#peter cat's wide world of sound

[pittsick]

wait you write for marvel!!! ooh for the follower game could i get a blurb with peter parker or joaquin torres with like a cooking late at night kind of vibe?

200 FOLLOWERS GAME.

oh my god, hi !! yes i do write for marvel! (well, kind of) 💕 also thank you for following me and supporting my account, it means a lot to me!

unfortunately i feel like i know way more about peter parker than joaquin torres right now, so i made it about spidey-boy, i hope you don’t mind! this was so cute to write too 🥹

It starts with a rumble in Peter’s stomach and a whispered, “You awake?” at 1:43 a.m. when he gets home from patrol. His feet walked him to your shared room.

You blink up at him from your shared tangle of sheets, half-conscious, but nod anyway. He grins, boyish and sheepish, brushing a kiss to your temple.

“Cool. Wanna make grilled cheese with me?”

And just like that, you’re padding down to the kitchen in mismatched pajamas, the overhead light too harsh for the hour, so Peter flips it off and sticks to the glow of the stovetop and the fridge light. The whole apartment feels wrapped in quiet—just the soft clink of utensils, the low hum of the city outside the window, and Peter humming under his breath as he pulls ingredients from the fridge like he’s on a mission.

He’s still wearing his Spider-Man suit from earlier, unzipped halfway with the sleeves tied around his waist, hair a little sweat-damp and wild. He moves around the kitchen like he’s still burning off adrenaline, bouncing on his heels, dancing to nothing in particular as he layers cheese between slices of bread.

You lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching him. He notices your sleepy smile and gives you one of his own—wide and bright, like the sun decided to live in his face.

“You’re staring,” he teases, holding up a slice of cheddar like it’s a trophy. “Because I’m handsome, right?”

“Because you’re a menace,” you reply, but you’re already taking the offered cheese and biting into it.

He laughs. “Same thing.”

The grilled cheese sizzles on the pan, golden edges crisping up as Peter gently flips it with exaggerated concentration. He talks about his patrol—about the guy who tried to mug someone with a rubber chicken (“I wish I was joking”), about the cat he helped off a fire escape, about the kid who called him “Spider Dad” and made him seriously question his public image.

You sit on the counter as he cooks, legs swinging, and Peter keeps leaning over to kiss you—quick, soft pecks on your knee, your cheek, your shoulder—like he can’t not touch you. Like even in the stillness of your tiny kitchen, he needs to remind himself you’re here. That this is real.

When the sandwiches are done, he cuts them diagonally (because “that’s the superior shape, don’t argue”) and slides one onto a plate for you. You both eat sitting on the kitchen floor, backs against the cabinets, knees touching.

There’s no rush. No pressure. Just the low crackle of city life outside, the warmth of melted cheese, and the way Peter looks at you between bites—like the world could end in the next five minutes and he’d die perfectly happy, as long as you were sitting right here beside him.

Afterward, when your plates are empty and his head is resting on your shoulder, he lets out a soft sigh.

“This,” he murmurs, voice thick with contentment. “This is my favorite kind of night.”

You nudge your head against his. “Even better than swinging from rooftops?”

He hums thoughtfully, but he’s already lacing his fingers through yours. “Way better. Rooftops don’t feed me grilled cheese or kiss me when I smell like sweat and danger.” You laugh, and he smiles like it’s his favorite sound.

Eventually, he stands and pulls you up by the hand, murmuring something about bed and warmth and “let me hold you before I pass out standing up.” And you go, because there’s no better way to end the night than curled into Peter Parker, who might be half-exhausted and a little cheesy—but is yours. Entirely.

And in a quiet apartment at 2:18 a.m., that’s more than enough.

[frostedsugarcookiehearts]

♱ the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it? (jeremiah 17:9)

the library was your refuge, your safe haven. everyone was quiet there, and you got to indulge in literature without anyone harassing you or calling you names, commonplace at st. ephrem academy. you wished the teasing was stop; but you comforted yourself with the lull of john 15:18: "if the world hate you, ye know that it hated me before it hated you."

the librarian, miss helen, was a kind woman, she kept books for you in the back (mainly religious texts) and often gave you little updates on how her two cats, holden and atticus, were doing. sometimes, she even let you stay after closing or go into the teacher's lounge room to pray while she grabbed a coffee.

the library wasn't exactly bursting at the seams, but it was a little more full than usual. there were free seats, but those were at tables where kids were chatting and using the library as a rec room. the only seat next to someone who didn't look overly social or that they'd make fun of you was a brown-haired boy hunched over a book. perfect. he wouldn't bother you. right? (oh, how you were wrong.)

you took a seat next to the boy, slipping your backpack onto the back of the creaky wooden chair and taking a seat. you opened your bible, turning the page to 1 peter. the words had become second nature to you, and you were on your way to memorizing each chapter in order. it was a slow process, but fun for you.

what snapped you out of your devout focus was the sound of a wrapper crinkling. you turned to your left to see the brown-haired boy shoving a chocolate chip cookie in his mouth. he caught your gaze and sheepishly started to chew a tad bit slower.

"you're not supposed to have food in here." you lean towards him a little, hissing under your breath as you chastise him and point to the sign that said no food or drinks! right next to miss helen's desk..

he blinked up at you, eyes wide like a little kid who was getting in trouble for eating playdoh. which was actually a pretty good metaphor for the situation. then, he shrugged casually. "well, a cookie never hurt anybody." he chirped before taking a bite out of the cookie again.

you scoffed. "that's not true."

"oh, really?" he deadpanned, raising a brow. "who has it hurt?"

got me there. you furrowed your brow, your tongue poking your cheek. "...someone," you managed, staring at the cookie in his hand intently. ignoring the growling in your stomach— you'd decided to fast today— you debated the options of snatching it out of his hand. what would jesus do? you pondered.

"do you want a bite?" glancing up, a pair of blue eyes blinked at you through his glasses. gently, he offered the cookie out to you.

you blinked. that was kind of him. but you shook your head gently and replied, "i can't. i'm fasting."

"why?"

it was such a simple question. it sounded eerily like your three-year-old cousin, always asking why to everything. but he asked it in a genuine, curious tone— not when other kids asked you questions about religion just to tease or make fun of you. he genuinely wanted to know. "to overcome temptation. it says so in matthew," you inform.

his brow furrowed, face scrunched up in concentration. "but... aren't you hungry?"

"i suppose," you mutter under your breath, tugging on one of your ponytails.

"so, have a bite." he instructed gently, holding the cookie out again. a few crumbs fell into your lap, and you quickly scrambled to brush them off.

"i can't."

"but what if you get too hungry and you turn into a zombie and start eating people instead?" he pried, voice as serious as ever, yet his words were absurd.

you stared at him blankly. "you're insane."

"no, i'm charlie." a dumb, dopey grin spread across his face, like a proud dad who'd successfully executed the perfect dad joke.

for reasons you couldn't explain, you sighed and played into his little joke. your tone deadpan, you replied, "hi, charlie."

the boy's— charlie's— smile grew wider as he leaned forward, propping his elbow up on the table, cheek resting in his palm as he stared at you with a warm look on his face. "what's your name?"

"elizabeth-anne," you glance around the room to see if anyone was paying attention to your conversation. they weren't.

"you have a nickname?" charlie chirped, looking pleased with himself (and right at you.)

you shake your head gently, ribboned ponytails flapping against your back. "no. i respect the name my Lord gave me."

he pauses, tapping his chin. "i know! lizzy would be a good nickname for you."

you recoil slightly hearing the nickname on his lips. "that's not elizabeth-anne," you say slowly, trying to hammer in the ideals of keeping the name the Lord gave you. but then again, you couldn't help but feel a little fuzzy in your heart that someone wanted to give you a nickname. there was a subtle intimacy to the act. slowly, charlie's expression started to fall, and you quickly scrambled to add, "but... it's better than beth."

"lizzy it is then." he beams. "and if i give you a nickname, that means you're my friend. and as your friend, i'm telling you, you should eat." he slides the cookie towards you for the third time, gesturing for you to eat it. you were hesitant, and charlie could tell, so he decided to see if the dog would bite the bone. "if you don't know how, i can teach y—"

"i know how," you snap, glancing around and making sure miss helen wasn't looking before biting into the cookie slowly and as quietly as possible. it was good.

"see? not so bad, is it?" charlie grinned proudly. "my mom's a baker."

"no..." you replied slowly, surprised on how good it tasted. "it's not."

he looked pleased. "i'm glad." then, he turned back to the thick book he was reading— you glanced to the book's spine and read dungeon and dragons: master's guide. a chill ran through your spine. that was one of the games they warned you about at church.

"that game promotes satanic activites, you know," you couldn't help but blurt.

charlie looked up from his book, brushing the brown locks out of his face. "...huh?"

you gesture wildly to the book, a look of horror on your face. but charlie just lets out an amused chuckle, a guffaw, and asks in an incredulous voice: "you think i'm summoning satan in the school library?"

"well, when you put it like that..." you frowned, turning back to your book.

charlie peered over your shoulder, and after a few seconds of silence, chirped, "do you only read the bible?"

you paused. "not only, but mostly."

"you should try reading something else. like a palette cleanser." he glanced over to see the look of horror on your face and quickly added, "b—because it'll make reading the bible more fun after! it will be like re-reading it for the first time all over again."

that sounded plausible. so you let charlie lead you over to the romance section (you made charlie walk behind you as to cover you from the prying eyes) and pick out a book for you.

a book with a cover of a boat and light blue forget-me-nots. huh. it looked alright, you supposed, and no one could guess it was a romance book. "my mom likes this one," charlie added gently, placing the book in your hands.

you looked up at him and smiled. "thank you, charlie." and to charlie, hearing his name on your lips sounded the same as the angel's song when you were to enter the pearly gates.

[thelittlestspider]

some stripped prequels from peter's slut era

cw: dom/sub undertones, biting, public sex.

@werewolfhooligan

the first one is inspired by these fics:

Rooftop Skirmish

and deluXe Pie Master Surprise.

(kurt/peter/logan)

Peter looks at his screen. He sees some notifications from Tinder and a few from Grindr. He opens Grindr.

Most of them are kind of boring. One is from a guy named 100percentcanadianbeef, which is a picture of the guy's dick whipped out in his bathroom. He's a big guy with wide shoulders and a six pack. Peter notices the guy is scarred all over, even on his dick. Interesting. Peter makes a note to send him a dick pic later. The other guy is a bear with hair all over and his profile says he's a mutant. He's muscular with a layer of fat on his belly and Peter wants to suck him until his stomach caves in.

hairyfuckmaster200: so you're mutant friendly?

peter: yes

hairyfuckmaster200: do you do threesomes?

peter: i could be convinced

hairyfuckmaster200: we'll be at a motel in hell's kitchen. the door will be propped open. i'll text you the address.

Peter's gut tells him this is a really bad idea. It's reckless and irresponsible and could get him killed. But he also really wants to get his dick sucked.

peter: i'm in

hairyfuckmaster200: bring a pizza

…

Peter stops outside the hotel room, pizza in hand. There’s a flickering glow from a TV through the cracked door and the sound of terrible seventies porn music playing from ancient speakers.  He opens the door with the toe of his boot.

A video of a guy being gangbanged plays on the TV. There’s a guy tied to the bed and another sitting in the cuck chair. The man tied to the bed is oiled up and covered with dark hair all over his body. He’s built like a tank and has the cock to match. Peter wants to eat him. 

Peter glances over at the other guy with a nervous smile. The guy is blue, and his eyes glow in the low light of the room. His ears are pointed and he has three fingered hands and feet. A thin tail with an arrow shaped end flicks back and forth like a cat’s. He sort of looks like a blue version of the devil. But he’s handsome, and the fanged smile he sends Peter’s way makes his heart flip. 

“Is that with extra sausage?” The man on the bed says with a smirk, waggling his brows in the cheesiest fucking way. Peter laughs.

“Oh it will be,” Peter grins. He holds out his free hand to the blue guy. “Peter.”

“Pleased to meet you, freund,” the blue guy says with an enthusiastic shake of Peter’s hand. He has a deep, raspy voice with a German accent. Peter immediately wants him to say all kinds of filthy things to him with it. “I am Kurt und this is Logan.” Kurt points to the oiled up beefcake on the bed.

Peter puts the pizza down on a table in the corner of the room and turns back to them, putting his business face on. 

“So what’s the setup here? Are we both fucking you or is he watching me fuck you?” Peter asks Logan. 

Logan thinks about it. 

“S’up to you, Elf,” Logan says to Kurt. “I don’t really care either way.”

Kurt strokes his chin thoughtfully. It’s unfairly hot. Peter wants him to tell Peter what a naughty boy he’s been while he hits Peter’s hand with a ruler. 

He’s so getting their numbers after this. 

“Well, “ starts Kurt, looking serious. “We could both fuck him and then come on his face after. Is this agreeable to you?” Peter’s nodding before he even finishes talking.

“That sounds fantastic,” replies Peter, cupping his cock through his now tented pants. He bites his lip at the feeling. 

“Then strip, cowboy,” Logan drawls, spreading his tree trunk thighs. Peter’s mouth waters. “And fuck me like you mean it.”

...

(peter/scott/logan)

Scott sips coffee from his favorite mug, one that says "World's Best Dad." It was a gag gift some of the younger students got him for his birthday a couple of years ago. How they even learned when his birthday was, he has no idea.

("Whose father am I supposed to be? I'm only twenty-two for God's sake," Scott grumbled, but took the mug anyway.)

Scott's sitting on the sofa in the living area when he hears Logan whistling.

“Where did you run off to?” asks Scott, not accusatory for once, but curious. Logan had ran off a couple of hours ago on Scott’s bike without telling anyone where he was going (which was par for the course with Logan). Scott expected him to be gone anywhere from a few days to a month, but surprisingly, Logan came back with a guy around Scott’s age following behind. The guy is a few inches shorter than Scott, brunet, with straight brows over big, intense brown eyes, a straight nose, a sharp chin, and freckles. He’s cute. But what is he doing with Logan?

“I got you a present,” answers Logan, clearing up nothing. “Don’t say I never did nothing for ya.”

“Logan, I have no idea what’s going on.” Scott looks back at the stranger, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry about my friend. He’s kind of an asshole. I hope he didn’t trick you into coming here or something.”

“You didn’t tell him?” the stranger asks Logan, looking annoyed. “You’re a certified jackass, you know that?” 

The stranger turns back to him, frowning.

“Look, Logan said you had a crush on Spider-Man and asked me here for a threesome for your birthday, alright?"

Scott stares at him, uncomprehending.

What?

"I'm sorry, what?" Scott says, feeling like he's having a stroke.

"Y'see that, you stupid asshole," Spider-Man says, hitting Logan in the arm hard enough to make Logan wince. "That's what happens when you just spring shit on people. No fun times, no nothing."

"Are you really Spider-Man?" The question feels like it's coming from another Scott. One that can speak.

The man proceeds to leap up onto the ceiling, sticking there on all fours. Those intense eyes focus on him and Scott can't help but be held by them.

"What's your name?"

Spider-Man hesitates.

"Peter."

...

Logan calls Peter out of the blue one day for a favor.

"My guy has a crush on Spider-Man and I wanted to see if you'd be up for a threesome on his birthday," Logan says, casual. Like this is just Tuesday to him. Peter wonders where he gets the audacity.

Peter thinks about telling him to go fuck himself, but instead what comes out is, "You got a picture of him?"

A few minutes later his phone beeps with a text. The picture shows a guy with auburn hair wearing red shades glaring into the camera. He reminds Peter of Matt. The part of Peter with self-respect says don't do this, but the part of him who is sick with love and lust for Matt texts back, "I'm in."

…

Peter deep cleans himself while he waits for Logan to pick him up. He thinks about putting a plug in, but decides against it. Logan could be driving anything and Peter doesn't want to chance any possible discomfort.

Soon Logan pulls up outside Peter's building on a gorgeous bike that screams big dick. It takes everything in Peter not to web down and scream over it. He does run down the stairs, nearly crashing into one of his neighbors in his hurry to see it up close.

He sees Logan standing next to it with a little smirk, like he heard Peter running through the building. Peter ignores him, his eyes only on the shiny chrome of metal and black leather seats.

"Is it yours?" asks Peter, running his hands over it.

"Nah, it belongs to my guy," Logan says. "I'm just borrowing it." He gets a wicked look in his eye. "Wanna drive it?"

A smile spreads across Peter’s face.

"Of course."

…

Peter guns it all the way there and barely manages to escape getting pulled over by a cop. The town they pull into is abandoned. An old stoplight hangs above them, swinging gently in the breeze.

"Pull over," Logan growls low. Peter pulls over to the edge of the asphalt, kicking the stand out. Logan gropes Peter's ass, pulling him back to grind against Logan's cock. Peter bites his lip.

"Behave," he warns.

"What're you gonna do, spank me?" A big hand rubs Peter's cock through his pants. The feeling of his jeans constricting his hardon hurts. Peter groans. He's glad there's no one out here to see this.

"Logan, we're almost there," gasps Peter, as Logan unbuckles his belt and reaches for his cock. Peter yelps when Logan begins jerking him off right there, rough friction on his cock slowly eased by precum. Logan bites the back of his neck.

"Imagine if someone pulled up right now and got an eyeful of your pretty cock," growls Logan, leaving sucking bites on Peter’s neck. Peter moans, gripping Logan's thigh, his nails digging into the muscle. It makes Logan bite even harder. "Seeing what a shameless slut you are, letting me jerk you off in public."

"Logan, the bike," Peter moans with what little coherence he has left.

Logan shoves him up from the bike and turns him around, swallowing his cock right there on the street. Peter is thankful the area just outside the X mansion is deserted, otherwise he'd be giving someone an eyeful right now.

A sharp smack to his ass has Peter coming with a loud moan. Logan sucks him hard, throat squeezing around his cock, sucking him dry until Peter's bent over Logan's shoulders. He pants, groaning pitifully as Logan pulls off his cock with a slow, lingering suck that takes Peter's brain with it.

Logan tucks Peter's cock back into his pants with a smug smile. He gives Peter's ass an affectionate pat before scooting up to the driver's seat. Peter sits behind him, biting the back of Logan's neck in revenge.

"Save that for Scotty," purrs Logan.

They pull into the long driveway, passing by a garden filled with statues and a basketball court. The mansion itself looms over everything, big and fancy; the thing screams old money. It's not really the kind of place he imagined Logan living.

[shostakobitchh]

Chapter 68: reposed

Remus thought he’d been prepared. 

He was not — not nearly enough — when the sound of a dog nearly caused his already weak knees to give out. 

Padfoot — 

It took him a moment to realize he’d said it aloud, the rasping wheeze that escaped him not at all what he’d meant to say or do — to show. He had gone over this scenario countless times in his head, most of them when he’d imagined himself pushed to the brink, but now — 

Remus' heart hammered in his chest as the massive black dog emerged from the shadows. The cat hissed and darted away, disappearing into the darkness. 

