#i haven’t written in almost four years this means so much

[raideneiseuthymia]

I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH!!! I'm a big diluc simp bro and the only 2 fics u wrote made my day so much!!! Please never stop writing

I…am going to cry so hard rn. Please, I haven’t written in so long and it makes me so happy that you love my writing, thank you so much. I too love Diluc he’s grown on me so much recently!! If you ever wanna send a request in for him feel free!! Thank you again, this ask means the world to me fr

#bro catch me fr crying #i haven’t written in almost four years this means so much #hako answers

[chaoticharrington]

Chapter One: Professor Harrington and Mr. Munson

Pairing: Professor! Steve Harrington x Best Friends Dad! Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Not much...YET.. lots of smutty smutt smutt to come. Vague mention of depression/ bad childhood/anxiety , mention of drug use/ cigarette smoking, Eddie and Steve being hot, Reader is in their mid 20s and Eddie and Steve are early to mid 40s

**THERE WILL BE LOTS SMUT 18+ CONTENT EVENTUALLY SO MINORS THIS IS NOT A SPACE FOR YOU, MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED,IF YOU DONT HAVE AN AGE IN YOUR BIO I WILL LIKELY ASSUME YOU'RE A MINOR AND BLOCK. DM FOR ANY QUESTIONS THANKS!<3**

Summary: Reader moves to the one and only Hawkins, Indiana and meets her sexy new sociology professor and realizes she might have a crush on her best friends dad..oops

Authors Note: Hi folks!!! this is so nerve wracking i've never really properly written for either of these characters before except in my head and reading lots and lots of smut! I really hope you guys like it, i'm really excited for what's to come for this series, I haven't thought of a name for it yet so i'm just going to go chapter by chapter but its gonna be a fucking wild ride so buckle your seat belts :) 4k words (Also older Eddie pic by the lovely @eddiemunsons-missingnipple )

**Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four**

Were you doing the right thing? Could you do this on your own? What if you failed?

Your head filled with doubt now that your dreams you’ve had since you graduated high school were now coming to fruition. You saved up all the money you could, working odd jobs for a few years after high school to have enough money to get out of your hometown and into a good college states away.

You shake away all the negative thoughts, no. This had to work you were going to make sure it worked. This is your new start, to create your own life. It had to be better than back home, where no one gave a shit about you and your own parents didn’t care enough to stick around after you graduated high school, not that they were the most involved parents to begin with anyways. Even the friends you had back home were just party related or friends of friends, you were always on the outside looking in, never properly fitting anywhere. The only reason you decided to move specifically to Hawkins was because your only real friend, Violet, that you’ve had since you were 12 had moved here 10 years ago and you’d made a pact long ago that if you ever got out of that town, you’d follow her here.

You pinch your fingers to the bridge of your nose, willing the thought of your parents and back home to go back into the little dark corner of your brain. You can’t breakdown now, not right before your first class, how pathetic would that be?

“Focus focus focus, come on you got this.” you muttered quietly to yourself over and over until the anxiety subsided. You take a deep breath, willing your lungs to fill with air to cool down your buzzing insides. You look in your car mirror to make sure your makeup still looked good and fidgeted with your clothes.

You were never one to obsess over your appearance by any means, but you really wanted to make a good first impression. You had your hair pulled up into a butterfly clip and had on your favorite dress a pair of black tights and your trusty Dr. Martens. With one final look in the mirror, you sigh and grab your bookbag and get out of your car. You look on your phone to triple check that you were in the right place, the last thing you needed was to be lost or even worse late to your first class.

You’d only moved into your apartment off campus the day before so you haven’t had time to look around the town or get used to your surroundings yet. You noted that your car didn’t stick out like a sore thumb. Your car was a few years old and was always something of an insecurity for you. But most of the cars that filled the almost completely full parking lot were older or used cars, which put you at ease. You head into the Humanities and Social Sciences building and check for a fourth time, Sociology 101 room E142 Professor Harrington.

The room is much bigger than you thought, chairs and desks circling the podium at the front of the room. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the room was only half full of other stressed out looking students preparing for their day ahead. You decide to pick a seat towards the middle of the room to not look too eager.

As you’re getting your laptop and books out of your bookbag you hear footsteps walking into the room and the girls behind you immediately start giggling and whispering to each other. You look to see where they’re looking hoping they aren’t making fun of you, you see them biting their lips and looking at the front of the class. You follow their eyeline and your breath hitches.

Where your sociology professor should be standing is an Adonis, he has thick honey brown hair, peppered with grey, that frame his handsome face. His skin impossibly sun kissed like he’d just come back from a tropical island and not living in Hawkins, Indiana. He smiles nervously at the class; his smile is warmer than the sun despite his nervousness, warming you from the inside out. He’s wearing a white button down covered by a navy blue sweater, a pair of grey slacks and black high top converse.

“Ahoy folks! Are you guys ready to set sail on this vast ocean called Sociology with me? I’ll be your Captain Professor Harrington!” he claps his hands, his eyes waiting and hoping for a response.

The girls behind you giggle and a few other students around the room follow suit, he sighs contently. He goes onto explaining the syllabus and assignments for this semester. The class flies by, he’s easy to listen and pay attention to, sure his looks help but he seems genuinely interested in what he’s teaching. Which is a breath of fresh air, you diligently take notes, making sure not to miss anything. Before you know it, class is over and people start packing up their things.

“Oh class before I forget, if any of you are commuters, come get a parking pass from me unless you want a ticket.” he announces to the class, most of the class you assume living in the dorms hurry out of the room.

“Because not only are we charging students tuition we are also charging students just to park on campus, capitalism at its finest folks,” he snorts, shakes his head, and walks to his desk leaning against it.

After finally putting all your things away and checking where your next class is you head up to him. Just being near him makes your heart beat a million miles a minute, like your unworthy of being in his presence let alone so close to him.

He smiles warmer and wider as you stand in front of him, “Hey what can I do ya for?” he asks brightly.

“Oh, uh, I just need a parking pass if that’s okay,” you say quietly.

“More than okay my dear!” he declared. You blush at his words while he picks around in his desk drawer for a parking pass. His nose scrunches up in frustration as the digging becomes hastier and more urgent.

“I coulda swore I put em in here… or did I leave them in my office?... shit,” he breathes.

You giggle at his disorganization, and he looks up at you embarrassed, you wondered how a man who looks like how he does could ever be embarrassed about anything. The girls who sit behind you would agree.

“I promise I’m not usually this discombobulated.. just uh first days always come sooner than I think.” he chuckles

You nod knowingly at him “No worries I can always get it tomorrow or something.” you say waving his worries off.

He looks up at you through his glasses relieved “Really? That- that would be amazing. I would go grab them from my office, but I don’t think I have enough time to before my next class.” He studies you for a second like he’s actually looking at you for the first time.

“What’s your name again hun?” he says casually, as he opens his computer and types on his keyboard.

Your heart flutters at the continued use of nicknames, you take a second to study him again before you respond. He’s hunched over his desk, typing and clicking away on his computer like he’s searching for something. His eyes crinkled at the edges with age, memories of many days smiling and being in the sun. You notice his freckles that adorn his face and neck that you couldn’t see during class. If you had it your way, you’d take your time to count them all to try and make sense of his godly beauty. And his hands.. his hands look so strong effortlessly gliding across his keyboard.

You must have taken too long to answer because he looks up at you expectantly and raises his eyebrow and smirks. You shake your head slightly trying to regain your composure.

“S-sorry first day jitters, my heads a bit scrambled,” you confess to him. You tell him your name quickly, you hoped that your cheeks didn’t look as red as they felt.

His eyes softened a bit and nodded and continued to type on his computer for a couple more seconds before turning to you again.

“I emailed campus security to let them know that it’s my fault you don’t have a pass and if they do give you a ticket just bring it to me and I’ll sort it out for you, okay?” he states and steps away from his computer to face you again.

“Oh wow thank you so much Mr. Harrington, I really appreciate it!” you chirp

His face scrunches up at the name, and chuckles, some of his honey brown hair falling in front of his face, his hand ready to catch them and put the strands back in place. You were mesmerized.

“Uh Mr. Harrington is my father, call me Steve er Professor Harrington works to if you don’t want to be on a first name basis.” He says kindly

“Oh well thank you regardless…Steve.” his name sounds foreign but good on your tongue. You stare at your shoes and then realize that you’ve been in here looking at your professor for far too long.

What the fuck were you thinking? He probably thinks you’re insane but is too nice to say so.

“Ya of course,” he dismisses you easily.

“Anyways I don’t wanna keep you, have a good day,” you apologize.

"You too Y/N,” he calls, as you head out the door, glad that your back is to him so he can’t see you blush again just because he said your first name.

“Get it the fuck together.” you mutter to yourself as you walk aimlessly out of his classroom.

The rest of the day goes without a hitch, you find yourself actually excited for the upcoming topics in your classes. You’ve never given yourself the opportunity to properly nerd out about the things you’re interested in.

You finally get back to your car after all your classes and groan at the sight of a ticket stuck onto your windshield.

“Fuck…” you whine

Too tired to get it taken care of today you drive home and plop on your bed. Even though your classes were super interesting, it was very mentally draining. Extra draining because you’ve tried to force your brain to focus on classes and not think about your sexy sociology professor.

Was he this nice to all his students? Did you catch him eyeing you up while you were talking or were your eyes playing tricks on you? You keep trying to reassure yourself he is just really nice. But his hands… his smile…

You groan and rub your hands against your face trying to shake all the whirling thoughts out of your head. You force yourself to think about literally anything else, then your tummy rumbles. You haven’t had time to grocery shop considering you had just moved in yesterday and your fridge was completely empty except for some bottles of water and condiments.

Your phone buzzes next to you on your bed, you open it and smile.

“BITCHHHH I MISS U COME OVER! You’ve been in Hawkins over 24 hours & ive gotten radio silence from u! ur presence is being requested in the munson household immediately!

P.S Bring food my dad is starving me over here”

“At your service m’lady, cheeseburgers good?” you respond quickly

“ur a life saver babe<3”

Your mind drifts away from your professor and the ticket that is burning a hole in your bookbag. This place already feels more like home than any time you’ve ever spent where you were born. You missed your best friend so much. Violet Munson has been your ride or die best friend for as long as you can remember. You two became friends when you were sitting alone in the lunch room one day and she came and sat right down next to you and you two have been inseparable ever since… that is until her dad decided to move her back to Hawkins to be closer to family after the divorce right before freshman year. You had been crushed getting your best friend ripped away from you like that, but then you guys made the pack to get out of dodge when you could, and now you’re here… in Hawkins,Indiana.

You change into comfy clothes and grab some cheeseburgers, fries, and onion rings from the only burger joint in town and headed over to the Munson residence. You’ve never actually been to her house before because your parents never allowed you to visit after she moved away, so you two mostly kept in contact over constant texts and lots of facetiming.

Pulling up to her house you were more nervous than you thought, you hadn’t seen her in so long and hoped things wouldn’t be awkward. You turned off the ignition, grabbed the food, and went to open your door when you heard a scream come from the front of the house. You lift your eyes to see your best friend jumping up and down on the front porch in her pajamas. Violet had long bright purple hair and thick black eyeliner, kind eyes, a wide smile, and an infectious laugh.

“YOU’RE HERE YOU’RE REALLY FUCKING HERE HOLY SHIT!”

You laughed and dropped all the food in the front seat of your car and ran to meet her in the middle of her lawn and tackled her to the ground. You hugged her tight, squeezing your eyes together wishing the tears at the corner of your eyes to go away.

“Vi I missed you so fucking much.” you whisper

“Awe babe I missed you too.” she shares

You both get up off the grass and you grab the food and head inside. You set the food down in front of the tv like you used to do when she lived closer to you. You sit down on the couch and while she grabs plates. You sigh deeper into the couch, everything was just picking up exactly where you two had left off, you were gonna be okay. You smile quietly to yourself and then head to the kitchen to help her bring everything into the living room. You decide to watch a new horror movie that just came out, the two of you always bonding over everything creepy and spooky. You let Violet tell you about her partner Quinn, who she met a few years ago and was head over heels in love with.

Then the front doorknob jingled, and you heard the familiar thud of heavy boots.

“Ho- holy shit is that Y/N?!”

You turn to face the familiar voice at the door. “Hey Mr. Munson, long time no see!” you breathe.

Fuckk… when did Vi’s dad get so... hot?... what the hell is wrong with you today? First your sociology professor and now your best friends DAD?!

He grins widely at you just like his daughter, he shrugs out of his boots and walks into the living room.

“I got you a cheeseburger on my way over, still like double meat and cheese on your burger?” you question.

Mr. Munson puts a hand over his heart and falls into the love seat next to the tv.

“You remembered, I’m touched sweetheart.” he beamed.

“oh yeah no problem at all!” you blush.

“Well I’ll let you guys catchup, don’t need me harshing the vibes, Vi’s been nonstop talking about you coming to Hawkins  a month!” he chattered

Out of the corner of your eye you see Violet roll her eyes at her father.

“Dad no one fucking says “harshing the vibes” anymore or at all, you’re aging yourself old man,” she chortles

Mr. Munson chuckles and puts his hands up in the air in surrender “Alright alright I’m leaving, if you guys need anything I’ll be in the garage. Thanks again for the burger Y/N!” he says kindly holding up the burger in one of his large tattooed hands.

You beam up at him happy to help, and this time you get a good look at your best friends dad. He’s aged so much better than you could ever imagine a man with Mr. Munsons lifestyle to ever age, the expression aged like fine wine captures it perfectly.

His brown hair still wild and curly as its always been but tied up into a low bun at the base of his neck. Only difference is the now visible little grey streaks that run through random curls. He has more laugh lines at the side of his mouth and the corners of his eyes. Still wearing his normal garb, black jeans with loads of rips, a band tee with a leather jacket. His chocolate brown eyes still full of mischief and debauchery. His nose ring ever present but you spy a few more additions to his tattoo collection, specifically a new neck tattoo and a few more on his hands.

Fuck his hands… wait you have to answer him. Answer him before it’s weird that you’ve been staring at him so long.. you’re really on a fucking roll today.

“It was my pleasure Mr. Munson really,” you gush.

He gives you a wink that goes straight to your core and vibrates in your bones and heads to the garage.

Violet didn’t seem to notice how flushed you were, eyes still on the screen, interjecting at random times when a scene looks to fake or when the blood splattering doesn’t look real enough.

After the movie the two of you head upstairs to Vi’s room, she wanted to show you her new additions to her every growing crystal collection and a few polaroid pictures of her and her partner.

“They literally make me feel like a princess I feel so lucky, for our 3 year anniversary they gave me these black tourmaline pentagram earrings, aren’t they so cute?!”

Your heart fills with warmth, Violet has always been loud and unique, you are so happy for her that she found someone who accepts her for who she is and loves her for it.

“That’s really sweet Vi, i'm so happy you have them, and that they treat you so well,” you grin.

“Thanks… what about you though? You’ve always been very singular… looking to change that any time soon? You deserve to be happy babe, even if it just means getting laid you deserve to get some. You’re a fucking catch dude” ,she compliments

“I mean you know I had a thing with Dylan for awhile before he got back with his girlfriend...” you murmur

“Oh COME ON, you know that’s not what I mean, not some assholes rebound!” she insists

“Vi I don’t have a line down the block like you used to have, you’ve got that whole hot sexy goth girl shit going on, I’m just me.” you babble and point to your gorgeous best friend

“What about Tom? You were with Tom for a long time what happened with him?” she asks obliviously.

“Fuckin cheated on me,” you sigh. Re-living your lack of romantic endeavors to your very not single best friend being up there in the top 10 most pathetic things to date.

“Oh fuck that guy, how fucking dare he!” she sneers while she tries to light the perfectly wrapped blunt in her hand.

“Shit I think my lighters dead, can you go ask my dad if he has an extra?”

You nod and head downstairs and search for the door that leads to the garage, finally you find the door you’re looking for and the image in front of you almost makes you audibly gasp.

Mr. Munson has a cigarette between his lips hes strumming along to some metal song that he’s humming the tune to, occasionally sucking in smoke and blowing out the side of his mouth. His head bobbing to the tune of the song completely in his own world. He’s beautiful.

You look at the way his fingers move to the beat and strum the strings on his guitar, mesmerized by how pretty they are. You can see all the calloses on his hands from all of the years of playing.

Your hand moves without thinking and knocks on the side of the garage door, getting Mr. Munsons attention.

“Oh shit, hey honey, ya need something?" He questions

“oh yeah sorry, Vi’s lighter ran out, and we were trying to light a blunt, you got an extra?” You ask.

Growing up, Mr. Munson had always been the more laid back between Violets two parents, letting her test the waters herself allowing more than the normal parent would. But as long as she was being safe and not doing any hard drugs he was mostly lenient with her. Not that it mattered much now that she’s grown.

“Uh yeah I probably got one around here somewhere, come pop a squat while I look.” he gestures to the chair beside him.

Your legs wobble while you move into the garage, it smelled so uniquely of him. His leather jacket draped over the back of his chair, smoke in the air, and metal music playing lowly in the background.

