#purchase pizza tower NOW its good you should play it

[humanoidgamingawesome]

i dont know how to use this webs i te help what am i doing

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Prompts 10 and 36 just scream Spideychelle. They don't have to be written together, though that might tickle your fancy too

Thanks for the prompts, @soonersgirl86 and Anon! I did end up writing 10 and 36 together, so thank you for putting that idea in my head! Hope you enjoy the results!

The Game’s a Foot on BluePairing:Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle)Rating: TWord count: 1764

10.“You’re wrong and I’ll prove it.”

36. “I’d be fine having sex with the same person forthe rest of my life, if it wasn’t the same sex every single time.”

When you grew up as the ‘smart kid,’ you knew it. You wereeither fawned over or pushed too hard by your parents. Either admired orresented by your siblings. Your classmates simultaneously teased you and wantedyou in their group for projects. Maybe you were lonely, or maybe you enrolledin a good high school, full of ‘smart kids.’ Then you might take it a stepfurther and join Academic Decathlon, grouping yourself with the students thatthe rest of the overachievers thought of as the ‘smart kids.’ Once you’dreached this level, this upper echelon of tomorrow’s leaders, you couldn’t justplay a board game in your spare time. At least, that was what Flash was attemptingto convince them of.

MJ was currently trying to disappear into the thick cushionsat one end of the couch in Flash’s family’s living room. Every time herobnoxious teammate paced by her, she got a lungful of air that had the generalscent of Too Much Body Spray. She was full of regret; one surprise, come-from-behindvictory during a Decathlon scrimmage with another local school had made herfeel dangerously friendly towards the losers she captained and, in the insanityof the moment, she’d spoken two fateful words: “team bonding.”

Now the entire team was spending their Saturday nighttogether at the Thompsons’ while Flash’s parents had a ‘romantic weekend’(Flash’s words―uh, barf) in Las Vegas. Weird family. Somewhere between animpromptu video game championship and the time the tower of pizzas arrived (apparentlya purchase that qualified as an emergency, subsequently charged to Mr.Thompson’s credit card), MJ had identified sinking into the depths of the couchas the least obvious escape route. They just had to forget about her for awhile. If she was completely still, there would eventually be an opportunity tobook it to the door and taste the freedom of her old life. A life before teambonding.

But then Flash started in on his board games rant and beforehe’d reached the end of it (she hoped there actually was an end), he’d beguncounting the other people in the room in case teams needed to be formed. Whatpissed MJ off even more than being counted for participation reasons was thefact that Flash didn’t know how many people were in Decathlon. Not like theyhad biweekly practices or he’d been on the team for three years with very fewnew faces or anything. Moron.

“So we combine them,” he insisted. “Play multiple games atonce.”

“More challenging,” Cindy agreed, perking up next to MJ. “Ilike it.”

“Bonding is cancelled,” MJ protested wearily. “I’m thecaptain.”

Flash rounded on her, crossing his arms.

“Well, there should be another captain, for, like, moraleand chilling!” he said. “And that’s me.”

“That’s the last thing we need,” she grumbled.

“You’re wrong,” Flash argued, “and I’ll prove it.”

That was probably when she should’ve protested harderinstead of slouching off to the bathroom, but hey, she’d drunk two cans ofginger ale and her bladder was feeling it. Constant small sips meant shorterresponses and therefore, fewer chances of being engaged in conversation. Now,walking back into the living room, MJ saw that she was going to pay for her peebreak and pay dearly.

There was a creased Twister mat unfolded on the floor.

Logically, there wouldn’t be room for them all on theplastic sheet, but solving that problem was another thing they’d done while shewas gone. (She’d been two minutes! What the hell?!) These devious,academically-accomplished bastards―had already laid out and begun the alternategame, what looked like a combination of Clue and Life. Betty was sitting withher legs neatly folded, hashing out rules that seemed to require players tosolve the murder before they reached retirement. Oh, and the killer was one ofthe family members they would collect on the way.

MJ was going to lose her shit. If she was about to be heldagainst her will for… who knew how long, potentially hours… she would have atleast wanted to be in the group that wouldn’t be contorting themselves to reachthe correct coloured circle.

She could almost convince herself that was how she felt aslong as she didn’t make eye contact with Peter, staring at her from the otherside of the Twister mat. MJ swallowed and did what anyone with a massive secretcrush and a deficient sense of self-preservation would do: she peeled off hersocks, rolled up the cuffs of her boyfriend jeans, and stepped up to the edgeof the mat.