The dog disappeared then, too, replaced by a man. 

The man stood in front of one of the shadowed windows, rags for robes, his face every inch of the ghost he had become.

The house groaned and shuddered, and Remus wondered what was louder, the thudding of his heart, or the Shack, or perhaps some other, greater thing that roared away in Remus’ ears. 

The vocalization — the Padfoot — hung in the air between them, a fragile cadence ready to shatter as this husk of a man’s — this Sirius’ — haunted eyes lifted to meet Remus' shocked expression. In their depths, Remus saw a flicker of the person he once knew, of the mischievous sparkle that ignited, knowing Remus had come, but it was buried beneath layers and years of distance, a great, yawning void that had never been there before. 

“You look like shit.” said the man who looked like Sirius but didn’t, the years between when they’d last seen each other cracking each syllable.

“Look who’s talking.” Remus croaked back, his wand held so tightly in his hand that he could feel his tendons screaming out in protest.

Sirius eyes fell to his hands, wide and hollowed out, like burning pits. He was unarmed — which both surprised and confused Remus all the more. He couldn’t harm anyone without a wand, and physical brutality had really never been Sirius’ thing.

It told Remus he hadn’t expected a fight — hadn’t wanted one. 

Or that he hadn’t thought there had been a point. He’d been so easy to find tonight, on Christmas, of all days. Although it wasn’t Christmas anymore: a faint light was spreading across the floor, through the murky dark and onto Sirius’ thin frame. 

Remus felt his breathing quicken, the space between his heart and ribs rapidly filling up with something painful, something like whatever had happened to Ariel’s chest, to that poor, sweet girl’s heart, because if Sirius was telling the truth, then the world would crumble a second time, and if he wasn’t — 

“Back away,” Remus said slowly, keeping himself tight against the boarded-up wall behind him. “And start talking.” 

Sirius just blinked, holding up his hands. “I’m not armed, Moony. Don’t you dare fucking Hex me.”

“You’re not really in a position to be making any demands.” 

“And neither are you.” Sirius was frowning, now, as though it mattered, as though he — “Like I said, you look like a herd of hippogriffs ran you over.”

Kill him, Conscience hissed, every minute you stand still and let him speak, you’re putting Ariel in danger. 

Seconds trickling by, seconds that James and Lily and Peter weren’t a part of, seconds that counted to Ariel — an innocent child. A traitor to her, to all of them and beyond, making Remus invert on himself — 

Remus's hand shook as he kept his wand trained on Sirius. The urge to strike, to unleash twelve years of grief and rage, was nearly overwhelming. But something held him back - a flicker of doubt, or perhaps just the bone-deep exhaustion that suddenly crashed over him like a wave.

"I trusted you," Remus said, his voice low and ragged. "We all did. And you — you destroyed everything."

Sirius — the man — whatever he was, only stared. “Didn’t you see my note?” 

Remus let out a harsh bark of laughter, the sound grating and foreign to his own ears. “You call a bunch of sticks strewn about in the middle of the bloody forest a note?” 

Sirius' face crumpled, his eyes growing impossibly wider in the gloom. "You don't understand, Moony. I had to — I had no choice. I couldn't risk anyone else finding out before I —” 

"Finding out what?" Remus snarled, his patience fraying. "That you betrayed James and Lily? That you killed Peter and all those Muggles? What could possibly justify any of that?"

“That little fuck isn’t dead,” Sirius snapped, a desperate, almost manic glint in his eyes, now. “He — look, he’s right there!” 

He whirled around and started shuffling through a pile of rags and debris in the corner, muttering under his breath. It was then that Remus began to wonder what sort of mental state Sirius was really in — what thirteen years of Azkaban would’ve done to his mind, but after a moment of frantic searching, Sirius straightened up, a crumpled piece of newsprint clutched in his hand. He turned back to Remus, his movements jerky and agitated, and thrust the paper towards him.

"Look," Sirius insisted. "Look closely."

Remus hesitated, his eyes flicking between Sirius' grimy, trembling fingers smoothed out the crumpled newspaper clipping. It was a photo, Remus realized as he peered at it warily, still keeping his wand trained on Sirius. The moving figures smiled and waved, clustered together in front of what looked like an ancient Egyptian pyramid. A large family of redheads — the Weasleys, Remus recognized with a jolt. Molly and Arthur stood in the center, their children fanned out around them.

“Where did you —” Remus started, but was quickly cut off when Sirius jabbed the newspaper at him again. 

“Look at the boy — the one Ariel is friends with.” Sirius urged. “The one on the left, look at his shoulder. It's him — it’s fucking Peter."

Remus squinted — there was a rather plump but ordinary looking rat on Ron’s shoulder. Its fur was a dull gray, patchy in spots, and one of its front paws looked oddly bare, almost like it was missing a toe, oddly stunted. 

“Peter wasn’t missing a toe,” Remus said slowly. 

Sirius let out a frustrated growl, his fingers tightening on the newsprint, causing it to crumple further. “Because he cut it off, Moony. He made everyone believe I blasted him to kingdom come so he could get away, the little fucking shit. It’s a little too on the nose for a sniveling, traitorous piece of filth — hiding as a rat all these years.” 

The room had started to wobble a bit around the edges for Remus, so he put his other hand to the wall. “Peter is dead. Like James and Lily.” 

Sirius let out a strangled noise of frustration, his eyes wild and desperate as they bored into Remus. He began to pace, his movements erratic and agitated, like a caged animal. The newspaper clipping fluttered forgotten to the floor.

"No, no, no," Sirius muttered, raking his hands through his matted hair. "You're not listening, Moony. Just like before, when I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't — couldn't — see what was right in front of your face."

He whirled on Remus, closing the distance between them in two long strides. Remus instinctively took a step back, his shoulder blades pressing painfully into the rough wooden boards behind him. Sirius loomed over him, that untethered gleam in his sunken eyes.

"We switched, don't you get it?" Sirius said, his voice low and urgent. "At the last minute, I convinced James to make Peter the Secret Keeper instead of me. I thought it was the perfect bluff, that no one would ever suspect that sniveling little shit — no, not poor Peter , but it was all a trap — Peter was the spy, he had been passing information to Voldemort for months and I played right into his dirty little hands —” 

Sirius' words hung in the air between them, heavy and pulsing with a desperate, feverish energy. Remus just stared at him, and it felt like his heart was breaking, watching the desperation creep into them, watching the moment when he realized Remus did not believe him.

“Moony,” Sirius said. “Moony, Jesus Christ —”

"If what you're saying is true," Remus said, each word feeling like it was being dragged out of him. "Then why didn't you and James tell me? Why keep me in the dark about switching Secret Keepers?"

If we go, you can’t tell anyone — 

Sirius's eyes flickered, like a searchlight calling out to sea. 

"Because —" He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Because they thought it might be you. That you were the spy."

Remus felt something inside him fracture, like a fissure splitting through ice. The pain was so acute, so visceral, that for a moment he couldn't breathe. Betrayal and hurt and rage churned in his gut, rising up his throat like bile. He’d known it — he’d known it for a long time, now, but to hear it come from him was — it was — 

“Not they,” Remus said, his voice surprisingly quiet. “You. You would’ve told them about — us. That I’d tell Voldemort it was you, to get to James and the baby.” 

You BOTH knew and you kept it from me! 

Sirius's gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders hunching inward as if he were trying to make himself smaller. The betrayal cut deep once more, only this time it felt like a serrated blade twisting in Remus's gut. 

"You thought I was the spy," Remus said again, his voice barely above a whisper, now. It wasn't a question. The truth of it was etched into every line of Sirius' haggard face, in the guilt and shame that radiated off him in waves.

Sirius opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. He just stood there, his shoulders slumped in defeat, looking for all the world like a man who had already been broken a thousand times over.

[marionluth]

Christmas Irondad Story ✨❤️ First chapter is up 😀

You can see the deets by clicking on the link, but we're talking re-write/re-imagining of my favotite cheesy Christmas movie: All I Want For Christmas (the 1991 one). You're in for 🙌dramedy🙌 all the angst and banter and humour and fluff. Biodad AU with all three Tony kids (Harley Morgan and Peter) scheming to get divorced Peps and Tones back together. Feels and laughs throughout the story.

Excerpt below 👇

“Dude, you’re going down. My guy’s about to throw the meanest punch,” Harley taunted.

"Yeah, yeah, just you wait," Peter muttered— thumb working overtime, trying to block Harley’s jabs and figure out how to do anything but get his virtual face smashed in.

Meanwhile, Morgan was sprawled on Peter's bed, lost in her own world, flipping through one of his X-Men comics. Even though she was a bit young for some of the heavy stuff in them, she always managed to look like she was reading with the same seriousness Peter did.

"Mo, you're gonna sprain your neck like that," Peter warned, glancing over his shoulder at her, noticing how she was twisting to read a page. He figured she’d gotten the X-Men bug from him after the whole superhero gig had started; though she was probably more into the sparkly stuff than the punches, she loved the comics, and Peter loved sharing them with her.

Morgan glanced up for a moment, but didn’t say anything— just flipped another page, her eyes drifting back to scan the panels.

"I can't wait to try this in the AR console Dad’s making us," Harley said. "Can’t wait to destroy you there, too."

"Since you can’t in real life," Peter shot back, grimacing as the KO flashed over his defeated player. His character had been knocked out cold, and it was honestly a little embarrassing.

Harley leaned back, all smug confidence. "Let’s not forget I could easily take you before you spidered-up."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, you know what they say, terror. Karma is a..." He caught himself mid-sentence and glanced quickly at Morgan.

"The B word," Morgan said, her tone bored as she continued flipping through her comic— not even looking up. "You can say it, I won’t repeat it in front of Mom."

Peter smiled, shaking his head. "I know, Mo. And even if you did, we’d blame..."

"Harley," Morgan finished, her voice matching Peter’s in perfect sync.

Peter and Morgan burst into laughter, while Harley shot them both a half-hearted glare, fighting a smile. "Assholes," he muttered.

“You decided what you’ll ask from Santa, Mo?” Peter asked, his eyes glued to the screen as the next round started up.

"Yeah," Morgan answered right away, her head bobbing. Peter could see her brown locks bouncing with the movement from the corner of his eye. "I’ve known for months now," she added.

Peter glanced at her, intrigued. “Let’s hear it then. What will it be this year? Dog? Cat? Bunny?”

Harley leaned forward, eyes bulging as he got way too into the game. His tongue stuck out slightly in concentration, but his attention was now half on Morgan, curious to hear what her request was. "Come on, Mo. Hit us with it. What animal is it gonna be this year?"

Peter shook his head with a quiet chuckle, though it sounded hollow to his own ears. “The pony would like some company,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, the memory hitting him hard.

He could still picture it perfectly— Morgan, all wide-eyed and hopping up and down with excitement. The pony, its big brown eyes blinking in confusion, munching on the tree’s low-hanging branches with a bow tied around its neck. It had been absurd. Over the top. Completely out of place for a New York penthouse. The poor thing had never stood a chance in that apartment. They’d had to send it to the lake house with Mr. Larry, the caretaker, who would look after it. Morgan only got to ride it whenever they visited that place, which had been less and less often since the divorce.

He remembered how everything had seemed normal that Christmas, at least for Morgan. Their parents had pretended like nothing was wrong, even though Peter and Harley had known better. They could see the cracks forming, feel the tension— but their parents had tried to act like everything was fine. Like, Ross Geller fine.

Morgan had gotten her pony, and a few days after New Year's, their parents had sat them down and announced the divorce. It was the cruelest kind of irony. No present— not even Miss Buttercup— could have softened that blow. Peter swallowed, the weight of the memory pressing down harder now.

“I don’t want a pet,” Morgan said seriously, her voice soft. “I have something bigger to ask this Christmas.”

Harley, mid-game, froze. The controller dropped from his hands, his gaze snapping to her with exaggerated interest. “Are we talking real estate? Or a yacht, maybe? ‘Cause it did cross my mind, too—”

“I’ll ask for Mom and Dad to come back together again,” Morgan interrupted him, her voice steady, like she was announcing something simple.

The words hit Peter like a cold wave, and the room seemed to freeze. The game, the noise, everything around him was now muffled. Harley’s eyebrows shot up as Peter exchanged a glance with him, but neither of them knew how to respond.

“Mo…” Peter started, but Morgan didn’t look away from him. She just sat up, determination etched on her face. Her gaze was so intense— so serious— that it made Peter’s throat tighten.

“It’s all I want,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “All I want for Christmas is us. I want us to be a family again.” The words hung in the air and Peter swallowed hard.

“Morgan, you can’t ask Santa stuff like that,” Harley said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Why? You said he’d never get me a pony, too, but he did.” Morgan's eyes were wide, her little chin set in that way she did when she was trying to convince them of something.

Harley groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Because he’s a jolly dude with a beard and a sleigh drawn by magical reindeers, not a marriage counselor! Santa can’t interfere with people’s relationships and lives. It’s one thing to bring presents, and another to try and fix... people.” He hesitated, unsure how to explain something so complicated to a seven-year-old.

Peter watched his little sister’s face fall, before her expression hardened again.

“No,” Morgan deadpanned. “Santa is magic and he can do anything. And I know he’ll understand how important it is to bring Daddy back home to us. We have to be a family again.”

“M, we’re still a family, even if Mom and Dad aren’t together,” Harley said softly, his usual smirk gone, replaced by a tone laden with quiet sincerity— one that Peter had only ever heard him use with Morgan.

“I know,” Morgan replied, but her voice wavered just a little. “But we’re not all together. We see Dad less now, and Richcrap is always around. I want things back how they were.” Her voice dropped. “And that’s what I’m asking Santa, no matter what you two say. You can ask for your silly games. I’ll save our family, you’ll see.”

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, aggravated voices floated up the stairs. Harley and Morgan couldn’t make out the words, but Peter’s enhanced hearing instantly picked up the harsh tone of his parents arguing. The biting words, the sharp jabs thrown between them— his father’s voice rising in frustration, his mother’s voice clipped and cold.

Peter's stomach dropped.

"Dad’s here," he announced, with a forced smile.

[maraa755]

Ch. 17, The Rise of the Redhead

'My Marauders' Masterlist General Masterlist Read On Wattpad - Here!

Pairings: J.P., R.L., S.B. x OC Warnings: N/A Word Count: 9.0k

The boys hurried her out of the Astronomy Tower, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls as they descended the winding flights of stairs. Thankfully, Transfiguration was in the same wing, but Calliope barely noticed as she was too focused on the questions buzzing in her mind.

They reached the Transfiguration classroom, but not without resistance from Calliope, who dug in her heels at every turn, demanding to know what this so-called "Pact" was. The boys, however, were maddeningly evasive. Sirius wore a smirk that suggested he was enjoying her frustration, while James's grin hinted at some inside joke she wasn't privy to. Remus, on the other hand, seemed less sure, his nervous glances at her betraying a hint of guilt. She couldn't quite place why, but something told her he might be the one who concocted this mysterious 'Pact.'

The whole situation gnawed at her. What were they hiding? The secret felt like yet another barrier, a reminder that she was always on the edge of their world—close enough to see but never truly part of it. The Marauders had their secrets, and this "Pact" seemed to be just another one, another reason why she was merely an onlooker, not one of them.

It always pained her to think about this feeling of being perpetually on the outside. Ever since the first year, there had always been something they kept from her, a secret just out of reach. She'd tried to brush it off, telling herself it didn't matter, that it was just how things were. But this year—her final year at Hogwarts—something in her shifted. She was done ignoring it, done pretending it didn't hurt. The nagging sense of exclusion, the unspoken words between them, had followed her for six years, and she was determined that this year, she wouldn't let it slide. She wouldn't block it out, not anymore.

They said their goodbyes to Peter and stepped through the threshold of the Transfiguration classroom, relieved to find they had time to spare. The room was unusually still, with no sign of Professor McGonagall or her familiar Animagus form.

Calliope's mind drifted back to their first year, to a memory etched in her mind. Sirius and James had burst into Transfiguration, late as usual, thinking they had escaped McGonagall's ire. The room had seemed empty then, just as it did now. But before they could breathe a sigh of relief, the silver and black-marked cat perched on the desk had leaped down, transforming mid-air into Professor McGonagall herself.

Their expressions of peace and relief had evaporated instantly, replaced by wide-eyed fear and shock. Calliope vividly remembered how she and Remus had struggled to contain their laughter, pressing their hands against their mouths to stifle the sound. It was impossible to forget the moment Professor McGonagall, with her characteristic sternness, had suggested that one of the boys be transfigured into a pocket watch to ensure they'd never be late again. The look on Sirius's face had been priceless, and it had taken every ounce of self-control for her and Remus not to burst out laughing.

Calliope pushed the memory aside, shaking her head slightly as she took her seat without another word to the boys. Her emotions were still in turmoil, and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it all. So much had happened in just one week, and it pained her to realize that, despite everything, it was still only the first week of school. The days felt stretched, each one dragging out like an eternity, weighed down by all that had transpired.

McGonagall was smart– although giving the boys and Calliope some shared detentions, she hadn't given them assigned seats next to each other. Clever move.

Calliope glanced at the empty spot beside her on the bench, noting that Gideon Prewett was missing from his usual seat. She sighed lightly, a small part of her feeling relieved. After what the boys had revealed about Gideon, she found herself thankful for the break. She appreciated being paired with him for Transfiguration, but it wasn't going to be easy pretending she didn't know about the ginger-haired boy's supposed crush on her.

Calliope glanced over her shoulder and found herself locking eyes with Remus. The contact was unexpected; he had been the one to look at her first. They held the gaze for a moment longer than necessary, and Calliope felt a low, unsettling flutter in her stomach. She swallowed hard, breaking the eye contact as she refocused on her surroundings. Her attention shifted to the empty seat beside Remus, only to find that Fabian Prewett—Gideon's twin—was also absent.

As soon as Calliope made her observation, the quiet of the room was abruptly shattered by the entrance of two red-haired figures. Gideon and Fabian Prewett burst in, laughing and joking with each other, their boisterous energy disrupting the calm. Their arrival immediately drew attention, their raucous behavior a stark contrast to the stillness that had preceded them.

The two brothers parted ways as they entered. Gideon made his way over to Calliope, while Fabian headed towards Remus. Gideon unceremoniously dropped his heavy backpack from his broad shoulders, the bag thudding softly against the floor as he settled into his seat beside her.

"Alright, Calliope?" Gideon greeted, a polite smile curving his lips.

"Hello," Calliope replied stiffly, an ache settling in her chest. She forced herself to meet his gaze, though the warmth of his smile only made the situation more complicated.

What Calliope didn't see behind her was the exchange of frantic glances among the boys. Each one stared wide-eyed, their mouths agape in silent shock. It seemed they had completely forgotten who Calliope sat next to. They could only hope Calliope didn't say anything rash to Gideon.

