#or something like that if his hubris would let him

[fatcatlittlebox]

I cannot tell you how profound it was to me that Charlie confirmed this week in interviews that his understanding of Sauron is that he is NOT this great, omniscent mastermind. I had written metas before that this was how Sauron was being depicted in ROP but to have it supported by the actor was still a little surprising because that has been debated for awhile. Furthermore, Charlie has said now several times that when he plays Sauron playing another persona, whether Halbrand or Annatar, he believes that Sauron is fully invested and reinvented as these people. He 100% believes. And I think that is such a provocative idea. I am totally dumbfounded by it. Because how do you go from this:

To this.

How hauntingly tragic his "Halbrand" era was. It was the closest thing to peace he had found in thousands of years and he got to that place by doing something so uncharacteristic. He took a chance. This Maia, who is obsessed with control and order...he gambled. And won. Until he lost. Why and how the hell did he think pretending to be a mortal king, offering to bind himself to his sworn rival, allying himself with Light would possibly succeed? He had to know it was a near impossible feat. The path he had taken before was probably charted with logical, measured decisions and weighed with statistical probabilities. But not this one. It wasn't hubris or arrogant ambition. It was hope. He believed and that belief was sparked and buoyed by Galadriel.

This is why this shot right here is so symbolic and poetic of this period in his life. Look at Halbrand here. As so many times before where it concerns Galadriel, he looks unsure. Vulnerable. Look at how he holds the pouch and how he stares at it. It's as if his fate rests inside. This is a crossroads. Then he throws it on the table like dice or a coin toss. He seems to have made up his mind. Probably because he had estimated and concluded that following Galadriel was probably not going to work. But then, at the last moment he changes course.

The fact that the camera stays on the pouch for several beats emphasizes that 1) this is a pivotal moment 2) it was impulsive. Sauron had already left and then came back. (12 seconds-- I counted). Just like the raft on the Sundering Seas, he came back for Galadriel. He makes a bold choice. Again! One not even the gods would have expected. He takes a chance. A monumental one.

It's exhilarating, especially now that we have a bigger picture of the actual choice he's making. It's so hopeful. So audacious. So human. So NOT Sauron. And in letting himself fully embody and inhabit the life of a low man, he's never been more connected to Middle Earth, never been more real in this world. The stakes mean something different. He's tactile, emotional, reactive. His actions and relationships have more gravity. His footsteps and words have weight. He's not a puppetmaster. He's alive in the world, an ocean of color.

Contrast that with his Annatar phase. As Charlie portrays him, he is completely detached. Floundering. There's a vacancy to his presence.

As I said before, I think Sauron left apart of himself in Halbrand. It's almost as if the piece of him that was human, that grounded him, was severed. And in doing so, Annatar glides through the world as if in a dream and he were made of ice and shadow. Look at his manner and how he moves. He's imposing but almost inert. His expression is dazed and distracted. His heart is somewhere else. With someone else. Or maybe it's because he actually isn't there. It gives an added layer of meaning to Adar's supposed "message" to Annatar -- "Where is he?" Because why is he so clearly disengaged? Where does his mind wander off to constantly?

Again, I'm left pondering how do you get to that, from this?

I'm left shaken at Charlie's performance. He is truly an amazing, gifted actor. There is a reason he plays such a stark contrast between season 1 and season 2. To go from that simmering volcanic intensity to such an emotional void. It's like watching the collapse of a star. I get the sense that there is a rich backstory there that the audience is not privy to. Not yet.

[indulgentcosmos]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Bonus 12: Beware the Grapes of Wrath.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[trianglegoddess]

I'm Still Standing

The League felt like they had a strong sense of Phantom’s power. After all, they wouldn’t have asked him to join the team, otherwise. He’s strong, he can fly, and due to his supernatural nature, he’s amazing on recon and stealth missions. He’s also incredibly reliable, and smarter than most people give him credit for. He’s a natural hero, a more snarky Captain Marvel, some news outlets have been saying. Always saving people with just the right words to say, with a humble smile on his face. 

Phantom, with all of his power, seemed untouchable in every definition of the word. 

And then they got invaded by Darkseid. 

It wasn’t the first time Darkseid had invaded Earth, but it was the first time bringing armies so large, the first time he’s attacked all over the world to spread the League thin. It is single handedly the worst alien invasion Earth has ever had. 

Batman, bleeding out on the sidewalk, Wonder Woman knocked unconscious and restrained by a nearly egregious amount of henchmen, Superman, weak from the kryptonite Darkseid had shot him with. Thankfully it had missed all the important bits, but with that bullet inside of him, Superman was also down for the count, as well as dozens of other League members. 

If it hadn’t been for Phantom, they would have lost. 

Phantom, who’s never been seen without a smile on his face until now. Phantom, who’s never had so much as a scratch on him, until now. Phantom, who has only ever been known to be kind and compassionate, even to his villains, until now. 

Usually there’s this sort of warm, comforting feeling that radiates from Phantom. It feels like a nice breeze on a warm summer’s day, a nice cup of hot cocoa, your favorite song. It’s a feeling of safety, as if everything will be alright just because he’s there. 

Here, though, something else, something much stronger, is radiating from him. It practically rolls off of him in huge waves, making those conscious around him more aggravated, more on edge.

Phantom pulls himself off of the ground. His suit is torn, and his green blood splattered on himself and the ground. He spits a glob of it out, along with a tooth. 

“Still, you stand,” Darkseid says, as if tired. “Do you not tire in the face of your own demise?”

“As long as I’m still standing, you won’t ever win,” Phantom says. His voice is low and threatening, reverberating eerily off of the broken infrastructure that surrounds them. It sends a chill down everybody’s spines, though if Darkseid is affected, he doesn’t show it. 

“Your comrades have fallen, your militaries have failed, and you have no other help arriving. Pray tell how one singular human will be able to take me down!” 

Phantom doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he walks forward so that his friends are behind him, and braces himself. Darkseid, unable to contain his own hubris, lets Phantom come closer. 

Phantom takes in a deep breath, as if he’s about to speak.  

Instead he wails. 

Any remaining glass shatters, raining down upon them as green sound waves push back the offending forces. 

And it’s loud, of course. The ears of Darkseid’s minions are bleeding, and many of them are either dying because it’s too much for them to bear, or they’re killing themselves to give themselves some modicum of relief. But it’s also more than that, more than noise. 

It’s mourning. 

The first feeling that overwhelms everyone is anger. Phantom’s anger at Darkseid, at the destruction, at the fact that he just can’t catch a fucking break and it’s not fair. The second, is the sadness. It weighs down upon their shoulders, suffocating them like smog. It invades every part of their being-their lungs, their joints, their very hearts-and it presses and presses and presses until there’s very nearly nothing left. 

Phantom still pushes on. He is nothing if not persistent, driven to fight, driven to protect his people, his team, his friends, his family. No mortal being could ever hope to have a lung capacity like this, but Phantom is no normal mortal, and Darkseid is finally starting to come to terms with that. 

The last wave of overwhelming emotion is more of an idea than it is an actual feeling. It’s not a threat, per se, but a promise. A promise to do everything in his power to destroy Darkseid and his forces permanently and with prejudice. A promise that no matter how hard Darkseid fights, he will not win. 

A promise that, if knocked down, Phantom will stand back up, and he will not lose. 

Eventually, after what feels like eternity, the wail dies down. There isn’t a single member of Darkseid’s army that’s still on their feet or in the air. Phantom collapses down to one knee, and bright, white rings flicker around his person for just a moment, before he wills them away and stands back up. 

It’s less walking towards Darkseid, and more stalking. They are not on equal footing. Phantom is the predator in every sense of the word, his anger and grief still radiating off of his body in ways that Darkseid is unable to comprehend. 

“Do you yield?” Phantom asks. His eyes are blazing green, burning into Darkseid’s very soul. It is a sort of animalistic, primal instinct deep within him that tells him, run, run as fast as you can. Darkseid’s hubris, however, remains unmatched. 

Even as he stares Death in the eye. 

“I do not,” Darkseid says. He tries to get to his feet, but his body won’t listen, still weighed down by the effects of Phantom’s wail. 

“Then as Phantom, King of the Dead, I hereby condemn you for the rest of your afterlife.”

“Don’t count your eggs yet, boy,” Darkseid spits. “I’m still alive.”

“No,” Phantom says, in a tone adjacent to someone who’s giving their condolences, “You’re not.”

Phantom gestures beside them, and Darkseid spares a glance and sees…Himself. 

His corpse is splayed on the ground, blood spurting out of his ears, nose, and eyes. He stares lifelessly up at the sky. The blood is still leaking down the sides of his face. 

“You’re dead now, Darkseid, and therefore under my jurisdiction. Due to your extensive list of crimes you will not receive a hearing, just your eternal damnation for the sins you’ve committed.”

Phantom waves his hand, and green chains and manacles appear on Darkseid’s wrists and ankles before he’s dusted out of existence, sent to his eternal punishment in another dimension. 

As soon as he’s gone, Phantom collapses to his knees. 

He’s not sure how long he’s there, sitting in the blood of those he’s killed, before Wonder Woman comes over. She’s covered in gashes and bruises and blood that isn’t hers, but she still stands tall and proud. A battle won is a reason for celebration, after all. 

He glances behind her, sees Superman taking Batman into his arms and flying off. 

Diana doesn’t ask him questions about how he’s feeling. A victory is a victory, sure, but not without its price. 

Instead, she holds out her hand. Danny grasps it, and allows her to help him to his feet. 

“As long as you can stand, you can win,” Diana says. “I think I’ll have to use that for my next big speech.”

“By all means,” Phantom tells her. “Just be sure to credit me.”

“Deal.”

[all-with-angel]

"𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭?"

Summary: In which he says No to you buying something, but it backfires badly (request!)

Including: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna

Content: crack, hurt/comfort, gn!reader

w.c. 500ish each || Masterlist || MDNI.

“Could we get that?”

He followed your gaze, eyes skimming the display before flicking back to you. And then he did something you should've expected.

He shrugged. “Nah.”

Your heart stuttered. “Oh,” you said, blinking once. “Okay. Sorry.” You dropped his hand before continuing to walk forward, not once looking back at display or him, for that matter, as both guilt and shame built up in your chest.

❥ SATORU GOJO

The moment he realized you were actually upset over it, he felt his heart drop out of his ass. He stood there, dumbfounded as he stared at your retreating figure that slumped slightly forward. The sight reminded him of something that he swore would never let happen again- No, he won’t get left behind again.

He raced over to your side. “No, wait- baby, wait, heyheyheyyyy-” His voice pitched up, breathless and rushed. “It was a joke! A prank! I was kidding! Of course we can get it, are you kidding me? You want the whole shelf? I’ll buy the whole store if you want it!”

His heart went wild. His hands fumbled for yours again, touch feather-light like he was afraid you’d pull away for good. He cranked the dramatics to eleven. If he had to dig himself out of this hole with the fluffiest, most excessive display of affection in human history, then so be it.

He spun you towards him, before literally dropping to his knees. In the middle of the mall, in broad daylight, by the way.

“I have made a terrible mistake,” he cried, throwing his arms around your waist and pressing his face into your stomach and sobbing like a man who had just lost everything. “I’M SORRYYYY- PLEASE forgive me. I was blinded by hubris. My arrogance has cost me the love of my life.”

He cried dramatically, much to your horror. You smacked him, panic and embarrassment replacing the insecurity in your chest.

It didn’t stop him though, he continued whining and apologizing- Promising to buy you the entire mall and then some more, which terrified you, because he could. At some point, you just tried walking off in an attempt to get him off of you. It failed, and backfired. Because as you attempted to walk away, he was just dragged across the floor with his arms still wrapped tight around you. He never stopped apologizing, promising grander and grander things every other second.

In the end, you ended up consoling him. You had to reassure him that you were okay now, and that you’d continue to ask him for things again and again. All the while he laid his head on your lap after you two got a very expensive spa date.

“Promise?” He sniffed.

“Yes, Satoru. I promise to ask you for things even if I barely want or need them,” You recited, memorizing the words after repeating them a hundred times over already. “-And I won’t feel bad for spending money with your black card.” The thought of doing that sent a pang of guilt through you, but it didn’t compare to the exasperation you felt after saying it over and over again. Maybe getting spoiled once in a while all the time wasn’t so bad.

❥ SUGURU GETO

He hadn’t expected it to hit you like that- he really hadn’t. It was a joke, a stupid little prank the girls had convinced him to do. They were giggling and nodding along and he couldn’t say no to his girls, now could he? Like a fool.

And his stomach twisted as he watched your expression drop. Suguru wanted to say something, his mouth opening but the words were caught in his throat as he watched you walk away.

“Daaad,” Nanako complained, tugging at his sleeve.

“You made them sad,” Mimiko whispered, her lip jutting out as she stared after you. “That wasn’t funny.”

Suguru blinked, looking down at both of them. Weren’t they the ones who suggested this? “And you didn’t even say it right,” Nanako added dramatically, arms crossed. “You were too serious.”

“Yeah,” Mimiko nodded. “Now you have to fix it.”

Both girls had already rushed ahead to walk beside you, gripping the edge of your coat and pouting up at you like you were the sun and they were clouds desperate to stay close. Little traitors. Now they were talking about how Mean Suguru was and how he’d make up for it.

What further broke his heart was how you reassured the girls, saying that it was fine and you shouldn’t ask for such expensive things so randomly like that. That made the girls pout, glaring back at him as if he put that idea in your head. Okay, maybe he deserved that though. Suguru hated that way of thinking of yours. Hated that for a split second, you thought you had to apologize for wanting something so small.

Luckily, the girls had shown their mercy towards him and started dragging you towards the display you were pointing at, saying that they wanted it too- And that you should match with them.

Suguru had made sure to pay for it immediately, taking your hand in his as he apologized. “You shouldn’t have had to apologize,” he said simply. “I’m sorry, it was a stupid prank.” He glanced towards the girls, who looked away to definitely look at other displays.

His eyes were on yours again, offering a soft but guilty smile. “You never have to earn anything from me. Not affection, not gifts, not a yes. You ask, and if it makes you smile, it’s already mine to give.”

By the end of the day, you were tired. You had walked around the mall for nearly 3 hours straight as the girls dragged you from one shop to the next, each time coming out with more bags than ever. 

None of them were held by you, Suguru had made sure of that. He was carrying a comical amount of bags and whenever you’d try to say something about it- About anything about this being too much, something you didn’t deserve, he’d gently shut it down and he nudged you towards the girls who were already looking at some cute plushies you’d like.

❥ KENTO NANAMI

Nanami realized the mistake the moment your fingers slipped from his.

He hadn’t expected you to let go so easily. Or for your voice to drop so small. He thought you’d laugh- roll your eyes and nudge him, maybe pout a little and say, “C’mon, don’t be stingy.” That’s what he’d expected. What he hadn’t expected was the way your expression shuttered, the way your shoulders stiffened like you were preparing for disappointment.

It had been a joke. A dry one, maybe poorly delivered, but harmless in intent. Just a shrug, a simple “nah” meant to be followed by a small chuckle.

God.

He hated himself a little, right then.