His space made you feel at home, the garage door was open so you could see the sun setting in the sky, and the metal music is weirdly comforting. You find yourself tapping your feet to the beat.

Eddie went to his truck looking for an extra lighter and your eyes wander to his guitar. You can tell he really cares about it, its clean, the strings look freshly changed, and recently polished.

“Oh yeah she’s a beaut isn’t she?" He observes proudly, leaning against his car with a new found lighter in hand.

“Yeah really pretty Mr. Munson,” you remark.

He smiles at you, “Here ya go, I don’t know how much juice is left in it.” He hands you the lighter, for the few seconds your hands connect you see how much bigger his hands are than yours, it almost makes you topple over in your chair.

“Thanks,” you reply. You grab the lighter with your hand and put it in your pocket and push out of the chair headed back into the house.

“Were you always this shy?” he asks inquisitively.

You turn around to face him confused by his question, you never really considered yourself shy, it just takes some time for you to come out of your shell.

“Shy?” you reply. fidgeting with a loose string on your sweatpants, your lips in a fine line.

“Yeah..you just seem.. shy or sad maybe, you doin okay?” he presses

You sigh hard trying to find the right words to explain the last few years and what would be appropriate to share with your best friends dad. “I’m fine really, just a long few days.” you share and smile to try and make it convincing.

He clicks his tongue and you know that he doesn’t believe you, your heart sinks. You never want to put your sadness or hurt onto anyone else, you’re a big girl and you can handle it on your own. You change the subject to the empty beer glass on the table in front of him, “Need another beer?” you ask

“Read my mind darlin, thanks,” he replies.

You head to the kitchen to grab him his beer and head back to the garage to bring it to him. When you get back he’s back at it strumming on his guitar in his own world, you wish for a second maybe you could just sit in his little world with him, it’s quiet and peaceful, no thinking required. You set the beer on the table and turn to head back upstairs.

“Hey Y/N, if you need anything or even just to talk I’m around, I know I’m not Violet, but if you need another friendly face, I’m here.” he smiles warmly at you.

Your heart melts, of course he’s the sweetest man in the whole world. “Thank you Mr. Munson that really means a lot,” you blush. Thankful to have one more person in this town on your side.

You close the door behind you and rush back upstairs hoping Violet doesn’t notice how long you’ve been gone. You hear voices and giggling on the other side of the door,

She’s on the phone with Quinn.

“She’s returned! Come here I want you to meet Quinn!” she exclaims. You breathe out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, no excuse necessary. Your friendship with Violet has always easier than breathing. You spend the rest of the night smoking weed and talking on the phone with her partner, glad to have the distraction from your recent interaction with her dad.

Did he really mean what he said? Or was he also just being nice? I guess he kind of has to be nice to me, being his daughters best friend. Plus he’s so out of my league, a man like him would never go for a girl like me, right?

Only time will tell.

***Reblogs/comments are appreciated***

No Pressure Tags!: (Just tagging some mutuals I thought might enjoy!) ** If you wanna be tagged in the next fic lemme know**

@untitled74745 @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @munsonology @lesservillain @tlclick73 @dukesmebby @cozyquinn @rowanswriting @succubusmunson @teddyeyeseddie @lofaewrites @chaoticmunsons @ryan-waddell11

#Stranger Things #Eddie Munson #Steve Harrington #Older! Eddie Munson #Older! Steve Harrington #older eddie munson #older steve harrington #Eddie Munson smut #Steve harrington smut #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie munson x reader x Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson fic #Steve Harrington fic #Steve Harrington x reader #Steddie x Reader #Steddie #chaoticharrington fics

[spliffymae]

WRITTEN OFF.

synopsis: it’s just you and your ex husband speaking…at three in the morning…with tensions at a crazy high…you’re totally fine.

⚠️, swearing, mentions of cheating, smut, oral (m receiving), toji is a dickhead, reader experiencing body issues during pregnancy, angst with a mix of sadness.

pt.1 if y’all haven’t read it already :)

kio’s notes - guys i am so proud of this part. omfg idk what it is but i ate this shit up. also wanted to just say thank you all so much for interacting with my posts and loving my stories 🫶🏽🥹 honestly makes me so happy to know y’all love it!

now playing:

⊱ ──────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.}──────── ⊰

“so my name can’t be said in your house, toji? what, am i voldemort now?”

“might as well be.” he mumbled, looking anywhere but at you. he couldn’t, not when you wore one of his old college sweaters he had forgotten at your house when you two started dating, four years ago. you ended up keeping it as a part of your wardrobe.

unfortunately, you hadn’t a clue that you were wearing something of his.

you folded your arms, leaning on your right leg. you were going to start with your attitude, you knew that for certain, and you didn’t care. “really? that’s how we’re acting? grow the hell up, toji. i’m not the one who ruined our marriage.”

“no just the one who ended it, right?”

you scoffed, “well i wonder why!” you said sarcastically. if he could play the ass then so could you. hell, you’d do it better.

toji rolled his eyes as a response. “i’m not doing whatever this is with you, (y/n). just tell me what megumi took and let me go take care of him.” he pinched the bridge of his nose with his empty hand. he was stressed, the evidence all over his face.

unbeknownst to you, he had been having the hardest time as a single father, trying to manage the complexities between todays adolescent life and the development of a baby. now add on his hefty paperwork from his missions and he was positive he could be sent to an early grave from stressing so hard. there wasn’t enough time in the day.

“i don’t know what the drug is, he—.” toji cut you off,

“the hell you mean you don’t know?” he spoke as if you should’ve known, almost judging you for not. the tone had your brow raised, now looking at him with narrow eyes. it was your way of telepathy, non-verbally telling him to ‘watch it’, because he was on paper thin ice.

“like i was saying—he got in the car and didn’t say. i didn’t even think to ask at that moment because i was just concerned with bringing him home first. it was a priority but at—.”

he cut you off again, this time with a scoff.

“just not top priority, right?”

you blinked.

you blinked again.

there was a silence between the two of you. a thick silence holding all the tension you two had created from being in the others presence.

toji had regretted the words just as they came out. he knew he messed up. he knew megumi had been your top priority when he didn’t have to be. when you were nothing more than toji’s friend who would just babysit the young boy whenever his father went out on missions.

megumi had been your first child, whether it be by blood or not. you loved him like he was, raised him, and became the parent he never knew he needed.

toji would always say it was your smile that drew him in, or say to his colleagues at work dinners it was your beauty, but truthfully—honestly, it was the way you loved his son like he was your own.

“i’m gonna give you a chance to take that back,” you spoke softly, voice slightly cracking. “because i know right now you’re just saying shit to hurt me. i love megumi, and if you wanna swing low, i promise you, toji, i will swing to hell.” you pointed. your eyes had become glossy with tears and you hated it.

megumi was a soft spot for you, always has been. whenever you and toji would get in spats in regard to him you were always on the defense for megumi. you were his advocate when there was no one else. but you were also reminded by toji (only when boiling points had been reached) that your advocacy did not need to be respected because you were not megumi’s real mom.

toji looked at his daughter, who had fallen asleep against his chest, soft and shallow breaths leaving her lips. she was your twin and he knew it was his karma. karma for his infidelity, his lying ways. he knew he shouldn’t have said anything, but he couldn’t help it.

“say it, toji. tell me i’m not his mom—do it!” you stepped closer. your eyes quickly darted to your daughter to see if your sudden volume increase had startled her awake. thankfully it didn’t.

“tell me he’s not my son, go ahead. tell me i went to every sports game, recital, and parent-teacher interview by myself because he wasn’t my son. say it, i want to hear you say, ‘(y/n), you’re not megumi’s mom. he’s not your son.”

there were tears in your eyes now, droplets falling after you’d blink. “let me remind you while you were out getting your dick wet in another bitch, i was home, pregnant and alone, with megumi who had a high ass fever. i took care of him when his own father put pussy over him. so don’t come to me about my priorities, ight?”

at the mention of his cheating, toji’s lips pressed into a thin line. he had definitely struck a nerve with his previous comment.

“i told you she meant nothing to me. i wasn’t in my right mind and—”

“and were just mad at your pregnant wife, so you decided to cheat on her. that would show me, huh toji?”

how many times was he going to have to apologize for what he did?

for doing the one thing he swore to not do?

he opened his mouth to speak. what he was going to say was what he didn’t quite know just yet. he wasn’t sure if he wanted to defend himself or just fight back. what was even the point of fighting back? everything you were saying was true.

rin had fussed from under him, her little whines being a reminder to her parents she was still present.

“i—” toji began but you cut him off by raising your hand up,

“shut up and feed my child. i’m going to go check on my son.” you didn’t wait for response from him as you turned to head upstairs, stomping away to let out some anger.

you left toji to realize he was in fact about to feed rin before arguing with you. and he cursed himself for forgetting what he originally came downstairs to do.

“shit.” he muttered as he went to the couch. he took her out the carrier and sat down with her. thankfully her bottle hadn’t spoiled and was still warm. damn you for being aware of your daughters needs.

“sorry, rinny. got distracted.” he kissed her forehead as he put the bottle to her lips. there was that feeling he felt in the kitchen again, that guilt. he hated it.

it was like someone took a fire to the inside of his stomach. it was hot, burning even. he was uncomfortable whenever it came because it was a feeling he couldn’t suppress.

he felt ever since that night, and it only ever grew as the days progressed.

toji had come home later than he told you, he had to stop to bring home food for you and megumi, as well as shower to rid himself of the smell of sex.

he didn’t mean to do it, honestly. he was just mad and needy. you hadn’t been giving him the attention he wanted from you. you wouldn’t let him touch you or even kiss you anywhere that wasn’t on your face. he needed the intimacy, and you only wanted privacy.

you claimed it was because you felt gross. you tried to explain to your husband how the pregnancy was affecting your mental state, mostly how you viewed your body. you already had body issues prior to being pregnant, but now, at your six month mark, you felt like you didn’t know who was staring back at you in the mirror.

but toji couldn’t understand. he kept trying to tell you how pretty you were to him, how beautiful you were all big with his baby, but you would never really take in his words. you just shrugged them and his reassuring kisses off with a fake smile and a quiet “thanks.”

you were supposed to go with him to this big work dinner. you had promised him you’d go and be his pretty little wife months ago. smile big in front of potential clients, mention your husband’s various accolades, basically put toji on a pedestal so they would choose him.

but when the night came, you weren’t feeling up for the event. toji of course wasn’t pleased as he had been telling you about this dinner for months. he tried to convince you to come but like previous disputes you two have had, it ended in yelling and arguments.

you yelled at him for his apathy; not understanding just how tired you were from carrying his baby, working during the pregnancy, and being the present parent for megumi in terms of school while toji went on his missions.

he yelled at you for not giving him the attention he deserves as your husband. for not being there for him when he needed you. honestly he knew it was dumb to have this argument. he should’ve just kissed you and agreed to let you stay home. but his stupid pride got in the way.

so he ended up going alone, dressed in his fancy suit and shoes, silver audemars piguet watch on his wrist and cuff links to match. he walked into the banquet hall and decided he would do it all himself—like he always did.

that’s when he stumbled into her, shoko ieri. she had complimented him on the way he flipped one of the biggest and most stubborn drug lords in the city to hire him for a hit job. she offered to buy him a celebratory drink, whiskey—since she was drinking it too.

it happened fast, at least to toji. the way they went from a playful banter by the bar to sitting next to each other at one of the tables. she had been a guest of his colleague, satorou gojo. she was a doctor for men in his line of work.

“so if i get injured on the job…” toji remembers starting, leaning back in the chair and putting his arm around the back of shoko’s. he had a smirk on his face as he manspread in his seat.

“then just stop by mine and i’ll make it all better.” she patted his cheek, eyes twinkling in mischief.

she ordered another round of whiskey for the two of them. the more he drank, the more you and megumi slipped from his mind. the more he ignored the gnawing sound in the back of his head. the one that kept telling him to stop.

another round of whiskey lowers the volume of his conscience. he can hear shoko better as she tells him about an impromptu surgery she performed on toji’s other colleague—and the godfather to your daughter, suguru geto. she touches toji’s bicep every now and again, as the story reaches turning points and it’s climax. the noise in his head comes back once she finishes the story, reminding him that you are waiting for him at home.

“but i don’t want to talk about me. i want to hear about the one and only toji fushiguro,” she leans in to him and his heart swells.

another round of whiskey. the noise has been minimized to a hum toji now hears every now and again as he tells her about an operation gone wrong in nagasaki. the conversation takes a flirtatious turn when shoko’s hand flies to his knee in a somber stroke, mumbling about how tired toji must’ve been after. his ego bursts.

another round of whiskey and toji does not recall there ever being a noise in his head. it’s quiet now, with only the sound of the jazz band and shoko having his attention. her hand remains on his knee, cherry red nails scraping against his thigh as it inches higher. toji makes a comment about switching to water for the night but shoko reminds him that just like the night they are both young.

another round of whiskey. toji’s hand is squeezing shoko’s thigh, his fingers grazing higher to places he yearns to explore. her lips now the colour plum, stained from the red wine she was nursing in between shots.

“there’s a hotel above us, y’know.” her eyes were piercing into his own. lips in a smirk and cheeks red from being flustered.

“so why are we still sitting here?” toji asked, lifting a brow. shoko smiled and unlocked her phone, passed it to him with the contact page open.

“add yourself. then wait for ten minutes.” she had a confidence about her that toji found captivating. so he did as she said, tapping his thumbs against her screen and filling out the information. when he gave her back the phone, she smiled and stood up, sauntering away.

his dick was hard. he was leaning back in the chair, wiping a hand down his face to calm himself down.

in the moments he spent to himself, the noise he had long forgotten slowly made its way back to max volume. he signaled to the waitress for another round.

the glasses of alcohol were brought in front of him, two tall shot glasses. he took them down without a thought, the liquid burning his throat.

his phone vibrated on his lap,

unknown

room 615.

it happened in slow motion, at least to toji. the way his fist knocked against the door of the hotel room and shoko answered with a smirk before pulling him in by his belt. then things started to pick up.

the way he cupped her face and kissed her hungrily. his anger from earlier and passion from the lust he felt were put into the kiss, the sounds of their lips smacking and shoko moaning ringing in his ears.

she broke away to flash a wicked smile before she bent down in her heels, becoming eye level with his crotch. she began pawing at the bulge in his pants, emitting a groan from him. his hand grabbed at her hair, chestnut coloured tresses bunched up in his fist and a gruff “suck it” leaving his lips.

his dick was hard and it was leaking for her. the way she sucked on his reddened tip had his eyes fluttering closed. she opened her mouth wide and took him until her nose was brushing against his freshly trimmed pubic hairs.

those same nails that had his leg jumping traced his prominent v-line. toji was seeing stars as she began to bob her head. he hadn’t gotten head in so long, months probably. her throat was so tight, so warm.

does it help if he said he thought of you during it, the cheating?

when he had her back arched over the bathroom sink and stared at her fucked out expression through the mirror, he saw you for a minute. he blamed the alcohol, of course.

would it make you feel better if he said he used condoms?

he didn’t want to bring anything back to you. and after that night, he got tested sometime that week to make sure everything was okay. it was, and he let out a sigh of relief.

can knowing he felt like absolute shit once he finished bring you solace?

when she had come for the third and final time in the bed, he gave her a kiss to the forehead as she fell to sleep. he walked bear to the shower and at the sight of himself in the mirror he wanted to throw up.

he came home just after midnight to find you were sitting outside megumi’s door with a blanket over your body and head resting back against the wall.

“love,” toji crouched down and shook you softly. you should have been in bed. “(y/n), wake up.”

you stirred, but eventually your eyes opened to see your husband, with a curious look on his face. “you’re on the floor.”

“why didn’t you answer your phone?” was the first thing you asked him. you didn’t say hi, you didn’t ask how the night was—you got straight to it.

toji pulled his phone out from his pants pocket and turned off his do not disturb to see he had five missed calls and ten texts from you.

“i put it on do not disturb so i could focus on the clients, m’sorry baby. what happened, are you okay?” he quickly scrolled through the messages:

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

you seriously are going to throw a fit bc i’m pregnant and tired?

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

fine fuck you then

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

ok not fuck you fuck you. fuck you for now

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

megs is sick and his head is burning. is your dinner close to finishing?

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

toji i get we are beefing atm but our son is sick and i need your help

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

he just told me to leave him alone bc he doesn’t want to get me sick and possibly harm the baby. i told him that won’t happen but he won’t listen to me. toji pls call him

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

bro can you not be on your petty shit for a hot minute and just answer me?! i don’t know what to do he has chills now! holy fuck

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

toji !

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

update: it’s been an hr, idk what tf you got goin on but megs is still sick. i made him soup and he had a little before throwing up. i gave him some medicine and cold towel for his head but there’s no change. idek why i’m texting this shit to you 🙄

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

if i lock your ass out pls know it was justified.

toji looked at you with apologetic eyes. you were mad, rightfully so. you had expressed to him how uncomfortable you had been lately, with your body in more pain then before. standing up for long was difficult, he knew this. he had heard the doctor tell you not to over exert yourself and take it easy on your body.

