank you."

 "No problem," she replied easily, accepting the phone he was handing over. "And I'm assuming you want that beauty in the photo with you?" she asked him, indicating Baby, earning a proud smile from Dean in return.

 As he said, Baby was a total chick magnet.

 "Duh."

 She laughed again, much louder and freer this time and the sound again had Dean grinning as he made the walk over to his trusty wing woman.

 "Nice choice. Okay, then, handsome, what are we going for here?"

 Dean faltered in his step slightly. "Uhh, how do you mean?"

 "I mean," she paused for a moment, readjusting the grip she had on the two leashes when the pooches started getting antsy. "What vibe are you trying to portray here? Brooding? Mysterious? Friendly?"

 "Oh, right!" Dean nodded his understanding.

 He thought it over, tilting his head slightly as he contemplated the pros and cons of the different choices in his head.

 "May I offer a suggestion?"

 "Sure, by all means."

 "Well, online dating can be intimidating enough as it is," she began matter-of-factly. "All you've got is a picture and a few words to go on. So, speaking solely on my own experiences, I tend to gravitate towards the more friendly option. You try to be sexy and it feels too put on and forced. You try to be mysterious and all I'm left thinking is what are you trying to hide. But friendly, easy-going and approachable is always a winner. That, makes me want to get to know you a little more. At least enough to read your profile anyways."

 Dean, eyebrows raised and mouth pulled down some, nodded in appreciation. This lady really knew what she was talking about.

 "Right, so friendly it is, then." He clapped his hands together and went to lean against Baby's side before stopping, thinking it over a second and deciding to hop on the hood instead, talking out his thoughts as he tried to determine the perfect pose.

 "So, not too posey, don't try too hard but at least put a little effort in to show I care…." he fidgeted around for a few moments more before falling into a comfortable, casual feeling position. "How's this?" he looked up, waiting for some affirmation.

 Dean would be lying if he said her genuine smile didn't make his stomach flutter a bit.

 "Looks good. Okay, on the count of three, give me your most inviting smile. No teeth though, just easy breezy. Ready?"

 "Ready."

 "One, two, three."

 She tapped the screen to capture the shot and immediately started walking over after checking the results. "I think we have a winner here."

 She handed the phone over to him and he couldn't help the satisfied smile from gracing his lips.

 Damn, he looked good.

 "Nice," he complimented her photography skills. "Well, Hell, I think you're right, I think this is it."

 He made quick work of uploading the photo to the app and confirming his information before finally hitting the 'submit' button to post his profile. He then turned the phone around for her to see again. "Whaddya think?"

 She leaned in closer, shoulder bumping his and dogs yapping around their legs as she looked over his full profile before nodding in approval. "Yup, you'll be beating them away with a stick in no time!"

 His chest may have puffed up with pride a little. Only a little.

 "Yeah? Awesome." He exited out of the app, ignored the text message from Sam wanting to know where the Hell he was and slid his phone into his back pocket.

 "Thanks again. It's, ah…" he brought a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. "All pretty awkward, but you were a big help."

 She gifted him with a megawatt smile as she untangled her dogs from around his legs, getting them ready to continue their walk. "No problem. Good luck with all that. Stay safe out there!"

 She began walking away and Dean found that he couldn't not do it. He had to, right?

 Right.

 "Hey!" he called out, switching gears and putting on his 'wooing' smile, lowering his voice an octave. "Ya know, maybe if you're not busy, I can take you for a cup of coffee or something sometime? My way of..." Dean let the tip of his tongue sneak out to wet his bottom lip while giving her a once over. "Thanking you, properly?"

 She was silent for a moment, brows raising slightly in surprise before a slow smile started to brighten her face up once more. She looked down for a tick, letting out a sound of amusement before meeting his eyes once again.

 "That's sweet, and I'm flattered, really, but I'm afraid I can't."

 Dean's smile fell some in disappointment. "Oh."

 "It's just — your profile says that you’re seeking woman,” she explained, much to Dean's confusion.

 "Oh...?" he trailed off, brows pinched as she started walking backward and away from him.

 "So am I."

 She gave him a wink before turning fully and continuing on. Out of his life.

 Dean could only roll his eyes.

 "Figures," he muttered grumpily to himself as he made his way back to Baby. "All the good ones are either taken or gay."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tagging the cheerleading squad I had behind this: @thoughtslikeaminefield​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @itmighthavebeenintentional​ @there-must-be-a-lock​ @cracksinthewalls​ @rockhoochie​ @mskathywriteswords​ @fookinghelljensensthighs​ @cherry3point14​ @lastactiontricia​ @icemankazansky​ @stusbunker​ @justcallmeasmodeus​

[teamred]

beautiful stranger

summary: you sneakily take photos of a cute boy on the train to send to your friend. when the cute boy sits down next to you, you realize you weren’t as sneaky as you thought you were. pairing: peter parker x reader warnings: fluff, mild language word count: 1.7k words

prompt: “I was trying to take a sneaky picture of you because i told my friend about the hot guy on the train and she wanted to see but you totally noticed and yeah this is awkward” au from here

gif created by me, please credit if using

is it illegal to be this cute????

You texted your friend on the way home from school, hiding your face in your phone while sitting on the subway. Only a few steps away from you, a beautiful boy in a blue sweater grasped onto the pole as he listened to music. He stepped onto the train a few stops ago and now, you couldn’t stop staring. 

istg im sweating n dying from the close proximity of his presence 

hes not even that close

is htis normal?????

Slowly peeking up, you stole another glance at the boy. His attention drifted to his phone while your eyes danced over his sharp jawline and strong features, which contradicted against his overall sweet face. 

Saying he was beautiful was an understatement. You were so drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.  

Suddenly, he began to smile and laugh from whatever he was doing on his phone. Your heart burst then and there, causing you to hold your phone close to your chest in hopes it would contain the invisible chaos. Your friend texted you back:  

-!!! send me a pic!!! let me see!!!

fine okay gimme a sec

Lifting your phone up a bit, you angled it enough to get a decent shot of the boy, but not too high to make it obvious. You attempted to take the picture as if you were taking a selfie. Although a bit difficult since the train rattled casually, you successfully took the photo and even had extra shots to send to your friend.

-okay he pretty cute 

-u should say smth!!! 

?? what would i say “hi i think ur cute lets go out sometime”??

-yea??? thats how meeting ppl works?? 

As you texted your friend back, the person sitting beside you stood up, ready to leave the train. Without moving your head, your eyes darted to the empty seat. Then, you glimpsed at the boy, who seemed to be making his way towards you. Your phone practically fell out of your hands when you replied:  

omg the seat next to me is empty i think hes going to sitdown 

-make ur movE OR ELSE U WILL NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN

-DONT BE A PUSSY!!

You tried your hardest to pretend you were preoccupied with your phone, but all you could do was wait for the handsome stranger to sit down. Without looking up, you heard the boy ask the lady standing in front of you if she would like to have the seat, but she politely declined. The pounding in your ears was too difficult to ignore, but you still tried your best to drown it out. It felt like forever before he sat down next to you. 

You weren’t even sure which app you were scrolling on at this point and you really couldn’t care less either. All you could think about was your friend’s text. 

Make your move. Make your move. Make your move or else-

“Hi.”

You froze, unsure if you heard a voice. You glanced around before your sight landed on the attractive figure next to you. The spotlight was all on you, with his earphones off and a smile plastered across his face as wide as a football field. Was he actually talking to you?  

“Hi.” 

Your eyes fluttered as fast as your heart in an attempt to look into his sparkling, brown eyes.     

He leaned a little closer to you. If you weren’t sweating already, you definitely were sweating now. Did you remember to wear antiperspirant today? You clenched your hands in a fist, with your phone still in hand, fighting against the urge to check. 

“Can I ask you something?” he whispered. Of course he had a sweet voice to match his face. You nodded. 

“Do I have something on my face?” 

Tilting your head in confusion, you shook your head in response. “No, I don’t see anything.” 

The boy sighed a relief, relaxing into his seat a bit. “Phew, that’s good. Just wanted to make sure I look good for my picture.” 

“Hm?” 

The mysterious boy gestured towards your phone. He came in closer to whisper again—

“Rule #1 of the Selfie Rulebook: you should always try different angles to get the lighting right. You kinda just stuck your phone out in one direction and that was it.” 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He knew. 

“Well, what if I’m confident in my selfie angling? Maybe this is my best side.” You held your phone out, mocking yourself from moments earlier. You were already caught, may as well die with the lie as long as you can.  

He chuckled.

It really was illegal to be this cute. 

“Then I can’t really argue with you. Please take my most humble apologies, oh, Selfie Master.” The boy placed a hand on his chest, dipping his head as if bowing. 

Almost instantaneously, defeat took over your body. You placed your palms against your face, covering yourself in shame. Maybe if you held still long enough, the embarrassment would fade and the cute boy would forget what happened.  

“Was I that obvious?” you groaned behind your palms.

“Only to me.” 

You peeked through the slit of your fingers to find him still smiling at you. 

“Why’d you take photos of me? Art project on collecting photographs of beautiful things? I had to do that once.” 

You wondered what (or who) he took photographs of for his art project. If this conversation didn’t end in flames, maybe you could ask him. Your hands drooped down, resting upon your thighs.  

“To be honest,” you closed your eyes and inhaled deeply, ready to confess. “My friend was curious about this cute guy I noticed on the subway. I needed proof to validate my taste in men.” 

After a moment to exhale, with your eyes still closed, you heard him reply:  

“Well, let me say that your taste in men is impeccable.” 

Opening your eyes, despite the warmth that radiated from your cheeks, you smiled shyly. Taking a chance, you introduced yourself and held your hand out. 

“I’m Peter,” he took your hand in his and shook it. Both of you lingered on the shake longer than expected, causing you two to giggle.  

“Which school do you go to?” you asked. 

“Midtown Tech. You?”

“Same!” 

“Really?” Peter wrinkled his eyebrows. “I haven’t seen you around before.” 

“Just transferred,” you shrugged in response. 

“Well, if you ever need help with anything, I’m always happy to help. Well, not anything, but, I mean,” he scrunched his nose while rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m always here. To help. With things. Most things.” 

Laughter filled the air between you two. You opened your mouth, but stopped in your tracks when you noticed your stop was coming up soon. Just because you two went to the same school, it didn’t mean that you would ever bump into each other, especially in the sea of a few thousand other kids. It was now or never to make your move. 

“I’d love to stay and chat, but my stop’s coming up soon. I don’t normally do this, but do you want to exchange numbers and maybe meet up for coffee or something?” The words spilled so quickly from you, you weren't sure if Peter caught everything. He stared blankly at you for a moment and you almost repeated yourself when he said— 

“Definitely.” 

In a hurry, you practically dropped your phone into his hand. His fingers breezed over your phone as he typed in his info before handing it back to you. You were about to text him to ensure it was the correct number, but you saw that he already did so. The name Peter Parker was at the top of the conversation and a “Hi!” stared back at you. 

“Got your text,” Peter held up his phone as confirmation. Unwillingly, you stood up, beaming down at him, and adjusted your backpack over your shoulder. 

“Where do you have to get off?”  

“Actually,” Startling you, he stood up too. “My stop passed already.” 

With your mouth agape, you shook your head. “Wait, what? Why didn’t you-” 

“I wanted to find out the name of the pretty girl who was taking my picture,” He mirrored you, adjusting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder as well. “but I’m glad I got more than I bargained for.” 

Your mind couldn’t compute what Peter was saying; all you could do was blink incoherently. The train slowed down as you walked towards the doors with Peter trailing behind you. Both of you stepped off towards an empty side of the station near a rusty pillar.   

“Well, I have to get to the other side,” Peter gestured towards the platform across from you. Still in awe, you smacked your lips together and nodded. “It was really nice meeting you. Hopefully, we can see each other soon. Get home safe.” 

His cheeks puffed from his emerging soft smile. You died a little on the inside. 

“You too, Peter. I’ll see you around.” 

You rushed away down the stairs, bolting away from what felt like a dream. At the edge of the entrance of the station, you paused abruptly to check your phone. 

-??? WHAT HAPPENED TELL Me

-dont leave me hanging like this!!!

According to the timestamps of the texts between you and your friend, the whole interaction with Peter lasted a mere ten minutes. You chuckled in disbelief as you answered your friend: 

i have the number for one (1) peter parker!!

he goes to midtown too!!! 

and he thinks i’m Pretty 

-!!!!!!!!

-im so proud of u!!!!!!

In the middle of replying, you had a notification of a text from none other than Peter. 

*Hi! Long time no talk. 

*I don’t want to come off as impatient or weird, but is it too early to text you? Should I wait? 

*(If so, we can pretend these texts never happened in the first place…)

He wasn’t even there anymore, but your cheeks tingled once again. With a grin, you said: 

(((you can text me only if we pretend i didnt take pictures of you on the train)))

You placed your phone back into your pocket and walked home, still revelling in all the events that just occurred. Coming up to your house, you opened up Peter’s response—

*Deal :)  

[brokenjardaantech]

absorbance of the deep (chapter 1: first contact)

written for a mermay prompts challenge. my prompt is ‘monochromatic.’

rated: M

relationships: simarkus, simon & josh & north, simon & daniel as twins

summary: 

simon was the quiet son of a lighthouse keeper in a small seaside village. his other half was the sea. no one knew exactly what was happening, but he had his friends, he had his twin brother, he had the ocean - and to him, that was enough.

also on ao3

---

It started long before Simon was aware of his connection with the sea.

Back then, he was still loved by his parents. Back then, he was still blissfully unaware of how different he was from other people. 

Back then, someone still cared when he went missing.

He of course had no recollection of the incident himself, being a baby when it happened, and all he knew came from his twin brother’s retelling of the event which he had learnt from their parents who decided that Simon’s lack of speech meant that he didn’t understand words at all even though he spent most of his time at home doing his own work or reading books reserved for people older than him. ‘Hag put us on the goddamned floor,’ Simon remembered the quiet fury of his twin brother as he paced in their shared bedroom. ‘God knows why she would do that. You could barely crawl, and either she forgot to fucking close the door or you somehow managed to open the fucking thing on your own, the next thing she saw after finally finishing cooking lunch was that there was only me, the door to the pier was open, and you were gone. They thought you were gone for good.’

Simon remembered turning his gaze towards the small stack of paper he was holding and rubbing the corner of. It was a copy of the newspaper article from the day he was found on the beach completely soaked in saltwater but very alive, one that took over most of the pages of the large sheet of inked newsprint they call the local newspaper found in the library and therefore required a few sheets of normal paper to photocopy the entire thing double-sided. Little Simon rescued from the beach! was printed at the very top below the name of the newspaper, and the article documented not only the facts - despite the sensationalised title - but also included a lot of interviews of the search and rescue team which seemed to care a lot about his survival and whereabouts, most of which Daniel and North firmly believed to be no more than a show. Simon believed them because he was never a good judge of people’s intentions. 

‘Half of the town thought you were really dead, the other half kept searching just for you to be washed up the beach in the middle of the fucking night and being discovered only the morning after,’ Daniel continued talking and pacing, and Simon had to look away because the movement was making him dizzy. ‘The rest you can find in the article. I’m not gonna waste my time reading aloud.’

Simon grabbed the worn dictionary, flipping to the pages with the words he wanted to convey and pointing his finger at them. but - how - about - dad - and - mum?

‘No fucking idea. Dad said Mum was hysterical.’

The rest Simon forgot because he was tired and he hadn’t been paying attention, and he supposed that it didn’t matter anyway because they stopped caring when he grew up from the easy, quiet baby to the too-quiet toddler who wouldn’t play with other children and scratched his own arms when things became too much. At first, the other children he went to school with left him alone with his sticks and stones which he assembled into shapes resembling the marine animals he remembered from the worn picture books in the kindergarten’s library. He didn’t necessarily understand the words, but the pictures were soft, the fishies were cute, the soft edge of the cardboard felt good in his hands, and they reminded him of a home he yearned for but never had, his obsession with the ocean starting when he was young. It was during these quiet times that another boy of his age approached him. 

‘What are you doing?’ the other boy asked. He was dragging a bag filled with books behind him.

Simon flipped his own book open until he found the page of the octopus he was trying to recreate with his collection of seashells that he found on the beach and a few sticks he found on the dirt in the garden behind the kindergarten, pointing first at the specific octopus he was assembling (there were five of them, he counted), then at the imitation on the ground. He hoped the other boy understood what he meant. He wouldn’t want him to scream in his ear and make them hurt just like the others. For some reason, they thought it would help him hear them better while in fact it was doing the exact opposite. He could hear them well enough; he just didn’t want to speak.

‘Are you building the octopus?’

Simon nodded.

‘May I watch you?’

Another nod, and the two of them sat on the same piece of log as Simon bent down once more to rummage in his collection of pebbles and seashells to complete his octopus, this time with an audience consisting of one single boy already a bit taller than himself. Halfway through the recreation, his companion retrieved a book, one with the same thickness but thinner pages and much more words, but Simon, engrossed in his project, didn’t seem to notice at all, having been sucked into his own world and become completely oblivious to his surroundings, and he only straightened himself as much as his uncooperative limbs could after the octopus was complete. Josh noticed it and put down his book just to be swatted by Simon’s flailing hand that felt like, ‘Look at my work.’

And to two boys, it was a work of art. With dirt as his canvas and random pebbles and sticks and leaves and seashells as his palette, Simon somehow manages to fit them together into a puzzle more detailed than the drawing he based it on, the different colours of nature somehow managing to form a harmonious combination of browns and whites and oranges and green. ‘It’s pretty,’ Josh commented. ‘I like it.’

Simon’s face blushed pink. Tilting his head to one side, he seemed to study his artwork intently for a few seconds before struggling with the zippers of his backpack as if he wanted to open them, and when it was evident that he wouldn’t be able to accomplish the task himself, Josh offered to help him, and he unzipped it quickly just for Simon to snatch the bag back and scoop every single piece of nature he used to construct the octopus with inside. 

‘What are you doing?’ Josh was shocked, but still he zipped up the bag because he didn’t want the contents to spill out. He would be sad if one of the seashells got lost.

Simon hopped off the log he was sitting on and dragged the backpack behind him instead of putting it on. A few steps towards the other side of the park, and then he turned around, beckoned the other boy to follow him with a wave of his hand, his blue eyes still glued onto the ground.

‘Where are you going?’

Simon pointed towards a familiar direction.

‘You’re going to the beach?’

A nod.

‘Okay. Let me pack up.’

By ‘pack up,’ he meant carefully placing his book in his bag, and soon the two boys were dragging their respective bags behind them on the road as they walked to the beach on foot unsupervised by any adults. The sky was a greyish white, the wind was strong from the upcoming rain, the sound of the sea lapping the shore was particularly loud from the silence of the village and the strength of the waves, but all the signs indicating a worsening weather were ignored, Simon determined to go to the beach and Josh too curious to back down from accompanying his potential new friend. Walking was easier when the ground underneath their feet finally changed from asphalt to soft sand, and their tiny footsteps were erased by twin tracks their bags left behind. Simon sat down abruptly just before they reached the line where dry sand gave away to wet.

