#shiny green spandex

[wickedlegs]

Shiny green leggings.

[allseeinganalyst]

Oh hey I was born with cosplay!

i just found out merriam webster has a time traveler feature that tells you some of the words that were “born” the same year as you. it’s pretty neat yall should do this

[deadsetobsessions]

Listen, I know it’s not my usual thing, but I just re-read Dark Matter by mysterycyclone (iconic, so good, incredible, I’ve reread this at least ten times) and this newer work, Help Me, I Don’t Feel Like Myself Anymore by Astra_Nova_Kat (it’s off to a really good and fleshed out, very long start- it’s like 20k for the first chapter omg).

I just. Love?? Them??? They’re both, urg, so good. The writing style, the way the story moves, the natural progression of plot and their usage of tropes are so well done that rarely does it feel awkward. Amazing. Anyways, they inspired me to put my two cents into the proverbial offering hat and while this might not ever be a realized fanfic, here it is? This will have multiple parts.

Uh, I’m basing Peter’s personality off of the really tired millennial energy Tobey Maguire gives, the awkward but well meaning disaster vibes of Andrew Garfield, and the sassy acrobatic chaos gremlin of Tom Holland. All kind of mushed together with the hyper competence and maturity of both the PS4 spidey and pretty much most spider people. He’s 22, or something but that doesn’t really matter?? Background doesn’t really matter because I’m basically making my own spider-verse. Spider… past? Eh. New Peter!

Spider in Gotham AU- Pt.1

[Pt.2]

——

Spider-Man swung through the skyscrapers of his city, enjoying the winds and sounds of New York as he kept a sharp eye out for crime.

He remembered doing this without any of the fancy tech his suit had now, when he was dressed in less protective clothing. God, 100% cotton while crime fighting? The spandex was better but god ugly.

His spider-sense blared. Spider-man quickly shot a web to the top of the building, going towards the danger instead of away from it.

He goes in feet first, years of knocking common thugs to legitimate gods to the ground making short work of the people on the roof top. He flips out of the way, dodging a blast of crackling green energy.

“Heyyyy, common robbers! What’s up with shiny lasers, huh? Breaking and entering not doing enough for ya?”

Spider-Man dodges a couple more shots, flipping again to knee a guy in the face, gently. The man goes down in one shot.

“Stay still, you motherfucker!”

“Does that actually work for you guys?? Like I’m down to get killed but, man, I’m not gonna stay still to get downed by some two bit thugs?” Spider-Man kept his words light and mocking, webbing up a laser gun and yanking it out of the woman’s hands. He punches her in the face and knocks her out, using the laser gun like a mildly bulky baton.

“Eat shit, Spider-bitch!”

“Ouch! Oh no, my feelings! You’ve hurt them!” Spider-Man shoots a web at the lady who’d shouted and yanked, before smacking her straight down to the concrete of the rooftop. His hearing picked up two people coming up the stairway and Spider-Man tossed two web bombs, the metal mechanism attached itself to the wall, waiting for their unknowing victims.

Spider-Man ducked and weaved, downing goons as they piled on him while shooting bullets, lasers, and just charging at him with a bat or a crowbar. After eight years of pretty much this exact thing, Spider-Man had gotten the science of breaking up goon dog piles without hurting them too much to an exact measurement. He quipped at them until they got annoyed, which made them sloppy. Spider-Man sighed as another guy came at him with a crow bar and a gun that he was pretty sure was still stuck on safety. He crouched, kicking out their legs and dodging a swipe of a bat where his ribs would have been and webbed the guy to the floor. Yeah, he’ll wrap this up and end patrol. Maybe he still had Mac n’ Cheese at home, or he could stop by Angelo’s for a sub?

Huh. His options for dinner was limited.

“Take this!”

Even without the forewarning of his spidey-sense, Spider-Man would have ducked out of the way regardless.

“Shouting your sneak attacks isn’t actually all that sneaky, you know!” Spider-Man kept his voice cheery and mocking.

“Get him!”

God, why were there so many people trying to break into an insurance company? This definitely doesn’t smell like a regular B&E. With the shit he’s seen in New York, if it smells like a plot, acts like a plot, then it’s probably a villain with a tragic backstory with big, annoying plans.

Great.

Oh, speak of the devil!

“Spider-Man.” His senses blared.

He couldn’t move out of the way fast enough, not without risking the life of the goon he was currently fighting, so Spider-Man took the blast the punched the breath out of his lungs. The wide eyes of the goon made up for some of the pain.

“Ugh!” Spider-Man slammed into an HVAC, denting the metal. His suit, made special polymer blend from Wakanda that he saved for months to get, absorbed some of the shock. Shit, he hoped it didn’t tear. It would be a bitch and a half to dip into the back up stock he had in his hammer space.

The goons left standing quickly rushed him and held him down to face the new boss.

“You’ve been getting on my nerves, Spider.”

“Yeah,” Spider-Man coughed out, letting the two goons think they could hold him down on his knees as he recovered his breath. “I have that effect on people.”

“But you could be an asset, if you’d join me?”

“Uh, I don’t join or sign things without knowing what I’m joining or signing, my guy. My lawyer said so.”

The villain paused, helmeted head cocking to the side.

“You have a lawyer?”

“Yeah. Kind of? He does pro-bono work for the helpless cases. You know, like, a well meaning, crime fighting vigilante?”

“…Does he do cases against insurance companies?”

“Oh man, you too? Dude, this place sucks,” Spider-Man sighed.

“You’ve had trouble too? Then you must see why I’m doing this!”

This was a bit weird, but if there’s anything that brings people together, it’d be corrupt insurance companies. He’s almost tempted to let them break in, just to be extra petty.

“Nah, my neighbor? Sweet old lady. They’re screwing her out of her entire place. I totally get it, man. Hey, if you need a referral, you can tell my lawyer that Spider sent you. He’s real good.”

“How good?” The goons release him and Spider-Man stood up, stretching his limbs.

“Like, Dare Devil good.”

“You know Matt Murdock??”

“Sure do.”

“He… he’ll take on our cases?”

“Dang, all of you?”

“Yes. We can pool enough money to pay him for one or two.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure he’ll take you guys on for free. But it wouldn’t hurt if you all went to meet him, just so he can decide which one of you has a higher chance to win in court?”

“We will. Uh.” The villain paused sheepishly. Well, not a villain, more like an unfortunately angry and poor decision making citizen. “Sorry about… you know, the blast.”

“It’s cool. I mean,” Spider-Man gestured to the rooftop, the bodies of unconscious people kind of laying around where he knocked them down. “You guys might wanna check on them, yeah? I’ll let you go for now, but if you commit a B&E again, I’ll leave you webbed up for GCPD to find.”

“Got it. Sorry.”

Feeling good about himself, and plotting corporate espionage, Spider-Man went to help pry some people from his webs.

And of course, because Parker Luck kicks in only when Spider-Man felt like life was looking up for himself, Spider-Man’s senses blared once more as he knelt down to pull at some webbing.

“Oh, shit!” He heard, right before a cold blast of something slammed right into his head, knocking him out.

And Spider-Man

F

E

L

L.

——

Larry looked at the the empty space where Spider-Man, the guy who took a hit from his boss’ blaster so he wouldn’t get hurt, used to be.

He twisted.

“Boss, what the fuck?!”

“Shit! That was accident!” Boss pulled herself up from the concrete, where she just ate dirt.

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know, Larry! That was the experimental warped mode! Crap!” His boss scrambled with the controls, desperately trying to see if the magic gun her magician friend had handed her years ago had a reverse button. It didn’t.

“Why would you bring a test weapon into the field?!”

“I gave you all of my other ones!” She threw up her hands. “Fuck, I feel so bad.”

Larry paled. “Dude, Dare Devil’s gonna kill us.”

“He doesn’t kill!” His boss hesitated. “I think.”

Larry pointed to the empty space. “Yeah? He might start with us. Spidey was a cool guy and you just disappeared him!”

“I know!”

Larry buried his head into his hands and tried not to hate himself for the entire situation.

——

Spider-man woke up, laid flat on the grimy ground of an alleyway.

“Ugh. Just my luck.” He kept his eyes closed for just a beat longer to allow himself time before having to pull his shit together. Why was his voice high? And a bit squeaky? He pulled himself together.

“Okay.” He whispered to himself, before sitting up and taking stock of the situation.

First thing that hit him was that it stunk to high heavens. Gagging, Spider-Man looked to the right and- yeah, that’ll do it. He stood up on wobbly legs to try to move away from the overflowing dumpster.

That’s when the second, more important and decidedly more troublesome, observation hit him.

He’s short. Shorter. And his suit was hanging off of him.

He could tell he still had his normal by now physiology, with the speeding heartbeat and the feeling of super strength. But he’s shorter. With a mounting sense of equal parts dread and resignation, he pulled at the hidden seam by his nape, relying on his both his enhanced senses and spidey-sense to tell if anyone was nearby or looking at him. He pulled the Spider-Man suit off, blankly folding it neatly as he stared dumbly at his hands. They’re small too. Shit. He stumbled to a nearby mud puddle and stared down, seeing his younger face in the contaminated water. Double shit.

He’s starting to loose his composure. He’d gone through a lot of bizarre things over the last eight years. But getting accidentally Detective Conan’ed by a person he just helped was a new low.

The black under layer of his suit, a slash proof and fire resistant polymer Peter had designed himself in MIT’s lab, was in a similar state.

With one hand, Peter Parker numbly rolled up his sleeves and pant hems. Great. Okay. Now what?

Ah. Shoes. He did not want to walk around in his too-big Spider-Man boots. He looked around. Well, there’s the laces of what looked to be like a pair of dumpster shoes. “Yeah, no.”

Shit. Does he still have access to his hammer space?

Peter reached into his pocket, and tried to reach for a pair of normal sneakers. His shoulder slumped as he produced a pair. Fuck yes. He still has access! And shoes! They’re ones he took off of a power line for a well off kid who didn’t want it anymore. He was going to donate them to F. E. A. S. T. but he’s thanking the stars he procrastinated a bit on swinging by the center. He put them on. They’re a bit big, but it’s better than the giant-in-comparison ones he normally wears. You know, as an adult.

He hesitated with his mask. He should at least figure out where he is. He hoped it was still in the states. His mask blinked, the HUD in his lenses informing him that it was trying to find a connection. “That’s weird.” He paused, grimacing at the sound of his voice. But it is weird, because he had his mask automatically connected to the world wide satellites Tony Stark had sent circling the globe for citizens without internet access as a back up option. So either he was somewhere even the Stark Satellites couldn’t reach or…

Peter swallowed, his mask pinging as it found a connection to piggy back on. He clicked his tongue twice to activate the voice controls.

“Connect to the local maps. Where am I?”

His masked followed the order. [Gotham. New Jersey.]

Peter stared at the words, gut churning.

Good news, he was still in the States. Bad news? He’s shrunk, in a totally different state, and possibly in a different world because he’s not connected to the Stark Satellites he knew operated in New Jersey.

Peter Parker tilted his head back and allowed himself one verbal, panic level six and up, curse word.

“Fuck.”

He took off his mask and leaned against a slightly cleaner part of the wall before hyperventilating.

——

Half an hour later, Peter smacked himself on the cheeks and pulled himself together.

“You’re Spider-Man,” he hissed to himself. “Have a mental breakdown somewhere warm, you dumbass.”

Peter Parker was a champion, world class expert at compartmentalization.