A dozen rounds in and she was lying to herself again. It wasobviously Flash’s body spray that made her want to knock him over, not the factthat he was positioned between her and Peter. (Yeah right.) Maybe he’d toppleon his own if she announced that she knew Peter was Spider-Man. Was that anappropriate conversation starter? Parties weren’t really her thing.

MJ eyed Peter as he placed his left hand on yellow.Seriously, was no one else paying attention to the ease with which that nerdshifted his limbs? You didn’t get casual strength and defined arm muscles likethat from constructing Lego Death Stars, that was for damn sure. It was thelatest in a long, long trail of breadcrumbs she’d been gathering for months. Sheclosed her eyes for a second and refocused on the game. Again, the urge to bumpFlash possessed her. But she wasn’t supposed to wish for him to be out―Flashwas on her team. Twister wasn’t meant to be a team sport, but Christ, thesetouchy-feely saps.

Ned, who had apparently been killed off in Clue/Life (yeah,she really hadn’t gotten a good grasp of the rules, or they’d evolved), was nowworking the Twister spinner and cheerfully reading out each round’saccompanying question. Because it had to be a combination of games. Because,again, Flash was a moron.

“Right foot blue, MJ,” he directed. (Fucking easy for him tosay, she thought as she stretched with a grunt.) “And your question…” Ned drewa card from the deck. “Would you rather have sex with the same person for therest of your life, or never get to have sex with anyone more than once?”

“Flash, where did you get these questions?” she wondered, movingher foot with a smack.

It wasn’t the first time she’d asked, but he was being cageyabout it. Honestly, most of them sounded like they’d come from some kind of sextherapy manual. Oh god, maybe it was a real game and his disgustingly-in-loveparents played it.

“Just answer,” Flash demanded. “I can’t…. stay…”

He slipped and fell on his ass. MJ blurted out a laugh. Finally,she was having fun at team bonding night.

Flash extricated himself from the mat, being a good enoughsport not to try to take MJ or Peter down as he made his exit, going to watchClue/Life. Peter and MJ were the only two left now. MJ rotated her footexperimentally on its circle, making her toes brush Peter’s. A blush raced uphis face like a burning match. Fascinating.

“MJ?” Ned asked, waiting.

“Uh, can you come back to me?”

He frowned.

“You’re supposed to―”

“They’re fake rules,” she reminded him, “and Peter doesn’tcare. I’ll answer my question after he moves.”

Peter shrugged. Ned sighed dramatically.

“Fine, but I think you should be setting a better example ascaptain.”

“Noted.” She rolled her eyes.

“’K, Peter…” He paused as the spinner whirled around. “Lefthand blue.”

MJ clenched her teeth together and squeezed her lips shut asshe analyzed the circles surrounding his current location. She would not smileshe would not smile she would not smile―Peter lunged towards her and, aftermaybe a second’s worth of hesitation, reached his arm over her extended leginstead of under it. She had her stomach to the ceiling, braced on hands and feetlike a crab, which had been extremely unsexy until Peter positioned himselflike he was about to climb on top of her. The front of his t-shirt draped overher thigh. MJ wasn’t sure he strictly had to be that close. She narrowed hereyes.

Dammit, he’d been playing a long game too.

After settling into his new posture by rocking a bit on hishands, he glanced up, flicking hair out of his eyes. They looked at each other.Yep, definitely dammit.

“Back to you,” Ned reminded her. “No more passing.”

“What was the question again?” she checked, trying to soundbored.

“She’s stalling,” Peter accused. Their eyes held for asecond. “MJ has the best memory in this room.”

Playful complaints? Flattery? And, oh, he wanted her toanswer the question? She would answer that question.

“I’d be fine having sex with the same person for the rest ofmy life,” MJ told Ned (while really, actually, telling Peter), “if it wasn’tthe same sex every single time.”

She was almost certain he’d started to lean over her bodymore before shifting back. And his mouth was open. Though she never stared athis mouth. (Another lie.)

“What if it was one person who behaved like two people?” Nedasked gleefully.

Peter’s head whipped around to shoot his friend a wide-eyed lookthat, to MJ, blatantly said shut up.Could they make it any more obvious that Peter had a secret identity? It wasbaffling. These were the stupidest smart kids she’d ever had the misfortune ofmaking friends with… and in one case, accidentally falling head over heels for.If they were going to be that dumb,she would indulge herself in a moment of pretend ignorance.