‘What are you doing?’ Josh asked even though he was already sitting down.

Simon merely pushed his backpack towards the other boy. It took him a few seconds to interpret the action, but Josh got it quickly enough and unzipped the back for him. Simon then poured the contents onto the dry sand, casually shoving the bag to one side and then started reconstructing the octopus once more, and Josh was confused; if the boy wanted to make it on the beach, why didn’t he do it here directly? Why practise in the park first? But he also knew that he probably wouldn’t get an answer from the other boy so he watched the octopus materialise piece by piece instead.

Until he noticed something strange about the ocean.

See, even though they were literal children, they grew up with the sea in their view at all times, and they knew its personality and temper well. When to avoid the shore, when to avoid going out altogether, when to prepare for the worst - they learnt to watch for the subtle signs and act accordingly. But nothing, not from parents, not from school teachers, not even from teenage babysitters, could have prepared Josh for the sight of the sea lapping higher and higher around them while the sand within their ten-foot radius stayed dry as if there was an invisible dome surrounding the two of them. He turned inland and saw the tide converging in front of him, the space around his bookbag staying dry on its own, and he sought out the other boy because he was horrified, he didn’t understand. The wind was picking up. If they didn’t go now, the sea would swallow them.

‘We have to go!’ he says. ‘I don’t know what’s happening, but if we don’t, we’ll die!’

Simon continued to piece the octopus together on still-dry sand while being completely oblivious to his worsening surroundings. He didn’t seem to hear Josh at all.

‘C’mon!’ Josh tugged on Simon’s arm and received an impatient smack. ‘We need to go!’

Do not disturb him, human. Leave the devout alone.

The voice, deep and all-compassing and earth-rumbling, was as shapeless as the shrinking dry circle around them, and Josh didn’t understand, wasn’t sure if he wanted to understand. All he wanted to do now was run, but his way back was already blocked, the tide having crept up to them while the boy was trying to convince his companion to go with him, and now it was so far up that it would be impossible to escape unless he threaded through ankle-deep water. His books would be ruined.

I can provide a safe path out. But do not look back, human, or accept the consequences.

Those would’ve been big words for normal children, but Josh wasn’t normal, having read through the entire kindergarten’s library and had started inhaling the books in the small public library they had, and words were at least something he understood well; one moment he was surrounded by dark waters, and the other there was a path directing him to his bag of books and up the beach to the road, to safety, and he didn’t hesitate to run towards his bag and dragged it up the beach until he was running up the hill, the sound little feet hitting asphalt overwhelmed by the howling wind and raging sea. He spared a look back and discovered that his companion was gone, most of the beach having been swallowed by the rapidly-rising sea level.

He abandoned his new friend and he didn’t even know his name.

Horrified by his own actions, tears rolled down his cheeks as he slowed down his normal walking speed and went back to the kindergarten on foot where his teachers were waiting at the door. ‘Josh!’ one of them rushed forward and wrapped his arms around him. ‘Where were you?’

‘At - at the beach,’ he sobbed. ‘There - there was this boy with me and he’s gone!’

‘Another boy?’ a crackle of thunder, and their conversation was interrupted by a crackle of thunder. They hadn’t even noticed the streak of lightning tearing through the clouds because it was still bright, the clouds were not heavy enough to form anything other than a light rain, but it wasn’t like they cared about the inconsistencies between this rainfall and what they normally experienced anymore; all that mattered right now was that the weather was worsening, there was a child missing, and said child’s twin brother was currently -

‘WHERE IS SIMON?’ Daniel came blundering through before any teachers could grab him and clamped his tiny hands on Josh’s shoulders. ‘I’m asking you: where is Simon?’

Simon? Was it the boy’s name? Josh couldn’t think clearly. He left Simon to die. He was sorry. 

‘He was at the beach,’ he didn’t know why he wasn’t screaming like the others, but as the first bucket of rain poured down the sky, he could imagine the waves sweeping Simon away, dragging him into the deep alongside the octopus he spent so much effort creating, all evidence of his existence gone, gone, gone -

‘The sea took him.’

o0o0o

In reality, young Simon was doing much better than he thought; in fact, the place he ended up with was so good that he didn’t even want to go back on land, let alone with the civilisation living on it at large, the experience edged into his mind so vividly that he can revisit it whenever he wants to even in adulthood as long as he closed his eyes. With Josh gone, he and the ocean could finally be alone with each other, and he let the waves cover him, an invisible barrier protecting him from the cold water and preserving enough air to keep him alive. He blinked, tilted his head to one side while the wave on top of his creation seemed to hesitate to touch it, holding his breath as the ocean judged him. 

Don’t worry. Everything you made that doesn’t hurt us, I like.

He didn’t know what it meant back then, his mind too young to comprehend a promise as solemn as that, and neither did he know who ‘I’ was and whom ‘us’ was referring to, but looking back, it was part sincere reassurance and part lifelong vow despite, and now that he knows everything, he was glad that his love started early; it made growing up less lonely and terrifying; and despite his lack of understanding, he was immediately soothed, and he felt himself relax on the pocket of dry sand, clutching his open backpack and caressing the fabric because he thought it felt pleasant to his fingers. 

I’ll give you something even better.

At last, his octopus was swept away by the waves, his offering accepted by the other half of himself that he didn’t even know existed back then, and there was no fear in his heart when the ocean enveloped him, surrounded him, carried him to the depths where everything was blue because no other colour could reach that deep. He found himself liking the colour; it wasn’t complicated like the kaleidoscope of life on land, it didn’t send needles into his eyes like the sharp reds and oranges the fishermen used to paint their boats so that they could be visible when they were out at sea, it wasn’t complicated like the subtle blue of the sky when it wasn’t covered by the clouds. This was raw, simple, the only wavelength that the ocean allowed to reach him among all others, so it must be the colour of protection as well.

He didn’t know all of these, back then, but these are some of the conclusions Simon arrived at after years of sharing his life with the ocean. What he did know was that the deep blue was a pleasant colour, one that calmed him down so much that he wanted to go to sleep right there on the soft sand of the seabed.

Sleep well, starlight.

Unbeknownst to him, his other half was still wide awake protecting his land-dwelling counterpart. The current changed to maintain the temperature of the tiny body at the bottom of the sea, the sea animals were instructed to stay off course so as to not disturb his slumber, and the earth also slowed down in case the pressure would become too much and frighten the fragile heart of a human child. It also got to work, finishing millions of years worth of progress in mere hours to create a safe haven for Simon, and he was carried there so gently that not once did he stir while he rode the waves without him knowing, and when he woke up, he was lying on a bed of soft but dry moss located in a cave of stone walls and soft sand. His parents and his twin weren’t there to urge him to wake up so he basked in the warmth that seemed to radiate from the pale sand as he listened to the sound of running water nearby. He would discover upon his second visit to the cave that it was the murmurs of an underwater stream feeding a hot spring near the end of the cave. 

Time to get back, starlight.

He wasn’t in the position to judge or protest so he let the sea carry him back to his home on the surface. He couldn’t quite swim in the ocean yet and had a tendency to walk back into the water no matter how much inland the waves placed him; eventually they settled on putting him back on the pier outside his parents’ house/lighthouse, and although it was too close to the surface civilisation for their liking, it at least kept young Simon out of the water at last because he remembered jumping off the pier on his own and then landing into the water with his stomach first and the pain wasn’t something he would want to repeat. It was dark still when he was sent back to the surface and he didn’t want to be away from the sea yet, so with his tiny feet dangling off the side of the pier, he lay on the wood for hours watching the stars twinkle in sync with the dark waters kissing the beach glowing silvery in the moonlight, and then having to close his eyes as the sun painted the horizon a fiery orange and the clouds a deep purple. The sea stayed the same, however, the greyish-blue waves too choppy to glisten under the sunlight. The wind picked up as the land absorbed the energy from the sun and started heating the air, and that was how his parents found him: unconscious at the edge of the pier behind their house, a soft breeze smelling of the ocean feeding the fire burning what remained of his mind away.

[americasmarauders]

Stupid Fucking Galas--Jason Todd.

author’s note: it came a day late, but nonetheless it came. This is unedited so bare with me on the typos. I will re-read tomorrow to check on those.

masterlist

#

Stupid fucking galas.

           Jason hated them. He had always hated them, but he found that the more that he grew, and the more that he disagreed with Bruce, the more he absolutely despised these stupid fucking galas. Kissing old white people’s asses so that Wayne Enterprises could have funding for something he hadn’t bothered to research about. So fucking stupid.

           Stupid fucking Bruce for demanding Jason to come to this stupid fucking event full of stupid fucking people. He wasn’t supposed to be there, stuffed in rigid suit pretending that everything is okay when his relationship with Bruce is damaged. True, it had been worse, but why the fuck was he in this fucking stupid gala when Bruce couldn’t even accept the fact that Jason didn’t share the same M.O as dear old Dad.

           “Jay, I know that look,” Tim started next to him. “Look at the bright side, at least Bruce invited you.”

           Jason groaned as he angrily took a sip of his whiskey. “He didn’t invite me, he demanded I’d come,” he grunted.

           “Still, you’re here, as family. It could be worse,” Tim argued.

           “Bruce only wanted me here so we could look like the picture-perfect family that he thinks it’s great for his PR,” Jason argued back. “But he forgets: I’m not good for PR, Tim. I shouldn’t be here,” with that he downed the rest of his whiskey. “I’m going to get some more.”

           Jason turned towards the bar. He sat on one of the stools, away from the view of Tim. He ran his fingers through his hair ruining all the styling he had done previously. It didn’t matter, he didn’t like it anyway. As he waited for the bartender to fill what would be his third glass of whiskey, he let his eyes wander through the room. All the people there were all the same as he remembered when he was a kid and Bruce hosted these things every month or so. Except one.

           A quiet girl, standing awkwardly by a table, lonely, fidgeting with an empty glass. She was wearing a very pretty red dress, and if that wasn’t enough to catch Jason’s attention, she quickly looked at him, before adverting her gaze somewhere else, embarrassed at the quick eye contact she had made with a random stranger in a random party.

           Jason grabbed his glass and hastily thanked the bartender. He debated on whether to approach the lonely lady for a mere second but couldn’t get over the fact that he had nothing to lose if she out right shut him out. She couldn’t magically make this stupid fucking gala any better.

          He downed the glass in a split second, rested it on the bar and made his way to the pretty lady in a pretty red dress. He quietly approached her, leaning elegantly against the table she was standing next to. She fidgeted nervously at the presence next to her, and awkwardly looked up to him.

          He was blown away. It took a second for him to pull himself together. This woman was beautiful, he thought to himself. And extremely awkward.

          “I hate this stupid thing. Don’t you?” he said, as he smiled brightly at her, trying to pretend he wasn’t just shit-talking Bruce’s event.

          “I can’t say I particularly enjoy, no,” she laughed softly. “It’s not really my scene.”

          Jason noticed she hovered her hand slightly above the bridge of her nose, trying to pull glasses that were not there. A nervous tick. “Then what is your scene?”

          “Labs,” she looked down at her hands, smiling. “I really like my lab.”

          “So, you’re a scientist, then,” Jason concluded.

          “Yes, a physicist,” she looked up at him smiling still. Jason fought hard not to have his breath knocked out of him. “I’m kind of the reason Mr. Wayne threw this party,” she said quietly.

          “I hardly think so. In my experience Mr. Wayne,” he said sarcastically, “really likes the attention.”

          “I’m serious, though,” she contested. “It may be a fund raiser for a charity, but I came here to convince the board members to approve of my project. Mr. Wayne said that I needed to do a little, uh, politics to make it work.”

          “Then why aren’t you doing it?” Jason smirked.

          “That’s the thing, I already did it,” she said smugly. “It was easy, actually.”

          Jason hummed. This lady was really something else. “I’m impressed.”

          She smiled. “Really?”

          “It’s not easy to kiss old people’s ass, and you seem to have mastered that art,” he said, a smirk creeping its way on his face. His voice had a hint of sarcasm on it.

          She flushed terribly. “Thank you…”

          He extended his hand. “Jason,” he smiled.

          She smiled back, shaking his hand, “Jason. I’m Y/N.”

          The way his name left her lips made his heart beat erratically. Oh boy, he was in for a ride. “Y/N,” her name felt like the sweetest thing he had ever tasted on his lips, “would you like to dance?” he offered her his hand.

          She looked at the dance floor and considered for a second. She took his hand and said: “Sure, why not.”

          He took her to the dance floor, soaking in the slow and almost soothing music playing through the hidden speakers of the room. Her hands rested on his shoulders and his hands found their way to the middle of her back. They swayed calmly to the sound of the melody, a smile creeping its way onto Jason’s face.

          “I don’t usually accept offers from strangers in parties, but I’m quite liking you Jason,” she said honestly.

          “Well, I don’t usually talk to pretty strangers in parties, but I’m glad I talked to you,” Jason said to her with a smile on his face.

          “Thank you,” she answered shyly. “So, Mr. Jason, what is it that you’re doing here?” she said calmly.

          He sighed. “I’m here on,” how would he phrase that he came to this stupid gala because his adoptive father made him come? “family business.”

          “Really?” she said, slightly impressed. “Who is your family? Maybe I’ve met them today.”

          Unfortunately, for Jason because he was having such a great time dancing with a beautiful woman, they were interrupted. “Jason!” Tim said across the dance floor. He went towards their direction, Y/N looking confused between Tim and Jason, as he dropped his hands from her waist and subtly notified her that their dance was cut short.

          “Bruce is looking for you, he wants to take some pictures now,” Tim said kind of out of breath. He glanced over Jason’s dance partner, before recognizing her. “Oh, hey, Y/N! I see you’ve met Jason,” he said, too enthusiastically in Jason’s opinion.

          Jason rolled his eyes at Tim, and Y/N saw it, earning him a small yet charming smile. He smiled back. “Yes, we’ve just met,” she said quietly.

          “Great! I’m sorry to interrupt, but my brother and I have some business to attend,” Tim said while dragging Jason towards an impatient Bruce Wayne.

          “How do you know Y/N?” Jason inquired.

          “I worked with her some time back. She is brilliant,” Tim answered. “She’s really shy, though, I’m surprised she was comfortable around you.”

          Jason looked back at where he left her, in the middle of the dance floor, to see she was not there anymore. “Yeah,” he said under his breath.

 #

#

Jason was relentless. He had felt something different with Y/N, and he was willing to risk it and find out what it was. Because he couldn’t get her out of his head. Well, not exactly. He could, she would just creep in back and would stay there, until he said enough.

           He had to talk to her. Wash her off his system. He needed to see her again.

           He got into the empty Wayne Industries elevator. He could count the number of times he had been there. Most of them just to pick up Tim for lunch. This was a whole new venture for him. He pressed the number for the floor of her lab.

           He was sweating through his shirt. He shouldn’t have done this. He lost all his cool. He was supposed to be the cool and collected one, why was he so fucking nervous, it was just a girl. Maybe he should have left the house without his leather jacket. Maybe he shouldn’t have left his house at all.

           But then again, he would have to listen to stupid fucking Tim pointing out the stupid smile Jason was suddenly sporting most of the times. And he would have to listen to stupid fucking Tim drop, not so subtly, Y/N’s break times, or her favorite foods, something Jason would rather have discovered by himself.

           He had made the right call, coming here. Tim would get off his back, and Jason would finally get her off his mind.

           The door opened with a sound of ding. Jason stared at the white wall with a huge sign. ‘Research Laboratory: Light and Energy’, it read, pointing Jason towards the right direction. It was definitely her lab. Her element. Why did he come again?

           He gulped. He took of his jacket, leaving him only in his white t-shirt. He carried his jacket over his shoulder, shoved his other hand on his pants’ pocket and headed towards her lab. Jason hadn’t felt this nervous since he was a teenager, and even back then he wasn’t one to overly care about stupid dates and teenage romance. But, then again, he wasn’t a teenager anymore, and this wasn’t just asking someone to a dance. If he wanted to do this, he would be inviting her to his life, his fucked up and crazy life, and that could put a lot of things in jeopardy. So, yeah, he was nervous. But maybe it wasn’t exactly because of her.

           He had reached her lab. Her element. The doors were made of glass, so he could see her perfectly from where he was. She was so carefree. Her hair in a messy bun, chewing on a pen, furrowing her eyebrows at what he assumed would be an incredibly difficult physics problem—at least to him it would be. He had always preferred the humanities.

           He took a deep breath. His hand curled around the doorknob and pushed it open. He stood there, jacket in hand, leaning against the frame lazily. Jason waited for her to notice him, but she was so engrossed in her little world she didn’t even acknowledge him. Jason stood there admiring her from a distance. He stopped before it got creepy though. He pushed himself off the frame and smiled.

           “So, this is where you feel most comfortable,” Jason commented, startling her.

           Y/N pushed her glasses up to the top of her nose and smiled shyly. “Well, yeah, it is my lab,” she said quietly. “Not that I’m not, um, glad to see you, but I didn’t imagine that I would see you here of all places. Tim said that Wayne Enterprises is not your favorite place,” she explained herself.

           “Well, I have made an exception today,” Jason smirked back at her. “I was hoping to take you out to lunch. That is, if you’re free, I mean.”

           She shoved her hands on her lab coat’s pockets and smiled brightly at Jason. “Yeah, I’m free.”

           Jason felt a smile creep on his face, and he didn’t stop it like he usually would. “Great, let’s go then. I bet you’re starving.”

           Her eyes twinkled with something Jason couldn’t quite place, as she took off her lab coat and hanged on the hook next to the door. She continued to lightly chat with him—something Jason took as a sign of her being comfortable around him—as she took her things, turned the lights off and locked her lab door.

# 

#

“So, Jason, how are things going with your girlfriend?” Damian said, taunting Jason.

           Jason rolled his eyes, not bothering to lift them from his book as he answered Damian: “Fuck off, Demon Spawn. It’s none of your business.”

           Damian scoffed, not interested anymore in getting a reaction from Jason. Tim looked up from his computer. He took a sip of his coffee and then asked: “But how are things, though? You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with her.”

           Jason groaned. He plucked his finger in the middle of the book before shutting it and getting up to leave that dreaded place. “How I spend my time is none of your business, Tim. You fuckers should stop prying on my life and take care of yours,” then turned his back and left.

           It wasn’t that things weren’t going well, they were. Actually, they couldn’t be better. Jason just wanted to keep those good times to him and Y/N. It felt as if he were to say something to anyone, he would jinx it, and his source of happiness (he wasn’t so pathetic as to have a relationship as his only will to live, but he couldn’t deny that she was his main source of happiness) would suddenly and tragically disappear in a wave of overly fussing relatives, or something worse, into his… night life.

           Tim followed him, much to Jason’s doom. If he hadn’t sworn to Bruce he wouldn’t kill anymore, he would be this close to actually murdering one of his brothers. “Jason, please, we are just trying to, you know, take an interest in your life,” Tim reasoned.