“started to think you wouldn’t be coming home.” you pushed the blanket off of you, dressed in one of his tee shirts and a pair of your pajama pants, your cornrows tucked away under your hair scarf.

you struggled to get up on your own, your max weight now being shifted to your front and creating an imbalance. but you did it with a huff, toji standing tall now and watching. he had offered to help but you slapped his hand away.

“(y/n)—.”

“shut the fuck up. i’m going to bed and you’re on the couch.” you pushed the blanket into his chest. he was still slightly drunk so he stumbled back a bit, but caught himself.

toji didn’t have any more time to dwell on his past actions. or to recall the night you found out, because you had come back downstairs. “megs’ still high, but he says it’s better than how he was before. he said he and his friends took a pill—probably molly. i ordered him some food to eat so hopefully it comes down fast. rin doing okay?” you stood at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the banister.

in front of you was toji’s back as he held rin, who was fast asleep in a formula coma. the bottle was empty and she was content, snoring away in her fathers arms.

“she’s fine now.” he mumbled but you heard. and with a nod, you walked to the door to put your shoes back on.

“great, i’ll be on my way. listen out for his food. kiss rin f’me.”

toji heard you unlock the door, and heard the sound of it opening. before you walked out though, he called out to you.

“yes?”

“was there any part of you that would’ve taken me back….after everything?” he turned his head so he could see you in his peripheral. he wasn’t going to look at you as you said it, he couldn’t.

he doesn’t think you understand how hard it’s been to look at you since that night.

you blew air out your mouth, cheeks puffed and eyebrows raised. you hadn’t expected for this to be the question he asks you as you get ready to leave. not at damn near five in the morning.

but might as well, right?

“honestly, yeah. i would always have these random moments where i would feel like i needed you again, in my life or in my bed…but then i would remember that you cheated on me when i was pregnant, and when i was in the darkest period of my pregnancy, at that.”

the emotions were still raw for you, the betrayal and the pain. it was a feeling that felt almost close to that of stabbing. a piercing blade through your heart that turned deeper into the organ anytime you’d think about it.

“i, uh, remember how i stayed up crying for months after because i just knew that whoever that woman was, she must’ve been the definition of gorgeous—because you used to tell me there was not a being alive who could outshine my beauty. and i believed you.”

“i didn’t lie” toji said. his voice was shaky and he honestly didn’t know why he asked you such a question. it was obvious there was no sign of reconciliation between you two. but yet he asked anyways, hoping some higher being somewhere would give him back his family. he didn’t appreciate it at first, but he’s learned now.

you chuckled dryly, “no, you were just proven wrong. goodnight, toji.” you quickly left after that, not wanting to wait around for anything he had to say.

as far as you were concerned, that was the end. it was over.

pt. 3

#Spotify #🌞🍃spliffymae #jjk⋞〈⏣》⋟ #toji fushiguro x black reader #toji x reader #baby daddy toji #toji zenin #toji smut #anime x black!reader #jjk #jjk x black reader #cheating #angst

[valhallaas]

On My Own

listen here

pairing: bradley rooster bradshaw x female!reader

word count: 1.8k

summary: it’s a nightmare. it’s a memory. if only you could let it go. 

warnings: angst, major character death, stages of grief, mentions of pregnancy

a/n: um. i haven’t written anything in like, four months and i return with this. cool cool cool. angst isn’t my forte, so i did have this beta read. yeah. read and enjoy. would love the feedback!

“Tell me, when’s the last time someone told you they loved you?”

The question isn’t malicious. You mean no harm by it—only genuine curiosity. You’ve known Bradley Bradshaw, Rooster, since your earliest top gun days. You know everything there is to know about each other. You’re best friends, and you know that you’re both on the edge of teetering towards more.

He stares at you like a kicked puppy. Eyes wide, mouth slightly parted in surprise. Your heart hurts a little, because you know that he probably has never thought about it. Silently, you push off the kitchen counter, setting down your glass of wine. Your head tilts, taking slow steps towards him. Bradley flinches when your hand rests on his chest, fingers splayed out over his beating heart.

“Bradley,” you whisper.

“I don’t–” he can’t look at you, hands balled into fists.

“An ex-girlfriend maybe?” you say, slightly hopeful. A slight nagging feeling crawls up your spine. God, it’s been years. Please don’t let it be. “I know Phoenix gets emotional when she’s drunk, did she say it to you then?”

He shakes his head, stepping closer into you. Jesus, what did you do? You’ve never seen him like this before. It’s making you nervous. You never meant to put him on edge.

“Bradley,”

“It was my mom.” He finally whispers after a beat.

Your hand clings to his shirt, your heart breaking. It wasn’t a malicious question. You had no ill intent when you asked. Clearly you didn’t think it through, not really. The far away glaze to his eyes made you want to shove the words right back down your throat. How do you fix this? How could you fix this?

“The last person I told I love you to was you.”

You almost didn’t hear it. A frown taking up your face as your eyes meet his own. Bradley’s staring down at you, adoration slowly creeping over his face. His eyes have gone soft, something you’ve noticed they only do when he’s looking at you. Confusion sweeps over you. When the hell has he ever told you he loved you? Without a doubt you know that you’d say it back. Because you do. You love Bradley. You love him so much that it hurts sometimes.

The corner of his lips pick up, as if hearing your thoughts. “You’re always asleep, a little too drunk, or walking away.”

Why, why would he do that? Stepping closer, hands gripping his shirt, refusing to let him move an inch away from you. Your head tilts up, nose bumping against his. Is this what pushes you over the edge? A hidden confession brought to light.

“Were you afraid I wouldn’t say it back?”

“No,” he whispers, pulling you into him, body flush against his. “Wasn’t sure if I was ready–”

“–to hear someone else say it.” Bradley nods, resting his forehead against your own. “Are you ready now?”

He smiles, lips ghosting over yours. “I love you, sweet girl.”

You can’t help but smile back. You push up on your toes, lips meshing with his. A perfect fit. You melt against him. Hands trailing up his arms, over his shoulders before gipping the back of his neck. A quick taste before you’re pulling back, teeth digging into your bottom lip. Bradley’s eyes are blown wide, gaze fixed on your lips.

“I love you too, Bradley.”

His name is on the tip of your tongue. It echoes through you, a phantom pain that will always bring tears to your eyes. You’re not sure how long it’ll take before you can sleep in the middle of the bed, to touch his side. Your eyes squeeze shut, not wanting to see the perfectly made up side.

Not after the dream you had. Right, yeah. Dream. A nightmare. A memory.

It’s the first time you’ve slept in your bed, in your room. You’re facing his side, everything exactly how he left it. Half full bottle of water sitting next to a picture of his parents on the nightstand. A white hamper next to his closet, the left door barely open. You roll on to your back, eyes opening to stare up at the ceiling. I love you, sweet girl. The words roll over you, making your skin raise with gooseflesh, the hair on the back of your neck stands on end.

Fuck. Why did you think you could do this? No one else did. As if on cue, the doorbell rings, making you jump. You know you look like shit, not that it should come as a surprise to anybody. Slowly, you slink from the bed, keeping your eyes cast to the floor. You count each step, anything that’ll distract you.

It’s twenty-nine steps from your bed to the front door. You aren’t surprised when Jake and Natasha are standing there. Jake’s lips are pulled into a hard line, and Nat’s not even trying to hide her worry. Leaning back, closing the door, you check the clock hanging on the wall. 10:33 am. Swallowing, you face them, a raised brow.

“What’s–what uh, why are you here?”

“Your phone’s off.” Jake bites out, pushing past you and into the house.

You roll your eyes. “I’m not on suicide watch. I’ve been cleared.”

“Yeah, well, those fucking shrinks don’t know you like I do.”

Rubbing at your eyes, your temples, you head to the kitchen. Jake and Nat sit on either side of you. While he stares at you, annoyance gracing his features, Natasha can’t hide her worry. She picks at her cuticles, eyes flickering around the small space.

“Are you okay?” you ask her, hand pausing her fingers.

“It’s quiet here. Almost too quiet.”

You swallow thickly. You had noticed that too. No sports games playing on the television. The piano sits untouched—you refuse to look at it. It breaks your heart, because it’s only collecting dust now. You haven’t known this kind of quiet since before. You never thought there’d be an after. It’ll grow on you, you think. There is no other choice. Your hand pulls down your shirt, covering your stomach. Jake doesn’t miss the movement, eyes narrowing.

It’s been three months. You’ve been grounded for multiple reasons, despite being cleared. Penny had taken you in, nursed you back to health. It seems like everyone knows that you couldn’t be on your own. But you aren’t, not really. You’re finally comfortable with moving back into your shared space. It’s where you want to raise your child. A home that was filled with love and happiness. A home that was all you and Bradley.

“Sweetheart,” your eyes snap to Jake’s, that familiar green glistening with concern. “I made a promise. You will take care of yourself, I will force you if I have to.”

“I know.”

Your world was crumbling before your very eyes. Alarms blaring, lights flashing, smoke billowing all around. Rooster’s voice rang out in your head, giving you orders. When did you ever take orders from him—even if it was to save your life?  

“—now! This is not a dog fight you can win!”

You can hear his voice, but the words aren’t registering. Straight through one ear and out the other. Not like it matters. In only a few seconds, a blink of an eye, a gasp of your breath, Rooster is shot down.

Nothing else matters. Not even the enemy turning and firing at you.

You can’t hear anything. Not the roar of the enemy aircraft hovering over you. Not your heart beating desperately, trying to get out of the cage that is your ribs – desperate to find Bradley. Time doesn’t seem to be moving. Slowly your body comes screaming back to you. It hurts, mainly your left shoulder, but that isn’t going to fucking stop you. With every ounce of strength you have you get to your feet. Clenching your teeth to stop your scream, your helmet is pulled over your head. There’s no sign of blood, not that you believe, not that you can tell any different.

Rooster. Where the fuck is Rooster? Tilting your head up, eyes scanning the sky, you look for smoke. There it is. North. You start running. It hurts. God, it fucking hurts and you’ll pay for it later. If it saves him now though, it’s all worth it. He’s worth it.

You look like a goddamn vision running to him. His own living, breathing angel. Bradley’s gaze shifts. This isn’t right. No. No. He didn’t ever want to tell you. Scared that his love was a curse, a prophecy. It’s like he knew – he knew if he said it he’d end up following in his father’s footsteps. Bradley couldn’t do that to you.

“Bradley, Brad – look at me, baby. I got you.”

You’re ripping off everything, trying to stop the bleeding. He huffs out a garbled laugh, large hands holding on to your own. Teardrops hit your skin and you’re not sure whose they are.

“Bradley,”

There’s a faraway look in his eyes. He smiles. You know, you know. It’s the first time he’s seeing his parents in years, and you are not enough to keep him here.

Time moves quickly. Blood sticks to your skin. He stopped breathing a while ago. You aren’t leaving, you aren’t letting go. Smart pilot, he had his beacon. Is it the cold that numbs you? The silence? Or is it the secret you kept rolling like seasick butterflies in your stomach? Tearfilled eyes lift to meet familiar sea glass ones when his warm hands gently pry yours from Bradley’s. Hangman can’t hide his wince, seeing Rooster’s dog tags embedded into your palms from squeezing them so tight. Past him you see a chopper. They’ve come for you. They’ve come for the both of you.

“Salem,”

“I tried. I–I, I tried. I tried so hard, but it wasn't enough.”

The piano taunts you. Whispers your name, echoes in his voice. God, you miss his voice. Jake’s passed out on the couch, Natasha’s in the spare room. Nat stayed because Jake did. Jake stayed, well, because he cares, you guess. You don’t care about either of them at the moment. Your fingers itching to touch the keys. Natasha had mentioned earlier how quiet the house was. You hadn’t said anything, not wanting to lie.

Sinking onto the bench, your fingers hover over the keys. It’s two in the morning and you should be in bed. You are pregnant after all. But the little thing seems to find comfort here, same as you. They are their father’s child.

Softly, slowly, you plunk at the keys. Your voice is gentle, barely above a whisper. It’s etched in pain, an unrequited goodbye.

Don’t you know I’m no good for you? I’ve learned to lose, you can’t afford to Tore my shirt to stop you bleeding But nothing ever stops you leaving

The sound of floorboards creaking makes you pause. Tears spill down your cheeks at the sight of your friends watching you. They both rush you when you begin to sob. Chest aching, throat closing. You’ll be okay eventually. Because you know better than to believe that Bradley would’ve ever left you on your own.

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw one shot #bradley bradshaw one shot #top gun: maverick fanfic

[sunsuns-babie]

My Roommate is a Gumiho | SMAU+WRITTEN

A/N: Inspired by the Kdrama of the same name starring Lee Hyeri and Jang Kiyong. The plot will loosely follow similar main plot points to that of the Kdrama but with new twists added so you won’t get much of a spoil if you have or haven’t watched the drama!

main pairing(s): choi yeonjun x f!reader x kim sunoo

secondary pairing(s): minor kang taehyun x f!reader and f!reader x choi soobin

summary: To become human a, 999-year old Gumiho (Nine-Tailed-Fox), Choi Yeonjun needs to fill his fox bead with human energy before he turns 1,000-years. One day a college girl, Y/L/N Y/N, accidentally swallows Yeonjun’s fox bead. A Nine-Tailed-Fox bead can live in a human for ONLY one year and after a year is up it will break inside the human who holds it. This means Y/L/N Y/N will die and Choi Yeonjun will lose his chance at becoming human unless they can figure out how to safely get it out without just killing the girl anyway.

gumiho definition 1: A Gumiho/Kumiho or Nine-Tailed-Fox in English is a creature in folktales from East Asia and in legends in Korea. The Korean legend states it can freely transform into a beautiful woman or even a handsome man that will seduce men/women in order to eat their liver or heart.

gumiho definition 2: A Nine-Tailed Fox is a beasts of whom resembles a fox and can transform into an attractive person. In beast form it has four feet and nine tails, with a new tail growing every 100 years. After a millennium (1,000 years) on Earth, the worthy fox may then ascend to the Heavens and join the gods.

characters: choi yeonjun, yu jimin “karina”, han yujin, choi beomgyu, kang taehyun, huening kai, lee chaeryeong, nakamura kazuha, choi soobin, kim minjeong “winter”, lee heeseung, hong seunghan, danielle marsh, lee wonhee, kim sunoo, choi yewon “arin”, and mentions of more

status: coming soon

warnings: profanity, mentions of death & almost deaths, minor violence, allusion to sexual acts

Author’s Note: If you’re a follower of mine that followed me for my other Sunoo focused SMAU “If I Get My Way”, I’m currently reworking the plot and considering re-uploading it after I’ve made the necessary changes. I apologize if you’re waiting for more chapters for that work and are surprised to see this announcement but I promise I’m working on “If I Get My Way” and making it better. It won’t be forgotten because I have a lot of plans for it!

Index!

profiles: da gang 🤪 + yujin, team minjeong + wonhee, the nine-tailed foxes + the mountain spirit

01. It Took You 2 Weeks

02. Beomgyu’s DRUNK-DAZE(D)

03.

taglist (open): if you want to be added to this specific smau’s taglist or the permanent taglist send an ask specifying which one, please!

#my roommate is a gumiho #my roommate is a gumiho smau #yeonjun #yeonjun x reader #sunoo x reader #sunoo #enhypen #tomorrow x together #enhypen smau #tomorrow x together smau #sunoo x you #yeonjun x you #soobin #soobin x reader #soobin x you #kang taehyun #taehyun x reader #taehyun x you #sunoo social media au #yeonjun social media au #choi yeonjun #kim sunoo #choi soobin #txt taehyun #social media au #text story

[ladydisasterinthemaking]

Not my circus, not my monkeys.

Danny couldn’t believe it. He graduated high school with better grades than he imagined. Everything was also falling into place. His parents had accepted him as a halfa, and nothing bad has happened for almost a year now.

Well, he graduated, yes, but his grades weren’t on his sister’s level. Still, it was something he was proud of. Between making sure that Amity Park is safe from ghosts, going to Clockwork every now and then, and making sure he doesn’t fail at any of his classes, the road to a diploma was a hard one. (Although for some reason, the number of ghost attacks had gradually decreased until his usual rogues stopped attacking. They still visit Amity Park, but only to talk, hang out, or spar with him. It was strange at first, but he eventually got used to it.)

And now, in a few weeks, he is officially moving to Metropolis for college to become an engineer. It wasn’t what his younger self wanted, what with wanting to be an astronaut (not that he could be one, after what happened to him in the lab), but it was something more than what he thought he could ever accomplish.

(The deal-breaker was his parent's promise to protect Amity Park. He would have stayed and enrolled at Amity Community College, but his parents told him to live his life to the fullest.)

To celebrate their milestones together, Danny, Sam, and Tucker, together with Jazz as their chaperone for the summer, have decided to go wander around Metropolis and its neighboring cities as 'tourists' (Tucker and Sam had decided to go to Metropolis University, too, with the former studying Computer Science while the latter would take Journalism), partly because they will spend the rest of their college years in the city, and partly because compared to the other cities, Metropolis was safer because of Superman.