He caught up to you silently, his long strides swallowing the distance in seconds. He called your name softly, gently grabbing your wrist. When you turned to look at him, your face was schooled into something polite and a little too distant. The edges of your mouth tried to rise into a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I was joking, darling,” he said softly, finally. “I didn’t mean it.”

Still, you didn’t fully relax. You just gave a small shrug, like it didn’t matter. “It’s fine, I didn’t need it anyway.”

He exhaled, frowning deeply now, before tugging you into the direction the two of you came from. Your eyes widened in panic, immediately repeating that it was fine, that he didn’t need to, that you seriously didn’t need it. It didn’t stop him though, he continued on with you in tow and bought it. When he handed it to you, his gaze softened.

“You never have to apologize for asking for something, especially not with me. I want to give you things. I want you to feel safe asking.”

Before you could open your mouth to go against him, he continued. “You deserve to be spoiled,” He let the item rest in your hands. “I’ll do better next time.”

“It’s yours,” he said, offering it to you without fanfare, but with the quiet weight of sincerity. “And I want you to enjoy it. No guilt. No apologies.”

You sighed, relaxing and holding what you wanted in your hands, wrapped in a paper bag.

Kento Nanami - 1, Your insecurity - 0.

❥ TOJI FUSHIGURO

Toji had done it as a joke. Hell, he’d been messing around with you like this for as long as he could remember, teasing, pulling pranks that always ended with laughter and you rolling your eyes at him. But this? This wasn’t what he’d expected.

He fucked up. He rubbed a hand over his face, cursing under his breath. 

It only took him a moment to catch up with you, his long stride easily closing the gap, but when he reached you, he hesitated. He could tell you weren’t looking for an apology, not really—that would probably only make things worse. You were too polite for that, too considerate to make a big deal out of something like this.

But Toji was never one to let something slide. Not when it involved you.

So now, you found yourself being held hostage cuddled with one arm as Toji scrolled through your favorite online shops. You were snug in the crook of his arm, your legs tossed over his lap, cheek pressed against his chest. His fingers curled possessively around your waist. You had stopped struggling half an hour ago, knowing he wouldn’t budge.

“Toji- ” you started, voice soft.

“Shhh.” He continued scrolling on the phone, angling it so it was in your view. “Pick.”

“Toji, I don’t want anything-” You tried again- yes, he had been doing this for almost an hour. Making you pick out at a minimum of 5 things from every online shop he knew you liked.

“You heard me,” he said, voice low and firm. “Or I’ll pick everything out for you.”

“No!” You shouted, groaning as you slumped further into him. “It wasn’t even a big deal, I shouldn’t have-”

“It was a big deal,” he said, interrupting, his hand rubbing up and down your back with slow pressure. “I was joking, you took it seriously. Yknow I’d do anything for you, right?”

You swallowed thickly, biting your lip.

“I was tryna be funny,” he went on, quieter now. “But I didn’t realize I fucked it up that bad.”

“You didn’t- ”

“I did.” His tone left no room for argument. “And you felt bad for feelin’ bad. That ain’t right either.”

You sighed. “I just overreacted.”

“I don’t care if you cried in the middle of the damn store, I still would’ve been wrong.” He nudged your cheek with his chin. “Now pick your shit or I’ll do it for you.”

“...Fine.”

❥ SUKUNA RYOUMEN

Sukuna watched you walk ahead, your hand slipping from his like it had never belonged there in the first place. His hand twitched, flexing as if readying to cut someone up on instinct. He felt angry, but not exactly at you. Maybe at your brain, how you thought.

What the hell was that?- The hell do you mean, sorry?

Sukuna’s jaw ticked, crimson eyes narrowing as he tried to process what just happened. He could still see the display in the corner of his vision—the thing you wanted, whatever the hell it was. He hadn’t even looked properly. Just heard the tone in your voice, that soft, hopeful question, and thought, yeah, this’ll be funny.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. He didn’t speak much. Not because he was mad—but because he didn’t know what the fuck to say. He kept stealing glances at you. Watching you act like nothing happened. Quiet. Polite. Distant. Like you were doing your best not to take up space.

Sukuna hated it.

The next morning, you woke up to something absurd.

It started with a faint rustle beside the bed. You blinked your eyes open, brow furrowing, the sunlight just beginning to spill through the window. You groaned and turned over, feeling for your husband- Who was uncharacteristically not sleeping and warm beside you.

Instead, your eyes widened when you saw what was on the bedside. Not just the thing you wanted from the store yesterday.

But that plus a mountain of other gifts. Carefully stacked, painstakingly arranged—clothes, snacks, trinkets, plushies, books you’d mentioned offhandedly. Stuff that couldn’t have been pulled together overnight unless someone went on a tear through every store within ten miles and burned through money like it was paper.

Sitting beside it all, arms crossed, lip curled in a dramatic scowl… was Sukuna. He was tapping his foot impatiently.

You sat up, letting the blanket fall from your shoulders, mouth agape. “Sukuna…”

“It’s not a big deal,” he growled, red eyes darting away like they were allergic to your expression. “You wanted that dumb thing. So I got it. And the rest was- was just there. It was all on sale, probably. I didn’t check.”

Your gaze swept over the pile again. Some of it was very obviously not on sale. Limited edition. Imported. Things you’d only mentioned once while scrolling late at night. You looked back at him—and found him staring at the floor now, like he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes.

“Sukuna,” you said again, softer this time.

He let out a slow breath, tension sagging from his shoulders. “I didn’t mean it.” He grumbled. “Sorry.”

You swallowed. “Sukuna, it’s fine, this-” you motioned towards the pile of gifts. “This is too much for me! I didn’t mean to upset you, I overreacted anyway-”

He clicked his tongue. “You didn’t.” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I did. But it’s not like you were bein’ dramatic or anything. You just… looked like I kicked your damn puppy.”

“I wasn’t mad.”

“That’s worse!” he snapped, gesturing at you like you’d committed some unspeakable offense. “You weren’t mad. You were just-” hurt. He didn’t like it. “...Not happy.”

Your gaze softened. “You could’ve just said something there.”

He grunted. “Whatever.” He nudged one of the boxes towards you with his foot, it was wrapped in a pretty pink bow. “Open them.”

A.N. 😼😼😼 I enjoyed this one too much, thankyou for the request moonie ml <3

[fairestwriting]

sorry if you’ve done something like this-

What about Jade, Leona, Jamil and Vil with a S/O that somebody tried to love potion?

…warning for minor book/chapter 4 spoilers in the jamil one? in case anyone is a newcomer here. there was just No way i could write this without mentioning his lore. like. come on

𐙚 Leona Kingscholar

Honestly, it’d take anyone some serious guts to try to do this. Or serious ignorance. Or straight up hubris, or maybe all of the above at the same time— Since your first few friendlier hangouts with Leona, it was pretty much known to most people who knew you that you were completely off-limits. Even if you just stayed friends, no sane person was going to mess with anyone who’s close to him. It’s almost an unspoken, pretty much school wide rule.

It was an especially bad choice for that perpetrator to try to slip you the potion during lunchtime. Maybe they’re a classmate you barely know, maybe they pretend to be a friend, it’d definitely have to be someone who could get away with approaching you to pretend to want some casual conversation. This privilege was soon to end, however, since you had agreed with Leona to meet up with him at the greenhouse after you ate.

The second you step inside, he can smell that something is off. By then you can already feel it starting to take effect, your head feeling foggy and suddenly occupied with thoughts of that person, which just feels confusing for now. You walk up to him, he’s sitting up with a frown on his face, asking you to come closer. Hazy, you step forward, and through your clouded vision you see him leaning in to smell you. It feels weird at the moment, you’re not sure if you’re comfortable with this— Even though that’s your boyfriend, you think, maybe you’d rather be this close with someone else…

He can’t tell it’s a love potion exactly, at least not just by smelling you, but he knows something is off. “Have you been up to anything weird lately, Herbivore?” He asks, his voice full of suspicion. You just shake your head, mention your classes today were all unremarkable, then so was lunch, you just met up with your friend, while you were eating. Somehow you can’t stop yourself from letting the subject linger on them, even though it puzzles you on the inside. He quickly picks up on what must have happened.

Really, anyone who even considers trying this has some nerve. He even says that out loud to them, after dragging you out of the greenhouse into a hunt for this specific person. You won’t even get the chance to remember much about the incident. Next thing you know, you’re in one of the potions lab, with an emptied vial of antidote in your hands. Leona is standing next to you with crossed arms and a death glare, and your “friend” is shaking behind a cauldron, having prepared that in record time. Even if notice of the incident spreads, Leona definitely won’t want you to leave his side anytime soon…

𐙚 Jade Leech

Another case in which attempting anything with you is definitely a feat of courage. Even though there’s a higher chance they wouldn’t know you’re dating Jade in the first place, because of how private he is, he’s clearly fond of you. And that’s without even taking into consideration how often he’s around. Jade doesn’t have the sort of infamy Leona dows, but it’s not any less intimidating of a situation, anyone with eyes can tell he’s watching every person around him very closely…

They’d really have to get lucky to get you to consume even a single drop of anything. They might have even tried multiple times, in multiple different ways. Spiking your food or drink is not an option at all with him, because he’s sitting with you while you eat, and who would want to take that chance? If they got you, it was probably by offering you an “extra drink they got from the vending machine”, which might as well have been attempted before, with Jade successfully distracting you from the drink every time.

”My, how kind of you. I’ve heard that soda is very popular, is that true?” Somehow, he shows up just in time to strike up conversation with the person, placing a hand on the can they tampered with. ”I don’t recall seeing this brand back home. Would you mind if I had a small sip first?” He looks at them, then at you, with a strange menacing smile. Once again, that person is taking the can back and stammering excuses that make less and less sense as time passes…

If they’re brave/stupid enough, and you’re oblivious enough, Jade will just sneakily make himself your bodyguard, ready to catch any new attempts and stop them right before you could get the spiked drink anywhere near your lips. He’ll do it as many times as he has to— And if it goes on for long enough, and one day they decide to not take their little trap back, he will literally just open it and drink the whole thing. He’ll do it while making eye contact with them, even. “Oh, I’m sorry, my hand slipped. It’s really unfortunate when that happens, isn’t it? It’s very easy to forget, since most of the time it doesn’t cause any harm… But the wrong ‘slip’ could really cost you your hand, you know… It’s important to be careful.” He doesn’t look away from them for even one second.

You’re confused as hell, Jade is weird a lot of the time, but just what’s going on right now? He hands them back the can, and just waves his hand at your question, telling you he’ll explain on the way as he walks off to get some antidote. From the nurse, specifically. And it’s not because he can’t make his own, because he could probably do it before the dizziness even hit— It’s to get your little “friend” in trouble with the staff, he’ll even play up the symptoms to make sure they get a nasty suspension… Even if they’re not expelled, you somehow never see them again.

𐙚 Jamil Viper

Not happening. At all. You have no “off limits” fame, no one knows you’re dating (Upon Jamil’s own request) and even if they did, they wouldn’t be that intimidated to try to make a move on you normally. He’s too busy to be lingering around you too much, plus he just wants you to have your own independence in general… everything is seemingly stacked in the favor of that person who wants to slip you the potion, but it’s nowhere near enough to get past Jamil. It just could never be.

…So you’d think it’d be easy for someone to catch you off guard, try to slip something in your food or drink. But there’s just no way that potion isn’t even making it into the vial. Really, with the upbringing Jamil had, could any fellow teenager manage to fly under his radar when trying to tamper with your things? Not a chance. He’s learned to spot real, professional assassins going after Kalim. Catching on to some other student’s creepy behavior is nothing to him.

He knew it before he even heard that person’s name, or saw them talk to you with his own eyes. It just takes a few conversations about this weird classmate of yours who you started suspecting might like you for him to be able to tell they don’t have good intentions. ”...I know I might sound paranoid, but I think you should be careful around them.” Is all he says, when you two talk about it the first time. You know him well enough to be aware of how serious that warning is.

Nothing is said after that, but he’s watching them closely too. You don’t eat lunch together that often, but Jamil always watches your table from afar when he’s not there. At first it’s just out of habit, but now that he’s got an eye on this person, their every move has your full attention. And it’s all just too familiar, the way they seem to also watch your table, or more specifically, watch you while you eat. He can even sense their frustration at how guarded you’ve gotten since his warning.

You’ll never even hear about a possible poisoning attempt because he catches them in the middle of their potion brewing— With a good chance he wasn’t even trying to do that. He just happened to spot them acting weird in the hallways, and decided to investigate. Following them to the laboratory, standing outside of the door to see what’s happening, maybe take a video or two. He then walks inside, no notable expression on his face, and speaks to them. ”I wouldn’t do this if I were you. Even making this potion outside of class could get you in serious trouble.” Nothing else is said, he shows them the video on his phone screen, and walks off. Next thing you hear, they got suspended, an when they come back, they won’t even dare to meet your eyes.

𐙚 Vil Schoenheit

The day you two agreed you’d make your relationship official, you also had a very long talk about the things that it might entail—The worries had been stewing in his mind for a while now, at first regarding his own reputation, but eventually they turned their focus to you. He’s had people interacting strangely with people who were just his dormmates, so one could only wonder how they’d treat someone they suspect is his partner…You’re warned at the very start that it’s a good idea to be cautious of others. But because it’s Vil, and he has all those vocal, sometimes fanatic admirers that are seemingly just everywhere, it can be kind of sadly easy to forget that this type of person could fixate on you too.

It becomes a bit of a dilemma for him, when he hears about this classmate of yours you’ve been talking to occasionally. On one hand, of course he wants you to have friends, he’s not crazy. On the other, he already has a weird feeling from the interactions you describe. Then under all his common sense, he just feels sort of jealous in general. You might notice he suddenly looks alarmed, and he might even remind you it’s important to be careful with others. But even if you take it to heart, would you really outright assume they were planning anything so creepy?

It’s a thankful coincidence that dating Vil also means learning a lot about potions. You often sit around in the Pomefiore dorm laboratory while he’s doing something, and he’s happy to explain the process to you however many times you need. Ironically, the specific subject of attempted love potion slips might come up. It happens to celebrities often, after all, it’s not crazy to think someone would try to get to him— ”They teach you to not eat or drink anything a fan gives you. You accept it if they’re handing it out, but you don’t touch it. And it’s not just for the sake of keeping up with your diet.” He retells you what he was taught. ”You don’t even donate it, since it could be tampered with. Usually, there are tells, but not always…”

Then question becomes, how skilled could another student get, specifically when compared to how observant you can be? It could go either way here. It’s easy to be alarmed by anyone offering you snacks or drinks after Vil tells you these stories, but you’re not a celebrity, so would that really happen to you? What if you’re just forgetful, or they really manage to get you at a moment when you’re vulnerable? Luckily, no matter how sneaky someone is, they can’t hide the effects of the potion forever. On the color of your drink, the smell, the taste… or, in a worst case scenario, in the way it feels when it starts to kick in.