           Jason stopped and turned towards Tim, his eyes menacing in hopes to scare away his little brother. “You don’t have to ‘take an interest’,” he mocked, “in my life, Replacement.”

           “Yes, I do, Jay. Because you’re my brother, and I—” he hesitated, “I care about you. I want to know if you like her.”

           “You just want to gossip about it to Bruce,” Jason retorted. “I don’t want Bruce snooping around on my life. It’s enough I have you and the others wondering around.”

           “That is not true at all,” he almost seemed like he took offense to it. Admittedly, he wouldn’t necessarily gossip to Bruce about Jason, but he would definitely gossip about him to someone. And so, Jason glared at him, surrendering Tim.

           Tim sighed defeated. “Fine, you don’t want to tell me now, that’s fine. I don’t need details. I don’t want details. I want to know if you’re happy.”

           If Jason was taken back about Tim’s defiance, he didn’t show it. Jason remained angry faced, his default mode, and narrowed his eyes at Tim before turning around to leave. He stopped for a millisecond, considering if he should answer Tim on that question. Well, if he dwelled on it too much, he wouldn’t do it, so Jason just muttered a small ‘Yes’ before bolting out of the entrance hall to hide away in his room.

#

#

Jason looked at Y/N with the softest eyes. The lighting was shit, they were sitting in the greasiest diner he had ever seen (and he had been to some really sketchy places) even if the food was really good. The setting had everything to make Y/N look unattractive, ugly even. She had just gotten out a long day of work—something about quarks and leptons that, to Jason, just sounded like she was talking gibberish. His days of physics were left behind in high school—her hair was greasy, he could see specks of dirt in her glasses, and the bags underneath her eyes were present and making an appearance. And yet, she was the only thing he saw. The most beautiful thing he saw.

           She noticed him staring and stopped talking. Y/N smiled at him—she had the prettiest smile, he swore—and he smile back. A genuine smile. A rare one from Jason. He saved those for the deserving. And currently, Y/N was the only one deserving.

          “You know, Tim stopped by my lab to chat the other day,” she said. Jason ran a hand through his hair and groaned. “He doesn’t usually do that.”

          “What did that fucker want?” Jason growled.

          “Oh, nothing specific. We chatted a lot, actually. He wanted to know how things were going between us.”

          “And did you answer?” Jason asked, dreading the worse.

          “Well, yeah. But I didn’t feel like you were comfortable enough sharing a lot of things, so I told him the bare minimum,” Jason fell in love with her right there. She knew him better than anyone of those motherfuckers could ever know. “Besides I don’t know what is our, um, relationship status, so I wasn’t comfortable sharing too much too. I’d rather keep things between us, for now.”

          Jason let out a breathy laugh and once again ran his fingers through his hair. “I swear, those little shits are asking me to kill them with their prying.”

          She smiled smally and stirred her drink with her straw. “I don’t know, Jay. He looked like he genuinely cared.”

          “He doesn’t,” Jason closed his eyes as he said.

          Y/N sighed and reached for his hand. Jason was startled at the sudden touch but didn’t flinch away. Instead, he turned his palm to face hers, and grabbed delicately. “He really does, Jay,” she looked deeply into his eyes. Jason swore he could see the whole universe within those. She was so full of life. “I know you guys have, um… history. But Tim is trying to move past that. Give him a chance,” Jason opened his mouth to argue against it, but she was faster. “And before you deny it, you don’t have to talk about us, or your inner demons. Just be a tinsy bit more open with them.”

          Jason shook his head and smiled. He didn’t want to argue with her. Or more like he couldn’t. It felt as though she had a grip so strong on his heart, that if he defied her, she would walk away and leave him empty. And he was so tired of feeling empty, of feeling lonely. Maybe he should talk to his brothers more. “Okay, fine. I’ll try and talk to them more.”

          She tightened her grip and smiled brightly, reaching her eyes. “Great.”

          They remained quiet for a bit, soaking in each other. Their hands intertwined, a light smile adorning Jason’s face. His mind wandered to something she had said moments ago.

           “Do you wanna discuss it? Our relationship, I mean,” he said, a bit hesitant.

           She looked at him. “We don’t have to, if you’re not ready. I know these things are difficult for you,” she said, and Jason’s mind flashbacked to the night he had told her just a snippet of his fucked-up past. She was so understanding, more than anyone in his life had ever been, and he was so grateful for that.

           “I want to,” he reassured.

           Her eyes twinkled. “Okay, then. What do you want to discuss?”

           He gulped, and fought the butterflies rising in his stomach. “I want you to be my girlfriend, if that’s alright with you.”

           She smiled, full of adoration. “Yeah, that’s alright with me.”

           He leaned in closer, smiling. “Great,” he said. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

           She smiled, coyly. “Okay.”

#

 #

Stupid fucking galas.

           Jason hated it. But his heart held a special kind of hatred for The Annual Wayne Christmas Party.

          The stuffy suits, and the expensive drinks, the wrinkly old people pretending to know something about the current world, and the tacky decorations made Jason want to chuck all the stock they had of alcohol.

           He held his glass of scotch—neat, no ice, like always—and he took a sip as he looked at his wrist watch. He took a deep breath and leaned on the bar. His eyes scanned the gigantic room, looking for her. She was late, and Jason couldn’t wait another minute until he saw her. He needed her.

           “You really need to lay off the drinks, Jay,” Tim said, behind him. “You’ll get drunk before this party even starts.”

           Jason rolled his eyes and took another sip. “You and I have very different definitions of what a party is, Tim.”

           “Aw, c’mon,” Tim lightly shoved his brother, “lighten up a bit.”

           “I’ll light—” he trailed off. Speechless, that was the word. He suddenly felt out of breath.

           There she was, looking like an angel. Y/N. Her light silver gown trailed behind her, it made her even more beautiful than she already was. Her hair was in a pretty hairdo and maybe Jason really wanted to ruin that by running his hands on her soft hair. But it wasn’t only that. She was glowing inside out.

          She was far away from him, so he could only watch her. She was truly the only person in the world that moment. Jason couldn’t hear or see anything, he only saw, heard, and though about her.

           “Wow,” Tim lowly said. “Who knew?”

           “I knew,” Jason replied, but not loud enough for Tim to hear. “I’ve always known.”

           Tim narrowed his eyes at Jason, seeing the sight of his older brother—the toughest of them all—weak in the knees because of a girl. It was a sight to see. “Okay, lover boy, I’ll let you go see your girlfriend,” he said. As if rehearsed, Jason laid is half empty glass of whiskey and walked towards her, not even listening to Tim’s protests of a lack of word from him.

            He reached her. She was facing back to him, talking to a group of old nerds—Jason knew they were nerds because he had seen them in so many of them on these fucking stupid fundraisers, all gathered up on the corner, fumbling over random notes made on paper napkins; he always assumed they were too busy comparing maths, or something. Her eyes twinkled with the kind of wonder only reserved to her. Jason laid his hand delicately on the small of her back, earning him a surprised squeak and a quick smile.

           “Excuse me, gentlemen, Miss Y/N is needed elsewhere,” Jason came up, with this lame excuse. Y/N gave him a knowing look but didn’t complain. He guided her towards the other end of the ballroom, far away from the prying looks of the elderly gossips.

           “Jay, you could’ve just said that—” he kissed her. She was taken back for a split second—maybe less—and soon crossed her arms behind Jason’s neck and melted into his touch.

           If it depended only on Jason’s will, he would’ve stayed liked that—engulfed in her arms—for the rest of the night, hell, for the rest of his life. Alas, time couldn’t stop, and they weren’t alone in the world, so eventually they got interrupted.

           Alfred cleared his throat behind the couple, Jason’s back facing him. Y/N interrupted the kiss, pushing Jason back, leaving him silently whining for more. “Master Jason, would you like to introduce me to your companion?” Alfred said, politely.

           Jason was always very coy around Alfred, and even after his death he hadn’t really lost that. He scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly. “Right… Alfred, this is Y/N my, huh, girlfriend.”

           Y/N opened her shy smile, her hand hovering for a second on the bridge of her nose. She extended her hand to Alfred. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Alfred. Jason has talked a lot about you.”

           Alfred shook her hand. “Likewise, Miss Y/N.” He dropped her hand and turned to Jason. “Master Bruce is requesting you.”

           Jason groaned in annoyance. “Can’t you just say I ran away? Left this stupid ass party for something less boring?”

           Alfred gave him a stern look, and Y/N stifled a laugh. It was amusing Jason wilted at just a look. “It is for family pictures, and as far as I know, you are still family,” that left implied so many things and Jason hated it. Y/N cut her laugh short at the comment. She understood the undertones too.

           He ran a hand through his hair, completely ruining the styling done. But, then again, he didn’t really care about those. He turned to Y/N. “Stupid fucking party,” he mumbled. “Is it okay if a leave for just a second?”

           She smiled brightly. Her hands found his and she gave it a light squeeze. “Of course,” that twinkle again that made Jason crazy. It made leaving so fucking difficult. “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

           He smiled, that true smile. Alfred pretend not look at the moment the couple shared, but he couldn’t help but notice Jason’s happiness just at a simple look he gave her.

           Jason gave her forehead a kiss, a silent way of telling ‘I love you’ only the two of them shared. She squeezed his hands one more time. ‘And I love you’ it said.

#

#

final note: here is the link to my jason playlist

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Summer Solitude

Main Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Koge Naegi (OC) 

Story Rating: Mature

Genre: Fluff / Romance / Domestic / 

Story Warnings: Cursing, sexual terms and themes, flirting, playful spanking, vague mentions of kinks, mostly fluff and just silliness

Words: 2,395

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3

Written for the @bnhabookclub​​ ‘s members bingo event!

Crossed off: Lake Date

Bingo Masterlist

Art in banner by me

“Katsuki, where the heck are you taking me?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

“Yeah, I would. That’s why I’m asking, you smartass.” With a playful scrunch of her nose, Koge brought his hand up to her lips, placing soft kisses along his knuckles. “We’ve been driving for almost two hours and we’re out in the middle of nowhere now!” Their hands flopping back to lay on her bare thigh, the petite woman turned her gaze back to peer out at the passing trees, the thick forest surrounding the small countryside road not giving her any hints to where they were. All Bakugou had told her was to pack things for a day outdoors and to either bring or wear her swimsuit. Koge had decided on the latter, even though the tight material had begun to grow a tad uncomfortable in specific places, especially with her minidress coverup that had a tendency to cling to every curve. 

Bakugou had followed her example, dressed in just some orange swim trunks and his typical black tank. Because of the way they had dressed, Koge thought they wouldn’t be going far, but it was clear at this point that she was mistaken. He had refused to tell her, and he wasn’t using a GPS to help her cheat or get hints, so the only real couple of clues she had was that the location was in nature and involved them getting wet somehow. 

The curiosity was killing her. 

“Well I’m not telling you. Be a salty bitch all you want, you aren’t getting shit out of me.” Bakugou rubbed his thumb along her skin, his palm hot against her thigh. “It’s a surprise for a reason, Utsuro. You’ll like it. Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve been able to go out on a date and not have two wild children to deal with.” 

Koge gave a small sigh of relief at the thought, leaning her head back against the headrest. “I know! I can see now why you asked your mom to babysit. Those two little gremlins have been driving me crazy.” 

“Natsuki’s not even a year old yet, either. She’s going to be a handful.” 

“Just like her handful of a Daddy.” Koge smiled at her husband sweetly, rubbing up and down his forearm gently. “She’s literally going to be just like you. I hope you can handle it.” 

“Tch, I think you’re the one that needs to pray. I can deal with one of myself, but you’ll have to deal with two.” A small grin stretched across Bakugou’s lips, careful as he turned the car through a tight corner. “And Matsuki might be a calm little squid right now, but who knows. He may just turn into a crazy person when he gets his quirk.” 

“Katsuki, love, I have dealt with you my whole life. I can handle more of you. But you have never dealt with yourself. You’re going to go crazy, because you are crazy-- OW, hey-!” Koge burst out into giggles, trying to escape the wrath of her lover as he squeezed her leg right above her knee where she was ticklish. “No, no, don’t-! I’ll jump out of the car if you do that!” 

“Well then you’ll be left alone to wander the woods all alone while I go enjoy our date.” 

“Psh, yeah right.” Koge leaned over the console, hugging onto his arm with her cheek on his shoulder. “You’d miss me. You’d come looking for me.”

“Maybe in like… two days. Or a month.” 

“You couldn’t last a day without me. Admit it!” 

“Fine, fine. You’re right, Utsuro.” Bakugou took a moment to place a kiss on the top of her head, though he kept his focus mostly on the tight and uneven road. “Wouldn’t last a single day. Why else would I have married you?” 

“‘Cause you like the way I suck your dick.” 

“I only pretend.” 

With a click of her tongue, Koge sunk her teeth into his skin, though he didn’t bother to react as he turned off the road onto a dirt and rock path. Distracted by the change, Koge released him and sat back in her seat, beginning to see some breaks in the trees that hinted at what was beyond. “Oooh, I think we’re almost there.” 

Bakugou gave a small grunt in confirmation as the path curved, and before Koge could really prepare, they were out of the woods and thrust into a completely open field. Just as soon as they left the woods, the path turned back into a regular paved road, which ascended and curved along a grassy hill. When Koge finally caught sight of what was below, a small gasp escaped her lips, leaning against the door with her nose pressed against the window in an attempt to see better. “Wha-, Katsuki! Look at that! The water is so pretty!” 

Below them, surrounded by forest and grassy parks, was a huge lake that extended farther than Koge could see, snaking around hills and islands and coated with the early morning fog. Having left the house a little before sunrise, the earth was still coated in a misty, glowing haze as the sun struggled to climb over the rolling clouds. The beams of yellow light that broke through glistened against the beautiful blue water, sparkling like millions of tiny diamonds. Along the right side that was visible to her, Koge could see a little beach area, with tables and a few people already scattered about, trying to prepare before the summer sun hit them in full blast. 

“Are we going to that little beach?!” 

“No, fuck that. My family pays for some exclusive land up here.” 

“And you never told me this?!” 

“They just bought it!” Bakugou huffed at the accusation secrecy, glowering at his wife out of the corner of his eye. “I wanted to surprise you with it! You always say you want surprises, but then you get annoyed when it’s something I didn’t immediately tell you about.” 

“Is there a house on the land?” Koge continued her questions, ignoring his gripe for the moment. “Is it gated or fenced in? How many acres? Does it have a dock and-” 

“Utsuro! You’re rambling.” Bakugou reached over and pinched her backside, since there was a little peek of her left butt cheek while she leaned forward to see the view over the dashboard of the car. With a yelp, Koge was quick to sit back down, pouting up at him while she rubbed the now stinging skin. 

“Ouch! I’m just asking questions!” 

“You’ll see when we get there. And stay sitting down!” 

“I’m not going to go flying out of the car, Katsuki.” 

“No, I don’t mean that. I just can’t focus on driving seeing your ass peeking out of that little coverup.” 

After another thirty minutes of driving around the hillside roads with Koge asking questions that Bakugou refused to answer, they finally pulled up to a gate that was secured with a chain and large lock. After plopping a key into her hand, Koge hopped out at his request and unlocked the gate, pushing it open to allow him to drive in. Once they were through, Koge secured the gate back in place with a rattling of chains and a click of the lock, before crawling back into the car. “Oooh, that’s fancy! So secure!” 

“My mom wants to get an electric gate with a keypad later down the road, just in case we have guests and shit that one to come stay here.” 

“‘Stay’? So there is a house?” Koge smiled up at him slyly, putting the key back away where he had pulled it from originally. “You just gave it away!” 

“Tch, whatever. You can see it through the trees, anyway.” 

Sure enough, as they made their way down the driveway, a two-story house soon came into view, bringing a smile to Koge’s lips. “Damn! I can see why your parents wanted this place! Ooh! It does have a covered dock and everything! A fire pit too! Oh Katsuki, I want to live here.” 

“Maybe when we retire and the kids are out of our hair, we can get a lake house. Or just move out here, I’m sure I’ll get it when my parents are gone, if it hasn’t gone to shit or anything. Utsuro, stop bouncing in your seat, you’re shaking the car!” 

“It’s so amazing! Katsuki, I’ve always dreamed of a beach or lake house like this! I know it isn’t ours, but it’s so beautiful out here! Have you seen it all yet?” 

“Just pictures,” Bakugou parked the car, glancing at the outside of the house before looking down at his impatiently wiggling wife. Unable to resist an amused smile at her excitement, he leaned over and gave her a firm kiss on the cheek to catch her attention, though it was followed by a softer, more affectionate peck. “Happy?” 

Giggling softly with the affection, Koge turned her head to catch a quick kiss on his lips, caressing both of his cheeks. “I’m happy, Katsuki. And excited! C’mon, where’s my grand tour!” 

“I don’t know where shit is, I’ve only seen pictures. You have to take your seatbelt off before you can get out of the car, you dumbass!” 

The tour of the house was a quick one, with Koge bouncing down the halls and excitedly pointing out this feature or that detail and anything else that caught her eye. In design, it was very much like a traditional style Japanese home, much different from the modern design that Bakugou’s parents usually preferred, which is why he believed they decided to buy it. He was indifferent, but Koge was ecstatic, even her modern preferences fading away at the beauty of the house. By the time the couple got to the end of the dock, she was smiling nearly from ear to ear, taking in the beauty of the tranquil nature that surrounded them. 

“It’s beautiful here, Katsuki. I’m not as much of a nature buff as you are, but this really is so nice! The water is so clear and clean. And there’s not another person around at all! Total privacy.” Leaning over a bit, she peered down into the water, looking about for anything interesting such as fish or plants. Most of the area was just rocks that she could see with very little vegetation, which would be good for swimming, and she already found herself wanting to jump in. “Let’s go get the stuff from the car so we can swim!” 

“Sure. Y’know, it is beautiful out here. But nothing can compare to that ass in that swimsuit.” Smirk on his lips and malicious intent undetected by Koge, Bakugou waited until she was really close to the edge of the dock before bringing his full palm hard onto her ass. Paired with a push, Koge was sent squealing and flailing into the water, landing with a loud splash that rippled through the air, though it was dwarfed by Bakugou’s laughter. “Got you!” 

Coming back up to the surface, Koge first took in a large breath to gather herself, shaking her head to rid her eyes of her hair and water to glare up at him. “Katsuki! You can’t go for two attacks at once! That slap hurt.” 

“Boohoo. How’s the water-” Before he could even finish his question, Koge had stripped her coverup off and threw the bundled up ball of clothing at his face, hitting him before it fell to the wood at his feet with a slick plop. Face and chest now dripping with water, Bakugou stood there in shock for a moment before his menacing glare returned, slicking his hair back with the water that coated his forehead. “You think that was funny, Utsuro?” 

“Yeah, big guy. You deserve it.” 

“Oh yeah?” Stripping off his shirt, Bakugou tossed it aside, using only his feet to slip off his sneakers. “I deserve it? You know what you deserve?” 