He slipped his mask back on, and pulled up his “So You’re Stuck in an Alternate Universe” list he had made with Ned so many years ago when they were high school kids and going through comic books to make contingencies because Peter was a little idiot vigilante hero.

“I didn’t think I’d actually ever need this kind of thing.” Peter muttered. He slipped his black back up gloves on to connect to his mask’s display in order to type.

“Okay,” he glanced at the side by side screens in his lenses. “Money.”

Five things.

1) The emergency cash he’d stashed on him thankfull matched the pictures of cash he’d found on this world’s internet. Yay!

2) He had $1000 tucked away. Not yay. Not if this might be a long term stay before he got back to his own dimension. Not if he wanted a place to sleep.

3) Luckily, thanks to his earlier search of where the hell he was, Peter figured out that due to the high crime rates- “Dang, that’s worse than New York on New Year’s Eve,” he had marveled- Gotham was dirt cheap and that that meant 1k dollars could actually last him a while and he could afford a room for a month on $250. A whole ass apartment for $550. Peter seriously considered staying in this universe just for the rent prices. So what if there’s rampant crimes? He’d deal with it if the rent was that cheap.

4) Problem? He’s fucking tiny. Who would rent to a person that looked like child? Not anyone upstanding, that’s for sure. He’s more likely to get mugged. Counterpoint: he’s in a city where apparently shady people are all around. Also? He doesn’t have an identity.

5) If the fact that he couldn’t connect to the Stark Satellites didn’t convince him he was either in another universe or an alternate dimension, the visual graphics of the websites he visited would. It was like looking at Windows in the early way before Stark Co. bought them out and improved the design. Nauseating.

Okay, so, money’s not too urgent of an issue. Next on Ned’s list: Places of Interest.

Namely, libraries, homeless shelters, crime hotspots, and the like.

Peter snorted when he came across an opinions article talking about how Park Row became Crime Alley. And then he frowned, because that story was not painting this place to be even remotely nice. Then again, considering the crime rates and the various Rogues this place seemed to have in spades, that wasn’t much of a surprise. Peter marks the place in his new mental map of Gotham as a potential area he could either disappear to or get a new identity at. He then marked the libraries, Gotham City Public Library and its many branches all funded by generous donations from a Bruce Wayne, the Martha Wayne foundations’ shelters and charities, two supermarkets near the library, and a coffee shop he thought looked warm and cozy from the shitty pictures they have uploaded online. He needed coffee, dammit, and he needed it hours ago. Alas, he probably wouldn’t get to go to one until he secured his finances.

Well, it’s not like he doesn’t have practice being poor.

3) Which brings him up to Ned’s next, surprisingly reasonable for a teenager hoped up on a mountain load of sugar, point. Level of Tech.

Peter hid next to the dumpster, melding in with the shadows, as he continued his research.

Tech here was… well, he probably wouldn’t have to worry. The thought of not having a Starkphone, even his older model, was painful considering the new versions of these WaynePhones were really… behind. Peter doesn’t remember the last time he had buttons on his phone or let alone a touch screen that didn’t use facial tracking and biometrics or even have a holographic display mode.

“Ugh. Okay. Not the end of the world, Parker.” Peter muttered.

Now… People of Interest.

This was underlined three times with Ned’s red pens, with extensive subcategories.

Subcategory A? Villains, because “what if they put out a warning for a known villain and you get your butt kicked because you didn’t know about them, Peter? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?”

He had replied, half focused on the list and the other on savoring the Millennium Falcon Lego set May had saved up for months to get him for his birthday, “I feel like if I was getting my butt kicked by a villain, I’d probably have better things to worry about than my utter humiliation, Ned.”

“True that,” Ned had snicked and jotted it down anyways.

And… well, Gotham had a lot of villains. The Joker (ew, that’s a crusty man in crustier face paint. This guy could learn so much from the cool mimes busking in Central Park. Like, how to do face paint. Or how not to be a massive murderous jerk. There’s Clayface, Two-Face, a bald guy in “Metropolis” (a name Peter couldn’t help but snort at because a city named city? That’s like na’an bread being bread bread. Or chai tea being tea tea) named Lex Luthor, and Scarecrow. He tabbed all of them and marked them for further perusal at a later date. From experience, he knew villains with a prominent M.O. and themes usually did more damage. Case in point: Rhino, and the million dollars of property damage the guy did everytime he escaped the Raft. Peter was seriously considering petitioning for the Raft to be placed further out just so he could have more warning the next time some assholes decided to free the prisoners and helped them escape.

He narrowed his eyes at the screen, his mask’s lenses following the movement. He’ll have to pick up a gas mask. Apparently bio-weapons are just a regular thing here and he really didn’t want to get dosed with this “fear toxin.” It’d be dangerous for everyone involved. Maybe if he gets his hands on a sample, he could build up tolerance and see how his immune system and metabolic rates affected the normal progression of the toxin. Ah, off topic. He’s gotta focus.

Subcategory B: Local celebrities.

“Why would I need to know local celebrities?” He’d asked.

“If someone came up to you and asked “Who’s Tony Stark?”, wouldn’t you clock that as super weird? You gotta blend in, Peter. Plus, you gotta keep up with the pop culture, dude. It’s important.”

“You just want alternate universe memes,” Peter grinned.

“That too. If you ever go to an alternate universe and come back, you’d better bring me a truckload of memes or I’ll never forgive you.”

Yeah. So. Wayne? Super important. Like Tony Stark levels of important. He found threads about them and the local vigilantes and their charity works. Peter’s brain instantly catalogued the info, all but memorizing the deluge of pictures he found of Bruce Wayne and his kids. Maybe the man had an adoption problem? Conspiracy threads and memes popped up alongside his research. He tabbed one on secret societies, because as Spiderman, he had fought a disturbing amount of secret societies that, on hindsight, had been theorized about on threads he’s read on his free time. Somehow, somewhere, somewhen, a conspiracy theorist could be right. Peter’s not about to dismiss that. He also saved like thirty different memes to send to Ned when he got back. If he got back.

Peter smacked that thought away. He’ll get back to his city or die trying.

Subcategory C, underlined and starred: Other Superheroes and Vigilantes.

Yeah, Peter’s excited about this one too. After Matt stopped being Dare Devil (but did he actually ever stop?) and Wade dipping in and out of NY, Peter’s gotten lonely as Spider-Man. He missed training with them. Of course, the fantastic four were still operating, but he doesn’t actually interact with them or the Avengers at all. Miles hasn’t been cleared (by his mom) to go out as Spiderman with near as many hours as Peter cleared a night. Peter stood behind that because he remembered how horrible it was to work as Spiderman and try to balance school on top of it. Also, he was terrified of Mrs. Morales and would never endanger her son more than he already does. He did wave to Black Widow from a rooftop once, spider to spider, and that was pretty much the coolest moment of his life.

So. Uh. The amount of vigilantes and heroes in this world? Amazing. In Gotham? There’s like, a whole team of them.

Batman, Nightwing (who, Username: Draken Draken had theorized, was the first iteration of Batman’s sidekick Robin), Red Hood, Black Canary, Huntress, Red Robin, Spoiler, the “day vigilante” Signal, the current Robin, and whispers of a “Black Bat.”

And their unfortunate “No Meta” rule with the singular exception of Signal. Peter figured their term of Meta was essentially the same thing as his world’s mutants. He’s not sure which term he liked more. Eh, he’ll worry about that later.

And there’s a Justice League! Which, to Peter, is just a bigger Avengers. There’s aliens on this world too. Superman. Martian Manhunter.

Peter grinned from his place crouched next to the dumpster. Yeah, this is awesome. He quickly memorized everything he could find, cross referencing posts and picking out the nuggets of truth or at least popular truth from the posts he viewed. Like, Red Hood operated in Crime Alley and was a crime boss with morals. Cool.

He’ll go down the spiral later. He mentally thanked Ned who was the best guy in the chair a teenage vigilante could ask for. He should really text his friend when he got back.

For now, he’ll head to the library and see if he could use their computers. He might need a card though… Peter quickly pulled up the search engine and found an Internet cafe. Ah, 24 hour internet cafes, the savior of his college days. There first, and then library, Peter decided. He memorized the instructions and pulled his mask off, tucking it away in the hammer space.

He walked out the alley and turned left, only to double take at his reflection in a shop window that was partially boarded up. Holy shit, he’s a baby. He’s like. 10!

Oh my god.

Peter twitched, tearing himself away from the window before the shop owner decided he was less curious and more potential mugger before promptly remembering that he looked less of a threat than ever. Mixed feelings.

Peter hurried his way to the internet cafe, paying the guy at the front a little extra so he’d ignore the obvious minor without a guardian thing Peter hasn’t gotten used to. Ugh. That was going to be annoying. He only paid for two hours and pulled up as many listings for a room as possible. By the end of it, he came out with $1 worth of fliers printed out and having funneled some billionaire’s offshore accounts into a new bank account he’d made by hacking into the bank servers. Does he feel bad about stealing? Yeah. But Peter’s a vigilante. He’s done worse than nabbing a monthly sum of a couple of hundreds from Lex Luthor’s off shore accounts. He’s not gonna get caught, and considering the guy’s rants on meta humans, Peter’s not feeling particularly guilty about it. He’ll do something good later to make up for it. Once he gets his footholds and can prepare his way back, he’ll even return to the rest of the money. Probably.

Peter left the cafe with his sheaf of flyers, stopping by an informational stand with free tourist maps and plucked one quickly from its plastic holder. He’ll pick something up from the food vendors on his way to the apartments. Peter began walking, taking in the sights of the gargoyles and-

“Nope!” He caught the wrist of a pickpocket. It’s a kid and he immediately felt bad.

“Lemme go. I ain’t done nothing to ya, ya Yorker tourist.”

“Okay,” Peter shrugged. “Don’t get caught the next time?”

The kid gaped at him. “Shi’, you must be really good at it. I’ve never been caught before.”

Peter wisely refrained from telling the kid it was due to his spidey-sense. He let go of the kid’s wrist and let a bit more of his accent out. “Why’d you need money anyways?”

“Food, duh.”

“Dude, I’m starving. Tell you what. You show me the best sub shop nearby and I’ll pay for your food. Deal?”

The kid stared at him, wide eyed. “You’re fuckin’ nuts. Why’re you being nice?”

“I’m hungry? Do we have a deal, kid?”

“… Fuck it. Fine. And don’t call me kid, shrimp. You’re like what, eight?”

Oh. Yeah. Peter’s a kid now. He shrugged.

“I’m older than you. I’m twelve.”

Peter blinked, frowning at how thin the kid’s wrists were.

“I’m Peter!”

“… Frank.”

He let Frank lead the way. Stranger danger doesn’t apply to him, he’s a grown ass man. In the body of a ten year old him, but still. A couple of minutes, four sandwiches and a load of chips later, Frank was watching wide eyed as he demolished three four dollar subs.

“Holy shit. Where are you packing that away? You’re a stick!”

Peter took a big bite of the sandwich as an answer. Frank looked down at his meal.

“Uh. Hey.”

Peter made a muffled noise of question, mouth stuffed full of steak and cheese.

“Sorry about. Uh. Trynna nick from ya.”

Peter chewed faster.

Frank continued, looking like he hated himself. “I wouldn’t… normally steal from shrimps like you but I was desperate and… really hungry, so. My bad.”

Peter finished chewing. “All good, dude. Eat your sandwich.”

Peter had the sudden urge to adopt Frank. Unlike Wayne, he’s not a billionaire, so he smacked that urge down. He could use a friend though. Now… how to be friends with a literal child!

“If you feel that bad about it, you could… be my friend?”

