#unfortunately while I love hanging out with real people at parties

[redstarwriting]

protected

hobie brown x o’hara!reader

request?: yes

request: “I know you’re probably busy 🙏🏽 but can I request a hobie x reader Where reader is miguels kid but from another universe and we were known as “dangerous” to the multiverse and miguel had to watch over us and we find out while hanging out with hobie and hobie has to comfort us as we try to process the fact that Miguel wasn’t our real dad and just someone keeping the mutliverse safe?

I really hope this makes sense i just don’t know how to make is make sense uk? 😭 💀”

requested by: @millerworld​

word count: 1.7k

genre: angst with some fluff

Warnings: language, mentions of childbirth death, big feelings of betrayal, probably horrible spanish, honestly a lot of angst

A/N: apologies for the wait for this one! i love writing angst though so i was rubbing my hands together like an evil lil bitch writing this. i apologize if the spanish is wrong/not how it would actually be said/worded. been a minute since i took a spanish course, so i am a little rusty. please enjoy, and thank you so much for requesting, love! :)

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Ever since you remembered your dad, Miguel O’Hara, was there. Of course, there are certain moments of your childhood you don’t remember, as every child has, but your earliest memory is your dad picking you up and soothing you as you cried at two years old. And ever since then, he was always there. Your friends at school would always say you were so lucky that you had a dad that was so devoted to you, and you agreed. To an extent. See, he was very particular about what he allowed you to do. It wasn’t in a negative way, necessarily, he was just protective. His favorite saying and your least favorite saying in your house was ‘I just want what’s best for you, cariño.’

It resulted in you staying home from school events, friend events, and generally any type of event where your safety could have been compromised. It caused you to be a bit of a loner, always hearing about the parties, the gossip, all of it instead of actually experiencing it for yourself.

Of course, it annoyed you.

It still does.

He’s loosened up a bit eventually, though, allowing you to go to work with him. Which also meant you got to meet many spiders. Quite a few of the spider-people quickly became your closest friends, as it was simpler and easier for your dad to keep tabs on you in Spider Society. Much to his chagrin, you quickly became best friends with Hobie Brown. The two of you were around the same age, and since you were annoyed at your dad and in your rebellious era, you got along swimmingly. A little too swimmingly, actually, which Miguel purposefully chose to ignore for the most part. Until he saw Hobie sucking his little one’s face off. Regardless, Hobie was always quick to validate all your conflicted, annoyed, and even positive feelings about your father. He even helped you come out of your shell and rebel against Miguel occasionally.

Miguel didn’t like this very much, but he also knew that Hobie was still a good influence on you. No matter how many times both of you tried to convince him that he wasn’t. But sometimes, Hobie would talk you into doing things that he very much disliked. Hated, even. And this time was one of those times. While he was out, containing a particularly difficult anomaly, Hobie convinced you to search through Miguel’s personal files on his supercomputer because he bet if your birth certificate would be anywhere, it would be there. When you found a folder with your name, you expected to open it to see some family pictures, hoping for your birth certificate with the name of your mom. Your dad never really talked about your mom, just that she passed away during childbirth. You stopped asking because every time you did, he would get very quiet and a guilty look would appear on his face. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious. So you went into this endeavor excited to see what you might find out. Unfortunately, that excitement didn’t last for very long. See when you opened your file expecting these mundane things, that wasn’t what you were met with.

In fact, that was nowhere near what you found.

You found detailed notes all about you.

“What the hell,” you mumble, scrolling through the various pictures of you as an infant, with two adult strangers. Hobie said nothing, looking at all the pictures and skimming the important parts of all the files you were pulling up with a frown on his face. You stop on a specific picture of a woman holding you in a hospital bed. She was smiling.

And she was very much alive.

Tears immediately start to well up in your eyes as Hobie gently pulls your hands away from the computer. “Think that’s enough a’ that, love,” he says softly. You yank your arms away from him. “No.” You scroll to the next photo, seeing a man you’ve never met before holding you in the same hospital room, with the same strange woman right next to him. The next time you scroll, it’s a detailed account from Miguel about who you are. Notes from your dad declaring you a ‘danger’ and that you ‘must be contained somehow.’ Talk of your biological parents, their names, and how you had to be separated from them before ‘irreversible damage was done to the multiverse.’

You stare at the screen, and Hobie pulls your hands away again, successfully this time. He steps between you and the screens, blocking your view and slowly walking you backward and away from the files. You’re too shocked to say anything, the only thing you can do is quietly cry. Hobie opens his mouth to say something when Miguel’s voice rings out. “What do the two of you think you’re doing?”

The two of you turn your heads toward Miguel, and his annoyed frown turns to one of concern as soon as he sees the look on your face. “¿Qué tienes, mi corazón?” Miguel asks, his voice much softer as he approaches you. Hobie moves, positioning himself between you and your ‘father,’ and scoffs. “Think you got some explainin’ to do ‘ere, mate,” Hobie says, and Miguel looks at him confused. Then he sees what’s on the screen. A look of horrified realization spreads across his face, and he looks at you. “(Y/n), cariño, I can explain.”

“Don’t call me that,” your voice, albeit shaky, finally comes back to you. Hobie turns his attention to you, squeezing the hand you’ve been holding onto for dear life ever since he pulled you away from the computer. “(Y/n)—”

“Who am I? Who are you to me?”

“…Please, let me—”

“WHO ARE THOSE PEOPLE?!” you shout, desperately yearning for your dad to say they weren’t what was said in his reports. But all he does is frown. “They’re… they are your biological parents,” he confesses, and you make a choked noise. Hobie subtly begins turning his watch to his universe, ready to make an escape from your dad at any point. “If you just let me explain—”

“I’m a threat to the multiverse?” you choke out through your tears, “What the fuck does that mean, papá?! If I can even call you that.” Miguel’s jaw clenches. “Don’t forget who raised you.”

“How could I?! How could you?! Is this why you never let me do anything?! Too worried your querido bebecito would destroy the fucking multiverse?!”

“(Y/n). I did it to protect everyone.”

“What about me?! Did you ever plan on telling me?! How is separating me from my family protecting me?!” Hobie places an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer and keeping you shielded by him as Miguel tries to step closer to you. Miguel glares at him, and Hobie glares back. Miguel holds out his hand in a surrendering way. “It was to protect you just as much, if not more, as it was to protect everyone else. If you would just listen—“

“No. No, I’m done listening to you.”

“Cariño—”

“I am not tú cariño. I am not tú corazoón. You are not mi papá,” you say, venom behind your words. You can practically see Miguel’s heart shatter into tiny little pieces.

That was the worst thing you could have ever said to him.

Before he can say anything else, Hobie opens the portal, pulling you through and closing it almost immediately. You find yourself in the familiar atmosphere of his flat. “C’mere, love,” he mumbles, pulling you into his arms. You grip his shirt, sobbing into his chest as he rocks you back and forth, softly shushing you occasionally and rubbing your back. After what feels like hours, but was really maybe a minute, he swiftly picks you up, carrying you bridal style to his bed as you continue to cry into his shirt. He sits down, placing a soft kiss to the top of your head and rubbing up and down your arm. He can’t help but feel guilty for this. If he didn’t convince you to look at the computer…

“Don’t blame yourself, Hobie… please,” you whimper, and he sighs. “Love, you needa stop bein’ so good at knowin’ what i’m thinkin’,” he mumbles, and you look up at him with a soft smile. “Can’t help it. Even your thoughts are loud,” you say, and he snorts. “Chuffed to see the cryin’ made ya feel better,” he says and you shake your head. “I still feel like shit, Hobie,” you whisper, and he frowns. He gently wipes some tears away from your cheeks. “Reckon all ‘at cryin’ has you knackered?” he mumbles, and you nod softly. He lays backwards, maneuvering the two of you to be laying down. The two of you face each other, one of his hands cradling the side of your face while the other soothingly rubs up and down your side. You grip onto his shirt, and he places a soft peck on your nose. “‘m sorry, love,” he says, and you sniffle. “I already told you it isn’t your fault.”

“‘Kay, still feel like it was,” he says, and you sigh. “That’s not important right now,” he mumbles, gently pulling you closer. “What’s important is that I make you feel better.” You look at him, your eyes are still glossy from tears. “Never met someone who looked so stunnin’ when they cry,” he says, gently stroking your cheek. You smile softly, and he does too. “There’s my favorite smile,” he whispers before softly placing his lips on yours. It’s only for a second, but it makes all the pain go away. And you’re grateful for that. Even if it is just for a second. “Get some sleep, love.” He kisses your forehead, tangling his legs with yours and pulling your head into his chest. You relax into him. He was right. The crying was exhausting. Before you know it, you’re asleep as Hobie gently traces shapes into your skin, whispering anything and everything he loves about you to you so softly that if you weren’t really listening, you wouldn’t hear any of it. No one makes you feel protected quite like Hobie does.

And even if it’s just for a moment, thanks to Hobie, you feel like everything will be okay.

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[makethosenarratorsfight]

UNRELIABLE NARRATORS; SIDE A

Lemony Snicket Propaganda:

(I would like to preface this by saying that Lemony Snicket is the author's pen name, not a real person, and he exists as a character in-universe as well as being the one in-universe who writes the books!) I'd say he's unreliable because he spent time collecting information about the Baudelaire kids and then... wrote books about it. He has no idea what any of their dialogue actually was, what they were thinking, or even the whole plot, he's just doing research into the incidents and then filling in the gaps to make it a story. What ACTUALLY happened to the Baudelaires? Nobody really knows for sure

While the Baudelaire siblings are in potentially life threatening danger, he will randomly start talking about his own life and just leave the siblings hanging. For example, once Count Olaf was threatening to kill Violet, and then Lemony randomly began talking about how he met the love of his life at a costume party. This man CANNOT stay on topic. Usually when a new character is introduced, Lemony tells us right at the start that they’re either going to die or that the Baudelaire siblings will never see them again. Foreshadowing is not subtle in these books. CONSTANTLY emphasizes how miserable he feels while writing these books. At one point he admits that he had to put his pencil down and go cry for a while because of how sad it made him. Once he filled an entire page with nothing but the word “ever” to emphasize how dangerous it is to put forks in electrical outlets. He also repeated a paragraph about deja vu later on in the book to give the reader deja vu.

Johnny Truant Propaganda:

He literally tells us he’s a liar / storyteller in the first couple of chapters. He edits other people’s manuscripts without giving a hint as to what exactly he’s edited, so you have to figure it out yourself and then second guess whether you’re right or wrong. He claims to just be an idiot junkie and then you find out in his mother’s letters to him that he’s fluent in Latin, won academic scholarships, and writes poetry. In the end he writes a happy ending for himself and then tells us it was bullshit and then tells us another, slightly less happy (but still surprisingly good) ending and you have to just. Sort of decide on your own whether that one was legit or not.

[fictionadventurer]

Fairy Tale Retelling I'll Never Write: King Thrushbeard as 1930s screwball comedy

The "princess" is the daughter of a business magnate who has managed to hang onto his wealth in the midst of the Depression.

Girl has some kind of "coming-out" ball where she insults all the men with the best '30s zingers available.

Including our young, handsome, witty hero (son of an even richer business magnate) who can go toe-to-toe with her in arguments, until she slaps him with a Thrushbeard nickname that sticks.

Her outraged father declares he'll marry her off to the first tramp who shows up at their door.

Thrushbeard, who's really attracted to this difficult girl, learns of this from his cynical, sharp-tongued, somewhat-socialist journalist friend, and makes some remark about how he'd be willing to live as a hobo to have her. Journalist friend retorts that Thrushbeard couldn't last a day outside his life of luxury.

Because this is a rom-com, this leads to A Bet. If Thrushbeard can successfully wed this girl in the guise of a hobo, he has to live like one for a certain amount of time, without drawing on his father's resources or letting her on to his true identity.

Thrushbeard shows up in disguise, there is Witty Sparring between him and the princess, and the princess winds up marrying him mostly to spite her father--if he thought this threat would make her apologize for her behavior, he had another think coming. Now his family legacy's tied to a hobo and he's got to live with that.

Unfortunately, so does she. The newlyweds are out in the street within moments of the wedding.

There is Comedy about how the princess haa no clue how to function outside her clean and glamorous world, and Thrushbeard's not much better.

With some assist from Journalist Friend (who is not about to let the story of the century slip out of his grasp) they manage to hop a freight car and settle down in a shanty town.

More Comedy about her total inability to complete domestic tasks. So it's not Totally Sexist, she gets the upper hand when her husband also proves unable to complete these tasks he claims were child's play.

There are various attempts to Find Jobs and Make Money, which are all humorously thwarted by Comedy Shenanigans. Journalist Friend has his work cut out for him just to keep these two idiots alive. (He wants to win the bet, but he also doesn't want to be responsible for his buddy's death.)

At one point, the couple winds up in a boxcar again and share a heart-to-heart where they finally see each other as people instead of sparring partners.

Princess finally starts a sidewalk stand where she starts to make a bit of money. In an Unfortunate Coincidence, Thrushbeard's dad shows up in the area, and Thrushbeard has to meet him as himself to keep him from finding out about this cockamamie scheme. During this confrontation (with his father who thinks he's shirking his responsibilities), Thrushbeard is inadvertently responsible for destroying his wife's stand.

To Thrushbeard's horror, his wife responds by demanding a new job to replace the one she lost, and his father gives her a job working in one of his houses.

Now Thrushbeard has to live a double life as himself and as the hobo husband his wife knows.

At a Glittering Party, Thrushbeard as Wealthy Heir is the center of attention while his wife is working as a servant and frugally trying to swipe scraps for his supper.