“What?” Koge began to swim backwards a bit, sly smirk on her lips. “Another spanking?” 

Once all clothing was discarded besides his swim trunks, Bakugou took a few steps back before jogging forward, propelling himself off the edge of the dock to land full cannonball right in front of Koge. Before she could recover from the wave, Bakugou snatched her by the ribs, using his advantage of strength to lift her up and toss her into the air, sending her flying a few feet away as she squealed in delight. Laughing as he pushed his hair back from his face, Bakugou swam towards her. “That’s what you deserve, Utsuro.” 

“It’s not fair!” Koge latched onto him, her arms around his neck and legs latched around his waist. “I can’t do stuff like that to you! You’re too buff.” 

Caressing her body in close, Bakugou kissed her lips softly, placing a few last punishing pats on her previously spanked butt cheek. “Poor Utsuro. Too tiny to retaliate.” 

“I could retaliate. I could pinch that cute little butt. Or give you some nice blue balls. You don’t get any pussy.” 

Bakugou laughed, a sharp and amused chortle that brought a blush to Koge’s cheeks. “Yeah right! Utsuro, you’re obsessed with my dick, you wouldn’t be able to brush me off.” 

“You don’t think so?” 

“Nope.” Smirking against her lips, he squeezed a handful of her ass, only making her blush darken. “You’ve wanted to hop on my dick since this morning. You, retaliate by not letting me fuck you? That won’t ever happen.” 

“Well, how about I bet you.” Koge nudged his nose playfully with her own. “I bet you that I won’t fall for your sexual advances until tomorrow. If I win, then we buy your parents a hot tub to go along with this place-” 

“The fuck-?”

“-But if you win, then we can do that kinky thing you wanted to do, since we have time alone.” 

“Seriously? With the knives?” 

“Mhmm. But you can’t be all try hard. Everything has to be natural. Deal?” 

“You’re gonna lose. But I’ll get you tonight, you have no idea what I have planned. You’ll be falling into my arms.” 

“Apparently the only thing I’ll be falling into is the water, as you’ve so lovingly demonstrated. Ah, wait- No, Katsuki, don’t throw me again!”

[softboywriting]

Welcome To The Pack | Mendes Triplets Series | Part Five

Summary: You’re a human who has moved in with the Mendes triplets as their newest housemate. You’ll have to learn to navigate life with werewolves, college classes, and your feelings for each guy. [fluff]

Word Count: 2k

|Masterlist In Bio|

It's early on a Sunday morning when Shawn invites you to go out with them. He says they go on a hike once a week, and you know they go out, but you're pretty sure their idea of a hike and yours is quite different. The four of you head out into the woods down the street from your house, they’re pretty thick and have a creek that runs through the trees. Its nice, even though it’s cold.

Once you get just inside the trees Shawn gives you his zip up jacket and they run off into the woods. You barely get a word out in protest before you’re surrounded by three huge wolves. It’s obviously the boys, but you have no idea which one is which, they all look incredibly similar.

The biggest one of the three bumps against you, pressing his side into your back. He noses under your hand and you pet his head. You would guess it's Shawn since he's the biggest of three as a human.

The one with slightly darker fur circles you, head down as he growls lowly. You watch him, eyes narrowed as he jumps away from your outstretched hand. It's Raul. The slight distrust and standoffishness is apparent.

Then there is the second biggest wolf, nearly identical to the biggest wolf, who is sitting patiently, waiting for you to approach. You think it must be Peter, since he is the only one left, but something about him isn't quite right. He nudges into your hand and you rub his ears. "I'm not sure which one is which."

Raul lets out a sharp bark and you turn to look at him.

"I am well aware which one you are, Raul." You say impatiently and he sits down, looking proud of himself. What a show off, even as a wolf.

The biggest wolf joins the other in front of you. They're so similar, right down to the fur color and markings, but one is clearly larger It must be Shawn, has to be. "Shawn?" You ask, pointing to the biggest one.

The big one lowers his head and whimpers. Obviously not.

"Peter? You're so big though. I thought for sure Shawn would be the biggest." The big one rolls over and you drop to your knees, rubbing his side. "You're such a big boy, how’d you get so big?"

Shawn nudges your back and you hold his head.

"Jealous baby." You laugh and Raul jumps on you, pushing you into Peter and Shawn. "Hey! Jerk, you're squishing me!"

Shawn tackles Raul and you lay down in the leaves watching the two wolves tangle a few feet away. Peter lays his head on your lap and you scratch it. They're just the same as wolves as they are as humans. Go figure.

____________________

Raul walks into your room late one night and looks around. You look up from your laptop. You've been slogging away on an English paper that you don't want to write. It’s the most boring thing on the planet and you would rather pull out your own hair one by one. "Can I help you?"

"I need you."

"Okay? For what?"

Raul crosses his arms. "School work."

"Like...tutoring or?"

"No. Just come with me."

You get up and set aside your laptop. Your English paper can wait until later, it's almost done anyway and you need a break. Raul leads you upstairs to his bedroom and you peek around the doorway into the forbidden territory. You’ve never dared set foot in any of the guys’ rooms without being invited. Though they always seem to invite themselves into your room. You suppose your sense of personal space and theirs is probably pretty different considering your upbringings and cultures. "Should I come in?"

"Yeah, door is open isn’t it?"

You walk in and his room smells like vanilla and sandalwood, soft but rich and heady. It’s so very much like Raul. Honestly you didn't know what to expect. A mess? Stinky boy smell? Everything painted black? What you get is none of those things. In fact, Raul's room is more like a mini art studio with a bed and a dresser in the corner. There is a huge canvas drop cloth on the floor and covering two walls. Somehow in the time you have lived with these guys, you never found out Raul painted.

"What are you doing?" You ask, walking around paint spots on the covered floor. "Why do you need me?"

"I need your picture."

"For what?"

"To paint." He says matter of factly as he grabs a camera off his bed. "I want to use the color of your eyes for something because it’s the perfect color and unless you want to stand here while I color match for who knows how long, I just want a photo."

You shake your head. "I think you're missing something here."

"What?"

"The fact that I had no idea you were an artist?" You laugh, gesturing to his work station. "How come you never said anything?"

Raul shrugs.  "It wasn't important? Besides...it's not like my major or something. I just take a few classes to help with my art skills for architecture."

“You’re majoring as an architect?”

“Yeah.” He lifts his camera and then lowers it, changing some sort of setting on it you assume.

You walk around and look at the canvases, some half finished, propped against the wall. “Art could be your major.”

“No.”

"Why not? These are good." You grab a canvas with pink roses on it, they’re very detailed and vibrant, almost like looking at a photograph. "I love this."

"Take it."

"But...you don't want it?"

Raul shrugs again. "It's just stupid flowers. Can I take your photo now?"

You tuck the painting up under your arm. "Fine. But only if you show me the finished product you need my eye color for."

"Okay, but only if you don't keep telling me how good my shit is."

"Fine."

Raul lifts the camera and moves in close for a good picture. He changes angles a few times and then pulls back. He looks at the screen and smiles a little bit. "Wow." He mutters under his breath.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing. Thanks, you can go now I guess."

You roll your eyes. "Good talk," you say sarcastically and leave his room with your new painting in hand. You don't understand Raul. One minute he's a sweetheart, taking you to lunch, holding hands, and the next he acts tough and indifferent. He's hard to read, and even harder to unpack.

_____________________

Something has been bothering you since the night of Shawn’s hockey game. It’s not anything anyone has done per say but more of something that they haven’t done. Since you moved in, now almost three months ago, you’ve never seen any of the guys with a significant other. To your knowledge all three boys are in to girls, but you can’t be sure since you’ve never actually asked. Either way, you’ve never heard them talk about going on a date or talk about being with anyone. What really got you thinking about it was how Shawn turned down the three girls after his game in favor of going home for dinner. Why not go to a party, meet someone, get some action? It’s not a big deal, and it’s really none of your business, but you can’t help but think about it.

Peter stands at the stove, stirring some rice in a pot for dinner. It’s his turn to make it and he’s making baked chicken with rice and broccoli. Sounds pretty plain, but Peter makes it taste really good.

“Can I ask you something?” You say, taking a seat at the dining table at the edge of the kitchen.

“Sure?”

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend, or boyfriend, whatever.”

Peter lets out a little laugh. “No lead up, just bam, why are you single? Damn.” He turns off the stove and moves the pot of rice to a cool burner. “If you must know, I’m single because it’s hard for me to connect with someone.”

“But you’re so sweet and smart.”

“Thank you, but it’s not just that.” He takes a seat opposite you and leans his head on his chin. “We wolves tend to try to find people who are committed. We don’t like to play games when it comes to relationships. I also have to find someone who understands and accepts me as a werewolf, and that’s not always as easy as it may seem.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so...”

“You like me though right? We connect?”

Peter flushes, cheeks turning scarlet as he clears his throat. “Of course I like you. As a pack member and my friend. It’s not like...I don’t...not like...y’know. Unless you want that then-”

“Peter.” You start and he freezes, eyes panicked behind his glasses. “I meant as a friend and a pack mate.”

“Y-yes. I like you.”

“Okay, good.” You smile, warmth on your own cheeks. “You should probably check the chicken. The timer has been going off for a minute or so.”

“Shit!” Peter jumps up and you laugh as he scrambles to the oven with a pair of mitts over his hands. He saves the chicken and as soon as its out of the oven, Shawn and Raul appear to get dinner. You laugh to yourself as you watch the three guys argue over whether or not they can start dishing up food. It’s always something in this house.

_____________________

Shawn knocks on your open bedroom door and you look up from your phone. It’s after nine in the evening and you’re about to go to bed. It’s not like Shawn to be up much later than this either. He gets so exhausted from going to class and then hockey practice nearly every day, he just passes out when he gets home.

“What's up?” you ask, muting the tv.

“My tv is broken. Well, my remote is broken. I sort of stepped on it this morning in a hurry to leave.”

“Okay?”

Shawn looks over to your muted TV and then back to you. “Could I...watch my show in here?”

“Why not ask Raul or Peter? Or did they already turn you away?”

“Raul told me to shove it and Peter’s door is locked.” He sighs and hangs his head. “I can just catch it next week. I’ll pick up a remote tomorrow.”

“No, come in.” You pull back the corner of your bedspread and he wastes no time crawling into the bed next to you. You decide to take pity on him. You know what it’s like to miss your favorite show for a week and then not know what anyone is talking about on your social media. “What channel?”

“Thirty six. It’s grey’s anatomy. “

“Ah, gotcha.” You change the channel and Shawn scoots closer, propped against your bed head. “If I fall asleep don’t worry about waking me up okay?

“Mmmhmm.” Shawn grabs the remote and turns up the volume as the opening credits for the show starts to play. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, and you owe me.”

He leans over and kisses your temple. “You have my undying love and gratitude.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that get me? What’s the exchange rate on undying love and gratitude?”

“Whatever you want.”

“That seems like a loaded offer for something as simple as letting you watch a TV show.”

Shawn looks away from the tv and you raise your eyebrows. He lowers his voice, talking soft and sincerely. “I’d give you anything. You should know that.”

“Y-yeah. I’ll have to raincheck you on that.” You feel your stomach clench. That was way more loaded then the offer was. The way he’s looking at you...it’s insane. No. You cannot be feeling some kind of way for Shawn. You live together. Its...no. But what if? You bite your lip thinking about a scenario where you do become more than friends with Shawn. You’d let him do just about anything, and he- no. stop. You have to stop. No more.

———–

End Part Five

———-

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed this and reblog to support and encourage myself and fellow writers. Next part coming soon! - A

Custom header per part made by the incredible delicateshawn

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics.*****

[dancinginthesliverglow]

Marooned in the Caribbean

By: @art-in-the-sunlight for @comingupwriting in the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange (and a huge thank you to @jelly-pies for beta reading and editing).

Rating: General Audiences. There’s a few depictions of violence and two characters drown (but they survive). No character deaths.

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Morgan Stark, May Parker, Pepper Potts/Stark, a mention of Happy Hogan

Summary:  Peter celebrates his seventeenth birthday with May, Tony, Morgan and Pepper on Tony's yacht. However, trouble strikes in the shape of a horrible storm which sends Peter and Morgan into the ocean. How will they survive?

Prompt chosen: Peter protecting Morgan with a touch of Everyone Lives!Au domestic life of the ironfam.

Ao3 link  Enjoy :)

“... and Happy Birthday to Petey!” Morgan sings at the top of her lungs before jumping into Peter’s arms, barely missing the candles in front of him. 

“Aww thanks guys!” Peter grins looking around at his friends and family. Tony had invited him and May to his yacht to celebrate Peter’s 17th birthday. Peter turns back to Morgan. “Do you want to help me blow out the candles?” 

“Yea!” Morgan turns to the cake, and blows out all the candles in one attempt. 

“Woah! Are you sure you’re not the one turning 17?” Peter jokes, earning a giggle from Morgan. 

“Alright there kiddos, it’s cake time!” May pulls out a fork, takes a piece of icing and holds it up for Peter to taste. As Peter takes a bite, he hears the shutter of a camera and turns to Pepper with a smile. 

“Aww that’s a great picture.” Pepper smiles back at him kindly. 

“My turn!” Morgan jumps out of Peter’s arms.

“I don’t know about that… Did she eat all her vegetables yesterday?” Tony pretends to think about it, turning to Pepper. 

“Hmm.. I don’t remember. But I suppose if she promised to eat all of them tonight…” Pepper mimics Tony’s expression, hiding a smile.

“I promise! I’ll eat it!”

Everyone laughs. “Alright, Morgana. But only one slice. They’ll be more after dinner, if you want.”

Morgan nods eagerly, and impatiently waits as Pepper and Tony cut and distribute the cake. 

May pulls Peter into her side and presses a kiss on his forehead. “Happy birthday, Peter. I love you.”

Peter leans into her and closes his eyes contentedly as May runs her fingers through his hair. “Love you too, May.” 

Pepper hands Peter a slice of chocolate drip cake. Peter finishes it, leans back and looks around at his family. He had really gotten lucky, all things considered. A few months ago - well, 5 years ago really, an alien named Thanos had come to earth with the infinity stones and turned half the population of everything in the entire universe to dust, him and May included. 

A few months ago, Tony and the rest of the Avengers had put together a desperate attempt using time travel - Peter was still spotty on the details - but long story short, they brought everyone back, and survived. It was a close call for Black Widow and Tony, the former was paralyzed from the waist down from a fall on an alien planet, and Tony had lost his arm.

But all of that was in the past. The important point was everyone was alive, they defeated possibly the toughest villain ever and got their happy ever after. There would always be more villains for the Avengers to defeat and more muggers and thieves for Peter to web up in New York but that was normal. 

Peter snapped out of his train of thought when Tony sat down next to him and slung his nanotech arm around Peter. “What do you think, kiddo? Birthday party up to your standards?”

Peter laughs. “Mr. Stark, we’re on a yacht in the Caribbean ocean! This-this is amazing!”

Tony’s expression seems to soften, into a gentle smile. “Anything for you, kiddo.” 

Peter leans into Tony’s embrace but doesn’t say anything. It’s a comfortable silence. Before the blip, he and Tony had grown close. Peter had never said anything but somewhere between patrolling New York City together, training and fighting, and upgrading their suits and working in the lab together, Peter had stopped thinking of Tony as genius, billionaire, superhero, philanthropist and more along the lines of… father. Dad. 

Based on what he managed to piece together from Tony's behaviour, Pepper, Happy, Rhodey and the other Avengers's comments about Tony during the blip, Tony thought of him as his son too. Just the thought of it filled Peter’s chest with warmth. 

“Daaaaaad! Mom says that we have to go inside!” Morgan runs up to Tony and Peter, and points to the left. A massive… cloud -  if it could even be called that - is rolling in. Peter sees flashes of lightning inside the massive cloud.

“Yea okay. Morgana, help Peter take the chairs inside?” Tony stands up and stretches, before moving to the yacht sails. The gesture seems unconcerned but Peter can see a line of tension in Tony’s expression when he looks at the cloud.

Peter’s spidey senses tingle when he looks back at the cloud, and he gets a dark feeling which sends goosebumps up his arms. “That storm seems pretty big.”

Tony smiles at Peter reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it. I outfitted this ship myself. She has nanotech in her walls, along with FRIDAY. If all else fails, I can call a suit.”

~ ~ ~

An hour later, everything is decidedly not okay. The yacht is swaying side to side in the ten foot waves, each time coming closer and closer to flipping over. Pepper, May and Peter are huddled together on the sofa, while Tony taps angrily at the yacht’s interface. The storm was interfering with FRIDAY’s connection. 

Morgan presses her nose against the door staring outside. Peter supposes that if he could get past the dark feeling from his spidey senses, the dark scene with waves crashing and lightning flashing would’ve made quite the enjoyable scene.

As if on cue, Pepper looks up and spots Morgan. “Morgan! Come here!”

“No! I want to watch the lightning!” 

“Morg-” Pepper’s response is lost as something dark flies and knocks the door open. A large branch slides into the center of the room, quickly followed by gallons of water. Morgan falls and screams in terror. 

The room instantly explodes into chaos. Tony, Peter and Pepper instantly jump up and lunge to grab Morgan. The yacht sways in the opposite direction, and the branch and ocean water slide out, along with Morgan. Tony and Pepper’s fingers scantily miss Morgan by centimetres. Peter jumps up to the ceiling, sticks there for a millionth of a second and then throws himself at Morgan as she slides out the door.  

He catches her - in fact he nearly lands on top of her. He has a moment of relief, where he wraps Morgan in his arms tight. A split second later, he realizes his mistake. He used too much force, and now the momentum, along with the yacht’s slick deck sends them both over the yacht rail into the roaring ocean. 

He hits the water head first and it’s agony. He feels like someone with his strength had punched him in the head. The next sensation is ice. The water is ice cold, and he instantly feels frozen to the core. Dazed, he opens his eyes underwater and realizes that Morgan is no longer in his arms. Morgan isn’t anywhere near him, from what he can tell with his limited vision.

 He frantically kicks until he reaches the surface. He sucks in a breath of fresh air and yells, “MORGAN!” before another wave yanks him back under. Peter’s lungs burn as he swallows ocean water. He frantically kicks upward again, trying to get back to the surface. Peter doesn’t see the same tree branch floating on the surface, right above his head. He smashes into it, head first, and the world goes dark. 

~ ~ ~

Peter wakes up coughing. He rolls onto his side and spits out ocean water and bits of seaweed, before throwing up what was left of his birthday cake. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and slowly sits up.

Something digs into his side. He pats his side, and then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a red, metal swiss knife just slightly bigger than his thumb. He tries to remember where he got it but he comes up blank. Peter sticks it back into his pocket and looks around. 

Peter’s on a sandy beach. The sun is slightly angled in the sky, and isn’t quite scorching hot yet so Peter estimates that it's sometime in the morning. There isn’t a cloud in sight. Waves peacefully lap at his feet.��

Shakily, Peter stands up and turns away from the ocean. He stumbles a few times before righting himself. Several meters in front of him the beach slowly transitions into sandy dirt with a few shrubs, and then into what seems like a thick jungle.