“Like roleplay or something?” she asked. Peter made a weirdsound in his throat. MJ decided to go in for the kill, catching his eye. “Yeah,maybe. I’m kind of into masks.”

“I forfeit,” Peter announced, springing to his feet.

Once he’d bounded away down the hall to the bathroom, MJ letherself collapse onto the mat.

“So I guess it’s pretty much impossible that you haven’tnoticed Peter likes you,” Ned summarized, idly flicking the spinner.

“I’ve noticed lots of things,” she replied, smiling as shestared at the high ceiling.

She chose not to specify that one of them wasPeter’s super alter ego. Or that another was the bulge in the front of hisjeans he hadn’t managed to completely block with his hands before running out.Not that MJ would ever look.

Pick a prompt for a Spideychelle drabble!

[williams411-blog]

1. Outside the Window: What’s the weather outside your window doing right now? If that’s not inspiring, what’s the weather like somewhere you wish you could be?

It was a Sunday night in spring. Streetlights were waking up, and the neighborhood was shutting down. Mrs. Jones was in high spirits as she prepared for bed. Today, was a good day. She had gotten her whole family up early, had a very promising meeting with several members of the church, followed by an early Sunday potluck with what may have been her best Pinterest inspired potato salad. As she laid down she went through her nightly prayers. As she moved down her list of various but specific prayers, which had become almost ritualistic, she added in a couple extras. She thanked God for her family and her church, and she even thanked God for Pinterest, without which she would have had nothing to brag about while she discussed the ungodly things she had witnessed this week. However, tonight’s biggest praise was for the rain. She thanked God for sending a storm. It was a twofold thank you. Not only had it helped water her garden for her, a task she had been neglecting, but it also drowned out Mr. Jones wretched snoring. She had always enjoyed thunderstorms. Watching the lightning streak the sky while rain danced across her window had been one of the most soothing things about living in a rainy town. She settled into bed and added a quick thank you for allowing her to find such a safe town with such a strong sense of God. She turned off her lamp and drifted off to the sound of rain. Unaware of what was happening in her cozy town. Outside of comfy bedding with fancy thread counts, and on the other side of windows lit with the glow of bath and body works scented candles, it was no ordinary storm. No this was something far more sinister. The clouds seemed to amplify the light from the full moon overhead. It was a mysterious blue color that cast a sickly pallor on his exposed skin. With each drop of rain, he felt as though he was being weighed down. They did not bounce away, but instead soaked into his clothes, into his skin, cut through him. It did not comfort him or make him want to dance the way it used to. It was no longer ethereal or magical. The rain had become chains, tethering him to the earth, to the present, to reality. The thunder clapped as he watched through the window of what use to be his safe space. No longer a home but just another house, on just another street, in just another city. He picked up his clothes and bags that were carelessly thrown on the front steps. How had this happened? How could he have been so wrong? He grew up just two streets from the Jones’s. In the same God loving rainy town that had sheltered him for the last 15 years. But something had changed that night. With a pit in his stomach, and his heart in his throat he had called his parents down to the living room. He sat on the newly purchased crème colored couch, fingers interlaced, as he often did when he was nervous. His parents anxiously awaited what he had to say. Finally, his face broke. The words poured out of his mouth, and escaped him faster than he could pull them back in. “I’m gay.” Immediate silence. Nothing was heard but the rain outside and the tears breaking down his face. He looked at his mother and father and in the blink of an eye he remembered his whole life. Flashing before him were visions of his 8th birthday party where he had a specially crafted firetruck cake, at the local fire department. Flash. Another vision, nine years old. Crying because he didn’t understand why grandma wouldn’t be coming back from the hospital this time. Curled up in his mother’s arms while she sang her special version of amazing grace. Flash. 10 years old going to peewee football practice with dad. Catching a football and scoring his first touchdown. His father picked him up and beamed a smile that exuded nothing but love, and adoration. This was his boy. Flash. Thirteen. Rachel Meadows had dumped him because Jack had asked her to the dance. He felt the sting all over again and remembered how his dad had taken him for a special drive and out for pizza and ice cream while mom was at book club. He could still see the smirk as he winked, “don’t tell your mother or we’ll both be grounded.” Flash. Fifteen. This was last week. His parents had done a special dedication in which they gave their only son to God, the way God had given his. It was such an amazing and uplifting experience. They were one with the lord. One family, one heartbeat, one eternal life with their savior and now he was a part of that too. His attention snapped back to the living room as though he had been gone for days. Still silence. This went on for another what seemed like eternity. He wondered if he should say it again, but he didn’t have the strength if he wanted to.  