He tries to avoid her, but Tangled Comedy Mishaps lead him to stumble over her, sending her scraps flying and causing her major embarrassment as some members of the press recognize her.

In trying to help her, he acts too much like her husband, and the secret slips.

His wife slaps him silly.

She subjects him to a scathing tirade about what a heartless nutcase he is, and how the worst part is that she had fallen in love with her hobo of a husband, but he's not even real, and you can die in a ditch for all I care.

She tries to storm out, but he catches her by the wrists and tries to explain that he did it all out of Love for Her, and he did everything wrong and she can have her divorce if she wants, but he loves her more than ever and he'll love her until the day he dies.

She just stares at him, and finally she's like, "You're worse than a nut. You're a sap. And I'm the nut who's falling for it."

(It's a screwball comedy rom-com. Emotional realism has no place here).

Kisses, reconciliation, big proper society wedding. Journalist Friend wins big with his inside scoop (which Mr. and Mrs. Thrushbeard allow him to publish because he did keep them alive (even though this is all his fault) and the story's public anyway so they may as well get the facts from a friendly source.)

Thrushbeard and his wife both take steps to improve their fathers' business practices and help out their hobo friends.

Journalist friend gives them a wedding present of an unpublished photo of them standing in front of their shanty looking all gooey-eyed at each other. The couple hangs it in a place of honor in their fancy house, and the story ends on that image.

[veronicaphoenix]

THE SWEETNESS OF LOVE & PAIN*

Enter a world of crime, betrayal, and heartbreak. Upcoming full-length fanfiction featuring Noah Sebastian x Kitsey (og. fem. character) consisting of 3 acts. Coming Summer 2024.

"Loving means weakness, and your weakness has a name, Noah. Did you think we'd never find out?"

Disclaimer: This story will contain graphic descriptions of violence, including torture and murder, and will involve explicit sex scenes between the two main characters. The story will delve into harsh and delicate themes such as abuse and mental health. The content presented within may be disturbing or triggering to some, so it's obviously intended for mature audiences only. I do not condone or endorse the behaviors depicted in the narrative (except for Noah being a sweetheart to his girl). This work is a fictional piece and does not reflect real-life events or individuals. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

*working title

SUMMARY — INTRODUCTION TO ACT I

Noah has been entangled in a life of crime since his brother Abel’s passing. Forced to right his wrongs and avoid dire consequences, Noah is left with no choice but to commit a series of perilous jobs in order to break free from the chains his own brother left around his neck.  

Amidst the darkness of his life, Noah meets Kitsey, the sweetest creature he’s ever laid eyes on. Awestruck by her bravery and boldness during an unfortunate incident at a party, he falls in love immediately. 

Kitsey, a lovely and passionate librarian with captivating brown eyes, is far from having a perfect life, either. Marked by a troubled childhood, she thinks life would never be truly fair to her. That’s until she meets the most perfect boy: Noah. 

As years pass and their relationship deepens, Kitsey senses that their situation won’t improve unless Noah puts an end to the constant blackmailing he’s facing from the people he’s working for. But Noah is blinded by hope, believing time is on their side. He wants to get his freedom back, and above that, he wants to give Kitsey hers and provide her with everything else she didn’t have as a child.

However, as Kitsey's life hangs in the balance after one of Noah's jobs takes a harrowing turn, Noah faces the crushing reality that his delay in breaking free has put the love of his life in danger, igniting a race against time to save her, uncovering the true cost of his choices and the sacrifices needed to secure a future with his girl.

SNIPPET

Standing on her tiptoes, Kitsey carefully slotted the book into its designated space on the shelf. A faint sight escaped her lips as she successfully nestled it into the snug gap among the other books in the section. She was about to grab the next book from the trolley she’d been pushing through the aisles for the past half-hour when she caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye. A tall, slender figure was approaching from the other side.  

Noah had a soft smile playing on his lips, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He was wearing a black jacket, his hair still glistening slightly, as if he had taken a shower not long ago.  

Kitsey’s surprise was evident as she stared at him. He was supposed to be sleeping; it was only eleven in the morning. He had come home at six thirty, and even though that day he had struggled to fall asleep while she got ready for work, typically, he wouldn’t wake up until well past noon, occasionally going to the gym if he woke earlier. It wasn’t uncommon for him to visit her at the library every once in a while. He had never said it, but Kitsey sensed that he enjoyed the serene atmosphere of her workplace and the sight of her engrossed in her tasks. Noah, in fact, adored watching her, his heart swelling with every passing second and each delicate movement of her fingers over the covers of the books. Her presence alone brought him a peace that he hadn’t found anywhere else, ever. 

Today, however, he was there for a different purpose.  

“Noah, what are you d—” Her question was cut short when Noah enveloped her in a warm embrace, his long arms engulfing her.   

Noah’s familiar scent of soap mingling with his cologne brought a comforting sense of security, even in the library where the most threatening danger could be a flame setting the pages of the books on fire. It took her a moment to process the unexpected tender embrace, but as she inhaled his scent, she melted into him, letting his warmth seep through her despite the cold outside.

"I missed my girl, so I thought I'd come see her," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as he drew back slightly to meet her light brown gaze while keeping his arms around her waist. She was dressed in black jeans and a white knitted shirt, a black ribbon holding back some of her hair, her glasses absent. "Any chance I can steal you away for a few minutes and treat you to a hot chocolate?"

His sweet suggestion elicited a smile from Kitsey, making her forget for a while how odd it was that he was up that early and standing there, in one of the library hallways. Surely there was something going on, something nagging at him. She knew him too well after so many years of dating. One way or another, she couldn't keep her fingers from gently playing with the strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

"My next break is in fifty minutes," she informed him.

"I can wait," Noah replied.

"All right, but no following me around like a lost puppy," Kitsey warned, her hand patting his chest.

"I promise," Noah assured her with a grin, lifting a hand in a solemn pledge. "I'll find a good book and wait like an obedient puppy in one of those armchairs."

The sound of her soft little laughter was a balm to his nerves. She was okay. She was safe. She was where she loved to be, in the library, immersed in her work amidst the comforting presence of books. 

Everything was as it should be. 

No need to worry.

Kitsey is safe.

Snippet 2: Meet Grey

[allie-leth]

Is it possible to love someone but still want to leave them?

Yes, absolutely.

The phrase I often tell people in these circumstances is, "If love were all it took, more relationships would work out." But honestly, that's the unfortunate reality. Love is not all it takes. If there are incompatibilities, a history of broken trust that cannot be repaired, or issues that one or both parties are unwilling to overcome, these and other factors can break relationships.

I loved my ex; I really, truly did. I still care about her to this day despite everything, but we were awful for each other on very practical levels. There were things she was unwilling to work on and struggles that each of us dealt with that were just not okay in each other's lives. Over time, it slowly drained us both until we were shells of who we used to be, and it had to end.

In a previous relationship, my partner's 'ideal day' just didn't align with mine. It wasn't that I hated them, but their energy drained me. It felt like trying to do my thing was like slogging through mud to meet my goals. It wasn't their fault, but my ideal day is one where I'm very active and getting things done, while they just wanted to hang out on the couch and cuddle. On days when we had my ideal day, it exhausted her. While I love couch days, too many of her ideal days pulled me into a rut. She wasn't a bad person, but we just did not align in very important ways.

Deal breakers aren't inherently because someone is bad or evil; they just represent things that you cannot have in your relationship for the sake of your mental health, and that is okay. You need what you need, they need what they need, and if those don't align, it's best to recognize that.

This isn't to say that any incompatibility should immediately be a deal breaker. Some things just require each of you to have an independent life, and it's important to recognize if your life has become too intertwined where all of your needs are co-dependent. That's never a healthy situation to be in.

Without knowing your circumstances, I can't say for certain, but please feel free to DM me privately if you'd like to talk it out. I'll do my best to give unbiased advice.

But I'll finish with this: realizing that someone can't be part of the life you need or want doesn't mean you don't love them. If that were the case, it would be way easier to break out of relationships that are unhealthy for you. It doesn't make you a bad person or them a bad person, it doesn't mean one of you is wrong or needs to be 'fixed.' Love is a very real feeling, and it doesn't follow the rules of what you need from a relationship or what's healthy for you. This exact thing is why love can cause some of the most painful feelings in life.

I hope that answered your question. Hope you're doing alright. Please feel free to message me if you need.

💜

[gabessquishytum]

So I think I will turn that 70s music AU into it's own thing, but never fear! I will not leave anyone Goth Dreamless.

So two ideas about Goth Dream. The first one is that he's the local weirdo dad to Orpheus, a bright and friendly student. He's always wearing black on black with nail polish and hair so weird it'd put Robert Smith to shame. But he's known for being one of the kinder, more caring parents. He hand makes special treats for Orpheus's youth league football team. He organizes expansive birthday parties for his son's whole class and don't even get started on their Halloween party. He has the biggest house on the block and turns it into a veritable Halloween amusement park with giant skeletons and an elaborate haunted house. Doesn't help that he has real taxidermied bats hanging from his ceiling. All in all, while he's weird, he's a good father.

Robyn goes to the same school on scholarship and Hob works multiple jobs to keep Robyn in this posh private school. Him and Orpheus became fast friends when Orpheus invited him over while they waited for Hob to get off his second job. Unfortunately they forgot to mention that to Robyn's dad. Which led to Hob frantically calling his son, then showing up to Dream's house furious that Robyn forgot to mention his little excursion to a stranger's house. Fortunately Dream, in his black silk pyjama pants and well-worn and holey Bauhaus shirt, sufficiently charmed Hob enough to invite the two over for dinner. Then when the boys tired themselves out running around the property and fell asleep in Orpheus's room, Hob got to tire himself out on Dream's prick.

The second idea I had when browsing some memes and saw a Goth Girl Simp starter pack which is totally Hob. Not that he simps over Goth guys and gals specifically, just that he has a crush.

Dream is everything he isn't. He's tall, thin, and so fair it's almost like he's a fairy. He's effortlessly cool and mysterious, never deigning to speak more than a few words with most people. He's a regular at Hob's pub but doesn't do more than drink merlot alone in a corner booth. Occasionally he brings a date, but he's seen those relationships come and go. The last girl, Thessaly, got so mad at his lack of attention that she splashed her drink in his face and stormed out. Hob comped her drinks and Dream left shortly after paying for his wine.

Joanna laughs at the whole situation. In her experience, lots of people want a goth partner, but the magic fades when they take off their make-up and walk around and their pillows are stained with black hair dye. Hob is not deterred! He wants that stranger carnally. But how is he going to relate to him? The hardest album he has in his whole flat is a copy of Diva classics covered by some punk band. He didn't spend much time with the punks or metalheads in school and couldn't tell a Christan Death song from Sisters of Mercy. Jo laughs at him the entire way through as she helps him spike his hair and paint his nails.

Then comes show time. Dream comes in every day around 7:30-8. He comes around dressed to the Gothic nines with two glasses of red wine. He had Jo put some Stone Roses on the jukebox. He casually sits in the booth and tells him drinks are free if he cares to give a little of his time. Dream bursts out laughing. That horrid, donkey bray of a laugh deflates Hob's ego terribly. He gets up to leave, but Dream grabs his hand. He's never had someone try so hard to cater to his fashion sense. It's not needed as Dream had a crush on Hob, and well, a full night full of fucking wine drinking wasn't on anyone's to do list before tonight, but Hob can't complain!

🎸

I dearly, dearly love the idea of Hob simping for goth Dream in literally any scenario. It just brings me so much joy. Like, the image of Hob laying on the bed watching as Dream goes through the process of making himself up: litres of white foundation, powder, yards of black eyeliner in complex patterns, shining black lipstick, dozens of items of carefully selected silver jewellery, half a can of hairspray. Hob is obsessed with the entire process. And of course Dream is a lucky bastard who doesn't need to dye his hair, but can you imagine the day he finds his first greys? He's locking himself in the bathroom patching up every single spot of hair that isn't absolutely pitch black. Hob diligently helps and doesn't even complain about the fact that they'll never get the stains off the sink. He assures Dream that no, he won't have to shave it all off like Andrew Eldritch. It's fine, no one will even see which bits are dyed.

And Hob is just as much as a simp on the days where Dream’s hair is sticking out at all angles completely unstyled, and he's still in his pyjamas at 2pm. Hob still takes his job as Goth Boyfriend Appreciator very seriously, thanks very much. Arguably Dream is at his MOST goth when he's wearing Hob’s tracksuit down to the local tesco and having a silent battle with someone's grandmother over the last Danish pastry.

Also!! Goth dad Dream has captured my heart because!!!! Goth baby/child Orpheus!!!! In his little black outfits and spikey hair listening to Siouxsie and the banshees on Dream’s ancient ipod!!!! I am weak for it. And of course he's besties with Robyn, who has inherited his dad's love of Clannad and Fairport Convention. A match made in musical heaven, bless them <3

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

Eddie, rockstar, who goes on tours and gets raunchy letters from his fans. it also happens to make his wife jealous. she decides she's gonna show him how much better she is than some stupid explicit fan mail 🤷 or something i know that's specific

omg I love this!!! And who doesn’t love rockstar Eddie 😍

I got a little excited with this one so I wrote a fic about it :p

I was thinking about doing something smutty but tb him a little burnt out with smut since its all ive focused on writing for the last couple of months and it's been pretty difficult to work on since I’m constantly around people

But I hope you enjoy this!