You’ll know something is wrong, and he’s lectured you enough you know to get an antidote from the nurse if needed, and you know to report it to school staff. It’s dealt with quickly enough, but no matter when he finds out, he’s outraged all the same. ”How does a student get away with even trying to brew something like this? Staff shouldn’t allow just anybody to use laboratories unsupervised…” Vil fusses over you, smoothing your clothes just so his hands have something to do. Even if you didn’t swallow any of the potion, he tells you to take the day off to rest and stays nearby. Of course he wouldn’t just let the situation be solved without reacting, but first, he has to be sure you’re safe.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[chococolte]

WAIT! ONE MORE REQUEST AND I'M DONE I PROMISE-

So how about Sagau Zhongli, Venti, and Childe be like when their god, who has been known to be a single pringle ever since they came into existence, is suddenly announcing they are finding a consort among their acolytes?

word count. 2k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, sagau + cult au shit, religious themes, g/n reader.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. i had to go back and reread my childe fic to remember how i characterized him fuck my baka chungus life. anyway im sorry it's been a while but as it turns out if you sit down to write something you'll actually write, so here's this!!

zhongli

Despite himself, Zhongli is unable to quell the dim light of hope that swells in his chest.

It's one he's instantly ashamed of. Zhongli is, as one so aged and so familiar with you, intrinsically aware of how little he compares. Where you step, he follows; his mind beckons even if his body resists. To think of himself as somehow worthy of you would be his greatest folly.

Yet he does so anyway, no matter how desperately he tries to kill his arrogance.

The fear is overwhelming, but the acerbic aftertaste at the thought of you with anyone else is worse.

The shame at his own hubris gnaws away at him, but Zhongli can't find it in himself to entirely let it go, to better himself as he should. If bettering himself comes at the cost of losing the opportunity to be entirely yours, he would rather be consumed by his pride.

He knows he should be disgusted by himself. To want is a terrible sin. It's one thing to worship you, and another to see himself kissing your skin every time he closes his eyes.

When Zhongli is beside himself, alone with only his thoughts to keep him company, he wonders what it would be like to be yours. His mind supplies every possibility with no incentive. He aches, and wants, and feels so vividly and impudently that he thinks his thoughts must be some kind of punishment.

You're everything, he thinks. There is nothing in this world that is comparable to you.

What would it be like, to feel you? Would you give him that honor? Has he done enough to deserve it? Or do you torture him so, filling his mind with images— things he should never think, things he should never imagine— because he dares to think himself worthy of calling himself yours, in a manner no one else has before?

Zhongli's greatest failure is that he's unable to stop himself from wanting.

He's ached before. He ached for the thousands of years he spent without you. He ached when he saw you for the first time, enraptured, unable to understand how a form could be so perfect. He ached when he let his fingers linger on your skin for longer than he should at every opportunity, he ached when he wondered if you found his achievements worthy of praise, and he aches every time he has to leave your side.

This hurts more, somehow. To want for something he knows he could never receive. To want for something he knows he isn’t worthy of. But knowing doesn’t ease it, when he follows after you every day like an old, obedient dog; when your back is as familiar as the sky overhead, as commonplace a view; when he imagines what it must feel like to have your fingers run along his skin, touching and prodding, pressing long enough against his skin to leave imprints in their wake.

He wonders how heavenly it would be, to be yours. He imagines it so frequently it begins to become difficult to differentiate reality and fantasy. Your skin, his skin. His warmth, your warmth. Your touch, your touch, your touch.

You.

Zhongli doesn’t realize that he’s said anything at all until you’re staring at him, a certain look on your face that makes him stammer. It’s only the two of you, and suddenly the room feels much smaller than it is; every uniform pattern underfoot suddenly holding him still, the air suddenly dry, and his body suddenly tense and taut.

Zhongli wonders if this is fear. He wonders why it feels so cold. Why suddenly all he can see is you— why suddenly, nothing else matters.

His heart is tumultuous in his chest, aching and creaking and so, so loud. He can feel it in a way he’s never felt it before, and he wonders if this is how every mortal who’s ever knelt before him felt. Did they, too, feel their throat tighten by a phantasmal hand? Did they, too, feel so tiny and insignificant; like their lives were in the center of another’s palm, to be lauded or ignored?

Did they, too, wonder if they were enough?

You’re smiling, he realizes, but he doesn’t know if you’re smiling because you find it all amusing, or because you wish to comfort him.

Your smile is a thing of wonder. He finds it doesn’t matter if you’re doing so because you find him funny or pathetic; his fingers tremble either way.

“I was waiting for you,” you say, and you speak the words so softly he wonders if he misheard.

venti

Venti is aware he's too selfish for his own good.

He knows he shouldn't be as needy as he is. Ideally, he would rise at your call and simper at your demand; and he does, except he does it even when you haven't spoken a word.

Watching you with others feels like a brand on his skin. A strange, terrible emotion that he knows must be some sort of blasphemy. Venti washes it down with whiskey and wine and tries his best to mask it with mirth. You wouldn't like him if he was anything but the blithe bard who worships you.

He worships you. That's the problem, he thinks.

You don't even have to do anything specific for his skin to feel like it's not his own. You glanced away from him. You smiled at someone else. You laughed at something that wasn't him. You exchanged this look with someone else and it almost felt like there was something there in your eyes, something he could never have—

Venti stops the thoughts there. It's always been like this. He's demanding when he shouldn't be.

He's not ungrateful. He chokes on how intensely he loves you. It's so suffocating it hurts.

Venti wishes he could worship you properly.

He wishes he could have you all to himself. He wishes you'd never look at anyone else. He wishes he could have some sort of assurance that you love him past your words. He wishes he could stay by your side always, that he could stick himself to you, that he could intertwine your nerves and bodies until everything he is becomes all of you.

Selfish.

What you give him should be enough. But it's not.

You say you're looking for a consort. Venti's heart twists with a sickening flutter.

He imagines it so sweetly it's painful. He dreams of loving you purely. He writhes with restless agony every night. He wants to hold your hand and feel your warm palm against his. He wants to rest his head on your shoulder. He wants to touch you, delicately and softly, until he knows every part of you. He wants to know you, enough that it's a semblance of how much you know him.

That sort of intimacy is something he doesn't deserve. He wants it anyway.

Venti knows his thoughts are some sort of sacrilege. He doesn't care. All he wants is for you to hold him closer than you have before.

You'd be warm, he thinks, and his fingers twitch imagining it. He'd be safe with you.

He would be yours.

Selfish to want and arrogant to believe he has any place so close to you. Neither matter.

Venti lies his head on your lap, trying to appear as small as possible. Love me, he wants to whisper. Love me.

He doesn't. Instead, he says: "choose me."

Venti doesn't look at you. He tries to project confidence in his voice, but all that comes out is a weak tremble. It's still a plea, after all. He's still only begging you, even if he tries to paint it as something else.

You card your fingers through his hair, pinning his hair behind his ear. The softness hurts. It hurts more than the fact you haven't said anything yet.

He braces himself, hugging his arms to his chest.

"Okay," you say, voice warm and so, so soft.

Venti's chest heaves.

childe

Childe knows his thoughts are wrong.

His desires aren't what they should be. He should be happy you glanced at him at all, and for the brief, blissful moment where everything is you and you're all he knows, he is.

You look at him, and the world is right. The euphoria feels like it might break him each time, but he somehow manages to stay standing. A testament to his worship, he thinks, that he can hold on just long enough for you to look at him some more.

Then you look away, and suddenly it feels like you've just gouged out his heart and gutted him.

It's not your fault. You breathed life into his body, but you can't shoulder each of his mistakes.

A mistake, he tells himself. Something he needs to fix. You wouldn't like him if he showed you that part of himself.

It becomes harder to fix when you announce you're looking for a consort.

Suddenly, everyone looks more disgusting than they did before. They're not just people who are demented enough to believe they have any right to your time or attention. They're people who now believe they're worthy of you, and it's that thought that makes him sick.

There is nothing in this world that comes close to you. There is nobody in this world that could hope to be truly worthy of sitting by your side.

He feels his stomach twist because of the hope that dwells within it.

Childe remembers when you were all he had. Your whispers were his only company in the abyss. When he's with you, he's reminded of it, and every time you look away from him, he's reminded of how many times he called for you and was met with dead air.

People think he was saved when he was ripped from the abyss. Childe thinks anyone who believes that are fools. The day he was ripped from you felt more like a death than a miracle.

He doesn't blame you. You saved him and that should be enough. You look at him and that should be enough. You breathe in his presence and he should be euphoric to share your air. And he is, but so neatly tucked along the inseams of his soul are thoughts of how much better it would be if he didn't have to share you at all.

Childe tells himself the thoughts aren't his. The dreams aren't his. The will to make them into reality isn't his own. The urge and the turmoil aren't of his own making.

You're not his. Your gaze isn't his. Your attention doesn't belong to him. Your love is not uniquely his own. It can't be, he tells himself, but then you smile so sweetly in his direction, and he wonders if it could.

He knows he's pathetic and needy and sick. He knows the burning in the back of his eyelids every time he sees you with another is far from holy and far from what you deserve.

Childe's disgusted by the fervor and desperation of those around him. He's disgusted far more by his own desires. He's disgusted that he begins to lean into them as time goes on.

You smile, and he buzzes. You laugh, and his world tips. You look at him and he wonders if the affection he sees in your gaze could be anything more.

"Ajax," you murmur, petting his hair.

Childe kneels before you like a loyal hound. He doesn't move, hunching his shoulders. He wishes he could make himself smaller. Maybe he'd be more palatable. Maybe you'd like him more like that.

"Pick me," he says.

He doesn't realize he's spoken until your fingers stop threading through his hair.

Childe freezes, an apology on his lips, but he can't bring himself to speak. He can't bring himself to look up at you, either, his copper lashes trembling.

"I have," you say, your fingers resuming their ministrations as if you'd said the most obvious thing in the world.

Childe shivers, nestling closer, hiding his face so you don't see him break. You rub his trembling back despite it, shushing him gently as his tears wet your clothes.

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton Chapter 2, Part 2

Masterpost (Thank you jaythefae for reading over this so that I could post it! This migraine has me writing a lot of swapped words.)

Okay, okay fuck. That wasn’t what Wally was going for at all!

It was a tower! Like Titan’s tower and the lightning bolt was supposed to be him. He was trying to tell them who he was, not spell doom. Who made a tower doom?

Wally put his fingers to his lips and paced. Or paced as much as he could. If he went too far from Danny (and boy had it taken a long time to even learn Danny’s name) he would… disintegrate, for lack of a better word. And wow did Wally want a better word because he did not like disintegrating. People shouldn’t disintegrate!

“Okay, okay, I can work with this! I did go through a major—” Wally leaned in to try and hear the conversation. Danny was clear enough, but anything Mina (or not Danny) said was like listening to the words through wind storm.

“…upheaval and destruction. Change, basically,” Mina said.

He wished she’d shout.

“And… change is doom?” Danny said. He sounded as dubious as Wally felt about that.

Mina shrugged. “People don’t — change. Like — so they get grum— and then— and tada! Change bad.”

“Well, I mean. Of course they went through a change, they’re dead,” Danny said.

Wally winced so hard he bumped into and through Danny’s shoulder. Danny shuddered at the touch.

“Or if not dead, trapped somewhere,” Danny added with a glance towards where Wally was standing.

It was a good sign that Danny was starting consider that Wally wasn’t a ghost. Wally really, really didn’t think that he was dead, after all. But how to get across that he was trapped in the Speed Force? He didn’t think there would be a card for that.

Wally zipped over to Mina’s side, took the cards, and shuffled through them. He really wished that he knew what these damn things meant. A small part of his brain said that messing with the cards like this was messing up the meaning, but fortune telling wasn’t real. (At least not normal human fortune telling.) Once he had finished stacking the spread set with cards he hoped would be useful, he put the cards back and returned to Danny’s side.

The world blurred and crackled around him.

This was using too much energy that he didn’t have. Something had to come from it.

Please.

This had to help.

-

“Well, that wasn’t any help.”

“Don’t say that Danny,” Mina said, but even she was frowning slightly down at her cards as if they were a puppy that had piddled on the floor.

“Do you want to go grab some food? I’m craving one of those avocado, tofu, and facon sandwiches from that place you love.”

“Oh, yes, that sounds excellent,” Mina said, perking up. She stood from the table and started back towards the kitchen. “But before you go, I want to give you some of a special tea. It will help you settle into a sort of zone so that maybe you can have a better chance of connecting with your spirit without you being hurt.”

“Mina Aleshire, are you giving me drugs?” Danny gasped dramatically as he wandered after her, Hubris held limply in his arms.

She paused in opening the cabinet, as if really having to consider the question. “Well, nothing illegal?”

“Mina!”

“It’s an herbal blend!” she argued. “Just, maybe don’t have anywhere to go or anything to do for a few hours after taking it. You know, just in case.”

Danny sighed. “The worst part is that I’m really considering taking this mystery herb blend.”

“It’s better than having seizures,” she pointed out as she handed him a little satchel.

“It’s better than having seizures,” he agreed and took it.

-

The tea smelled like rain and honeysuckle. Danny cradled the mug he was using more carefully than the thick, chipped ceramic warranted. The warmth seeped into his palms and bones. He breathed the pungent smell in and then let out the breath slowly.

He didn’t know if this would work.

It was almost certainly a bad idea, what with him being not entirely human, but it was at least an idea. Danny had never seen one of Mina’s readings go so badly. It went so badly that Danny felt certain that the ‘ghost’ had been interfering. The problem was, is that Danny didn’t know if the sabotage was on purpose or from ignorance.

He wanted to believe that it was ignorance. That the ghost had been trying to tell them something, but in doing so had messed up the reading. But Danny always wanted to believe the best in people.

It had gotten him burned too often.

It might get him burned again if the ghost was really out to hurt him. Mina couldn’t give him the clearest answer on what the tea was going to do, but Danny was pretty sure that it was going to make his spirit less attached to his body for a bit so that he could commune with the things not of this realm. A less attached spirit meant one that was easier to sever.

But he was already half dead, so what did it matter?

Or so he told himself.

Before he could run around the logic again, Danny tipped the mug back and took a long, slow sip. It was spicier than he expected, but in a good way. He drained half the cup steadily as he slowly settled into the mound of pillows that made up his bed. It really wasn’t half bad, for magical drug tea.

“I think I can smell that from here. Which, dude, is saying a lot because I’m stuck in the Speed Force.”

Danny hummed. “What’s the Speed Force?”

“What’s the—can… can you hear me? Can you actually hear me? Did the weird tea do something?!?” the words came in such a rush that they were hard to follow. It didn’t help that they sounded like they were coming from a badly tuned ham radio.

“Slower. You have to be slower. I can barely understand you. You’re static. You’re always static to me,” Danny said.

“Sorry. I’m sorry! I’m sorry I am and that I hurt you, I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t mean to. But you’re the only one that I can hear and see! I need your help!” The words sped up and up again until they were a blur—a roar—a scream—

The mug hit the mattress and bounced onto the floor with a crack as Danny clutched at his head to try to block the sound out.

The talking stopped.

His head continued to ring.

Danny curled up into the pillows with a whimper.

It was a minute or days later when Danny felt fingers running through his hair. They were wonderfully warm.

“—always hurting you. You keep trying for me though, don’t you?”

“Wanta help,” Danny mumbled.

The fingers stilled then picked back up their path. “I need the help too, which is… I’m supposed to be the hereo here, you know?”

“You’re dead,” Danny said.

“Ugh, no! Come on, you were finally moving away from that idea, Danny! I’m not dead! I’m trapped in the Speed Force.”