Just as the tension between the boys and the awkwardness in Calliope's chest reached its peak, Professor McGonagall made her entrance. She strode into the room with her usual air of authority, her sophisticated, modern witch's hat with its wide brim bouncing slightly with each step. The sharp click of her heels against the stone floor cut through the murmur of the classroom, immediately commanding attention.

"Good evening, students," she addressed the class in her crisp Scottish accent. "Do excuse my tardiness." She moved gracefully to the front of the classroom, her gaze sweeping over the students as she settled behind her desk.

"Now," she began, her eyes narrowing slightly as she surveyed the room, "I trust you are all prepared to learn about human transfiguration.

Calliope straightened in her seat, her heart still a bit uneasy from the earlier exchange, but she forced herself to focus.

McGonagall received a few nods and an even fewer chorus of agreement.

"You must realize that this type of transfiguration requires your utmost attention," McGonagall continued her voice unwavering and firm. Her gaze moved deliberately from James to Sirius, lingering only briefly on Remus. "I will not tolerate any rash, reckless, rancid raccoons running rapidly around my classroom! You will be careful. Human transfiguration is not a matter of humor or carelessness."

The room remained silent, the gravity of McGonagall's words hanging heavily in the air. To Calliope, it felt as though the warning was aimed squarely at the Marauders. The thought made the corner of her lips twitch up for just a moment, a flicker of amusement at their expense that she quickly stifled.

"Now then," McGonagall said, her tone shifting slightly as she turned to the blackboard, "we will begin with a review of the principles of human transfiguration. Open your textbooks to page one-hundred and fifty-six."

Calliope reached into her bag, her fingers skimming over the tops of her other books as she searched for her Transfiguration textbook. The familiar feel of the thick, well-worn pages met her touch, and she pulled the hefty book onto the table, setting it down with a quiet thud.

"Oh, no..." Gideon muttered under his breath, his voice so quiet that Calliope barely caught it. She turned her head towards him, noticing the way he was frantically rifling through his bag.

"Did you forget your Transfiguration book?" Calliope asked, her voice tinged with confusion.

He nods.

Calliope hesitated for a moment before offering, "We can share mine if you'd like."

Gideon looked up, relief washing over his face. "You are my savior, Calliope! Thank you."

Calliope laughed softly, sliding her book to the middle of the table. As she reached to open it, her hand accidentally grazed Gideon's, who was doing the same. "Sorry," she muttered, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Gideon didn't seem to mind. He gave her a quick smile before taking the lead, opening the large book with ease. His calloused fingers deftly flicked through the pages until they landed on page one-hundred and fifty-six, just as McGonagall had instructed.

Sirius watched the exchange with a narrowed gaze, a hint of suspicion in his eyes. After a moment, he subtly nodded toward James, signaling him to observe the interaction between Calliope and Gideon. James followed Sirius's lead.

Sirius didn't need to get Remus's attention; he was already looking towards Calliope.

Meanwhile, McGonagall turned from the chalkboard. A piece of white chalk floated in the air, writing out the following words with precise clarity:

'Human Transfiguration: Principles and Procedures'

McGonagall stood proudly behind her desk, her gaze sweeping across the classroom as she assessed which students had their textbooks ready. Her eyes briefly lingered on the various students, noting those who were prepared and those who seemed less organized.

"Mr. Prewett!" McGonagall's voice echoed sharply through the classroom. Both Gideon and Fabian, the two redheads, looked up from their textbooks in surprise. McGonagall's gaze then zeroed in on Gideon. "Excuse me, let me clarify—Mr. Gideon Prewett!"

He stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

"Forget our textbook, did we?" She gave him a pointed look.

"Yes, Professor, I do apologize." Gideon gulped, forcing a smirk to mask his embarrassment at being singled out. "Calliope is kind enough to let me share her textbook."

"I see..." Minerva smiled at the sight, "You're certainly lucky today, Mr. Prewett. Let this be your last wa–"

"—Take points away, Minnie!" James interjected loudly, his voice cutting through the classroom and drawing everyone's attention. At this, Sirius broke a laugh.

Calliope's head shook subtly in annoyance.

"Mr. Potter! Do I need to remind you that Gideon is a member of your house?" McGonagall's strict demeanor snapped back into place. Her eyes were sharply focused on James before briefly flicking to Sirius. "And Mr. Black, I do not appreciate your laughter, quite frankly!"

Sirius's laughter died quickly under McGonagall's stern gaze, though he still managed to maintain a lingering smirk. James's face, on the other hand, was marked by a sheepish grin.

"There are, however, house points I would like to award," McGonagall directed her eyes towards Calliope, "Five points to Ravenclaw for Miss Thorne's act of amity. Any complaints, Mr. Potter?"

James shook his head quickly, his grin fading into a look of resignation. "No, Professor," he replied, his voice subdued.

"Good," McGonagall said, nodding with satisfaction. "Now, let us proceed with the lesson."

McGonagall's gaze softened slightly as she moved back to the front of the classroom. She tapped the blackboard with her wand, and new diagrams appeared, illustrating the next stage of their lesson.

"Human transfiguration takes a lot of skill," McGonagall reiterated, her voice steady and resonant. "As I said before, you must be careful. Whether you are transfiguring yourself or another person, concentration is key. There are severe consequences if you fail to do so."

She paused, allowing the weight of her words to settle over the classroom. "Today's exercise will involve a more intricate form of transfiguration: you will be changing the color of your partner's fingernails. This is not a simple application of polish, but a fundamental alteration of the nail's composition.

Kamal Patil, a wizard in Calliope's house raised his hand and James's current desk partner, raised his hand, "Professor, this is temporary, correct?"

McGonagall nodded, her expression reassuring. "Yes, Mr. Patil. The change will be temporary, and you will be taught the counter-spell to return the nails to their original state."

At this, the boy let out a relieved sigh.

"If you look at your textbooks, you'll find the name of the spell for today's exercise. Can anyone tell me what it is?" McGonagall asked, encouraging the students to skim through their books.

Remus's hand rose slowly, hesitating in the air before coming to rest halfway above his head.

"Yes, Mr. Lupin?"

"The spell is Chromadigitus," Remus replied, his voice clear and steady.

McGonagall nodded approvingly. "Correct, Mr. Lupin. Chromadigitus will be the spell you use today. Remember, precision is key. You must focus on altering the color of your partner's fingernails without affecting the rest of their appearance."

She gave a brisk wave of her wand, and a shimmering image of a hand with changing nail colors appeared on the blackboard.

"Before we begin, take a moment to review the counter-spell, Restaurare Digitus, as well. It's crucial that you can reverse the effect smoothly. We will practice that in the later part of the lesson."

The class went silent as McGonagall sat at her desk, pulling a stack of parchment paper toward her and dunking her quill into the ink pot set out before her.

"What did she say the counter-spell was?" Gideon asked, his hazel eyes locking onto Calliope's as he leaned his chin on his hand.

Calliope turned to Gideon, her gaze meeting his as he leaned closer, his eyes focused intently on her. "She said it's Restaurare Digitus," she replied, her voice low but clear.

Gideon nodded, absorbing the information. "Thanks," he said, his gaze lingering on her a moment before dropping his eyes down to her textbook.

As he looked away, Calliope's heart skipped a beat and she found herself staring at the side of his face. She couldn't help but linger on how striking his eyes were, the way they held a certain warmth that seemed to pull her in. Perhaps him fancying her wasn't such a horrid thing.

She dropped her gaze from his face to his hands, which were gently tracing the side of the textbook. His fingers were slim and long—less slender than Remus's and not as lengthy as James or Sirius's, but they suited Gideon perfectly. The rough edges of his palms, marked by calluses and faint bruises, spoke of his role as a Beater on the Quidditch team, a role that had clearly left its mark.

She couldn't help but let her mind wander, imagining the way he might be on the pitch. Did he have a different attitude? Was he more aggressive on the pitch?

From his hands, Calliope's gaze traveled up to his arms. Gideon had removed his robe moments earlier, as the temperature in McGonagall's classroom was unusually high. His arms were partially covered by the gray sweater of his Hogwarts uniform. While the sweater was designed to be loose, on Gideon, it clung tightly to his form. The fabric stretched over his biceps, which were notably well-defined and larger than one might expect from a typical student.

The sight of his arms, shaped by both Quidditch training and physical exertion, made Calliope's heart race slightly. She couldn't help but admire how the sweater highlighted his muscular build, a testament to his strength and athleticism. It was clear that his role as a Beater had left its mark not just on his hands but on his entire physique.

Following the line of Gideon's arms, Calliope's eyes drifted to his neck and chest, again, appreciating the way his Hogwarts-issued sweater fit him. Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted when a crumpled piece of parchment smacked her gently on the back of the head. She blinked, startled, and looked around, searching for the source of the unexpected distraction.

Calliope scanned the classroom, her gaze settling on James Potter, who was trying hard to suppress a smirk while glancing down at his textbook. With a sinking suspicion, she picked up the crumpled piece of parchment from the floor and unfolded it, laying it flat on her desk to see what it contained.

"Got an admirer there, Calliope?" Gideon asked, lifting his head from the textbook with a teasing smirk. His hazel eyes twinkled with amusement as he glanced at the crumpled paper on her desk.

"What! No! It's just James, just James," she blurted out awkwardly, cursing herself internally for the sudden awkwardness. Her face flushed slightly, her attempt to downplay the situation only making her more flustered.

Gideon's smirk softened into a chuckle, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, if you say so," he said, his tone light and teasing. "Might as well see what 'just James' has to say?"

Calliope shifted in her seat, feeling her cheeks grow warmer under Gideon's gaze. She focused intently on the paper that had landed on her desk, unrolling it to reveal a note scribbled hastily in James's unmistakable handwriting.

The note read: 'Does Gideon have a stain on his sweater?'

Calliope's brows furrowed as she re-read the note, her mind racing. She wondered if he was referring to her looking at Gideon. She had thought she was discreet, but now, in light of the note, she worried she might have been more obvious than she'd realized.

Gideon noticed her troubled expression and tilted his head slightly. "Harsh note, yeah?"

"No, just something utterly stupid," she replied, trying to brush off her discomfort. She picked up her quill and began to scribble down a response.

She wrote: 'Excuse me?'

Calliope discreetly retrieved her wand, her fingers deftly casting a quiet levitation charm. The crumpled paper floated up from her desk, and with a swift flick of her wand, it shot across the room, hitting James square in the forehead.

James blinked in surprise, the smirk on his face faltering for a moment as he reached up to rub his forehead. The classroom erupted in soft chuckles, but McGonagall's attention remained fixed on the papers before her, her back turned to the students.

With a satisfied smirk, Calliope turned her body back towards the front of the class, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. She hoped McGonagall hadn't noticed her subtle act of rebellion.

"Nice shot," Gideon said with a grin, turning his body toward their desk and mirroring Calliope's earlier movement.

Calliope looked up, surprised but pleased by his compliment. "Thanks," she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Calliope turned her head to look over her shoulder, her surprise evident as she noticed that James wasn't replying. The note remained clenched in his fist, untouched. He caught her eye, his glasses perched low on his nose, but his expression was unreadable.

For a brief, intense moment, their gazes locked, and Calliope searched for any hint of his thoughts or intentions. James seemed to be evaluating her response, but before she could interpret anything from his gaze, he was the first to break eye contact, shifting his focus elsewhere.

Calliope turned her head back to the front of the room as McGonagall's voice cut through the classroom. "I hope you all have had enough time to read about the incantation. You may now perform the spell on your partners."

There was a murmur of excitement and nervous energy as students prepared to cast the spell. Calliope took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself. She glanced over at Gideon, who was already gathering his materials with a focused expression.

"Wanna cast first?" Gideon asked.

Calliope nodded and gripped her wand tightly, feeling the smooth, cold wood against her fingers. With a focused gaze, she raised her wand and aimed it at Gideon's hands, which were laid flat and steady on the desk before her.

"Careful, I don't need my hand turning into a boar's head," He joked.

Calliope managed a small smile at Gideon's joke, though her focus remained on the task at hand. She took a deep breath, centering herself as she pointed her wand at his outstretched hands.

"Chromadigitus," she murmured, her voice steady as she performed the incantation.

Gideon's fingers remained still, but she could see a subtle shimmer of magic as the spell took effect. With a glance at his hands, Calliope noticed the slight color change—his nails were now a soft, pastel blue.

"Looking good, Gideon," She said, nodding to his nails.

Gideon lifted his hands to inspect the transformation, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I have to admit, I'm pleasantly surprised. Much better than a boar's head, for sure," he quipped, glancing at her with a playful glint in his eye.

"D'you want the counter-spell now?" Calliope asked, a smirk forming on her face as she watched him examine the nails.

He hesitated for a moment, "Nah, I quite like them. Let's leave them for a moment."

Calliope nodded, her heart skipping a beat as she held her hands steady on the desk. Gideon brought his wand closer to her fingernails, his expression serious despite the playful gleam in his eyes.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice soft but steady.

"Ready," she replied, her voice almost a whisper.

With a careful flick of his wand, Gideon muttered, "Chromadigitus." A soft shimmer of magic enveloped her nails, and Calliope watched as the color slowly shifted, transforming into a vibrant, deep violet.

Gideon leaned in slightly, examining the results with a satisfied smile. "Looks like we're both naturals."

Calliope laughed softly, lifting her hands to admire the rich color. "They're quite beautiful actually."

Gideon brought his gaze from her hands to her eyes, a light pink blush dusting the tip of his nose and his cheekbones. "I think purple suits you well," he said gently.

Her cheeks warmed at the compliment, but she managed to keep her voice steady. "Thank you," she replied, meeting his gaze with a small smile.

McGonagall approached their desk, her sharp eyes assessing their work. "Marvelous work, both of you," she remarked, breaking the small moment between them. Calliope quickly looked down at her hands, her smile lingering as Gideon straightened up in his seat.

"Thank you, Professor," Gideon said, his voice steady as he spoke for both of them. Calliope nodded in agreement, her eyes still on her newly transformed nails, the faint smile on her lips refusing to fade.

McGonagall gave a nod of approval before moving on to another pair of students. As she walked away, Calliope felt a small, pleasant tingle of satisfaction. The spell had worked perfectly, and the compliment from Gideon still warmed her cheeks.

"Are you ready for the counter-spell?" Gideon asked, his attention shifting back to her.

She laid her hands back on the table, "I'm going to miss them, but go ahead."

Gideon's lips curled into a teasing smile, "Well, if you ever want them back I suppose I can just do the spell for you, yeah?"

He took his wand and aimed it at her nails. The incantation, "Restaurare Digitus," flowed smoothly from his lips. As the spell took effect, Calliope watched her nails gradually return to their natural color, the purple fading away.

"I think I'll have to take you up on that offer," Calliope said, glancing at her plain nails that now sported nothing but a top coat of polish.

"Your turn?"

He nodded and allowed Calliope to do what she needed to, his hands, like Calliope's, returning to their natural color. With the spell completed, Gideon leaned back in his seat, a satisfied smile on his face.

"You're pretty good at this, you know," Gideon said, his voice tinged with genuine admiration.

"Are you surprised?" Calliope replied, a hint of playful challenge in her tone.

Gideon breathed out a laugh, "Not really," he said. "But it's nice to see someone who's as skilled as they are confident."

Calliope grinned, hiding her smile behind her robe.

McGonagall scanned the room once more, her eyes landing on Calliope and Gideon, who were among the first to complete both the spell and its counter-spell. She gave them a quick nod of approval and a brief "good job," before moving on to the next set of students.

The clock struck, and it was time for their next class. The room erupted in the usual sounds of students packing up and chatting.

Gideon packed his bag and turned to Calliope, a mischievous grin on his face. "Call me mad, but I cannot wait for our next Transfiguration lesson."

"I agree," Calliope said enthusiastically. "It's a fascinating subject. The ability to change things and—"

"And it helps to have a fantastic partner," Gideon interrupted with a playful wink. He slung his bag over his shoulder, gave Calliope a quick, warm smile, and headed toward his brother. "See you around," he called back, disappearing into the bustling crowd of students.

Calliope was initially taken aback by Gideon's comment, her mind buzzing with both confusion and flattery. Before she could fully process his words, she was interrupted by the arrival of The Marauders—minus Peter—who strolled up to her with their usual assertive presence.

"Hey, Calliope," James greeted, his grin wide and infectious. "Looks like you and Gideon had quite the productive session."

"I guess," Calliope replied, trying to suppress the blush that was surely creeping onto her cheeks.

Sirius narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, nudging James. "And from the look of things, he's quite taken with you."

Before Calliope could respond, Remus stepped in, his tone smooth and polite. "Nice job with the spell... You and Gideon seemed to have it down perfectly."

A smile tugged at Calliope's lips. "Yeah, I was pretty impressed with how well it went, to be perfectly honest."

"I see Gideon enjoyed the proximity," Sirius remarked, crossing his arms

"Huh?" Calliope asked, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Sirius sneered. "Hm, nothing much. Just that he seemed rather... invested in the task at hand. Especially when it came to being close to you."

Calliope paused, thinking over her words carefully before responding. "Oh," she said slowly, "I suppose you did mention he fancied me?"

The boys exchange looks, remembering the lie– fib– that was told to distract Calliope.

"Yeah... about that," James began, a smirk spreading across his lips. "We got it wrong, love. It's actually Fabian who's got the crush. It's our fault for relaying the message incorrectly."

Remus's eyes widened slightly, his mouth parting in surprise before he quickly composed himself, closing it to ensure Calliope didn't notice his reaction.

Calliope's eyes widened in surprise. "Fabian? Not Gideon?"

Sirius leaned in with a teasing smirk. "You seem disappointed, Cal?"

"No..." Calliope replied, shaking her head slightly. "I'm just a bit confused. I...I guess it's a simple mistake to make."

A hum left Sirius's mouth, "Apologies."

With this revelation, Calliope felt a heavy weight settle in her chest. The fluttering in her heart that Gideon had caused moments ago now seemed like a cruel illusion. The reality was that her perception of Gideon's friendliness had been mistaken for something more.

It hurt to realize that the Marauders were involved—something she had hoped would be avoided this time. They hadn't deliberately tried to sabotage her potential relationship with Gideon, but their error in mistaking the brothers hurt.

False hope, Calliope realized, was a particularly cruel form of anguish.

Sirius's expression softened as he noticed the sadness in Calliope's demeanor. "It's okay though," he said gently, "I haven't heard the best things about that bloke anyway. He isn't good for you."

Calliope rolled her eyes, "Great chat, but I've got to head to Defense Against the Dark Arts now."

"Wait," Remus said, gently but firmly grabbing her wrist. His action felt significant, especially given his earlier want to cut Calliope out of his life. "It just so happens that Gryffindors have Defense with Ravenclaws this year. Can't hurt to walk together, right?"