No Exceptions

Genre- Fluff

Warnings- None :)

Tag List- @imagine-all-the-imagines, @esme-viridian, @munsonology

Word Count- 1.5k

You glanced over at Eddie laid on his bed in the back of the tour bus as you heard him try to hide a little giggle. He and the other guys were in their separate quarters, opening and reading all the fanmail they had been sent over the last few weeks. 

Being a rockstar was a lot different than they had imagined it would be.

They thought it would be nothing but parties, girls, drinking and getting high whenever they pleased while just being able to hang out and jam for work. Instead it was full of long days of music writing and practicing, long drives to new venues, and barely any time for girls and weed. But Eddie didn’t need any other girl by his side while he had you. 

You always trusted him while they were out on the road, he wasn’t the type to cheat or lie to you, but usually the gigs they had were only a state away. A few hour drive maximum. This was the first time they were supposed to have a show nearly halfway across the country. And Eddie insisted you go along with them.

He was so happy that he was finally living his dream of being a rockstar, and with all the support you always gave him he wouldn’t dare want to experience this without you. The guys had no protests to him bringing you along, they loved having you around and always treated you with kindness and respect. Not to mention you could help find them the perfect girls while they’re out on tour. 

But over the last few hours the only stops they’ve made were at truck stops, gas stations, and fast food joints. Now they were just doing their own thing after getting a little bit of cabin fever and starting to get sick of constantly being around one another. They knew that was inevitable, especially being stuck on a cramped bus for hours on end, but for now they were all occupied with reading the dozens of letters they had gotten from their fans. 

They were excited to read them all and see all the wonderful things their fans had to say about them, not to mention how excited Gareth, Jeff and Grant got when they saw how many girls were DYING to see them and detailing all of the things they’d love to do if they ever got the chance. Eddie on the other hand always laughed at the letters he got that said things like that. 

Though Corroded Coffin was still a newer up and coming band, they had their own little group of fans that knew all about you and Eddie. 

You were that little groups power couple and they adored it whenever they saw you at a show, cheering on your man from right up front on the stage or watching him with loving eyes from backstage. Unfortunately, like all fanbases, there were a few girls who thought they would be able to steal Eddie away from you. Those were always his favorites. And lucky for you, he was giggling at the latest one he had just opened.

“What’re you giggling at?” You asked him with a smile before taking the letter from his hands and reading it to yourself, not being able to control the giggles in between nearly every word,

“’If I had the chance to spend just one night with you, I’d show you how insignificant that little groupie is and let you see what a real woman can do’?” You nearly burst out laughing just from reading it. 

“Wait, you didn’t even read the best part, look down at the bottom.” Eddie said in a fit of giggles as you laid next to him on his bed. 

You glanced down at the end of the letter and you could feel the tears start to prick the corners of your eyes,

“’From your most devoted fan, Sandra Murphy. P.S. I may be 44 but I promise I have the stamina of a 20-year-old.’” 

The two of you were laughing so hard your stomachs were hurting.

“I think she might have a better shot at Wayne than with me…” Eddie said as he tried his best to calm himself.

Those were always your favorite types of letters.

It had nothing to do with their age, how many shows they’ve been to, or how many times they’ve met the boys after a show, there was always that one handful of people who thought that no matter what they would be the one exception Eddie would make during your marriage They somehow assumed that he wanted anyone other than you. And that meant one of two things:

Eddie would ignore the letter and keep it in his collection of favorites, pulling it out whenever he needed a good laugh, or,

He would let you write back to them if they started to get threatening and always made sure to include a polaroid of the two of you.

He had his own little collections of all those letters.

He always kept all the letters from the fans that told him how much they looked up to him and all the little kids that would write to him and say how they wished they could be a rockstar just like him when they grew up. Letters from parents saying that his music was corrupting their children and turning them into satanic savages. Letters from crazed fans who were absolutely obsessed with him (those ones were usually put into a shredder). And of course, his favorites, the letters written to him by all the girls that thought with enough convincing they could get Eddie to leave you for them.

This one was definitely getting saved.

You slowly were able to calm yourselves down, a sharp turn made by the bus that almost knocked you both off the mattress was a big help for stopping the giggles, but you just couldn’t help it.

“I don’t know Eds, she sounds pretty convincing.” You said to him as you handed him back the letter, 

“Think you’re gonna take her up on her offer? I mean, I don’t want to step in between you and your ‘most devoted fan’.”

Eddie finished his giggles and tossed the letter away onto the floor as he grabbed at your waist and pulled you in close to him, the both of you secured on the bed to keep you from nearly tumbling off again,

“Oh please, its not the first letter I’ve gotten like that and it definitely won’t be the last,” He held you close to him, arms draped around your waist as your arms went around his neck, his lips sweetly kissing you as your bodies shook from another bump in the road, “and like I said, she seems more like Waynes type than mine…” 

You giggled once more and kissed him back, your hand moving up to gently hold the back of his head, your fingers carefully tangling into his soft curls,

“Maybe you should do him a favor and let him be the one to write back to her. You never know, they might really hit it off.”

Eddie smiled,

“You know, you’re right. I might have to give him a call at the next stop.”

“You’re gonna call him at the next stop no matter what!” You lightly slapped his chest, “You said you would call him at the last stop to check in and you never did! That was almost three hours ago Eds.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll call him when we get to the next stop.” Eddie raised his hand up, “Scouts honor.”

“Sweetie, you were never a scout, you can’t keep saying that.” You said with another giggle at your lips.

“Hey, if no one knows, it doesn’t hurt anything.”

You smiled with one another as you lay in bed, holding each other close in your arms as the gentle rocking of the bus was starting to lull you both off to sleep. It had already been such a long drive, and you knew you had a long while to go until you reached your destination. A nap couldn’t hurt anything. Eddie could always wait a little longer to call Wayne, he knew he’d be alright. 

For now, all he wanted to do was enjoy the scene unfolding around him.

Laying in bed with the woman he loved, on a tour bus with his best friends on their way to a new gig at a new venue in a new place. He was finally living out his dream and though he knew there was always a price to pay when it came to fame and fortune, specifically having to give up the freedom of his personal life, but as long as it meant he got to spend the rest of his days with you it didn't matter.

All those fangirls would get from him is seeing how much he loved and adored you.

And being able to show you off to everyone he could was his favorite part of his new rockstar life.

[devilfic]

❝small favor❞

IV. another white guy from new york.

parts: previously / next plot: it's uncanny, but it can't be. right? because that would be stupid. and spider-man isn't stupid. right? pairing: mcu!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: violence, guns, knives, blood mention, alcohol consumption, peter parker isn't beating the average white guy allegations, well. when he smiles like that he might. words: 6.7k.

You almost expect them to turn you away at the door when you hand over your badge, some paranoid part of you thinking they’ll take one look at you and know you don’t belong here, but the man at the check-in hands it back to you with a pleasant, “Enjoy your evening.”

That was half an hour ago, and Parker was nowhere in sight.

He was going to “meet you there” as Jameson promised, though without a clue what to look for, you found yourself aimlessly floating through perfume clouds of high society. You didn’t want to hit the bar this close to eight, but if you didn’t find an anchor quick, you’d vibrate right through the floor. Worst of all, you didn’t even have the guy’s number. What would you do if he was a no-show?

Your job, you suppose, sullen and already dreading the evening to come.

There’s no sign of Wilson Fisk either. In your usual setting, you might’ve already flagged down a guest or two to ask what they thought about the rumors, but your usual settings were messy, bloody, and out in the real world. Here, you had a list of questions to ask that didn’t even scratch your curiosity.

What’s your name? Are you excited to be here this evening? How does the Stark Charity Ball reflect the New York City you know and love? Were you attacked? Can you confirm Wilson Fisk was on the scene?

You hadn’t even made it to the fourth question before you’d given up. How would you last a night like this?

Slithering through the crowd, you make your way to the snack table with hopes to eat your way through the night. At least you could count on rich people to shell out on good cheese.

There’s a band playing in the corner, a gentle stringed melody that you appreciate over the chatter of the guests. You make your way over and let yourself get carried away in the tune, only glancing every so often at your watch to gauge the time. It was nine minutes to eight, nine minutes until Pepper Potts took the stage to start the night, and you still had no idea where your partner was.

It’s almost natural the way your hand finds your phone, swiping over the familiar contact name and pressing out a quick message.

The party can’t start without you.

Towering windows make up most of the ballroom, fading sunlight overpowering the chandeliers above, and you take advantage in hopes it might reveal your webbed friend hanging off the roof.

Almost immediately, you get a text back.

Aww, you really do like me :) No kidding. Are you already in place? Just about. Doing a quick perimeter check. You enjoying the party? I would be if my partner was here on time. Hey, cut Parker some slack! His train’s probably late and I don’t see any signs of Kingpin yet. I'm just glad you've stopped trying to fight me on this. If you can’t beat ‘em... And maybe look up every once in a while, you’re gonna run into somebody.

Just as your eyes scan the very last word, your senses go haywire. There’s cold liquid running down your hand and you've just run into something. When you finally tear your eyes away from your phone, you unfortunately realize that something is now wearing the remainder of your drink.

People nearby have formed a clearing around you, but it feels less out of courtesy and more to point and laugh at you. Regardless, you’ve got to fix this, “I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?”

Your victim stands in a small puddle of sangria, the front of their tux dripping in it still, and you could see how red stains crawled up crisp white. You could only imagine how much every bit of their suit cost (and the Daily Bugle definitely didn’t have the budget to cover it).

They lift their copper head and you’re at first struck by the smile on their face, then the peppering of freckles across the bridge of their nose, and finally... their name.

He carefully removes his suit jacket to assess the damage to his shirt, “Nah, don’t worry. I was looking for a reason to leave early anyway.”

You’re breathless, certain you should be rushing to grab towels or begging him not to sue you into oblivion, but you don’t really get that far, “I’m... really sorry.”

He laughs, so genuine that you feel the tension in your shoulders deflate just at the sound. Just then, a waiter rushes over with a hand towel, insisting he lead him to the men’s room to clean up, but he’s waved off with little more than a “thank you” and “I’ll survive, I promise.”

He steps out of the puddle to allow someone to clean it up, bringing him that much closer to you. When he's done with the towel, he hands it off to you. His eyes trail to your chest and his eyes widen some, “The Daily Bugle. You a reporter?”

You realize he’s spotted your press badge and rush to introduce yourself, wiping absentmindedly at your sticky hand, “Uh... yes. Actually. Crime beat reporter.” You set your empty cup on a passing waiter’s tray and hold out your clean hand to shake.

His hand is warm, if not a little sticky like yours, though you have no grounds to complain, “Nice to meet you. I’m Harry.”

“Oh, I know.”

He quirks an eyebrow, still smiling, “Then... was that drink a calculated assault?”

“No! God, no. I genuinely wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Not very safe for a crime beat reporter, don’t you think?”

You’ve got to be on fire. You feel like it, struggling between a laugh and a whine, “I’m sorry you had to be the one to teach me that lesson.”

“No worries. Like I said, you did me a favor.” Harry glances around, “So… you're reporting on what, exactly? You betting on a robbery or something?”

The humor of that isn't lost on you, “Actually, I’m filling in tonight. Our usual reporter definitely wouldn’t have ruined your nice shirt.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I find this stain rather charming.”

You can’t help it. You giggle and he smiles even wider, “May I ask why you want to escape so soon?”

“Not if you’re gonna write it down.”

“Off the record? In exchange for the stain.”

Harry Osborn has a boyish look to him even though he’s steadily approaching 26, some baby fat still clinging to his cheekbones when he smiles wide enough, “Well, this was my first stop since hopping off a nine hour flight from Oxford and I’m, as the English say, absolutely knackered. I was gonna leave in half an hour after photos but…” He laughs, casting a look over his shoulder at the stage, “I’ve made my donation. I won’t be missed.”

Perking up with an idea, you reach into your bag and pull out a recorder, “In that case, how about I get you down for a comment on your generous donation of…”

“Five million.”

You blink, swallowing hard, “Five million… to make up for it? I'll even throw in a few questions about your study at Oxford. I hear you're working on a revolutionary breakthrough with lab-grown bacteria that breaks down plastic.”

Harry's eyes light up. For a moment, the image of Harry Osborn is just Harry, “You sure Jameson would let you publish something nice about an Osborn?”

The Daily Bugle was no friend to Spider-Man, but neither was it a friend to Norman Osborn. You recall some of the more scalding headlines about Oscorp’s president that you’d published in the past. It was the one thing you and Jameson could agree on. “You know Jameson well?”

“Of course. I’ve got a buddy who works there too, actually. You might know him. His name’s-”

Harry’s voice is drowned out by the collective oohing and awing of the crowd when the lights dim, shrouding the grand ballroom in the fading glow of the sun. The stage, once empty, is now illuminated with the presence of Pepper Potts. Uproarious applause fills the room. Harry smiles politely at you. His buddy would be a conversation for later.

You want to focus on Pepper, you really do, but it’s like you’ve broken out of a spell the second Harry’s eyes leave yours, and you find yourself once again scanning the crowd for Parker. There was no good reason for him to be this late and you couldn’t even give him a piece of your mind about it.

You shoot off an indignant text to Peter.

Your guy better have been hit by a cyclist on the way here or he’s getting an earful when I see him. Pepper looks amazing :(

But no instant reply. In fact, three minutes pass and there’s nothing. You glance up to the windows for any sign of him watching and find none. Was... he here?

You glance at Harry. If Jillian were here, she’d punch you in the face for what you’re about to do, for the opportunity you're about to squander. Okay, maybe not a punch, but it’d be violent.