Peter touches his head, and hisses in pain. His fingers come away clean, if not a little sandy. Based on the sharp sting that's now fading and the underlying throbbing, Peter knows he has a head injury. 

What happened?

It comes back to him in pieces. His birthday, The swiss army tinker knife gift in his pocket. The yacht. May. Tony. The cake. The storm. Morgan.

Oh god, Morgan.

Peter swallows and forces tears back. He’s no use to Morgan if he allows his emotions to overcome him. He needs to stay positive. Peter and Morgan had fallen in the ocean at the same spot. Maybe there’s a chance Morgan washed up on the same shore as him?

Peter stumbles across the beach squinting in the sunlight, looking for Morgan’s figure. He tries to stave off his panic. Why did the sun have to be so… intense in the Caribbean? He knows the answer to that, of course. The tilt of the earth in combination with the curvature of the earth causes the sun’s rays to be more concentrated over~

The sight of a figure lying in the sand, close to shore in the distance stops Peter’s train of thought. Could it be?

Peter sprints towards her, and practically falls beside her. Carefully he rolls her over - and yes, it’s Morgan. She’s pale and there’s sand and seaweed covering her face, but it's definitely Morgan. 

Peter shakily holds his hand over her mouth. She’s breathing. Peter sits back on his heels, closes his eyes and sighs in relief. Morgan’s okay. Something in Peter relaxes. Morgan’s going to be okay and he’s okay. All he has to do is send up some type of flare or signal so that Tony can find them. A dark thought passes through Peter’s mind. What if the storm had been too much? What if Tony and Pepper and May-

Through sheer force of will, Peter stops the thought in its tracks. Tony is the strongest superhero, the strongest person he knows (maybe aside from Pepper, May and MJ). Not even Thanos or the Infinity Stones (arguably the strongest weapons in existence) could kill him. Tony definitely survived the storm, which means that May and Pepper survived as well. 

Peter focuses on Morgan. He puts a hand to her head. Her forehead is hot, but not worryingly so. He carefully picks her up and looks around. To his right, he spots a huge tree with large branches hanging over the beach, casting shade over the area. Perfect. 

Peter walks over and gently lies Morgan underneath. He rips off a piece of his shirt, soaks it in water, and gently places it on Morgan’s forehead. She wrinkles her nose and softly huffs, but doesn’t wake up. Peter kisses her head and sits down next to her. 

In the sandy dirt, he makes a plan. His first priority is to find shelter. Peter looks at the tree he and Morgan are taking shelter underneath, and decides that it’s good enough for now. Next on the list is to find water, followed by making a signal for Tony and then finding food. Peter sincerely hopes they won’t have to stick around on the island too long. He has never had to hunt for food before, and he isn’t quite sure what’s poisonous and what’s safe. He regrets not taking MJ up on borrowing her survival guide.

First things first, Peter needs to find water. He goes to stand up, but then looks back at Morgan. She’s especially vulnerable like this, and Peter doesn’t want to leave her alone. He figures carrying her around is an option, although it’s not one that he likes. There’s too much that could go wrong. 

Peter scans the shoreline, looking for inspiration to a solution, when he spots a palm tree several meters away. His eyes follow the trunk. Twenty feet up, Peter spots a few coconuts. He smiles. This should be easy. 

Several minutes later, Peter sits back down next to Morgan, looking slightly worse for wear with a few bug bites and three coconuts. He pulls out the army knife and begins carefully hacking away at the top of the first coconut.  

After what seems like forever, Peter finally cuts through the coconut shell. He carefully pours a bit of coconut water on his palm, and then sniffs it. It has a faint odor, but more importantly, it doesn’t trigger his spidey senses. Peter raises the hole in the coconut to his mouth and takes a sip. The taste is a little weird, but to Peter, it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever had. He’s halfway done drinking the rest of the water when he hears Morgan stirring. 

Carefully, he leans the coconut upright against the other coconuts, and then rushes to Morgan’s side. 

“Hey Morgan! Are you waking up? Morgan?” Peter gently taps Morgan’s shoulders.  

Morgan opens her eyes and squints at him. “Wha - Petey?”

Peter’s face breaks out into a huge grin. “Hey Morgan!” He helps her sit up.

“Where are we? Where’s Mom and Da-” Her raspy voice breaks off into a cough. 

Peter hands her the coconut. “Here, drink.”

She takes the coconut with two hands and drinks. Peter nearly chuckles at the sight. It's adorable. 

“What do you remember?”

Morgan frowns for a moment, before her face clouds and she looks on the edge of crying. 

“Hey- nono! We’re going to be okay! Don’t cry!” 

Morgan’s lip trembles, and Peter pulls her into a fierce hug. “I promise you, Mr. Stark-Dad is out there looking for us. And he’s going to find us as soon as… as we complete our mission.” 

“M-mission?” Morgan still looks scared, but the threat of tears are beginning to retreat.

“Yea! The first step was getting coconut water.”

Morgan makes a face. “Coconut water tastes weird.”

Peter laughs. “It does! But it’s part two of the mission. We have to drink coconut water whenever we get thirsty.”

“Fine… But I’m only doing it so Dad can find us.” Morgan looks oddly determined for a kid. “What else do we have to do?”

“Hmm, let’s see. Find coconuts, drink coconuts…” Peter makes an exaggerated thinking face, and Morgan giggles. “Next is making a signal!”

“A signal?”

“Yea! Mr. St- Dad is already looking all over for us. But he doesn’t know where exactly to look, so we have to tell him!”

“How do we do that?”

“Well, I’m fresh out of flares, what about you? Are you hiding any under… here?” Peter lunges at Morgan and tickles her sides.

“Hey!” Morgan giggles and starts squirming. “Petey stop it!” 

Peter withdraws his arms with an exaggerated thinking face. “No flares then. I guess we’ll have to make a smoke signal. See those pieces of wood?” 

Peter points to the driftwood lying around the beach, presumably dragged in by the storm. “We’re going to use it to build a bonfire, and then cover it in leaves!” 

Morgan claps her hands in delight. “Ooh just like the fire I built with Dad! We wanted to make it as tall as the sky but Mom said no.” Morgan looks disappointed.

Peter laughs and agrees. “Just like that, except the smoke will be as tall as the sky!”

Morgan’s eyes widen in excitement. She jumps to her feet. “I want to start now! Can we build it now, Petey?” 

Peter stands up next to her. “Sure! But you have to promise me that if you feel tired, you’ll come back to this tree and take a break. And if you get thirsty, you’ll tell me so I can open another coconut.”

Morgan nods eagerly. “I promise! Can we go now?”

Over the course of the next few hours, Peter instructs Morgan on how to tell if the driftwood is dry. He shows her how to pile the pieces of wood together, so that they don’t immediately fall over. When the pile gets too tall for her to stack pieces of wood on, they take a break and finish off another coconut, and part of the third. He tells her to use rocks to spell out “SOS” in the sand, while he piles the bigger pieces of driftwood- some the size of Morgan - on their pile, along with some fresh branches he broke to create smoke. 

They finish around midday, and Peter sends Morgan under the tree to rest. In the end, the pile is nearly as tall as Peter. He takes out the army knife and pulls out the two small magnifying glasses. He arranges them so that the sunlight is directly shining through both glasses and onto the wooden pile, and then goes under the tree to wait. 

It doesn’t take long for the wood to catch on fire. They cheer and hug. Peter retrieves his army knife, and they watch in satisfaction as their pile of wood catches on fire, sending black smoke billowing up into the air. 

They settle back down underneath the tree with the last coconut. Just as they finish it off, Morgan spots something in the ocean, near the horizon. As it approaches, the shape becomes more distinguished until Peter can tell it's a ship.

Morgan and Peter run out onto the beach and start waving their hands above their heads, trying to get the ship captain’s attention. Slowly, Peter watches as the ship veers off its course, and begins heading towards them. Morgan cheers and hugs Peter, but Peter doesn’t share the same sentiment. His spidey senses are giving him a dark feeling and sending goosebumps up his arms. 

Peter’s in the middle of trying to convince Morgan to wait beneath the tree when a shot rings out. Driven by instinct, Peter immediately tackles Morgan to the ground. Barely a second later, something hits the ground a few feet away from them. Peter turns back to the ship, and spots a glimmer of a sniper’s scope in the sunlight. 

“Petey!” Morgan cries out in fear, as Peter practically lifts her to her feet.

“Come on Morgan!” Peter’s pulling her off the beach, towards the jungle as fast as he can. “We have to hide!” 

Morgan stumbles after him. Another bullet hits the sand a few feet to their right, and they both flinch.

“Wai- NO!” As they reach the tree, Morgan jerks her hand out of Peter’s. “I don’t want to go in the forest! It’s scary! And Dad… how’s Dad going to find us in there?”

Peter pulls Morgan behind the tree so they’re temporarily hidden. He looks at Morgan. She’s terrified, shaking and there’s a few tears falling down her cheeks. He softens his tone. “Listen, Mr. S-Dad is going to see the bonfire, and then he’ll search every inch of this island, okay? But now we have to go-” Both Peter and Morgan flinch as another shot rings out. “-right now. Okay?”

Morgan nods, and Peter doesn’t waste any time. He picks Morgan up and runs as fast as he can through the jungle, crashing through the undergrowth. 

After what seems like an hour of running, Peter slows down, and then stops when he comes across a moderately small stream. He sets a strangely quiet Morgan down, kneels next to the river and splashes his face with water. To his surprise, it doesn’t smell salty. 

He cups some of the water in his hands and brings it up to his face. When he doesn’t get a warning from his spidey senses, he takes a sip. The water is cool and soothing. 

“Morgan, here.” Peter gently helps Morgan to the edge of the stream. “Cup your hands like this, and then drink.”

Morgan makes a face. “Isn’t the water mucky?”

“Uh, nope! I mean, probably not? But it’s a freshwater stream, and we really need to stay hydrated with this heat…” Peter takes another drink of water, and then looks around. His path of running through the jungle is clearly outlined with trampled plants and vines and branches snapped, and pushed out of the way. He had essentially led whoever was on that ship to their current location. 

“Petey, what are we going to do?” Morgan’s tearful brown doe eyes stare up at him. 

Peter rubs her head and stands up. “We just have to add a few steps to our plan.” He tries to sound confident. 

“What steps?”

“I’m not sure yet.” 

To his left, Peter sees a tall, sturdy looking tree with large branches and fairly thick leaves. To his right, there’s a few old branches with dried leaves falling off. Peter moves towards them, and lifts one up. There’s a large hole, maybe ten feet deep underneath.

Peter smiles. “We’re going to set a trap.”

~ ~ ~

Almost two hours later, four armed men enter the small clearing by the steam. Grunt number one turns to the guy at the back and says, “The trail ends here, sir.”

The boss snarls in anger. “Spread out and find them! We’re not letting those two Stark brats get away! We need the ransom money!”

Grunt numbers one, two and three spread out around the stream, looking for clues. 

After a few moments, grunt two spots a shoe lying on top of a few branches to the right. “Hey bo-” He steps closer to pick up the shoe, but the ground disappears, and he falls down, into a hole. 

At the same time, grunt number three spots a shoe lying on top of a couple vines to the left. He steps closer, and picks up the shoe. All of a sudden, a large rock with vines wrapped around it falls down and the vines jerk up, sending the man flying upwards in the air… in a net made of vines. He drops his gun in the commotion and starts swearing. 

The boss and grunt number one immediately move together so they are back to back and raise their guns. “What the hell…”

A large figure swings from the top of the tall tree that grunt number three is hanging in and crashes into grunt number one. They roll on the ground, and the figure manages to disarm the grunt and loop the vine around him, immobilizing him.

The click of bosses’ gun safety turning off stops the figure in his tracks. The boss has his gun trained on the figure’s forehead. “Don’t move! I’ll shoot!”

The figure stops moving and yells, “Now!”

A bright light is shone directly into the boss’s  eyes. He stumbles back disoriented and raises an arm to shield his eyes. The figure takes the opportunity to disarm the boss and tie him up in vines. 

Peter grabs the boss and drags him to the ten foot hole. He holds the guy by his arm and dangles him over the pit, in such a way that the boss can’t see beneath him. 

“Wait - no please! What-what do you want?”

“Why did you attack us?” 

“You’re Stark’s kid, right? He��s looking all over for you, there's suits flying everywhere. He’s looking in the wrong area though, any experienced sailor can tell you that. We figured we’d grab you guys and make some cash.”

Peter’s face is stone cold. “How many of you came here?”

“Just us four, kid. Now let me go-”

Peter smiles. “Okay.” And lets him fall into the pit. The boss screams, and then presumably falls on top of grunt number two. There’s a lot of muffled cursing. 

Peter looks up to the tall tree. “Morgan! You can climb down now!”

Morgan carefully climbs down and runs to Peter. “Petey! He said Dad’s looking for us!”

“That’s right! Good job with the light!” Peter takes the Swiss army knife from her, guides her around the traps and tied-up grunts and back to the path in the jungle. “We’re going to see if their ship has a radio we can use to call Dad.”

Morgan stops walking and turns to Peter. “But… I don’t want to go aboard the ship. It’s scary.”

Peter kneels down next to her so they’re face to face. “We defeated all of them back there, Morgan. They can’t hurt us anymore.”

“But what if they escape? Or if-if there’s more bad guys on the ship.”

“Then I’ll protect you, Morgan. Always.”

Morgan hesitates. “Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise.” Peter stands back up. “You know… Dad always told me that you loved adventures.”

“I do! Me, Mom and Dad always go on adventures!”

“Yes? Well think of this as another adventure. We’re pirates and that ship on the beach has treasure!”

Morgan stares at Peter, her eyes glinting in delight, before she grabs Peter’s hand and pulls him toward the beach, “Come on Petey! We have treasure to find!”

~ ~ ~

A few hours later as the sun is setting, one very stressed-out Tony Stark steps out of his iron suit on the beach. Peter and Morgan immediately hop out of the ship to meet him. 

“DAAAAAAD!” Morgan runs up to Tony and hugs him. Tony kneels down and catches her and presses a kiss to her forehead. “You’re never going to believe what happened! Me and Petey had the best adventure ever! We drank coconuts and made a bonfire and then we raided the ship-”

Tony pulls back slightly without releasing Morgan from their hug to look at her. “Hold on, what?” Then he spots the black bandana on her head. He tugs at it. “Morgana, what is this?”

“We’re pirates! ARRRRRRRR!”

Tony looks up at Peter in confusion. “What?” Then he spots the chicken leg Peter’s eating.

Peter just smiles and responds, “We’re pirates.”

Tony shakes his head and picks Morgan up with one arm. He steps toward Peter, wraps an arm around him and kisses his forehead. “Mom’s on her way, and May is waiting with Happy in the Quinjet.” Tony pauses for a moment. “I’m just glad you guys are okay.” 

Peter relaxes into the hug, in a way he hasn’t since he arrived on the island. The same feeling of happiness and warmth he felt on the yacht while sitting with Tony is back. “Me too.”

“Hey Morgan,” Peter starts. “Do you want to show Dad your pirate key?” Peter feels Tony tense slightly and he realizes what he just said. Dad. Shit-shit-shit-shit-

“Yea! Look Dad!” Morgan pulls a key attached to a string from around her neck. “Me and Petey found it on the ship-” Morgan is interrupted with the sound of another suit flying by. The trio looks up, and its-

“Mom!” Morgan starts wiggling and Tony puts her back down on the beach, but he still keeps a hand on her shoulder until Pepper lands. Morgan runs up to her, and Pepper catches her and wraps her up in a tight hug. 

Peter steps away from Tony awkwardly. “Sorry about uh, calling you Dad-” 

“Hey, no it’s okay.” Tony gently pulls Peter back to him. “I know I’m not your biological dad, and I wasn’t the one to raise you, but I still think you as my kid. I wasn’t just worried about Morgan, I was worried about you too.”

Peter feels his face heat up. He wraps his arms around Tony and buries his face in the side of Tony’s neck. Tony chuckles, and runs a hand through Peter’s sandy curls. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Dad.” 

[valkyrieofsmut]

UF!Sans Barista drabble

Drabbles

So I was looking around at some UnderFell headcanons (no, don’t worry, I haven’t stopped writing Bucky, Kurt, or any of my other characters!), and found a list of prompts (I swear I saw it on @grumpy-dino, but I can’t find it there now, and I think the original is from @origamiteacup...?) and this one spoke to me. Aaaand, since I had Fell Sans on my mind at the time... you got this.

Prompt-   “You’re the jerk-face customer that keeps on thumbing through their phone while ordering their drink so I exact revenge by spelling your name wrong on your cup and drawing phallic pictures on your coffee” AU. 

Drabble

Sans plopped the finished drink on the pickup station. "next!" He called, trying to adjust his usual near scowl and make his flashing gold fang seem more charming than intimidating. 

It was a bunch of bs if you asked him, but he'd been 'talked to' by his manager enough times about 'looking approachable' that he really had to give it a shot before he got in real trouble. 

Another quick, overly fancy drink later, he was calling for the next customer. 

It was easier to try to look less intimidating this time around, as she was pretty cute, the kind of customer he'd 'accidentally' write his number on the napkin he handed her. 

"an' what can i get started fer you, sweetcheeks?" He asked with a grin. 

"Can I get a grande chai tea latte, three pump, skim milk, four ice cubes, extra hot?" Her eyes never left the phone in her hand. "For Monica, m-o-h-n-i-c-a. Thanks." 

Sans' pleasant expression instantly melted into a disgusted scowl. 

What the fuck had she just ordered? Extra hot- but with ice?! And the sheer rudeness of not even looking at him as she ordered, like she was above him, and whatever stupid clickbait article was more important than him. 

He clenched his sharp teeth together. "can ya run that pas' me again," he asked, this time deciding to memorize her ridiculous order to make it and get her rude ass the hell out of his store. 

She let out a half sigh as she scrolled on her phone. "Grande chai tea latte, three pump, skim milk, four ice cubes, extra hot. It's for Monica, m-o-h-n-i-c-a. Thank you," she repeated, then caught his attention just as he was turning around with, "oh! And a blueberry scone, to go, please." 

Oh, and a scone to go. Please. How very polite of her to say please and thank you, especially after such a ridiculous order. It breathed entitlement. And pissed him off. 

Sans watched her step out of line and sit at a table, still not looking up from her phone as another barista got started with the next customer in line. 

There were a few things he couldn't stand in the world, a few more he'd discovered since the monsters had been freed and made it to the surface, and this little lady may have been adorable to the point of him wondering what she had on under her pressed work clothes, but she was ticking off box after box on the list of things that infuriated him. 

He made her stupid drink, beginning the foam art, but hesitated. He glanced up at her and a mischievous grin spread over his sharp teeth. Fuck worrying about getting fired, he was getting even. He quickly finished the foam art, wrote her name on the cup, tossed a blueberry scone in a bag and set it in the pickup station. 