Danny finally found the strength to roll himself over. Bright blue eyes set among fiery hair and a beautiful scattering of freckles blinked down at him. Danny reached up an unsteady hand to brush over one of the freckled cheeks.

“Speed Force?”

“What gives me my powers. Something went wrong and I’m trapped. You seem to be the only one that can hear or see me and it’s hurting you.”

“Yeah, seizures suck,” Danny said. The world around them was just a swirl of color. Like when a ride at a carnival was spinning so fast that nothing was real anymore. “I don’t think I’m going to be okay when I wake up.”

They laughed, but it was a bitter, choked off sound. “No, Danny, I don’t think you’re going to be okay either.”

“Oh. How can I help you?”

They shook their head, red hair flew about. “You should focus on yourself.”

“Already hurt,” Danny pointed out. “Make it worth it. How can I help you?”

Their blue eyes searched his and then closed as they gave an almost keening whine. Man, they really were worried about him, weren’t they?

“If you can remember, go to Titan’s Tower,” they said finally. “Ask for Nightwing and… and tell him that I said that he's a real dick, okay?”

Danny blinked.

The world spun and spun and spun.

“What?”

“He’ll know what I mean,” they insisted. “He’ll know it’s from me. Tell the Titans that I’m with you and I’m trapped in the Speed Force and I need them to get me out.”

There was an alarm screaming now. Was it time to get up?

“And take care of yourself a little, okay?”

People were shouting.

“Okay.”

The world went dark.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

02 / 627 words

You challenge Gaz to a pushup competition. And lose. What did you think would happen?

He keeps at it, though, maybe as a flex. Half-envious and half-curious, you lay on your stomach with your arms folded under your chin and watch him go. Gaz pushes himself up and down at the same even pace. You could always saboratge him, shove him over, but the satisfaction wouldn't last. Especially with his self-righteous ass taking it as permission to be a martyr about it. Wouldn't be the first time.

"Can you do those one-handed?" you ask him.

He glances at you. "Doesn't do much good for my triceps, but yeah, I can handle it."

"So what? Triceps, pff. The point of one-handed pushups is looking cool."

"If you can pull it off."

"Can you?"

"Obviously."

Gaz pushes up a little harder, repositioning one hand so it's centered under him when he comes down. The other hand he puts behind his back. To your disappointment, he continues with ease. He holds his body in perfect alignment despite the sheen of sweat glazing his skin.

"Wow, fine." You make yourself sound as unimpressed as possible. "Of course you can do it with your dominant arm. What about the other one?"

Gaz switches sides without missing a rep, making it look just as easy. You frown.

"That what you meant?" he asks.

"Yeah. Yeah. Okay, that was smooth," you admit.

"It's all in the form. Keep everything straight and taut. Can't do it properly if your body's all loose and jerking around."

"Uh-huh," you say absently. "What about weighted pushups? Like what if there were something on your back?"

"I've done it before. How come you want to know?"

"Just wondering what if I, like, sat on your back while you did it. Do you think you'd be strong enough?"

"Ah, is that it?" Gaz grins. He pauses his reps with his arm taught but slightly bent, bracing him in a plank. "Try it."

"Really?"

"I can take it."

"I'm heavy."

"Mmm, sure you are. Come on."

Gaz lowers himself to the ground. You hesitate, but he's not letting you back out. He's calling your bluff and he knows it.

"Chickening out?"

You huff and push yourself to your knees. "You wish."

You feel like a ton of clumsy bricks, lowering yourself down onto his back. You really try not to think about how your hand lands right above his shoulder blade or how his tank top leaves so much of his muscled back and shoulders exposed or how your ass slides against the firm curve of his lower back. You pray you're not too heavy. But Gaz either doesn't notice or doesn't mind. As soon as you're situated, draped over him sort of on your back and sort of on your side, he resumes his reps. Slower. Like he's accommodating you as you adjust.

You keep as still as you can. Gaz is as focused and professional as ever. But this is a bit more intimate than you anticipated. Damn him for forcing you to contend with the consequences of your actions. It's impossible not to notice and feel his back muscles at work. His strength is impressive. You're dismayed at the very idea that you thought you could beat Gaz in a test of arm strength. Hubris, that's what it was.

"Is this... helping? The weight?"

"Helping my training? Yeah, it seems to be working. You're good resistance."

"Oh. Thanks. Glad to be of service."

"Yeah? You feel alright on top of me?"

Your cheeks go a little pink at his phrasing. "Yeah. Best seat in the house."

"Is it?" Gaz wears a cheeky smirk, though you can't see it. "Keep it there, then. I like a little extra motivation."

...

[part 1] / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

more Gaz / masterlist tag

[waitimcomingtoo]

Just to Learn That You Never Cared

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Synopsis: always leaving class together to go fight crime leads people to think you’re dating when in reality you’re barely even friends. That is, until you agree to fake a relationship to keep your secret life a secret

requested/idea by @usoppsstar

Masterlist

“Oh, hey. Your girlfriend left this in class.” One of Peter’s classmates said as he tossed Peter a hoodie.

“Oh. Thanks.” Peter said before realizing what the person had said. He turned the hoodie over in his hands and recognized it as yours. His face warmed up in a blush when he realized you had just been mistaken for his girlfriend. He shoved the hoodie into his bag and wondered if he should tell you or not.

Peter saw you later that night on a rooftop you frequented often. You were in your suit, as was he, but had your mask sitting beside you. You were munching on a bag of chips and wordlessly extended them to him when he landed on the rooftop beside you. He smiled graciously and took a few before sitting down next to you. Your knees were touching but neither of you moved away.

“You left this in physics, dingus.” Peter said and handed you your hoodie.

“Oh, thanks. We had to run out of there so fast to save that lady. I must’ve left it behind.” You smiled gratefully and pulled it over your head. Peter felt bad that his high tech suit had built in heaters and your homemade suit was probably leaving you freezing every night. He wanted to suggest sharing his warmth, but he didn’t want to overstep.

“I know. Thank God she called the police on those kids for selling lemonade without a permit. I’m really glad we left a test to go witness that heinous crime.”

“It’s not all bad. We did get to see the cops arrest her for wasting their time by making a fake police report, which is always satisfying. And the kids gave us free lemonade. But I think calling it “homemade” was bullshit. I know Minute Maid when I taste it.” You replied, making Peter chuckle.

“You’re right. Both those things were enjoyable.” Peter agreed. “But I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I feel like we have to leave class every other day.”

“I know. Why did we have to pick a college in such a Karen ridden neighborhood?” You sighed.

“Because we wanted to go to the good school with the good science program. We should’ve known the neighborhood would be full of bored housewives who call the police whenever they have a minor complaint. It was our own hubris.”

“It was.” You chuckled and said looked over at him. You exchanged soft smiles before you looked over at the city horizon. Peters eyes never left you and he cleared his throat to get your attention.

“So, uh, my aunt and I were gonna get Chinese food later. At the place that got shut down for being a front for money laundering but that was really just a front for a second Chinese food chain.”

“Oh, I love that place.”

“Yeah. It’s great.” He nodded. “Anyways, you should totally come-“

Peter was cut off by the police radio he wired to his phone going off. He rolled his eyes and checked what the alert was.

“Damn it. Robbery at the bakery on 9th.” He told you.

“Lowkey, I’d do the same. Their cream puffs made me cream.” You said as you put your mask back on.

“Haha, yeah.” Peter chuckled. “Wait, what?”

“You should get some sleep. I’ll handle the robbery. But I’ll catch you tomorrow, Parker. Get home safe.” You saluted him before falling backwards off the building.

“I love you too.” Peter sighed.

“Did you say something?” You asked and popped back up.

“No.” Peter quickly lied.

“Okay. Well, see you tomorrow.” You waved to him and disappeared again. Peter let out another sigh before swinging home.

The next day, you ran after one of your classmates once class was let out.

“Hey, Carly. I emailed you my notes from the class you missed.” You told her.

“Thank you so much. You’re a life saver.” She replied. “Oh, and could you tell your boyfriend that band practice is in the gym today?”

“Yeah, sure. No problem.” You agreed. She was about to walk away when you realized what she had said.

“Wait, what am I saying?” You wondered. “Who’s my boyfriend?”

“You know. That guy with the prescription shoes.” Carly answered. You tilted your head in confusion until you realized you knew exactly who she was talking about.

“Wait, Peter?” You laughed in surprise. You expected her to laugh too and reveal she was just kidding but she looked completely serious.

“Oh, right. Peter. Why do I always think his name is Timmy?” Carly wondered.

“Because he looks like a Timmy. He gets it all the time.” You waved your hand. “And his shoes are not prescription. He just bought women’s platform shoes because he wanted to be taller and didn’t think anyone could tell.”

“We can.” Carly mumbled.

“I know.” You agreed. “But, I’m getting off topic. Timmy is not my boyfriend. I mean, Peter is not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever label you guys use, can you tell him that wind ensemble is meeting in the gym instead of the choir room? The sopranos kicked us out again to practice or do drugs or something.” Carly explained. You furrowed your eyebrows at her and tried to figure out if she was joking or not.

“The label? I’m so lost. Who told you that Peter’s my boyfriend?”

“Nobody told me.” She shrugged. “Everyone just knows that you guys are a couple.”

“Well how would they know something that isn’t true?” You asked and folded your arms.

“I mean, it’s not like you guys try to keep it a secret. Between all the whispering and staying close by each other. Plus you’re always sneaking out of class together or showing up late. And if one of you is absent, the other always is too. It’s been like that since high school. People just put two and two together I guess. Why, did you want to to be secret?”

“I didn’t want it to be anything. We’re not even dating.” You insisted and felt like you were going crazy.

“You don’t have to deny it.” Carly laughed. “I know feelings are weird and gross and stuff and you’ve never been the relationship type, but I think this guy is good for you. He brings something out in you. I don’t know. But you guys are cute. I love seeing the nice loser and assertive pretty girl troupe in real life.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.” You calmed down momentarily and smiled a little. Carly walked away and your smile quickly faded when you remembered what she had said. You looked around the hallway and saw another student holding an instrument.

“Hey. Band nerd.” You called out to him.

“Me?” He asked and pointed to himself.

“Yes, you. You had to let go of your saxophone case to point to yourself. Have you seen my boyfriend today?” You asked him.

“Peter? I haven’t seen him since yesterday in-“

“That sentence better not end with “wind ensemble” or I’m gonna lose it.”

“It was wind ensemble.” He said quickly.

“I’m leaving.” You shook your head and walked away from him. You pulled out your phone and went straight to your schools “campus sweethearts” page on instagram. Sure enough, there was a picture of you and Peter sitting next to each other right at the top of the page. You had your head thrown back laughing at something he was saying and he was looking at you fondly. You let out a shocked gasp and before walking out into the courtyard to look for Peter. You spotted him on a bench and smiled.

“Yes. Thank you, small campus”. You pumped your fist and went to sit next to him.

“Oh, hi. I was just thinking about you-“

“Someone is spreading a horrible rumor about you.” You cut him off.

“Oh no.” Peter frowned. “What is it? Is it bad?”

“Horrible.” You shook your head. “Peter, they’re saying you’re in wind ensemble.”

“Oh, I am.” Peter shrugged.

“Huh?”

“I play the clarinet . See. Clarinet.” Peter said and lifted up his little black clarinet case.

“Huh?” You said louder.

“I used to play in high school, pre-bite but post 9/11. I saw a flyer for orchestra on campus so I joined.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” You practically shouted. Peter knew you weren’t happy but felt strangely honored that you were so upset over him not telling you something about her personal life.

“Because I know how you feel about band nerds.” He replied. “And you and I don’t really talk about non-work related things. I didn’t think you’d care.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I care.” You insisted. “My rumored boyfriend has been in wind ensemble this whole time and I didn’t even know?”

“Wait, rumored boyfriend? Who, me?” Peter asked in surprised.

“So you didn’t know about this either?”

“No. I mean, someone did refer to you as my girlfriend the other day but I thought it was just an accident. People think you and me are dating?” Peter asked and tried not to look as pleased as he felt.

“Apparently. I’ve had multiple people refer to you as my boyfriend today. And look. We’re on the campus couples Instagram page.” You said and held up your phone.

“Ew. We have one of those?” Peter grimaced and took your phone to see the picture better.

“Yeah. I honestly think the principle runs it.” You replied. Peter was quiet as he stared at the picture for a while.

“What?” You wondered.

“Nothing. This just a cute picture of us. And I think the only picture of us.” He said with a shy smile. You frowned and looked at the picture again before realizing he was right.

“Carly said people think we’re dating since we’re always sneaking off together.” You told him. Peter thought out this for a minute and then made another connection.

“Ohhhh.” He said and nodded his head.

“What?”

“This explains why the boys congratulated me on the bus back to New York after the Washington monument trip for losing my virginity at a historic landmark.”

“You lost your virginity on that trip? To who?” You whispered harshly and felt jealousy burning through your veins.

“You, apparently.” He laughed. “You and I disappeared to get the glowy alien egg bomb thing back and I guess everyone assumed we were off desecrating a national monument.”

“Oh my God. That was like 3 years ago.” You realized. “People have thought we were dating this whole time? We need to put a stop to this.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Or…” Peter trailed off and gave you a look.

“Or?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Or, we lean into it.” He suggested. “We let people think it. We encourage it, even.”

“Why would we do that?”

“People have been suspicious about where we go and what we’re doing since high school. We can only fake so many illnesses and I ran out of grandparents to lie about the death of by junior year. So if people already made up a reason, maybe we should let them think that. We don’t have to go out of our way to confirm it but we can keep the assumption going to keep them from finding out what we’re really doing.”

“So you think we should let people think we’re dating so they stop wondering about what we’re always off doing?”

“That’s exactly what I just said, yes.” Peter nodded.

“Hey. Be nicer to your fake girlfriend.” You said and smacked his arm.

“I’m sorry. I will.” Peter blushed and rubbed his arm. You felt bad for hitting him and wrapped both arms around him to rub them up and down. He smiled softly at you and you sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

“You play the clarinet?” You asked after a minute.

“Squidward made it look so cool.” Peter shrugged.

“Did he?” You asked, making Peter laugh.

“No.” He admitted.

The next day, you and Peter walked to school together with the understanding that from then on out, you were going to play the part of a happy couple. You weren’t going to go around announcing it to everyone or anything. You just needed to convince the few that didn’t already believe the rumor and confirm things for the ones who did believe it.

“You ready for this?” You asked Peter as you stepped into campus.

“I think so. Maybe we should hold hands or something. You know, since people think we’re dating.” Peter suggested and tried to make it sound like it didn’t matter to him.

“I guess so.” You shrugged and held out your hand. Peter eagerly took your hand and took note of the way it fit in his like it was made for him.

“This is weird.” You whispered to him, popping his bubble.

“Why? Are my hands sweaty?” He panicked.

“No. Just really, really hot.” You told him. “It’s just weird that nobody seems to care that we’re holding hands right now.”

“I mean, we are just two random people with almost no social presence.”

“That’s true. I guess I just thought people would care more.” You admitted as you looked around the campus. No one was phased by you and Peter, but he was too busy enjoying the moment to realize it.

“Are you disappointed?” He asked you.