But then you’re thinking about Peter, about that night that changed everything, about his blood and bruises and the men with guns for hands. You think about how Peter worried for you. You think about Harry, who has just donated five million dollars to charity, and how there are over a hundred more of him packed in this ballroom right now. You think about Wilson Fisk, and how much havoc he could wreak if he put Spider-Man out for good.

And then you're elbowing yourself through the crowd, searching for the nearest emergency stairwell, hoping that if Peter’s still watching he might meet you halfway. Parker and those questions be damned. You'd find a way to make it up to Jameson somehow.

You’re about ten feet away from the nearest exit when someone takes a hold of your wrist, a few seconds away from the end of Pepper’s speech, and whoever is holding you back has a grip so iron it stings. You can’t clearly see the face of who’s grabbed you but it doesn’t feel familiar. Your heart jumps into your throat. Had Fisk's men infiltrated the room already? Had they gotten to Spidey? Did they know you? Were you next?

You’ve got no pocket knife on you, but you have a fist.

You curl your fingers inward and aim right for your captor’s head. Your fist makes contact with skin. The room erupts into thunderous applause. The lights go up.

You never actually land the punch, but your captor looks a little too wide-eyed to be one of Fisk’s men, too soft in the face. His own hand has completely stopped yours in its tracks, just a hair away from breaking his nose, and he’s staring at you like a deer in headlights. A big, brown doe-eyed deer. “Uh, hi,” your eyes flicker down to the camera hanging from his neck, almost blocking the badge beneath it that reads "P. B. Parker", and then you meet his eyes with the same bewilderment, “sorry I’m late.”

Parker is about average height with a build you can't quantify when his shirt is draping off him. It's a ridiculously huge plaid thing, the kind of thing someone would wear to hide themselves, but all he does is stand out in the sea of Armani and Givenchy. Old jeans, old shirt, high-tops, and a muddy-grey beanie to top it all off. It was a wonder they let him in the door at all.

What you can feel is the strength behind his hand as it holds your fist in place. Some people are looking—you realize, after the tremors of your punch reverberate back up your arm—and so you yank your hand back before any security can take notice.

Your partner waits a full second before holding out his own, offering a subtle, wobbly smile, "I would've been here sooner but... traffic, ya know?"

His voice is low, you notice this next. Practically a mumble. You kind of realize why your coworkers said you weren't missing much; outside of his awkward mannerisms and sweet, unassuming baby face, he looked like any other white guy from New York. He also seemed like he didn't want to be seen or heard, and you imagined that Jameson had no problem with that.

But his mumbling forces you to take notice of his lips so you can read them, and their thin, blushy quality is only marred by a little dryness. Broken by biting or... or something. "You're late." Is all you manage to say.

His lips part, turning downward, "Yeah, I know," he stutters, the pitch of his voice going up a hair, "I said- um, I caught the last half of Mrs. Potts’ speech." And then he turns his camera to you, flicking through images that are too small on the screen for you to assess the quality of. You actually have no doubt they're good, but you're upset he's late and you're certain there's nothing remarkable about this guy—nothing at all—and yet you can't stop staring.

"You know Spidey?" You blurt out next, and his eyes widen and zero in on you. You don't know why he's surprised. "He's mentioned me, hasn't he?"

Parker blinks, "Oh! Yeah. Yeah. All the time. You're very... good. At your job."

"Thank you. So are you."

And wouldn't you know it, he actually blushes. It's sweet and alarming how quickly red blooms across the apples of his cheeks, how his hands wobble around his camera a bit, how it disarms you for a moment. It'd be cute if you could just figure out what about him was throwing you off.

In fact, you're so enthralled in figuring out that something that you see his lips moving but just miss his question, barely hearing the tail-end of it. You watch his lips again as you ask him to repeat it, but the musicians have started up a jaunty tune with trumpets and high white keys, so you duck closer to him and ask him to repeat it once more.

"I asked-" And as you get closer, you have an excuse to look at him more deeply.

Your eyes follow the curve of his mouth to his chin (and all its little hairs that he hadn't caught shaving), down to his neck where you see, just peeking out beneath the lip of his beanie, a curl. You've abandoned his question now. You just feel, as strange as it is, that you need a closer look...

Your hand is moving before your mind can catch up with it, until it's caught in Parker's halfway to his throat. You're so close to him that you can see the way the skin of his chin rolls with the effort to lean away from you, or the honey speckles in his eyes that are all but eclipsed by his blown-wide pupils.

His fingers are latched around yours. He's not using the same strength he was before, doesn't need to, but you can sort of feel it beneath the callouses. Even then, it's so gentle. You don't know why you react with just as mush wonder. The world might as well be at half-speed. You almost wish him to speak again because you've got nothing to say for yourself here.

Parker looks on at you, still holding onto your hand. He smells... like the city.

"Do you-" He starts, chokes on his spit, and then swallows, "are you always this friendly when you're tipsy?"

You blanch. "What? I'm not-" You yank your hand back, cup it to your mouth and nose, and breathe in the sangria. Could he smell it on your breath? "I'm not tipsy. I barely even had a drink before I spilled it all over..."

You catch Parker's eye to find him looking interested. "Spilled it all over...?"

"Someone. Whatever. It was an accident."

"You spilled your drink on someone?"

"It was an accident."

"You know, I was feeling real bad about showing up late, but Jameson's gonna have a field day with this." You're mortified. He wasn't interested, he was amused. "Are we gonna get sued?"

"No!" Your voice draws the attention of a couple nearby, making you shrink even closer to Parker, "I told you it was an accident and I apologized. And you're still not off the hook for being late."

He folds his arms across his chest, smiles steadily this time, and agrees. The action is so unmistakable that it saps all the lightheartedness right out of you. Parker notices the change.

The only thing that breaks the moment is Harry Osborn finding you both.

Your head whips at the first "Peter!", thinking you'll see red and blue somewhere nearby, but Harry is gunning straight for Parker with the widest smile on his face. You break away just in time for him to envelop Parker in a big, friendly hug that would've knocked Parker off his feet if not for how solid he was. A few onlookers take in the scene, some amused, others not so much.

It takes you a moment to digest that Harry meant Parker, had called him Peter with such love and affection that there was no way he was mistaken, and Parker had returned the hug a beat later without correcting him.

There were probably a million Peters in New York alone. And yet...

They stay intertwined a minute longer, only breaking away so that Harry could hold... Peter's face in his hands. "Peter Parker! What the hell are you doing here?" Harry seems to remember you're there. He releases Peter and points to you, "So, you two know each other after all. Pete's the buddy at the Bugle I told you about. We've been best friends for years."

As if this Peter business wasn't enough for you to wrap your head around, you struggle to imagine these two being best friends. One of New York City's richest heirs and a contractor for the Daily Bugle. Your disbelief is evident as you ask, "How did you two meet...?"

"College. We went to ESU together. We were even roommates before I went off to Oxford." Harry smiles proudly, patting Peter on the back. It's then that you notice Peter is looking very, very uncomfortable. You wonder for a moment if this is all some elaborate joke Harry's playing, but it hadn't struck you as his type of humor.

This is, in fact, a man named Peter Parker. He works for the Daily Bugle, he's best friends with Harry Osborn, he works with Spider-Man, and they both share a name. Unremarkable Peter Parker. Nothing you were missing, they'd said.

Peter must see that you're focused hard on him, so he turns to Harry, "Yeah, Oxford. Why aren't you... there? Again?"

Harry laughs, unbothered, "Don't tell me you didn't miss me?"

"No, it's just... last I remember, your dad wanted you there until your project got approved."

The very mention of Norman Osborn kills the mood entirely. Harry's smile falls quick, though he tries to hide it, and shuffles a bit uncomfortably. "That was the deal. But you know dad: the world revolves around his every whim." Harry's eyes cut to you so fast that you tense up, recovering quickly. "Off the record."

Jillian would not accept that. You, on the other hand, swallow it down and tuck it away for another day, "Anything for a friend of a friend."

That gets Harry smiling again, however terse. The conversation quickly changes course as Harry pulls at the stained white of his shirt to show Peter, "Speaking of: you like? Our new mutual friend gave it to me."

Peter glances at you, chuckling with a nervous edge, and grabs at the fabric to examine for himself, "Something tells me you deserved it."

Harry immediately resorts to banter that Peter melts into. It was no doubt now that they were friends, that Peter's awkwardness had only been on account of you being here.

You can only smile and nod, smile and nod, while you watch Peter's every move. You couldn't say anything even though you were bursting, but now your heart was beginning to pound in your ears, making it hard for you to do what you were trying to pretend you weren't doing.

Spider-Man was smart. Beneath the quips, he was extremely smart. He wouldn't tell you his real name and then show up here as a civilian, so brazen, knowing that you'd instantly figure out it was him. That'd be too easy. He trusted you, sure, but he wasn't stupid. He'd been uncomfortable at the very thought of unmasking when you'd mentioned it last night. If Peter was... Peter, he wouldn't have come at all. Because that would be stupid.

And he wouldn't have bothered to pretend, up until the last second, that he wasn't Peter, if he was just going to flay himself before you like this. Because you would've figured it out eventually.

So, surely, there were a million Peters in New York and you happened to know two of them. And they knew each other. And one of them was a superhero. Of course.

You slip your phone out, checking your recent messages with your heart in your throat. If Peter wasn't Peter, he'd have texted you back by now. Because Peter—fuck—Spidey wouldn't miss a chance to make that joke.

There's one new message. You barely get to see what it says before broken glass sprays from above.

There’s a cacophony of sound all at once. Glass breaking, screaming amongst the crowd, and the sound of gunfire letting off into the ceiling. One minute, the room had been in peaceful bliss, and the next, a tidal wave of terrified guests were rushing at you.

You’re lucky that Peter’s arm is like iron, strong enough to rip you back and away from the crowd that converges on the exits, because if you had stayed in your spot for a second longer you would have been trampled underfoot. Like your phone, which is in pieces the second it slips out of your hand.

Harry is there too, huddled against the two of you in the corner, but that doesn’t stop you three from all being pressed upon by the panicking crowds. There’s no rhyme or reason, no order in the chaos. Beautiful clutches embedded with Swarovski crystals lay abandoned at your feet. Everyone in the room can see, whatever it might be, that their life is worth more than a single thing in this room. Even worth more than the lives of the other guests they shove to get out first.

You try your best to see over the heads of the swarm to get a glimpse of what had set the entire party off, and immediately two things are visible. One: Pepper Potts is center stage, the bright white stage lights beating down on her. If it weren’t for the sweat beading at her brow, you’d think her bored. The second thing was that there was a man standing beside her who wasn’t standing there before, a microphone in one hand and a gun in the other.

Even from all the way at the back of the room, you could see the gun trembling in his grip as the barrel kissed Pepper’s temple.

The next thing is his voice. It’s loud, feedback screeching off the walls so high that you think they might shatter the windows. The crowd is loud and he’s louder. You can hear him saying something about how everyone shouldn’t leave just yet, that they’d want to see this front row and not on the 10 o’clock news. You do not see Kingpin. This man is utterly alone.

Harry is shouting something at you, you can feel his breath and the spit that flies out in the hurry of his words, but you can barely make out what he’s saying over the guests. Peter clutches you both even closer.

“We… we have to…” You start, glancing up at the windows for any sign of Spider-Man, but you see nothing. Your eyes drop to Peter’s to find him already staring right at you. You’ve no idea what’s going through his head, and the adrenaline rushing behind your eyes makes it hard to speculate. You only know what you need to say, “…we need to find Spider-Man.”

“We need to leave!” Harry argues. He wriggles out of Peter’s grip and starts pulling you both toward the nearest exit, but he only makes progress with pulling you forward.

You were about to argue back until you felt Peter’s hand at the base of your spine, pushing you into Harry with ease and right toward one of the exit doors. You turn, clutching onto Harry as to not lose him in the crowd, only to find Peter isn’t following you. “You both need to get out of here.”

“Both? Wh- Peter! We’re not leaving without you!” Your attempt to grab at him is futile. He shrugs away from your touch, keeps pushing you and Harry through the stampede as if he really intended on staying behind. “Peter!”

He finally looks you in the eyes that second time, the desperation with which you’d said his name snapping him out of some dissociative spell, “I’ll be right behind you! I’m gonna help get people out. Some got trampled, I-I’ve got to-”

Harry is next to admonish him, “Pete, come on. This isn’t the time to play fucking hero!”

But Peter’s not listening again—eyes faraway, slipping over the crowd as if searching for something—he’s heading back into the fray, calling to you some half-hearted promise that he’d follow soon, and then his head disappears into the whirlwind of bodies. You were able to follow him up until the moment his hat got pulled off, and then… nothing.

The current pushes and pulls at you and Harry, dragging you down the hallway. You feel your ankle twist awkwardly and are thankful that Harry is still clinging to you because had he not been, you would’ve been dragged down and trampled for sure. He holds you upright, pressing you to his side, assuring you over the noise that you’d go back in to get Peter in a minute.

You think that Harry Osborn is much kinder than his father seemed to be, and that you really do owe him a good soundbite in the Bugle after this.

You feel a draft coming from outside, promising you were close to being free from the confines of the hallway. You grab Harry’s hands and peel them off of you, pushing him forward into the crowd without a second thought, just as you see the light of the city come up ahead. His head whips to you. He calls your name as he’s swept away, but you press yourself hard against the wall and let the crowd lead him out to safety.

The crawl back to the ballroom is awful.

There are fewer people escaping, thankfully, and so it’s less like an undertow, but there are so many people and all of them are perfectly fine with throwing their bodies forward with caution thrown to the wind.

It takes you longer than a minute to get back to the door you’d come out of, even longer to squeeze through with elbows hitting you square in the chest and heels digging into your feet.