"monica," he called, watching as she picked them up and returned to her table to set them down, not even touching them, or looking like she was going to actually take them to go. 

He grumbled that he'd have to miss the look on her face, but took solace that he at least knew that he'd done it as he turned back to help the next customer. 

(Y/n) internally sighed again at the stupid requests that were coming in to her message box from her boss. 

'And make sure you don't forget my morning copy of the magazine.' 

'Make sure the guard isn't asleep when you get into the building.'

On and on… And on… 

She looked away from her phone and over to the cup of "coffee" she'd originally been sent out to get. In largish, rounded scrawl, was the name Monika. 

Oh, her boss wouldn't like that. 

"It has an h! There is no k in Monica!" She could imagine her declaring. 

So ridiculous. Especially because her name didn’t actually, legally, have an h in it. But also not worth the twenty minute lecture on how important a name is, and how it's equally important that important names are spelled correctly. 

Biting her lip, (Y/n) decided she'd just ask for another cup to put this one in and write the "correct" spelling with the Sharpie she kept in her purse for this exact reason. She stood and had to turn her head and squint her eyes to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. 

It definitely was. 

(Y/n) stifled her giggle and picked up the cup, heading back to the end of the line, waiting patiently until she got to the front, letting someone in front of her until she got to the same barista that had made the drink. 

His fangy smile looked a bit sinister and his red pupiled eye sockets turned a bit challenging. 

"somethin' wrong wit yer drink, sweetcheeks?" He asked, his low, rough voice smug. 

And sending shivers down her spine. 

"Oh, not at all," she told him, taking in the way his smile slipped. "In fact, I'd like to order it again. However, I think my boss would flip the hell out if she saw a dick in her drink. She'd also freak out if she saw her name spelled wrong."

Sans lifted a brow ridge at her. "boss, huh?" 

She nodded, the small smile still quirking her lips. "Yep. So, I need a," she pulled her phone out and centered the message again, staring at it as she recited, "Grande, chai tea latte, three pump, skim milk, four ice cubes, extra hot. And please, for the love of all that is science, spell Monica with an h so I don't have to hear about it." 

So. She'd had to read him the order, that's why she didn't look up from her phone.

Sans' grin tilted back up flirtatiously. "sorry, sweetheart, i can't remake a drink fer ya if nothin's wrong wit' it, an' ya said yerself nothin' was wrong wit' it."

Ignoring all the impatient people behind her, (Y/n) bit the inside of her lip to hold the smile back as she looked down to adjust the way the foam art was facing before she lifted it and looked up to him, sticking her tongue out and dragging it along the foam to disrupt the art. 

Sans felt his pants and chest get tighter as his smile faltered again. 

"Mm, seems my drink is unsanitary… Remake it for me?" 

Sans ran the tip of his tongue over the edge of his pointed teeth. 

She was turning out to be quite the enticing human. 

"sure thing, sweetness. gotta take that one back, though," he gestured. 

"Please," she handed it to him quickly, making a 'grossed out' face at it. 

When the drink was finished, Sans dropped it off with a napkin that just happened to have a little extra for her, calling, "sweetness." He gave her a grin as she came to pick it up.

"Hey, you missed something," she called to him, holding up a napkin. 

Sans gave her another grin, "nah, didn't forget it." He wanted to give her his number, wanted to talk to her more. 

She flashed the napkin to show her number. "Ya did." She sent a grin his way and turned, heading out before her boss could yell at her more via text message. 

Sans hurried over to get the napkin, picking it up and seeing her phone number written over "Sweetness". 

"Sans, get back to work, come on, man," one of the other baristas called. 

Sans ignored him and let the napkin fall open. His grin stretched wider and a hearty laugh jumped from his mouth. 

Under her number and "Sweetness" was, (Y/n) followed by something that could be some of that fancy curly line stuff he'd seen, except that if you held it back and looked at the whole picture, you could see that it was shaped like a penis. 

He hadn't even had a real conversation with her, but he couldn't see how she could get any more perfect. 

He could feel his soul thumping against his ribs, his grin looking maybe a bit goofy as his cheeks heated with a slightly red glow. "i think 'm in love," he chuckled to himself. 

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #306

i’m v talkative today so pardon my jabbering below.

What is the strangest type of candy you have eaten? I think I've had one of those lollipops with a bug in it before as a kid? I don't remember. What would be your most ideal profession? A freelance photographer. But I'm honestly starting to lose hope. Have you tried those coloring books for adults? Yeah; it's funny you mention 'em, 'cuz a family friend got me one for my birthday earlier this month. What is a topic you definitely don't want to talk about with anyone? I don't like talking about my sexual history, doesn't matter who you are. It's just uncomfortable. What was your first gaming console? An Atari. Is there something you're eagerly waiting for? What is it? *SLAMS FISTS ON TABLE* MAY NEEDS TO FUCKIN' HURRY. My tattoo appointment is set then. :''') Do you/have you ever belonged to an organization? If so, which one? I was a Girl Scout when I was young. What is something you're very passionate about? Nature conservation, gay rights (equal rights in general, really), the pro-choice movement, and then there are less "important" things like certain hobbies interests and such. I'm sure there are more big ones that are just slipping my mind right now, considering I feel passionately for a shitload of stuff. What are you studying or what was the last thing you studied? I majored in Art & Design with a focus on Photography in college. But guess who dropped out. What was the last present you gave someone? I don't know... I mention enough that I don't have a source of income where I can really buy anything. I think the last thing I did was a Christmas gift for Mom a year or two back of a drawing I did of our late dog Cali, whom she absolutely adored. Do you enjoy plays? If so, what was the latest one you saw? Not really, no. What was the last thing you achieved? PHP has helped me focus on little victories, so prepare for an underwhelming answer haha, but it's something. I Facebook messaged an old friend I really wanted to catch up with, and everyone in group cheered for me. :') It was really heartwarming. What a shocker that this program is really helping me once again. What is something you would like to achieve at some point in your life? I would love love love to take at least one "famous" or award-winning photograph. It'd be such amazing validation that I'm talented at something I love so much. What is one philosophy you have regarding life/living/purpose? That's... difficult to answer seeing as I'm trying desperately to find my purpose. I do try to live by this old quote a therapist said once: "Deal with life, or life deals with you." I think it holds an incredible amount of depth and meaning in such a short phrase. How would you design the inside of your own home? I don't know the details of it, really, besides that shit is gonna look like a Halloween house year-round. I can imagine wanting black furniture, too, and having loooots of decor expressive of what I love and find comfort in. Gotta make a house feel like a home just for me. What is a band you remember liking from your childhood? Backstreet Boys, duh. Do you ever get mad at people for not having the same opinion as you (i.e. abortion being wrong/right, meat-eating being wrong/right)? Two things: it depends on the topic, and "get mad" is the wrong term for what I feel. It's more disgust; ex., I'm repulsed by anti-gay rights people and want absolutely nothing to do with 'em, but I'm not like, mad at them. Do you edit any of your pictures? In what ways? Oh yeah, and it definitely depends on the raw photograph. I edit depending on the mood it emanates; like if you've seen my roadkill photography versus nature shots, there is an extremely distinct difference in editing style and vibe. I'd say in general though, I tend to like to brighten my photographs and add more vibrance. If you like to take pictures, what is your motivation? God, I could write an essay on this. I just love and am so thankful for the fact we can literally freeze time forever with the click of a button and look back on fantastic sights, beautiful moments, memories... It's just magical to me, and I adore contributing to that art. Would you ever consider living anywhere cold? Well yeah, that's my preference, actually. What is your absolute favorite food? The spicy shrimp fritas from Olive Garden, jfc. Would you ever wear snake-skin pants, or other animal clothing? Fuck to the absolute hell no. What foreign country would you like to go to for a shopping spree? Idk, considering I'm not well-versed in the artistic creations of other countries. Perhaps India? Japan? I dunno. If you met your favorite musician, what would you ask him/her? I'm asking for his fucking autograph and a hug while I smile my face in two AND cry lmao. What do you spend most of your day thinking about? I ain't gonna bullshit nobody, my PTSD. In some way or another, he's lurking in that head of mine through memories, flashbacks, wonders of what could have gone differently... but thank God it's no longer in the forefront of my mind after my first PHP. I've come very, very far, but especially when trying to blank out my mind to fall asleep, parts of PTSD strangle my brain until I'm just finally out. I really hope that changes someday. Where is a busy place you would like to go to? Yikes, nowhere, really. I like to avoid busy locations. Do you think video games cause people to become violent? Absolutely not. You are responsible for the decisions you make; music, games, movies, etc. have no deciding voice in stupid shit you do, and it's bullshit that people blame art and entertainment for such things. Vocabulary: What was the last word you learned? I'm unsure. Have you or could you build your own site? Absolutely not from scratch. The closest I've gotten to that is my photography website, but it was through the assistance of Wix. What's the best thing you can cook yourself? Scrambled eggs, haha. I do make some bomb eggs at least. Are there a lot of graffiti around your neighborhood? No. Do you have a hobby that forces you out of the house? If so, what is it? Nature photography. Would you stop eating meat, if you had to raise and slaughter it yourself? Absolutely. God, I want to go vegetarian again... Besides English, what other languages can you speak? I can speak a very little bit of German. Took four semesters of it in high school and became very good at it, but lack of practice has pretty much ruined that. Besides English, what other languages can you read? I can read German well; as in, I can pronounce most words I see, but that doesn't mean I understand what is written. Do you think you could make it as a chef? Gordon Ramsey would deadass kick me off his show on day one, lmao. What's your favorite kind of tea? It marvels me JUST how many tea and coffee questions are in surveys. Anyway, I don't like tea. I am an embarrassment to NC culture. What thing/person/happening has made you the happiest you've been? lask;dfjal;wekrjwe What's the most freeing thing you've ever done? Stealing my happiness back from someone who had no right to hold it all in its entirety. That shit's mine. Do you think today's kids are really impatient? Most, probably, but in some ways I can understand it - at least, in the sense that with the assistance of modern technology and advancements in satiating our wants so quickly, kids just expect it. I definitely believe that patience is something to try to be deeply instilled in everyone, though. I don't have an ounce of it (in most situations) and wish I did. Have you ever tasted birch sap? No. How about the young buds/shoots of spruce trees? No. Which edible flowers have you tasted? One of my favorite Southern experiences is finding a bunch of honeysuckles and tasting the honey (is it technically even honey??). Tastes amazing. My family's hairdresser lives down a beautiful path that sprouts a massive amount of them, and as kids, my sisters and her two boys would go tasting them while our parents talked for so long, or if we were waiting our turn. Good memories. What has been your worst restaurant experience? I'm not sure, really. What's the most immature, adolescent thing that still makes you laugh? "Inappropriate humor type jokes." <<<< They can get me sometimes, too. Have you ever had a life-threatening condition? If so, what was it? No, thankfully. Have you ever had a custom print done on a shirt? If so, what was it? I don't believe so, no. Besides making a tye-dye one in HS with our school colors. Wasn't my idea and never wore it, haha. Do you ever read other people's survey answers? It depends on the person. If it's a friend, absolutely, because I love learning usually obscure things about them I wouldn't have known otherwise. If it's a user I don't know from wherever I got the survey, sometimes, depending on how short the answer is and my eyes kinda just scroll over it. Do you like daytime or night time better? Why? Daytime, especially mornings. I'm generally happier when there's light around. What's your highest level of education so far? Some college. Describe your ordinary day: My average day is embarrassingly uneventful. It's sitting on the laptop doing shit on various sites, none of which are actually important, and playing WoW, which is also without true substance, save for social interactions with my friends on there. I spray Venus' terrarium everyday multiple times as well to keep the humidity up, and obviously eat and handle that kinda bodily needs stuff. Would you ever have a UV tattoo? Ugh, that'd be so dope. I've seen some awesome ones, but idk if I'd get one, considering when am I actually going to be under UV light?? Like I wanna be able to see my tat. What is the brand and color name of your favorite lipstick? I have one black lipstick, but it comes right off so I don't even like it. I only ever put it on to take pictures. What do you like on your tortilla? Just ham and cheese. How about inside your pita bread? I've never had pita bread, actually. What do you like in your burger? It depends on where I'm getting the burger. My basic is cheese, ketchup, mustard, a bit of mayo, pickles, and a light sprinkle of diced onion, but sometimes I add bacon and take away the onions. How about on your pizza? I have three I tend to pick from: pepperoni, jalapeno, or meat lovers. Do you work better alone or in a group? Alone, definitely. Which body part would you not mind losing? I'ma be extremely honest, with just how horribly weak my legs are, I could live without them, I guess. Not saying I want to by any means, it's just exhausting using them. Ideally, I'd take away something minor, like a finger or something. What common saying people use is absolute BS to you? “'Everything happens for a reason.'” <<<< Fuckin' colossal "same." I won't rag on people who believe it, especially if it gives you courage to keep moving forward, but I don't believe it in the slightest. If it were so, I'd like to talk to whoever is in control of those "reasons," please. What is the most interesting thing you’ve read or seen this week? I had no idea elephants were pregnant for two years, like holy shit, can you imagine. It was in an article I saw on Facebook about a mother and daughter elephant who are both expecting and doing well. Wonderful to hear. What’s the most useless talent you have? Ha, I'm a master in the arts of catastrophizing and jumping to conclusions involving people hating me in one way or another. What’s something everyone looks stupid doing? I'm one of those people who hate dabbing done by anybody, like you look like you're just smelling your armpit. Which kids’ movie scarred you for life? I wouldn't say "scarred me for life" by any means, but when I was little, I was terrified of the Wicked Witch from The Wizard of Oz and even had nightmares about her. It sucked because my little sister was obsessed with that movie, haha. In one sentence, how would you sum up the Internet? A source of incredible knowledge but also hate and misinformation. What would be the most ridiculous thing for the government to make illegal? I literally dread the idea of Roe vs. Wade being reversed. Banning abortion would kill so many people with operational uteruses and cause absolute pandemonium. How many friends do you have on social media and how many of them do you know for real? On Facebook, I have 124 friends, and I'd say I know most of them "in real life." However, having been on the Internet since I was so young and befriending loads of incredible people, a good chunk are "online friends." Hell, I'm more interested in their lives than most "real" ones. Long-distance friendships are so valid. What fact amazes you every time you think of it? Lots of things, generally regarding the stupidity of humanity. What’s the most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done? Probably going to the beach w/ my old friend Colleen. We had zero plans of doing it, but she just called me one morning and asked if I wanted to go, and off we went. It was a fun day. What has taken up too much of your life? I'ma be real, WoW. I don't think I'm addicted to it like I once was seeing as I go through spans where I barely want to play it at all and don't, so I truly am capable of not playing it, but rather it's just the most entertaining way to kill time in my life. I just don't like how much time I've invested into a game over six or seven years regardless. Where do you not mind waiting? Uh, nowhere lmao. Is there an app you hate to use, but still use every day? No; why would I use it if that was the case? Who is the funniest person you know? My friend Girt is fucking hysterical. What three words describe you best? Complex, passionate, and creative. What makes you think you’re smart? Lol who says I think I'm smart? Who inspires you? Korean Jesus. Okay on a serious note, not just him, of course, but he's #1 in an entire universe of ways. Do you aspire to be like somebody else? If so, who? No; I want to be my own authentic self. How did you meet your best friend? YouTube, back when it had more social aspects. Which one of your accomplishments are you the most proud of? I want to say my recovery, but like... I wonder a lot if it's "enough" to be proud of with how scarred I still am? I still struggle with a lot and feel like I could be so much better by now if I tried harder. If I'm completely honest with myself, I think it's finishing high school in the top percentile of my graduating class. There was a ceremony for the handful of us and all, and I cherish my plaque probably too much. Reminds me of a time when I knew what the fuck I was doing. What's the strangest thing you ever did as a child? Thinking I had "animal powers" where I could invoke the traits of certain animals at will, like what the actual fuck, Brittany. What did your mother teach you? Christ, a lot. Dad didn't do a lot of the raising, honestly, so much of my core values and whatnot were instilled by my mother. She taught me to care for and be nice to others, respect myself, try my best in everything, and most importantly that she is always there for me and my sisters no matter what and can tell her absolutely anything. She was very serious about us going to college and saving sex for marriage when we were younger, but she diverged from those ideas as absolutely necessary with experience. I'm extremely lucky with who I call my mom, overall. What did your father teach you? Eek... Read above. Not a lot as a kid (save for riding a bike and playing softball); most he's taught me has come following reuniting with him after my parents' divorce. I remember we went to lunch once and talked about my breakup, and he talked to me about sometimes, you just have to let people go in order to be happy, like with him and Mom. He's very serious now about ensuring us girls know that he is always there for us and will help us in any way he's capable. What makes you feel powerful? "Powerful" isn't something I really feel, if I'm being real. What are you ready to let go? It would be inexplicably fantastic if I could let every speck of Jason go in both my head and heart. What is your most bizarre deal-breaker? I don't really find any of my expectations and limits as "bizarre?" They're all valid to me. Well wait, idk if you'd find it strange that I absofuckinglutely would not date someone who hunts, but it's not to me. That's a difference in a very serious value to me. Would you rather be hated or forgotten? Hated. God, I don't want to leave this earth having given just nothing. I can live with some people hating me for whatever reason. What’s the biggest personal change you’ve made? Accepting my bisexuality, probably. That's something that I consider pretty big for two reasons: 1.) I could end up with a woman forever, and especially 2.) I was originally homophobic. I still have difficulty in fathoming how I ever was. What are some of your short-term goals? PHP is finally starting to make me build these again. I want to get better at selfcare, draw, write, and read more, I want to drink a lot more water, exercise way more... Lots of things, really. What is the weirdest thing about you? Uh. I dunno. Probably that I RP meerkats, which is a very obscure RP niche for sure.

[deathsmallcaps]

July’s Story

My fifteenth Win A Commission contest is Crystal the Wise! If you would like to see my version, and see all my drawings together, please

There once was a gentleman who had quite a daughter. Whatever her teachers gave her to learn, she gobbled up. Foreign languages, geography, so—all were unspeakably easy for her. And mathematics! She could add up columns of figures far better than her father’s accountants could. Before long, she could have taken their place.

When Crystal (for so she was called) grew a bit older, the neighboring children came over to ask her to explain the problems their tutors had set. Soon everyone came to learn from her. In time, word of this reached the king. He wrote to the young woman, saying, “My son is nearly grown, but my daughter has trouble with her lessons, and needs a teacher who could make her understand. Will you come and stay with us for a few months?”

Crystal was delighted to do so. When she arrived at the palace, the king, queen, and princess greeted her warmly. The prince, however, sulked like a little child. He had offered to tutor the princess himself, but the king had said, “You’re too impatient. I have found someone else who can do a better job than you can.”

Over the next few weeks, the prince sat in the back of the classroom and contradicted Crystal whenever she spoke. His interruptions grew more and more frequent. Still, Crystal continued to teach, because she liked the little princess and wanted her to do well. Tired of being ignored, the prince stood up one day and said, “This isn’t how I learned it. Everything you’re teaching my sister is wrong.” Crystal walked right up and slapped him! After that, the prince kept away from her lessons.