That means they can go anywhere and not fight.

'Not my circus, not my monkeys', as the saying goes.

Then Lex Luthor and Superman decided to duke it out in front of the Daily Planet, while the four of them were caught in a bank robbery.

The large LED TV inside the bank showcased the man of steel fighting the billionaire genius as the robbers scare everyone into submission with their guns.

The four of them looked at the LED TV, then at the robbers, and came to a decision.

-

Superman was in the middle of fighting Luthor when he heard the cries of various civilians, and a couple of criminals demanding a bank to let them in their vaults.

Then he heard gunshots.

Fearing for the worst, he quickly defeated Lex, told the cops to ship him back to prison, and flew to the bank, just to see a floating white-haired meta and a teenage girl conjuring plants tying up and freezing the robbers. In the corner was another boy typing on a PDA, and a red-headed girl comforting the other people in the bank.

The four people in question froze upon noticing Superman.

Two large vines immediately snatched the redhead and the other boy, while the white-haired meta phased them down the bank's floor.

So much for the saying, 'Not my circus, not my monkeys'. 

 - 

(This is terribly written. I haven’t done my research. Sorry for the quality of this short fic.)

#Superman calls Batman to ask if Poison Ivy had a kid or a relative #Team Phantom is panicking #They want to change schools but that would be a bit impossible now #Is it too late to move to a place without superheroes? #Team Phantom cannot ignore the things happening in front of them #They will act if they have the power to do so #Good parents Maddie and Jack Fenton #Batman is having a hard time trying to find these kids #Tucker erased the CCTV footage of the bank #He's really great with tech and messing with it #But Batman finds a way eventually #The Justice League discovers Amity Park #then they discover Phantom #Team Phantom is not great at keeping secret identities #even with a capable tech wizard like Tucker #This is one guy against a couple of geniuses #Like Oracle and Red Robin #Ghost King Danny Phantom #but he doesn't know it yet #JL Dark also discovers Amity Park #Batman discovers the portal and Constantine panics because that is a portal to the afterlife #Batman panics too #everyone panics #The Justice League goes to Amity Park #Maddie and Jack Fenton meets the JL #The JL are having a mental breakdown as these two mad scientists do insane things #Jack and Maddie apologized for the bias and proceeds to edit and revise their research because they are horrified of what they did to Danny #Now they travel to the Ghost Zone to bring awareness to the ghosts and topple the GIW with science and common sense #Batman drop those adoption papers down #dp x dc

[ladykailitha]

All My Roads Lead Back to You Part 13

Just me leaving you dangling a little on “Royal Pain” (I have it written, I’m just posting this first).

Steve finally gets to apologize for the things he said to Eddie twenty years and Eddie gets to apologize for thinking badly about him all these years,

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 

***

Steve chose a nice little Italian bistro for his lunch choice.

Eddie looked around appreciatively. “I don’t think I’ve ever been here before.”

“It’s great,” Steve said. “I love it.”

Eddie could barely hear the mild hum of activity around them. It was soft pleasant sound. “The food or the ambiance?”

Steve chuckled. “A bit of both, I suppose. I just never really thought about noise level before as a reason for liking the place.”

Eddie smiled widely. “Uncle Wayne would love it.”

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I haven’t asked how your uncle is. But seriously, how is he doing?”

“Good, good,” Eddie’s eyes sparkled as he smiled. “Absolutely hating retirement.”

Steve laughed. “Color me not surprised. He must be going completely stir crazy.”

“He’s a stubborn old man,” Eddie said. “I had to move out here to keep a closer eye on him.”

“I did wonder why out of all the places to move out of LA to you picked Indiana,” he said and then thanked their waiter when their food was placed in front of them.

Eddie picked up his fork and twirled it a bit. “How did you know I moved to get out of LA?”

Steve squirmed in his seat as the atmosphere turned awkward. He shrugged. “I didn’t really, but that’s what I would have done if whackjobs from the media were making shit up about Edie.”

Eddie’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Thanks, man. Shit, I almost forgot all the things they made up about not just Harri, but me too.”

“I’m not one for gossip anything,” Steve said, “former mean girl aside. But even I was hearing things. And not from mutual acquaintances, either. Dustin and Nancy would never talk shit about you.”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah and for the record?” Steve nodded back. “None of the shit they were saying was true. Like not even a little bit.”

Steve frowned. “Usually there’s some kernel or nugget under all the lies, but none of it?”

He shook his head. “Harri wasn’t on drugs, he didn’t hit anyone, much less kill them for fuck’s sake. No, it wasn’t me behind the wheel and Harri took the fall for me, because he didn’t have a license to lose. No, there weren’t orgies that made Harri act out and turn to drugs and alcohol to cope. And no I didn’t buy him a get out of jail free card, because I didn’t call the cops to begin with.”

Steve scoffed. “Yeah. I still don’t trust cops, even with Hopper having been one. In fact, Hop quit the following year because that asshole Powell kept trying to dig up proof that you had killed Chrissy, Fred, and Patrick. He was so fucking sure that the government was covering it up for some reason.”

Eddie tilted his head. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Steve shook his head and took a bit of food. “I wish I was, Eds. I actually used some of my parents influence to get him fired after Hop quit. I did not want that man anywhere near authority of any kind.”

Eddie blinked. “Oh. Thank you.”

Steve smiled. “You’re welcome. Now, eat. Your food is going to get cold.”

They ate mostly in silence, but the awkwardness had gone, replaced by something warmer, softer even.

Steve looked up at Eddie through his lashes and smiled fondly. “I never did apologize for being an ass before you left. I did think we were friends, I was just so scared after everything, that I was paralyzed with fear.”

Eddie’s shoulders slumped. “I know. I shouldn’t have pushed. That wasn’t fair to you.” He put his elbows on the table and tucked his hands under his chin. “I wanted to get out of town so badly and was given an opportunity of a life time, but I didn’t stop think what four fucking years of dealing with the Upside Down shit might do to you.”

He reached out and took Steve’s right hand and smiled at the ring there. “I’m glad you kept this, though.”

Steve blushed. “It’s kinda hard to return something if you don’t know where to return it to.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “You mean that, you going to return it? When?”

Steve gently took his hand back. “Twice actually. But both times were shit timing so it never happened.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Funerals are no place for love declarations,” Steve said with a wince. “The first time, Jeff had actually warned me off returning it to you then. Said you were happy with your partner. I didn’t want to get in the middle of something that made you so happy.” He pushed his plate away, half finished. “So when Addison had such strong Braxton Hicks contractions that weekend it felt like a sign, you know? That it wasn’t the time for us.”

Eddie’s blood boiled. He knew that Addison had faked them, but Steve didn’t. He also knew that telling Steve would only serve to make him more upset. “What were you going to say? We were both in relationships at the time.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t even know, Eds. I honestly don’t think I had a plan. I just knew that I did return your feelings and felt like you should know that. Just roll the dice and see what came up, you know?”

Eddie chuckled. “And here I thought you weren’t a fan of D&D. Because that was a perfect metaphor.”

He barked out a laugh. “I’m glad you thought so. I personally thought it got away from me, if I’m honest.”

The silence seemed to stretch out between them again.

“You were going to come to Jay’s funeral?” Eddie breathed. That didn’t seem right. As far as anyone knew, Steve just vanished for a couple of months.

Steve nodded. “Again, I wasn’t in a good place. My last partner cheated on me and I spiraled.” He threw his hand out. “You know, I know both Edie and Dustin told you.”

“That was around the time Jay passed away?” Eddie asked, confusion furrowing his brows. He had assumed that this more recent. But if it was around the time Steve had vanished, things were starting to make more sense.

Steve played with glass of water, pushing it back and forth with his thumb nail, looking down at the table. He nodded. “It’s why Edie gets so worried about me sometimes. She thinks it’s going to happen again.”

“Steve...” Eddie didn’t know what to say. Every time he thought his life since Hawkins had been hard, Steve just turned around and dropped fucking bombshells like they didn’t mean a god damned thing. “You shouldn’t have had to go through all that, plus the Upside Down. Have you talked to El about maybe being cursed, because fucking shit, dude.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “Only about a dozen times. She assures me curses aren’t a thing.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Eddie said. “I’ve been an ass thinking that all this time you were this stuck up dude who had outgrown me and that everything was sunshine and rainbows for you.”

Steve’s bottom lip quivered. “Thank you. I’m glad you’re back in Indy, Eddie. I didn’t realize how much I missed you until you were back in my life.”

Eddie smiled fondly. “Back ‘atcha, big boy!”

Steve laughed.

*

When Edie came home from school she threw her backpack at the wall of the kitchen island and slumped into one of the barstools dejectedly.

“Uh-oh,” Steve said as he walked into the kitchen. “I’m sensing a storm brewing. You want to talk about it?”

“Lauren.”

Ah. Yeah, that said fathoms.

Steve pulled out the good chocolate and pushed it her direction. She sighed, but picked it up to start munching.

“What’s she done time, Miss Thing?” Steve asked, leaning on the counter.

“She told the art teacher that I traced our most recent project.” Edie buried her head in her hands. “I knew we weren’t friends anymore, but I didn’t think she would stoop so low.”

He came around the island and put his arms around her. “Mr Pearson didn’t believe her, did he?”

Edie nodded. “I can’t put it in the art show now.”

That made Steve angrier than anything. Edie had been looking forward to that art show for weeks. “I’ll talk to the principal and see if we can’t get resolved, okay?”

Edie nodded. “I don’t hold out for much hope, but it was nice of you to offer to go to bat for me.”

Steve grinned. “Now there’s a thought...I wonder if I still have it.” He wandered off and she looked after him with her head tilted in confusion.

When Steve came back, the confusion only deepened. Because in her dad’s hand was an old wooden bat with nails driven into like some makeshift medieval mace, stained with what, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve had to pull out Hel,” he said with a grin. “But I think this should be sufficient in convincing Mr Pearson to change his mind. Don’t you think?”

She slid off the barstool and walked softly toward him. She reached out her hand to touch it, but stopped short. “Where did you get that?”

Steve grinned. “This baby has seen a lot of monsters in its time.” He cocked his head with a smirk. “Including a pack of feral dogs.”

Edie eyed him skeptically. “You beat down a pack of feral dogs with just this?”

Steve grinned. “Sure did.” He liked the feral dog cover story because demodogs were pretty much that and he could tell people about them.

“How come you’ve never said anything before now?” Edie asked, gingerly taking the bat from him.

Steve shrugged. “It wasn’t a story for little kids and then when you got old enough, I just forgot about it.”

She eyed him warily. “And was Mr Munson involved in the feral dog incident?”

Steve laughed. “No, thank god. But he was around for the feral bats, though.”

Edie stared at him in shock. “The what now?”

“I didn’t have Hel with me on that one,” he confessed. “Used my teeth and limbs while Eddie and Aunts Robin and Nancy fended them off with boat oars.”

“Teeth?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Steve grimaced. “It tasted nasty.” He cocked his head to the side. “What do you want for dinner?”

Edie raised an eyebrow. “How can you think about food after talking about fending off rampaging bats with your teeth?”

Steve laughed. “I was thinking something light anyway. I had a big lunch.”

Edie turned to him slowly. “You didn’t have a lunch meeting today...”

He paused on his way to the cupboard and turned to her, crossing his arms. “Not a business one, no.”

“Wait is this that same friend from last week? And the week before that and the week before that?” Edie asked, her face cleared, understanding. She grinned from ear to ear.

“Yes,” Steve bit out. “We enjoyed ourselves so much the last couple of time that we decided to make it a weekly thing. Like what Jeff and I do for sport matches.”

“But you ate?” Edie pressed.

He threw his hands in the air. “Yes Edie. We went to Carmine’s. You know even their lunch plates are massive.”

Edie sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

Steve walked up to her and gave her a big hug. “This isn’t like last time. I promise. I won’t get that bad again. I’ve grown past all that. I go to therapy and talk to the people that care about me. Okay?”

Edie sighed into his arms and nodded. “I know."

Steve held her tight. He wished that the only things she had to worry about was algebra and backstabbing former best friends and not all the troubles he was going through, too.

***

Part 14  Part 15  Part 16 Part 17  Part 18  Epilogue

Just a note about Steve’s eating. But because it’s a bit of a spoiler, I’m putting it down here so you if don’t want to know yet, you can skip it.

Ready?

Steve is being an unreliable narrator regarding his eating habits. He doesn’t think he has a problem, but he does. And remember a therapist is only as good as what you tell them. I won’t reveal the reason here (but will later in the story) but Steve stopped eating and sleeping when he got super depressed. That’s why Edie is so worried.

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk​ @trashpocket @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @mightbeasleep @thedragonsaunt @chaoticlovingdreamer @trashpocket @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666  @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @steddie-as-they-go @lillemilly @callas-shitshow @bisexualdisastersworld @renaissan-vvitch @immortal-iratze @bookbinderbitch @thylatrek @lilacrobin @nightmareglitter @nerdsconquerall

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #reconnecting years later AU #ladykailtiha writes

[titiro]

You can take the King away from the Hand, but you can't take the Hand away from the King

Day 5: Wanderer/Prosperity/Ground

“… We’re on New Life. That was two years ago, Martyn, get over it! It was two years ago! Third Life was two years ago!”

“Third Life never ended for me.”

---

“Oh, shite.”

As Martyn stares down at what had been meant to be a marker of his snowy kingdom, he could faintly hear laughter in his head. It sounds far too much like Cleo. Shut up, he insists.

Really, Martyn?

It’s not that bad, is it? Martyn hopes so, at least.  Yes, he convinces himself, it’s just because of the cobble. And the wood.

At any rate, he puts it to the back of his mind. He has work to do! So he gets right to it, building up the inside structure of his outpost, and as he steps away from his finished job, Martyn is quite pleased with himself, and brushes the whole incident aside.

But then, of course, his friends discover it.

“MARTYN!” comes the voice of Jimmy Solidarity, climbing up to his little frosty dollop.

“Tim?”

“WHAT IS THAT?”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

Timmy’s face screws up as he gestures wildly out across the horizon to the other patch of snow that can be barely seen from here.

“What do you mean, what do you mean—Martyn, you—“ He cuts himself off, mumbling to himself. “Yes, of course I’m fine, no I’ve definitely moved on, he says. He’s only gone and rebuilt Dogwarts and he says he’s fine—“

Martyn pales. “Oh.”

Jimmy grabs him by the shoulders and drags him over to sit by the haystack. One of the Colins nudges at him, ducking under his hand and waiting patiently for scritches.

Martyn lets out a shaky breath. “I—I wasn’t sure. I didn’t—“ He clams up, unsure of how to say what he’s thinking, looking over at Jimmy despondently.

“Wait, you genuinely didn’t… you didn’t do it on purpose?” Jimmy asks.

Martyn huffs. What’s he meant to say? That he’s haunted by the memories of the friend, the king whose service he swore himself to but can’t ever serve again? Or that he misses Ren? It’s the truth, at least.

“No,” he admits. “I really didn’t. Not until it was done, anyways.”

They sit there in silence for a while. It’s nice to hang out with Jimmy like this, with nothing else going on. They haven’t really had a chance to just hang out since… Martyn actually can’t remember when. But it’s Jimmy who breaks the silence first.

“You know, we all kinda thought you were just playing it up during Limited Life,” Jimmy says. “The whole ‘Unguided Hand’ bit you had going on with the…” he waves his hand. “…banner and everything.”

Martyn almost laughs. “It started like that, at least. But… it was just so weird without Ren, you know? I feel like an idiot saying it but genuinely, I. I did feel lost without him there,” he admits.

---

"No! I won't do it! You took me in when I was a lowly traveler, going across the lands searching the four corners of this world. I learned there was nothing in this world for me. Nothing but walls, corners, edges. And you know what? You showed me life. As much as I've taken it from you, you gave it back to me in bucketfuls. And I just... I'm with you. This is us now. This is us.

---

“I mean, I’m sure they’d let you on to visit Ren for a while,” Jimmy says. “Like, it worked last year. D’you want me to ask Tango? ‘Cause I could, you know. If you wanted?”

Martyn laughs quietly. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

also on ao3, written for @treebarkweek 2023!

#treebark #martyn inthelittlewood #jimmy solidarity #jimmy solidaritygaming #third life smp #trafficshipping #traffic smp #traffic series #third life #life series #new life smp #renchanting #treebarkweek #treebarkweek2023 #my writing

[wickedlysecret]

Something I’ve been lowkey obsessing over for the past few years has been The Muppet Christmas Carol (1992), which is quite possibly my favorite Christmas movie ever. It’s fun, it’s funny, it has cute moments, Michael Caine is absolutely the best Scrooge to ever Scrooge… I can’t sing this movie’s praises enough. I was so excited when it was included on Disney+, so I could watch it pretty much whenever the desire struck.

The thing is, there’s another Christmas Carol adaptation that I loved to watch as a child that’s also on Disney+: Mickey’s Christmas Carol (1983). It’s another retelling of the same story, and yet… it doesn’t really hit in the same way that the Muppet one does. And I can’t stop thinking about why that would be the case. What do the Muppets do in their adaptation that Mickey and his friends don’t do in theirs?