"Right." Calliope took a quick breath, her surprise softening into a reluctant smile.

And so they walked together, but as they made their unusually quiet way down the corridor near the Astronomy Tower, a thought crept into Calliope's mind. If Gryffindors had Defense with Ravenclaws, then depending on Gideon's schedule, there was a chance he might very well share classes with her.

The thought made her heart beat faster, and soon her legs quickened to match, carrying her a few steps ahead of the Marauders trailing behind. Even if it was now confirmed that Fabian fancied her, it couldn't hurt to stay friendly with Gideon, right?

"Cal? What's the rush?" James called out, his voice cutting through the quiet corridor as he turned from the window to glance at her, eyebrows raised in amusement.

Calliope slowed her pace slightly, realizing just how much distance she had put between herself and the Marauders. "No rush," she responded with a quick wave of her hand, trying to play it off casually. "Just eager to get to Defense, I suppose."

"Who has ever been eager for Defense?" Remus asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Sirius chimed in with a grin, "I'm sure we've got a boggart or three waiting for us in there."

"Perhaps I'm just happy to see Professor Weasley," Calliope shrugged, her tone dripping with playful sarcasm. "Merlin knows how ancient she is. I need to treasure every valuable moment with her."

"Tessie? You want to see Tessie?" James asked, his voice incredulous as he raised an eyebrow.

Calliope gave a mock serious nod. "Of course. It's not every day you get to be in the presence of such a momentous character."

"Momentous? She's worse than Binns!" Sirius said, throwing his hands around.

"You have to be serious. Worse than Binns?" Remus rolled his eyes, crossing his arms.

Sirius smirked, leaning in slightly. "First of all, I am Sirius," he said with an exaggerated pause, taking a dramatic breath before continuing. "And second of all, Binns doesn't lull me to sleep with that god-awful floral perfume. It makes me feel like I've been transported to my grandmother's couch in the middle of France while she's serenading me with a lullaby."

James snorted. "Like you've ever had a relationship with your grandmother."

"Oi, real funny, Potter!" Sirius shot back, narrowing his eyes with a mock glare, though a grin tugged at his lips.

Calliope couldn't help but crack a smile at their banter. Despite the whirlwind of confusion this year—no, this first week of school—when they joked like this, everything felt normal, as if James hadn't drawn her in only to shift his focus to Lily, as if she hadn't cried in Remus's arms, as if Sirius hadn't intimately kissed her cheek at the Black Lake and then shared the moment with their friends, as if Twomane wasn't a madwoman with her cryptic sayings, and as if she were truly one of the Marauders.

They arrived at the Defense Classroom, the room immediately smelling extra floral this year. As Sirius walked in, he made the joke, "If you led a blind man in here, you could convince him he's at a botanical garden.

Remus shook his head, his expression disapproving. "That's a bit in poor taste, Sirius." James, however, chuckled along, clearly finding amusement in the joke.

As for Calliope, she was scanning the crowd for a specific redhead. To her dismay, he was nowhere in sight.

The boys and Calliope to their seats, Remus and Sirius taking the desk in front of James and Calliope.

Remus organized his books and quill meticulously, preparing for the lesson ahead, while Sirius leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms and back. His flowing black hair briefly rested on Calliope's desk. Normally, this might have bothered her, but she was too engrossed in rummaging through her bag to notice.

James pulled out his notebook and quill, the only items in his bag besides the Transfiguration textbook from their last class. He quickly organized them on his desk, the routine action done with practiced ease. It didn't take him long to sort through his things and get ready for the lesson.

As the class began, Calliope gathered her essentials—her notebook, Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook, and quill—preparing for the lesson. Just then, Professor Weasley made her entrance. Her outfit was a striking blend of old-fashioned charm and eclecticism. She wore a voluminous dress adorned with layers of ruffles that cascaded from her shoulders down to her knees. The fabric was a patchwork of different textures and patterns, with vibrant hues of teal, deep burgundy, and gold woven together in a patchwork of floral and paisley designs. Her dress was cinched at the waist with a wide belt, and the sleeves were puffed, giving her a distinguished yet whimsical appearance. As she moved, the dress swished and fluttered, adding a touch of drama to her entrance.

It was certainly no ball gown, but for an older lady like Professor Weasley, this dress was quite extravagant. The dress, though not a high-fashion piece, was a testament to a bygone era, likely dating back to the 1930s. Its patchwork design was both practical and decorative, with carefully mended sections that spoke to the dress's long history. Various fabrics and patterns were stitched with noticeable artistry, blending rich, faded colors and intricate designs.

As she walked to the front of the class, her long ginger braid, streaked with white, swayed gently back and forth. The strands of her hair shimmered in the light, adding a touch of grace to her every step.

"Hello, everyone," she said with a warm smile, pulling her long braid to the front so it draped down her chest. "Welcome back to another year of Defense Against the Dark Arts, dears."

The class greeted her with a chorus of polite hellos and murmurs. Professor Weasley glanced around, her sunken eyes twinkling behind her rounded glasses as she took in the eager faces before her.

Professor Weasley looked out at the students with a nostalgic smile. "As you all know, this is your final year at Hogwarts." She clasped her hands tightly in front of her, her gaze softening. "It has been an absolute pleasure watching all of you grow into such magnificent witches and wizards. Your progress has been remarkable, and I'm confident that each of you will go on to achieve great things."

Calliope smiled at her teacher, the way she cared for all her students warmed her heart.

She continued, "This year, our focus will be on not just honing your skills but also preparing you for the challenges that lie ahead. We'll cover advanced defensive techniques and strategies to ensure you're well-equipped for whatever the future may hold."

Professor Weasley paused for a moment, her gaze sweeping across the room. "We'll start with a review of the fundamentals," she said, her tone thoughtful and measured. "But I encourage you all to push beyond the basics. This year is about mastering techniques and understanding how to apply them in real-world situations.

Professor Weasley's gaze grew serious as she spoke, "Some of you will go on to become Ministry workers, Aurors, Potion-Masters, magical creature caretakers, nurses, doctors, or even professors here at Hogwarts. No matter what path you choose, one thing remains constant: you will always need to know how to defend yourself."

Her tone softened again as she added, "This is not just about protecting yourself from dark forces; it's about being prepared for any challenge that life may throw at you. The skills you learn here will be invaluable, not only in the magical world but in whatever future you envision for yourself.

She paused, giving her students a moment to absorb her words. "Now, today, my dears, as I mentioned, we'll be revisiting the fundamentals," she continued, taking a deep breath. "Is everyone prepared? Notebooks and quills at the ready, please."

The students rustled as they complied, opening their notebooks and setting their quills in place. Calliope felt a sense of readiness as she arranged her supplies.

Professor Weasley's eyes scanned the room, ensuring everyone was ready before she began. "Good," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "We'll start with a review of basic defensive spells. These are crucial, as they form the foundation of everything we'll build upon this year."

"Today's lesson will start with a review of some core defensive spells," she announced. "We'll cover the basics of Shield Charms, Disarming Charms, and Protego Maxima. These are essential not only for your safety but for building a strong foundation for more advanced techniques. I trust you all know the spells like the back of your hand, but we must review them."

She walked over to a large blackboard and waved her wand, and diagrams and spell incantations began to appear. "The Shield Charm, or 'Protego,' is fundamental. It's used to deflect hexes, curses, and other magical attacks. Let's start with a demonstration."

Professor Weasley cast the Shield Charm with a fluid motion, and a shimmering barrier of light appeared around her. The class watched in rapt attention as she explained, "Notice how the charm creates a protective shield. It's important to focus on your intent and maintain concentration to ensure it's effective."

She cleared her throat, the sound carrying a hint of both authority and encouragement. "Now, to test the effectiveness of the Shield Charm, I'll need a volunteer to cast a spell at me." She looked around, her gaze sweeping over the students.

"Come on, don't be shy," she coaxed, her voice warm but firm. "It's all part of the learning process. Who's willing to give it a try?"

Sirius Black raised his hand, a skeptical look on his face. "Wait, are you serious? You actually want us to cast a spell at you?"

"Yes, darling," Professor Weasley replied with a reassuring smile.

Suddenly, the once mundane, floral-scented room seemed to come alive with excitement for Sirius. His eyes widened with enthusiasm. "Care for a go, Mr. Black?" Professor Weasley asked, her tone both inviting and playful. Sirius couldn't believe his luck; he felt as though he were dreaming.

"Alright, Professor," Sirius said, gripping his wand tightly as he stood up, "What spell should I use?"

Professor Weasley's eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. "Surprise me, Mr. Black. Show us your best shot."

The class watched in rapt attention as Sirius took a deep breath, focusing intently. He raised his wand and cast a spell, sending a vibrant burst of color toward Professor Weasley.

The spell hit its mark, and instead of causing any harm, it enveloped the professor in a swirl of sparkling lights that made her look like she was wrapped in a rainbow. The room erupted in laughter and applause, the atmosphere lightened by the display.

Professor Weasley laughed along, her face illuminated with genuine delight. "Very well done, Sirius! A bit flashy, but perfectly executed. That's the spirit I like to see."

Sirius beamed with pride, returning to his seat amid the cheers of his classmates. The once somber mood of the classroom was replaced with a buzz of excitement, as everyone eagerly awaited the next part of the lesson.

Sirius, still chuckling, leaned over to his friends and said, "Damn, this old lady is cool. Is someone using Polyjuice and pretending to be her?"

Remus gave Sirius a sideways glance, shaking his head with a smile, "Not as bad as Binns?"

"Definitely not as bad as Binns," Sirius confirmed.

"Now! Settle down, settle down, everyone," Professor Weasley said, waving her hands to calm the excited murmurs. "We must move on to another core spell." Her tone was firm but encouraging, guiding the students back to focus. "Today, we'll be revisiting the Disarming Charm, another fundamental spell for any witch or wizard. It's a simple yet powerful spell that can disarm an opponent and can be useful in a variety of situations."

"May I have another volunteer? Ah Mr. Black, let's find another person, yes?" Her eyes scanned the room, "Oh, quiet Miss Evans! How about you? Would that be okay?"

Calliope's head snapped in the direction Professor Weasley was pointing, her eyes widening as she saw Lily Evans. She hadn't realized Lily was in this class, and evidently, James hadn't known either, as his head swung around with equal speed.

An ache settled in Calliope's chest, the familiar sting of hurt resurfacing from Monday. The realization of Lily's presence, combined with the lingering pain from James's shifting focus, brought back the pang she thought she had put behind her– or at least was forced to put behind her amidst all of what happened this week so far.

"Yes, Professor," Lily's voice rang out clearly from the back of the room as she stood up.

"Perfect, dear," Professor Weasley replied with a smile. "Come over here, please." She gestured for Lily to join her at the front of the classroom.

Lily walked to the front of the class with a composed stride, her emerald eyes flicking briefly to James before focusing on Professor Weasley. The classroom buzzed with whispers, all eyes on the two at the front.

Lily anticipated Professor Weasley's instructions before she even spoke. With practiced ease, she drew her wand and held it steadily at her side, prepared for the demonstration.

"Ready, Miss Evans?" Professor Weasley asked warmly, her gaze encouraging. "Hold your wand firmly, please."

Lily nodded and tightened her grip on her wand. Professor Weasley raised her own wand, her expression calm and encouraging.

"Expelliarmus!" she intoned, sending a firm but controlled disarming spell toward Lily.

The spell struck its mark, sending Lily's wand flying across the room. With a quick flick of her wrist, Professor Weasley summoned the wand back with a precise "Accio!" and handed it back to Lily with a polite nod.

As Professor Weasley was about to introduce the next spell, a knock at the door interrupted her. The classroom buzzed with curiosity as the door creaked open, revealing a tall, bearded figure standing in the hallway.

Calliope, along with many other students, turned to see none other than Professor Dumbledore standing in the archway.

"Ah, my apologies for the interruption," Professor Dumbledore said, his voice warm and soothing as he directed his attention to Professor Weasley. He clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze twinkling as he spoke. "A word, Professor?"

"Of course, Albus," Professor Weasley replied with a nod, her voice equally warm. She turned to the class, her tone light and reassuring. "One moment, dears. I'll be right back."

With that, she followed Dumbledore out of the classroom, leaving the students murmuring in curiosity about the sudden and unexpected visit.

Remus and Sirius turned their attention to James and Calliope, swiveling themselves around in their chairs, their curiosity piqued. "So? You think they're having an affair?" Sirius asked, raising his eyebrows.

Remus tapped Sirius on the head with his rolled-up parchment, his voice mock-stern. "Have some respect," he said, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him.

Sirius rubbed the spot where the parchment landed, grinning. "I can't help it. You've got to admit, the thought crossed your mind too."

James groaned, his face scrunching in disgust. "Mate, you just made me picture Weasley and Dumbledore shagging." His eyes widened in horror. "Bloody hell, that's foul. I'll never get that out of my head now."

"You all need some maturity," Calliope rolled her eyes.

"Oi! Like you didn't picture it!" Sirius teased, wagging his finger playfully in Calliope's face.

She raised an eyebrow, folding her arms with an amused smile. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response, Black."

Sirius grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Denial. That's all I'm hearing."

Remus chuckled softly. "Pretty sure she's the only one here with any sense of decorum."

James shook his head, still grimacing. "Merlin's beard, can we drop it? I'm trying to forget, and you lot are making it worse!"

"Sorry, Jamie." Calliope laughed softly, covering her mouth with her hand.

James's eyes widened slightly at the sound of the nickname. He hadn't realized how much he missed it—how much he missed her. Things hadn't felt right since Sunday, and hearing her call him 'Jamie' again made him think, maybe, just maybe, whatever awkwardness had hung between them had been sorted out. Neither of them had declared their friendship over, but in his mind, things had been strange, and he'd been too much of a coward to bring it up.

A few moments passed, and Professor Weasley still hadn't returned. The class grew restless, the murmur of voices filling the room as students exchanged glances. Ivan, a Ravenclaw sitting near the door, took it upon himself to sneak a peek into the hallway. He disappeared for a moment before slipping back in with a shrug.

"She's not there," Ivan announced, shaking his head. "No sign of her or Dumbledore."

The murmurs grew louder as students speculated about what could be going on. Sirius leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Maybe they're plotting something," he said with a smirk. "Weasley and Dumbledore, conspiring to take over Hogwarts."

Remus shot him a look. "Or they're just having a normal conversation, Sirius."

"Boring," Sirius muttered. "I liked my idea better."

"I think we should give her a bit more time," Calliope suggested, her tone cautious. "It could be something serious, like a family emergency."

"Smart thinking," James nodded, his gaze flicking briefly toward the door before returning to Calliope. "I'm with Cal. It's probably just that."

A few more moments passed and the classroom buzzed with quiet chatter, some students growing restless while others nervously glanced at the door.

Sirius leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eye. "What do you think Dumbledore would say if we just... took over the lesson ourselves?"

Remus sighed, though a smile tugged at his lips. "He'd probably say something cryptic like, 'The greatest lessons are the ones you teach yourselves,' or some nonsense."

"Exactly!" Sirius grinned. "So technically, we'd be doing the right thing."

"Don't," Remus said firmly, shoving his finger in Sirius's face to emphasize his point. Sirius, for once, actually listened, rolling his eyes but sliding back into his seat with a huff.

"Killjoy," Sirius muttered under his breath

After a few more moments of waiting, the class began to stir. Students yawned and stretched in their seats, the initial curiosity about Professor Weasley's absence fading into boredom. Some leaned back, eyes drooping shut as they drifted off to sleep, while others stared absently out the window, lost in thought. A few more studious types had pulled out books, quietly reading to pass the time.

The air of uncertainty hung over them all—no one really knew what to do without instruction, and with the mystery of their professor's sudden disappearance growing colder by the minute, the class seemed to settle into a collective lull.

Remus and Sirius were no exception to the growing sense of boredom. Sirius had draped his dark hair over the polished wood of his desk, his eyes closing in apparent resignation, while Remus had buried himself in a book, clearly content to lose himself in its pages.

Meanwhile, Calliope and James had slipped into a familiar, comforting routine from their childhood. They were engaged in their old guessing game, a simple yet surprisingly engaging activity where they tried to predict each other's thoughts. The game had no official name, but it had always been a reliable source of amusement for them.

"It's a shape," Calliope confirmed with a smile.

"Okay, uhm, hexagon?" James guessed, furrowing his brow.

"Nope."

"Umbrella?" he tried, a hint of confusion in his voice.

"What?" Calliope looked puzzled.

"An umbrella." James doubled down.

"No, definitely not."

"Hm, triangle?" James asked, rubbing his temples with his index fingers.

"Y'got it." Calliope nodded.

"Fucking finally." James sighed.

They had breezed through several rounds of their guessing game, each turn revealing surprising and amusing answers. Now, on their fifth round, Calliope was tasked with guessing the person James was thinking of.

"Alright, I'm ready," Calliope said, focusing intently.

James gave a small nod, "Go ahead."

"Remus?" Calliope guessed.

"No." He smirked.

"Oh... Lily?" Calliope asked, her smile fading.

"What?" James's eyes widened slightly.

"Lily." She restated.

For a moment, silence fell between them.

"She's here, you know," Calliope said, glancing over her shoulder at Lily, who was quietly reading in the corner.

"I know." James's gaze remained fixed on Calliope.

"I know you know." Calliope turned back, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes searching James's face.

Silence fell upon them again.

"Go talk to her," Calliope suggested, shrugging as casually as she could. It was a struggle to keep her voice steady when her heart felt heavy. She wasn't sure why she felt this way—well, maybe she did. When she and James had been on broomsticks together, she'd felt an unexpected, intense connection with him. But that feeling had been abruptly shattered less than a few hours later. Calliope wasn't typically competitive, yet something about Lily irked her, especially after their exchange at the pitch. It stung to think that, in some way, Lily might be coming out on top, a situation she seemed to effortlessly find herself in.

"No." He said, maintaining eye contact with Calliope.

"Why?" Calliope asked, her hands fidgeting together, betraying her nerves.

"If I go and talk to her, it means our conversation ends," James pointed out, a hint of hesitation in his voice.

Calliope blinked in confusion. "Uhm, that's how conversations typically work, isn't it?"

James bit down slightly on his lower lip, his eyes fixed on hers. "What if I don't want it to end?"

Calliope's heart skipped a beat. "Hypothetically, you wouldn't be talking to Lily then, but this is pretty much your best chance. You'd have her full attention, wouldn't you?" She raised a brow, trying to keep her tone steady despite the fluttering in her chest.

James sighed, his gaze dropping momentarily. "I suppose... but I meant what I said."

"What?" Calliope's brow furrowed in confusion.

"I don't want our conversation to end," James repeated, his voice soft but earnest.