The room is less than a third of what it had been when the gunman had arrived. You frantically search for Peter in the remaining, scattered crowd; people are frozen in awe, in horror. Some people in the crowd were begging the gunman to reconsider, and others were praying. Your heart sank. A woman was about to die and there was virtually nothing you could do.

You look up to the windows one more time. You couldn’t see him, couldn’t call him, but you close your eyes and pray too. Whoever he was. Wherever he was.

And then you hear it. The familiar thwip! cuts through the air. You open your eyes and a second later, the clatter of the gunman’s pistol hitting the floor follows. You’re blessed with a whole five seconds of glee before the gunman surges forward and pulls a knife on Pepper, holding it to her throat in a panic.

“Easy there, buddy.” Your head snaps up to the rafters. From a single thread of spider silk, Spidey descends from the ceiling with a hand outstretched. He’s a ways away from the two of them, offering some sense of space. “You don’t wanna do this.”

The gunman has since abandoned his microphone, but his voice reverberates in the near empty room just fine, “Get out of here, Spider-Man! You’re next!”

“Why don’t you and I hash it out, then? Just you and me. Leave Mrs. Potts out of it.”

“No, no,” the man mutters; you can hear sirens growing closer to the building, “she’s part of it. You’re all part of it.”

Pepper speaks up for the first time, “Whatever you want, I can get it. This doesn’t have to end badly.”

That must’ve been the wrong thing to say. The man jerks his knife closer to her skin and you can see, after a moment, a thin bead of red dribbles down her collarbone.

Spidey holds out both his hands, “Whoa, whoa, whoa-”

And it happens in a flash. One second, Pepper is being held at knifepoint, and the next, she’s being pushed off the stage.

Spider-Man immediately swoops in and catches her, swinging her to safety on the other side of the room, but you’re too mesmerized by the new body on stage pinning the attacker down by the throat. How you’d missed him, you’ve no clue, but he’s wrestling the man onto his stomach and restraining his arms behind his back just as the doors to the ballroom are thrown wide open.

Cops stream in, rushing the stage to take the gunman into custody. Some head straight for Spider-Man and Pepper, but it’s the guests that catch your attention. There are maybe fifty of them in the room altogether, but applause catches on like wildfire. All of them, and the musicians and the cops at the door, erupt into applause.

Because the man on stage, the man who’d thrown himself at the gunman and disarmed him, the man who had just saved Pepper Potts’ life… was Wilson Fisk.

You can’t find Harry anywhere. Most of the guests had stayed behind out of sheer curiosity, but Harry was nowhere in sight.

You stand out on the sidewalk with the rest of the crowd as the police escort the gunman into a cop car, murmurs flitting from ear to ear on who he’d been, what he’d wanted, and whether they should stay behind for interviews. Pepper was still inside getting questioned. But Wilson Fisk was out here.

You’d been in the same room as Fisk only once before, the night of his infamous press conference three years ago when you were still an intern trailing after the likes of Jillian. He’d struck you as a measured man, one who carried himself with impenetrable humility, and even in the face of his detractors kept a cool head.

Back then, he’d been accused of money laundering, something to do with all his companies not adding up. In and out of trouble, he was. Jameson had likened him to a cockroach: never quite dead, even when he really ought to be by now.

And now he stands before reporters, guests, onlookers, and the like, giving a statement about his “harrowing” rescue of Mrs. Potts. He hadn’t even been invited.

You know you should be right up there with the rest of them, fiending for a soundbite, but you’re gnawing your bottom lip from afar trying to catch him in a lie. Something about this was refusing to add up, and thankful as you were that Pepper was safe, the whole thing was off. Convenient, even.

You watch him smile and nod, none of the charm ever reaching his dead eyes, but everyone eats it up anyway.

Just as you’re about to force yourself to head over, knowing Jameson would have your head otherwise, you’re flying.

“Jesus!” You screech, scrambling to cling onto Spidey as the crowd below watches the two of you swing away. Your stomach drops as he carries you to a nearby rooftop, and you all but collapse when you meet solid ground. “Oh my God, don’t ever do that again.” You expect a quip in return, but when you look behind you, Spider-Man is sitting with his head on his knees, utterly silent. Your stomach drops again, “Spidey?”

That gets him to look at you, big white eyes narrowing, “We’re not on a first name basis anymore?”

You’re stunned, and then you scowl, “Peter Parker.” When he says nothing, you repeat it, “Peter Parker.”

“That’s his name.”

“His? Or yours?”

His eyes stay narrowed at you, only now his head is lifted upright, “I’m not the only Peter in New York.”

“I’m sorry if I find it a little suspicious there’s a Peter Parker who works at the Daily Bugle selling the only decent photos of you in the city, who just so happens to share your name and- and your lips.” That last part awkwardly tumbles out of you and his eyes are no longer narrowed.

“My lips?”

Peter’s lips flash in your mind. You don’t know how to say it without sounding more suspicious than him, “You’re… you both… your mouths are very similar.”

A beat passes. The silence isn’t enough to convince you you’re wrong, but it is enough to make you fidget.

But then Peter bursts into laughter, and, well, it’s not funny to you at all. “Quit it.” You demand, meek.

“I’m sorry, I just- I stick to walls and you think it’s crazy that we’re both named Peter?”

“You can’t convince me I’m off with this one.”

“There were like… four Peters in my graduating class!”

“He even kind of sounded like you! When I could hear him clearly.”

“He sounds nothing like me!”

“He sounds a lot like you.” You say, and wish that there had been a moment when you’d caught him speaking at an octave higher than his, frankly, forced baritone and an octave below shouting. Peter—this Peter—has a voice you know well enough. You’ve memorized his vocal fry when his voice gets a little too high, that nervous ramble-y pitch of his. It’s so distinct. If you had just… heard him use it just once, “You can’t make me feel crazy about this.”

“’m not trying to make you feel crazy, I swear. You’re one of the smartest people I know. I’d be skeptical too.” You wait patiently for a confirmation or a denial, but he gives you none. He takes a deep breath and stares out over the edge of the building where Fisk is being escorted to his car. You crawl over to sit beside him.

Part of you wants to ask him to prove it, to peel his mask off and show you, but you can’t make yourself do it. He’d only just given you his name. He trusted you with that. You’re wary about pushing it.

Because the pieces fit so well, but he’d never make that kind of mistake. Would he?

Would he think it was a mistake?

Peter sighs. “Hey, you alright?” You ask.

He doesn’t really look at you, though his voice answers at a lower volume than before, "This was too convenient.” You hum in agreement. “That guy… he said we were all ‘part of it’. Like it was planned.”

“You think Fisk planned it.”

“I think he’s a little too eager to be in the spotlight about it.” But getting that off his chest doesn’t seem to change the solemnness in his tone.

“Pepper was never in danger.” Your hand presses against the scratchy concrete, itching to touch him. To comfort him. “If this was Fisk’s plan, it was all for publicity. Pepper was never gonna get hurt.”

“She got hurt.” Peter whips his head to you.

You knew Iron Man was his mentor, had plucked him off the streets and thrust him into a world of gods and aliens before his untimely death. And maybe with Tony gone, he thought it was his job to keep her safe.

“Peter, you can’t… you can’t think like that. You can punch your way through a lot of things, but that? That back there? You did what you could.”

“I could do more.”

You get that urge to touch him again, only this time, you let yourself do it.

Your hand touches the side of his mask, cupping below his ear. He watches you the entire time but doesn’t move to stop you. Your thumb rests on his cheek and your pinky- it brushes the overlap between his mask and the rest of his suit, “It’s not just that you’re Peter, too.”

You feel the muscles in his neck twitch, “What?”

“It’s that… in all that chaos, you chose to stay behind. To help people. You made sure me and Harry got out, but you stayed behind. Everyone was so busy trying to save their own lives and you were thinking about them. I don’t know Peter Parker very well. Maybe he’s just that kind of guy. But I know you. I know if anyone in that room was you, he’d be it.” Peter doesn’t say anything. You feel the tension in his jaw, feel the way his throat bobs with a hard swallow, but he doesn’t say anything. He just watches you. You stare hard into those white eyes and imagine a someone staring back at you. “Or maybe that’s just the kind of people Spider-Man hangs out with.”

He huffs humorously, “Yeah, that checks out. We’re friends, after all.”

Your heart swells to hear it, “friends”. “Don’t make this about me when I’m trying to expose your secret identity.”

“I think Peter Parker would be flattered you think so highly of him. He was kind of worried he made the wrong impression… after you tried to punch him in the face.”

Your jaw drops, having nearly forgotten in the mess of the night. “Well, maybe Peter Parker shouldn’t go around grabbing people in the dark.”

“You were walking so fast. How else would Peter Parker get your attention?”

“Are you just saying Peter Parker over and over to convince me that you’re both completely different people?”

“I just think it’s funny that you don’t believe more than two Peters can live in the same city.”

“There are other factors!”

“Can’t believe you’re the type of reporter who flies by the seat of their assumptions. But you do work for Jameson, after all.” When Peter stands, you naturally follow.

You decide to switch tactics, bruising the alter ego, “You- you know what? You’re right. You couldn’t be Peter Parker. Peter Parker would be shaking and crying if I so much as raised my voice at him.”

“Wow. I’m gonna tell him you said that—wrap your arms around me?” And he snakes an arm around your waist, sending your heart into overdrive again, “he’s never gonna talk to you again. He’s probably gonna issue a copyright claim every time you put his pics on the Web-Blog, now. Legs too.”

“Wait, no. We are not swinging again. We are taking the stairs.”

“How else am I gonna get you off the roof? Legs, please.”

“We can take the stairs!”

“Door’s probably locked and Kingpin’s already on his way back to his super-secret evil lair. Legs or I’m webbing you up in a baby wrap.”

You grumble. It’s enough to make you grab onto his shoulders and jump, locking your ankles across his back with the fear of gravity instilled in you. You reckoned he’d be fast enough to catch you if you did fall. The very possibility makes you sick to your stomach, though. “Please don’t drop me.”

Peter dips his chin into the crevice where your neck meets your shoulder. "Don't worry," and it's not even that you hear his voice, you just feel it, "I've only dropped someone once."

And you're plummeting off the ledge before you get the chance to run away.

[idleorbitals]

only friends ep 3 watch through (part 1/2)

!! the mess is here. the mess is here and so am I

we open on nick catching even more feelings over bostonnick sex montage. oh this is painful to watch. lmao @ the of directors being the ones to give nick the tweet replies he doesn't want to hear though

I have to say I am such a sucker for the kind of aw noise boston makes at 2:26 it would get me too. but right after this he sits up and says the most manipulative shit about ~we might become something more~ nick baby. get out of there

raysand softest wake up together scene. this is very tender for a one night stand situation. my expectations for what we're supposed to want for them keep getting overturned. what I want for them has remained consistent but not bc of anything rational just bc I'm a simp

moment of silence for first kanaphan special acting ability where he manages to look like he's gazing softly up at khaotung's character while towering over him

moment of silence for sand who is already gone for ray and realizing it a little

moment of silence for ray who is still flirting having fun and feeling fancy free. oh boy when you torpedo this everyone will suffer you included

The Friends (tm) are eating and planning a pool party. they are having a fun chat about all the crazy things the cctv they want to put in is going to pick up. you know when you create all these opportunities for the narrative to screw with you it will babes.

ray remembers he knows a hot musician and volunteers to take care of the djing in a way that is so sus that the rest of the friends get comic whiplash sound effects and an eagle scream about it

topmew date time. sorry legitimately the only thing I can think about in this scene is how if everyone is dancing to different music everyone will look foolish as heck. forcebook really selling it here

I lied I have another thought and it's that these lyrics they are singing make me feel like the narrative is slapping me in the face

everyone regards me as a bad guy / I'm a villain, no matter how much I love you, I must die eventually / in the end, he's the one who has your love / I want to be a hero, but villain is my role

ok calm down top

if some of that's not metaphorical tho...yikes yikes

*begin vid section [2/4]*

an old familiar hookup comes to flirt with top in front of mew. can't totally read this dynamic. mew is clearly a little jealous but doesn't really have the standing to say anything. much like top's encounter with boston in the shower last week he's pushing away just a little but not putting his arm into it. top what is your game here?

nick getting boston to help him move lmao. that's right use him babe

sand is connecting dots. about bostonnick and about the hostel. ding ding ding baby you're all tangled up in this thankless situation. I wish I could have hope about sand and nick being good for each other bc they seem like the two most sympathetic characters this storyline currently has to offer but unfortunately my guess is they will both be too hung up on other people to be any real help to one another. and/or nick's going darkside idk you guys I'm starting to wonder. more on that coming up

ray wants to hire sand for ~party fun times~ so he goes to his work mom yo to clear it with her first. she says /why are you trying to get me wrapped up in your mess I'm a pure character/ and ray, about his intentions toward sand, rasps out "nothing is suspicious" while clearing his throat and shaking his head very quickly to indicate that nothing is suspicious.

yo's bf arrives on the scene to act as another character pointing out ray's day drinking. sorry ray the narrative agrees it's problematic to hang out at a bar all day when you're not sleeping with someone on staff. yo and bf have a cute moment and ray goes sweet and starry eyed about it.

ray: "can I get one like that?" p'yo: "here comes sand"

sorry I legitimately cannot continue without taking a moment for sparkly princess ray here. wtf. this look is, of course, aimed at sand but honestly that's not even what's important to me right now

cut to sand doing some of the most inefficient chopping work known to man while ray stands around flirting prettily with him and asking for favors.