When the time came for Crystal to leave, the prince went to his parents.

“I’m grateful for all Crystal taught me, and after all, she’s the cleverest woman in the kingdom. May I have your permission to marry her?” The king and queen eagerly agreed, and Crystal also accepted, figuring it was a good marriage. She hadn’t realized she was worth more. 

After the wedding, the prince took his bride to a secluded cottage deep in the forest. As she was changing into her nightclothes, he came in and said, “Well, Crystal, are you ready to apologize for slapping me?”

“Apologize? I was right to slap you! And I’ll do it again if you keep on about it.” Crystal didn’t enjoy violence but knew when to defend herself.

“Is that so?” the prince snarled. He and a couple servants dragged her down to the cellar, where he thrust her through a trapdoor, into a little cell under the floorboards. There was a bed and a table and almost nothing else. In the morning, he asked her if she’d changed her mind, but she said no. Every day he came down and demanded she repent. Every day she refused, despite knowing her chances of survival were diminishing rapidly in such a dangerous situation. She had tried to run away when he first grabbed her, but even her considerable talents were no match against ten armed men. 

Crystal grew weary of her imprisonment, but there was no way she would apologize. One day, she noticed a corner of her cell was blowing air, due to a spider’s web flying into her face. She blessed the spider for alerting her, tand investigated the hole. There, she discovered a rushing underground stream. She dug a hole big enough to squeeze through, and managed to swim all the way to her father’s house.

Her father was appalled to find out how she’d been treated. “I’ll see the king immediately.”

“Oh, no, don’t,” Crystal said. “Just dig a tunnel into my cell and bring me some decent food, and of course, my books. The prince only lowers bread and water.” And Crystal swam back to her cell with the prince none the wiser.

At last, he grew tired of her refusals and called down, “I’m going to Paris to enjoy myself. I’ll have a servant feed you while I’m having fun.”

“Go ahead,” she called back cheerfully. 

As soon as the prince had left, Crystal bribed the servant to stop lowering bread and water, telling him to lie to the prince should he come back. She ran to her father and, with plenty of money from him, hurried to Paris, formulating a brilliant plan to ruin him forever with her father. There she disguised herself as a girl named ‘Marie’ and bought a house next to her husband’s. 

She then forged a letter to the prince’s parents, explaining that ’Crystal’ had died en route to Paris, and that he was going to mourn for a while. Somewhere in the back of her head, she knew this was a dangerous course of action, and very unhealthy emotionally. But she was SO angry.

Then, each day, she drove out in her carriage behind four white horses. Her gown was thick with embroidery, and her fan was trimmed with delicate lace, and she adopted a beautiful Parisian accent. When the prince saw her, he was dazzled by her beauty, though he didn’t recognize her in Parisian fashions. He began courting her, and wedded ‘Marie’ inside a month, never mentioning, of course, that he had another wife back home. Nor did he notice her glittering intellect, and thought her a dumb but lovely creature.  Nine months later, she gave birth to twins, a girl and a boy. Since Crystal had learned a bit, she made the prince sign a contract, vowing the children would be his heirs. He signed it, thinking it would be invalid, for she had drawn it up herself and he thought her stupid. He was mistaken. 

Three years passed. Then the prince told her he had been summoned home, but didn’t tell her it was for a new marriage. He didn’t know that this third bride had been set up by Crystal’s father. Feeling bored with his (supposedly) new and beautiful wife, he agreed to return home and decided to leave Crystal and his children behind. 

Returning home, the prince hurried to the cottage but discovered the cell empty. The servant told him Crystal had died of loneliness, so the prince thought he was in the clear. 

His family got him all set up for the wedding, disallowing him to meet his match, claiming superstition. When the day finally came, he said the vows, and everyone cheered. He raised her veil, and saw Crystal grinning triumphantly back at him. His children toddled out from the audience, and he knew he was in trouble.

Stunned to see his triply-wed wife, the prince knelt down before the court and begged her forgiveness. But it turned out, she didn’t have to forgive him. 

Her father produced the contract proclaiming the children as the prince’s heirs and a written account of what had passed by Crystal verified by many sources, including the servant who was supposed to feed her. Disgusted by their son, the King and Queen banished him and stripped him of his personal land, money and title, immediately giving them to Crystal. She and her family promptly lived happily ever after. 

My Notes

Now, you may not have noticed, but this story? Extremely messed up. I mean, this woman is degraded and goes on the biggest revenge plot I’ve ever seen a female character do in a fairy tale. She even has revenge babies! They are going to have a pretty messed up childhood. 

Why did I choose Crystal the Wise? Well, for three reasons. 

One, I heard it on, you guessed it, the Myths and Legends podcast. I really liked his rendition, but I did NOT want to type the whole thing out (I did that with a different story of his that I’m going to give to a different little cousin). I found this version online. And this all happens in the story! Crystal is just that machiavellian, and I applaud her! I kind of wish she didn’t feel like she had to continue having relations with her abuser, or to change herself so completely, but she really hit him with the ol’ one-two, and I like it when people can dole out justice like that. Hopefully she had someone to talk to afterwards? Also its pretty problematic the King and Queen did not realize how much of a little creep they raised to be their heir. 

Two, I realized I hadn’t done a story from South America yet! I realize its definitely a more modern story, with less ties to the Native people of Chile (btw the royal family of Chile isn’t a real thing), but I really liked it. 

Three, I was looking up the Aymara people of Chile for unrelated reasons when I realized I would love to draw the women! I don’t know what the textile industry over there is like, but it must be pretty entrenched in the culture, because they have so many pretty patterns and colors in their everyday wear! Combined with the bowler hats (legend has it that a shipment of bowler hats made it to Chile just when they went out of style, so the haberdashers marketed them to women!) with all the lovely flowers added on, I was excited! So I wanted to draw an Aymara girl. 

Now that I’ve explained that, I’d like to explain my drawings. They weren’t as full of background as some of my other drawings, but trust me, I put a lot of effort into them! I had a kabillion reference pictures.

The title is not based off of any movie logo I’ve seen, for once. Rather, it is based a bit off of the ACDC logo. I was working one day, when someone with that logo on his shirt came up to the register. I was inspired! So I quickly sketched out a sort of geometric, sort of lightning-bolt-esque title in between customers. And I liked it!

The second picture, the slap, was a difficult one for me. It combined an unusual perspective, unusual clothing, and unusual face shapes for me. As you’ve seen with my art, and maybe with your own art, it is often very easy to have a character face you and not interact with another object or person, You can’t really have that happen with a slap. 

This story is supposed to be set in the early 1700s, when Paris was very in vogue. But as I really wanted to draw a modern Aymara woman, I did play little fast and loose with the fashion. There isn’t too many reference pictures for old Chilean fashion. I had to reach a little. Which led me to using a more European style of dress for the Prince. And this is the only time you get to see *Crystal dress in a way that is normal and comfortable to her. This is an important ‘theme’ of the story - sorry to go all English class on you!

*Just remembered that Crystal is not a very Spanish-sounding name. I’ve never found the story outside, even when I try to look it up in Spanish, so some part of me is worried that someone made it up and pretended it was Chilean. Please let me know if you find anything. 

Their faces are different than what I’ve drawn before. As you can see on the prince’s face, he has serious acne. I’m not trying to demonize acne, but I decided that he’s one of those boys who hates getting clean and despite literally everyone telling him so, will not stop touching his face and causing acne. I went through a stubborn phase like that. But I also wanted to show how young and already so privileged the guy is. I really wanted to make him annoying. Crystal also has a bit of acne, to show her youth, but what really makes her face different than my usual fare is the fact she has a mole, never gets to smile of joy in my illustrations, and she is plump. I have a tendency to draw skinny characters I’m trying to get rid of as an artist -  I want to be able to draw everyone, anyone. And i think she turned out quite pretty!

Third picture, the cave, was again sort of a challenge. I wasn’t sure at the beginning how to place Crystal so you could sort of see the hole that leads into her room, while also showing her climbing down and the underground waterways she is going to enter. And as you’ve might’ve seen before, when I draw caves and rocks, all I think of is really ‘geometry’ but in the way the guy in this meme thinks of aliens (look up history channel aliens if you don’t know).

But I guess I did it? As for Crystal, you can tell she’s uncomfortable, she’s skinnier in an unhealthy way and colder than before, her hair isn’t in the customary braids but in a crappy bun to keep it off her face, and her dress is in tatters. Not a happy camper, and understandably so.

Last picture, Crystal’s wedding dress, was sort of hard in a different way, again! I decided early on I wanted to base her dress off of Elizabeth’s wedding dress from Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest. But I had to draw that while Crystal was holding her two kids on her hips, and smirking. I think I managed it, though. I think it’s interesting to note that the look epitomizes the kind of person she had to emulate while tricking the prince; a meek, european-mimicking little wifey. Totally different than the person she really is, the person she is illustrated to be in the first picture. 

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed that! Another problematic story will be the one for next month! Thanks for reading!

@boopboopboopbadoop​

[dontshootmespence]

An Artist In His Own Mind

Summary: Every artist is a genius in his own mind.

Words: 2,900

Warnings: Talk of murder.

A/N: My next entry for @cmbingo​ 2020! This fulfills my unsub square. 

“Painting is self-discovery. Every good artist paints what he is.” – Jackson Pollock

He needed silence to work.

Finally, the pleas that rang through the air subsided, leaving him with peace and quiet to think. Moving quickly was essential - before the bodies became too stiff to work with. They were the perfect specimens for his first piece.

After propping her up onto the chair with her palms upward, he wiped the blood off her neck: a clean canvas. White cloth draped around her neck and body, though it took longer than he expected to get the material to sit just right. Thankfully, he at least partly situated the boy into the position he needed. If he hadn’t there would’ve been much more damage getting him situated into the woman’s arms. It left him more time to clean the boy off and ensure a perfect finished work of art.

They lived alone and had little contact with others in the neighborhood. No one would come looking for a while. Due to the boy’s slightly contorted position it took a while to get his clothes off, but once they’d been removed, he draped the excess cloth hanging from the woman’s body over his lap.

Stepping back, he admired his work. Like any good artist, he could see areas he’d like to improve, but unfortunately he didn’t have all the time in the world. There was just one final touch. He grabbed a screwdriver from the woman’s basement and pried open the can of paint – SW 7588, Show Stopper. With every jostle of the screwdriver against the lid of the paint can, he grew more and more angry, impatience boiling inside him, the desire to perfect his piece growing exponentially.

Stirring the paint ensured it was smooth and ready for the canvas. The crimson stared back at him. Carefully, he lifted the can above his work, steadily pouring the medium out until it was gone.

With a satisfied sigh, he stepped back and pulled out the Polaroid, capturing his first completed work.

                                                             ---

Morgan walked into the bullpen with sand still scratching at the corners of his eyes. Every heartbeat said coffee. Apparently, Spencer already beat him there. “Late night, kid?” He laughed. He was pouring so much sugar into his coffee, he would swear a little mountain peak was going to breakthrough the top of the steaming liquid.

Grumbling, Spencer nodded. “So late.”

“Alright, Pretty Boy.”

Spencer smirked, glancing toward Morgan quickly before looking away. God, he wanted to go home.

“Woah, woah,” he said, stepping in front of the nearly comatose doctor. “That kinda late night?”

Spencer began walking back toward his desk, whispering, “I’ll never tell.”

“You haven’t dated anyone since Y/N,” Morgan stated, catching up to his evasive friend. “I always thought it was a mistake breaking up with her. You back together?”

“I’ll never tell,” he repeated on a laugh.

Before they could return to their desks and Morgan could pester Spencer just a little bit more, Hotch stepped out of his office and began marching toward the round table room. “Guys, we’ve got a case.”

“It didn’t come through me?” JJ mentioned.

Hotch shook his head. “No, it came directly to me. A friend from New York got out of the city and began working in Cazenovia upstate. He’s got a weird one.”

“How weird?” Rossi asked.

“Even we’ve never seen anything like it.”

Emily sighed heavily. “When does it end?”

It doesn’t, she thought.

                                                             ---

“Where’s Garcia?” Hotch asked.

Emily motioned toward the elevator. “She’s just on her way up. I’ll catch her up once we’re all briefed.”

Nodding, Hotch clicked the button on the remote. “In Cazenovia, there have been three people murdered via a single stab wound to the neck.”

“And they’re connected?” Morgan queried. “How do we know?”

When Hotch clicked the remote, their mouths collectively dropped, eyes alight with a confusion that was hard to come by given their line of work.

“What the hell?” Emily leaned forward in her chair trying to make some sense of the pictures in front of them. “They’ve been posed.”

“And have paint splattered on them.”

“Even though the victims aren’t connected in any way that the local PD can find, they were all killed with a knife. The unique signature is why we were called in.” Hotch passed copies of the files out to each member of the team. “With a signature unique as this and these kills only a week apart, there’s no doubt this unsub is going to strike again soon. We’ll go over victimology on the plane. Wheels up in 30.”

                                                               ---

Despite the sun shining, the jet always felt solemn, like it knew it was a harbinger of bad things to come. “Alright, so what do we know about the victims?” Hotch asked Garcia, her bright and shining face the only light they’d see for at least the next few days.

“The first victims were a mother and son, Linda and Brian Tucker, 40 and 15 years old, found a week ago like this.” She brought up the pictures from the crime scene and flinched. No matter how many crime scenes she saw, she’d never get used to it. “The second victim, found yesterday, was 33-year old Matthew Feldman.”

He was posed in a chair and redressed in a green pea coat and long black pants that were slightly too baggy for his slight frame. His face was bandaged, a white covering wrapped around his ears and tied on the top of his head. And he was doused in orange paint. Garcia’s fingers glided across the keyboard like a seagull over the waves. “I’m checking everything they could’ve possibly had in common. Churches, schools, work places, dry cleaners, nothing. These three aren’t connected. At least as far as I can see.”

“Alright, let’s move away from victimology for the time being,” Hotch said. “What do the crime scene photos tell us about the killer?”

Emily noted the cleanliness of the bodies apart from the paint. “With stab wounds to the neck, they should be drenched in blood, but they aren’t. The area around them is, but they aren’t, like they were wiped off.”

“So they’re clean,” Rossi replied, “But the paint is messy. It could’ve been painted on for more control, but it seems like it was poured.”

Spencer stared at the screen, eyes scanning over the poses on display. “The bodies are intricately posed and cleaned. They’re what matter to him. The bodies are the compulsion, the paint is the signature.”

“What are you thinking, Reid?” Morgan asked.

“They’re works of art,” he said. “See the mother and son? She’s sitting with the boy in her lap, her hands palm up. What does that remind you of?”

An art lover himself, Rossi silently chastised himself for not realizing what the crime scene resembled sooner. “The Pieta. The sculpture of Mary cradling Jesus after his crucifixion…and the man…it’s Van Gogh’s self-portrait after returning from the hospital after having cut off his ear.”

“So this guy thinks himself an artist and is picking victims at random,” Morgan grumbled. “Lovely. We need to get to Cazenovia yesterday.”

                                                             ---

After checking in with Sheriff Meyer, who’d called Hotch in first place, Spencer and Rossi headed to the latest crime scene, leaving JJ, Hotch, Emily and Morgan to liaise with the authorities and try and nail down a profile. “Alright, an artist like this has to be connected to the world in some way,” Morgan insisted. “Maybe he’s an art student, a local artist, something.”

Emily shook her head. “It’s gotta be more than that. If he was successful in any way, wouldn’t the ‘art’ in question be completely perfect? Pristine? The paint is messy. Why?”

“Maybe a rejected artist then,” he replied. “Someone who got denied viewership in a gallery or turned away from a prestigious art school. Color could be part of why he was turned down, so when it comes to the paint he’s disorganized.”

Before anyone could alert Garcia, the sheriff walked in, forlorn. “We’ve got another one.”

                                                             ---

“What’s this one supposed to be?” Emily asked.

Spencer crouched near the man’s body, his torso wrapped in a similar pea coat to the last victim and a captain’s hat, yellowed with age – all topped with yellow paint. “Portrait of Dr. Gachet. Another Van Gogh piece. It seems a pattern is forming. Both pieces are very melancholic. Could be a reflection of our unsub.”

Morgan reached his gloved hand into the man’s pocket. “46 year old Andrew Warner. Lemme call Garcia.”

“You’ve reached the all-knowing and all-seeing Oracle of Quantico, how may I assist thee?”

“What can you give me on an Andrew Warner?”

“Andrew Warner, 1109 Nighthawk Lane, Syracuse, NY. He’s the operator of a local art gallery in Auburn called Light’s Meaning…sounds a little pretentious if you ask me.”

“Thanks, baby girl,” Morgan said softly. “I’ll call you if I need anything.”

“I’m waiting on it, sugar.” 

“Seems like our unsub is starting to get a little closer to his true targets. How much you wanna bet our guy was rejected by Andrew Warner?”

“Less than a day in between kills,” Emily interjected. “He’s devolving fast. We need to give the profile.”

                                                             ---

As the officers piled into the station’s bullpen, the team gathered before them. JJ took a step forward and asked for everyone’s attention. “Listen closely. This unsub is devolving fast and this profile is going to be the best way to catch him.”

“Alright, we’re looking for a white male between the ages of 20 and 30 whose been rejected from art school or a showing at a gallery,” Emily projected toward the murmuring crowd. No matter how many times they gave a profile to an innumerable amount of officers and detectives, there were always a few skeptics.

Leaning against the back wall, Spencer spoke. “He’s an injustice collector of sorts and feels that he’s been wronged. For right now, his victims are random, but they’re surrogates for the people who rejected him.”

“He’s devolving fast,” Hotch said. “Even though the crime scenes are still organized, the bodies are still being cleaned and the paint is still his signature, he’s killing more quickly with less and less time between kills.”

Morgan insisted. “That’s why we need all of you involved in the search for our unsub. The quicker we can pin down who he is, where he was rejected from and who wronged him, the more people we’ll be able to save. We need to get ahead of this guy.”

“And one more thing,” Emily added. “Given the likelihood that this is a student who’s been rejected, and the time of year, October. It’s likely the unsub was rejected months ago and there’s a secondary stressor that kick-started the killing spree. However, we can’t rule out that this is someone rejected from a gallery. Just something to keep in mind.”

                                                               ---

He could feel the breeze brush by him as he hurriedly ran downstairs, barreling through anything that might be in his way. The FBI was in town and he still had work to do, but he’d have to move his schedule forward.

On the table sat a newspaper clipping: “Administrator Gavin P. Hall promoted to President at Tisch.”

                                                             ---

Garcia had this innate ability to shine in the face of darkness. Something the rest of the team envied her for. She slid across the floor of her office, the wheels of her chair carrying her gracefully though she somehow managed to bump into her computer desk. “Okay, my pretties, I have been doing a lot of digging and I mean a lot. My hands are dirty and it’s caked under my fingernails kind of dirty. Now, I know the locals have been going door to door searching for anyone that fits the profile and has been rejected from a gallery, so I decided to look into people in the greater New York area that have been rejected from art school and boy do I have a list for you.”