Peter took in the wide eyed gaze from the twelve year old in front of him. Abort! Abort! That was too direct!

“You’re fucking weird. But… okay.”

“That was easy.”

Frank scowled, kicking Peter’s shin.

“Ow!”

“Whatever, shrimp.”

Peter scowled. On his baby face, it came out as a pout.

Do not start beef with a twelve year old, Peter. You’re a grown ass adult.

“Hey, you know I’m new here, right?”

“Duh.” Frank took a bite of his food.

“Can you tell me which one of these are legit?” Peter handed Frank the flyers. He took them, an odd look passing his face.

“You’re looking for a place?”

“Yeah? Why?”

Frank stared at him. Looked back down. He instantly got rid of four listings out of the ten. “These are too close to the Alley. They’re probably traffickers.”

Peter hummed in agreement. Frank paused.

“You’re just gonna trust me on that?”

“Yeah? I can tell when people are lying.” Well, his spidey sense could, when he cared enough about the subject.

“What the fuck.” Frank shoved the rest the papers at him and guiltily munched on his food. “Are Yorkers all just like you?”

“Dunno? Probably not.”

“… Whatever. The rest of the places should work. They probably won’t ask questions.” Frank flapped a hand at Peter’s new situation. Yeah, the shortness was getting to him too.

Peter nodded. Obviously, they were the more expensive places, but considering the new found resources he’d… acquired during his time at the cafe, it doesn’t really matter.

“Cool! Wanna go see it with me?”

Frank immediately took on a suspicious glare. “Why?”

“I dunno? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought since you know your way around…”

“Ugh. Fine. But if there’s anything shady, I’m fucking dipping out.”

“Okay!” Peter grinned for the first time the couple of hours he’d been trapped in this new world.

——

They’d found an apartment with a landlord that got a weird, sad face when she was talking to them about the apartment. After like, an hour of walking around and Peter’s spidey sense screaming at him not to even go near the places Frank had left in the pile of maybe’s.

“We walked all the way here. Ya not even gonna go in?”

“The vibes are off. It’s a no.”

And because Peter’s a genius idiot with no self preservation, he’d marked the places to investigate later.

Frank had blinked at him, mildly offended and nonplussed. After a while of spluttering, he just gave up. Eventually, they got here.

“I don’t normally rent to kids,” the landlord lady said. Peter immediately liked her. “But I’ll make an exception if you’ve got the cash.”

“I’d like to see the unit first, please” Peter said. He’s not stupid, and Gotham’s renting scene is both easier and harder than New York.

They toured it. Peter? He’d seen worse. He’d lived worse. Also, it had two bedroom and was $620. Yeah, Peter was really considering just staying here full time and commuting to his New York when he wanted to be a vigilante.

“I’ll take it, ma’am.” The landlord and Frank both snorted, sharing a Gothamite look.

“It’s Georgie, to you, brat. You just need the first month’s rent, since I’ll wave the deposit for you shrimps. Utilities included. Your friend stayin’?”

“No-” Frank had started.

“Yep!” Peter beamed, interrupting his new friend.

“What?” Frank turned, gaping again at this weird little kid who had enough money to rent a place and then invited a whole ass street kid he just met to live with him. “Are you stupid?! What if I rob you? Huh? I don’t need charity!”

Peter slowly looked around the empty unit.

“Uh.”

“No, that’s not the point!” Frank pointed a finger at Peter. “That’s how you get yourself killed!”

“But that’s why you should stay! I don’t know my way around Gotham so…”

Peter looked up at Frank, using his shortness for maximum devastation. “Please?”

Georgie leaned back on the heels of her feet, silently laughing. It’s not every day she sees a Gothamite street kid get out stubborned by an outsider, but she knows better than anyone that Gotham is weak to genuine kindness. And this Peter kid, the one that reminds her so much of her own? He’s practically filled with it.

“Yeah, kid,” she said to Frank, snickering. “Look at him. He’s gonna get mugged two steps into the Alley. Or anywhere.”

Frank flailed, but eventually, Peter handed over the money to an amused Georgie who gave them two keys in return and a move in gift of a pot pie.

“I gotta. Uh. Go get my stuff.” Frank had mumbled, dazed at whatever the hell just happened.

“Okay! I’ll see if I can go get furniture!”

“And lift them with your shrimpy arm? You wish.”

“I can use a cart.”

And really, he could, because Gotham had a lot of abandoned carts laying around. Like a concerning amount.

“Can you even reach the handle?”

“I’m not that short!”

Frank snorted, Georgie’s own chuckles following a beat after. Peter scowled at them.

“Be right back,” Frank promised, holding the key like it was treasure. He had been homeless for two and a half years now, so in his eyes, that key was as good as gold. He had somewhere warm to stay. Trying to pickpocket Peter was the best mistake he’s ever made in his short life. But he didn’t want to take advantage of that, well, no, he did want to, but he doesn’t want to take the genuine kindness for granted so he’ll see if there’s any street furniture he could haul back on his way.

“Okay!”

Georgie watched him go and turned to Peter.

“If you need stuff, there’s a thrift store and a grocery store that way.” She gave him the directions.

——

As soon as Frank and Georgie left, Peter immediately left his new place (and holy shit, he really didn’t expect things to be this easy. In New York, he had to spend at least a week checking out places because he had to figure out whether the problem that cause subtle twinges with his spider sense was worth living with. Here? It’s too obvious.) to buy supplies. He had $400. Until his new card came in, at least. He’d put his new address into that bank account addressed to a “Anthony Benjamin” before ordering a “replacement card.”

Peter ran to the thrift store, hurrying before the last traces of the sun dipped below the smog of Gotham. A frankly absurd amount of blankets, towels, pillows, clothes, packaged boxers, socks and shoes around his size went into the cart. To his chagrin, Peter couldn’t actually see much over the cart. Why the hell was he such a short ten year old? He blasted through the store, also guesstimating Frank’s sizes. He tossed in curtains, a used set of glow in the dark stars, and a lamp.

He also grabbed mismatched mugs, bowls, a bundle of cutlery, and a dented microwave he casually pretended to struggle getting onto the bottom part of the cart. It’s like lifting grapes for him, but he looks like a ten year old so…

He, guiltily, bought a mildly fancy camera in a set, with two separate lenses, even if one was cracked.

Not bad, for $150 total. Peter is going to definitely seriously consider commuting to New York. They didn’t even care when he walked out with the cart! Well, that might be because of the cashier who gave him a pitying glance.

He stopped by a general store on the way back, parking his cart in a rapidly shadowy alleyway. He swung by the new section of the store that reminded him of a Dollar Tree and got cleaning supplies, toiletries, and two pans and a pot. He grabbed some canned food and a couple of frozen meals in the back. Seasonings, ramen, general pantry staples went in. A role of paper towel. Nice. Venom would have loved this store. With half of his budget blown for essentials, Peter quickly cut his spending off and

He quickly gathered his stuff and went back to the apartment, using his strength a bit to lift the full cart up the stairs at the front doors and into the elevator. It creaked like the first time they used it to go see the apartment, but it worked. Peter set everything up in the living room, pillow and blanket wise, and put everything in its proper place. The lamp was put up, giving more light than the old bulb in the ceiling light.

All Peter wanted to do was pass out, but since his dumbass took in a child, he couldn’t sleep until this place was relatively fit for a kid to live in. He also wanted to wait for

So, that’s what he did. Taking a sponge and the cleaning supplies he’d picked up earlier, Peter tackled the living room, scrubbing away at old stains and spraying mildew. He marked trouble spots- like that splinter worthy piece of floor next to the doorway leading to the hall between the bedrooms. Then the kitchen. By the time Frank cautiously peeked his head in from the front door, Peter had already finished scrubbing the over.

“Hey.”

Peter turned, grime on his face but grinning. “Hey!” I bought some stuff!”

Frank snorted at his face before glancing around the living room, eyeing the cart parked neatly on the side.

“So you did. Didn’t get mugged, did ya?”

“Rude. No, of course not.”

Frank gave him a… frankly… unimpressed look and dumped his bag next to the pile of blankets and pillows Peter had piled onto the floor. Sue hi’, they didn’t have beds yet.

“Got somethin’ for ya,” Frank said neutrally before dragging in…

“A coffee table!” Peter bounced towards Frank, hugging him before lugging in the heavy wooden table in. “You’re the best! Where’d you find it?!”

The tension, anxiety about Peter’s reaction, in Frank’s shoulders relaxed and the kid grinned. “Alley. Some asshole just left it there for anyone to hit with their car so I took it.”

“Nice! We can eat on this!”

——

When they were getting ready for bed, Peter insisting on showers for both of them, Frank had reared up at the clothes Peter bought for him. Peter pretended like he didn’t see anything and shove a whole tube of toothpaste and a new toothbrush at him.

“Ew. Do I have to?” Frank asked, wrinkling his nose but taking the items anyways.

“Yeah.” Peter said seriously. Frank gave a moment to wonder why he was taking orders from an eight year old before shrugging. He could brush his teeth in exchange for a roof over his head, food, and clothes. It’s not even a fair trade, for Peter, anyways. Frank was enough of an alley rat to take advantage of that.

——

When Frank passed out, Peter couldn’t sleep. He’s exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep.

So he took his new camera and climbed the fire escape to the roof top.

An hour later, he met his first vigilante.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m gonna need you to back away from the edge.”

“Woah!” Peter startled, jolting slightly off of the ledge he was balanced on. He twisted around to see Red Robin, hand outstretched and panicked look in his eyes.

“Dude. Warn a guy!” Peter said, even though his spider sense warned him of an approaching person that was actively watching him.

Red Robin held his hands up. “My bad. Would you- uh, not be on that ledge?”

“Yeah, sure. My bad, bro.” Peter obligingly stood up and stepped away from the ledge. Red Robin relaxed then did a double take. Peter frowned. Is there something on his face?

“What are you doing up here, kiddo? It’s late.”

Peter decided to scope out the vigilante. “Couldn’t sleep,” he held up his camera. “I’m taking pictures.”

“Oh. That’s cool! Can I see?” Red Robin approached warily, but relaxed when Peter didn’t spook and try to take a shortcut to ground floor.

“Sure! It’s a new, well, not new but new to me, camera so I haven’t had all that time to mess with the specs but the pictures turned out pretty good-”

“Oh, woah. This one’s great. That composition? Amazing. You caught the light perfectly,” Red Robin complimented. Peter brightened, knowing a photography fan when he hears one.

“Photography buddy!” He cheered.

They talked for an hour after that, but Red Robin quickly sent him to bed once he remembered the time.

“Ah, shi- crap. It’s like 2AM. You’ve gotta go to bed.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry if I interrupted your patrol, Mr. Red Robin!”

“No problem, kid.” Peter slipped back down the fire escape, not caring if the vigilante saw where he lived.

——

Up on the rooftop, Red Robin pressed a hand to his comm.

“Red Robin to Nightwing.”

“What’s up, Red?”

“Do you have a kid you don’t know about?” Tim said, bluntly.

“… What?”

“Oracle, can you share my cowl footage?”

“Copy. Oh, that kid…”

“Looks exactly like Wing?” Tim said, peering down at the empty fire escape. “Yeah. Talked like him too.”

“Oh my god, he’s adorable.” Oracle said. Tim agreed. That curly hair? Baby face? Adorable. A bean. “Did you get DNA?”

“Ah, shit, I knew I forgot something.”

“Do not break into his place and nab a hair,” Nightwing reprimanded, but his voice sounded distracted.