"Oh, really? Is guessing shapes and colors the highlight of your day?" Calliope teased, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers with a playful smirk.

James nodded, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Please, we both know you'd love to head over to your 'Lily Flower.' I'm sure she could use another shoulder to cry on, maybe even a hug," Calliope said, her voice laced with a mix of sarcasm and hurt.

The words hung in the air, and Calliope immediately regretted them. She knew she might have sounded insecure or overly bitter, but she couldn't take them back now. She stood her ground, feeling a pang of regret but also a sense of resignation.

It was as if a lightbulb had gone off in James's mind. His eyes widened with sudden realization as he reached for her hands, but she instinctively pulled away.

"Calliope..." he began, his voice soft and concerned.

"Just go to her," Calliope said, her voice tinged with both regret and a hint of bitterness. She closed her eyes, unable to bear the look of understanding in his eyes, feeling a mix of shame and sorrow for her harsh words.

"Calliope, it's not Lily who I like it's–"

James's words were abruptly interrupted by a sandy-haired boy who called out, "Hey, Calliope!" Remus turned his back on Sirius and left his notebook behind on the desk, slamming his book down with exaggerated enthusiasm.

"This is truly an interesting book," Remus said, his eyes sparkling with genuine interest. "I'm so glad Pandora recommended it to me. You know Pandora, don't you?" He glanced over at James with a smirk. "Apologies, Prongs. I seem to have cut you off." With a quick swipe of his tongue across his scarred lower lip, Remus refocused his attention on Calliope. "Sorry about that, Calliope. I guess I accidentally interrupted."

"Oh, it's fine, Rem." Calliope smiled, turning to James, "Right, Jamie?"

James narrowed his eyes at Remus, flicking his tongue across his upper teeth. "Perfectly fine."

"Perfect." Remus flashed James another smirk before looking down at his book. "Would you like to maybe read the book together, Calliope?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you or anything," Calliope said with a polite smile, trying to give him an out.

"Don't be silly," Remus said with a reassuring grin. "I've just barely finished the first chapter, and I truly don't mind restarting."

"Well, if you insist," Calliope replied with a smile. "Where should we...?"

"Prongs," Remus called out, "Up. You're sitting with Sirius."

"What?" James looked up in confusion.

"Get up and sit with Pads," Remus said firmly, gesturing for James to move.

"Mate, you're kidding?" James deadpanned.

"Watch out for his drool," Remus smirked, waiting for James to move.

Eventually, James, albeit begrudgingly, got up and slid into Remus's old seat next to Sirius, who had already sprawled out comfortably.

Remus's smirk grew into a satisfied grin as he watched James grudgingly take the seat next to Sirius. With James finally settled and grumbling, Remus turned his attention back to the book, his eyes gleaming with a sense of triumph.

Calliope, now seated beside Remus, quickly became engrossed in the book. The words seemed to come alive as she read, drawing her into a world far removed from the earlier tensions and awkward conversations. She turned each page with a growing sense of interest, her earlier concerns momentarily forgotten.

As Calliope immersed herself in the text, Remus, reveling in his subtle victory, occasionally glanced at her with a satisfied look. The quiet buzz of the classroom around them seemed to fade as she focused intently on the book, her brows furrowed in concentration.

A smirk played on his lips as he mentally tallied the score: James - 0, Sirius - 0, Remus - 1.

Next

Prev

[mephistosfaust]

Gilbert makes a mental note never to ask her anything again that could lead to another long-winded recounting of her dramatic upbringing. She’s bad. But not as bad as Ludwig—now he’s the worst offender. That lamenting dipshit has always been obsessed with the sound of his own philosophizing.

All he wanted to know was whether this other Prussia spread his legs to survive. Short answer, yes.

He narrows his eyes, weighing whether to speak or let the image flicker out, unshared. Then, with a slight shrug—like brushing the thought from his shoulders—he starts walking again. Slower this time, as if allowing her pace to set his.

He’s had a long, complicated thing with Russia. A deep-rooted bond, one Ludwig never stopped trying to untangle. He was always searching for some fucking soul-connection—some poetic kinship he could grasp onto and make sense of. Fool. There were no poets between Prussia and Russia. No thinkers. Only brutal pragmatism. And loyalty, until the tables turned again and they found themselves sitting across from each other.

The Western Allies were quick to parade him as a war-hungry mongrel—Prussia, the monster who had corrupted sweet, innocent Germany with drill and arrogance. But Russia saw things differently. Always had. He saw the monster, yes, but he recognized the method in it. He understood why.

Gilbert remembers lying in the dirt, half his body torn by shrapnel. Laughing at God. On the very soil where he had once fought for Him—forcing humanity to kneel under banners dipped in glory and blood. Ivan's shadow had loomed over him then, tall and cold. He had pressed his pipe against Gilbert’s chest, leaning in close. Smiling.

And Gilbert, spitting blood, smiled back.

Four damn years of the greatest cat-and-mouse game the world had ever seen, brought to its final move. Ivan’s eyes weren’t just filled with rage. Oh, the fury was there—rage enough to whistle for his dogs and let them rip Gilbert to pieces over and over again. But there was grief, too. A quiet kind. Because he knew this didn’t have to be. All of this—the fields of the dead, the mass graves large enough to drown empires—it didn’t need to happen.

The East was wide enough for both of them. Three partitions of Poland had proven as much. But Gilbert had raised a monster in his own shadow. And maybe—just maybe—he had wanted to be devoured by this Leviathan despite reason.

Russia had always had a soft spot for him. Like Stalin admired Peter, and Peter admired Fritz. Stalin himself even proposed. A Prussian buffer state—something solid between Moscow and Washington’s reach. Gilbert could’ve been that. A wall, a sword, still carrying the name he’d once ripped off the Old Prussians’ dear hands. But in the end, Russia was overruled. And Prussia had to die for the sins committed by the Son. Amen.

When that smug English bastard read out Kontrollratsgesetz Nr. 46, naming him the sole embodiment of militarism and autocracy, Gilbert had laughed. Not because it was funny. But because they were always so late to the party. Prussia had already died. In 1933. In 1918. Hell, maybe even in 1871.

But history, legacy, myth—those are harder things to kill. Twisted, sure. Corrupted. But not erased.

So Ivan had offered him something else. Not just survival. A new Germany. One without the rot of western corruption. One untouched by Versailles and market greed. One that hadn’t turned Ludwig into a spineless, capitalist lapdog.

He could keep his parades. His uniform. His iron spirit. And maybe this was even better than Grunwald in 1410. From that grave he had risen before, after all. A reformed man. Why not rise again? Maybe Soviet occupation was just another form of salvation, he had thought to himself as stood behind the red banner of this new order he’d adapted to.

"Interesting. He sounds like Ludwig." It's not a compliment. "Maybe I raised the wrong lad after all." He pauses at the thought, gaze drifting somewhere beyond the street ahead. For a fleeting second, he wonders if there’s a world out there where his name never vanished from the map—where he still stood tall, unbroken, and his brother had grown a spine instead of a taste for American dick.

“You know, Ludwig has a twin too,” he says, tone lighter. “Beautiful Rhineland, all soft curves like her father. I pulled her onto my lap once—sweet Loreley, still flinching at every man’s touch. God knows what Napoleon did to her.” He grins, glancing up at the Quadriga atop the Brandenburg Gate before veering off to the right, steps unhurried. “And while I ran my fingers through her golden hair, her scent thick like ripe grapes in the sun, I thought to myself that perhaps I made the wrong choice. Because my eyes only rested on the boy.” His voice shifts, colored by something that brushes the edge of nostalgia, but doesn't quite touch it.

“So why did he raise you, then? One last test from Russia? To see if he’d learned obedience, or if he’d ruin you too—just like the boy who once lit a match and set Europe ablaze?”

Oh, so he could make the vulgar jokes, but she couldn't? What a hypocrite. Besides, wouldn't he get jealous if someone else sucked his precious brother's dick? And don't even get her started on the coffee. If either of them tried that, they'd be getting some serious, possibly hospitalizing, stomach aches from it.

She kept pace with him easily. She was used to walking fast, and besides that, she knew these streets with her own heart. Oh, some could say that this wasn't truly her Berlin. But Berlin was her, and she was Berlin, regardless of the world she was in. She could navigate these streets since she was a child, with her eyes shut even. It didn't matter how they changed through the decades. It was still her.

She was a little surprised when he stopped walking suddenly. She was even more surprised when he turned to her and asked her that question. She looked at him for a moment, and then looked away to the side, trying to decide how much to divulge to him.

"I don't think he joined happily, or very willingly, but I think only he could tell you just what his feelings were. What I can tell you is this. My brother and I were born in July of 1945, to his human wife at the time. I obviously don't remember it, but she must have figured out somehow what we were, and she gave us to Russia in exchange for the chance to get out of Germany. Russia, well, you can imagine, he wasn't going to share his new little reps. So he must have kept us secret until after the negotiations about how to split the city were done. And then, when the Potsdam Conference was done, he put us in the care of Comrade Zhukov, and later Comrade Sokolovsky."

"We grew fast, faster than human children anyway, and we started to ask questions. We could tell we were different, so we started asking Russia questions when he came to see us. We wanted to know where our parents were. And he told us the truth. Our mother had abandoned us to him, and our father was in prison. He told us that our father was a terrible monster, a pale demon with red eyes, who reveled in killing comrades and spreading misery. But he also told us that he was going to fix that. He said he would 'reeducate' our father and set him on the right path before he returned him to us."

"At first, we were scared to meet our father. Of course we were. We were just kids, and our heads had been filled with terrifying stories of his horrible deeds in the Soviet lands. Everyone seemed to hate him. But then, as kids do, we got curious enough and asked if we could finally see him. So, Russia arranged for it to happen. He took us to the prison he was in, and right into the so-called demon's cell. We hid behind Russia at first. Our father's eyes really were red, and they scared us. It was...silent, for a long time. He just stared at us, and Russia stood there with his arms folded. But the longer we stood there, and the more I looked at him, the less of a demon he became. I finally got the courage to walk out from behind Russia and up to him. And he kept staring at me, either like he couldn't believe I was real, or that he couldn't believe I was walking up to him, or something. I stopped in front of him and pointed up to his neck, where I could see fresh scars. I asked him what it was from, and he just kept looking at me. Finally, Russia told him to tell me what it was. So he said, 'That's where they hanged me.'"

"'And why did we hang you?' asked Russia."

"He was silent again, for a minute, anyway, though it seemed to stretch on longer than that. Finally, he said, 'For killing my comrades.' But his voice was dark, and it sounded forced. I wasn't so sure he believed it, but he knew he had to say it."

"'Good,' said Russia, 'Your reeducation is paying off.' Then, he put his big hand on my shoulder. 'If you keep up with your studies, soon we can release you, and let you have your children. Won't that be nice? Come now, Lilecheka. Viktor. We'll leave your father to his contemplations while we go get lunch.' And he took us by our hands to lead us out. Before the door shut, I looked back, and saw him staring again. This time, I smiled at him, but I didn't see if he smiled back before the door was closed. I don't think he did."

She sighed, and shrugged. "I hope that answers your question."

[linksvorne]

32. INSECT ARK. 2021-10-29 @ Rote Bar im Volkstheater (Peter Cat’s Wide World of Sound; w/ Paul Wallfisch)

[vrisrezis]

Love triangle?? With atsv characters

Basically a love triangle between them, their spider alter ego and you … ?

Gwen has been longtime best friends with you and Peter for what feels like forever. Even after peters passing, you and Gwen remained close. Throughout the years, it was only natural for gwen to fall for you, her best friend. Peter had often encouraged her to try and go for it, but she never gave in to the temptation. Not when she has been lying to you for so long about who she really was. While her dad did often speak his mind on the mysterious spiderwoman and his doubts, you always seemed excited talking about her. It didn’t take long for her to find out you were not only a huge fan, but definitely had a bit of a crush.

This was amusing to her, obviously. But it also made her wonder if you felt nothing for the real her, and you just liked some alter ego of hers because she was cool and saved the day or whatever.

How you and spiderwoman met, was not under the best of circumstances. As you can imagine.

Growing up, you were always pretty tough. Fighting for and defending Peter against bullies, it was what drawn gwen to you right away. You always stood up for others, and perhaps in the real world it’d get you in more trouble, trying to help a defenses old man against some mugger, you nearly got real hurt in the process. Thankfully, your celebrity crush was there to web him up.

She remembers the look you gave her, you were so.. awestruck.

You never looked at her like that. Not the real her, anyway.

“Thank you spiderwoman!” you say with glee, a word she would almost never use to describe you.

She clears her throat, seeming off guard by the way you greeted her. Or perhaps she was caught off guard by how beautiful you looked in the moonlight. Is it hot outside or is it just her suit?

“Uh… uh…” she hesitates for a moment, before displaying faux confidence. She nods in understanding, “anytime, hopefully next time I’ll see you under better circumstances, cutie.” she says with a wink, before swinging away.

There’s practically hearts in your eyes, did spider woman… just flirt with you?!

Meanwhile, gwen is freaking the hell out over the fact she just said that. It’s certainly easier to flirt under the mask, she supposes.

You didn’t shut up about spiderwoman for the next week.

Miles was one of your best friends, had been for over a year now. Although this friendship, to many seemed newly found, to you both it felt like you knew eachother forever. You often ignored how Ganke never failed to mention that’s something people in love say about eachother.

Ganke was a close friend to the both of you. He was also very much aware of how miles was keeping this huge secret from you, and he often relayed to miles how he should just tell you already. Miles said no, everytime. So ganke had to resort to desperate measures, on one of your many hangouts with the two males.

“Hey, I’m curious.” Ganke starts, “what do you think of Spiderman?”

Miles nearly chokes, he looks wide eyed at ganke, as if ganke just killed a cat. Honestly, ganke is surprised miles hadn’t brought up Spiderman to you himself before, but honestly miles was terrified of what you actually thought, to the point he didn’t want it mentioned at all in front of you.

But your immediate grin makes miles almost audibly sigh.

“I think he’s awesome! Way cooler than the other one to be honest like wow have you seen that suit? Nice color.” Miles couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes lit up in excitement. How come he hasn’t heard you talk about spiderman before if you liked him so much?

“Hey, miles?”

“Huh?!” he yells, his voice becoming so high pitched it sounded like he was just hitting puberty, making you laugh.

“I- I mean.. yeah… what’s up?”

“Do you think he’s … cute?” you ask, rather curious what miles thinks of spiderman.

Ganke almost laughs at how wide miles eyes are, somehow even wider than before.

You would eventually have the chance to meet spiderman, which was not something miles would be happy about. A fight with a particularly … tough villain had caused much damage to the city. Miles swears, today he had to pull up at least 3 buses by his webs.

However, the bus you were in, as plain as day. He couldn’t see anyone but you, the other people in the bus being a blur to him.

He was scared, so so so scared. The moment you’re out and safe, he wants to hug you. He almost does, but he’s able to restrain himself once he feels gwen tug his arm, warning him of how weird that’d be.

He sighs, but he sees you smile at him, grateful. He’s blissfully unaware of how hot your cheeks are, seeing him in the flesh, in person.

You wonder if he’d be okay with signing an autograph.

Hobie was never the type for being subtle. He was blunt, but because of his casualness about it people do not take what he says seriously. He didn’t plan on making a strong effort to hide being spiderman from you. Because he trusts you, with his life in fact.

You two have fought together on many different occasions, way before he became spiderman. People didn’t like either of you, when you were young at least. Strong and unafraid, and like him, you often spoke your mind about things. Granted, you were a lot nicer about it but still. It’s something he definitely likes about you. To him, falling for you just felt natural. Like it was meant to happen. Like falling for you was second nature.

But over his time of becoming spiderman, he had … well… found out you had a major crush on his alter ego. You did not shut up about how “babygirl” he was. And while this was amusing at first, it annoyed him a little. Did that mean you weren’t interested in him, as hobie, romantically? And if you did find out who he really was, would you still like spiderman? Or would it ruin the imagination for you? And if you did, would it only be because he’s spiderman?

A lot of questions circle his mind, a lot of worry and it isn’t like him. He really hates it. Only you can manage to do that to him.

Eventually, the two of you do end up meeting.

You were known for being a fighter, laws or not, you didn’t care, maybe a bit headstrong in your beliefs. Maybe you got too caught up in things, as you often did. Difference was, hobie was not there to back you up. As he often was.

Not this time though, as apparently Hobie had some unfinished business to deal with. You had no idea what that meant, but you trusted hobie enough that he wouldn’t go off doing something stupid without you.

You were not hobie however, and did something stupid without him.

While yes, the guy had harassed you first and you had every right to be angry with him, you probably shouldn’t have provoked such a big and muscular looking guy. There’s no way you could take him in a fight, but you could always try.

Before you even had the gall to fight this guy, before he can even pull the first punch, webs are shot his way. You gasp in surprise, turning behind you to see the one and only.

His movements are quick, and honestly, spiderman struggles for a little.

If even he struggled during that fight, you didn’t stand a chance. But you’re too busy absolutely fangirl/boy/theythem’ing to even care.

Once everything was said and done, Spiderman turned around to take a look at you. He was relieved you weren’t banged up or anything, though you couldn’t tell. “You aight?” he asked, and typically he was so cool and collected, but around you he had no idea how he should be acting. Thoughts from before still clouding his mind:

He lets them go for a moment upon your excited squeal and has to hold himself back from laughing.

Pavitr mentioned spiderman quite a bit, and very early on when he first became the masked vigilante. He was quick to gauge your opinions, because in his mind you’re thoughts and feelings matter the most to him.

He would quickly learn you loved the guy, so he proudly continued doing the whole superhero thing. However, as time went by he had seen your admiration for Spiderman develop into a crush. Only upon your first meeting with him, though. He couldn’t blame you, he supposed that in your eyes this guy saved your life from imminent peril. In his eyes, he was just doing something that was common sense. Saving you while you were trapped in that bus was not something he needed to think twice about.

And he certainly didn’t think twice about hugging you, either. Despite you two not really being acquainted with one another. He was quick to come to his senses, about to pull away, but you held on. And he realized you needed this hug as much as he did. He combs his fingers through your hair, as if second nature. Just like he normally did, and he was the only one that ever did that. You didn’t seem to catch on in that state, but little did he know how grateful you were towards him. He could only imagine, but it was a fraction to how you truly felt.

“Thank you, spiderman.” You say with such softness in your voice, he’s never heard it from you before.

And from that point on, he did not stop hearing you gush about the arachnid. While he often laughed this off, he wondered if that meant things would be weird between you two if he told you the truth.