“Yeah. I wore my best bra because I thought I’d be getting more attention today.” You frowned and adjusted the strap of your bra.

“It’s okay. I’ll take one for the team and stare at your boobs.” Peter assured you.

“Aw. Thank you.” You gushed and gave his hand a squeeze.

You got to your physics class and sat together at your usual lab table. Peter looked around the classroom while you carried on as usual.

“Maybe I should put my arm around you. You know, to really convince people.” Peter suggested with a shy blush on his face.

“Is that really something people do?” You genuinely wondered. “I feel like I never see couples with their arms around each other.”

“Actually, I don’t think I have either. But let’s try it anyway.” He said and wrapped an arm around you. You scooted closer to him so that you could comfortably lean into him. You quickly realized you didn’t hate it and let out a content sigh.

“Hm.” Peter made a little noise at the back of his throat.

“What?” You asked him.

“Our height difference makes this hurt my shoulder.” He leaned over to whisper in your ear.

“Then move your arm.” You whispered back.

“I can’t. I just wrapped it around you. It’ll look weird if I immediately take it off.” Peter said as he covered behind him to see who was looking.

“Or, consider this. Nobody in this entire city, and dare I say world, cares where your arm is right now.” You whispered harshly.

“Fine. I’ll remove it. But I have to give a reason.” He told you before loudly clearing his throat.

“Ah. Sorry, babe. I can’t cuddle you right now. My arm is sore from band practice.” Peter said loud enough for everyone in the classroom to hear him. You hung your head in shame and heard people murmuring about his strange comment.

“Oh God.” Peter gulped. “People are looking. They’re gonna know something is up. I have to put it back.”

He went to put his arm back around you but you stopped him before he could draw any more attention to the two of you.

“Just do this.” You whispered to him and pulled his stool closer to you and turned towards him a little. Your knees and were touching and you were now facing each other.

“That’s it? No one can even see this.” Peter said in disappointment. He thought being your fake boyfriend would bring you guys closer but you were sitting the way you always sat in class.

“It’s not about what people can see. It’s about proximity.” You explained. “We’re sitting closer together than anyone else is without being egregious about it. It’s a simple touch. If we’ve been together as long as people think we have, we don’t need to be wrapped around each other all the time. A simple touch to let the other know we’re there is all we need.”

Peter was silent as he stared at you following your explanation. He stared for so long that you felt yourself blush under the eye contact.

“What?” You asked him.

“I like the way you explain things.” Peter said simply. You quickly looked down so he wouldn’t see the effect that comment had on you and took a moment to collect yourself.

“It’s just something I thought of.” You shrugged.

“I know. But I never would have thought of that. Especially not as naturally as it did for you. You’re so quick.”

“Thank you.” You laughed shyly and found yourself unable to look away from him. Peter opened his mouth to say something to keep the momentum rolling but his phone interrupted him.

“Shoot. Sus-tivity on the b bridge.” He whispered.

“What the hell does that mean?” You asked at full volume.

“It means there’s suspicious activity on the Brooklyn bridge.” He rolled his eyes. “We have to act fast so I didn’t have time to say the whole thing.”

“But you just said the whole thing. And the abridged version. So it took twice as long.”

“Shh.” He waved his hand. “We gotta go.”

You reluctantly collected your things and took Peter’s hand to pull him out of his seat. Peter followed you out the classroom but the teacher cleared her throat when you walked by.

“And where are you two going?” She asked. You and Peter exchanged looks as the class snickered and murmured their theories about what exactly you were heading off to do.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Pepper. My girlfriend and I have to leave class unexpectedly. Please excuse us. It’s urgent.” Peter’s said politely.

“I bet it’s urgent, Parker.” A boy snickered, making serval classmates laugh.

“Gross.” You wrinkled your noses and looked at the boys in disdain.

“Fine.” The teacher sighed. “The only reason I don’t write you two up for skipping so often is because you somehow have the best grades in the class. Go on. Just get the homework done.”

“We will.” You assured her before leaving the room with Peter. Peter noticed that you didn’t drop his hand even when you were alone in the hallway.

“Hey, you know that teachers name is Dr. Zhang and not Dr. Pepper, right?” You asked him.

“Oh my God.” Peter gasped. “Is it really? I’ve emailed her so many times and said “Dear Dr. Pepper”. We have to drop out.”

You laughed and held his hand the rest of the way out of the building.

That night, Peter laid in his bed with his phone held close to his face. He had been trying to figure out what to text you to let you know he had been thinking of you.

“I had fun fighting crime with you today” He wrote out. He read it over before scrunching his nose.

“No. Too cringe. She is not gonna fall in love with someone that says “fighting crime”. I’m not Paw Patrol.” He said like it was obvious. He deleted his text and thought of another one.

“I had a good time today, we make a good team” He wrote out instead. He read it a few times until he found issue with it.

“Oh, you had a good time stopping those break dancers that were obstructing that Sbarro? That’ll catch her attention.” Peter said sarcastically and deleted the text.

“have a goodnight :)” He typed out and then shook his head.

“No. Wayyyy too horny.” He sighed and deleted it again.

“night” He wrote out and read it a few times.

“This is good. I can work with this.” He nodded. He was about to workshop it when a text from you popped up.

“pick a color” It said. Peters heart skipped a beat at the vague message and replied with the first color that popped into his head.

“blue”

“thank u” You wrote back within seconds. Peters heart stopped pounded and the disappointment that the conversation was over settled in. After all these years of fighting crime together, you two never really managed to make it past the coworkers stage. He was desperate for more but never knew how to get there.

“no homo but I had fun fighting crime with you today” You suddenly texted again. A smile tugged at Peter’s lips and he touched his as if it were your face.

“ok paw patrol” He wrote back. Back in your room, you were laughing at his text and trying to think of a witty reply.

“ur mad bc you know I’m the chase 🐶” You texted him.

“if ur the Chase then who am I?”

“plssss ur such a marshall” You wrote back.

“but that’s the third most important dog :(“ Peter replied.

“well yes but he’s cute and wears red so the little paw patrol shoe fits” You answered. A blush painted Peters cheeks over you calling him cute but he didn’t want to read too much into it.

“Im wearing red right now😳” He texted back.

“oh I bet you are” You answered, making him laugh. He kept the conversation going for about an hour before duty called once again. Peter groaned and put his suit on before swinging to the scene of the crime. He met you there and stopped the crime before stopping on a nearby rooftop to rest.

“These burglars aren’t very considerate of our sleep schedules. Who robs a Jersey Mikes after midnight? Or, like, ever?” Peter huffed as he tugged his mask off.

“I know. They’re always at inconvenient times. I was in the middle of painting my nails.”

“Can I see?” He asked in a soft voice. You pulled your gloves off and held out your hand for him to see.

“Look. Blue. But I only got half way through before Mike’s was targeted.”

“It’s okay. They still look pretty.” Peter complimented you with a soft smile.

“Thanks. You picked a good color.” You replied.

“What do you mean?” He frowned.

“I told you to pick a color. This is why.” You explained and held out your hand again. His eyes lit up at this new information and he took your hand to see your nails closer.

“You let me chose your nail color?” He smiled fondly.

“Well I didn’t know what to chose so I thought I’d ask the audience.” You shrugged and felt shy all of the sudden.

“Oh. And I’m the target audience, huh?” Peter smirked and turned towards you.

“I never said target.” You teased him and shoved him shoulder.

“I must be hearing things, then.” He shrugged as you both smiled.

“Yeah. Must be.” You said in a soft voice as you stared into his eyes. Peter gulped before making a bold move and taking your hand again under the guise of looking at your nails.

“Look at you. You even got my favorite shade.” He noted.

“You like “Eating For Blue”?” You pretended to gasp.

“Is that really the name of the color?” He laughed.

“Uh huh. It was apart of Essie’s baby fever collection. I almost chose “All In Blue Time” but that’s one tends to get little air bubbles and they give me agida. And I used to have “A Dream Come Blue” but it rolled under the sink so it belongs to the dust bunnies now.” You shrugged as you checked out your nails.

“Wow. This is all new information to me. So, are all nail polish colors named after puns and wordplay?” He asked as he stared into your eyes. He didn’t really care, but he was finally getting somewhere with you and didn’t want it to end.

“In my experience, yes. Not always color related wordplay but always something that makes you go yeah, I guess this shade of beige is what the word “ladylike” would be as a color.”

“This is blowing my mind right now.” Peter chuckled.

“You mean blue-ing your mind.” You corrected and tapped the side of your head.

“I think you inhaled too many of those fumes. Because that was not funny.” Peter said through a laugh.

“What?” You pretended to be offended. “You’re literally laughing right now. I’m so funny.”

“You are.” Peter admitted when his laughter died down. You stared into eyes for a minute before smiling.

“Is that what you rumored saw in me?” You asked him.

“Probably.” He chuckled. “I also heard a rumor that I think you’re really pretty. Like, the prettiest girl I was ever rumored to have allegedly seen.”

“Now you’re the one who’s looney from the fumes because that’s a straight up lie. I know you’ve seen prettier girls because I was standing right next to you when Anne Hathaway left that diner.” You said without making eye contact with him. Things were moving a little too fast and you needed it hit the brakes for a second.

“Oh, yeah. You’re right.” Peter forced a laugh and awkwardly looked over at the cityscape when he realized you were politely telling him to pull back.

“But I appreciate it.” You said after a beat of silence.

“Of course. Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking saying that.” He laughed nervously. “I was just getting caught up in the fake dating. We’ve been doing it for so long that it felt real.”

“We only started this morning.” You reminded him.

“Right. Well, it’s late. I’m gonna go home.” He said quickly and stood up. He had just blown that and needed to leave as quickly as possible.

“Okay. Goodnight. See you at school.” You called after him. Peter swung home with tears in his eyes and went straight to bed, missing your text about having fun fighting another crime.

The next day at school, Peter decided to start over and push last night from his mind. He played the part of your boyfriend to the best of his abilities and opened every door, pulled out every seat, and carried ever book for you all day long. Then he did it the next day, and the day after that. He kept his mouth shut about his feelings day in and day out no matter how painful it was getting. You and Peter had finally moved past the coworker stage and become real friends so he didn’t want to sabotage it all by telling you that he spent his days wishing for more.

“What are your plans tonight?” You asked him one day as you walked out of class together.

“My aunt is going out with her friends so I was probably gonna watch a movie on my couch. But on my laptop with my earbuds in. Likely in my boxers. Likely with an entire package of Twizzlers. Why?”

“Well I was gonna suggest that we hang out but you sound booked.”

“Really? You want to hang out?” Peter asked with much more enthusiasm than he intended.

“If you want. I’m not doing anything as exciting as boxers and Twizzlers.”

“I would love to. I’ll put on pants for you. I promise.”

“Sounds good.” You laughed. “Text me your address, okay?”

“Sure. Or you could walk with me now. Unless you’re tired of me and need a break before we hang out.” Peter suggested as you left campus together.

“It’s funny you say that. I was just telling my mom the other day that I never get tired of you.” You said casually.

“You..you don’t?” Peter’s face heated up as he followed you down the sidewalk.

“I don’t. I usually need a break from other people if we’ve been together awhile but it’s different with you. It doesn’t feel like I’m using my social battery if that makes sense.“

“It makes sense.” He smiled shyly as your hands bumped against each others. He was about to make a bold move and take your hand despite no one being around but you suddenly moved it to hit the crosswalk button.

Back at Peter’s apartment, he awkwardly gave you a tour and wished he had picked up his clothes before leaving the house that morning. You didn’t seem to mind the socks and boxers strewn across his room because you were too focused on all the little things he kept on his shelves. You picked up a picture frame of your freshman year high school class that had you and Peter seated right next to each other. Your friendship had only just begun so you often forgot how long you knew him for.

“So this is your room.” You smiled and put the picture back.

“Yup. This is where the magic happens.” Peter said and immediately cringed at himself.

“Oh really?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. This is where I practice magic. Wanna see?” He asked and picked up a deck of cards. You laughed and went over to take one.

“Is your card the ace of spades?” He asked.

“Queen of hearts.” You snorted and turned the card around.

“You’re the queen of my heart.” He whispered.

“Did you say something?” You asked as you looked at all his Legos.

“I asked what you wanted to do tonight.” He lied.

“I don’t know. We have the place to ourselves. We could do something rated R.” You said with a coy smile.

“Like what?” Peter gulped.

“Watch an R rated movie, you perv. Your aunt isn’t here to stop you.”

“You remember me telling you that I’m not allowed to watch R rated movies in the living room anymore?” Peter blushed at you remembering something he had randomly told you long ago.

“Are you referring to the time you watched Tusk at full volume while she had her friends from work over for the first time? How could I forget?”

“In my defense, I didn’t know what the movie was about. And I didn’t think her friends were gonna come into the living room and see that guy getting turned into a walrus.”

“Yeah, the title and cover art gave no indication that the movie would end that way. But that’s not a bad idea actually. Let’s watch something scary.”

“Okay.” Peter agreed and followed you out into the living room. He turned off the lights and got some snacks while you picked a movie. He hated scary movies but he was not about to tell you that. Instead, he sat on the couch beside you as a respectful distance and handed you a bag of chips. As the movie went on, you got closer and closer to each other. Peter had never really seen you scared before but you were practically in his lap just 40 minutes into the movie. You reached into the bag of chips at the same time as Peter and your fingers touched. You both froze and looked at each other as your faces heated up.

“Shit. I’m not wearing a condom.” Peter sighed, making you yank your hand out and laugh.

“You’re stupid.” You laughed and turned back to the movie just as a jump-scare happened. You screamed and jumped closer to Peter.

“This is so scary. Why did I pick this movie?” You asked as you drew your knees up and leaned into his side.

“Yeah, same.” He replied, not even listening. He couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. You were cuddled into his side with your head on his shoulder and knees in his lap with a blanket drawn up to your nose. He knew you were only cuddling him because you were scared but it didn’t even matter at that point. The movie went quiet for a minute and then made a loud sound, sending you to burry your face into Peter’s neck.

“Tell me when it’s safe to come out.” You whispered into his ear. Peter gulped and wrapped an arm around you to fully protect you from the movie.

“I will.” He said in a soft voice. You peaked your head out a few minutes later but stayed nestled into Peter’s side. You realized his arm was around you and smiled a little.

“Oh, this isn’t so bad.” You shrugged as the main character got eaten alive.

“I don’t understand you.” Peter chuckled and looked down at you. You laughed as well as you looked into his eyes. He was about to say something when another sharp sound from the movie caused you to jump.

“Hold my hand.” You blurted and grabbed his hand. Peter happily accepted and clasped your hand before holding it under his chin. You stayed in that position for a long time and watched the movie. You were both so focused on the screen that you didn’t hear May opening the front door and coming in.

“Hey. I’m home.” She said, making you both scream.

“Oh, hi May.” Peter greeted while he realized it was just her.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Parker. I’m-“

“I know.” She smirked. “I’ll just be in my room. But, Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“No going in your room with the door closed, okay? I’m home. And we have thin walls. Just keep that in mind.” She said, making Peter turn bright red.

“Got it, May.” He mumbled. She winked at you and disappeared into her bedroom.

“You told your aunt we were dating?” You whispered to Peter in confusion.