His face broke again as his father’s mouth opened. Wait this was different, there was no smirk, no wink, no love. And then the word hit his ear like nails on a chalkboard. “Out.” Something else broke, not his face, but his heart. The emotional pain was palpable and he thought he might pass out. He sank further into the sofa. Surely his parents were playing a joke on him. They loved him. It was a Christ-like love, constant and unchanging. He roamed deep into their eyes, first father, then mother’s. There was nothing, they were empty. Almost instantaneously he found himself on the front steps, bags and the few clothes he had been allowed to keep strewn about. Standing in the rain. He was fifteen. He was a good kid. A little mouthy at times, but a heart of gold and a terrible sense of accountability. He was wise beyond his years. Suddenly the guilt sank its serpent fangs into his chest.  He was guilty of holding that secret from them. He had known for some time now, and never said anything. He was dirty, filthy. There wasn’t anything that could make him clean. Not the tears pouring down his face, or the rain piercing the rest of his body, and especially not the love of god whom he had felt so close too. He was alone. For the first time. And now, like his parent’s eyes, he too was empty. Pangs of guilt and misery pulsated through his body while he slowly collected his things. He slumped down the street with a clear destination in sight. He had taken the journey many times. Almost every Sunday since he was born in fact. Yes, he could find his way to the church in the dark, or the rain, or both as it appeared. He knew he would be there soon, just two streets over and across the bridge. He was devoid of thought. He couldn’t make his body function as the rain eroded his soul. Misery. He passed by the familiar scenes. When he reached the second street he saw it. Pastor Jones house, where a beacon of love and acceptance had always shone. But he was beyond that now. He looked at the large brick house and the fancy entryway and thought about all the times he had been so happy at church. It was his second home. But not anymore. He had no home. No family. No church, but still, he made his way. He was at the bridge now. He could no longer differentiate between rain or tears. His muscles ached with the exhaustion of a total system shut down. But he trudged on. He looked over the edge of the bridge at the water, it pushed against the banks and had risen quite a bit. He had always found peace with the water. He felt the concrete edge in his hand as he leaned on the bridge and allowed himself a moment of weakness. He stood there, the church in the background. He could see the flood lights inside shining dimly through the stained-glass windows. And with ever crack of lightning he could see the high tower which hosted the virgin Mary and her baby boy. That was true love. But obviously, it was easier to love your son unconditionally when he was the son of god. He found himself staring into her face. Looking at her smile with disdain. It was haunting. It was mocking him. It hated him. He eased himself on to the ledge treading carefully so he didn’t fall by accident. He sat there for another minute or so. The rain no longer bothered him. He deserved it. He deserved to be chained down for his sin, and punished for his devilish ways. Yes, the rain was good. Therapeutically painful. It spoke to him and he found his eyes again on the church. This time on the mural which only now did he realize was highlighted by the lone standing streetlight. It was his favorite story. Noah’s ark. Beautifully painted by a group of Sunday school teachers, he had always loved that painting. But now it was God himself, a burning bush calling out to him. Just as God had cleansed the world by flooding the earth, he too would cleanse himself. He stood up tall taking back his power of free will. This is what the world wanted, what God wanted, but most importantly, what he wanted. With his final act of good faith, he jumped from the ledge. He was leaving everything behind, his clothes, his baggage, his sins, his family, and his church. There was nothing left for him. They say when you die your life flashes before your eyes. It did not. He had died hours ago when he was turned to the cold uncaring world by his parents. When he felt the hypocrisy, and unfathomable weight of the church upon him. It crushed him. But not here. In his weightless state of free fall, he was untouchable. He could no longer feel the rain on his skin. He was elegant and free, subject only to the wind and gravity. As he neared the water he cried still. He cried for a world where parents throw their kids out for being different. He cried for a society in which you can be bullied and tormented and beaten for who you love. But mostly, he cried for his loss of innocence. He apologized to God for existing and like Mrs. Jones he said his prayers, one last time. No, he could no longer feel the rain on his skin. For those last few fleeting seconds, he was at peace. He had become the rain.