[actually-autisticc]

My thoughts on the Super Mario Movie

My autistic ass needs someone to talk to about this film and I have nobody. I know I don’t post as often anymore on here but I need to let this energy out. Here’s what did work and didn’t work

What did work:

the animation: DAMN. It looked amazing. I loved how smooth they looked on screen and the details of the character models, the background, etc. You can tell they put a lot of love into it. It felt so nice to see our favorite video game characters on screen like this. All of the references were such a joy to find and recognize. It’s also crazy that Mario came from being an 8bit model to this glorious, detailed, 3D model. And some scenes “camera” moved in a way that would be in a game. When Mario and Luigi were on their way to their first plumbing job, the “camera” moved sideways as the first Mario games were side-scrolling. When Toad and Mario were heading to the castle and poor Mario was being thrown around, the “camera” moved around like I guess the newer games? I mean it looked like Super Mario Odyssey but there could be other games, I haven’t played every single one (now I want to). Really cool attention to detail. My autistic ass loves attention to detail. The models looked good as well like Bowser’s scales and the brothers’ clothing. Funny how 3D animation wasn’t as detailed before like with Veggietales and Toy Story 1 but now we have HAIR. You get it.

The music: Some parts hit, some didn’t. I loved the orchestral remixes of our beloved songs. When the kart scene came on, I immediately recognized the music and felt PUMPED, especially when they were making the karts and I heard the Mario Kart 8 theme. I wanted to jump out of my seat but couldn’t cause I didn’t wanna be weird. Hearing the theme songs as well felt satisfying. It scratched that itch I didn’t know I needed to be scratched. I found myself listening to the soundtrack right after. I’m glad they chose 80’s songs rather than fucking Doja Cat or whatever but it still threw me off hearing Take On Me, Holding Out for a Hero, and Mr. Blue Sky. (Cmon Shrek did Holding Out better. No topping it) As much as I love those songs, I remembered that this is an Illumination movie so of course they’d have popular songs. If they left the pop songs in the human world and kept the Mario songs in the Mushroom kingdom, etc, it would’ve made a little more sense. No Sleep til Brooklyn was good tho, made sense cause they live in Brooklyn and they were in the human world.

Chris Pratt: Yes, I know everyone was skeptical of Chris Pratt playing Mario. I love Chris in Guardians of the Galaxy as Peter Quill so I didn’t have much doubt but since he is a celebrity and you know how movies these days (mainly Illumination) love to get big names in their films. I wasn’t disappointed. He was good, not bad. As much as I love Martinet’s iconic Mario, I don’t think I’d be able to handle hearing it the whole time. It’s iconic but let’s be real hearing “let’s-a-go!” the whole time is a bit jarring. Mario’s from Brooklyn so that’s what Chris tried. And his Wahoo! was good! You knew he didn’t want to ruin this character because of how much it holds. He TRIED. And Martinet as Giuseppe saying “it’s a perfect!” Felt like he was sharing the torch with Chris. He squished all the critics doubts by saying “he’s Mario too, it’s fine. Deal with it.” Hearing the voice made me smile so wide, it was like hearing an old friend. I think he even said that doing Mario’s voice too much hurt so we don’t want him to feel any pain for our sake! We all owe Chris an apology. You did great bro

Seth Rogan: I love DK. He’s big, loud, goofy, and strong. Seth did that right and honestly idk who else would play him. Hearing Seth’s iconic laugh made me laugh, idk who can hate it. It fit DK as it kind of…sounded ape-like? The whole fight between Mario and DK was straight out of a game. I loved the interaction between DK and Mario. They’re enemies at first but soon, they respect each other as in the games. I wish that wasn’t the whole character development between two characters in the movie, I wish it was Mario & Luigi, Mario and toad, or Mario and Peach. Hell, even Mario and Bowser. But this is only the first movie so we’ll see more

Anna-Taylor Joy: not much to say about her. I think Peach was fun and I’m glad they didn’t go the “damsel in distress” or “girl boss” route. We get it, we’re becoming SOMEWHAT better in terms of shit like that but god we don’t need it every time. Peach was a badass, she cared for her kingdom and subjects, and she was sweet. That’s Peach! It wasn’t the “I don’t need no man” or forced relationship with Mario and that was good. I loved Peach’s racing outfit too and all the power ups. Peach was awesome, I’m glad they didn’t ruin her

Charlie Day: I haven’t seen much of him but wow I loved his Luigi! I always loved Luigi, he was always the b guy and he deserves a lot of love. He’s adorable. I wish Luigi had more of an interaction with Bowser. We could’ve gotten a lot of funny scenes with them together (of course it’d be fuel to the shipping fire) and it was cut too short. I mean, bowser didn’t need MUCH from Luigi, he just needed information so it wouldn’t make sense why he’d keep him around when he could throw him in the dungeon with Luma, the penguins, etc. And the whole thing with Mario and Luigi “sticking together” was nice but…they weren’t together AS much? Yes, Bowser kidnapped him but idk it didn’t really feel so emotional. Their team up at the end was amazing of course, had the biggest smile with the star music on. Luigi must be protected

Keegan-Michael Key: His Toad was good! Kind of wished we saw more of Toad and Mario together but he was the comic relief. Sucked he wasn’t in it as much but maybe next movie.

Jack Black: MY MAN. GOD HE KILLED IT. Was that any surprise? No, everyone knew Jack was gonna bring his a-game and he did. Bowser’s singing was amazing, I was cracking up during that scene. PEACHES PEACHES PEACHES aah it’s good. I loved how Bowser went from his usual scary self to a big sweetheart who just wants to love someone. Yea, he did threaten to kill Peach’s kingdom if she didn’t marry him but hey he said he wouldn’t if she agreed! You can absolutely tell Jack loved his role and that’s so important in movies for it to turn out well. Honestly, I’d say Bowser was my favorite in the whole movie! (Ngl, Bowser kinda..) Bowser was intimidating at parts, especially with Luigi. He was a lot scarier than I remembered and damn he is a power house. Im surprised that I didn’t see him utilize his shell and spin with it but whatever.

The story: yes there wasn’t much of a big plot. Do I care? Not really. It’s Mario! You don’t really need a plot per se because you already know the characters, you know the concept of Super Mario. To me, it was as if I was playing a really well animated game. It was fast, fun, and left me with a warm fuzzy feeling. The plot WAS Bowser coming, Mario and Luigi starting a company and not feeling like they’re on top. You don’t need a different story with Mario. Yes, this movie wasn’t on the level of Into the Spider-Verse or Puss in Boots like we were expecting but it didn’t need to be. I had a great time with a story or not

The sound effects: god, the little kid in me wanted to SCREAM. It felt so satisfying to hear all the sounds we hear in the games from hitting a shell, hitting the mystery box, or landing on the flag pole at the end of a level. They really hit the nail with them. And Luigi’s ringtone was GameCube!!

Oh yeah I loved Kamek’s voice. He sounded exactly how I pictured it. He was great. Loved the scene of him dressing up as Peach and getting ANGRY that he didn’t kiss Bowser

What didn’t work:

The slow motion moments: this was when I remembered “oh yea, illumination made this.” Some of the moments were fine with Mario giving Peach a side eye (with rizz). That was funny. But all the other times, it felt like the screaming goats in Thor Love and Thunder. In other words, it was used too much. To me, the slow-motion parts are just “haha, their voice is deep and slow. They move slowly. Haha funny joke.”

The songs: I did say the songs worked but they didn’t at the same time. I LOVED hearing all the familiar songs and sounds from the games. I liked the 80’s songs as Mario was made in the 80’s but it didn’t fit movie. As I said, it would’ve been better if they kept the 80’s songs in the human world and the Mario-esque songs in the Mushroom Kingdom, etc. But Illumination has gotta…illuminate I guess

The pacing: I felt like it was TOO quick. They go from Mario ending up in the Mushroom Kingdom and he finds Toad with barely an introduction and they rush to the castle. Then Mario finds Peach who just so happens to be going to the same place at the right time. There wasn’t enough time to breathe and there could’ve been so many good character interactions and development if they made it longer. We could have had more of Bowser and Luigi, Mario and Toad and Peach. I mean there are lots of characters and they have yet to introduce Yoshi, the Koopalings, and Daisy so hopefully it will be better in the second.

Illumination: I’m not too crazy with this studio. I love Despicable Me 1&2 but the rest are just meh. There were moments in the movie that were just so like this studio that it somewhat felt weird. The plumbing scene was funny but I think that is a good example. The whole thing with the dog being malicious was an Illumination thing. So were some of the models of the humans. The songs. Idk. If this movie was made by another studio like Dreamworks or Sony, maybe it would’ve been better??

Overall, I’d give this movie a 7.5/10. It had great moments and a lot going for it but there is still room for improvement. And that’s completely okay because we still have another movie. We only saw these characters on screen for ONE movie so there’s still more to be seen. I say fuck the critics, they don’t know what they’re talking about. This movie didn’t need to be woke or whatever. It almost didn’t need a plot. This movie was such a beautiful love letter to all of the Nintendo fans and I was smiling the entire time. They knew not to make it flop because of how iconic and beloved Mario is. I felt like a little kid again as I watched my favorite video game characters on screen and now I feel the need to play my Wii or switch. I look forward to seeing what they do in the next film.

TLDR: go see it. It’s a lot of fun

Also LET ME VOICE YOSHI I CAN DO HIS VOICE. IM GOING TO BE ON A TEACHER’S SALARY IM GONNA BE BROKE

[ripgray-moved]

" gloat? " paimon stills entirely, looking eerily paused while the rest of the world continues to move; suspended in statuesque silence, manic eyes fixed and wide needle-toothed smile mercilessly brandished, while the leaves continue to wave. quiet stretches uncomfortably, the air becoming THICK with unresolved tension— and then the king deflates dramatically, smoky crown on a tilt that makes it look as though it's slid down his head. depressed. "you're breaking my HEART here, dixie!"

his form shifts entirely, first resembling melting candle wax, features liquefying into an indiscernible blur before he becomes a staggered shadow mass that dissolves into the clearing floor.

                                          for one blissful moment, paimon is gone.

"y'k̶n̷o̸o̶o̷w̷..." the demon's voice crackles like static despite him not being visible at the moment, both quiet and loud before it becomes damn near DEAFENING. the trees shaking, folding back as if trying to uproot and run away from the impossibly high frequency he emits as he speaks. now merle— or not-merle; a bastardisation of him that still sounds exactly like him all the same. "you probably shouldn't be so surly, baby brother. don't make me be mean to you..." from between daryl's legs does an indistinguishable shadow emerge; it loops around them like a cat seeking affection, only the 'head' that can vaguely be made out is COVERED in eyes. in a chillingly direct tone, now the demon's own: "don't make me do that. behave."

                       the shadow vanishes.

                                                                      the static dies.

paimon floats nonsensically from above, LIKE AN ANGEL, until he's eye level with daryl once more. "no, no, no— if i wanted to gloat, why i'd be wearing my sunday best! you'd also be waist-deep in a BIG champagne glass, 'cause it's FUNNY! a big glass for a big fella. no, i'm not gloating. i'm GREETING! we're just talking, guy."

if there's anything he's fascinated about, it's daryl's decision to help peter in the first place. just about anybody would argue that he has enough on his plate, with the foes he's made recently— and paimon, privy to the future, knows JUST who sits in wait for him and his people too. i think half moon's a liiittle bit bigger than you, sunshine!

"i just want to know what exactly was running through your pretty little head when you decided to help my host. i'm not angry! things will happen as intended either way! but i am curious— do you think this is going to absolve you of your past failings? is that what this little cutie is for you? an absolution?"

standing with the resolve of a redwood in the face of his potential demise is something that daryl is unfortunately very familiar with. it would be impossible for him to think back and count the number of times he's been tied up, or forced to his knees with a gun to his head, or otherwise had his life threatened. but those times were all strictly human. evil or ill-intentioned, perhaps, but still human. right now, daryl doesn't have humanity to fall back on.

watching paimon's limbs move churns his gut in an entirely new way: it's like watching a spider uncurl its legs, or a hydra unravel its heads, or a bird of prey unfurl its wings, or a beast yawn open its toothy mouth— daryl has to blink hard, shaking his head a little like he's willing all of the images to align. paimon is incredibly difficult to look at sometimes, he realizes; there are moments where it feels like he's looking at a cosmic chaos head on before suddenly, everything is in focus again. the jarring changes threaten to give him a headache.

but then paimon ventures closer, every nerve ending in daryl's body vibrating with alarm as a hookclawed hand reaches for him. touches him. anyone else knocking their knuckles upon the crown of his head and running their fingers through his hair would be innocuous. not a speck of physical harm done. but the touch of a demon comes like a bucket of lava over his scalp, dripping boiling tendrils down to his shoulders and following that invisible talon down his spine. for a moment, the unreal heat of pure terror that rakes out from every point of contact distracts him from how he's trembling in the chill of the night.

as paimon speaks, daryl thinks he's going to skin him like a rabbit. he's learned that he shouldn't put anything of the sort past a metaphysical being sent from hell, and quite frankly, he's convinced that paimon is playing with his food before he eats it right now. he could just be scaring daryl, showing him some of what he's really capable of— or he could be having a little bit of fun before eviscerating him into a pile of ribbons to be arranged neatly at peter's door.

but no. the only rabbits daryl has to deal with right now are the ones that suddenly appear on his feet in the form of slippers. as he looks down at them, flinching at the abrupt weight of a robe appearing on his body, he meets a perturbing gaze that looks way too much like peter's. way too real. in disgust, he shoves them off of his feet and steps his sore feet back onto the grass, hands gripping the soft fabric of the robe before it disappears entirely.

the whirlwind doesn't stop, however. despite the harrowing journey out here and the distress that's clenching his throat, daryl fears that it's just beginning. as paimon rotates through different pieces of clothing, forcing him to feel the horrors that usually only plague his mind and not his body, daryl can only look down at himself in dreadful wonder: somehow, paimon knows things about him. things he hasn't even told peter. articles like negan's leathers and will dixon's coat form to his body for just long enough to start his mind reeling in misery before switching to the next awful incarnation of his traumas.

merle's shirt sticks to him like dried blood as the cycle finally pauses. if there's any piece of clothing he's at least somewhat comfortable in despite the pain of him being gone, it's this one. a part of his mind is grateful for the moment of respite. ‘ you just here to gloat? ’ daryl asks, though he hesitates to engage with paimon more than just staring at him and he's surprised his tight jaw let him speak at all.

‘ f' you know everythin' already then lemme go. ’

bold. but if paimon is going to kill him, he may as well be.

[homosexuality-at-its-finest]

Hey hey hey munchkin cat anon here. im gonna be inhabiting this place for a while so feel free to call me Cat. I loved the peter parker fic! And i adore family fics, so perhaps a Clint Barton x son reader where reader is the oldest kid and is a figure skater but had to stop for like a year or two due to an injury. And now Clint and Natasha has made it their new job to keep reader happy because figure skating was his life. Have a nice day and don't feel pressured to do this! - Cat.

A/n: You can not imagine how excited I am to have a regular anon, like I saw this and started happy stimming. I'm really happy you liked the fic, but I don't know shit about skating so if I get anything wrong I'm sorry!

Plot: Requested

Pairing: Clint Barton X Son reader

Y/n: Your name

H/c: Hair color

E/c: Eye color

Warnings: Clint’s deaf, Past injury causing chronic disability, angst with a fluffy ending, Clint’s a good dad, Natasha’s a good aunt, crying

Word count: 1092

Clint could clearly remember the day Laura had informed him she was pregnant for the first time; it had been a little over 16 years ago.

He had cried while kissing her stomach, hope filling his heart at the idea of starting a small family with his beautiful wife.

His son had come to the world, E/c eyes wide and curious. He was a wonderful baby, hardly fussing, a total daddy’s boy.

The name they’d chosen was Y/n, fitting the little boy perfectly. He was a ball of energy, constantly running around, seemingly never tired.

The first time Clint took him ice skating it was like love at first sight for the child. No matter how many times he fell, he always got back up. He practiced until he was perfect, joining competitive ice skating as soon as he was old enough.

Clint and Laura, and eventually his siblings were at every meet, and soon enough Natasha has joined along, watching with pride as the boy nailed every move with perfection.

Ice skating had become his son’s life, from a young age he had declared that he’d be in the Olympics one day, and Clint believed him. The kid worked harder than most SHIELD agents he knew.

It was one competition that Clint couldn’t attend where everything had fallen apart. He’d been on a mission, awoken in middle of the night to the phones vibration, sweat sticking to his skin as he sleepily shoved a hearing aid in his ear and answered.

The sound of Laura’s panicked voice, thick with tears was enough to wake him up, heart pounding in his chest.

“What’s wrong baby?” Clint asked, holding the phone against his shoulder as he pulled on his pants, seeing Natasha sitting up in the other bed from the corner of his eye.

“Its Y/n.” Laura sniffled, taking a second to breathe. “At his competition he didn’t catch himself and landed wrong, he broke his ankle. The doctors said he may never going to skate again, and he isn’t moving or talking.” The woman whimpered, before muffled voices were heard over the phone.

“I know you’re on a mission, but Clint you need to come home.” Laura said quietly, another sniffle leaving her lips. Clint swallowed thickly, closing his eyes for a second.

“Yeah, I’ll call Nick, mission was almost finished anyways. I’ll be there soon.” He soothed his wife, the two-bidding goodbye before hanging up.

It was a long few calls he had to make as he packed up and updated Natasha on what happened, his mind on his son who was lying in a hospital bed, his dreams crushed.

By the time he was on a jet back to the SHIELD base in his city it was approaching dawn, his nerves through the roof.

Time had passed as a blur as he drove to the hospital, not giving a damn about the laws as he sped. Laura was waiting for him by the front door by the time he arrived, eyes red and puffy, lips pulled into a frown.

Clint gave her a hug, pressing a kiss to her head with a soft ‘hey baby’ before pulling back.

“How’s Y/n doing?” He questioned softly, following behind his wife as she led him through the maze like halls of the hospital.

“He’s still not talking. Clint he’s devastated. You know how much ice skating meant to him.” Laura sighed, shaking her head, pausing in front of a door.

“He’s always been a daddy’s boy, so I’m hoping you can get through to him.” Clint nodded, before walking into the room. It had been a long one sided conversation with Y/n, he didn’t talk for 3 days after his injury, those were the worst days of his recovery.

A few months after the injury had occurred Natasha had been visiting, eyeing her nephew for a few moments before humming.

“Y/n, I know you can’t skate right now, but have you ever thought about training with your dad or I?” She questioned, tipping her head to the side.

Clint shot his best friend a look, and she only gave him a glare back.

Y/n looked up from his phone, raising an eyebrow at Natasha.

“Training with you guys?” He questioned, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“Sure why not?” Y/n shrugged a bit, he’d been bored and wandering around aimlessly for months now, unsure what to do with himself now that he couldn’t skate.

Natasha grinned, eyes gleaming mischievously as she stood up.

“Go change and then meet us in the yard.” She ordered the teen, the boy giving a mock salute before following the orders.

Clint turned to his best friend, raising an eyebrow.