“Holy shit, you guys nerded out about camera placement and lighting for an hour?” Hood piped up.

“Get some rest, Red Robin. You’ve been working too hard,” Batman grunted through the comms. Awkward… but he’s been getting better at communicating his worry for his kids.

“Sure thing, B. Heading back to the main cave. Red Robin out.

——

Peter: lay low and get home

Also Peter: talks to a vigilante

None of them think Peter’s Nightwing’s yet. Peter will know before them… eventually. Once this world’s version of him gives up his memories to be absorbed by AU Peter.

[princeofrubber]

His Lycra-Coated Tormentor

Ethan lifted the cycling bodysuit off the door, letting the sleek material slip between his fingers. The fabric was soft yet sturdy. He held it up by the shoulders. The suit was a deep black with subtle reflective strips of neon green running down the sides for visibility and a faint hint of silver piping traced along the seams. Ethan’s heart pounded in his as he traced his thumb along the open zipper that ran from the collarbone to the navel.

He gazed from the enticing suit to the open wardrobe in front of him. And then he saw it.

A plethora of fetish items, numerous lycra suits, sacks and hoods hung from hangers within the dark space. Along with clearly visible boxes housing gags, dildos, rope, restraints and all kinds of perverted items. The vibrant colours of the shiny materials still reflected so vividly in the low light of the bedroom. Ethan stumbled back, the spandex suit he was holding slipped from his hands. He was breathing hard and heavy, as his mind raced with a thousand questions. What the fuck was he looking at?

At that moment, he heard movement behind him. Ethan froze, like a deer in headlights, turning slowly to see Lukas standing at his bedroom’s doorway, his face unreadable. The air between them was thick with tension, and for the first time since they’d met, Ethan was terrified in his presence.

“What- are you doing?” Lukas demanded, his voice low and clearly enraged.

“Uhh… I’m sorry… I… I dunno what,” Ethan responded, nerve-wrecked.

“Get the fuck out!” Lukas demanded.

“Wait no… no you have the wrong idea. I know who you are!” Ethan panicked, “wait shit I mean I’m also into this stuff… well maybe not all of it… maybe I dunno. Shit I am sorry!”

Lukas strode into the room, closing the door behind him. His gaze fixed fervently on Ethan. He hit a switch on the wall which filled his bedroom with a low red glow.

“Now that is a surprise. I always took you as the vanilla type.” Lukas chuckled, his tone was completely different from normal. It was full of menace and something… dark, “Since the cat’s out of the bag, why don’t we have a little fun?”

“Ah… fun?” Ethan nervously retorted.

“Yep. You say you’re into this stuff… well we’re about to find out just how much you like it. You broke into my room so I think it’s only fair you indulge me in this.”

- - -

Read the full story princeofrubber.com

[luvly-writer]

"XOXO"

Ch 8 She makes the whole place shimmer

-•-

Author’s note: Long chapter ahead! I worked so hard on this and Chapter 9 so please, you are invited to let me know your feedback! Hope you all enjoy!!<3

Warnings: creepy men

Taglist: @w31rdg1rl @mxtokko @loonymoonystuff @grandstrangerphantom @1lellykins

if you’d like to be added to the taglist; leave a comment below!

masterlist:

-•-

Y/n's leg kept bouncing as she sat in one of the rooms of the Gilded Hall. Her family had arrived early due to the fact that her mother and sisters were part of the organization committee. Yn was always in charge of the decorations and this year she had gone all out. The theme was red, gold, and green and it looked beautiful. She would have enjoyed her work even more if only her family hadn't invited Mr. Moris as well. The moment that he arrived, she had fled to one of the many vanity rooms of the hall. Still, in her white long furry coat, which she maintained to keep her beautiful dress hidden, she waited for Tim's text telling her that he had arrived. Finally, she hears the notification go off on her phone.

She sent Tim her location and soon, she heard him knock. She walked towards the door and let him in.

"Why are you still in your coat?" he asked taking a good look at her.

"I panicked and ran when I saw Mr. Morris making his way towards him. Plus I wanted to make a big reveal of my dress because no one else has seen it, " she said looking down and playing with her coat.

"Isn't that a bit dramatic?" he asked with an amused smirk.

"You dress up in a spandex suit and fight crime under the alias of a bird. Do YOU have room to judge?" she quips as she takes him in. Sleek black suit, grey vest and white dress shirt that fitted him just right. Sleek black pants with black shiny dress shoes as well. But that wasn't what caught her eyes the most...it was the very shiny, very glittery light blue tie he was wearing. She walks towards him and smiles.

"Your tie..." she whispers as she caresses it..

He looks down at her. Even with her heels, he was taller than her. "What about it?" he asked softly.

"It matches perfectly! My sisters are going to freak out. We will look perfect...AND AND IT SPARKLES TIM IT SPARKLES!" she smiled brightly and a part of Tim's heart wanted to keep that smile there forever.

"Yes it does, angel" he smiled.

"Let's go!" she took his hand and pulled him out. She led him around many different passages.

"How do you know this place so well?" he asked seeing as she finally reached one hall. He could see the entrance at the end of it and knew that she was going to defininitely going to make a big entrance.

"How does it look?" she asked and Tim finally turned to look at her. She had taken her coat off and was showing him her dress. True to her word her dress was light blue with a lot of sparkly diamonds. A true winter goddess. She was dazzling. She twirled in front of him and smiled.

"Breathtaking, angel. Doing justice to your name" he said with adoration in his eyes.

"What name?" She laughed and it really went straight through his heart.

"The ice queen" he answered, offering her his arm. "I still don't understand why that is your nickname seeing as of the three of you, you are the least that should be classified as a nightmare," he asked as you both began walking forward. Y/n stayed quiet, the dazzling smile she had on faltered a little. He was expecting one of her witty comebacks or another of her lovely eye rolls and yet he got silence and a sight frown.

“Sometimes you have to be a little bit cruel for people to take you seriously” she said looking down, “but that is not the topic tonight! Ready?”

she changed the subject, tugging his arm and smiling again.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said trying to move past that weird moment. He will store it in his head to investigate it later on.

Once they neared the entrance, the attention was on them. Paparazzi from everywhere were taking pictures and asking questions. Everyone wanted the latest insider on what was going on between two of the most prominent figures of Gotham. Y/n smiled and waved as she hugged Tim's arm tighter. Tim wanted to look at the camera but all he could do was admire her. They posed here and there, he smiled at them every once in a while, but his eyes would not leave Y/n. This made the crowd go even more wild.

Finally, they were beginning to get closer to the Vanderbilts. William Vanderbilt, Y/n's father, stood tall and imposing. He was known to be quite serious. Next to him was Franchesca Vanderbilt, Y/n's mother. It was obvious where Yn got her beauty from. Y/n had her eyes, fave structure, and hair. Not far from them were Aurora and Charlisse with their respective husbands. It is true what they say, there has never been an ordinary woman in the Vanderbilt family. They were all known for their remarkable abilities and breathtaking beauty. Not too far back, Mr. Morris was standing, sizing him up. Noticing this, Tim smirked and decided to pull Y/n closer, kissing her temple.

"Mother, father, sisters, what a lovely evening! I would love to present you all to Timothy, my boyfriend" Y/n said, showing him off proudly. She laid her head on his shoulder and hugged his arm smiling. His heart warmed at her affection, even though he knew it was for show.

"It is a pleasure to meet you all. Mr. Vanderbilt, it has been a while. Ladies, you all look dazzling." said Tim as he flashed his most charming smile.

Yn's sisters smiled at the pair and shook Tim's hand.

"The pleasure is all ours, Mr. Drake Wayne. Our sister seems to be completely smitten over you," said Aurora, smiling softly at how Tim turned to look at Y/n and wink at her, causing her to roll her eyes playfully. "Let us hope that this pairing does both of you good." she finished and left with her husband. Charlisse inspected him lightly and raised her eyebrow at him. "That's the baby of the family, Timothy, one wrong move and I will have every private investigator in a 5-mile radius on you and leave you with nothing." She said with a big smile.

"Ever the diplomatic, Char. Let's leave the threats for another day, please, we are in public" responded Y/n. Charlise raised her nose and walked away. That left them with her parents, who had not spoken a word the entire time. Franchesca tried to give him a warm smile and seemed welcoming. On the other hand, William speaks up. "I hope tonight's dinner helps us get to know you Timothy, we have been anxious to meet you," he said. Something about the way he said anxious gave Tim a bad feeling. Not only that, the way Y/n tightened her grip on him made him grow cautious. What had he stepped into?

-•-

So far the dinner had gone fairly well. They had been seated at the table and people were mingling amongst themselves. They were placed on a straight table. Yn had been seated between Tim and Mr. Morris. To his left, were sat Aurora and her husband. In front of them, from left to right, were seated Charlisse and her husband, William, and Franchesca. He sat directly in front of her father, and Y/n sat in front of her mother.

They had gotten through the first two courses when William spoke up. "So Timothy, is it true you actually dropped out of high school?" Francesca turned to look at her husband scoldingly. Before she could open her mouth and excuse her husband, Tim spoke up. "Yes, I decided to drop out when Bruce offered me the position of CEO, I wanted to focus on the business." William's face stayed stone cold. Charlisse decided to continue with the question, "How ethical is it to place a seventeen-year-old in the position of CEO?" Y/n glared at her, knowing that her sister was playing the same game as her father.

"Pretty ethical, I'd say. He had been teaching me the ways of the company when I had recently turned 17, and he gave it to me a few weeks before my 18th birthday; meaning that when the paperwork was finalized I was legally an adult." Tim responded taking a sip from his drink. Y/n held his hand on top of the table and squeezed it in reassurance. She had warned him of the targeting they would have done to him.

"Say, and how has that gone for you?" she asked, "Surely a kid can't possibly be apt to take over and not lead them to bankruptcy"

"I'll have you know that Tim's mind is brilliant, Charlisse. If you'd been informed, you would know that Wayne Enterprises has done nothing but flourish and grow ever since Tim became the head of the company." Y/n defended. This wasn't the first time they piled up against a boyfriend of hers. (well fake boyfriend in this situation, but they did not know that)

"Thank you, angel. And to answer your question, Bruce went a few months shadowing me so that if I had any problems or questions, he would be there to help. He made sure the transition was as smooth as possible. I am completely grateful for him trusting me with this opportunity and helping me along the way" he answered. Your mother awed at that and smiled.

"I find that difficult to believe," said Charlisse and was about to ask another question when Aurora spoke up, "Charlisse, that is enough. He is a guest at our party, don't forget your manners," she said. Y/n smiled at her gratefully.

"Francis, old friend, what did you say you did this weekend?" your father asked smirking at the old man. You felt your heart drop a little.

"I took a trip to the Met Museum in New York. I had the pleasure of purchasing one of the most lovely paintings I have ever encountered. Are you all familiar with the Le Saule Pleureur?" he said and looked directly at Y/n. Tim felt her stiffen at his words and looked at her questionally.

"I'm afraid that I am not aware of how that is possible. Le Saule Pleurer is not a painting that is on sale," said Y/n taking a big sip of her wine.

"But it is. Your father put a good price on it and now it is currently being sent to my home gallery." Mr. Morris said, sending a chilling smile towards Yn.

Yn felt her heart stop. She looked towards her father and he looked down to his food, unable to meet her eyes. She turned to her mother whose eyes were filled with pity. Yn could feel a knot in her throat. "How could you?" she asked softly.