If you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m going to sit here and compare and contrast these adaptations, with pictures and quotes. This is gonna be one of those “In this essay I will” posts, except the essay actually follows under a cut. After all, I’m nothing if not a former English major with weird hyperfixations.

I broke down the places where the differences are strongest into four parts: The Spirits/Ghosts of Christmas Whatever; the inclusion of a comedic Narrator character; the simple fact that the Muppets are Actors in their own right; and the entire “Christmas Future” part of the story.

1. The Spirits. 

For the Muppets, new characters have been created for the roles. These characters were only ever used for these roles, and we never see them again in other Muppet productions, save for Jacob (and Robert) Marley, as played by Statler and Waldorf, whom I’ll talk about at another point.

These new characters make much of the dialogue work, as well, with much of their exchanges with Scrooge at least sounding, if not actually being exactly as written in the original Christmas Carol. The supernatural look of the little ghosty Spirit of Christmas Past helps to sell the whole picture when they say lines like, “A touch of my hand, and you shall fly.” The jolly, bumbly, ginger-haired-Santa lookalike Spirit of Christmas Present is personable and friendly, even able to make a mean and grumpy man like Scrooge joke and laugh with joy. And the Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come is faceless, imposing, and silent. They communicate through pointing, or a guiding hand, and they chill both Scrooge and the audience without saying a single word, merely showing Scrooge the future that awaits him.

Disney, perhaps understandably, made use of some of their existing Intellectual Properties (IPs) instead of creating new characters to serve as the Spirits. Jiminy Cricket is our Ghost of Christmas Past; The Giant (from Mickey and the Beanstalk) makes a surprising return to the screen as the Ghost of Christmas Present; and finally, in a jarring reveal which I could argue was made only for the purpose of having yet another IP make an appearance, Pete fills the role of the Ghost of Christmas Future. These are characters with personalities that the audience already presumably knows, and while they are able to fill their roles to a degree, they also come with baggage, for lack of a better term. They struggle to keep a balance of their original personalities, while also donning the personalities of their Christmas Carol roles.

Jiminy attempts to give sage advice to Ebenezer Scrooge (McDuck), in the same manner as he had with Pinnochio, but a stern little cricket lecturing an old man duck just doesn’t feel right. And the giant is also bumbling, sure, but more than that, he’s just… stupider than the Muppet Spirit. Caine’s Scrooge even remarks “You’re a little absentminded, spirit,” to which the Muppet Spirit of Christmas Present replies, “No, I’m a large absentminded spirit!” The giant’s version of the Spirit is just your run-of-the-mill comedic relief idiot. As for Pete’s ghost, he’s silent and somewhat imposing for almost the entire Christmas Future segment, until he removes his hood and scares Scrooge into his empty grave with some mean remark. And the mean remark is truly what ruins Pete as the Spirit of Christmas Future; this Spirit isn’t mean, but rather delivering harsh truths. The purpose of the Spirit of Christmas Future is to really drive home to Scrooge that, if he doesn’t change his ways, this is the unfortunate future that awaits him. It’s the future itself that’s supposed to scare Scrooge, not the Spirit delivering the message.

In essence, by not only using existing IPs for the Spirits in the story, but miscasting the Spirits with IPs that don’t work for their roles, Mickey’s Christmas Carol confuses the whole message that A Christmas Carol is supposed to convey.

Finally, as I mentioned, I want to talk about our Marleys. In The Muppet Christmas Carol, Marley is the only spirit for whom they’ve used an existing character–or, rather, characters. They’ve cast the grumpy old men, Statler and Waldorf, as Jacob and Robert Marley. They have a silly song they sing to Scrooge, which still manages to terrorize the man, and to be fair, the spirits of Scrooge’s old business partners are warning him of something terrible coming for him: more ghosts. We’re still early in the story at this point, so the Muppets wouldn’t be taking their big guns out yet, so imparting a scary warning in the form of a light and fun musical number is… well, it’s very on brand.

Meanwhile in Mickey’s, we have Goofy as Jacob Marley. I’ll talk more about this casting choice later, but the short of it is: why? Goofy’s not a mean OR selfish guy at all, and I can’t understand this role placement for him. He’s very stern with Scrooge, and it’s hard to take him seriously at all, and to top it all off he falls down the stairs at the end of his scene, with his trademark “Yaaaaah-hoo-hoo-hoo-eeeeeeee” shout and all. It doesn’t fit the character they’re trying to have him portray.

2. The comedic benefits of a Narrator Character. 

In the beginning of The Muppet Christmas Carol, the audience is introduced to Gonzo and Rizzo on the streets of the British Muppet City.

“Welcome to the Muppet Christmas Carol! I am here to tell the story!” “And I am here for the food!” “My name is Charles Dickens.” “And my name is Rizzo the Rat! Hey, wait a second…”

Gonzo and Rizzo, from this point forward, are the audience’s guide throughout the story of A Christmas Carol, there to explain, buffer, and offer comedic relief. They break the fourth wall, talking about and to the audience, and referring to any children who might be watching.

“Whoa, that’s scary stuff. Hey, should we be worried about the kids in the audience?” “Nah, that’s alright, this is culture.”

Gonzo and Rizzo carry a lot, and I mean a lot of the comedic moments within The Muppet Christmas Carol, leaving the story’s characters to portray the story, without strange interruptions from within. Well, for the most part. There are moments where comedy comes from within the story.

“If you please, Mr. Scrooge? It’s gotten colder… and the bookkeeping staff would like to have an extra shovelful of coal for the fire.” “We can’t do the bookkeeping.” “Yeah, all of our pens have turned to ink-cicles!” “Our assets are frozen!” “How would the bookkeepers like to be suddenly… UNEMPLOYED?!” “HEAT WAVE! This is my island in the sun!”

There are also moments where Gonzo Dickens and Rizzo interact with characters in the story, breaking the fourth wall further for more comedy.

“It is the American way!” “Sam! [Unintelligible whispering]” “Ah. It is the British way!” “Good.”

And of course there are moments where the characters’ existing personalities do come forward through their acting, such as when Miss Piggy, as Emily Crachit, calls Kermit (Bob Crachit) “Crachie”, in a play on her nickname for Kermit, “Kermie”.

The thing to note about all of these moments of comedy, is that none of them interrupt the story for the sake of a joke, or a catchphrase. The story continues without a hitch.

It also means that, when Gonzo Dickens and Rizzo leave at the beginning of Scrooge’s time with the Ghost of Christmas Future, they take just about every chance at joyful comedy with them. The audience knows their absence means things are about to get serious.

Without a similar character to bear some of the comedic weight, it all rests on the shoulders of the characters in Mickey’s Christmas Carol’s story. There’s plenty of jokes and humor, of course, but most of it is slapstick-ish, and typical of a cartoon; for example, Scrooge asking about Crachit’s daily pay, recalling it to be two shillings, only for Crachit to interrupt that it’s two shillings and a ha'penny–a raise that originated three years ago, when Crachit started doing Scrooge’s laundry. The jump into Christmas Future doesn’t have a smooth transition, leaving the audience rather jarred at the sudden change in tone; in particular, when Pete’s embodiment of the Spirit suddenly starts speaking, where previously he’d been silent.

3. The Muppets Are Actors. 

In every Muppet production, one of the things that makes the entire experience work is that nobody in the canon recognizes the Muppets as anything other than the characters they’re portraying. Nobody looks at Kermit and goes, ‘Why is there a talking frog made of felt here?’ That’s exactly the way someone should act with the Muppets, and, according to an interview with Brian Henson, that was Michael Caine’s intention from the very beginning when he was asked to play Scrooge.

"When I met Michael Caine to talk about playing Scrooge, one of the first things he said was: “I’m going to play this movie like I’m working with the Royal Shakespeare Company. I will never wink, I will never do anything Muppety. I am going to play Scrooge as if it is an utterly dramatic role and there are no puppets around me.”

The fact that the illustrious actor understood the assignment from the beginning, without even being told, works wonders for this movie. Caine said in an interview with GQ that, before The Muppet Christmas Carol, he’d never done a movie that a child, like his then-seven-year-old daughter, could see; this was his motivation in choosing the role. He then went on to discuss how one is meant to act with the Muppets.

Interviewer: When you’re talking to Kermit, where do you look? Do you look him in the eye? Caine: Yes. You look him straight in the eye. It’s like talking to a real actor. And the guy is just down below, buried in the floor.

This is a man with a great respect for and understanding of the Muppets, their work, and of course their puppeteers. When asked who is more famous, himself or Kermit, Caine replies that of course Kermit is the more famous, as he should be.

Caine: Oh Kermit is much more famous, because he’s known by children as well as all adults. And I’m known by many, many, many adults, but he’s known by all adults. And then I’m known by few children, but he’s known by every child.

(As a side note, this is a delightful interview with Michael Caine, and he’s just as pleased with and delighted by The Muppet Christmas Carol as the rest of us.)

In contrast with Mickey’s Christmas Carol, the casting for the Mickey Mouse & Friends characters into their Christmas Carol roles feels like it was done without much consideration or thought, beyond the logic of ‘Mickey Should Be Bob Crachit, Donald Should Be Scrooge’s Nephew, Of Course Scrooge McDuck Should Be Ebenezer Scrooge’, and so on.

For example, the part of Jacob Marley is played by Goofy. Marley’s character, or rather his ghost, is one that exists as Scrooge’s warning, both of his night to come and what awaits him if he doesn’t change his ways. Marley was just about as bad as Scrooge in life, hence all his chains weighing his spirit down, formed from his wicked deeds against his fellow man. He even warns Scrooge that he also wears such a chain.

The problem here is that Goofy Goof doesn’t have a single mean bone in his tall, lanky body. He’s a dogman that would never covet money like a miser, would never be cruel to others because he doesn’t deem them worth his time. So, why was he cast as Marley? It’s a confusing decision.

Another example lies with Mickey Mouse as Bob Crachit. Logically, I can understand the casting choice; Mickey is to Disney as Kermit is to the Muppets. Both made the same decision to cast their Big Name Character as the second lead in A Christmas Carol. However, the two portrayals go in very different directions, particularly in the Christmas Future segment. I’ll dig into this particular example in more detail in a bit, but in essence, it feels more like the Disney characters were plugged into their roles for the story, without much consideration for how their personalities would work with that of the characters they’d be portraying. The Muppets were matched with characters to portray, but it feels like careful thought was put into how each character would act and work as their Christmas Carol role.

4. The Entire “Ghost of Christmas Future” Chapter. 

I’ve referred to this part of the story, and the ways in which the Muppets and Disney handled it, several times so far, and this is because I believe that this is where the biggest differences lie, and where the Muppet adaptation truly outshines Disney’s.

First, the Spirit themselves. The Muppets created an entirely new, imposing, shadowy-cloaked Muppet specifically for this role, rather than casting a known Muppet as the Spirit. This Muppet never speaks, and has no face, and only communicates in gestures. It looms over the third act of the story, showing Ebenezer Scrooge what awaits him in this future, without words, instead letting the scenes speak for themselves. The Spirit is silent, but Scrooge understands what it’s telling him, asking questions and paraphrasing the messages he receives as the Spirit guides him through the scenes. And although the Spirit’s appearance is terrifying, that’s not the part that ultimately chills Scrooge to the core; instead, the future that awaits Scrooge (and Tiny Tim), should he continue down his path of cruelty and greed, is what prompts Scrooge to tearfully beg for forgiveness and a chance to prove that he can make things right.

Then, in Mickey’s Christmas Carol, the basic bones of the tale are there: an imposing, silent, hooded figure shows Scrooge glimpses of his possible future. But before this third act is over, the Spirit reveals its face and speaks: it’s not just a Spirit, but Pete. Nasty, mean, cigar-smoking Peg-Leg Pete. And he dumps Scrooge into his own grave to be consumed by flames until he awakens from his dream. Certainly, Scrooge has been shaken by the visions of an awful future, but he’s also been sent to hell by a mean, angry cat. Ultimately, this takes away from the big message of the Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come’s chapter: that we should change because we choose to, not because we’ve been scared into it.

Second, the sharing of Tiny Tim’s fate. In both the Muppet version and in Disney’s version, the audience and Scrooge have both been told that, if things don’t change, Tiny Tim’s going to die. Now that we’re being shown the future, Scrooge needs to go and check on the Crachit family, to see if this loss has come to pass.

In the Muppet Version, Scrooge approaches the home with relieved excitement, remembering the home of his employee as the warm and happy one he’d caught a glimpse of thanks to the Spirit of Christmas Present. However, Scrooge notices the silence of the house, and instantly knows something has changed. He peeks into the window and watches as Mrs. Crachit cries as she cooks Christmas dinner. Then, he learns that indeed, Tim has passed away. We watch the grieving family convene for dinner, and talk of loss; although they try to encourage each other, it’s clear that the loss of Tim has cut them so deep, they might never truly recover.

The fact that someone can watch this entire emotional scene performed by the Muppets and, somehow, not lose any suspension of disbelief, speaks of the incredible talent involved in the making of this scene; the puppeteers, the voice actors, the editors, the filmographers. 

In comparison, the scene we get in Disney’s version is short, and stiff. What we get is a panning view of a graveyard, and a closeup of Mickey Mouse crying while holding onto Tiny Tim’s crutch, before he sets it against the boy’s gravestone. The audience watches Mickey Mouse cry over his dead son before the movie continues.

It sounds sad when said aloud, but watching it happen doesn’t carry much emotion. It just feels awkward, almost forced. It feels like the people who decided that Mickey Mouse should be Bob Crachit finally had the consequences of their actions catch up to them, and they suddenly realized what they were going to have to put the company’s mascot through… and then they had no idea how to do it. The entire scene feels haphazard and strange; it’s upsetting to watch, but not in the way it should be. Instead of being sad about Tiny Tim, I’m just bummed they made me watch Mickey Mouse cry like that.

And here’s the thing: neither of these scenes have been performed by human actors. One has been played by puppets, the other has been animated. The fact that the Muppets, who, in order to show emotion have to move their head a certain way or have the felt of their faces scrunched, do a better job performing the scene than the one that is animated, in which people could make the characters make any face they wanted, speaks volumes.

Perhaps it’s because, while Kermit will always be Kermit, and Mickey will always be Mickey, it all draws back to the fact that the Muppets are actors. Kermit has played so many other roles in other Muppet movies. But Mickey Mouse? He’s almost always Mickey Mouse. Using him in a different role is difficult when he’s never been anything other than himself.

...

I’ve spent some time trying to think how to wrap up this ridiculous essay I chose to write for fun, because while this isn’t an assignment and doesn’t require a conclusion, it also feels wrong to just end it there. I suppose I can say again, that the Muppet Christmas Carol is my very favorite Christmas movie, and I love watching it over and over again. I love it so much that I’ve literally written an essay explaining why it’s good. And it’s not like I hate Mickey’s Christmas Carol; I grew up watching that movie just as much as the Muppet one. It’s just that… the Muppet version hits different, you feel me? The story moves in a different way, treats humor differently, and even treats the audience differently. I’m by no means an expert on film, and I certainly don’t expect everyone to agree with my opinions about this movie. In the end, these are just two child-targeted adaptations of a classic Christmas tale, and I’m just an ADHD girl who got way too invested in a passing thought. The different feelings evoked in me by the two different movies about the same story fascinated me, and I decided I’d try to analyze them and share my thoughts. If you made it this far, thanks for reading!

#the muppets #the muppet christmas carol #disney #mickey's christmas carol #a christmas carol #in this essay i will #essay writing #if i told you i worked on this for around a year would you judge me? yes? okay then i won't tell you. #my personal opinions btw!!! agree or don't agree idc i just was hit with the need to exercise my argument writing muscles

[erin-bo-berin]

I’ve had an idea - a gender reveal party for Steve and the single mom series (I was alive in the 80’s so I know they weren’t a thing back then, just baby showers) but the idea just came to me - Robin or Nancy would know the sex if the baby (thinking boy) and they would arrange the party. Totally understand if you think it’s a silly idea! (Congrats on almost 5000 followers btw!)

Thank you!

I really love this idea. Let’s just ignore the fact that gender reveal parties weren’t a thing yet and say they were for the sake of this cuteness! Funny you say a boy because…baby #3 as I’ve written in another fic, the one daydream they had (so I’m gonna write it like that) is going to turn out to be baby 3 AND 4. It’s twins!

Robin is definitely the head of this party, she would have an absolute BLAST planning it. Especially when she knows it’s twins (because they haven’t found out yet).

Imagine this is Steve when he finds out cause he’s SURE she’s fucking with them lol

Part of the Dad Steve x SingleTeenMom!Reader ‘verse

Dad Steve x SingleTeenMom!Reader Series masterlist

“Daddy, auntie Robin won’t tell me if the baby a boy or a girl!”

Abbie ran up to Steve, looking frustrated, her hands on her little hips. It made him chuckle cause damnit if she wasn’t a spitting image of him when he was frustrated.

He held Arabella on his hip while she was busy eating the snack that you’d given her earlier. So far today, she’d been wanting to cling to daddy, much to your relief. Your back was hurting enough between carrying a baby both inside you and on your hip.