“Why are we training with my 16 year old son? He questioned, leaning back into the chair he was sitting in.

“It may not be skating, but it keeps his body and mind occupied, may give him a similar feeling skating gave him.” Natasha replied smoothly, giving him a cheeky grin that would look terrifying to anyone else.

Clint didn’t have time to reply as Y/n came stumbling down the stairs, giving his aunt and father a shy smile.

“I’m ready.” He offered quietly, following behind the two adults as they headed outside.

Clint and Natasha went easy on him his first day, making him do regular exercises and warm ups before showing him easy moves for hand to hand combat, which he surprisingly caught onto easily.

By the time they were finished, Y/n was grinning like an idiot, looking up at the two adults with a hopeful look in his eyes.

“Can we do this every day?” He questioned, shifting from foot to foot. Clint looked at Natasha before back to his son.

“Of course, kiddo, tomorrow we start in the morning, I want to see you out here at 7.” Y/n didn’t complain, just happily hugged the two adults before heading to his room to change.

Natasha smirked and glanced over to Clint, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, you were right. Fuck off don’t look at me like that.” He whined, shoving his friend playfully as her smirk widened.

It wasn’t skating, but it was an alternative until Y/n could get back into the rink, and he seemed happy. That was all that mattered to Clint.

[under0-0s]

Tony let out a groan from the couch, one arm flung over his face like he’d just barely survived a war. “I did ask,” he admitted, voice muffled by the sleeve of his shirt. “Didn’t expect your parents to be so… nice. It’s disarming. I was mentally prepped for diplomatic inquisition, not being doted on like some half-feral cat someone decided to keep.”

When Silas’s fingers threaded into his hair, Tony instinctively leaned into the touch like it was oxygen. His eyes fluttered shut, but he was wide awake inside, thoughts tangled between Peter’s warmth nearby and Silas’s teasing murmur about cuddling.

He cracked one eye open at the mention of the bed, just in time to see Silas glance down at him with that smile, the kind that made Tony feel like he wasn’t just welcome here, he belonged.

“Cuddle,” Tony echoed, low and lazy but laced with want. He tilted his head slightly, trying not to sound too eager. “You’re really gonna say that and then act like I’m not gonna try to drag you to bed right now?”

He let his hand fall across his stomach, fingers tapping idly, masking the twitch of anticipation he felt ripple through him. Silas’s kiss to his forehead made it worse, or better, Tony couldn’t tell. He was all frayed edges and hungry comfort, wanting more than just closeness. Wanting warmth, wanting to disappear into Silas’s skin until the world and its noise didn’t matter.

And damn it if the idea of all three of them tucked into bed, Peter curled between them, Silas beside him, didn’t squeeze something tight in his chest. His home. Right there. Right now.

For @under0-0s 👑

Silas chuckled at Tony. "When I'm done teaching you, you'll be a pro." He tapped his nose playfully. "Or at least good enough not step on my toes." He added, just to tease before taking a sip of his drink.

Aiyana smiled at the couple, just happy to silently admire them. She admired how relaxed Silas looked because she could tell Tony was the highly strung one. Someone who wasn't used to having security or family around. People who wanted you and not what you had to offer them.

"I'm sure you will love seeing the island, Tony. Especially if you enjoy architecture. The central islands have some of my favourite buildings and museums." Aiyana informed Tony. "Perhaps Silas could show you around before the festival, help get your bearings?"

Silas looked up from his food before glancing at Tony out the corner of his eye. "Would that be something you'd like? You know I'd love to be your tour guide around the place." He brushed his thumb over his knuckles.

"Aiyana and I would be happy to watch Peter. I'm sure he'd love to meet our other grandchildren." The king suggested.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Copycat: Agent Zero —(Marvel Fem!Oc)

A/N: Matt I’m begging you KISS HER ALREADY -Danny

Words: 2,017

Phase Four Masterlist

Previous chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Iris’ -by Goo Goo Dolls

xx: Desperate Times

"GET OUT OF THE WAY!"

"Hey, that's Copycat!"

"I thought she was an Avenger!"

"She should get arrested!"

A sudden moment of brilliance came to her, she knew the exact location of Peter's house! Pietro had lived there for the majority of two years! She stopped running and teleported right outside his apartment.  

MJ almost crashed into her, she pulled her into the home and slammed the door shut behind Copy, not even a bit surprised to see her there. Happy, May, and Peter were all agitated.

"The windows! The windows!" MJ urged her.

May was arguing with Peter, who for some reason was half naked, while Happy was walking around looking a little lost. "Cat," he blinked once he noticed her presence. "What are you doing here? Why are you wearing your suit?"

Peter stared at her with wide eyes and wildly gesticulated to keep her mouth shut.

"What's that sound?" Happy asked.

She could hear the crowd gathering outside, screaming at them to get out. Cat and Peter shared a quick look before closing the windows and curtains, there was incessant knocking at the door but they decided to ignore it for the time being.

The adults' phones began to ring, a helicopter was now at the scene, and Cat clumsily teleported to turn off the tv, but it was too late, Happy and May had seen it. Peter walked up to the window defeatedly and lifted the curtain. Everyone approached to look outside except for Copycat.

Peter stared at all of them with a pleading look in his eyes. "I mean, maybe it's not such a big deal..."

"Yeah, alright," Cat's voice sounded heavily sarcastic. "Everyone knew who Iron Man was and Tony's life was just perfect!"

"Well, actually, he didn't have such a bad time!" Peter argued.

"He was rich!" She exclaimed. "Do you happen to have three million dollars to get us out of this?!"

"Stop talking!" MJ was just as anxious.

"Okay, everyone let's sit down and think!" May closed the curtain and guided the whole group back to the living room. "Everyone knows, but why are they angry?

"They think we killed Mysterio," she explained.

"What! Why?"

"They made it look like Cat and I planned the whole thing."

"But you didn't kill him!"

Cat and Peter shared a look. "I mean... I might've shot him one time too many."

"But it was self-defense, right?"

Her voice was sarcastic again. "Yeah, sure! Yeah, it was... defense for sure..."

"That's not the point!" Peter distracted them from the horrible fact. "What are we going to do? You quit S.H.I.E.L.D so they're not gonna help us—"

"They should! I was working for them when this whole thing happened!"

"Yeah, but they didn't tell you to kill Beck, right?" MJ said. "They can't lie and say they asked you to, people think he was a good dude, they won't buy it."

Cat couldn't believe how unfair this was. She'd fought in Sokovia! She was there when Vision was created, and when the accords had been signed, but Beck's name was on S.H.I.E.L.D's records, and she as far as the world knew, she'd never existed until now.

The organization had Mysterio as an out-of-this-world martyr, Agent Zero's file, on the other hand, talked about her vigilante life and her violent methods to keep the city clean and under control. She'd been looking for items stolen from the ruins of the compound. Those items could've easily been Stark drones.

"I have to hide..."

"No no no, don't say that, we can still fix this!"

"Happy, I killed Beck and he got it on camera!" She gasped, abruptly realizing the second, perhaps worst mistake she'd committed. "And you're involved!"

Happy fell back on his seat and stared ahead, speechless.

"Ned— we gotta check on him—"

"I'll do it," MJ stood quickly.

"No," Peter and Cat said.

"I'm innocent until proven guilty," MJ stated. "Besides I can't stay here, my dad must be going crazy right now."

"This is great. My first week out and..." Cat stopped midsentence, her brain was working fast that day. "That's it!"

"What?"

"They're looking for me," she placed one hand on her chest. "But they're not looking for all of the me's that I can be."

Peter frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I think I'll kill two birds with one stone, and finish my original mission," she looked at him with a serious expression. "But you can't get involved in this."

Instead of going back to her apartment, she went to Matthew's place.

He was in his living room going through some papers. At the sound of her teleporting, he stood, dropping everything. He searched around a little disoriented, but once he recognized her, he spoke.

"Since when can you do that?"

"I forgot you didn't know," she walked up to him and picked up the fallen paperwork. "Kurt can teleport and I copy him when I don't want to be followed..."

"I heard the news this morning," Matthew replied. "How are you?"

"I... I'm sorry," she said quietly, avoiding his face. "I didn't know where else to go."

The man stayed in place. "Did you really kill that man?"

A knot formed on her chest, Cat tried to think of a way to not sound crazy, but all that came out of her mouth was an apology. "I was too rash. I'm sorry."

Matthew stood to his full height, he wasn't wearing his glasses so it was easy to read his face. Instead of replying, he walked to the kitchen and opened his fridge.

"I... I wasn't thinking—"

"I doubt that."

"If you would've heard the way Peter spoke to me— he thought I didn't care, that I would turn my back on him..." Matthew was hidden behind the fridge's door, and this helped her speak honestly and not to stumble over her words. "Peter got run by a train because of Beck! I found him half-dead— Peter's just a kid, Matthew! I couldn't stand there and watch!"

Defeated, Cat fell on the couch heavily, hiding her face behind both hands. She wasn't crying, but the weight of her mistake was starting to overwhelm her, never before she'd been haunted in this way. Killing Mysterio had caused a snowball effect, and she'd ruined Spider-man's reputation and her own forever. Kurt was going to be so disappointed.

"Then he targeted my old friends... and he mentioned Tony... he tried to shoot Peter in the head..."

Matthew showed up next to her holding a pack of beers and offering a single bottle to her. Without understanding, Cat silently accepted the drink and opened it, he put the rest on the coffee table and sat beside to her.

"You were saying Beck tried to shoot the kid on the head," he said, inviting her to continue.

"Yes," she replied, giving him a confused look. "Peter's abilities saved him. He stopped the attack before Quentin could shoot."

"But that wasn't enough for you."

Cat lowered her gaze. "No. I wanted to make sure he would never hurt Peter again."

"So you shot him."

"Yes."

"How many times?"

"Two."

"Was he still holding the gun when you shot him?"

"No."

"Was he still standing?"

"Yes."

"Was he still in possession of the A.I?"

"Yes."

He grabbed a beer and opened it. "We can work with that."

Cat's gaze went back to him. "What?"

"He had the A.I. when you shot him. He was able to control the drones, right?"

She felt a bit of hope nestling in the middle of her stomach. "Yeah."

"Alright. So these are the facts," he leaned forward. "Spider-man's underage, all you can see in the video are two pairs of feet, according to Foggy, and when the camera moves up you can only see Copycat, cause Parker's standing next to Beck. Your face is covered, no one can't tell who she is, cause Quentin didn't have your real name."

"Right, 'cause I don't have one."

"But Copycat's the face of the young Avengers— and here's the important part— they put the word young at the front."

Cat tilted her head. "Where are you going with this?"

"For all we know, that day two minors fought for their lives and up until the last minute, Beck had the A.I. with him."

"Yeah but the video's edited so it looks like Peter had the glasses first—"

"Yeah, but when Peter has the glasses, Quentin's on the floor, remember? The camera's pointing at your feet and he's bleeding. How come one second he's bleeding out and at the other, he's wearing the glasses and on both feet? The fact remains that it was two underage heroes with one gun against a grown man with thousands of armed drones surrounding the bridge where you two were."

Cat didn't know if they could make the whole world change their minds, but Matthew's argument sounded pretty damn convincing, so much that for a moment she truly believed she'd acted in self-defense.

"Do you think Peter's going to get arrested?"

The man nodded briefly. "Sorry, Cat. It's plausible."

"Do you think you'd be able to defend him?"

He smiled a little. "What about you?"

"I don't need help."

Matthew raised his eyebrows. "Is S.H.I.E.L.D going to provide you with a lawyer?"

Cat scoffed. "I'm on my own."

"Then what's your plan?"

"I'll be C.C. Stark, or Katrina Maxwell, at least until things cool down. Once everyone forgets about Copy, I'll go back to being a quiet hero. You know, no flashy activities during daylight, and if I have no choice, I guess I'll go stealth."

"I don't think they'll let you go that easily. The government will go after you for the rest of your life even if you do the right thing."

"I'm not interested in being perceived in any particular way by the rest of the world... I just wanted to see you." Cat came to the conclusion that it was best to be sincere. "Now that I did I feel better, even if I shouldn't."

Matthew frowned. "You came to me because you wanted my opinion? I thought you just wanted to hide."

"I didn't want your opinion," she confessed. "I wanted to explain myself."

"I just said you didn't do anything wrong..."

"Yeah, and I honestly think I'll be crying about that later tonight, but I thought... I don't know... I don't want you to hate me."

"I'd be a hypocrite if I turned my back on you now. I'm not a saint, Cat."

"But you've never killed anyone..."

"You know what makes you better than me?" He reached for one of her hands and rubbed it gently. "You regret your actions. You wanted to protect your friends, I only do things to prove that I'm better than the bad guys."

Cat placed her beer on the coffee table, her body facing away from him, but she held his hand tighter. "You contradict yourself, Matthew. You have a heart, you're just really unhappy... like me."

He chuckled. "That's good?"

She rubbed her temple with her free hand. "No, I'm just saying I'm... haunted... by so many ghosts. I didn't want to add your face to the list, especially when you're the only one that gets this part of me, the one that's always... angry."

Matthew's hand left hers, he cupped her face to get her attention. "I'm not mad at you."

She melted on his palm. "Do you wanna know a secret?" He hummed. "I don't care if I live or die, and it'd be easier if everyone felt the same way." Cat looked at him, he was getting closer. "But I saved Peter instead of leaving him, and I came here tonight to make sure you knew the truth because I'm a liar, I want you to care about me."

Matthew leaned forward, his nose brushed hers. "Can I tell you a secret?" She nodded, knowing he could tell. "You make my world feel quieter, Cat. I care about you... and I need you."

Billy welcomed her with open arms and a hungry gaze. "How was your trip, my love?"

"Didn't you see the news? Spider-man ruined it. No investors want to work with me. I live in the same city as that twat— they think they're putting their earnings at risk!"

"A teenager calling himself an Avenger," he sneered. "Like we needed more reasons to detest them."

She wrapped her arms around Billy and gave him her best puppy eyes. "I think I have a way to use this in our favor... but I'll need your help."

Billy smirked. "Do tell."

Cat looked around with disgust. "Let's go to your office. I want to keep this between us."

Next Chapter—>

Taglist.

@mikaelsonwhxrebae​​​​​​​​​​​ @ieatpanicattacksforlunch​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @jesuswasnotawhiteman​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @siriuslysirius1107​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @greengarsstuff​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @itsyagirl01​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @23victoria​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @espressopatronum454​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @jkthinkstoomuch

[darkacademicfrom2021]

A gentlecat.

Summary: A black cat comforts you when you need it the most. Your new friend is quite peculiar for an animal. It's almost like they could understand you.

Pairing: Loki x gender neutral reader (it's not actually a "pairing", you can see it as a friendship, or something platonic).

Word count: 2K.

Warnings: anxiety, sadness.

Disclaimer: picture not mine.

You used to frequent the roof of the compound everytime you were melancholic.

Or everytime you had too many feelings to process and needed time alone. Or anytime you felt too empty and needed to refill on sentiments and life by staring at the moon and remembering how much it means to exist in this world. Or too overwhelmed, and needed to be reminded of how little it all matters, how few are the things that are actually important.

No matter the motive, the roof and the moon were always there with you.

The wind blew on your face, almost like a whisper, almost like a caress. The same wind that blew on a crying child, or a couple of teenagers kissing for the first time, or an old man remembering with gratitude the love of his life. Or a lost young who, just like you, was looking at the moon searching for a meaning. An answer. Why all of this? Why to you? Why to everyone and why everything at the same time?

You inhaled a deep breath as you laid your back against the floor of the terrace, and the only thing you got to see were the few starts pollution would let you, and the gigantic moon smiling at you.

A noise startled you, and you were sitting back up again in no time. Being an avenger made you a little more paranoid than you expected. But you didn't say anything. You looked around nervously and waited for the sound to reappear. And it did.

"Who's there?".

No answer. You heart was pounding, but you didn't let your voice break. A hand flew right to the knife in your thigh, waiting for the danger to appear.

The noise came out of the shadows. A black cat approached you precatiously, almost as if they knew you were a threat. You put your guard down and finally sighed.

"God, little thing, you scared me", you whispered as you put a hand near them to let them smell you and be familiar with you. The cat didn't do so, instead, they sat by your side and rested their head on your hand. "Well, you certainly trust easier than me".

The cat meowed answering you, and you felt a connection to them. You loved animals, but this one was different. It was almost like they could understand your words. You moved your thumb slowly, petting their head. The cat let you, staring at you with intensity. Blueish green eyes that you felt like you knew from somewhere else.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You asked, and you felt stupid. What life choices had lead you to the point of talking to a black cat on a roof, while everyone else was partying? The cat meowed back again. You chuckled. "So you understand what I say? I'll keep talking, then. Just don't think I'm too crazy". The cat purrowed in your hand, and you took it as a yes.

"I just... I don't like these parties, you know? I don't feel well when there's too many people around me, and all the noise... you'd understand, I think cats are sort of like that, right?". The cat meowed again. You smiled. "I appreciate being here, I really do. But the whole Avengers show we should put up... I don't buy it. We know damn well we're not what we pretend to be". You ranted, and realized immediately after you should've been looking around first. If anyone actually heard you, you'd be in big trouble. You went back to a whisper "but that's our little secret".

The cat slowly walked nearer you and looked at you before sitting in your lap, as to look for approval. You nodded and caressed the fur as they did so.

"Do you have a name?" You asked, looking for a collar. "Weird. A cat so well taken care of like you should have an owner". The cat hissed and you laughed "alright, not an owner. You don't like the expression, I get it. A human partner, maybe?". The cat stared at you again. You wished they could talk, but it was probably better off like that. Maybe you liked animals because they couldn't talk.

"So you're from the streets?".

The cat looked inside the compound and then looked back at you again. You interpreted as if they was asking you why wouldn't you go back. "I can't go in there, I got too anxious and said I was sick". You swear you saw the cat roll their eyes.

"Why are you here?". And you immediately laughed "oh, God. I'm asking questions to a cat. What am I waiting for? An answer? You probably just want food. Wait here, I'm gonna get you some. I'll steal some of Bucky's. He has a cat, too".

You sneaked through the party and nobody noticed you passed by. Once you were back, the cat wasn't there anymore. You left the food in a cup of tea on the floor, just in case they came back, and went back to the compound.

The next time you were on the roof, you weren't running away from any party. It was that same week that you felt increasingly anxious out of nowhere, in the middle of a dinner. After a while you went back to bed and you overheard the asgardian brothers discuss something in a low voice outside your room. Thor wanted to walk in and make sure you were fine; his brother told him he knew you needed space, so you were better off left alone. You wondered how he knew that, and then realized he was like that too.