“No.” Peter answered honestly. “I guess she just assumed we were.”

“Wow. She’s just like the kids at school.” You shook your head. ���I don’t get it. Why does everyone think we’re dating?”

“I mean…” Peter trailed off and looked down at your clasped hands. You hadn’t realized you were still cuddling and quickly jumped off of him. Peters heart sank and the longer he sat in the absence of your body heat, the more upset he felt.

“You just jumped off of me like I was sharp.” He said without looking at you.

“I didn’t want your aunt to see us cuddling and think-“

“And think what?” He snapped, cutting you off. You gutted your head back in surprise and let out a nervous laugh.

“Woah. What’s going on with you? She already knows about your secret life. We don’t have any reason to pretend we’re dating in front of her.”

Peter stared at you for a long time as the word “pretend” cut into him like a knife. Every time he thought you were going somewhere, he was reminded that it didn’t actually mean anything to you.

“Yeah. You’re right.” He mumbled and looked at the movie again. You kept your eyes on him and felt guilty. You had so much to say to him but you felt unable to speak.

“Peter-“

“I don’t think we should pretend to date anymore.” He blurted, cutting you off once again. Your eyebrows went up in surprise and you got a sick feeling in your tummy that you had just ruined something really important.

“What? Why not?”

“It’s stupid. No one even cares anymore.” He shrugged. “We don’t have to fake a breakup or anything but I don’t want to hold hands or play along anymore. I’m done.”

“What changed?” You asked in a soft voice. He was still looking at the movie while you were fully turned to face him.

“Nothing changed. That’s the problem.” He said and angrily got off the couch. You quickly caught his hand and he stopped. He looked down at the ground and let out a sigh. He knew it wasn’t fair to be mad at you if he hadn’t told you what was wrong. He slowly turned around and looked at you.

“Five years ago, you showed up to the same robbery at an all night CVS that I was at and I realized we knew each other from AP Spanish class because I had asked you earlier that day how to conjugate “poner” and you said “pusiste” and I laughed because I thought you were joking but you weren’t and then that night you heard me tell the burglar that he better“pusiste” the money back into the register.“ Peter began.

“Okay. Wow. That was a really long sentence.” You laughed softly. “But I remember that. I laughed and told you that you better remember that for the test.”

“You did. That’s how I knew it was you.” He smiled at the memory. “I failed that test, by the way. I still can’t conjugate “poner.” And I still think it means “boner” even though I know it’s a verb. But anyway, that night, I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited to have met you. Even though we technically already knew each other, that night put us in each others radars. I could not believe that I had met my match. You’re into science like me and sarcastic like me and you understand this side of my life because you have the same side. But despite running into each other on patrol almost nightly and seeing each other around school, I barely got you to notice me. I don’t think you even knew my name until we ended up going the same college. You called me “Timmy” all throughout high school.”

“You seriously look like one. It’s uncanny. I don’t know what it is.”

“I thought things would change when I found out we were going to the same college. The campus is so small I figured there’s no way we wouldn’t become friends. But even then, we hardly ever talked and when we did it was always about work. I didn’t even know where you lived until last semester.”

“I remember that too. The first night we really bonded was when you fell off that roof because you were trying to show me how to do a backflip.”

“Yeah, I’ve never been able to do a backflip.” He admitted. “I only said I could because you said you always wanted to learn how to do one and I assumed given my abilities I’d be able to do one if I just followed my body. But I busted my ass and you were kind enough to sneak me through your window and patch me up with some Scooby Doo bandaids.”

“It was all I had.” You shrugged.

“And you gave it to me anyway. Because you’re kind and compassionate and I’m just…I’m crazy about you.” Peter finally admitted. “I was so excited when we started hanging out more this semester but it always ended up crushing me when I remembered that we just doing it to keep people from finding out the truth. I really, really love our friendship and if I’m ruining it all by saying all this then at least I can die with it off my chest.”

“Wait, now I’m confused. Are you dying?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “It feels like I am every time you and I start to get close and then I remember this is all pretend for you.”

“So it’s not pretend for you?” You asked quietly. Peter stared into your heads for a minute and then shook his head.

“No. I was never pretending. I like you.” He told you. Your facial expression didn’t change as you stared back at him. Peter was really starting to panic until a smile tugged at your lips.

“Sit back down.” You told him.

“I’m sat.” He said and rushed it sit down. You nestled back into his side and laid your head down on his shoulder. Peter smiled and rested his head on top of yours, finally pleased with the way a conversation with you went. You both turned your attention back to the movie just in time for it to end.

“Hm.” You huffed. “That was supposed to be us symbolically finishing the movie as a real couple but it appears we’ve already arrived at the credits. Now what?”

“We could watch Tusk.” Peter suggested at the same time you said “We could make out.”

“I never actually saw Tusk but I always wanted to.” You gasped and hit his arm with excitement.

“Or we could do your thing.” Peter forced a laugh and tried not to sound as desperate as he felt.

“Let me see if I can find it.” You said as you scrolled through the streaming services on his TV.

“Or we could do your thing.”

Tag List 🏷️

@thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling

@tom-hollands-wifey

@whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings

@imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

@peterparkoure

@justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr

@emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland

@sovereignparker @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @eridanuswave​ ​

@solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant

@quaksonhehe @lovelessdagger

@thesuitelifeofafangirl @marshxx @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie

@maybemona

@alexxcorona113 @lethal-wisdom

@pandaxnienke

@itsemohours

@freakofmusic25 @tomholland85

@olixerwxxd @leilanixx

@whereismytelephone @so-very-asleep @white-wolf1940

@spideyspeaches @hihiweezing

@mathletemadison  

@dhtomholland @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @prancerrparkerr

@hallecarey1 @adayasgeorgia @blackwidowisthebest @imawhoreforu

@ciarahollands

@nellabellaa @pinklxmonade @boogywoogywoogy

[percabethsong]

Ok, I wanted to talk about Annabeth being the reincarnation of Odysseus.

First of all, yes, Annabeth and not Percy. Here's why: they have the same fatal flaw (hubris), fight in similar ways (relying heavily in words and tricks), as well as this comparison being made in the Sea of Monsters itself several times, in which Annabeth (Odysseus) calls herself Nobody (again) to the Cyclops, is the one that wanted to tied herself to listen to the sirens (I know that part was changed in Epic, but let's pretend not for the sake of the intention of the comparison in the book), etcetera. In addition, I know Percy going insane when someone hurts Annabeth is something the whole fandom agrees, which is something he and Odysseus share, but let's be honest, Annabeth does not play about him neither. I would say she went even more nuts about him missing in HOO than he did when she went missing in Titan Curse. Percy could also totally be Penelope, considering their loyalty.

That being said, what I wanted to focus on this post is Athena, and how she made the same mistake again with another version of her protégée, this time her daughter. If we consider that the events of Epic are what happened in PJO, not only Athena (or Minerva, so close enough) abandoned Odysseus again in The Mark of Athena, but she said to Annabeth that she wished Odysseus was there because he would understand the map (that's a line about that in the book). She compared Annabeth to Odysseus, not realising they are the same soul.

Also, if the events of Epic happened in PJO, then it means Athena gave up of creating a world where people held each other with a little more empathy, like she said she wished to do in "I can't help but wonder". She had probably tried for a few centuries, became kinder. I even think that might be why she started to have demigods children: to a child of Athena to be born she needs a real connection with a mortal, which she didn't allow herself before Odysseus. However, with the pass of time (my personal belief is that the Romans treatment towards her would be a main factor in that), she went back to be colder. She has a ruthless father who didn't support her mission to be kinder and told her to be away from her kids, as well as humans who didn't pay her the same respect as they used to.

Then it came Annabeth, this child, her child, who is her favourite, and part of that it's because she reminds her of her favourite champion, her first friend, even if she doesn't acknowledge that. Unaware to her, they are the same person, and this time she's his mother. This version of Odysseus looks up to her so much because her mortal family couldn't understand her and she still carries the admiration Odysseus felt towards her, but without any of the bad memories.

And yet.

Yet Athena breaks her (his) trust again. Yet Athena disapproves Percy (Penelope), who in any life, Odysseus (Annabeth) would do anything for. More than that, Athena is one of the main reasons that Annabeth took so long to accept Percy as the love of her life.

So Annabeth (Odysseus) resents her again, and when Athena realises who her daughter is (because I am sure she would eventually) it's already too late. She made the same mistake, and she can hear a voice in her head calling her "Selfish and prideful and vain", but this time, this voice sounds like Annabeth's.

[always-just-red]

Super self-indulgent addition to the poly series for my birthday!!! (Works as a standalone fic!) If you see this today you have to reblog, as a gift to me! And this fandom 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ *gets struck by lightning for my hubris*

Breaking Point

L&DS Boys X Reader

(No Caleb yet! I'm not confident in writing him and I wanna make sure I do it right! He'll be joining this series later though, for sure for sure...)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 / ?

Summary: I can't spoil the plot because it's a surprise but just trust me, ok? Look into my eyes! Right here! 👁️👁️ You want to read this. You really do.

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: gn!reader, platonic-ish! poly, some flirting, swearing, all the guys come with health warnings in this because like I said, it's self-indulgent! (I'm giving me everything I want 😌)

| Word count: 4.5k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

You only have one life, and it’s Sylus’s to take.

He’s stalled. Denied himself the pleasure of snuffing it out, like he was always supposed to. You thought it was sentiment: a fondness that saw him shoot you with nothing more deadly than a wink or a smile, not that those weren’t their own, trivial little murder attempts. Now, he wants something permanent. Something that’ll stick.

His gun is pressed into your back, but you can’t resent him for it. If your gun was at his back, you would have already pulled the trigger.

“It isn’t too late to stop this, Sylus,” you mutter quietly, because the sentiment is there— no matter how deep he’s buried it. You’ll show it to him, even with raw hands and dirt under your nails.

You try to turn but the gun presses harder, urging you forwards like every other time you’ve attempted to slow or reason with him. “All’s fair in love and war, sweetie,” he says with a smile in his voice, and you wonder which one it is: that slow, nostalgic one, or the one he saves for his enemies. All teeth. All sharp. “You understand, don’t you?”

This is all your fault.

The dark, narrow corridor you’re being paraded down is coming to an end. It opens up into a larger room with abstract furnishings: block-like pillars and walls, lined with spidery strips of neon lights. They glow a weak purple, some flickering eerily. It’s still dark, and there are shadows everywhere.

Sylus swings you under a faint spotlight in the centre of the space. “I know you’re there,” he announces to the darkness, one hand on your shoulder, possessive.

There’s no response from the void. Can he hear something? A baited breath, somewhere out in the shadows, or a heartbeat, tripping over itself on adrenaline? You can’t hear a thing; the silence is too thick. Perhaps he made a mistake. Perhaps—

“What do you want, Sylus?” a voice calls out from behind a pillar— Zayne. By the time you look over, he’s pressed himself back against cover, out of sight, out of range.

“Let’s talk about this, yeah?” Rafayel, from behind a low wall.

Sylus tugs you closer: wraps you in a heavy arm so his gun is in front of you, angled inwards at your heart. He’s always loved a dramatic irony, even if it’s private— just for the two of you. “A Deepspace Hunter for a Deepspace Hunter,” he bargains. “More than fair, wouldn’t you say?”                                                                      

“You don’t have to do this, Xavier!” you shout.

“Ah, ah,” Sylus tuts, his warm breath tickling your ear: “Don’t be a hero, sweetie.”

More silence follows, but you know your fate is being decided in the dark. Amethyst eyes are pleading with peridot. Fire is trying to thaw ice. You can imagine the artist gesturing wildly, mouthing arguments, and the doctor solemnly shaking his head— ever trying to solve an unsolvable problem.

None of it matters, because Xavier is already stepping into the light. Hands up in surrender, weapon stowed at his side. His face is a storm and the flickering neon betrays it like lightning. Look— it warns. Divine violence.

Sylus’s hand tenses, ever so slightly, on your shoulder. You look at Xavier. He looks back at you.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this,” he says softly, and you’re in the centre of the storm, where it’s safe and it’s quiet and nothing outside can reach you, let alone hurt you. It won’t last, but it exists. You’re glad it exists.

“It’s okay,” you speak on a whisper.

You know how this has to end. Sylus can’t see it. Rafayel and Zayne— both peeking their heads out of cover— can’t see it either, but you? Of course you do. It’s an instinct: Deepspace Hunter to Deepspace Hunter, like Sylus said. Two edges of the same sword.

When Xavier draws his gun at light speed and shoots you with it, you’re the only one not surprised.

“What?” Sylus gasps as red spills over you.

But Xavier doesn’t stop. An onslaught: he fires relentlessly, aim not letting up for a second. His gun flashes over and over again and the sound is harsh on your ears as he closes in, indifferent.

“Sorry, sweetie,” you hear Sylus murmur, and then you’re shoved forwards— limp and useless— into the arms of your attacker.

Xavier catches you, his gun finally falling silent. The air had gone thick for a moment. Time had slowed. Space had twisted. A few, glistening crow feathers waltz around you, and you glance down at your vest. The lights on it have stayed red.

That was your last, stupid life. The digital counter on your gun is stuck at: ‘000’.

“Thanks,” you say to Xavier anyway, because you wouldn’t have struck the floor quite so gracefully as the feathers.

He’s frowning— staring after Sylus— but your voice brings him back to you. He looks down with a devastatingly handsome smile. “You’re welcome.” Then it’s gone. “And I’m sorry, too.”

“Wha—?” is all you manage to get out before you’re flung into another pair of arms. Xavier is running away; you can hear him. You can see him, in the corner of your eye: a pale shadow, giving chase after Sylus. Slipping into the labyrinth of spaceship-like corridors.

“Cutie?” Rafayel’s calling, and it must be his arms around you, squeezing you.

You want to answer— you’re going to answer— but then he drops to his knees, the fall making your head spin. You feel sick. “Cutie?” he tries again, and oh, him shaking you really isn’t helping.

“Raf, please— please stop.”

He doesn’t. “Stay with me, okay?” he urges, the red lights on your gear reflecting in his desperate eyes. He looks up at an encroaching figure. “Zayne! Do something!”

The doctor strides towards you, casting a nonchalant gaze over your body. When he speaks, it’s a bleak prognosis: “Last life?”

“Yep! Sylus already got me once. And before that, Raf—”

“Shhhh shh shh,” the man cradling you hushes, “don’t speak, cutie. Save your strength.”

“Shot me. He was pretending to be a spy,” you finish.

“I wasn’t!”

You huff. “Really? So I was just imagining you posing every time you rounded a corner? The forward rolls, all the spinning around and stuff— that was all in my head?”

“Guess so,” he shrugs. “It’s not my fault you fantasise about me being some kinda action hero, you freak.”

Your face is dark. “Zayne?”

An electronic gunshot rings out, and the lights on Rafayel’s vest flash red. He gapes down at himself, then glowers at Zayne as they return to their normal, lives-to-spare blue. The doctor shrugs guiltlessly, a slight tug at the corner of his lips.

Footsteps approach and your allies react: Rafayel cradling you tighter (definitely not using you as a human shield) and Zayne levelling his gun at a pitch-black corridor. The weapon drops as Xavier stalks out of it, his pace brisk and his presence commanding. “Status?” he asks, checking his Hunter’s Watch pointlessly. It’s a force of habit. You do it, too.