trailer teasing us yet again on their dynamic. ray is the first one to say "you think I want you as my boyfriend? of course not!" while sand takes a long sip of his water and stares into the middle distance. oh sand.

sand calls him an asshole (affectionate)* again and gets up to go. ray grabs him by the arm and asks with feeling if he is really okay with this, which is the narrative reminding us that we are still allowed to sympathize with him even when he's being a little shit bc he understands consent. they have a nice little ~what are we~ conversation which, like—even though we know it's not actually going to work out ok for either of them even over the course this episode—is some pretty healthy communication, especially stacked right up against everything we've had from boston and nick this week. I'm honestly consistently surprised ray is being allowed to be a decent person but I'm not complaining

*nearly every time the subs say "dickhead" "asshole" etc what the characters are actually calling each other is สัตว์ "animal". I get that this is a more commonly used insult in thai but I think it almost holds up as a direct translation in terms of relative weight and I sort of wish it was glossed more consistently somehow. idk someone come tell me more tho

back at the pool nick meets top, who he recognizes from the photo booth pictures he found at boston's. they get a set of villain zooms, one each top and nick. nick baby don't do anything sand wouldn't do ok?

back to one of nick's online-in-a-dark-room moments. he's stalking top and finding boston comments all over his ig. the camera is not looking kindly on him here. something something the toxicity of jealousy and obsession. nick has real feelings involved so he's already at a disadvantage in his dynamic with boston, but suddenly I get the sense that boston is not necessarily safe, even if he's not going to catch feelings

how is sandray of the messy unrequited friend thing the only safe dynamic of the Big Three

(part 2) (all ofts watch throughs)

[castlebyersafterdark]

ugh youre such a dream thank you for such detailed answers! its so appreciated and i feel as fresh as coming into the fandom all hopeful in summer 2022, up for discussing!

re this: '[wills'] sexuality is less explored in regard to the most baseline aspects of being gay. Is it infantilizing because he's our cute sweet little victim? Is it because he has yet to actually pursue his love interest in the narrative? I'm still working on pondering this myself!! Because it isn't at all how I viewed his situation or character.'

would LOVE to hear more thoughts on this, because i too have not figured it out. tbh, the whole party growing up was a hard pill to swallow at first cos its bittersweet, but it never made me deny will's character a coming of age arc or sexuality arc. i was like - welp, its happening, whether im sad or not that theyre no longer babies. infantilisation makes sense though - i even had non-fan friends who watch the show assume that will was a few grades below the other boys, and much younger.

perhaps for many, they can't accept his growing up because it's reflective of change in general, of the show coming to an end, changing? this is narrative the show itself explores, though - beautifully, i might add.

but i would love to know what your original thoughts on will's character and this storyline prior to all this spicy policing were! how did you view his growing up? was a sexuality storyline inevitable for you?

One thing I never fully understood is the general unease or being uncomfortable thinking about members of the party "growing up" and now viewing them in a different light, meaning getting involved in genuine teenage experiences like sex etc etc et al. I guess I just do find that frustrating sometimes when my view is: everyone grows up, we're there. Hit with: "but we saw them as kids! We watched them grow up! It's weird!" But WHY? I want people to explain why. Stupid analogy, but I think of how dumb it would be if my bf saw some home movie of me as a little kid and turned to me to say "well, unfortunately I can't fuck you anymore. Turns out, you were at one point - a child!" 😂 it sounds like that to me though!!!

Yeah we can still see our cute little babies s1 but we can also watch s5 and appreciate the journey, the coming of age. That's what's gonna make stranger things such a cool show, watching the actual journey from childhood to after (didnt Linklater film Boyhood over a decade to capture growing up in real time? Cool idea, never saw it). It's like any child star in the Hollywood industry. Miley was on Disney but then she started her adult career and were people initially odd about it having a pretty sexual angle? Yeah. Then everyone had to get over it. I acknowledge and understand the adjustment period, but it's frustrating in fandom for these boys that at large it's such a hang up. And, they're fictional. I know the irl actors portraying them plays into all this but... still.

(Then we got the M'leave-hers out here wanting Mike and El to get married and start having babies in s5 while we can't even talk about byler having a heated makeout or joke about Mike checking out Will's ass without pitchforks thrown our way. Booo)

As for what I thought for the shows trajectory, I did always hope we'd get an exploration of Will's sexuality as time went on. I really thought that was built into his character from the beginning (and it was and I was right) like it's one of the first things we learn about this little boy, with what Lonnie thought of him ☹️. I always wanted to see what they actually did with that and now it'll be a really, really incredible payoff if he does Get the Boy. I wasn't even really thinking too hard about byler back then but I can't even describe how heartbreaking that little moment when he tells Joyce "I'm not gonna fall in love" is in context, just... it always gets to me. S4 was a game changer and seeing what they were doing with Will and Mike? Hooked me. Decided to actually look into the fandom as something I wanted to engage w beyond just TV and the occasional pretty gifset or funny interview clip I came across on my dash or theories on reddit - shock and awe when eventually I saw how the vocal asshole fans acted. Debates and witch hunts over how far just a kissing scene can go? Sad.

Byler is great, byler is cute and palatable until you acknowledge that gay teenagers feel desire and maybe have sex, woah! People were even weird about aged up fic and art and everything! Still stumped to an extent about it. Our canon gay character (two, actually, just yet to be hmmm canonized lol) gets the sanitized treatment while Steve and Eddie and all their fanon post 7000 E rated fics w little complaint. (Finding out that was actually as popular as it is really shocked me?) I'd celebrate that and care about them more if the differences weren't so annoying. Just because of the age thing. Oh, get over it. Wish I'd taken a stand from the beginning and just did what I wanted without feeling awkward and going with the status quo. Lame. But maybe this is better, so much nicer having complete openness and a relative fresh start.

[jkrockin]

Time after time - “the same bright patient stars” !

About one year after the events of the story, please.

(I’m so wild to know what FRMC and JFJ’s life together looks like after they’ve been back together for awhile… and if / how James’ little white lie re: losing control of the fortune affects things in their relationship. 👀)

Remember when I apologised for my last Unusual Fic Asks for Authors prompt being late? Five days ago? Yeah, that. I have an outline in my notes for a sequel to the same bright patient stars, loosely working titled The Marriage of Fitzier, but I sincerely doubt I'll actually ever get around to writing the thing for real, so please enjoy this one year later timestamp that spoils one of that story's big twists!

*

“Darling,” James said, smoothing his hands down the back of Francis’s jacket to set his collar straight. “It’s really not that serious.”

“Not serious, he says,” Francis grumbled. “I expect it’s not, to the likes of you, with your big parties and your ninety-seven bloody changes of clothes—”

“Now, be reasonable, dear heart. I only packed three outfits for tonight.” James’s hands wandered down to pet over his waist. He was like that, James. He could never keep his hands to himself, always grabbing on to any part of Francis he could reach, holding his hand and so on. To his deep aggravation, Francis found it settled all but his most obstreperous moods. Unfortunately, this mood was quite as rotten a one as he’d been in since James had resurfaced, and while it helped, it did not help enough.

He’d had to wear his dress uniform again. It was hardly the only fancified thing in his wardrobe, not since James had had unfettered access to it, but it had to be the uniform, didn’t it. It had to be the updated full dress uniform with the hundred feet of gold piping, the epaulettes hanging off his shoulders like glamorous solar panels, and the Admiralty-issue dress boots, polished to an excruciating gleam. He couldn’t look like any old rich bastard tonight; he had to look like a rich Navy bastard.

James— well, James was still in his dressing gown. He'd not let Francis see any of tonight's ensembles yet. That wasn't helping with his mood either.

"It's an hour of small talk and standing about looking impressive, Francis, and you do the latter very well as a matter of habit," James said, chin hooking over Francis's shoulder to look at him in the mirror. He'd done his face already, so there went the chance of Francis at least getting a kiss. "Some tiresome speeches, a little dancing, a very nice dinner, and that's all. We'll be back in our quarters before the dark watch have time for a cup of tea."

"I wish I had time for a bloody cup of tea," Francis grumbled. "You do realise I have to make one of those tiresome speeches, because the whole blasted tiresome spectacle is in my honour."

James sighed in his ear. "There's still time to have Franklin do it. That would be rather a good joke— the Admiral-Governor welcoming his junior officer as his new head of House."

There was temptation there, it had to be said. Poor old Franklin. Bad enough to see his precious House Ulverstone made subsidiary to a previously minor House like Moira; watching grouchy Francis in all his down-at-heel glory elected as Head of what was rapidly becoming the most powerful House in the galaxy had to, at best, sting.

The whole thing was a constant bewilderment to Francis. Without James and Jopson and Little and, yes, sometimes even Dundy, he'd have stuck his head out an airlock long since. But he did have James; he did have people around him who loved him and wanted the best for him. Some days he even really felt it. "I wouldn't even sodding be here if you weren't an incorrigible liar," he said, turning in James's arms.

"I didn't lie," James said. Twining his arms around Francis's neck, he bumped their noses together in a cosmetic-preserving version of the Arctosi kunik. "All I said was that I would lose sole control over the Barrow finances if I married. Which I did."

"You might have seen fit to mention before the wedding that the person to whom you ceded that control was me," Francis groused.

It was an old argument already, and a comfortable one. The damage was done. Francis simply had to live with a half-share of the largest concentration of wealth in charted space, and the power and influence that came along with it, courtesy of his handsome husband who, unaccountably, loved him. Perhaps a speech or two wasn't the steepest price to pay.

"Come on. We can't be late," James said, pulling at the belt of his dressing gown, revealing a flash of plum velvet and silver embroidery beneath. "If we run out of time for me to switch into my gown between the speeches and the ball because you're lollygagging, I will not hesitate to make you halt proceedings while I change."

"You said you had three outfits for tonight," Francis said, giving up on his collar as a foregone conclusion, and waving the mirror back to blank wall panel. "That's only two."

"The third one isn't for the party, darling." James smiled at him, that secret corner-of-the-mouth smile he kept just for Francis. "That's for after the party, if you're very well-behaved."

The joke was on James, there, Francis thought, tugging at his wrist to hurry him out the door. In his experience, James's special after-party outfits encouraged very little good behaviour at all.

[gr1evance]

strudel and the rest of the party from the campaign he's in will be in @group-oc-tournament, so here's a giant propaganda post about everyone's favorite pastry boy!

for some context, strudel is an au of captain starburst who's an au of nix... there's a lot of aus of that guy. nix is from my story grievance, he's a god living in a place called the purpose and he's battling feelings of anger, jealousy, and loneliness. unfortunately, he doesn't have the best influence by his side.

captain starburst is an au of him for me and my friends' shared superheroes/villains setting, superverse! he's a super upbeat and excitable hero who's learned to control his dangerous powers and use them to benefit his goal of helping people, at the cost of covering up his own negative emotions. also, he's married. all you really need to know is that strudel is an au of starburst, who's a superhero that's gay married. that's really all that's relevant, context wise. i just like to talk about my favorite guys.

starswirl strudel, or just strudel, was the protagonist of 2017 kids' cartoon sugar and spice. it takes place in a world made up of furries based around desserts, called sweets, in the bustling town of saccharine city. the show followed him, silly nerdy comic book-obsessed strudel, in his quest to become a real life superhero in a world where superheroes are only fiction. his best friend cinnasparkle bunbun keeps trying to talk him out of it, but strudel is determined. strudel eventually gets the hang of his new hobby, and ends up stumbling into an evil lair. unbeknownst to him, while he was working to become a superhero, someone else was working to become a supervillain. their name is peppermint patty, a dastardly force working to destroy saccharine city for good. the two become rivals and enemies fast, though... strudel seems a bit more interested in their henchman, really. gumdrop, or just gummy, is a goofy sour gummy worm-based snake working for patty. he's not very good at his job, much to patty's chagrin, but strudel quickly finds himself enchanted with him. after dancing around it, in the middle of season two, the two of them finally end up getting into a relationship.

unfortunately, due to the gay pairing and the show's general embrace of its progressive ideals and gender nonconformity, the show was cancelled shortly after. it still has a dedicated fanbase, but the show hasn't seen much attention since the cancellation. and apparently the show's creator went missing soon after, isn't that weird? before it ended, two prototype plushies had been made for the show. they were never mass produced, and due to the absence of the creator, left to rot in a closet. all but forgotten.

forgotten, that is, until one of them came to life. strudel began his new life locked in a closet alone, screaming for help in his new claustrophobic prison. he eventually managed to get out and bring gummy, now just a plushie, with him, settling into a small apartment where he could hide his identity. he became a massive shut-in, barely ever leaving unless he needed necessities, spending all his time on the computer or obsessively rewatching episodes of sugar and spice. he started collecting toys, especially merchandise of sugar and spice (fanmade or official). he continued to love superhero comics, becoming a moderator of a popular comic book forum, though he was frequently mistreated for having more "childish" interests and, well, being gay.

he carries the plushie of his boyfriend with him everywhere, including under his cloak when he goes out. he talks to it and treats him like he's still the same person, because to strudel he is. he hopes that someday he'll talk back. his life continued this way for a while, a sad, silent solitude, almost letting himself rot away in the same way he'd been rotting away in that closet. that is, until he saw a quaint advertisement for a spooky island trip. tired of being all alone, he decided that surely a trip with a group of strangers to a scary haunted island would be a great way to finally branch out and make some new friends! well, unfortunately, things went about as bad as they possibly could've, with the immediate death of the group leader. that was followed by their ship getting hijacked and taken to a definitely actual haunted island, full of monsters and the fact that death is impermanent. i'll save the rest for any other member of the group who wants to elaborate on the current island happenings, since this is just a strudel backstory post. he's some flavor of gay, he has a plushie boyfriend, and he's soft and smells like cotton candy pastries! (probably a better combination than you'd think.) if those are any reasons to vote for him <3 below i'll link art of him from my art blog, for anyone who wants to see a little more of him!

pennystrudel cuddles

reruns

my crt (flipnote mv)

[assorted-things]

Today in AU concepts that will make sense to nobody but me...