“Abbie, that’s the point of the party,” he smiled, “We’re finding out if the baby is a boy or a girl. That’s why auntie Robin planned this party.”

“How we gonna find out?” she asked, confused.

“Well,” he said, shifting Arabella to his other hip, “You see the pretty cake over there?”

He pointed to the table where a bakery designed cake sat with other finger foods and refreshments. Robin had really outdone herself and had been so excited to plan this party. It wasn’t something Steve was familiar with, but Robin claimed gender reveal parties were the newest “thing”.

“Yes,” she nodded, “We’ll get to eat it, right?”

“Of course honey,” he smiled, “But that cake is important. Mommy will cut it open and the color of the inside will reveal the surprise of if it’s a boy or a girl.”

“So if it’s pink it means I’m right in thinking it’s a baby sister?” she asked.

“Mhm. Blue for a boy like mommy thinks.”

She scrunched up her nose.

“I don’t want a baby brother. Boys are icky.”

“Hey,” he mock pouted, “I’m a boy. You don’t like daddy?”

She sighed dramatically.

“That’s different daddy. You the only boy that’s not icky.”

“Let’s hope she still has the same attitude in about ten years,” Steve muttered as you passed by, catching the tail end of the conversation.

You snorted, giving him a look.

“If she’s as boy crazy as her mommy then you stand no chance of that, Steve,” you smirked.

He groaned, already dreading it.

“Stay four forever for me, sweetheart, okay?”

“Sure daddy!” she smiled, “So when do we eat cake?”

•

Robin was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, she was so excited.

“Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep this secret? I’m dying already, cut the cake!”

Everyone had finally arrived and they all chuckled and smiled, agreeing to her sentiment. They were all eager to find out just as much as you and Steve were.

“Okay, okay,” you chuckled, grabbing the knife off the table.

Steve was at one side of you, baby free for a change. She was happily snuggling Joyce—no shock there. Abbie was on the other side of you, watching the cake intently like it would give her clues before you even cut it.

“Go for it, babe,” Steve said.

You made the first cut, pulling the knife out to see if you could spot any colored crumbs. All you spotted was the white icing that coated the outside and most likely the inside too. You made a second cut on the opposite side then slid the blade under the slice, pulling it out.

You blinked at it, not sure what you were seeing.

You heard one of your friends gasp.

“Holy shit.”

That had come from Joyce.

“I don’t get it, mommy,” Abbie said, looking up at you.

“Oh my god,” Steve huffed a disbelieving laugh.

It was a simple two layer cake, but instead of being solid pink or solid blue, the top layer was pink and the bottom was blue.

“It’s twins!” Robin squealed.

You had no memory of depositing the slice of cake onto a plate and setting down the knife because the next thing you knew, you were flinging yourself into his arms.

Steve had wanted another girl, you had been hoping for a boy. Turns out, you were getting both.

“Twins,” you mumbled, dazed, “Can you believe that?”

The hoots and hollers were drowned out when a beaming Steve leaned down to kiss you.

“I can’t wait,” he smiled.

You heard a huff of annoyance from behind you—coming from your eldest daughter.

“Now can we eat the cake?”

#steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things blurb #stranger things fluff

[lyssismagical]

we'll all be here forever

tw mention for dying/death, not quite suicidal ideation or purposeful self-harm but not taking care of yourself; panic attacks, small emetophobia, lotsa fighting and swearing

(pls pls pls be so nice and gentle I haven't written anything in like 3 years and idk if this fandom is even alive anymore but I found a WIP and had the inspiration to finish it)

read on ao3

The decline began when his principal mentioned, in passing, that Peter’s applications would look bare compared to a lot of applicants with his lack of extra-curriculars. Sure, he had Academic Decathlon and a Tony Stark Internship, but otherwise, that space of his college applications was empty.

So, he took the initiative in his Senior year to join a few extra clubs to bulk up his application. He started a campaign for student class president, joined the robotics club, and got on the football team. As well as all that, he started tutoring during his lunch hours both for volunteer hours and as an addition to his applications.

He needed to get into MIT. He didn’t think he could deal with any disappointment from anybody around him. Tony’s been talking about Peter’s future at SI after graduating MIT, May’s already preparing to sell the apartment and buy herself a smaller condo when he moves out, Ben always said Peter had to go to a school that challenged him like MIT would.

He wouldn’t let them down.

So he continued to squish his schedule as tight as he possibly could. AP classes, homework, four extra-curriculars, tutoring, Spider-Man, and the internship started leaving no time for himself. Sleeping at night started getting cut shorter and shorter, and he could barely make time to talk to his friends or May.

Tony notices first because he’s always been a genius and way too observant for his own good, so when Peter slides into his seat in the lab, dragging a hand through his hair, and tossing a couple textbooks in front of him, Tony almost immediately grabs his shoulder and stops him.

“You okay, kid? You look a little rough?” Tony says, eyes already narrowed in suspicion. One hand cups Peter’s face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

“Just been busy.” Peter looks towards his homework. English, physics, biology, spanish, chemistry, history, the academic decathlon practice he’s supposed to go over, the speech he’s supposed to have done for the next debate for student class president.

Tony frowns, making his forehead crease. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, kid. This doesn’t just look like regular high school stress.”

“High school student slash superhero is more accurate.”

His watch continues ticking, the conversation wasting all of his precious time.

He needs to get his homework done during lab time so he can squeeze in some Spider-Manning before May gets home from her shift.

“Still,” Tony says petulantly. He crosses his arms and frowns at the work. “You can’t, I don’t know, take a break from all this shit?”

If Peter takes a break, he’ll have double as much to do the next day on top of football practice after school and robotics club after that. But he can’t say that or Tony would force him to drop some of his extra-curriculars.

“Pepper would kill you if she found out you were being a bad influence on me,” Peter says, but when it doesn’t get the reaction he wanted, he frowns and shakes his head. “I’m fine, Mister Stark, just a little tired. Don’t worry, the weekend’s coming up soon.”

Tony sighs overdramatically and moves back to his lab bench.

Peter purposefully fails to mention that he’s got a football game early morning on Saturday, enough time to squish in some patrolling before he has an Academic Decathlon meet at Ned’s house all afternoon, and enough homework to last him all night. And on Sunday, he has to finish his speech for the debate, he promised May he’d pick up his slack with chores, and he’s tutoring a freshman in math all afternoon.

He fails to mention that for him, the weekend doesn’t mean relaxation or a break from the stress of the week, it just means catch-up from everything he failed to do during the week and a time to pick up his slack.

* There’s something so fundamentally wrong about being beyond exhausted and yet, when given the chance, unable to get any real rest.

Peter’s brain is always moving too fast, always caught in the To Do List’s and the ideas of failure and disappointment if he doesn’t complete every task. Everything he could’ve done that day but hadn’t, all the things he did but could’ve done better, all the things that were pushed to the backburner with all the things he had to complete.

His eyes are closed and his breaths are even, room dark around him and quiet except for the TV that plays almost silently in the background. He’s comfortable and vaguely floating, not enough to be considered asleep but nowhere near conscious either.

Math homework sits only half complete on the coffee table, his academic decathlon cue cards are mixed with his debate notes on the floor, his history textbook is left open on the opposite couch.

He should’ve done more. He should be trying harder. He should be doing better.

No matter how hard he tries, no matter how much work he puts into everything he does, it’ll never be enough.

He can’t sleep, he got a B- on his last pop quiz in chemistry, Coach Wilson shouts at him every practice for his clumsy feet and his slow pace during warmups, Tony’s been staring at him with the same worried expression every time he goes over for lab days.

Even Flash has been worried about Peter.

“You okay, Parker?” Flash had sounded at least partially concerned before quickly tacking on, “Because I get your spot on Acadeca if you’re slacking.”

But it had been weeks since Flash had been mean to Peter, he hadn’t been tripping Peter in the hallways or spitting cruel words at him in class.

If Flash is being nice to Peter, that means there’s really a problem.

May slips into the living room, meaning it’s already three am, when she leaves for her occasional morning shifts at the hospital. She lifts the quilt off the back of the couch to drape over him.

“Have a good day at work,” Peter slurs, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“Have a good day at school, honey.” She leans down and presses a quick kiss to his forehead. “And thank you for helping out this weekend with chores. I’m really proud of you, you know that? And I’m really proud of you for your football game. I’ll see you tonight?”

Peter has to think for too long, scanning through his mental to do list. “Got football practice and then robotics till seven. And I said I’d walk MJ home first so I’ll only be home at nine or ten.”

“Michelle’s the opposite direction of here from school, isn’t she?”

“Mm,” Peter replies intelligently, the perfect image of a genius student planning on applying to MIT.

May kisses his forehead again. He knows she’s worried about him, he knows she wants to tell him to stop, or at least slow down, that he needs to take care of himself. But it’s not the time nor place for an argument like that. “Well, I’ll be asleep by the time you get back, but I’ll leave your dinner in the microwave. You’re too good, Peter.”

Peter barely manages to utter a goodbye and an I love you before his mouth stops working again, content to pretend to sleep for another two hours before he’s off to pick up MJ before school. She lives in a shadier part of town and she mentioned, quiet and more honest about herself than she normally is, that she gets nervous walking to school and back because of some people who have been trying to get her attention.

Without hesitation, Peter had offered to walk to and from school from now on. To keep her safe and comfortable. He is a superhero after all.

Just because that adds an extra hour and a half to his already hour-long trek to Midtown, doesn’t mean anything. He’s okay with waking up at five in the morning to get to school, and he’s okay with only making it home late after practices. If it means MJ’s safe, he’ll give up another chunk of his sleeping time for her.

MJ talks idly about academic decathlon for the majority of the long walk to school.

She keeps a hand firmly on his upper arm, as though scared he may keel over if she isn’t careful. Her eyes rarely leave his face, even if he barely offers any facial expressions let alone any words of wisdom. Easily, though, he answers every one of her decathlon practice questions from memory, proving that the sleeplessness and the stress hasn’t totally messed up his intelligence.

Or so he thinks.

He’s about to leave his history class when his teacher stops him.

She’s a nice woman who doesn’t assign a crazy amount of homework, no more than his other classes do, and she’s generally lenient with marking assignments. He wracks his head for any reason why she would stop him. He’s pretty positive he handed in his history assignment about one of the presidents at the end of the previous week, and he remembers being pretty confident in his answers to the pop quiz.

“Sit down for a second,” Miss Christie says, gesturing to the chair beside her desk. She has the decency to look sympathetic and confused when she tells him, “Your grades have dropped drastically since midterm, Peter.”

“What?” His brain’s moving a bit too slow through the sludge of his to do lists.

At midterm, he managed an eighty-eight on his test which brought his overall grade up to an eighty-five. Not his best grade, but certainly nowhere near worrying. He was just going to make sure to ace the exam, and he was sure he’d get a ninety out of the class.

“Your grade has gone from nearly a ninety down to barely passing, Peter,” Miss Christie explains, pulling open his file on the computer. “I normally wouldn’t worry too much about a sixty-five, it’s not too abnormal for lower grades in a history class for a STEM school, but this is concerning coming from a bright student like you.”

“I don’t understand.”

Miss Christie frowns, turning her monitor towards him and zooming into his grades. It shows all his assignments he’s submitted, all his grades slipping towards mid-fifties and lower. His pop quiz he only managed a thirty percent on.

“At this school, as you know, if you don’t make a sixty or higher for your final grade, you fail the class.”

Peter’s whole world feels like it’s crashing down around him.

“Now, I know how much potential you have, Peter, but I’ve taken a peek at the last assignment you submitted, and at this rate, you won’t be passing the class unless you put more effort in.”

More effort.

He doesn’t know where he has the time for more effort anywhere.

May’s going to kill him.

He might as well throw his MIT application down the drain if he fails history.

“I, uh, it’s just- Between my classes and my extra-curriculars and the internship, I just- I don’t have the time for much,” Peter admits. He’s not quite sure why he’s alright admitting his struggles to his history teacher and not to people like Tony or Ned or May, but the words fall from his tired mouth before he can stop them.

Miss Christie smiles like she understands his struggle. “I can give you another week to finish your last history project and I’ll assign an extra-credit assignment to get your grade up a little more, if that’s what you’d like. If all goes well with those two projects, future assignments, and your exam, I think you could pull off an eighty, Peter. Hope’s not lost.”

He doesn’t know how to tell her he doesn’t have time for two more big projects this week.

Football practices are longer because they have another game on Sunday, Academic Decathlon is getting harder because they have sectionals coming up, robotics club has a tournament in a few weeks so they need to put extra work into completing their robots, student class president debates are in a few days and then voting is coming up, he agreed to take on a project from the real Stark interns who need his help with their prototype, not to mention his actual homework.

“I just- Miss Christie, I need a good grade for college applications and I- My schedule is already as packed as possible, is there anyway I can get an extension-”

“I can’t start making exceptions for students, Peter. I’m already being generous by giving you more time for the first project.”

Peter swallows thickly, suddenly feeling very nauseas and dizzy. “Of course, Miss Christie. Thank you.”

He barely lets her finish giving her spiel on hard work equals good results before he races down the hallway towards the bathroom.

*

“You can’t tell May or Tony about this,” he begs, slumping against the wall, trying desperately to stop crying.

“Peter, this isn’t okay,” Ned says. His eyes are too wide and he looks shakier than Peter feels. He’s got a wad of damp paper towel and gently pats the sweat from Peter’s forehead.

MJ’s leaning against the sinks despite it being a boy’s bathroom. “Are you sick? Catch a stomach bug?”

“Panic attack.”

Apparently, that’s not the right answer because Ned cups Peter’s cheek and tips his head up, patting away his sweat and tears more insistently.

“I’m late for- for-” Peter’s vision swims as he stares at the watch, unable to comprehend the ticking hands or match it to his mental to do list.

“Tutoring. It’s lunch,” MJ supplies. She steps into the already-cramped stall and slides to the floor beside Peter. “Don’t worry, Flash is taking over for you. That kid already knows all she needs to know, though. She doesn’t really need Flash’s help.”

“We can’t hide this from May or Tony. You need help, Peter.” Ned finally gives up with the paper towel but his eyes are just as wide as he grabs Peter’s hand, hanging on to him.

Peter shrugs, eyeing MJ carefully before he lets his head fall on her shoulder. He closes his eyes, shutting himself off from further argument.

Nothing’s right.

The three friends are cramped together in a bathroom stall because Peter can’t hold himself together, because no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never be enough.

He doesn’t say any of that, all the words getting clogged in his chest where all his self-loathing and pain sits. Instead, he murmurs a soft apology and lets his eyes fall shut.

Eventually, they have to drag themselves off the bathroom floor for class.

Ned rambles about how Peter should see the school nurse and go home for the rest of the day, and Peter makes up excuses about how he’s fine just a little stressed, how he’ll make sure to take the night easy and get some good rest and be back to normal by the next morning.

Even MJ tries to convince him to sit out of chemistry, even though Peter’s grade has dropped in that class too, even just to lie down in the nurse’s office for an hour.

But Peter throws on the most convincing smile he can muster and shakes his head, promising them that he’s fine.

And they trust him enough to take his word for it.

Maybe that’s a mistake.

*

May’s asleep by the time he gets home, so he grabs some money from his secret stash he’s been saving from some of the paid tutoring he’s been doing and grabs himself a few energy drinks from the bodega a block away.

And then he sets himself up at his desk with all the work he has to do laid out in front of him.

He was in for another long night.

*

It’s not like he has the option to stop.

It’s not that simple, it’s never been. Failing, at this point, would be the worst thing he’s ever done. The list of people he’d be letting down is too long, too many, he can’t do that. He can’t let down his loved ones like Tony and May, Ben, Mary and Richard, Pepper and the Avengers, his teachers, his friends, himself. He can’t do that.

Everything is resting on this.

May won’t be able to move out of the city, she’ll have to continue taking care of him when he’s unable to move, she’ll have to keep working to take care of him, she’ll have to keep worrying about him every night he goes out patrolling. He’ll continue dragging her down.

Tony and Pepper won’t be able to retire.

He’s heard them talking about that dream they have. The cabin, far away from everyone and everything, maybe a child down the line, a child of their own, not just some orphan kid they got saddled with. The garden, the lake, the pet, the baby, the ability to give up all the things tethering them down. Peter’s meant to take over SI when he graduates MIT. There’s never been an If with them. Like they couldn’t even imagine a world where Peter couldn’t do it.

Letting them down now?

He’d lose his second family. He’d lose Tony and Pepper, he’d lose his ties to the Avengers. How could he be Tony Stark’s prodigy if he couldn’t even get into MIT?

He has to work harder.

He has to do more.

He has to be better.

 He has to.

*

MJ puts a hand on his knee in English class, everything between now and then is a confusing blur, but he’s suddenly grounded.

“You’ve been shaking all class,” she says. Her eyes are wide and worried, and she doesn’t take her hand off his leg. “When was the last time you slept?”

He takes another sip from his water bottle, filled with an energy drink. It makes his knee bounce under MJ’s hand. He tries to shake away how cloudy his mind is, trying to focus on what the teacher’s droning on about.