Tim felt his heart shatter at her tone. He looked at the young girl and placed his arm around her. He had no idea what they were speaking about yet he didn't press much. He decided to observe the room around him. Aurora looked horrified at the news and turned to discuss it with her husband. Charlisse was watching her father and sister intently, waiting for the next move. Something about her reminded Tim of a snake willing to pounce. Then her mother, reached out to Y/n and tried to place her hand on top of hers but only received a cold look. Her father was watching Yn intently, waiting for her next move and Mr. Morris was smirking at the scene. Yn was about to say something but her father cut her off.

"It is just a painting, Y/n. Don't make a scene now." He said dryly, "Besides if you wish to see your precious painting, you know the answer to your problem is clear as day". Everyone caught his insinuation. Tim had deduced that it was something of great value to Yn and the only way she would be able to see it was if she married Mr. Morris. "Father...." Yn began, but wasn't able to finish because the debutantes were going to be presented.

For the rest of the meal, Y/n would only interact with him and Aurora. Mr. Morris would try to make advances to her and she would cuddle closer to Tim every time. Finally, the dinner was over. The debutants and guests were invited to take the floor. Tim took this opportunity to bring Y/n away and give her some space to breathe.

He wanted to ask but refrained from doing so in a very public setting. He could feel Yn was glad that he had not asked yet. A few dances later and Tim went to look for some refreshments, leaving Yn alone to wait for him.

"Miss Vanderbilt" she heard someone call her. She turned around and saw Mr. Morris nearing her. She looked around for Tim but she was too late, Mr. Morris had gotten a hold of her.

"You seem to be constantly avoiding me, Miss Vanderbilt," he said. She saw his eyes scanning her body up and down. She hugged herself trying to place a little coverage. "And that saddens me, my girl. I have been nothing but kind to you all these years and this is how you repay me. I have held nothing but admiration for you ever since your were a child" he smiled creepily.

"Ever since I was a child? What is that supposed to mean?" she asked disgusted.

"I have held adoration for you, your remarkable abilities, and your beauty ever since you were a young girl, my dear. Have you not ever noticed?"

"I have Mr. Morris, and I believe it is hardly appropriate," she said timidly.

"Please call me Francis"He insisted.

"I'd rather not," she remarked, which made the man grow frustrated.

"Miss Vanderbilt, I can assure you it is appropriate, you are 21 years of age. You are surely a legal and consulting adult, I have been waiting for-"

"Surely, waiting for a minor to become legal must be considered an act of pedophilia by some people, don't you think, Francis?" interrupted Tim. He had heard some of the conversation and was absolutely disgusted by it. He had to intervene. Mr. Moris glared at Tim and made a displeased sound. Tim gave Yn her glass and wrapped his arms around her waist. Feeling Tim hug her from behind, Yn relaxed into his body. She felt safe around him.

"I suggest you stay out of the matter at hand, Timothy." He said, straightening his back to try to be at eye level with Tim.

"That is Mister Drake Wayne to you, Francis.. and of course this concerns me. My girlfriend is being weirded out by the flirtations of a man twice her age who refuses to take the hints of her clear discomfort and notice the clear boundaries she has placed." He said tugging Yn behind him, creating a physical division between Mr, Moris and her.

"You are in no good authority to speak to me as such. I will have a conversation with your father about this, Miss Vanderbilt. This is an insult. You will face the repercussions, Miss Vanderb-" he was cut off by Tim

“I can assure you she will not. Go near her again and I will have my lawyers and my father's on call by sunrise. You are familiar with the expression 'a Wayne never loses a case' am I correct? I will have you know if anyone in my family catches word of this predatory behavior you can say goodbye to your public standing because we will make sure your reputation will be considered dead. Have I made myself clear?" Tim seethed. You had never seen this side of him and were taken aback.

"You can't do that" said a trembling Mr. Morris.

"Yes. I. Can." stated Tim coldly, "I have the money and the standing, so test me." Everybody knew the Wayne's name was Old Money, so standing he did have. He was going through with his word and everyone knew it. Finally, Mr. Morris backed up with an angry face. Tim took Yn's hand and let her out. She was too in shock of the situation to say anything.

-•-

[funshinebf]

my favorite flavors of the riddler are either a gay little freak in shiny spandex or a bitchy nerd in a cunty green suit

[ask-spider-man-61610]

Peter's spider-sense pitched up a moment before Pity's eyes began to blink open. He looked up from the file he'd been reading, hopping from his chair to perch on the ground in front of the webbed-up mercenary, and he called over his shoulder, "Babe! She's waking up, put the mask on."

Emjay, who'd been typing away on the laptop, jumped in place and snatched a ski mask off of the hotel room desk. As she pulled it on and struggled to find the eye holes, Peter reached upwards and pulled his own mask down, hiding his features behind the expressionless eyes of Spider-Man.

Pity almost seemed to surge to life. All at once she thrashed violently against the webbing that held her, her eyes narrow with rage, her jaw clenched even despite the pain of a fracture. The webbing creaked as it stretched; the radiator it was stuck to bent with a horrific shriek. Spider-Man hastily looked down at the file in his hands, sliding his finger down a list of words, and began to recite.

"Introduction. Cylinder. Tablet."

"NnnnnnO!" hissed Pity. Like a vampire she bared her teeth--two were missing, thanks to Spider-Man's earlier punch--and lunged at him as close as the webbing would allow. Her mouth was swollen and livid, her shaking was panicked, but her eyes were dead calm. They focused on Spider-Man with all the precision of a laser sight.

"Jockey. Motif. Implicit."

The assassin of thirty years squirmed one arm out of the webbing that ensnared it. Her hand launched forward to hit Spider-Man in the throat, interrupting his recital and cutting off his air, and it was only the warning of spider-sense that allowed Peter to dodge backwards in time.

"Inhabitant," he went on, raising his voice above the tearing of paper as Pity tried to rip the file from his hands. "Stir. Population. Birthday."

Shaking her head wildly, Pity snarled and began to tear at the webbing that held her other arm. The thin strands of polymer stretched, frayed, began to snap. Shadows wafted from her body like steam, forming into black spikes and blades in the air.

"Rock," Spider-Man said, almost yelling, and all the feral tension in Pity's body vanished like breath on a mirror.

Her eyes lost focus as they widened. Her hand froze midway through tearing three strands of silk, and her shadows evaporated, chased away by the light from between the window blinds. Gasping, her voice no longer coarse and witchlike, she dropped limp against the radiator and stared blankly at the ground. Her breath came slow, deep, as though she hadn't had fresh air in her entire adult life, as though she couldn't remember what it tasted like.

Peter's spider-sense came as close to silent as it had in years.

The asset was gone--deactivated by the code words, buried beneath layer upon layer of conditioning and hypnosis. The woman who looked up out of those green eyes felt much younger than that assassin. Her childhood had been cut short, and in her adulthood she had never seen the outside of her cell. When she looked at Spider-Man, she had no idea who he was.

"H-" she started, but her voice choked itself almost immediately. Its anger and gravelly tone was gone, but it had left a persistent ache that made her wince. Pained tears collected on the edges of her eyes. But she tried again, staring at Spider-Man in utter confusion. "...Hello?"

"Hey," muttered Spider-Man, staring back. Pity could see her reflection in those shiny grey eyes. Where had those wrinkles come from? When was the last time she had seen herself? The odd, spandex-clad man dropped from his weird crouch to a sitting position on the floor, as behind him a woman came closer, her footsteps hesitant. "Welcome back, Pity. I wasn't sure the trigger words would work at this point; it's been a long time since you've been yourself."

Emjay sat down next to Spider-Man, her deep brown eyes staring at Pity with naked concern. But Pity, still looking at the vigilante, didn't notice. "Mister, you should go," she said weakly. "They'll come and get me. And when they get here they might kill you. That's what they did last time."

Spider-Man nodded, but he held up a small, clear sliver that looked broken almost in half. "Yeah. Subdermal RFID chip, in case they ever lost track of you. I took care of it already." He flicked the chip over his shoulder; as it landed in a trash can, he glanced at Emjay before returning his attention to the living weapon. "My name's Spider-Man. This is Jackpot. Do you wanna be called something other than just...'Pity?' None of the files I found had any other names for you."

Pity, whose eyes had lowered towards the floor, just shrugged.

"Come on, kid. We're trying to help you."

Emjay put a hand on her husband's shoulder and squeezed. "Spidey," she reprimanded, noticing the way Pity had shrank back at his impatient tone. "She doesn't need you to get huffy. Why don't you grab the other files? I'll talk to her."

For a second Spider-Man hesitated, looking at his wife and trying to read her expression. The ski mask hid part of her eyebrows, but not enough to hide the way she frowned at him--the scowl that made clear that she had not just made a suggestion. He sighed and pushed himself to his feet. As he walked across the hotel room and began to sort through the piles of paper and photographs scattered across the bed, Emjay slid a little to the right, until she and Pity were directly face to face.

She smiled at the assassin sheepishly. "I'm sorry about him. He's...intense, and he's not great with nuance. It takes some getting used to." She shrugged a little. "But his point was, you don't have to be called Pity if you don't wanna. Any name you want. You can think about it if that'd help."

The girl was silent for a minute. Perhaps realizing that Emjay was hoping for a reply, she mumbled, "I'll think about it."

"Okay," Emjay said, nodding. She paused for a beat and then said, "We've met before, you know. You almost killed Spider-Man in Phoenix."

Alarm was in Pity's eyes when she looked up at her. "What?" she cried, trying to sit up. "N-no I didn't! That's impossible, I've just been in my room and, and the cafeteria! Forever! I didn't kill anybody!"

"I know, I know," Emjay held up her hands, equal parts defensive and consoling, "I know you don't remember. Spider-Man and I have done a lot of reading about you. I think you forgot a lot of what they made you do. That's okay." A gentle smile returned to her face as she leaned forward. "You've...you've been through a lot, you know. There was a guy a long time ago--" a hesitation "--The Gentleman? Mr. Fiers?"

The assassin's reaction was slight: a dilation of the eyes, a tightening of the jaw. A twitch.

"...Mhm. That guy." Emjay scratched her throat through the ski mask. How the hell Peter wore one of these for hours or days at a time she would never understand. "He...he did something to make sure that you'd forget things if they didn't want you to know them. He buried a lot of things in your brain."

"Important things," Spider-Man interrupted from across the room. "Assassination details and biotech projects."

Pity looked nakedly confused. Emjay shot a glare over her shoulder before returning her attention to her. "This isn't about that, though. This is about you."

The ladies talked for a while after that, ignoring the vigilante engrossed in documents on the other side of the room, and the occasional sweeps of light across the window blinds. Outside this shabby little hotel room, drones roamed over the city streets and armed reconnaissance agents patrolled every back alley and seedy bar, everywhere they could imagine Spider-Man and his accomplice to flee to. Holograms which would normally project ads now showed the work of a sketch artist; Emjay's features had been obfuscated and disguised by layers of makeup, but it was still close enough to make her desperately nervous.

Sometime in the middle of the conversation, the webbing that bound Pity from head to toe began to shrivel and tear. Emjay's eyes flickered down towards it; across the room, Spider-Man felt his spider-sense twinge a little and tensed himself for action. But all that happened as the webbing dissolved was that Pity relaxed a little, picked at the useless polymer now covering her in patches, and played with it as a cat's cradle.

Gradually, Emjay steered the conversation back towards what Pity remembered about Fiers. It was a delicate dance, asking the questions she needed to ask without making the assassin too anxious to dig up her own past. There were times when the girl could do nothing but curl up and hyperventilate, and there were times when Emjay managed to tease her out of her shell enough to get a smile in return.