I haven't posted anything Gallifrey-related in 84 years because my brain has been consumed by Monster Hunter and CDramas, so I thought I'd post some old ideas I had for a Monster Hunter AU/crossover! Unfortunately I never got around to designing Leela...

(All these were done before Sunbreak came out, so I only used armour from base Rise in the designs!)

The idea here is that Brax, Narvin, Romana and Leela are a hunting party of three Wyverians (sort of the setting's equivalent of elves, I guess?) and one human.

(If you're wondering why the characters have only three fingers, this is the norm for Wyverians.)

I figured Brax would be an Insect Glaive main purely based on Vibes. It's one of the weapons with IMO the best manoeuvreability, and also allows you to make a dramatic entrance if that's your thing. (I also thought it would be amusing to draw Narvin being Tormented by one of Brax's Kinsects, given his apparent dislike of spiders in the audios...)

I've drawn Romana using a Light Bowgun, which is a fast ranged weapon that I could never quite get the hang of myself. I could also picture her using the Charge Blade, which allows you to choose between small, faster attacks, and heavy-hitting, slow ones as you react to your enemy's movements and patterns.

Narvin here is using a Greatsword, which is very slow but hits very heavily. You need to have a good understanding of how your opponent attacks to use this weapon effectively and position yourself well to get off the heaviest attacks. His real love, however, is the Hunting Horn, but I imagine him not really liking to reveal this to people who don't know him well, as defeating your enemy with the Power of Bagpipes doesn't really fit with the image he likes to project. The weapon has a reputation for being complicated and difficult, but allows you to do a lot of blunt damage while also supporting your teammates with buffs.

[southernconstellctions]

⌠ timothee chalamet. 25, bisexual, non-binary, he/they. ⌡ wait a minute, is connor horowitz still in town? i thought i saw a flash of (constant bed head, untied shoelaces, freckles and dark eye bags)! last i heard they were working as a musician nearby. when it’s the (capricorn)’s birthday on 12/27 i forget that they’re immature and celebrate that they’re delightful. i hear title track by machine gun kelly every time i think of them. ⌿ @liminalintro 

drug and alcohol mention tw

* The youngest of three, it wasn’t fair to say that Connor was overlooked - just given a lot more freedom than his older siblings.  As long as he didn’t get in trouble, he was often left to get into whatever his heart desired.

* School was not his favorite thing in the world, and by the time he was in high school, Connor was cutting classes to go hang out with his friends at the record store all day more than he was in class.  They loved music so much, the next logical step seemed to be to try to get into the underground punk scene that never seemed to die,

* There was a lot of luck and chance, but Connor and two of their best friends wound up getting friendly with a producer, and somehow that led to a track that seemed to blow up overnight.

* Unsure how to fully deal with all of this, the three boys - Connor especially as the youngest - leaned heavily on their producer for insight and guidance.  What they didn’t know was that he never had the boys’ best interest in mind - he was only in it for the money.

* At sixteen years old, Connor got caught up in a whirlwind of fame, recording an album, playing shows around New York, and showing up on talk shows.  The music seemed to be less about creative expression and more about what would make money.  Any joke idea they had turned into something serious, nothing they actually stood for.  It was confusing, but Connor felt entirely powerless to say no - as did his bandmates.

* With the release of their first album, the producer immediately set the boys up for a tour, and at eighteen, Connor was launched into a much bigger, wider world.  Constantly supplied with beer and a cocktail of drugs, Connor and their friends quickly turned into people they barely recognized.  Nothing seemed to be a joke anymore, and partying and bad behavior seemed to be the expectation.  None of them were looking to disappoint anyone they were working with, which led them all down a dark hole of turning to drugs and alcohol at every chance they got, falling in and out of bed with women because it was what was expected, they were famous, why wouldn’t they take the opportunity when it presented itself?

* Somehow, their tour lasted for nearly a year and a half, and by the time they came back to New York, Connor was absolutely exhausted.  They felt like nothing about them was real, forced to turn into some sort of a robot.  They boys were practically forced back into the studio upon their return, unfortunately, and while they tried, nothing was hitting right.

* Connor wasn’t the first to crack, but when one of his best friends and band mates quietly moved to California without telling anyone, it left Connor and the other boy in a complete tailspin.  With nothing else to do and nowhere else to turn, he completely distanced himself from everyone, and leaned into the flashy comfort of partying and drugs.

* Suddenly at twenty one, he felt completely untethered, unsure of where to go or what to do with his life.  He never finished high school, and while everyone recognized him, he barely even knew who he was.  Leaning into his fame to continue to party was easy, for a while, but he knew it wasn’t entirely sustainable.

* After a much put off phone conversation with his sister, he decided that he could always try to make it as a solo musician - until his friends came back, that was.  Her suggestion was to try to go back to their roots, and think about the things they loved before they got so manipulated into thinking the only things in life that was cool were girls, booze and drugs.

* Connor is still on a road to self discovery, trying to remember who he was before the glitz and the glamor of fame.  They barely know who they were, who they like, who they’re going to be, but the one thing that has remained true was his deep love of things spooky and unusual.  So he decided to move to a town where there were fewer people to freak out if they recognized him - his hair was much longer now - and one that had a curious backstory.

If you know anything about The Beastie Boys, Connor is based very heavily off their time during the License to Ill era and the fallout of that.  He is based moreso off Ad Rock than the other two, but there’s elements of them all in him.

[spicywhenspeaking]

Star-Crossed Connection: Chapter One

masterpost

Nick Folio x Original Female Character

this is a complete work of fiction, some characters while based on real people are totally made up. :)

Seraphina Holloway is Hollywood’s new it girl. But, when an embarrassing viral video of her ex / costar publicly dumping her goes viral, she thinks she needs a quick fix to help maintain her image. When she’s set to appear at her new movies premier she scrambles to find a date to bring that will help take the white hot spotlight away from her public dumping and show that she’s still desirable to all. Enter Nick Folio, drummer of the metalcore band that’s taking over the scene, Bad Omens. He’s a sweet down to earth guy with a heart of gold and when a smokin hot movie star asks him to be her fake boyfriend for a week he agrees to help. But will the line between fake feelings and reals ones start to blur when Seraphina lets her true self show.

word count: 3.3k

Taglist: @cookiesupplier @lma1986 @to-be-written @bngurngheart @jessicafg03 @knivesforapro @thatchickwiththecamera @somewhere-diamond @sorrowsofsilence @malerieee @dsireland86 @collapsedglasshouses

FLASH Seraphina! Seraphina!!  Right here!” FLASH

FLASH Seraphine! Hey! Let’s see a smile over here!”  FLASH

FLASH Seraphina! How are you feeling after the breakup?!”  FLASH

“Have you seen Conner's latest tweets? What do you have to say about him calling you a spoiled brat? and a controlling alcoholic?” 

FLASH FLASH 

The nonstop lights flashing in my face and the condescending questions have me feeling irate. I’m just trying to get to my fucking car. “No! I actually didn’t see his tweets! I could care less what he has to say and you can fucking quote me on that!” I yell back at the paparazzi as I climb into my car and slam the door as they continue clicking pictures over and over again. 

Ugh, I’m never getting away from this embarrassment. The stupid video was a drunken fight with Conner, my on-again-off-again boyfriend of the last year and a half. That fight ended up with us wanting to never speak to each other again.

Unfortunately, he’s my co-star in the movie we just made and we have loads of scheduled press to do along with a week-long film festival in snowy Colorado. I need to figure something out quickly, no way am I showing up to that alone. Conner Frank is a lot of things, talented, gorgeous, charming, but he’s also a petty douche. He’s been subtweeting like a dejected teenage boy since the video leaked. I look like such a primadonna, crying outside of a party sloppy drunk, and yelling at Conner about flirting with some other girl.

I looked like a wild woman, my makeup was smeared and my outfit was barely hanging on my body, he looked like an innocent bystander being berated by a drunkard. But I'm not exaggerating when I say he and this girl were hanging all over each other.

We had gone to the party together and this girl was in his fucking lap, if I had been sober? Maybe I would have handled it better. Instead, there's video evidence of me yanking her off of him and dragging him outside to hurl insults at him and cry about how he doesn’t love me anymore. And just my luck about forty people were video taping it on their phones. It was all over the news the next day, DailyMail, E!, TMZ, my hometown news station even talked about it. Ugh, and now the fucking paparazzi won't leave me alone.

I managed to get out of the parking lot without much hassle. The paparazzi have always been relentless, but I guess they have some regard for their own lives. They moved out of the way pretty fast before they met the underside of my vintage Bronco. My dad practically rebuilt the whole car, It’s all I have left of him since he died five years ago. He was a firefighter and died in a house fire after saving a family of five. I miss him a lot, I’m thankful that I have the memories of fixing up this car together.

 Pulling onto the road I roll down my windows and turn up the radio. “Coming up next we have a band that’s taking over the rock charts with their new single, here’s Bad Omens with Just Pretend,” the radio DJ says as the song begins to play. I’ve never heard of Bad Omens before but I like this station so I’ll check it out. 

I'm not afraid of the war you've come to wage against my sins

I'm not okay, but I can try my best to just pretend

So will you wait me out

Or will you drown me out?

So will you wait me out

Or will you drown me out? 

(I might have to let you go)

“Oh shit, this is pretty good,” I mumble to myself as the song plays on and I turn the volume up louder. 

I can wait for you at the bottom

I can stay away if you want me to

I could wait for years if I gotta

Heaven knows I ain't getting over you

We'll try again

When we're not so different

We will make amends

'Til then I'll just pretend

I listen to the rest of the song and make a mental note to listen to more of their music when I get home. I’m on my way to meet my manager, Alyssa, and my assistant, Jules, for lunch to discuss what next steps I want to take with my career and how to get out of this stupid embarrassing viral expose of my life. 

When I arrive at the cafe where I agreed to meet Alyssa and Jules there is a bit of a commotion but thankfully the manager at the restaurant doesn’t allow the paparazzi inside. Once settled into a corner booth I sigh exasperated. “I am so done with this fiasco, I need an image revamp immediately,” I say to the two others at the table. “Well we can get you booked on Kelly’s show to talk about the movie, she’s great for positive press. Her clips on TikTok do really well.” Alyssa suggests. “Oh yeah, and you could do that karaoke game! People will hear your singing voice and forget all about this shit with Connor.” Jules adds. “I like the talk show idea but not the singing, let’s not forget how horribly received my single did a few years ago. Sometimes actors should just stick to acting. Myself included.” 

“What I need is a new guy, I need to make it seem like I could care less about Connors’s stupid comments and cheating. If I could find a hot, mysterious guy I could make myself look like the hot superstar I’m supposed to be.” 

God, If my dad could hear how fucking full of myself I sound he would throw me in the car and take me right back to grandmas ranch to get rid of this attitude. But I don’t know how else to survive in this world. It’s toxic to a core so I’ve just adapted to be toxic along with it. 

“What kind of guy?” they ask in unison. “What about Jacod Elordi, hes so dreamy,” Jules asks. “I think he’s dating that nepo baby whose mom went to jail.” Alyssa says as she scrolls through her Instagram feed, “What about this TikTok guy? Noah Beck? He’s a cutie.” she flips her phone to show me some photos but I’m unimpressed. “No, I don’t want some cookie-cutter Instagram hunk, I want someone cool and hot. Like….Like….like that guy over there.” 

I point off to the far side of the cafe where a group of guys is sitting at a table, I’m singling out the one with the baseball cap and red cut off shirt. “In between the two long-haired guys across from the one with the neck tattoo. That’s the guy.” I say, admiring his side profile. “Wait a guy like him? Or that guy? Just some random guy?” Jules questions and I don’t answer, I just scooch out of my seat and head over towards the boy’s table.

A few people notice me as I walk over and I offer a small smile. I reach the table where the four boys are seated and clear my throat to announce myself. They look up confused and I begin introducing myself, “Hi, I’m sorry this is kind of weird but I’m-” 

“Holy shit!! You’re Seraphina Holloway!" one of the long-haired guys says. "Haunted Drive-In is one of my favorite indie horror movies, you were so awesome in that! oh!, I’m Nicholas by the way, sorry for interrupting. This is Jolly,” He points across from him, “and Noah” who is sitting to his left, “and this is also Nick, but we call him Folio.” who is the last of them sitting on his right side. They all give a head nod of acknowledgment and Folio offers a little “hey.” 

“Hey! Nice to meet y’all. Wow, I can’t believe you saw that movie! It was one of my firsts but definitely a personal favorite. Goes to show that it’s not the budget that makes the movie, It’s all about writing and having a good director.” I start to ramble and remember the reason I came over. “So this is kind of random but I was wondering,” I turn to the guy he introduced as Folio, “if I could get you’re number?” 

He does a double-take between me and the rest of the guys almost like he’s making sure I’m talking to him. “Me?” he gestures to himself and raises his eyebrows. “Yes, you.” I giggle. “What? Are you not interested?” 

He eyes me up and down and shakes his head, “oh no, I’m definitely interested, Just surprised is all. Um but yes, my number, can I see your phone?” Nodding I hand him my unlocked phone and let him put in his contact information. “Listen are you busy tonight? Maybe we could go out for drinks?” I am never this forward and honestly, it feels kind of cool, but is it empowering or desperation? Shut up inner monologue. It can be both..right? 