“Hey,” MJ says, elbowing him to get his attention. “If you don’t sleep at night, you’re never going to be able to focus.”

“I slept fine,” he snaps, pushing her hand off his leg.

The teacher’s talking about Shakespeare, going over the play they were asked to read earlier on. He knows it like the back of his hand, so it doesn’t matter that he zoned out for most of class.

“Don’t be a dick when I’m just trying to help.”

He shakes his head again, one hand lifting to tug at his hair, pain clearing a little bit of the fog.

“I’m sorry.” He sounds panicked, even to his own ears. He’s been fucking everything up, everywhere he goes, but he can’t lose his friends, he can’t fuck this up.

“It’s fine, dude, just…” She looks towards the teacher, who hasn’t seemed to notice their distraction, and slides her notebook across to him. She’s drawn a few sketches of him, all of which picture him with dark circles under his eyes, hair sticking up every which way, and movement lines around his legs and fingers. There are some notes on Shakespeare between the sketches and some absent thoughts in the margins.

Peter doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m worried, okay?” she says so genuine that it hurts his chest. She reaches out to touch his leg again, seeming to understand how much the small gesture helps. “I know you’re stressed about college applications, but you’re falling apart, and I don’t know how much longer I can just watch you do that to yourself.”

“I have to get into MIT.”

“You have Tony Stark willing to write you a letter of recommendation, all this other stuff, football and student council, it’s not necessary. All it’s doing is destroying you.”

Peter’s voice drops to below a whisper. “I don’t want a stupid accident to be the reason I get in.”

“Accident?”

“Spider-Man! I can’t have… It’s unfair. I’ll spend my whole life wondering if it was just a fluke.”

“How is that a fluke?”

“I wandered off on a field trip and got bit by an experiment. I should be dead. It’s a complete fluke that I am who I am.”

“It’s not a fluke that Tony’s kept you around,” she argues. Her nails are digging into his leg a little, pressing the fabric of his jeans into his skin. Her voice almost raises, but she catches herself and glances back towards the teacher before whispering, “For a genius, you’re acting really fucking stupid.”

Peter takes a shuddering breath. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“It’s not. You know it’s not. You’re killing yourself for no good reason.”

“MJ, Peter, your attention please,” the teacher says. They both apologize quickly, and MJ sends him a look that says this isn’t over.

*

MJ practically drags him by the ear to the nearest bathroom once class is let out.

“You know I’ve got super strength, right?” he says, though he doesn’t even think he could access it through his exhaustion anyway, not that he’d try. He’d let MJ drag him wherever she pleases.

MJ lets him go when they’re safely inside the single-person bathroom and leans back against the sink, staring him down.

“If you’re going to reprimand me, can we get it over with? I’ve got things to do, Em.”

“We’re waiting for Ned. He’s on his way.”

Peter rolls his eyes and huffs out a sigh. “So this isn’t a reprimand, it’s an intervention?”

“You should be grateful it’s only going to be me and Ned. I could’ve pulled some strings and had Stark and May yell at you too.”

Peter winces. “Please don’t.”

“I won’t if you stop acting like an idiot.”

There’s a knock on the door, a rhythmic sound, and MJ opens it to let Ned in. Ned’s face is flushed and his eyes are a little too wide, and anger sparks in Peter’s chest, setting off a red-hot forest fire through his body.

“Did Flash say something to you?”

Ned only gets like this, red-faced and wringing hands, when someone insults him.

“It’s fine, Peter,” Ned says quickly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter! I’m going to kill him. What did he say?”

MJ puts a hand on his shoulder, almost like she’s ready to hold him in place, like he’ll shake out of his own skin. “Easy tiger. Getting in a fight with Flash is the last thing you need to be worrying about.”

Peter looks to Ned who already seems to have calmed down at least a little. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, dude. I’m fine. Flash is always going to be Flash. It’s really okay… What’s important is you right now. What’s going on with you? When was the last time you slept?”

“I have to get into MIT.”

MJ rolls her eyes and pulls away from him. She smells like vanilla and it makes him dizzy. “He thinks the whole Spider-Man and Tony Stark internship is an unfair advantage he shouldn’t be able to use in order to get in.”

Ned’s jaw drops open and he looks absolutely flabbergasted at the idea. “That’s insane! Do you really think that?”

“As I told MJ, I wandered on a field trip and suddenly I have things that most people could only dream of having. It’s not fair that Tony Stark can write me a letter because I wandered on a field trip. I can’t use Spider-Man like I’m better than everyone else because I wandered on a field trip. It’s not fair.”

“Just because it was an accident that it happened doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve the benefits that come from it,” Ned says. “You could’ve gotten those powers and done nothing. Nobody is making you use your abilities for good. You save people’s lives, you do everything you can to keep Queens and Midtown safe. You spend hours everyday getting knives or worse pointed at you to keep those people safe. And it’s just some fluke? I don’t think so.”

Peter shakes his head, shutting his eyes when he feels tears burn at them. “It’s not that simple. I’m Spider-Man, but Spider-Man isn’t me. Spider-Man isn’t some poor kid from Queens who has one and a half friends and can’t keep his grade up in History. Spider-Man isn’t some teenager who dumpster dives and reads graphic novels. Spider-Man isn’t Peter Parker. And because Spider-Man isn’t Peter Parker, anything that Spider-Man has can’t be mine. The acclaim, the ties to the Avengers, the internship, those all belong to Spider-Man, not me.”

Neither of them seem to have an answer for him.

Ned’s looking at him like Peter’s a stranger, confused and uncertain.

MJ���s looking at him like she finally realizes he can’t be helped. He’s too far down to be fixed by a simple pep talk in the bathroom.

“It’s not fair for me to use Spider-Man or Mister Stark as leverage for university. So, in order to get in, I have to beef up my application. I need extra curriculars, good grades, AP classes, I need this stuff in order to get into MIT. I can’t stop.”

Ned shakes his head. His eyes are misty and his face is still red. “Sure, okay, but if you stack up your day to be full of extra curriculars and homework, you have to drop Spider-Man patrols and internship nights and tutoring for the money, you can’t do everything.”

“I have to do everything. I’m still Spider-Man, even if Spider-Man isn’t me. I have a responsibility to this city, to try as hard as I can to keep people safe. And I have a responsibility to Mister Stark to be a protegee, to be his heir, so that he can finally retire, both from Stark Industries and from Iron Man. I have a responsibility to May to make her proud. I have a responsibility to my parents, to Ben, to do something great like MIT. I have a responsibility to May to get scholarships so I don’t rely on her for money she doesn’t have. I… I don’t have a choice. I can’t just give up.”

“You’re going to kill yourself!” MJ says, voice loud, and Peter’s head pounds.

“I’m going to get in and I’m going to graduate and then I can stop. It’s only six months. I can survive six months of this.”

“At this rate, you’ll be dead in a week.” She sounds so angry, so upset with him, and god it hurts to feel like despite all the effort he’s put in, he’s still managing to let people down. “Do you have any idea what sleep deprivation does to a person? Especially someone who enjoys swinging around hundreds of feet in the sky and fighting people with guns.”

Peter looks to Ned, tries to see if maybe his best friend will understand, will, at the very least, take a different approach, but Ned just stares back, eyes wet and jaw clenched.

Peter’s breaths have gone shaky, chest aching with the lack of oxygen. “I can’t just stop, Em.”

“I’m not giving you a choice,” she grounds out. “This ends now.”

“I can’t stop,” he repeats, tears blurring his vision. He falls back against the wall, head thumping against the bricks.  “I can’t. It’ll look worse now if I was on the football team for two months before abruptly dropping out. Same for robotics or student council. Even if it’s for the betterment of my grades, it’ll still look bad on my application. I can’t stop seeing Mister Stark, he’ll know something’s up, he’ll try and convince me to stop working so hard, he’ll try and use his power to prove that I can get in even if I fail all my classes this term and that’s not fair. I can’t stop.”

MJ shakes her head. She’s made up her mind on this, and when MJ makes up her mind there’s no turning her around. “Then stop Spider-Manning. If you let yourself rest at night instead of swinging around Queens in spandex, maybe you could actually do everything else without falling apart.”

“If Spider-Man disappears, people will die. And it’ll be on me.”

“You can’t save everyone!” she shouts. Her fist hits the edge of the sink with an echoing thud. “And if you die, you won’t be able to save anyone.”

He can’t help but flinch, trying to shake his head, come up with anything, find an argument that makes sense, but he comes up blank, just failure ringing through his head.

“I can’t stop,” he repeats like it’ll make a difference.

Ned finally speaks up, “I’ll call May. I’ll tell her what you’ve been doing, how you’re failing history. How little sleep you’ve been getting. I’ll tell her.”

“And what’s she going to do,” Peter challenges. “Tie me to my bed? Force me to sleep? Take away the suit? Ground me? She’d have to invest in vibranium locks if she really wanted to keep me from going out.”

“You’re really going to fight all of us?” MJ says, disbelief and anger darkening her voice.

“I have to do this.”

“Well, I’m not going to stand by and watch.” She shakes her head at him, mouth set in a deep frown, and then she walks out of the bathroom and his life.

He looks at Ned, silently pleading for him to understand, and Ned stares back with wet eyes for a moment before turning away as well.

He’s left alone in that bathroom, ears ringing and head spinning and tears sliding down his cheeks, clinging to his jaw, lungs aching.

*

Is it possible to do this without his two best friends at his side? He isn’t sure but he’s convinced himself that there’s no going back now. The only way he’ll get them back is if he stops, and that’s not an option.

So it’ll just be him against the world. He can handle that. He has before.

It’ll all be worth it when he gets that shiny acceptance letter.

*

“Kid.”

Tony says it in a way that Peter instantly knows what’s happening. He’s sitting at the dining room table when Peter gets to the tower for Lab Night, hands crossed on the table, shoulders tight, mouth set in a firm line.

“I don’t need another fucking intervention.” He doesn’t know where the anger came from, seeping through the tired cracks. He’s pretty sure he’s never sworn at Tony before. He’s not surprised that MJ and Ned ratted on him, he knew they would after their fight in the bathroom, he just hoped Tony wouldn’t make a big deal of it.

Tony shakes his head, gesturing towards the pulled-out chair beside him, Peter doesn’t move from the hallway, just drops his backpack on the floor. “Kid.”

“If you’re going to lecture me, I’m going to pass. I have shit to do.” He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. There’s no filter left. All that’s left is hardened sharp edges and dark rings beneath his eyes and the ghost of who he was shaking its head at him.

“Peter-” Tony never calls him that, so Peter knows it’s serious. “-Please just come sit and we can talk about this. It’s not a lecture or- or an intervention, I just… I’m worried.”

He crosses his arms tight, curling into himself a little. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not, kid, and I’m sorry I let it slide for too long, I should’ve said something sooner, but I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

“I’m fine,” Peter grounds out again. “And I have shit to do.”

Tony stands slowly, hands open and fingers spread like Peter’s a feral animal. “You’re working yourself to the bone. You’re going to get hurt.”

Peter stays quiet, staring Tony down. The older hero takes a step closer and Peter steps back, keeping space between them.

“I’ve looked at Karen’s reports, kid-”

“You’re still spying on me?”

“I’m checking in.”

“I should’ve disabled those stupid protocols months ago.”

Tony doesn’t meet Peter’s fire with fire, though, he just looks… aged. He looks more exhausted than Peter feels, wrinkles set deeper than Peter remembers, streaks of grey in his hair standing out in the moonlight. “I just want you to be safe.”

“I’m fine, okay? I haven’t been to medical in weeks.”

“You’ve been averaging two hours of sleep a night. Do you know what that’ll do to your reflexes? Your fighting abilities?”

“How many fucking times do I have to say I’m fine?” Peter’s voice has raised a little, not much but it still feels like it echoes off the walls of the dark hallway, it rattles inside his head.

Tony sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “You’re working too hard. You’re not sleeping, you’re drinking an obscene amount of caffeine, you’re not eating enough, you’re stressed, you’re lashing out. You know who you sound like?”

“Exactly. Who are you to judge?”

“I’ve learned from those mistakes, Pete. And I don’t want you to make them too. You’re going to get yourself killed patrolling or have a caffeine overdose or hurt yourself in the lab or burn bridges or turn to something worse than caffeine to get you through the day.”

“I’m not you!” Peter snaps. He can feel tears in his throat, voice threatening to break, hands shaking so he curls them into fists and stuffs them in his pockets. “I’m fine, okay? I can handle it.”

Tony shakes his head again, people have been doing that a lot lately when they talk to him. “I spoke to your principal, Peter.”

He flinches, taking another step back into the dark hallway. His breaths are coming too quick and a headache is beginning to form behind his eyes and Tony’s eyes are following him, tracking every movement that cements his points, and he looks so fucking sympathetic, so hurt.

“I’m going to fix it, okay? I have a few more days to perfect that history assignment and I’ll get the grade up by finals. It’s going to be fine. I can fix it.”

“It’s not just history, Peter.” Tony keeps saying his name and Peter hates how it’s grounding him to the conversation, stopping his swirling to-do lists in their place to hear Tony’s words. “It’s history and it’s chemistry and it’s calculus and it’s gym and your football coach says-”

“I can fix it!” Peter pleads, voice trembling. “I just need to try harder, I just need to put more effort in, I just- I just need to do more.”

Peter’s starting to feel claustrophobic in the hallway, images of Toomes and dust and darkness seeping into his eyesight.

“There’s nothing more you can give,” Tony says, gentle despite tearing down Peter’s world with just his words. “There’s not enough time in the world.”

“Fuck you,” Peter spits, he takes another step back. He points a shaking finger at Tony. “Fuck you. And fuck Ned for telling you. And fuck Coach for thinking I’m not good enough. And fuck MJ for switching me to an alternate. And fuck Miss Christie for not giving me a chance. And- and fuck Oscorp for making that fucking spider and putting these responsibilities on me. And fuck for parents for putting this pressure on me. And- And-”

“Kid.” And he sounds so genuine and pained and soft. And Peter fucking hates him.

“This, all of this, is your fucking fault. Yours, and May’s, and my parents, and Pepper’s, and Ben’s, and Ned’s. It’s on you.”

Tony, for his credit, just sighs softly and nods. “I know what it’s like to be under that kind of pressure. To have people make it seem like their future for you is the only one that matters, that you have these insane expectations to live up to and what you do will never be enough. But, kid, we’re all proud of you already. You don’t have to go to MIT for us to be proud. I can’t speak for your parents or for your uncle, but me and May and Pepper, we’d be proud if you went to community college. Hell, we’d be proud if you didn’t go to college at all. You don’t need MIT to have our approval, Peter. And we certainly don’t want you to kill yourself trying to get there.”

Peter shakes his head, tears beginning to curl down his cheeks, no doubt bright red already. “What about your future? I’ve heard you talk about it. You and Pepper and that- a kid, a kid who’s actually yours, retiring, giving up Iron Man and Stark Industries. You can’t do that if I go to a fucking community college.”

“We’ll figure it out. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” he shouts, unable to stop himself, voice wavering. He clenches his teeth so hard that his head starts to pound. “I can’t let everyone down.”

“And I’m not going to lose you, Peter.”

“I can do it!”

“Kid.” He sounds so pained, strained, desperate. “You’re going to go out patrolling on zero sleep, hopped up on too much caffeine, and you’re not going to be able to dodge that bullet. I’m going to get the red alert that you’re hurt and I’m going to be the one to find you bleeding out in some shoddy alley. And I’m not going to be able to save you. I’m going to have to hold you as you die. I’m going to have to show up at May’s door at an unforgivable hour and give her the news. Is that really what you want?”

There are images of that night in his peripherals. The black of the gun, the grey of Ben’s jacket, the red on the pavement, the gold of the police officer’s badge, the red on his hands, the brown of the apartment complex, the red on his jeans, the green of their apartment door, the brown of May’s hair, the red of her eyes, the red on his sweater, the red on his shoes.

“It’s not going to happen.”

“You can’t promise me that.”

“I can do it!” He’s crying, choked back sobs making his whole body tremble. “Why doesn’t anybody think I can do it? I have to- I can’t stop-”

Tony shakes his head again and again. “You’re going to get yourself killed, Peter.”

Peter doesn’t have the energy to stand anymore, pressing his back into the wall and sliding down it, knees pulling up to his chest. He curls into himself, as tight as he can, suddenly sobbing loudly into his knees.

“I can’t let everybody down. I can’t stop. I can’t give up,” he chokes out, pushing his hands into his hair and tugging until pain clouds his vision as much as his tears.

“I’ve made so many mistakes in my life, kid,” Tony says. “But I promised myself I wouldn’t let you become me. I swore after-” His voice breaks, guilt rushing into it. “After Toomes, that I wouldn’t make another mistake with you. So I can’t, I can’t let you do this.”

And Peter, he feels so small, so broken, so lost. “Are you going to take the suit?”

“If that’s what it takes to stop you from patrolling on no sleep, then yes, I have to.”

He bites his lip to stop the noise of despair from escaping him, metallic blood filling his mouth. He grabs his backpack from where he left it when all this started and throws it at Tony, too much superstrength behind his throw when it hits Tony in the chest with a solid noise.