“Send it over, baby girl.”

She feigned a gasp. “Mon ami, you don’t think that happened 30 seconds ago?”

“Garcia, can you narrow this list down?” Spencer asked. “We think there’s another more recent stressor that sparked the killing spree.”

“I’m gonna need something specific to narrow it down by,” she said sadly. “I mean I am an all powerful super genius hacker chick, but I can’t pull answers out of thin air.”

Rossi tapped his fingers against the desk. “Okay, okay, the third and fourth victims were both depicted like Van Gogh’s works, right? Why wasn’t the first one? The mother and son?”

“Okay, so the mother and son has to mean something,” Hotch admitted.

Spencer pushed back from the table. “With an unsub so purposeful, the bodies, the way they’re cleaned and positioned, the paints. It all means something, so a mother and a son. Garcia, have any of the suspects lost their mother recently.”

With a few quick swipes of the keys, Garcia had a list of five names. “Only one of them has lost their mother in the last week and a half though?” She said. “Trenton Price, and his address is now on your phones. Also, out of the five finalists, he’s the only one to be rejected from Tisch – one of the premiere art schools in the country.”

They all pushed back from the table, intent clear. “Alright, Reid, you, me and Emily will head to Price’s address. Rossi, you, Morgan and JJ head to Tisch, interview anyone that was involved in Price’s rejection.”

                                                             ---

It would take hours for Spencer, Emily and Hotch to catch up with them, but at least they could give them a heads up. “Morgan, it’s Reid. We went to the address and he wasn’t there, but his cellphone went on and Garcia triangulated the call-“

“Lemme guess, he’s at Tisch.”

“Yup. Be careful.”

“Thanks for the heads up, kid.”

Rossi stepped on the gas, sirens blaring. “We’ll be there in five.”

“You sure about that?” JJ grimaced, hand grasping the handle above the window like her life depended on it. “We’re in the middle of New York City.”

“And I grew up on Long Island, I got this.”

In less than five minutes, Rossi screeched the car to a halt and they ran in, guns at the ready. Students ran down the hallways and down the stairs toward any exit they could find. “Where? Where are they?” JJ yelled.

“In the president’s office! Second floor!” She screamed, the clacking of her heels dissipating within the seconds.

They ran up the stairs, hearts racing while students ran passed, whispers of the ensuing sanity floating by their ears. “Trenton Price,” Morgan screamed, “Put your weapon down!”

“No! They have to pay! I’ve worked all my life for this and they just shut me down! Like the pretentious bastards they are!”

In his grasp, Gavin Hall squirmed but the knife inched closer and closer to his throat. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

Rossi stepped in front of Morgan and JJ, taking the lead though none of them had vests on. They never expected him to be so desperate so soon. “Trenton, don’t do anything you’re gonna regret,” he pleaded. “If you kill Hall here, you’ll take away his ability to make things right. Give you the opportunities you deserve.”

JJ snaked around the back of Rossi and trained her gun on Price, hoping for a chance to get a shot off.

“Yea, right! What d’you think I’m stupid?”

Nodding slightly, Rossi encouraged the terrified Hall to ‘make amends.’ Rossi prompted him. “Your mother was your biggest fan, wasn’t she? Encouraged your artistic abilities?”

“Yes, she always knew I’d be an artist, and now I am,” he breathed, a tear falling down the side of his cheek. “But then they rejected me. Told me I was an amateur! That my choice of medium was basic and pedantic. Do you know how many skilled artists specialized in charcoal? Robert Longo, William Kentridge, Dan Pyle, Joel Daniel Phillips! And these assholes tell me I’m arcane and talentless?”

“You’re not,” Hall said, putting together the pieces of Price’s mental state. “I was wrong about you. About your work.

“Liar!” He lifted his arm above his head. A crack resounded throughout the room and he fell to the floor, groaning.

JJ ran up to him and kicked the knife away, holstering her gun before turning him over and cuffing him. “You okay?” She asked Hall.

“Y-yes,” he breathed. “I’m okay. I-“

“You got this?” Morgan asked.

She nodded. “Yea, I’m good, get him to the medic.”

Price screamed at the top of his lungs through the hallways, telling anyone and everyone that he was going to be the next great artist. “Please,” JJ replied. “You’re throwing a temper tantrum because you didn’t get what you wanted.”

                                                              ---

“So, kid,” Morgan said with a smile. “You gotta tell me about the other night. What happened with Y/N?” 

Emily’s eyes lit up and she practically jumped into the seat next to him. “Wait, you two back together?”

He shook his head but he wasn’t convincing in the slightest. “As soon as we get back, I am going home and going to bed.”

“With Y/N?”

“I’m not telling,” he smirked.

[jaimehqs]

Did you see the moving van outside? It looks like there is a new resident moving in. There’s a new name on the resident directory and it’s JAMES ‘JAIME’ CARMICHAEL. They are a 34 year old PEDIATRIC NEUROSURGEON (CURRENTLY IN FELLOWSHIP) and they seem quite cool. Well, they come across as someone who is COMPASSIONATE, RECLUSIVE & DEMURE but they can also be VERBOSE, WORKAHOLIC & STUBBORN.

TRIGGERS

as a disclaimer, below you will find triggering content, chief among them is CHILD NEGLECT and MENTIONS OF WORKING IN A HOSPITAL. my overall trigger warning tag to blacklist which will be used on ALL of my tw posts will be: hey don't look at this, but i will be tagging specific tags too.

                 PSA: if you’re interested, please check out my CONNECTIONS page !

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: james alexander malcolm carmichael

NICKNAME(S): doesn’t particularly mind his birth name, but at times people have often called him jaime.

BIRTH DATE: september 25, 1986

AGE: thirty-four

ZODIAC: libra

GENDER: cismale

PRONOUNS: he/him

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: panromantic

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: demisexual (  it isn’t so much so that cris is completely disinterested in sex (he’s got a perfectly good libido, thank you very much), he just doesn’t find himself sexually attracted to people based on physical appearance or initial impressions. instead he finds personality, intellect, and existing emotional attachment considerably more compelling )

NATIONALITY: british

ETHNICITY: english, dutch-german jewish

OCCUPATION: pediatric neurosurgeon ( currently in his fellowship program )

POSTIVE TRAITS: independent, versatile, adaptable, curious, inquisitive, intelligent, divergent thinker, anti-authoritarian, self-actualizer, flexible, original, ambitious, charismatic, creative, loyal, thoughtful, warm-hearted, respectable, compassionate

NEGATIVE TRAITS: stubborn, unconventional, uncooperative, assertive, cynical, temperamental, withdrawn, restless, insecure, jealous, intolerant, naïve, impatient

BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: england, united kingdom

HOMETOWN: oxford, england

EDUCATION LEVEL: went to university of oxford and majored in human physiology, went to medical school at ucl for 4 years, did residency for 7 years, and now is currently in last few months of pediatric neurosurgeon fellowship program

FATHER: william carmichael

MOTHER: diana carmichael

SIBLING(S): two older brothers and one older sister: nathaniel, matthew, and sarah

CHILDREN: none

PET(S): female ragdoll call named ginsberg ( yes, she’s named after allen ginsberg )

OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: cecelia and grant ( grandparents on mom’s side )

PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: 2 serious romantic relationships in the past

BACKSTORY

— TRIGGER WARNING BEGINS —

- when someone hears the name carmichael, they automatically think of words like prestigious, wealthy, and perfect. and who wouldn’t? with the father being a lawyer and mother owning her own real estate business, you had to think like that. in the public eye the carmichael family was flawless. everyone wanted what they had. jaime carmichael, was born into a world where perfection was of the utmost importance. the carmichael family is one of those prestigious families that has always been full of wealthy and high-class snobs, and jaime’s parents were no exception. he grew up learning how to be charming and how to be well behaved. jaime’s childhood years consisted of him sitting restlessly at various fancy parties and dinners, while his mother kept him from all the fancy treats so that he would grow up to be fit and strong. jaime’s parents were always cold and emotionally isolated from him, only after a perfect son to show off to the world. 

- as a young, restless little child, jaime sought escape from his shallow, chilly life in the form of a friend. his friend taught him that there was such a thing as warmth and friendliness, told him lots of stories of greek mythology, and he learned that his parents had been lying about “tactless individuals” being horrible people. however, when his father found out about his associations with his friend, within a week, the boy mysteriously disappeared. since then, jaime kept all his unapproved-of friends to himself except from his grandparents on his mom's side who loved him unconditionally and were his best friends.

— TRIGGER WARNING ENDS —

 - jaime is the youngest child of the 4 carmichael children & although there are age gaps between him and his siblings he doesn’t feel as though he’s the stereotypical ‘forgotten child’. this reason is solely base off the fact he typically makes himself scarce anyway to go off to do his own thing lmfao. 

- for most of his adolescents up until adulthood, jaime always has had a rather tranquil personality. he never was one to act on emotion or impulsiveness, which meant most of his time he was seen in the his father's den reading about art history, helping his mother around, etc instead of learning the family business like his other siblings. it never personally interested him, so he never thought to pay much attention.

 - because of his serene behavior, also came the fact that he’s mostly reclusive and demure, too. one would think being of carmichael blood would mean one would act diplomatic in all situations, but not for jaime. when given the chance, he will most likely be in the back listening rather than participating unless addressed, making him a great observer of his surroundings because of this skill. he prides himself on being a great listener in important situations even if people may believe he’s not particularly interested. 

- a lot of people have come to believe over the years that because of his reclusive personality, he must be unapproachable.

 - which he would clearly tell anyone that rumor is further from the truth. it’s not that he’s unapproachable, per se, it’s more of the fact he doesn’t typically go up to people to spark conversation unless it’s for work or art related means. otherwise, his conversational skills are subpar at best and he doesn’t mind much.

 - as unfortunate as people’s misconceptions are when people do have the courage to approach him, they’re always surprised he’s rather civil, zen, and all around friendly and not at all like the rumors make him out to be. he always has to laugh at those kinds of things, of course. 

- but besides that, he’s also witty and sarcastic. he likes to crack jokes and puns ever so often, even though he can have pretty dry humor at times. his sarcastic remarks are never meant to be harsh, but because of his dry humor undertones, he can sometimes come off rather offensive.

 - although jaime has patience, he’s still a carmichael through and through, which he will not let anyone forget. he is unafraid to stand up for himself when he feels he’s in the right–or at least, attempt to do so. and although he strives to contain his zen aura, he can fall into fits of frustration and annoyance quite often when his family are involved ( which happens to be quite often ). 

- jaime doesn’t care to raise his voice or scream his head off when he’s upset, because frankly, he doesn’t see that as a reason to make his point come across effectively. but when he does become upset, his silence speaks louder than any person’s words could muster. it’s actually quite scary how the atmosphere around him drastically changes when he becomes angry. in simple terms, he’s somewhat like a praying mantis in the ways he becomes very still & silent. one look can be a 1,000 words unsaid. if he’s upset at you, his silence will cut deeper than anything. 

- importantly, jaime’s romantic sexuality is panromantic, meaning he would pursue both sexes and beyond romantically. when it comes to developing a far more intimate relationship, however, jaime is demisexual. meaning it is not so much so that he is completely disinterested in sex ( he’s got a perfectly good libido, thank you very much ), he just doesn’t find himself sexually attracted to people based on physical appearance or initial impressions. instead he finds personality, intellect, and existing emotional attachment considerably more compelling.

 - although he often makes himself scarce when it comes to familial ties, jaime is fiercely protective and loyal to his family. no one will ever come between him and his family. 

- he was born and raised in oxford, england. 

- when he graduated from secondary school, he pursued a higher education by going to university of oxford. in the beginning, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to major in. the possibilities were endless, of course, but he wanted to pursue something he loved and also make a decent living on his own two feet when he graduated. at first, he thought he would be interested in something to do with the arts, but that dream died rather quickly when he rationalized how he didn’t want to make his passion for art into a full-time job that he would come to quickly hate in a few years. so, after some thought, he weighed his options and fell into step with human physiology. he always believed he had an eye for helping people and it was also a perfect career to fall into when it came to making a really great income. from there he studied his ass off by finishing university in 4 years, went to med school at ucl medical school, did his residency in 7 years, and is currently in his last few months of his pediatric neurosurgeon fellowship program. 

- to put it plan and simple jaime is an art ho. jaime always loved anything artistic. even when he was little, he would go around with his disposable camera and take pictures of everything and then take to paper to draw the things he had taken pictures of as well. 

- he’s like a hippie dippy child of the universe. no joke. no seriously, his place at home is full of sensual shit and art. it’s getting out of hand and somebody needs to stop him soon. 

- he strongly believes that art is an umbrella term that relates to expressing oneself ( not just through photography and painting ) and that everyone has the freedom to express themselves however they please. because of his beliefs, he chooses to break gender roles like bread and wears whatever the fuck he wants because yolo. 

- his appearance pretty much represents his hippie dippy lifestyle with him wearing all sorts of cute hipster shit. he’s clothes are v flow-y but don’t let that fool you. he doesn’t miss the opportunity to represent his upper-middle class within his style, so he does dress to impress, let me tell you ( he’s a fashion ho too ). his hair color changes sometimes too depending on his mood but it’s generally never too eccentric.

5 RANDOM FACTS

1. to put it plan and simple jaime is an art ho. jaime always loved anything artistic. even when he was little, he would go around with his disposable camera and take pictures of everything and then take to paper to draw of all the things he had taken pictures of as well.

2. he’s like a hippie dippy child of the universe. no joke. no seriously, his place at home is full of sensual shit and art. it’s getting out of hand and somebody needs stop him soon. he strongly believes that art is an umbrella term that relates to expressing of oneself ( not just through photography and painting ) and that everyone has the freedom to express themselves however they please. because of his beliefs, he chooses to break gender roles like bread and wears whatever the fuck he wants because yolo.

3. has a female ragroll cat named ginsberg. he named her after allen ginsberg because he’s obsessed with the dead poets society and sometimes deems himself as a member.

4. sometimes when he’s nervous, he will tap his leg pretty quickly.

5. jaime is never one to get drunk ever. he’s usually the one to always babysit the drunk ones ( he’s the honorary dad friend ), but he thought one day he would have a little solo party in his apartment on the one saturday night he had off and watch the lizzie mcguire movie for nostalgia purposes. long story short, he eventually ended up drunk on wine and recorded a whole music video of myself dancing to the ‘what dreams are made of’ song. let’s just say that video recording will never see the light of day.

OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: being a pediatric neurosurgeon.

SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: when he has the time, he’ll usually do photography and/or art commissions. but it’s mostly only as a hobby and when he feels like it.

CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: it’s a tiring job, but well worth it.

PAST JOB(S): during high school, he used to help his mom with her real estate business by handing out flyers and during med school, he would work as a tutor.

SPENDING HABITS: mostly he spends money on his hobbies such as photography and art supplies. he also spends spoiling his cat, too. if he’s really feeling like a ‘treat yo self’ moment, he’ll splurge on a designer outfit or a shit ton of food.

MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: when he was about 10 years old, his grandmother gifted him a book on the history of art because she knew he had a passion for it. it’s a bit tattered and dog-eared but it’s well loved when it comes to looking for inspiration.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

TALENTS: painting, being ambidextrous, somehow waking up at the ass crack of dawn every morning.

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: english, french, and a bit of korean.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: ben barnes

EYE COLOR: deep brown. his eyes are as hickory as rich as the earth’s soil; stained with the color of hot chocolate on a cold winter night that wraps around you like a blanket; engulfs you in its warmth and makes you feel at home.

HAIR COLOR: warm brown. his hair is a lovely whisky, the color of fallen leaves browned and sleek with the first rain of autumn.

HAIR TYPE/STYLE: thick, full, and silky to the touch. shaved and shortened on the sides. primarily put into a curly contemporary quiff. sometimes grows out his hair to shoulder length and then puts it into a bun.

GLASSES/CONTACTS?: wears contacts and glasses.

DOMINANT HAND: technically both, but uses the right more.

HEIGHT: between 5′10-5′11.

EXERCISE HABITS: goes for a 2 hour run/jog every saturday morning, but let’s be real, he doesn’t exercise much lmao.

TATTOOS: currently doesn’t have any, but wants to get one someday.

PEIRCINGS: as a rebellious teenager, he once got his tongue pierced on a dare ( long story ), but ended up liking the look of it anyway ( he doesn’t wear it any longer but will sport it out once in while just for shock value ). he also has industrial piercing on his right ear and both lobes pierced.

MARKS/SCARS: probably? but nothing too big or noticeable.

NOTABLE FEATURES: has particularly long eyelashes.

USUAL EXPRESSION: neutral??? 

CLOTHING STYLE: light and flowy high fashion displayed throughout an extensive wardrobe, mixed with dark and elegant taste. commonly paired with rings of all sorts and simple necklaces.

JEWELRY: varies rings and necklaces.

ALLERGIES: none

DIET: predominately pescatarian.

PHYSICAL AILMENTS: none

PSYCHOLOGY

MORAL ALIGNMENT: true neutral and occasionally teetering on chaotic good.

TEMPERAMENT: delicate and unfaltering, never without a sense of poise. posture tall, a prominent feline sway in his walk – every move is calculated. appears very energetic and optimistic when first meeting, but has a very apollonian vibe once you get to know him well. very much of a flower child, as you will. he expresses his tranquility in his persona and actions.

MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: generalized anxiety disorder.

OBSESSION(S): his cat, food, binge watching soap operas and sci-fi shows, baby yoda aka grogu, sleeping when he can.

COMPULSION(S): buying too much art supplies and home décor.

PHOBIA(S): coulrophobia ( fear of clowns ).

ADDICTION(S): none that he’s aware of.

DRUG USE: smoked weed once and thought he was gonna die. moral of the story, he never touched a drug again.

ALCOHOL USE: social drinker

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: can range from intimate, formal, to casual.

ACCENT: british

QUIRKS: refuses to hurt any animal, including insects, fights for human rights, belongs to a fan club, enjoys jokes with puns, has an obsession with a particular TV show, series, film, or franchise, gardens, is always reading, paints, takes pictures of everything, practices calligraphy, must drink coffee or tea to “wake up”, is “organized chaos”, loves to hug, taps foot when bored or nervous, sleeps during the day, always answers a question with a question, always answers a question with a question, goes off on tangents, is extremely sarcastic, 

HOBBIES: photography, painting, anything art related.

DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: like a motherfucking sailor.

FAVOURITES

ACTIVITY: anything art related.

ANIMAL: cats, red pandas, ferrets.

BEVERAGE: tea or coffee.

BOOK: and then there was none by agatha christie

COLOR: blacks, greys, purples, mustard yellow.

DESIGNER: balenciaga and dior

FOOD: salmon or tilapia

FLOWER: sunflowers

HOLIDAY: halloween

MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: train or car

SCENT: vanilla or lavender

WEATHER: fall type atmosphere