“We actually have a show tonight, why don’t you come and we could do something after?” 

“A show? Oh, are yall a band?” I ask and the guy with the neck tattoo looks almost offended that I didn’t know. Like omg sorry but pretty much everyone in L.A. is in a band or some public access soap opera, sue me for not knowing them all. But Folio is the one who responds, “Yeah, Bad Omens, have you heard of us?”

Wow, if that isn’t cosmic intervention at work before my very eyes, “I just heard you guys on the radio! You guys are awesome, you’re playing tonight? Where?”

“Text me your info and I’ll send you some passes for the show”

“Okay, perf. Looking forward to it! Wow, so awesome meeting you guys. I will text you and see you guys tonight” I say with my pageant smile and while turning back towards my table almost completely run into a waitress.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, are you okay?” I say throwing out my hands to keep them from crashing onto the floor, “Yes, I’m okay, it’s fine- oh my god! You’re Seraphina Holloway! Oh my god! Did they really cast you as Ferye in the live-action ACOTAR series, omg that’s my favorite book series, can we get a picture please?” 

Laughing I agree to the picture, “Thats just a rumor, but I would love to play Ferye, could you imagine? I’ll have to call my agent” I joke as we take the quick selfie and with one last wave to the table that was watching my whole interaction I head back to my table to quickly text Folio back with my contact info.

“Sooo? How did it go?” Allyssa asks and her and Jules both lean in to get the details. “Well.. It looks like we’re going to a concert tonight girl!” I say and turn my phone to show the three backstage all-access tickets he just sent over. 

Later that evening the three of us are outside the venue preparing to show our passes. “Wow, I’m so glad we became friends in middle school, movie premies all over the world, free stuff, and now VIP concert tickets. We did good Jules” Allysa says high-fiving Jules and I roll my eyes. “Wow, so that’s all I’m good for now? Free stuff and access to shows and movies?” I joke and we all laugh.

“No no, of course not. You also offer amazing medical benefits.” That makes me burst out laughing. I’ve known Allyssa and Jules since the sixth grade and when my acting career started talking off the choice between some random Hollywood leech and my best friends helping me out I went with my friends and It’s been such an amazing journey so far. Besides the current shit-storm, I’ve found myself in. But, that’s all on me. 

We make it into the venue and head towards the VIP area a few minutes before the opening band goes on. The music is cool and different from what I typically listen to. 

When Bad Omens finally takes the stage I’m transfixed, the show they put on is electric and so fucking fun. I can’t keep my eyes off Folio, he’s a drummer, so hot. Their music is great, the song on the radio was such a gentle introduction to them, they have some really headbanging stuff and I never thought I could be so turned on by someone banging against a drum kit for an hour.

Folio had texted me earlier to wait for them at the backstage exit so when he was done with the show and showered we could head out to hang out. 

When he and the other guys exited he waved and they walked towards us, “the guys are going to the Dave & Busters down the road if your friends want to join? I thought we could take a ride to a coffee spot by the pier” he asks me and I almost swoon on the spot. “That sounds great.” my friends excitedly agree and we say our goodbyes and head our separate ways. 

I follow along side Folio as we walk further into the parking lot, “so should we call an uber? Or did you drive?” I ask and he laughs under his breath as we stop next to a big black motorcyle. “I road here since it was a show in town. How do you feel about riding on a bike?” he asks and my eyes widen a little. Hmmm the risks are falling off and becoming mangled and possible dying and the pros are riding on a motorcylce with a hot drummer..”Sounds fun!” I tell him and accept the hemet he offers me. “But it will mess up my hair.” I fake pout and he laughs, “I think you’d prefere a bad hair day over your brains spilled out over the side of the road. Plus, it would take a lot more than bad hair to make you look bad.” 

I blush slightly and put on the helmet, “how do I look?” I ask and do a spin. 

“Very nice,” he says looking me up and down, “have you ridden before?” 

“Yeah, my dad had bikes and use to take me on rides. He died a few years back so its been a while but I know the drill.” I tell him and try to push down the emotion the clogs my throat. It’s still hard to talk about him. “Oh, I’m sorry for your loss. Was your dad a harley man?” he asks and I can’t help the big smile that speads across my face. “Yeah he had a 1959 Harley-Davidson Duo Glide FLH, it was his baby. It’s still in the garage at my mom’s, I havent been able to ride it. But, maybe someday.” 

“Thats a sick bike, maybe that someday we can go on a ride together?” he asks and I smile and nod as he throws his leg over the bike to start it up. I climb on behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. A few minuets later he takes off out of the parking lot. We fly past or friends walking towards the D&B and give them a quick wave before Folio takes a sharp left towards the coastline. 

It’s been so long since I’ve been on a bike I forgot how much fun it is, the speed, the wind whipping against your skin, the world buzzing past you in a blur of color and lights. 

The closer we get to the pier the stronger the salt air of the air hits my system, the beach is my favorite part of living in California. I love the warm breeze and the sand and the freezing cold water, It’s my little slice of peace in the world.

We make it to the coffee shop about twenty minuets later and once inside I order and green tea and Folio orders a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. He finds us a seat on the patio facing the water. The coffee shop has warm twinkly lights all along their patio and small unscented candles at each table. “This is a cute place, you come here often?” I ask taking a sip of my tea. “Yeah, I like riding near the water, the air is nice out here.” 

I’m starting to forget why I originally asked for his number in the first place, I figure I should just rip the bandaid off. The worst he can do is say no and then I awkwardly uber home and never listen to his band again. I could try this the old fashion way, and date and maybe we would eventually get there but this premier is next week and I don’t have time for traditional dating right now. 

 “Look I don’t know how to ask this and not sound awkward but I have a new movie premiering next week at the Colorado Music and Film Festival and I need a fake boyfriend to make me look hot and my ex look like a loser. I don’t know if you saw but this embarrassing video of me went viral and it’s my literal nightmare to show up to this thing next week with no one when he’ll have the newest victorias secret lingerie model draped all over him.” I blurt it all out like a toddler after eating broccoli for the first time. “Um I know that sounds crazy, but I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend? Would you? It’s in colorado! So snowboarding, good food, parties? Um weed? If thats your thing.” 

“Wait what? Do you just regularly ask people you barely know to movie premiers? And ask them to be your fake boyfriend? How do you know I’m not crazy? And how does a girl like you need a fake boyfriend?” he asks with a small giggle. 

“Ugh, I need a fake boyfriends for the exact reason of being myself. I’m a mess, I just need to not look like a total loser infront of my ex and really the world. I’m some sick joke because I acted like a drunk idiot. Have you ever been a meme? It sucks, and I’m not even a meme I can use ironically with my friends." I take a deep breath before continuing. "Listen I know it’s a lot to ask a stranger, but it would just be a week and if you hate me at the end of it we never have to speak again.” 

He’s quiet for several minuets and I don’t say anything else, I’m sure he’s just thinking of a nice way of letting me down. 

“So a week in colorado with you, at a film festival and I just have to pretend to be your boyfriend?” he asks and I just nod as confirmation. 

“You know what? What the hell, sounds like it might be fun. What do I need to do?”

I don't stop the smile and squeal that break out of my mouth and I practically shoot over the table to hug him. “Oh thank you! thank you! You just need to show up and be the cool motorcycle driving metal drumming guy that you are. Oh and send me your measurements and I can have my stylist pull some stuff for you to wear. I will send you the itinerary tomorrow, this is going to be great.”

As we finish our drinks and head back to the bike I notice movement in my peripheral vision and then a sudden sucussion of bright flashes. 

“Hey Seraphina who's the new guy?” FLASH

“Is this a new guy?” FLASH “whats his name?” FLASH “hey Seraphina give us a smile” FLASH

“Are you going to mess this relationship up like the last one Seraphina?” FLASH “come on give us a smile?” FLASH

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I guess they found out I was here.” I whisper to Folio and he quickly moves to defensively wrap his arm around me and walk us closer to his bike. “No need to apologize, let's just get out of here.” 

He hands me my helmet and we quickly climb onto the bike as the flashes continue going off. Soon I can’t hear their harassing comments as Folio kicks on the engine and speeds down the road. “So I guess that’s the start huh? This is gonna be fun” he laughs and hits the throttle harder sending us blazing down the dark city streets. 

thanks for reading ! :)

Chapter two ->

[the-missann]

Courage from Love

The night seemed as if it would stay uneventful, but right as it hit midnight, Cassie's phone went off. Knowing the only person who'd be calling her, she went and answered it with an eager smile on her face.

"Hey, what's up Haku?"

"I honestly wish it was nothing." His voice was irate, not very much so, but it was noticeable to Cassie who was more than used to his soft spoken tone.

"What's up? You sound upset."

"Sorry if I do. It's just so stupid. No one wanted to go back to the dorms to get this… thing they bought—I think it's some kind of drink—so I eventually offered to go get it for them."

Cassie sighed slightly. "Sometimes you're too nice for your own good."

"Tell me about it." He sighed. "I just thought to call you for some company."

Cassie smiled and sat up in her bed as she listened to Kohaku talk. As she did so, a resolution to this dilemma occured to her.

"Hey, maybe… I could just get it for you instead."

"Really? You don't mind?"

"No, I'm cool doing it for you."

He let out a relieved sigh. "Honestly, it'd mean a lot if you could."

Cassie then got up. "Where is it?"

"It's one door from my dorm. I'll just meet you halfway, so tell me when you get to my dorm."

"Alright, let me get changed real quick."

Cassie got up and went to her closet, however, it dawned on her that she'd be going outside on one of the busiest days on campus. Everyone was having parties, going out, or hanging out and she'd have to go past them all.

Worried about appearing strange amongst all the night owls dressed up, she decided to dress as she would during the day and found a decent enough outfit to go out in.

She picked up her phone and headed for her door.

"Oh, by the way, I think what they want is pretty heavy, so take your backpack."

"How'd they forget something like that?"

"I could take a guess."

Cassie giggled at Kohaku's more than annoyed voice, but she went for her spare backpack, the one she took on exam days when she didn't need to carry around five notebooks. It was styled like a bear, so she held it in her arms while leaving her room.

It didn't take Cassie very long to get to Kohaku's dorm.

"Okay, I'm here."

"Alright, they said the door should still be open, it's two doors from my dorm." Cassie followed his direction and went to open the door. It was unlocked, but unfortunately for her, a group of students were inside.

Cassie froze for a second and someone looked back seeing her.

"What are you doing here?"

"Did someone invite her?"

Cassie tried to speak, but nothing came out. A few in the room snickered at the frozen appearance of the girl before them.

Someone then said, "come on, what are you here for?"

Their impatience wasn't lost on Cassie and she just gave a small shrug.

"I'm getting something for a friend."

"Cassie?" Kohaku's voice on the phone snapped her attention back. "It should be on the floor near the bed."

Cassie looked there and found what Kohaku was referring to, she quickly went over and retrieved the bottle. She said nothing else and scurried out of the room. Some annoyed sighs followed her closing the door and Cassie just hurried out as quickly as she could.

"I got it…"

"Was someone in there?" He asked.

"Uh, yeah, I guess some people were having a party." Cassie left the male dorms. "But, where are you?"

"By the courtyard."

"Okay…"

Cassie couldn't help but think about the partygoers in the room. She hoped they would just ignore her, but a part of her couldn't help and think that they were laughing at her, getting enjoyment out of the encounter after she left.

Her walk down the sidewalk slowed and her very invasive thoughts came to the surface, making her gaze drop further and her mind run miles around the last few minutes. Every which way that could have happened went through her head and she almost wanted to revert time to do it again.

Cassie made it to the courtyard and found Kohaku waving her down.

He jogged over to her and while he had a smile on his face, it faded when he saw Cassie.

"Hey… what's wrong?"

She looked at him. "Nothing, it's just something stupid."

He pursed his lips. "Cassie, you're tearing up." He reached and grabbed a hold of her face in his palms.

They were cold against her skin, but his gentle touch was enough to mitigate that. Cassie's frown only got deeper and eventually she spoke.

"They just… I just think I bothered them. I'm sorry for making you worry over something like that."

Kohaku took a sharp breath. He gave Cassie a bitter smile and pulled her in for a hug.

"You're so cute… Cassie, you're making me wanna just stay with you for the night."

Cassie shrunk in his hug, but nuzzled against him as she always did. "No, you should go and have fun."

He pulled back and locked eyes with her. "No seriously, stay right here." He took the bottle from her bag and jogged off.

Cassie watched him drop the bottle off to someone. He spoke for a second and immediately turned back to Cassie where he rejoined her. Kohaku reached for her hand and turned them back in the direction of the dorms.

"Kohaku, no seriously, go and hang out with your friends."

"Does it seem like I was even enjoying that?"

She pouted. "No, but-"

"So don't worry about it. I'd rather help you not think about those jerks anyways."

Kohaku's hand was cold, but feeling it against her palm made her warm up, slowly that warmth crept to her face and her mouth turned up in a smile.

"Some day, your friends are gonna hate me because you always dip on them for me."

He chuckled. "No one would hate such a cute girl. Really, why'd you dress like that just to go out for a second?"

They stopped and looked at one another. "I'm… cute?"

Kohaku's face grew red as she looked up at him. He scratched behind his head and started to walk again.

"Well, I just think you could have dressed in any kind of way, really."

Cassie smiled at his embarrassment and happily walked beside him; knowing even if she was nervous and anxious, it didn't matter once they were together.