“We’re one hunter down,” says Zayne, his tone equally pragmatic. “Sylus?”

“Could be anywhere.” Xavier toes a crow feather with what you can only describe as disgust.

Okay… Rafayel’s grip is getting a little much, now. You feebly tap at his hand, but he’s too busy glaring up at your team leader to notice. “How could you?” he mutters under his breath, deliberately loud.

Xavier spares him a glance. Then you, finally. “I did what I had to.”

“What you had to?” Rafayel’s voice is dangerous. “What you had to?”

Just as you’re thinking about how touching his loyalty is, he drops you the rest of the way to the floor. You lie there, stunned, staring up at the ceiling. The artist stands, then— yep! Steps over you completely. “You’ve gone too far this time, Xavier! You don’t get to choose who lives and who dies.”

He’s thrashing about in an uncaring ocean. Xavier’s eyes are calm. “Don’t I?”

You didn’t know challenges could be issued so softly. Rafayel stares in disbelief, then looks to Zayne for back-up: are you seeing this?

The doctor is quiet as he diagnoses the situation, trying to find the path of least resistance. There has to be a middle ground. A way to appease fire without burning his hands.

His hazel eyes fall on you, and you get the feeling you’re the answer. He comes to stand over you. Crouches down beside you, head low in respect as he takes your hand and squeezes it gently, like he’s savouring a warmth that’s ebbing away.

“Zayne…?” you breathe. You don’t quite know what’s happening.

He releases a breath too, for your voice is a memory and he’ll treasure it, always. His spare hand lifts to cup your cheek, and he meets your eyes with unequivocal devotion. It isn’t innocent. It’s dark.

“We will avenge you,” he vows.

…

It’s nice, being dead.

You can meander aimlessly. You can hum to yourself recklessly.

You don’t have to poke your head around each corner, giving signals that the coast is clear or unclear because Xavier decided— worryingly early in the game— that it was you who should always go first. Step into the open, maybe even a firing line. Sylus will hesitate, he’d insisted, his hands on your shoulders and his eyes boring into yours intensely. You’re his weakness. Exploit it.

You’d nodded, wide-eyed, unsure of what else to do with someone gripping you like that.

What would Xavier say now, you wonder, if he saw you— Sylus’s infamous weakness— watching the man with a tender smile? His scarlet gaze is distracted. He hasn’t noticed you yet. Well, he has, but he’s pretending he hasn’t. He’s busy: crouched behind a wall, peering over it cautiously.

You saunter over. “What’s the plan here, Mr Lone Wolf?”

“Quiet.”

“Mr One Man Army. Mr ‘I don’t need a team, sweetie, I could beat you all with my hands tied.’”

Sylus gifts you a sideways smirk. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

“Come on, Sy—” you perch back on the wall he’s using for cover— “death can’t keep us apart. Y’know what that makes me?”  

“Insufferable.”

“Nope. A ghost,” you correct, and the man smiles more widely. It’s still nowhere near enough attention, so you wiggle your arms at him, adding an “ooooooooh!” for good measure.

“You don’t scare me, sweetie.”

Oh really? You study your nails. “You ever think about how if you’d died before you met me, Luke and Kieran would’ve had full creative control of your funeral?”

Sylus’s smile fades the more that image sinks in. “Fine,” he shrugs, “you scare me a little. Now—” he stands to his full height, giving your head a pat— “off to heaven with you, ghost.”

You’re interfering with his mission, you know.

He strides away purposefully, and you can tell he’s enjoying this. The unfair odds. The chance to show off. At last, some enrichment for the wanted criminal who holds your bags while you’re shopping. (Not that he doesn’t enjoy that, too.)

He’s checking over his gun with a customary glance, and the way he moves is addictive; what he’s wearing doesn’t help. A black compression shirt stresses each muscle of his arms and back— the fabric fighting for its life. If you could buy it a drink for its service, you would. You’d buy it ten.

“Yeah…” you exhale, head sideways, gaze low. “I don’t think heaven’s quite where I’m headed.”

Sylus stops.

He turns with a follow-up question, but it never needs to be asked. You’re still shamelessly staring— explaining yourself with faraway eyes and a bottom lip that’s trapped by your teeth. It’s deliberate, of course. Just like you know that shirt was deliberate.

The man’s head tilts in warning. “Careful, sweetie.”

Were his tone a blade he could pin to your throat, he’d know just the right pressure to make your heart stutter. Not too much. Not too little. But he needs to push harder, these days; you’re awfully comfortable at the edge of that knife, and there’s sin in the way you watch him, like you don’t care if you’ll bleed for it.

It pulls him back to you, tantalisingly slowly. A finger lifts your chin, forcing your gaze back to his eyes. “I said, careful,” he repeats, making every word drag.

That gaze sinks low again. An act of defiance; it doesn’t quite reach his body. It stops at his lips.

He leans in closer.

There’s a sound somewhere down the corridor, and a gunshot rings out. Sylus’s arms are around you— a swirl of his Evol stealing you both from reality. You rejoin the world a loud heartbeat later, in a different room, far away from the last. Crow feathers tumble. The scarlet mist dissipates.

Sylus’s vest is flashing red, and he looks at you, betrayed, as it turns back to cobalt.

That’s two lives down, one to go; you’d stolen the first when he’d taken you hostage. “All’s fair in love and war, Sylus,” you smile, untangling yourself from his grasp. “You understand, don’t you?”

You go to leave, but his hand is on your wrist. He pulls you back, and it would be much more threatening if he wasn’t chuckling so fondly. “My team next time?” he asks, kissing the very top of your head.

You sidle away, his hand forced to surrender you. “Maybe,” you grin at him over your shoulder. “I’m in pretty high demand.”

…

“Raf, Raf, Raf!” you chirp, skipping over to the lilac-haired artist.

“Cutie, cutie, cutie!” he chirps back. “Afterlife’s fun, huh?”

“Even more fun now you’re here.” He’s sat on a fallen pillar, arms by his side, legs stretched out. His face is lit by the glow of his vest: a faint but vivid red. Like an ember. “My condolences, fishie.”

He snorts. “Thanks.”

“Gonna tell me what happened?”

Rafayel rolls his head back— a listless sort of stretch. “Xavier shot me. Said I’m a ‘liability’,” he shrugs.  “That I ‘compromised the integrity of the mission.’”

That was a lot of air quotes. “Pretending to be a spy again?” you hazard.

“Nah.”

Ooh! “A gunslinger!”

He’s still staring at the ceiling, but he sighs dreamily, eyes closing. “You know me so well.”

You take a seat next to him, trying not to giggle at the thought of him strutting about in front of Xavier, tipping an invisible hat while the Hunter slowly raised his gun. Gods, how brutal; you hope it was quick. A tiny laugh breaches your lips, and Rafayel opens an eye in suspicion.

You smile innocently. The eye closes again, satisfied. “You’d make a hot cowboy. Or spy.”

“I know,” he breathes out. That was never up for debate. “Which is hotter, though?”

Hmm… You scooch away from him, making a viewfinder with your fingers so you can squint at him through it. His eyes flicker open and he catches on, flashing a smile as he shoots you with a finger gun. “Spy,” you conclude.

“Noted.” His chuckle is warm and wistful.

“So… got any good intel for me, super spy?”

He hums like he has to think about it. “Xavier’s got some big plan to beat Sylus. Wouldn’t tell me what it was, on account of the whole ‘liability’ thing? But yeah, it’s big.”

“How big can it be? It’s laser tag.”

“I think I can shed some light on that matter.”  

It’s a third voice, and the intrusion makes you jump. Rafayel, too, but he’d never admit it. You both glance outwards, to where Zayne is wandering over to you. His walk is relaxed. His gear is red.  

“That line would’ve been way cooler from Xavier,” Rafayel whispers.

“So cool!” you whisper back. Zayne can clearly hear every word, so you’re quick to deflect with a: “Hey, Zayne! What happened to you?”

You know what happened— there’s an obvious, kinda horrifying pattern emerging— but you still need to hear it. Zayne shifts on his feet, looking down at the ground as he finds the right words. “I… was a liability,” he says at last.

“Oh, nice!” Rafayel’s hand shoots out. “Join the club!”

Zayne stares at it blankly, but gives in eventually. His hand meets the artist’s in the least inspiring high-five you’ve ever seen.

“How were you a liability?” you chase up, because it’s harder to picture your stoic doctor prancing around like a secret agent.

Zayne rests his gun back on his shoulder. “I was trying to be a voice of reason.”

There’s a low, sympathetic whistle from Rafayel. “That’ll do it! There’s no reasoning with those levels of crazy.” He looks at you. Interrupts before you can leap to your partner’s defence: “Like, how invested are you in Sylus?”

What the hell’s that supposed to mean? “… A lot?”

Rafayel winces, drawing air through gritted teeth. “Yikes.”

He’s messing with you. He’s messing with you, right? You look up at Zayne— calm, cool, collected Zayne— your anchor in all this insanity. He meets your gaze, and you wait for that smile of reassurance: the one he always manages, even when you’re bleeding out before him, courtesy of a Wanderer you underestimated. Everything will be fine.

He shakes his head discreetly.  

Everything won’t be fine? Oh.

…

“Sylus!”

You sprint down a corridor, your teammates hot at your heels and your breath ragged from running. This place really is a maze, and it’s not like Sylus wants to be found. No— your red-eyed damsel-in-imminent-distress is still marching around out there, oblivious. Avoiding you? Probably.

That’s when you see it. You skid to a stop, Rafayel almost crashing into you.

Perched on a nearby ledge, Mephisto is watching you, head cocked. His mechanical eyes narrow, and there’s no usual caw of greeting. You’re witnessing a professional at work. A crow on a mission, just like his master. You wander over, looking up at him. Then you snatch him down from his pedestal.  

“Listen to me, Mephie,” you conspire as he squawks and wriggles. “Get Sylus, okay? It’s urgent. We have to speak to him.”

You set the bird free, launching him up into the air so he can take forth your message, but he nosedives to the ground, landing in a sorry-looking heap, instead. The little pile of feathers moves. Seems to find its feet, then… keels over sideways with a final squawk. Huh.

“You killed it,” Rafayel observes from behind you.

“I did not!” You crouch down, giving the frozen crow a poke. “C’mon, stop being dramatic! Get up.”

No reaction. Rafayel sings eerily: “Deaaad…”

You scoop Mephisto into your hands and he melts into them. A wing hangs down, and his head hangs backwards, too. You give him a shake. Nothing happens. Standing up, you turn, “Zay—?”

“I’m not a mechanic.” The doctor’s arms are folded.

But you’re looking at him, hope in your eyes and a faint— absolutely not fake— wobble to your lips, so he takes the crow reluctantly. He lifts the fallen wing. Examines the sharp black feathers and plates of metal. “Is there an off switch you might have pressed?” he ponders aloud. “Or…?”

“It’s at the back of his neck,” a voice that isn’t yours answers.

You’re suddenly clutching feathers; Zayne has shoved Mephisto back into your hands. “I don’t—” you try to resist— “no, don’t give him to—!” You try to hand him back, but Zayne is stepping away.

There’s a presence, looming. “Hey, Sy!” You spin around with a smile.

The man you’ve been searching for stares at you, an eyebrow raised. “Killed Mephisto, did you?”

“Uhhhh, no? It was Rafayel.”

A squeak from behind you: “What!?”

Mercifully, Mephisto springs to life— fluttering away so he can perch on Sylus’s shoulder. He coos, leaning in to nuzzle the finger that lifts to stroke at his beak. Then he caws at you, over and over, like a manic sort of laughter. That stupid bird’s been spending too much time with the twins.

Sylus looks between the three of you, his eyes falling on each red vest in turn. He smiles languidly. “Been playing spy again, little artist?”

“Nope.”

“Cowboy,” the older man guesses again.

Rafayel is silent, his arms crossing defensively. Sylus chuckles, and just as you’re about to scold him, he holsters his weapon with… flair? And tips an invisible hat in the artist’s direction. Rafayel smiles. “How might I be of service?” Sylus asks you, still roleplaying.

Adorable. Focus! “We came to warn you, Sy. Xavier’s—”

“Totally lost it,” Rafayel cuts in. You glare at him and his eyes protest: What!? It’s true!

“We should stick together,” Zayne says. “At least until we can figure out what he’s—”

The lights around you go dead.

No more spotlights, no more stripes of neon; you’re submerged into darkness. The only remaining glow is your vests— three red, one blue— all ominously still. Afraid to move. As your eyes adjust, you can just about make out the others’ faces. Rafayel and Sylus are glancing around, wary, but Zayne’s uneasiness is different.

“Phase one,” he mutters gravely.

You don’t like that. “What’s phase two?”

Please know. Please know. He looks at you. Gives another one of those little head shakes.

At the far end of the corridor, a spotlight flickers to life. You all watch, caught in a spell of suspense as it illuminates nothing— an empty space where you half expect some spectre to be. It goes dark a second later. Then the next spotlight lights up, closer. It goes out. The next one lights. Goes out. Lights.

Light. Dark. Light. Dark.

“What the fuck?” Rafayel murmurs, standing closer than before. His hand finds yours, and you’re actually grateful. You hold it, tight.

“Stay behind us,” Zayne directs at Sylus.

A much, much closer spotlight turns on.

Xavier stands beneath it, deathly still. Every bit the spectre you’d imagined: you can’t quite tell if he’s of heaven or hell. He might have walked out of either. He might drag you to either. It’s that look again: the one he wore before he killed you. Inevitability. It lives in his gaze. There’s no running from it. No pleading with or changing it.

“Enough,” Sylus growls, pushing past you, raising his gun. He pulls the trigger, and the sound of the shot rings out. Nothing comes of it, though. The weapon doesn’t flash. Xavier’s vest doesn’t flash.

The Hunter tilts his head— another challenge, soft as sleep.

Sylus presses the trigger a second time, then a third, a fourth, a fifth. Though his weapon looks like a gun— pierces the silence like a gun— it isn’t one, is it? It’s a vessel. For infrared light.

Now you think of it, this game was rigged from the start. It must dawn on Sylus, because he stops. He tears the gun from its cord and lets it skitter across the floor, no more useless there than it was in his hands. Energy crackles around his fingers, thick like sticky, red blood.

“Sylus,” Zayne warns, but there are tentative snowflakes at his fingertips, too.

Xavier steps closer, mirroring Sylus— throwing his gun aside with a crash. A delicate twist of his hands and a blade is unsheathed from the darkness. Pure light, holy and sharp. He spins the sword with a practiced elegance and it’s admittedly mesmerising. You can’t not watch.

Rafayel wriggles his fingers free of yours, then steps in front of you. You’d never tell him, but his hand had started to burn.

You hadn’t missed this— this tension. So full of tempered things, meant to hurt.

White light floods everything, everywhere, and you have to shield your face with your hands. The others are doing the same, groaning, hissing curses; even Xavier is wincing as he stares at the ceiling.

This isn’t his doing. Isn’t his light.

…

“Who needs that place?” Rafayel grumbles, plucking a fry up from Xavier’s plate and poking it past his lips so he can chew on it with his thoughts. “I mean, I’ve got a private island!”