And all through the conversation, Spider-Man crouched in the background, taking notes on what Pity said and cross-referencing it with a million different files.

Eventually Emjay got to her feet. "Do you want some ice cream?" she asked. "We've got Jen & Berry's in the hotel freezer. Chocolate, strawberry, anything you want."

"I'm not a baby, Ma'am," Pity said sullenly. "I don't need ice cream."

Emjay shrugged. "You don't have to be young to love ice cream. I'm getting some." She stepped away as she added, "If you change your mind lemme know. And you can sit on the bed if you want! I've gotta talk to Spider-Man." The moment she turned around, her smile disappeared, and she anxiously beckoned Spider-Man to follow her as she headed for the minifridge under the counter. "I don't think we'll be getting any more from her," she whispered.

Spider-Man, who hopped up onto the counter and crouched there as Emjay got out a pint of ice cream, sighed and nodded. "You got a lot already," he said. "But most of what we need is inaccessible to her now. We need professionals on this."

"More than that," she replied, digging into the chocolate pint with a spoon. "We need professionals to just...help her in general. She's lost, Tiger. Look at her." Pity had moved from the floor to the bed, where she sat with her knees up and her arms wrapped around them; she stared back at the whispering couple and gave a little wave. "The mind control's wrecked her. She needs rehabilitation, therapy. People who know how to...to unmake the assassin in there, you know?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Westchester?"

A moment's pause. When Spider-Man looked at Emjay, she could practically feel the confusion in his mind. "We're not letting Charles Xavier anywhere near this girl," he said firmly.

"No, not the X-Men! Ravencroft. You trust Dr. Kafka, right?"

"Of course, but--" Spider-Man glanced again at the girl. "...Babe, I don't think Ash is prepared for something like this. She works with the criminally insane, not...not this. Not brainwashed assassins. This is an entirely different case to what she knows."

"She's the director! She can hire someone who understands it better."

"Westchester is so fucking close to the city, Jackpot." Hopping down from the counter, Spider-Man faced Emjay directly and whispered, "Getting that close is way too dangerous. You know he's waiting for us. Do you really wanna take that risk? To step back onto his radar?"

Emjay was silent. A chunk of ice cream melted in her mouth and she swallowed. Staring down into the pint, she played with her spoon for a second as she thought.

"Maybe it's time to," she whispered. "I'm tired of running. So are you, I can tell. It's been so long since we've accomplished anything on the road, hasn't it? Maybe it's time to stop running. To use what we've learned this year to fight." Her head rose and she gazed into the expressionless grey eyepieces of Spider-Man's mask. "I wanna go home, Peter. I don't care that it's dangerous. If a little bit of risk scared me away, I wouldn't have married you."

Outside, the floodlight of a helicopter passed by the window and threw beams of stark white through the blinds. Spider-Man turned his head to watch it go by. He said nothing for a minute, but his left hand gripped the counter with the force of a vice.

He was tired of running. There was no point even trying to contest that, Emjay could read him like an airport paperback. And he was frustrated with how little progress they'd made in the past two months. Breaking into Langley had been as much an act of desperation as anything. There was very little left he could learn on the road, he suspected, that couldn't be learned within the boundaries of New York.

His fear of Norman Osborn warred with his frustration, his desperation, and his homesickness. As he struggled in silence, Emjay shoveled another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. Pity stared at the carton hungrily, and without a word Emjay smiled and held it out. Nodding, the girl finally began to cross the room.

"Westchester," Spider-Man whispered, leaning into his wife's side. "Then let's go home."

[crazed-reviews]

Review: "Happy Holidays Barbie" Fashion doll from Mattel (1990)

So, I graduated from high school last month on May 3rd! I got some money as a graduation gift, and obviously, I spent it all on dolls.

The doll I'm reviewing today is the Happy Holidays Barbie doll from 1990. I'm unsure of what she originally retailed for, but I purchased her for $22 USD.

The top of the front of the box reads "Happy Holidays Special Edition 1990", as well as mentioning a keepsake ornament included with the doll. It has a large window to view the doll, which has become quite yellowed with age and sun exposure. The bottom has what looks like a gift tag, reading "Barbie", with mistletoe, green ribbon, and silver bells surrounding her name. There's a very small section to write the recipient and gift givers names.

The back has a large image of Barbie, and claims that there was the same photo inside for framing, but I assume it fell out, since the box had a plastic top and bottom glued to it, but the glue had worn off and the bottom in particular wouldn't stay on. The box completely fell apart once I began opening it.

Removing the outer shell of the box was a surprise, since you can see just how bright pink she is. With the yellowed plastic window, her dress looked red!

Here's everything Barbie came with: a doll stand, a doll brush, a pair of pink pumps, and an ornament.

Here are the accessories on their own. They are all a shade of pink that I think compliments Barbie's gown.

The stand has a shiny reflective sticker on the base that reads "Happy Holidays Barbie 1990" in pink. It's so reflective that it doesn't photograph well. It's designed for a doll to sort of sit on it while standing.

The brush's mold always reminded me of a shell. It's actually pretty decent as far as plastic doll hairbrushes go! It has a decent amount of bristles.

The pumps are basic pink 90s Barbie high heels. They aren't particularly unique, but they're cute and go well with Barbie's dress.

The ornament seems a touch fragile, but is cute. Maybe I'll put it on my family's Christmas tree this year. It's a three layered 3-D star, with a silver string at the top to hang on a tree.

Barbie uses the Superstar face sculpt, which a majority of Barbie dolls produced between 1977 and 1998 used. She has a broad smile with dimples on her cheeks. She's got a slightly orange tanned skintone.

She has bright blue eyes with blue eyelashes and teal eyeshadow. She has pink blush on her cheeks, and a slightly darker pink lipstick. She wears a pair of green stud earrings, a matching ring, and a green necklace with a silver string. There is no way to remove the necklace unless you remove her head, or cut or untie the string.

I think the green jewelry and eyeshadow is an interesting choice to be paired with her pink dress. Personally, I would have gone with silver to match the silver details on her dress and other accessories.

Barbie has voluminous, fluffy light blonde hair, with loose waves in it. She also has very 90s bangs, slicked up, and to her left. She has a hair accessory, a silver and pink star with pink tulle and a "B" in the center, tied into a small side ponytail on her right side with silver string.

The way Barbie was packaged for 30 years left her hair a bit flat and parted in the back, but this was easily fixed with some water and brushing. And, her hair also went back into that fabulous early 90s fluffy look.

Now, the real star of the show, Barbie's gown! The top of the bodice and sleeves are several layers of hot pink tulle, with silver specks and stars all over. They are GIANT, I tell you. The right side always wants to be in her face due to being crushed in the box, but I imagine it'll settle with time.

The bodice is a stretchy, spandex feeling material, in the same shade of pink, with silver stars and lines decorating it.

The skirt, like the top, has several layers of tulle, with the bottom layer being the same material as the bodice. It also has built-in underwear to prevent the skirt from riding up on her hips.

Barbie has 8 points of articulation, with movement at her:

Head

Shoulders

Waist, which twists

Hips, which can only go forward and back

Knees, which are rubber with an internal clicking mechanism

Barbie's arms are permanently bent at a 90 degree angle, and sit nicely on her hips.

Here's Barbie on her stand. She tends to float on it a bit, but it isn't a big deal to me since she still feels solid on it and her gown covers it. You can also see how her pumps look on her.

Overall, Barbie is a lovely doll, and a great addition to my collection. I definitely think she's worth the $22 I paid for her, and would recommend her.

[doriangraywinter]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: L'Agence Margot High Rise Coated Skinny Jeans Army Green 26.

[unknownjpegs]

interruption

Benji isn’t usually the type. But it’s a big show, and it’s the first leg done, and if there’s any reason to celebrate, it’s getting out of the fucking continental Midwest. Few more months and they’ll be on the Euro part, and it’ll all be a bit more manageable.

Hopefully.

Because fuck, does he hate cornfields. Hates looking out the window and seeing nothing. 

So yeah. Not usually the type. But there’s a good club in the city, Mouse promises, and it’s sketch enough to be fun. Sketch enough to have drugs.

Which Xavier sources with Matilda’s help. And resources. Expensive, for the lot of them, but tour money. Money to burn.

“Only the finest,” Xavier declares, slinking back to the group.

The lot of them huddled round the corner of the club, tucked into an alley where they’re safe from prying eyes. Or snitching ones. 

“Not the finest,” Matilda mumbles, examining the tiny design-stamped tablets. “Wasn’t that expensive.”

“Okay, well, you don’t think thirty dollars is expensive for a t-shirt, so I don’t wanna hear it.” Mouse snarks. She’s dancing from foot to foot, shivering in her shiny spandex shorts and tights. Benji’d thrown his jacket around her shoulders, but it was more style over substance.

Everybody save Ewan, who’s chosen to sit out in favor or making sure they’re all back well off later in the night, loads up. Except Benji. Benji hesitates.

Xavier notices, of course. If Benji enjoyed his company less, he’d be a bit put-off by how keenly aware Xavier was — in general, but also of him in particular. He kind of enjoyed being hard to read. And Xavier had come along to shatter that. Or…Benji had let him rather. Because getting spread open like a book and picked apart didn’t seem as nerve-wracking, that way.

“Nervous?” Xavier asks, when the rest of them taken theirs and dipped into the club. The question isn’t loaded with anything but genuine curiosity. Maybe a bit of concern. He wouldn’t tease about something like this. Especially because Benji’s got a feeling he knows — 

“First time,” he says. And then waggles his eyebrows to make Xavier blush. Which he does. Handsomely. “Would you believe it?”

Xavier stares at him. Blinks a few times, shakes his head. Not to disagree but to clear it. Like one of those magic eight balls, Benji thinks with a grin. Forces that be, am I thinking of this guy naked? The signs point to yes.

“No,” Xavier responds. The blush gets more prominent. He’s so pale that, even under the low lighting, Benji can see the color. “Not like that, I mean, uh. Just. Wait, are we talking about…” he holds the bag up, points his eyes at it.

Benji quirks an eyebrow, tries to keep that smirk from giving it up. “Yeah, mate. What’d you think we were talking about?”

“Nothing.” Xavier chuckles. “Uh. Anyway, do you want me to like, tell you?” 

“Sure, got a few questions. Like —” Benji leans his shoulder the exterior wall. Blinks up at him through his lashes. “How it tastes? Or how it feels? Maybe…how long it lasts?”

Xavier’s eyes go distant again, and now Benji has gotta laugh too. He needs to stop. It’s getting a little bit mean even if it is fun. 

“They —” Xavier drags his focus, with what seems like considerable effort, to the bag. “Um. It’s bitter.” 

Benji’s grin is incredibly toothy. “Yeah? And salty?” 

“Okay, like, dude.” Xavier whines. “Please, God. Mercy.” 

He holds his hands up, palms out. Waves them: sorry, sorry. Go on.

“How’s it feel?” Benji doesn’t purposefully make his voice breathy, but it’s kinda hard not to be a bit winded, being looked at like that. “M’good boy, so I’ve never done anything harder than weed.” 

Xavier takes a moment to answer. Rolls his eyes up to the sky. Shuffles from foot to foot. 

“You prayin’?” He tilts his head, tries to find that exasperated green gaze, but it keeps bouncing pointedly away from his face. “Got a corruption thing, Xavier?”

“No,” he snips, sticking his tongue out. “Fuckin’…trying not to look like a creep with a boner when we walk up to the door.”