You basically never spoke to him, but you always shared your silences. Everyone in the Stark Tower was so... enthusiastic. Outgoing. You and Loki enjoyed the silence of the nights over a good book and a warm drink. You barely spoke to each other. You were various meters away, in different parts of the common room (that one with the big couches and old books Mr. Stark set up for the introverts of the group, ahem, you two and ocassionally little Peter Parker). But you were there, always sharing that loneliness you craved in such crazy times.

After a while, you crawled out of bed and rested your arms in the window. You realized there was someone waiting for you in there.

"Hello, friend".

The cat purrowed in your hand. They had a protein bar in their mouth, as to give it to you. You frowned in confusion.

"You know, whatever you are, you don't pretend to be a cat very well". The cat opened their eyes widely, and you laughed. "But thank you. I don't know how you knew I didn't have dinner, but I appreciate this very much".

You opened your window so that they could come in, but they didn't. They looked inside, but stayed in there, as to care for your privacy. "It's fine, you can come in". The cat stayed out, anyways. "I think I'm gonna do some reading. If you care to join me, you're invited".

You and the black cat stayed up all night on the balcony of your room. You read in silence and the cat rested on your lap, purring and staring at you with those big, intense eyes. The night wasn't cold, but refreshing. Windy, before the big rainstorm that would have place next day. You loved that weather.

It wasn't the only occasion you stayed all night with the company of the black cat. Once they already felt comfortable enough to get in your room, you'd both lay in bed, and the cat would curl around your neck, using your shoulders as a mattress.

One dark and rainy afternoon you were on the roof, and the cat was with you, laying on the floor, watching the stars and the moon, just like you. You overheard some of the Avengers talking about you. Clint's voice commenting on how you basically adopted a stray, and Tony laughing. Thor corrected them you befriended a cat, and you chuckled at the offense he took from the word "adopted".

"Don't worry, I befriended you. You seem to be good by yourself", you clarified. The cat meowed.

It got dark and you stayed in the floor until the last light on the compound was turned off. The cat seemed to be curious as why you stayed for so long.

"I want to go to the common room, I haven't been there in a few weeks", you commented. "Best time of the day is when almost everyone's asleep".

At some point of the night you got up and walked through the compound to get to the kitchen. The cat followed your steps, and you swore they knew the way.

You poured some warm milk in a cup for the cat and they waited for you to have your coffee in hand to start sipping. You both sat on the couch of the common room.

"Such a polite gentle...cat", you whispered. "You know, it's so weird this is empty right now. At this time there's someone else reading here". The cat looked at you and you didn't understand what they meant. "I think he would like you. You have sort of the same energy, maybe that's why I even befriended you. Someday, if you let me, I'll introduce you two". The cat nodded weirdly.

You spilled some coffee on your shirt and cursed to yourself. The cat went to the counter and grabbed a napkin for you. At that point, they didn't even pretend to act like a cat at all.

"Ah, thank you". As you cleaned yourself, the cat looked at the book you were reading. It was in old norse. The cat looked at you with interrogative eyes. "Ah, that's... stupid, actually. I'm a little embarrassed I'm even doing that". The cat sat infront of you, and you felt like it was a way to ask you for more. You felt free to elaborate.

"This man... well, not a man. There's someone in this compound I never speak to, yet I still feel very connected to, you know? And everytime we're reading together, he reads these very dusty and heavy books in old norse. I didn't know that language, of course. But I was always curious to see what he read. You know, he can spend all night up reading those pages; he's so concentrated he doesn't notice his expressions. But they're great. He smiles, and frowns, and sighs. And I don't think he's aware of that, but I find it so beautiful", you explained. The cat kept looking at you with their eyes wide open. You sighed and continued. "Anyways. I just... I wanted to see a bit more of him. I'm too... shy, I guess? To actually talk to him. In fact, I feel a little intimidated, he's tall, and has some darkness in his eyes, and... well, he's a God. But I'd... I don't know. I learnt old norse and I started reading these books. And I feel like I understand him a little more. Even a little".

The cat looked down a bit and made themself a ball of fur in your lap. You kept reading. They rested their head in your arm and stared at the book as you read, as if they were reading it too.

When you woke up, you were in that same couch. The cat was nowhere to be found. You had a blanket over you, the book was closed over the coffee table, and your shoes were off. You felt weirdly safe. Anonymously taken care of.

You heard noises in the room next door -the kitchen-, and you peeped in. The God of Mischief was in there, making two cups of coffee. He turned around as he heard you walk in, and handed you one cup.

"Góðan morgin", he said. It meant good morning. You swear you saw a little smile forming in the corners of his mouth.

[fear-before-valor]

AU Ficlet: Jim, who was raised by the Order from the age of five, attends Arcadia Oaks High, for his first day of human high school. Weird things happen in Arcadia, though, and his appearance seems to be one such weird thing to the residents in this small, strange town... 

Aka: How an Order-raised Jim met Toby and Claire

Words: 2939 II Warnings: none II ok to rb --

Jim dropped his backpack at the empty desk next to one Tobias Domzalski’s, one of the only people at school who’d been properly friendly to him so far. It was Jim’s first day of mortal high school, and he’d been vetted mercilessly by every student group but Tobias’s, though he was beginning to suspect that said group consisted of only Tobias.

Of course, Jim had been screening his peers right back, but it was still exhausting. He thought he’d been ready after the Order’s… extensive lessons on humanity, and how to fit in with the mortals like himself, but already, everything he’d done felt like it must have been a social faux pas of some kind.

Act quiet around the quiet kids? Then no one speaks, until the silence grows so long that it’s awkward, and starting up a conversation makes it feel painfully forced. So, okay, maybe find some louder kids and try to blend in with them. Except, they start to grow obnoxious, and at some point, the headache simply stops being worth it.

Jim wasn’t even going to dare try and bond with the overly studious; he wasn’t here to vie for valedictorian, nor was he all that interested in making grades that separated him from the pack. Not to mention, he much preferred whatever lessons the Order could teach him anyway. They were very practical things, going over philosophy, strategy, combat, computations. He was already conversational in Bellroc and Skrael’s original languages, and though he knew Spanish would be equally valuable, the Spanish teacher seemed… intense, in a way that Bellroc and Skrael, who could likewise be rigorous sometimes, were not.

In fact, the only class he was indeed eager to take was history—and, okay, perhaps physical education didn’t sound horrendous, so long as he was careful about holding back in certain areas—because while he could learn plenty of history from his very ancient guardians, to hear of human history from the mouths of humans, like himself… it sounded unique, in a way that he hoped was amenable, at the very least, if not genuinely interesting or entertaining.

As he sat down in the chair beside Tobias, the boy seemed to light up, beaming over at Jim, a reaction that he hadn’t expected from his peer. He’d thought he’d rather botched his first conversation with Tobias in homeroom that morning, as he hadn’t known anything about anything that Tobias had referenced (what on earth was Gun Robot?). But, evidently, he must have done something well—or at least, acceptably— because Tobias was leaning over and excitedly holding out his hand to show Jim something which clattered in his palm as he moved. Politely, Jim glanced over to see what it was, and—oh.

Oh no.

That was definitely the remains of a troll.

Tobias was holding out small, grey pebbles for him to see, on which Jim could just make out hints of tattoos that had been etched into the troll while they were alive.

Holding back his mild panic, he gave a tight smile and a nod, as his classmate diagnosed them incorrectly as gneiss—which, admittedly, Jim thought wasn’t a bad guess, really. It’s not like the other boy had any reason to think that the rocks he was holding were anything but an average metamorphic stone.

Tobias was looking to Jim for a response, though, so he opened his mouth to speak, breathing in—

—magic.

Jim froze once more. The distinct tingle of magic had just washed over his senses, keen and undeniable, unlike anything else he’d felt that day.

It was raw, underdeveloped, not yet bolstered by the right teacher, but it was there, and it spoke in tones of purple, pulsing with potential.

Jim was no wizard himself, much preferring combat to the arcane arts, having not a strong penchant for it or its intricacies and delicate, temperamental nature, but even still, he’d been raised with the three most powerful magic-users in the known world. They’d taught him from youth how to recognize when magic was present, how to glean as many clues as he possibly could about it, or who might have cast it, might be walking in it, based on its style and scent, its intensity, or its intentionality. He wasn’t quite the best at sensing the finer details, nor could he find it when it was masked, but when it was open, unhidden, he could feel it like a mild electric shock that one might get when touching a door handle in dry weather; he could sense it like the faint scent of ozone during a storm, or like a prickle on the hairs on the back of his neck, when lightning was about to strike.

What’s going on? He thought, as he turned his head in the direction of the epicenter of the magic. First, there’s troll remains in the hands of a classmate with the same schedule as him, and then there’s—the girl, there. The girl with the blue streak in her hair.

The witch.

She’d caught him staring, as she set her books down on a desk in the front row, a couple columns over from his. Beside her plopped down two more girls—her friends, Jim noted, as they chattered familiarly, cheerfully.

The girl gave him an awkward smile, then, and Jim realized that he must have been staring for a few moments too long, so he rapidly flicked his eyes back to the surface of his own desk, trying not to think about the flush he could feel splash across the back of his neck, or the tips of his ears.

Tobias did not grant him such grace.

“Ooh,” he grinned, smug as a cat in a sunbeam. “That’s Claire Nuñez. President of the drama club, valedictorian candidate, great actress. She’s tied with Seamus Johnson and Shannon Longhannon for top of the class right now, I heard. She’s wicked smart, and—Jim?” Tobias huffed, “Are you paying attention to me?”

Jim’s eyes darted back to his new friend, from where they’d been briefly studying Claire Nuñez’s back, trying to get a more in-depth read on her arcana. He nodded distractedly. “Yeah, yeah, smart, a president; I heard you.”

Tobias sighed, shaking his head. “Jim.”

Jim raised an eyebrow, indicating that he was listening.

“She’s out of your league.” He deadpanned. “She’s super popular, and you’re, no offense, definitely not.”

Jim shot Tobias a confused look, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

The boy stared openly at Jim. “What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’? Do you really not— Oh my god.”

Jim blinked. “What?”

Tobias shook his head. “Jim, you’ve kinda… scared a lot of the people in our class today. They don’t know what to think about you. You’re like a giant question mark! No one even knows where you came from—”

“Ohio.” Jim recited his cover story, which Skrael had helped him pick the night previous. They’d chosen a city that started with a c… right. “Columbus, Ohio.”

Tobias shot him a deadpan look. “Okay, fine, Jim Lake from Columbus, Ohio. Why’d you suddenly move to Arcadia, then? Why not L.A.? Why not Burbank?”

Jim frowned. “Do you interrogate every newcomer like this? My parents got a good job opportunity here.” He held up one hand, “And before you ask—real estate.”

“Oh yeah? How come I haven’t seen them put up ads, then?” Tobias crossed his arms. “I’m just saying, dude; I think you’re cool, but you freak a lot of people out with that brooding, silent thing you do.”

Jim snorted. “I do what?”

“Y’know—”

“No, I don’t know—”

“You act, like, all silent and mysterious when people try to talk to you.” Tobias shrugged. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing, but some people don’t seem as ready to brush it off as me. I’m only telling you so that you can make more friends here.”

“Well, I have you, don’t I?” Jim’s head canted.

Tobias blinked, floundering at that. “Well—y…yeah, I guess so, but—”

“I mean, we are friends, aren’t we?”

It was Tobias’s turn to go a bit pink, shaking his head in bewilderment. “If you want, yeah, but—”

“Then there we go. I have a friend.” Jim smiled.

Tobias tried to protest, “But—” only to find himself cut off as Mr. Strickler strode into the classroom at that moment, placing a leather briefcase on his desk with a decisive thump. Cacophonous voices incrementally petered out, as attentive heads turned to the front of the classroom, where Mr. Strickler had pulled out a stack of syllabi, handing them to the student nearest the door, with the instructions to “take one and pass them,” spoken precisely to the class.

Tobias looked like he wanted to say something when Strickler turned his back to write his name on the chalkboard, but Jim shushed him from the corner of his mouth, opening a fresh, blank notebook as he did so. This was the only class he’d bothered to buy a separate notebook for, and, to be frank, was the only class he’d even intended to take notes in at all.

Tobias looked chagrined, but not angry, as he rolled his eyes and went to fetch a pencil from his own bag. Might as well have something to do with his idle hands for the next hour.

—

As his first day was winding to close, Jim had to admit, having a friend at school did end up making it a little easier.

The rest of his time there had passed largely unremarkably, since a rather thrilling start to the history curriculum. Jim’s hand had shot up just as much as the apparent reigning top of the sophomore class, one Miss Claire Nuñez’s, had— a fact which had, according to Tobias, already begun to percolate across campus.

The lesson had only briefly covered the basics of ancient Rome, going over a bit of easy, more widely known trivia, to see what the class already knew about their oncoming first unit, but, nonetheless, Jim had been eager to jump in, to talk almost directly to Mr. Strickler, going back and forth in the form of a discussion. He’d spoken quietly, quickly, and he’d felt the eyes of his peers glued to his desk, but had ignored the sensation altogether, in favor of listening to what his teacher had to say about aqueducts, instead.

When the hour had finally come to an end, in fact, he’d packed up slowly, most of his classmates abandoning the room as quickly as they could—the lunch period was about to begin—though Tobias was kind enough to wait for him. As such, Tobias was the only other person present to hear Mr. Strickler stop Jim after class, paying a brief compliment to his performance that day, and accompanying his words with a poster for the history club. Jim didn’t think his furtive smile had gone entirely missed by the teacher, but as they’d exited into the now mostly empty hallway, he forgot to worry about it further, as Tobias wasted no time in asking him how the heck his new friend knew so much about history already?

Jim had shrugged it off, saying that it was his favorite subject; and besides, didn’t Tobias— “Seriously, dude, it’s Toby, by the way”— know more about geology than anyone else in their class? The compliment had made Tobias—Toby— preen, and he’d promptly dropped the topic, instead launching into an enthusiastic lecture meant to coach Jim through the cafeteria process. Jim, who had tried to jump in to say that he’d heard this at orientation the week prior, but Toby had shot him an appalled look at that, swiftly informing him that orientation did nothing to help the social side of things. Sure, he knew the motions, but did he know how to do them without standing out in the crowd? Absolutely not—in fact, the thought was almost laughable, according to Toby.

So, Jim had grinned, followed Toby’s lead, and had just barely survived the ever-important lunch line waltz.

The rest of the day had passed mostly the same way, in the end. Toby, having warmed up to Jim, took him through the whole rest of the day, guiding him through the intricacies of Arcadia Oaks High, and by the time the final bell was ringing, Jim almost felt like a normal student. Some of his peers had even started waving to him in the hallways; he’d broken the ice, after all.

Well. He’d thought so, until Toby had said goodbye, peddling away on his bike toward home, leaving Jim alone in the courtyard by the bustling lockers, surrounded by students eager to either go home, as Toby had, or to dive into after-school clubs and sports.

Jim opted to take his time, though, to enjoy the Southern California sun, as he strolled casually across the campus, toward the front of the school grounds.

As he rounded the corner, though, intending to head toward the Arcadia Oaks sign, where he’d stop and shoot off a text to the Order that his first day had gone well, and that he’d be home soon, he felt a tap on his shoulder, instead, and heard a throat being cleared behind him.

He knew who it was before he even turned to face her; her magic had given her away as soon as she’d reached a hand for him.

Despite this, Jim whirled as if she’d caught him by surprise, schooling his features into something startled but friendly, relaxing his shoulders as a polite smile crossed his face, upon seeing her. “Oh, hey. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting—” he rethought his words, shaking his head. “Never mind. …It’s, ‘Claire,’ right?”

She nodded, returning his smile. “Yeah! And you’re ‘Jim Lake’, hm?”

Something about the way she asked that question sent up a warning bell in the back of Jim’s mind, but he tried not to look unsettled; it was probably just nerves.

“Yup; just Jim is fine, though.” He added with a casual laugh.

Claire tilted her head, continuing. “So, you’re quite the history buff, huh?”

Jim’s hands dropped to his pockets, as he glanced at his shoes, then back up to her. “Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“You guess?” She teased. “You were on fire in class today.” She lifted her chin, to look at him head on. “Do I need to worry about you unseating me, Jim Lake from Columbus, Ohio?”

Jim snorted, shaking his head. “No, no; it’s not like that. History’s just a hobby.”

“Pretty intense hobby, if you know half as much as you seem like you do.” She raised an eyebrow at him.

Jim grinned. “Intense? Like being the president of drama club, the vice president of debate, and the supposed shoe-in for the lead in the play this fall?” he recited, much to Claire’s surprise, who shot him an impressed look.

“Huh. You sure do pay attention, don’t you?”

He glanced around, making it a leisurely movement, concealing the way he was searching for anyone who could overhear, before his eyes met hers again, as he said, “Only to certain people.”

Claire blinked, cheeks reddening, mistaking his meaning. “Oh, yeah? What kinds of people?”

Jim rolled the dice. “Well, people who seem nice, or kind, who I could make friends with. People who do things I wanna do, too, so I can have an ‘in’. Like clubs, and things.” he clarified.

“And, uh…” his voice grew hushed, “Magic-users in the human world.”

Claire’s face fell. “What was that last one?” Her nose scrunched with the skeptical look that overtook her features.

Jim’s eyes darted to look for an exit, realizing coldly—fearfully— that he had grossly miscalculated.

“Uh…” Stupid. He chided himself. Think of a lie before you go backing yourself into a corner. Skrael would be disappointed in him if he were here.

“Did you just say ‘the human world’ like you… aren’t human?” She stared at him suspiciously.

Jim blinked. “What? No. I’m human. Of course I’m human.” He gave a strained laugh. “What else would I be?”

“…Someone who thinks they aren’t?” Claire’s brow furrowed.

“It was a rhetor- well. I mean, I guess that’s true. But I’m not!” He smiled weakly, and then froze for a split-second, rapidly adding, “Someone who thinks they aren’t human! I know I’m human!”

Claire’s eyes shot to the street, where, to her poorly hidden relief, her dad had just pulled up to the curb, there to pick her up. “…Right. Well, Jim Lake from Cleveland, Ohio, my dad’s here, so I need to go, but this has been… interesting.”

Jim nodded rapidly, shooting her one more smile— a sheepish, apologetic one— as he gave her a shy wave. “…Yeah.”

Claire hoisted her backpack onto one shoulder, giving him a half-hearted wave back. “…Bye, Jim.”

“Bye, Claire.”

As she turned to leave, Jim frowned to himself. He wasn’t sure why, but something felt wrong. He supposed it could have been the awkward manner in which he’d acted, but in a flash, he decided that wanted to see her again, just in case that wasn’t it. He couldn’t be too careful.

So, before he missed his chance, he called after her retreating back, “See you around?”

Claire stopped, hand poised on the handle of the passenger side door, freezing there for a heart-pounding pause.

Then, she shot him a look over her shoulder, one of interest, meeting his eyes deliberately. Jim got the sense that he should heed it carefully.

“Yeah. See you around, Jim.”