“And I’ve got guns,” Sylus smiles.

You look up. “Laser tag guns?”

He blinks at you. Nods agreeably: “Sure, sweetie.”

“I’m sure we can buy some.” Zayne is stirring a chocolate milkshake, and he stoops to take a sip.

The four of you are huddled around a table outside a fast-food place, conveniently next door to the laser tag place you’ve just been kicked out of. There’s a board in there, now graced with colourful mugshots of you all, and not everyone looks miserable in them. Sylus is smirking in his, an old hand at notoriety. Rafayel is winking, making finger hearts.

Xavier is still inside, arguing your case with the manager— appealing the whole ‘lifetime bans’ thing— and his food is getting cold. You slap away Rafayel’s hand as it goes in for another fry.

“You’ve got your own, Raf!”

“So?” His hand is quicker this time, dodging yours and whisking three fries away from their friends before you can stop him. “They taste better stolen. Everyone knows that.”

Sylus hums in accordance as he steals a fry for himself. Vultures.

They all nibble away at their food— sometimes Xavier’s food— and you know you’re all thinking about the same thing. That corridor, those flickering spotlights, and the Hunter commanding them. You’ve not really talked about it, yet.

“Y’know,” you muse, “I’ve never seen Xavier like that before. Don’t you think it was kinda…?”

Rafayel bonks your head with a rolled-up menu. “Stop.”

Zayne snatches it from him gently. Flattens it out again and sets it neatly down on the table. “He is right though,” he sighs. “Stop.”

You giggle. “Hear me out, though—”

“Ah! There you are!”

Two figures approach your table, and the voice is very familiar. Twenty minutes ago, it was yelling at you.

It’s the manager of the laser tag place, and he stands before you, hands on his hips and a smile on his wizened face. “I’m glad I found you,” he continues, “your friend and I have just been talking. He explained everything. Who’d have thought, huh? An invisible Wanderer, messing with the lights like that! Destroying my equipment! Anyway, it was so kind of you to get rid of it.”

He pats Xavier’s shoulder, praises: “What a nice young man!”

“It was our pleasure, sir.” Xavier tips his head in respect as Sylus sniggers.

The manager’s too enamoured to notice. “Anyway,” he turns to the rest of you, “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. It goes without saying that you are welcome back, anytime! My treat, of course!”

You all glance between each-other as Xavier thanks the man for his kindness, then waves him goodbye with a genuine warmth. The manager trundles away, leaving your little banquet in peace.

Xavier smiles so fondly, his gaze an azure sky. There’s not a cloud in it, just a bright, radiant sun.

Your budding support group is speechless.

“So,” Xavier beams at you all, “who wants to go again?”

[voidofthevoidmv]

Bill Cipher, except he genuinely CANT LIE.

Like, at all. Legitimately he is incapable of telling a lie.

Like sure, he can certainly dodge questions, or maybe create a loophole or two- But if you were to ask him a question directly with no way of avoiding it- HE HAS NO CHOICE BUT TO BE HONEST. And this fudges him over on multiple accounts.

And when he’s trying to dodge questions to avoid giving away his secrets or intentions- I want you to envision the scene from Shrek 3, where Pinocchio is being interrogated by Prince Charming concerning Shreks whereabouts- See here and he’s just RAMBLING-

Now, despite everything, this doesn’t change much. He still has flattery tactics and is careful with his worlds- Despite all his smarts Ford can still be blinded by his own hubris. So the whole portal thing goes down similarly to canon… Untill the portal incident happens.

With Ford stuck in the portal, Bill had no way of rebuilding it seeing that nobody would be willing… Aside from STANLEY PINES who is at a loss at what to do. The perfect willing assistant in rebuilding the portal. And bill wouldn’t have to lie that much cuz their goals really do aline somewhat… So, the demon tries to strike a deal…

This is when shit hits the fan for Bill.

And hey, let’s even go as far as to exaggerate the whole “Must return his half of the deal no matter what” portion of Bill’s deal making abilities. With this in mind, let’s take a look at EX CON STANLEY PINES who can sniff out a bad deal in no time- Due to his years of experience on the streets. And being the con artist that he is, Stanley being confronted by another con artist who can only tell the truth and also is confined to whatever deals they make… Well, this can only go well for him.

So Stanley tricks Bill- As he would in most dimensions if you get my gist. While Bill is offering unlimited knowledge in exchange for Stan’s compliance or something- Stan can easily twist Bills words against themselves and long story short- Bill is now trapped in Stanley’s debt and is confined to… Hmmm…

Let’s say he’s stuck constantly possessing a little magic 8 ball. And whoever shakes him, he’s forced to admit information to. A seriously bad deal on his part, an extremely great one on Stan’s part. So, Bill must help Stan get on with the portal without any sort of escape…

What’s even worse is that as time goes on, sometimes Stan even uses Bill as one of his ATTRACTIONS. (Honestly, Bill is lucky. Stan had been seconds away from binding the demon to a Zoltar machine-)

And time passes just as it would in canon, that is, untill the little pines twins come around to stay for the summer. And while I haven’t thought too hard about what the episodes looks like as I imagine it all doesn’t change too much- However. One thing that inspired this whole thing is how the kids are first introduced to bill- Something like:

Stan: Here kids- Meet Bill. This guy will answer all your pesky little questions.

Dipper: …Grunkle Stan, you named your magic 8 ball Bill?

Stan: Huh? Nah, he was called that when I first got him. Also Bill is just this all-knowing demon thing that I trapped inside of that ball in like… What was it- Was it- 85? Bah whatever-

Dipper: A demon…

Mable: *Eyes sparkling* Can I shake it???

Stan: *Tosses the ball casually* Sure knock yourself out kid.

Mable: Woahhhh…

Dipper: What is that thing… Is that… A triangle?

Stan: Welp. I’ll let you kids have at it- OH YEAH. He can’t lie so there’s that.

Or something like that. Haven’t worked out the kinks yet, but I think in this scenario Stan lets the kids mess around with Bill sometimes in hopes that the knowledge he possesses can help prevent the kids from like- Getting themselves in danger or something. And once the kids realize that they can just twist their words in order to make Bill slip and give helpful information- Well I can only imagine their shithead grins as Bill curses to the heavens. Dipper and Bill will banter a lot, with Bill obviously doing his best to break this pre-pubescent boys self esteem but it only assists in Dippers character development. Meanwhile, Bill and Mable can be lowkey chaotic and he could even respect her antics- If not for her whole “empathy and emotions” thing. (Perhaps a teensy bit of character development in places… But if Bill is a master of anything in any dimension, it is DENIAL-)

I think weirdmaggedon might still happen and there will be this whole rift thing and stuff- it’s still relatively similar. Maybe a different ending? Or another deal? Who knows. But this was just a silly thought I had- I can only imagine the names if I decide to invest time into it.

Magic 8 Bill AU? Or something? I might make some art for it if I’m being completely honest- Just a funny thought yk?

[fuckyeahisawthat]

What started as a joke about the Hexcore being Viktor's toxic replacement boyfriend has genuinely changed how I look at that part of the story. Because I was like lololol WAIT BUT KINDA. He does develop a weird codependent relationship with that orb. They're obsessed with each other. They're compelled toward each other. The Hexcore does not just transform him. They transform each other; the Hexcore growing more organic as Viktor grows more magical. There's an exchange; a relationship there. They feed on each other (blood, magical energy). There is something almost vampiric about their interactions: Viktor (literally!) allowing the Hexcore to suck his blood; the Hexcore entering his body to transform it. There's the fact that he strips down to his underwear for both these transformation scenes (even though he technically could have been half-clothed both times). Not to mention the literal sex scene intercut with Viktor's first uhhh commingling with the Hexcore. There is an undeniably gothic and sensual element to it, the idea of surrendering yourself to a dangerous, unknowable force with a willingness to be transformed.

And yeah sure you can argue that Viktor was being controlled by the Hexcore from the moment he built it. I think there's enough textual evidence to support that reading. But that's boring!! It's much more interesting to me if Viktor is making the choice to keep coming back to the Hexcore, out of desperation and hubris, ignoring the signs that it's a dangerous, powerful object he doesn't understand.

I think you miss out on a lot of interesting Viktor characterization if you don't think that Viktor is doing this of his own free will. It might seem like a minor semantic difference but I think of the Hexcore not as controlling Viktor but as enabling him, drawing out some of his more self-destructive qualities: his obsessiveness; his tendency to self-isolate; recklessness born out of knowing he would have a shortened lifespan; and yes, arrogance in thinking he understands this thing he's created well enough to keep it from hurting anyone except himself. (He is willing to keep pushing the limit if he's convinced that the only person being hurt or put at risk is himself, which in itself says something about how little he has to lose at this point.) It is not just the Hexcore that kills Sky; it is Viktor's own stubbornness and unwillingness to see the damage he is doing before it's too late. Sky pulls him back enough to get his hand off the Hexcore three times, and every time he grabs it again. If he'd let go the first time, she would have lived.

And it's so fucking SAD, because Viktor is in his toxic spiral with the Hexcore from 1.05 through 1.09 and NO ONE SEES IT. It's such a contrast to the beginning of Hextech, where the scientific breakthroughs happen when Viktor and Jayce are together, happen because they're together. All of Viktor's breakthroughs in understanding how the Hexcore works happen when he's alone with it, frequently at night long after everyone else has left the lab. He keeps reaching out to it, even after it does things that scare him, because he is desperate and alone and thinks it can offer him something he needs. In the process their life-forces become inextricably tied together; while one lives the other cannot die. And they end up consuming each other to the detriment of the rest of the world.

[luigifan1998]

luigi x wife!reader headcanons. can be set before or after he went mia

right right right. married lu. throws myself on the floor

for the sake of length ill keep this to before he dropped off the face of the earth but ive written a memo to write about the after in a separate post soon

my personal biases might get in the way of this because i am unwell and genuinely think he is in desperate need of someone whos up at 3 am fighting a manifestation of their own hubris in their bed. he needs someone that experiences romantic delirium and is convinced her dreams tell her stories of the two of them from thousands of years ago. a girl thats considered showing up to a convent and who has a favorite saint. a rotten girl who wants to eat a piece of his birth certificate. this is so crucial to me unfortunately

that being said. its my belief that lu is saccharine, something he didnt know until you came along and peeled the wallpaper off his psyche. the way his customary sweetness unravels itself is sickly and all enveloping. hes the neediest boy in the world, forever coming to you with quiet infirmity. he drapes himself over you whenever he can, always saying how you were made to hold him. his incessant appetite for affection didnt ease with marriage. he plays with your ringed finger absentmindedly. presses his lips against it, not registering the habit

he would think of marriage early on in the relationship, unreachable to the anxious expressions of others when he'd say hes going to marry you weeks into dating. when he decided this, he paced back and forth in his bedroom, hardly able to focus long enough to tell the time before seeking his mom out to tell her. it all came out in one big prosaic wave. she thought he sounded like a child but his cheeks were flushed and his heart is so painfully stitched onto his sleeve in regards to you. he doesnt press the idea of the union but he likes to tell you how hes going to make you his wife during random moments. when youre eating. when you make him laugh. when hes fucking you

i can see lu trying and failing to preserve going all the way when you mess around once youve accepted his proposal. the engagement would be long. he is so busy and so wanted by everyone around him, but the novelty of you being his fiancé would wear off after the first couple of months. he wants to fuck his wife, not his girlfriend. he wants the sanctimony of marriage to wrap around the two of you when hes inside. the vow acts as a spectator in the bedroom, and he needs it. needs you to be his and only his under a holy decree. he calls you his bride and his little wife

in my heart of hearts....... i know lu would want to propose in the most cheesy way ever. his sister behind foliage, filming the whole thing. balloons. one knee. the rest of your family nearby. the video would be uploaded onto instagram, people you havent ever met commenting with what a beautiful couple the two of you make. but i think the right girl could pavlov him into asking in a whisper under the soft cotton of a bedsheet. face kisses and crying and pleading for the rest of your life to belong to him in some capacity. he cant live without this

the ring would be beautiful and heavy with weight and the diamond would be absurdly large. he'll never let onto the price, just like hes been doing with the checks at each restaurant youve been to together since your first date. bastard. whats next? steak tartare at the reception? he starts biting you each time you deny being able to accept such an insane piece of jewelry

[cynthiav06]

Listen, I read your post about Percy's strategic genius and I thought something.

Percy, Sally, and the entire Jackson family are descendants of Odysseus.

Sally is also damn smart, just look at how she competently got rid of Gabe and remained in full advantage.

And that is why how Athena treats Percy in this way.

He is a descendant of her beloved mortal, so similar to him in his mind and the son of her sworn rival, who tormented this very mortal and prevented him from returning home.

You seriously have no idea how GENIUS that headcanon is like holy hell the sheer depth it adds to everything is insane.

1. Athena begrudgingly guiding Percy in Titan's Curse, getting extreme deja vu (God's probably get that a lot) from the situation and how conflicting she gets over the mortal that is Perseus Jackson for his uncanny resemblance to Odysseus when it comes to his wit and his personality minus strangely the hubris.

Despite her disdain for him out of some strange loyalty, she tells him of his fatal flaw and how it would endanger him.

She let's her loathing for Poseidon get the best of her in Titan's Curse and votes to kill Percy and Thalia but Percy like Odysseus has both the wit and achievements she can't overlook despite her desperate intentions to and hence in the Last Olympian she acknowledges in her own subtle way that Percy is the greatest demigod of this age. That he's saved both the world and his friends.

2. Annabeth proud and confident as ever would be flabbergasted that Percy who she despite her supposed love for him undermines him almost always when it comes to his intelligence finds out that her mother has acknowledged Percy for his strategic mind and that he is the descendant of her mother's most favored mortal ever. (Maybe just maybe it will tone her hubris down a notch and then some, and if we are really lucky, a reality check)

3. Percy would laugh, probably shrug at the revelation. After all, stuff like that makes no difference to him.

4. But I can imagine if Sally knew beforehand about it, then how much hell must she have given Poseidon over it and probably still finds it to be a hilarious coincidence .

5. To Poseidon himself, it must have struck as an agonizing coincidence, but for the better, because for all of Poseidon's flaws, he loves his own intensely. His godly children, his monstrous children, his demigod children, and Percy, he loves most out of them all by his own words and he loves him so in some strange manner for the same humanity he scorned Odysseus for having.

Sally must have made him see the error of his ways, and even Poseidon for his quick temper would be loathe to not change his opinions on mercy then. (If the Queen among mortals tells you, you listen)

All in all, everything that happened in the Odyssey with Poseidon Odysseus and Athena would have come to a good closure with this.

That a millenia later by strange set of circumstances Athena and Poseidon begrudgingly acknowledged the folly in their perspectives from the times of Odyssey all because Poseidon met Sally Jackson and sired a demigod child who by a twist only the fates could make up turned out to be the descendant of Odysseus himself. (I reckon the fates must be cackling in glee at the whole thing)

PS: Hermes is having a blast with this news of Percy's ancestry.

No, but seriously, you have given me more pjo brainrot. (Now I hope this keeps you awake like it does me)

And on that note, Percy would totally canonly be the biggest fan of Epic the Musical, lol.

I have a feeling I am not going to stop talking about this now.