Benji drops his focus immediately and pointedly downwards. “I mean. Aren’t you one, though?” 

He holds the baggie up. “Do you want this or not?” 

“Oh, please, I want it real bad — “

Xavier moves like he’s gonna turn and walk away, leave Benji standing there in the alley laughing mad, laughing his fucking arse off.

“Okay, okay. Sorry. Bein’ a dickhead, c’mon. Come back.” He’s tugging at Xavier’s sleeve. Making himself suitably whiny, and it works. Barely has to pull at all, really, until Xavier is swinging back around the corner and colliding with him. 

Benji stumbles, a pair of long legs tripping him up. Gets a fist in Xavier’s jacket to stay upright, ends up yanking him closer with the momentum. Xavier trips too, makes the mess of their legs worse, and Benji hits the wall. Wheezes breathily, amused, wind nearly knocked out of him. Realizes Xavier has a big hand on his waist. 

They’re laughing, real loud and wild, but that touch makes him pause. Makes them both quiet. 

Makes Xavier pull back suddenly, hand swiping on his jeans. Shame. Benji pouts about it, tongue pressed to the back of his teeth. Nice, having a body between his own and the chilly night. Nice having a body that warm and tall and belonging specifically to Xavier, bent over him like that.

“So.” Benji says, waving his hand. Xavier refocuses like he’s forgotten where they are entirely. He gets that — the bludgeoned sort of feeling. The lightness in your chest, like you’ve floated off somewhere else. Gets it a lot around Xavier, specifically.

Who glances down at the bag and goes oh, shit, yeah. He holds it up between them. There are two tablets left, but he only fishes one out. 

“Not you coddling me —” Benji laughs, watching him bite it in half with a canine. It breaks off uneven, splinters into powder a bit. Xavier takes the bigger half for himself; shivery and intense eye contact between them as he sticks out his tongue and licks some of the broken bits off his palm. 

Then he holds it out to Benji, offering the smaller half. 

“Take it easy, dude. This way you can see if you like it.”

Fuck yeah, I do. Benji’s eyes trail up his wrist, over the swirls and sharp lines of ink. Really do. When are you gonna get the hint and do something about it?

“So. Bitter. How long does it take to kick in? Like,” he cradles the back of Xavier’s hand in his, contemplating the tablet. “What should I expect here?” 

Xavier shrugs. “Maybe twenty minutes? You’re —” he trails off, gaze skittering down Benji’s shoulders, zipping back up. “Uh. Could be closer to an hour, it depends. And…it’s just a good feeling, dunno how to explain it. S’why it’s so fun like this, because you get happy, got a lotta energy to dance, y’know, and it feels good — oh. Shit.”

While he’s talking, Benji leans down. Hovers over Xavier’s hand, contemplating the tablet and its stamped half-smiley face design that’s been broken in half. Then, with their eyes locked, he swipes his tongue over it, scooped up on the tip. Covers more skin than is absolutely necessary to accomplish it, totally wetting his palm.

Xavier pulls in a sharp breath as it happens. And his hand twitches. So — maybe a little bit necessary, if you ask Benji.

He knows the grin is more a smirk when he straightens back up.

“Yeah, you were right. Just bitter, actually. Tastes like shit, so it better feel good.” He pats the other man on the chest. Lingers, as his tongue had, for a second. Fingers splayed right over his heart. It’s racing.

Benji brushes past him to head towards the entrance. A few steps ahead, he realizes Xavier hasn’t moved yet.

“Coming?”

He watches the broad line of those shoulders heave on a massive breath: “Fuck you.”

*

Xavier is right. There’s really no explaining it other than: just feels good. 

It’s a totally different high than he’s used to from smoking with Mouse and Ewan. That’s the lazy sort. Gets him real in his head. Full body and mind relaxation. 

This — this feels like the fizzy tingle of anticipation when the sound tech starts a countdown. Anxiety, a little bit, but fuck: that wave of absolute euphoria when he stomps the first beat. Music in his head, methodical tremble up his arms when it really starts going.

Feels fucking good. Feels…tingly. He’s sensitive. Happy. Cheeks hurt from smiling so much. And it’s all so easy, so warm, bright bursting energy behind his eyes whenever he shuts them. Heart thudding his chest, ears rushing in a good way — the middle of a song. 

And the club music is good, too. Washes over him the same manner as when he’s playing. Putting his fucking soul in. He’s in it. Better, almost, than sex. Then his brain trips up on the idea and he thinks oh, yeah, I’d fuck like this because hands on him sound really nice. 

Are on him. Matilda and Lark gone off for their own adventure, but Mouse has found her way back to them. Her arms are loose around his shoulders, her messy hair flying hypnotic and in slow-motion as she jumps in place, tossing her head to the beat. Big smile on her just like his own, eyes huge and dark when they find each other to laugh and sing along. 

Other hands on him, too. Bigger ones than Mouse — much bigger. He’d hate it, if he weren’t so floaty and wired. Hate the crowd, and people pressing against him. Hate a touch on him. But it’s all good. So good. Feels so fucking good when the hands slip around him like liquid. Feels like more than two on him, the amount of space they cover. 

He bounces around with Mouse and those other hands are tracing his hips. Slide up his arms, glide along the line of his shoulders, down his back. Electric trail leaving raised flesh everywhere, then finally they settle to cup his ribs. 

Feels better than the dancing, that. Better than the high even. Being between. Cradled. Set of hands that splay so wide they nearly make him feel…small. 

Because it’s Xavier, isn’t it? Benji drops his head back, neck loose and movements syrupy, to rest on the chest. To check. ‘Cuz if it’s not, he’ll have to pull away. He’s got a distant anxious shimmer at the idea that, if this isn’t Xavier, then Xavier will see him with somebody who isn’t Xavier. Benji doesn’t want that. Wants, real fucking bad, for it to be —

His face relaxes, eyes lidding. Narrows the room, his focus, to: Xavier smiling down at him. Those expressive eyebrows hitched up a centimeter. He’d like to run his thumb over them, feel the texture. Wants to touch touch touch touch. 

Anyway, they’re hitched like Benji’s got a specific look about him that needs addressing. 

His mouth moves. Sounds vaguely like a question. Not sounds — looks like it, the way his lips shift. Benji’s focus drifts there, to his mouth. Watches as it get asked again. But can only smile and shake his head lazily. Rub his cheek into the fabric beneath, because it tingles as much as the pleasant buzz in his ears, the hands on him. Smells clean like laundry detergent and sweat and, distantly, alcohol. Smells like Xavier and that’s why he’s got his nose there, isn’t it? 

Mouse slips away suddenly, shouts something to him that he can’t possibly be meant to hear. How could he? Something about the bar, about a girl. He’s barely aware of it. Too drowned in hands and sounds and Xavier, to be perfectly fucking honest.

They’re still bouncing to the music, but it’s slowed. The movement. They’re slow. Not the song. The song’s fast, they should be jumping around more, because the song is fast, but they’re not, because — because —

You should kiss me. Benji stares up at him. Thinks the words really hard. Xavier will get it. Won’t hear it, not over the music, but he’ll get it, right? He’ll understand:

kiss me kiss me. kissmekissmekissmekissme.

He stops trying to ask the question, whatever it is. Leans down. Benji smiles. Has a hand on his wrist, the other on his cheek, can feel the grin spread under his thumb. Feels breath on his face, soft hair on his temple.  

“Oh shit!” Mouse’s voice, cut above the drum of the crowd and the thumping music. Or maybe not that loud at all, maybe he’s just tuned to it. And she sounds in distress. So his focus shifts, eyes wide and searching for her. 

He turns his head. A nose glances off his skull, lips to the shell of an ear. Huffed breath, a content sigh, and then an object flies through the air over their heads.

“Get down!” Someone laughs, but nobody in the crowd really notices. It’s just a bottle tossed through the air. Rowdy, but normal enough even as it smacks with a loud shatter against the wall. 

Benji sobers a bit, because Mouse looks wild as she runs back over from the bar. There’s a girl holding a tall man back, his face angry, and Mouse is — smirking, really fucking wide. Her signature, ooooh I just did Trouble grin. She's got a hickey on her neck. 

She darts behind Benji, tucks herself against his back. Shoots the guy two middle fingers. He’s got no doubt in his mind that her tongue is out, too. 

“You didn’t — ”

“She wanted me, bro,” Mouse howls laughingly in his ear. “What do I say, no?”

She’s hanging onto him, starts to scrabble up like she wants a piggyback ride, and that…that’s what makes Benji realize nobody is at his back. 

He turns, brings Mouse with them. Xavier’s not there anymore. He’s…gone.

“Oh shit,” Mouse repeats. Less terror and more concern, not like she’s got an angry boyfriend after her but because she notices— 

Xavier’s on the ground, back pushed up against the wall. Mouse drops next to him, hand reaching out like it means to go to his shoulder. He’s breathing hard. 

“Sorry,” he says when Benji joins them. Tucked so close, away from the head-level drone of the crowd, it’s barely audible. “Fuck, sorry.” 

Get down, Benji recalls. Memory of Lark, in his head, “he’s a vet, he’s real capable” and Benji thinks oh shit, too.

“Xavier,” he says. Mirrors Mouse’s hand, hovering just out of range. They’re both a little addled, far-off from that sweet high. But knowing enough that touch might not be what he needs, right now.

Mouse leans over to Benji, mouth by his ear. Serious, firm: “You should take him outside. I’ll go find Larkn’Mati.” She says it slurred together, like them all. Larkn’Mati. Together, they’ll know how to handle this. Always do. 

Benji’s not sure how to proceed. Xavier’s elbows rest on his knees, fingers twitchy and dangling between. Looks like they’re shaking, too. He takes a chance, slips his hands around pale, goose-bumped forearms. Really really fucking relieved when Xavier allows himself to be guided to stand.

Xavier slings an arm around him, head tucked towards Benji’s as he winces. Mouse nods a little sluggishly and darts off into the crowd.

“Hey, Benj?” 

They’re walking. Nearly to the door — “Yeah, mate, I know. Fuckin’ wanker, whoever threw that.” He laughs nervously, squeezes the arm he’s got around Xavier’s waist a little tighter. “We’ll get some air, huh? I could use it.”

“I’m gonna have a panic attack,” Xavier announces. He sounds wheezy, voice tight. “Also puke. I’m gonna puke.”

*

Which he does. Manages to keep it down until Benji’s got them back in that alley. Pilfered a water bottle from the only vaguely sympathetic bartender on their way out. He hands that over. 

Xavier is doubled still, but not because of the nausea. He’s shaking. Isn't just his hands anymore. An all-over shake. Like somebody with hypothermia or a nervous dog. Breathing hard through it, too. Hand on his chest, other clutching the collar of his away, fanning it. 

Benji isn’t sure how best to help, so he stands there. Separating Xavier from the mouth of the alley, keeping him shielded in case anybody walks by. Vulnerable moment, not helpful for prying eyes or passerby to get involved. Benji would hate it, if that were him. 

“Used condom.” Xavier finally huffs, breathless. Despite the water he’s half-guzzled, the noise is croaky and dry.

Benji wrinkles his nose. “Sorry?”

“Used condom.” A shaking finger points down the alley. There is, in fact, one of those tossed in a puddle. 

“Ew. Yeah, sure is, mate.”

“Condom. Gross.” Xavier says. He twists his head side to side. “Fuckin’…rock. Uh. Another rock.”

“Uh huh?” Care to explain? 

Xavier straights up a bit, props himself on the wall by his forehead and an arm. Cold brick must feel nice. “Counting. It helps. At least my therapist — s-says it does. Count five things around you. Brings you…down a bit.”

Benji nods. Shuffles in place, and then slides a hand over Xavier’s back. Rubs circles.

“Okay, five things, yeah? I can definitely count that high.” He chuckles. “High. A’right, let’s see. We’ve got…used condom is a disgusting first pick. Got a rock. Got another rock.” He points them out as they’re listed off.

“Two more.” 

He glances down. “Untied shoelace.”

“Shit, true.” Xavier huffs. This time it’s not a panicked, breathless noise. It’s almost a laugh. He kneels down to give it a tie, moving carefully away from the pile of his own sick. Brings his shoulder against Benji’s thigh, leans against it. “‘Kay. Tied shoelace. Rock, rock, condom.” His face tilts, big blown-wide pupils and tight green rings crawling up Benji’s form above him. “Hot drummer. Five.” 

Benji tosses his chin back and laughs. It makes his brain feel sluggish, swimming a little. His hand on Xavier’s  head — when had that gotten there — brushes at the soft texture. Pets through it. Xavier tilts closer, resting his forehead on Benji’s hip instead of the wall. 

The touch is intense, even through his jeans. Makes him bite back a noise. 

Focus, you prick. He’s just had a panic attack.

“You feeling…better?” 

“Yeah, my heart’s still fucking pounding though.” Xavier rises with a grunt, one hand braced on his knee. “Can’t tell if it’s the E or the—” He gestures vaguely.

Benji hums, assessing him from below instead of above now. Likes how that feels just as much. “Pretty shit time for it, huh?” He winces, frowns. Feels kinda silly, so, “Fuckin’ hell, not that there’s a good one.”

Xavier lifts the water bottle and drains the rest with such ferocity that Benji’s gotta watch the bob of his throat. Tosses it aside down the alley, where it bounces off the edge of a dumpster far off in the darkness. 

Then he lifts both big hands and drops them to Benji’s shoulders.

“Nah, that was a good time. You were there.” 

For a moment, Benji feels his mouth working like a fish. The touch is…so fucking good. Nice and solid in the cool night air. Warm. Making him feel that between feeling again. Makes him sway closer, the toes of their shoes almost touching. 

“Sorry,” Benji whispers when Xavier’s hand slips off and readjusts. “Lots of dancing. And that stuff has me proper sweating.” He doesn’t quite like that part of it. Feeling hot and itchy. Bouncing at the edges now that he’s got space to move, bodies not colliding with him. Like if he steps wrong, too wide, he’s gonna get vertigo. 

“Don’t I fucking know it,” Xavier breathes. It’s not hitching rapidly anymore. Slow and steady. His eyes are locked steadfast near Benji’s shoulder, where he’s starting to get chilly as it dries.

He starts to open his mouth. Say something, anything, because the moment is so electrified it makes him almost uncomfortable. He still feels that sharp little vibratory waver to his edges. Like if he gets touched wrong — or too right — he’ll fly apart.  

Except he doesn’t get a chance to make any sort of noise other than a shocked gasp. Because Xavier bends down. 

The hands on Benji’s shoulders pull him closer. With little warning, Xavier tucks his finger into the edge of his soaked shirt, tugs it to the side. Breath on Benji’s neck — he makes a sound suspiciously close to a whine.

Xavier sticks his tongue out and drags it at the dip of Benji’s collarbone up, drags it all the fucking way up. A hot, wet trail drawn from his clavicle, along his throat, to the hinge of his jaw. 

It feels like time does not catch up for a very very fucking long moment.

Finally: “Oh.”

“Yeah. Now we’re even.” Xavier husks. He pulls away to stare. “On the fucking. Licking. Jesus, man.”

Benji’s mouth curls. “Licking Jesus? Bit sacrilegious, that.”

Xavier shakes him. “You.” He laughs, struggling to be more verbose as amusedly frustrated as he is. “God. You.”

“What about me, big guy?”

“Back there,” Xavier breaks off into a groan when Benji paws at his chest, two fists in the fabric of his shirt to tug him closer. “Ooh. I was gonna ask… like I’m high, so that’s part of it. But it’s not, okay, because usually it’s like this. Fuck, I really needed to ask if you wanted to—”

Kiss me? He grins. Kiss me? If I want to kiss you? D’you want to kiss me? Fuck, yes. Do it please. Of course. Now. Nownownow. Ask now, I’ll say yes. 

Except they’re already moving together, faces as close as they had been in the club. He’s still on that cusp of euphoria and it comes rushing back, that warmth. 

Shivers through him a tactile thing. Bright in his veins. He notes each tawny dot in the spray of freckles across Xavier’s nose. He likes that nose. The freckles on it look as if they jump and shake, and he shudders. Likes that weirdness, too. Everything is a bit surreal, but he's being kept grounded.

His eyes are lidded but feel alive. Feel wide and intense. So fucking intense, it feels good, especially when Xavier slides the hands down from his shoulders nice and fucking slow. Pawing at him, at his chest, cupping his ribs again. That in-between feeling, clasped tight, the dizzy-drunk of being touched.

Benji gazes up at him. The intense urge to touch their mouths together is a heated coil wound real tight in his chest. One of Xavier’s hands frames his cheek; he presses into the warm palm as that gorgeous fucking face tilts to get a good angle.

And that’s when the back door of the club bangs loudly open. Matilda, Lark, and Mouse stumble out against the ebbing, distant thrum of music and conversation. They’re all clutching at each other.

“Oops,” Matilda says. Her brow pulls tight and then slant dramatically down in grief. “Oh no! Are you fucking kidding me? Please don’t tell me we just did one of those interruption things, oh my God.”

Benji closes his eyes for a moment. Got an exhausted headache starting behind them, but he's content. Xavier’s hand is still on his waist, his jaw — hasn’t moved at all, hasn’t jumped away, hasn’t even turned towards the commotion. Keeps that intimacy dialed up, despite the audience, and it’s unapologetic. That’s got Benji fuzzy and wired in a way which has got nothing to do with the cracked-in-half tablet racing through him.

“Yes,” he says over Xavier’s shoulder. And then to him, pitched low enough that it’s for his ears only, adds: “You were right, mate. Just feels good.”

[etc-228]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: LULU’S HALTER SEQUENCE MINI DRESS.

[thatcosplayblog]

Poison Ivy Cosplay tutorial by mod fear stirder. newbie to tumbles.

POSION IVY COSPLAY TUTORIAL by request of melody swan and Laly Palay

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YcneI2oiTbI&pp=ygUsYm9keSBzdXRpIHR1dG9yaWFsIGludmlzaWJsZSBza2luIHNwZWNpYWwgZng%3D This is a video on special effects woudsn which can help teach you to use liquid latex which you can use to sew or place or stick the leaves onto you using special fx spirit gum

Tight Bodysuti shapewear haul by youtuber Amouranth

How to color match a bodysuit

Teachingmensfashion the trick here is to get a skin tight body suit in green or sew a leotard or use special fx on plasties and spirit gum to hide your you know BOOBAGE and make it look veluntius. Its important given the science and psychology of it all you know your fashion.

Brands for contacts

Unsiquoe, honeycolor, and pinky paradise.

For small tykes, They can just pretend without all the exaggeration.

(kids) Leotard Mint Green [Leatard Butique] if the little girl is plus size order a few sizes up and tailor it.

Sleeveless Mock Neck Leotard

Kepblom Women's Sleeveless Shiny Metallic Leotard

Sparkly Turtleneck Bodysuit (shiny off color) [amazon]

PLUS SIZE SOLID GREEN LEEATARD [shein so its delicate and you should order atleast 2 more items or you’ll get the last of the batch hence poor quality]

Full Bodysuit Womens Costume Without Hood Spandex Zentai Unitard Body Suit [recomended] [amazon]

PLus size seemels bodysuit

Petiet or curvy plain tiger bodysuit [s-xl so xs-m unless you have curves and are thin]

https://www.thecostumeking.com/skin-suit-green-adult-plus.html?gclid=Cj0KCQjw2qKmBhCfARIsAFy8buKOzNKJ43-kz1FFYIESqN5j7VflaBlvkxUu08r6Zd7hpLL6jdbkNpgaAlCVEALw_wcB 47

LEAVES:

You want to look at arts and crafts stores or small indie brands like etsy that sell loose leaves, real or imagined just make sure its not actually posion ivy and or plastic, and you’ll go great.

Bitterleaf, onugbu, ewuro,shuwaka,ndoleh, Cây Mật Gấu Leaves-Fresh farm vegetable you want to loko up art supplies with this or buy a plant and after 3 months chop it up to preserve the environment.

A Box of Fresh Bitter Leaves - Vernonia Amygdalina, Ewuro, Etidot, Onugbu, Ityuna, Oriwo, Kongo bololo Som eof these are real so look for plastic alternatives. This is like for an artsy photo shoot.but you can preserves them with light wax. Look up how to do that or you’re screwed.

https://www.etsy.com/listing/1383698931/faux-magnolia-leaves-pack-of-24?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=loose+leaf+pack+craft+supplies&ref=sc_gallery-1-15&plkey=27736d64758893ff44045fe21e195cc22877fc61%3A1383698931’ leaves!

these are more of a prop but acrylic leavse [amazon]

You may have to repaint these but these [amazon]

Cat suits are great for some versions of posion ivy you just have to paint your skin green. Which needs white undertones or it looks shiny. The idea is to paint your skin green, to match the body suti with some kind of neck wear.

This search bar WIGS

A good wig is going to cost you at minum 40-50$ a really good one 60-90$ wigs have a life span of 3 months with bad care to 3 years with good hair to 30 years if sprayed and tanaegntted. Most people dont know drag that well though. Curly wigs are naturally tangented. They just have to be reastyleed from time to time to preserve them during that 30years. Wigsisfashion is my favorite brand and the most high end i have.

Quality review but not showcased.

Wig styling example [cc]

Wig examples of variety of quality as well.

Recomended wig [wig wavy lacefront ginger]

Maroon red wig [for alts of posion ivy] Red head with umph [wigsisfashion[

SKIN

Airbrush skin tutorials [recomended]

Makeup tutorial marcline it takes a few tries but do it with white and grey

Green makeup tutorial just add white powder as setting to make it less shiny or add white undertones when contouring

Recomned [posion ivy makeup tutorial] youtube madeywork

Poison ivy makeup tutorial also glue leaves to a bral and thread it like its a rope stick the rope with special effects across your body and add arm socks and your godo to go

Poison ivy makeup tutorial [for teh leaves]

Poison ivy makeup tutorial [best!]

MISC

Diy poison ivy costume AMber sholi

Shapewear tutorial

Shape wear

[shopofthemoment]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Max Studio 𖥞 Geometric Print Shiny Babydoll Sash Tie Top 𖥞 Green Black 𖥞 L.

[bharbertlove-blog]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Athleta Rainier 2 in 1 Tight Leggings with Shorts Forest Green Size M / Tall.

[leafnincosplay]

More progress on Hierophant Green! Got the back shell on and added the arms and heat. The backpack straps are covered in the jacket fabric to make them less visible.

Majority of this is hand sewn to keep from crushing all the furniture foam used inside for structure. There's also a bunch of quilt batting in the arms to give it muscle structure.

This shattered glass spandex fabric is so perfect for its shiny melon pattern. I have a nice variegated gray coming for all the detailing. But first, I'm going to give it a squiggly tail!

[fashionfox41-blog]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: LULU’S Sparkling Mood Teal Green Sequin One-Shoulder Mini Bodycon Dress M.