“I wouldn’t have to if you dropped those extra-curriculars, Peter, or let me help with homework, or stopped tutoring or something. If I thought you could still be safe out there.” And he does sound genuinely guilty.

“Leave me alone.” He means to say it angrily, means to shout it from deep in his lungs, means to make it hurt, means to throw it like a dagger, but it just comes out small, weak, childish.

“Kid-”

“Please,” he says, looking up from his knees to meet Tony’s empathy with red eyes and wet eyelashes and a hoarse voice, to meet him with emptiness. “Leave me alone.”

Tony swallows loud enough for Peter to hear even through the rushing in his ears and then nods slowly. “Okay, kid. You know where to find me. And just so you know, I’m not doing this to be malicious. Everything I do is for you.”

“Go away.”

And he’s left alone. MJ, Ned, and now Tony. Gone.

He cries until he has nothing left to give. And then he curls up on the hardwood floor and cries some more.

*

When he wakes, there’s a blanket covering his body and a pillow underneath his head in the hallway, and a glass of water sits nearby. His head throbs something wicked and his back aches, but it’s probably the most sleep he’s gotten all week.

He drinks some water and then slowly rises to his feet, joints cracking at every move. He keeps the blanket tucked around his shoulders, hanging off him like a cape, and shuffles towards the kitchen.

See, he knows he’s in the wrong. He’s known since before MJ confronted him that what he was doing to himself was fucked up. He knows that this isn’t good or healthy or right, that he’s pushing everyone away like he wants to be killed and forgotten. He knows that Tony had every right to be pissed after yesterday. He knows that he hurt his friends and his family. He just doesn’t know how to stop anymore, he doesn’t know what to do. He’s lost and he feels small, he wants his mom to run her fingers through his hair and tell him everything will be okay.

Instead, he puts on a pot of coffee.

He makes two cups, too much sugar in one and just a little milk in the other, and takes them down to the lab.

He hesitates just outside the glass doors. He knows Tony didn’t sleep last night. He knows Tony has every right to hate him. He knows Tony probably broke down the second he left Peter alone. He knows Tony probably had footage of him sleeping open all night. And Peter doesn’t know if he can fix this.

Tony looks up like he knows Peter’s there. His eyes are red-rimmed, a little wild from caffeine consumption, and his hair sticks up in every direction like he ran his hand through it a hundred times.

Peter walks into the lab cautiously, slowly, like he’s the one approaching a feral animal this time. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all, he just sets the coffee down in front of Tony and then backs off a few feet.

They stare at each other for a few moments.

“Hey, kid,” Tony finally says, looking like he might cry at any moment, Peter feels the same, on the edge of a precipice.

Peter’s hands are shaking so badly that his coffee is spilling. He sets it down on the lab bench, knowing it’ll make a ring and guilt rising just a little higher.

“Hi,” he squeaks, swallowing again and again. He doesn’t let himself clench his hands into fists, just lets them shake.

Tony takes a long sip of coffee, Peter watches every movement he makes like he’s scared Tony will lash out at him, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop and it could happen at any second.

“Kid,” Tony says again. But he doesn’t follow it up with any words of wisdom.

The apologies ball up in his throat, getting stuck, and his breathing starts to struggle around them.

Tony’s expression softens, shoulders relaxing a little. “It’s okay.”

And Peter’s the one to start shaking his head fervently now. “It’s not okay.”

“It’s okay,” Tony repeats gently, always so gentle like Peter’s made of fucking glass. “It’s going to be okay, kid.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Peter feels panicked, trapped, scared. He feels like he’s dying. Like the past weeks of pushing himself beyond what he’s capable of have finally caught up to him. All the caffeine, the sleepless nights, the stress, the fights, the anger, the nightmares, the headaches, the visions, the pressure, it all just caves in at once.

“We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“I don’t want to die,” Peter chokes out. Because Tony was right, if he continued like this, he was going to die before he was able to make it to MIT, no ifs ands or buts. He would die. Even without the suit, he would die.

And he didn’t think it would bother him so much, the idea of dying, but with the work he’s put towards his future, is also the dreams of what could be. That future he’s planned for himself could be so exciting, so fulfilling, if he made it there.

“It’s going to be okay, bud. We’re going to figure it out.”

Peter doesn’t cry, he doesn’t think he has a single tear left in him, but his shoulders wrack with pain regardless. He reaches out for Tony with what strength he has when the whole world is caving in on him. And Tony moves quickly, standing and coming around the bench, wrapping Peter up in his arms, taking the weight of the world off his shoulders, burdening some of the pressure with him.

“I can’t give up,” Peter says, words muffled in Tony’s sweater.

“You don’t have to give up, buddy, but we have to make some changes.”

“I need MIT. I need Boston. I need scholarships. I need the grades and the extra-curriculars and the money, I need Spider-Man. How- How?”

Tony holds him up when his knees threaten to give out, cradles the back of his neck, a good pressure that alleviates a little bit of the pressure behind his eyes. “MJ told me how you feel. That what Spider-Man has doesn’t belong to you. That I, what we have, belongs to Spider-Man and not you, but you’re my kid, Peter Parker is, not Spider-Man.”

“We wouldn’t have met without the spider. We wouldn’t know each other. I wouldn’t have this internship, I wouldn’t have a spot in your life. Even if you like me for me and not my alter-ego, it still is because of him.”

“Even so, I wouldn’t have kept you around if I didn’t like you, kiddo. I wouldn’t have offered an internship, I wouldn’t have bought back this tower to stay nearby, I wouldn’t have wine nights with your aunt, I wouldn’t have movie nights with you, I wouldn’t go to your decathlon meets, I wouldn’t be handing over my company, I wouldn’t be planning out a room for you in my cabin, if it weren’t for you.”

“You are?”

“You’re my kid, Peter.”

“So it wouldn’t be wrong for me to use the internship on my application,” Peter says quietly, less of a question. “It wouldn’t be wrong for you to write me a letter of recommendation.”

“I have one written already. Had it written since you were fifteen.”

Peter breathes in the smell of metal and day-old cologne and coffee, and finally feels like his lungs accept the oxygen for the first time in what feels like forever. Tony will make it all okay.

*

“Hey… I’m sorry for what happened the other day,” he says, listening to the tinny sound of silence as he leaves a message on MJ’s phone. “I really am. I know you were just trying to help, I was just too far gone to accept it. I’m- I’m going to stop, relax, slow down. You were right, of course you were. I don’t know a time when you weren’t right. I’m dropping football and robotics and tutoring. I can’t do it all and Spider-Man. I’m taking a couple days off, a ‘mental health long weekend’ Tony’s calling it. If you… Maybe you’d think about coming by? I know you have no reason to forgive me, but- I just- I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry. And thank you. Thank you for trying to help me, thank you for being a friend, thank you for putting up with me these past months, thank you for telling Mister Stark, thank you for everything. Alright, well… bye, MJ.”

*

May comes by that night. She cries when Tony tells her how bad it got, how little sleep Peter was getting, how much he was pushing himself. She cries and gathers Peter up in her arms like he’s still five-years-old.

“Peter, baby,” she says into his hair. And that’s all it takes for him to cry too. And she keeps saying it, “Peter, baby, I should’ve known, I should’ve seen it. I’ve been working too much and I…”

“I just wanted to make Ben proud,” he cries into her scrubs.

“Ben would be so proud of you, baby, so goddamn proud. You don’t need to do anything more than be you for him to be proud. I’m so sorry we ever made you think otherwise. He loved you so much and he just saw so much potential in you, we all do, that’s why- We never wanted to put you under so much pressure, just wanted to make sure you knew you could do anything you set your mind to.”

*

MJ and Ned come by. They exchange their apologies, even MJ says she’s sorry for being so angry that day.

They spend the day playing video games and talking and eating.

Peter feels like the balance has been restored in the universe.

*

When he finally applies to MIT as well as plenty of back-up schools, he doesn’t freak out. He thinks that it’ll be okay, whatever happens. If he has to do a lap year, so be it, if he goes to a college in Boston or New York for a year before reapplying, it’ll be okay.

His grades have steadily increased since The Intervention, and his caffeine intake has steadily declined. He hangs out with his friends more regularly, spends time with May, has relaxed nights with Tony instead of cramming them full of studying. He gets back his spot on the Academic Decathlon team and splits his responsibilities as student class president with his vice president.

Tony pats him on the shoulder and presses a kiss to his forehead when he hits the final submit button on his final application. He murmurs a quiet admission of pride into Peter’s hair.

Whatever happens, it’ll be okay.

*

MJ gets early acceptance to Harvard. Peter’s never seen her smile that wide before.

*

Ned gets accepted to MIT a few weeks later. He brings the letter to Peter’s apartment and says that they should wait until Peter gets his, but Peter shakes his head and tells him to open it now. Ned’s hands shake badly as he opens the letter. There’s a long moment of silence as Ned reads and Peter waits.

And then, “I got accepted.”

Ned doesn’t sound as happy as he should, sounds nervous even as he looks up at Peter.

“Dude!” Peter exclaims, jumping up from his seat. He grabs the letter from Ned’s hands and reads the congratulations. He throws his arms around Ned. “Holy shit!”

Ned hugs him tight but when they pull away, he still looks small. “You’re not… upset? I mean, if you don’t get it, I can wait to start, defer until next year-”

“Are you kidding?” Peter says, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. “I’m so proud of you, dude. I’m so excited for you. You deserve it, man.”

And Ned finally smiles. “I can’t believe it.”

Peter pulls him into another hug.

*

Peter doesn’t hear anything for weeks.

There are a few nights where his anxiety gets the best of him. Sometimes, he heads over to Tony’s lab, knowing he’ll be up even at the odd hours. Sometimes, he swings over to MJ’s, lands on her fire escape and taps on her window. She’s always there to soothe his worries. She doesn’t have a doubt in her mind that he’ll get accepted, neither does May or Tony or Ned. But, worse case scenario, it’ll all work out. Nobody’s going to be upset or mad if he doesn’t go to MIT in the fall.

*

And then he gets it.

He’s studying at the dining room table with Ned and MJ, preparing for midterms in March, when May comes home from work with the mail. And sitting among them is the letter he was waiting for.

MIT.

“You ready?” MJ asks. She puts her hand over his on the letter.

“No matter what it says, it’ll be okay,” Ned reminds him. “No matter what.”

Tears burn his eyes all of a sudden. He puts the letter down on the table, unopened, swallowing thickly around the lump in his throat. They have a future planned out, the three of them. An apartment in Boston, road trips together back to New York whenever they can, MJ wants to get a cat. May’s had her two-week notice letter ready on the coffee table. Tony’s already started blueprints for that cabin he’ll build. He knows he keeps saying everything will be okay if he doesn’t get in, but…

“It will be,” MJ says like she knows what he was thinking. “You can still come to Boston with us if you don’t get in. Your future doesn’t rest on what this letter says.”

Peter believes her, that it’ll be okay, but slides the letter to her, silently asking her to do the honors, he can’t do it himself.

She nods and picks it up. She gives him one last reassuring smile before opening the envelope.

“Dear Peter Parker,” MJ reads.

#irondad #peter parker #may parker #aunt may #michelle jones #ned leeds #spider man #tony stark #iron man #lyss writes

[daddy-suguru]

It’s been almost four years since my fiancé and I have been together~ and in those past few years so much has changed yet haven’t at the same time.

We still have to hug at least 3-5 times, and he has to kiss my lips then my forehead in that order. And be it over the phone or in person, no matter how angry we get we always say I love you goodbye. Though if we are angry at each other we don’t blow kisses.

He calls me from his way home from work to tell me about his day. Meanwhile he already knows mine because he has already asked about it several times through text.

He sends me random messages telling me what he appreciates about me. And even though he hates writing he know how much I love it and how much writing means to me.

So he will write pages about how much he loves me, how he wants to grow old together. He even does written apologizes explaining what he did wrong and how he plans to fix it.

He always is spoons me every night and morning. Before he goes to turn on my person heater for me to stand in front of while I get ready for the day.

When he is stressed and upset about his work all he wants to do is cuddle me while watching movies. He says it’s because I ground him, keep him steady and help him forget the day.

He always interrupts my writing by stealing kisses. Telling me that my face of concentration is to cute.

He holds his finger out expecting me to boop my nose. Sometimes he pats my head since he knows that if he ruffles my hair and messes it up imma pout. My curls will just fizz ;-;

Over the years these little things I was told would fade away after the puppet stage. But if anything he has become more attentive and in-tune with my habits and moods.

He taught himself how to cook. And will happily make me my favorite comfort food of shredded chicken, rice and vegetables.

He knows my love of cows and found a huge squishy cow that is over half my size for me to sink into like a bean bag.

I’m so glad the girl before me fucked her chance up with this man. Because I’m so grateful to be his future wife and the love of his life :3

I have never felt so safe, comfortable, loved and beautiful.

#I needed to fangirl about my fiancé #if I can fangirl about satoru and toji on here then I will fan girl about the number one love of my life

[crockettmarcel]

wc: 3823 warnings: therapy, trauma, pregnancy

also available on ao3

Sarah watches the hands tick around the clock on the wall above Dr. Cuevas’ head. Twelve minutes have passed since she last said anything, and she only has to sit through another seven until her appointment is over. Her right leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since she sat down almost an hour ago, and it’s only getting worse now that the end is in sight. She wants to get up and run, but even if she was feeling brave enough to do so, her mom won’t be here to pick her up until three on the dot. She has no way of getting home, so as awful as it is, she has to force herself to make it through the next seven minutes.

Dr. Cuevas asks her something, and she offers a noncommittal hum in response. She doesn’t know what was asked, or what her answer was supposed to be, and she’s not sure if she cares, either. 

There’s a loose thread on the hem of her shorts, and she pulls at it, shifting her focus from the clock to the motion of her fingers. They’re old, the ones she was found in when she and her daughters were finally freed, and she’d been wearing them since long before that. She should hate them, should be desperate to replace them with a brand new pair with no terrible history or holes that get bigger by the day, but somehow she can’t bring herself to get rid of them. 

Six minutes.

She lets go of the thread and shifts in her seat. The fabric of the sofa is itchy against her bare thighs, and there isn’t much she can do about it aside from waiting it out. It’s too warm in here, the heating turned up to counteract the bitter Chicago winter outside, and Sarah can feel beads of sweat forming up by her hairline. She wants to leave.

Next to her on the sofa, Harper flips happily through a cardboard picture book. It’s one with textures - fluffy and scaly and rough and smooth - and she carefully examines each one with her chubby little fingers before turning the page to look for the next. She’ll be okay, everyone had told Sarah. She’s too young to remember the basement. So far, they seem to be right. 

If only it was that easy for the rest of them.

“Sarah?”

Dr. Cuevas’ voice cuts through her thoughts, and Sarah realises she’s been staring at Harper. She glances briefly at the clock, then turns her attention back to Dr. Cuevas.

Four minutes.

“I was just wondering if there’s anything you wanted to talk about today that we haven’t got to yet. If you want more than just the hour, that’s not a problem.”

Sarah’s stomach turns.

“There isn’t- there’s nothing I want to talk about. I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Dr. Cuevas sighs and sets down her notepad on the floor. “I know it’s hard, but you can’t bottle it all up forever. You went through something extremely traumatic, and pretending it didn’t happen won’t make it go away.”

“‘Pretending it didn’t happen’?” Sarah makes a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob, then rests a hand on her stomach. “I have two kids. In less than five months, I’m going to have another. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I know, you’re right. I’m sorry, Sarah, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

Sarah nods, and for a moment, the room settles into an uncomfortable silence. The urge to leave is stronger than ever.

Two minutes.

“Look, before you go, I want to suggest something. If you’re having trouble verbalising your thoughts, I want you to try writing them down. Buy a journal, or scribble them on the back of a receipt, whatever you want. Once you’ve written something down, it’s up to you what you do with it. You can bring it with you to show me on Thursday, or hide it away somewhere, or even destroy it. I don’t mind. I just think it could be useful for you to have some sort of outlet, because I know you’re probably dealing with some very scary, uncomfortable thoughts right now. Do you think you can do that?”

“You want me to keep a journal?” Sarah scoffs. “That’s your advice for fixing me? Five years locked in a basement, and all I need to do is journal about it?”

She grabs her sweater off the back of the sofa and pulls it on, then stands up and quickly starts gathering up all of Harper’s things. There’s usually a system for how they all fit in the backpack her mom gave her, but today she just shoves them in haphazardly and zips the bag closed as far as it will go. 

“Sarah, please. Talking about it is only the first step, and I just want you to work on that for now, okay? You’ve only been home for a couple of months. I’m not expecting miracles from you.”

“Well, maybe I want miracles from you.”

Fourteen seconds.

She scoops Harper up and settles her on her hip, whispering reassurances and brushing her face as she does so, then makes her way to the door.

“Sarah—”

“Three p.m. Session’s over.”

She slams the door shut behind her as she leaves, and the bang as it hits the frame is loud enough to startle Harper into crying. Her chin trembles, and before Sarah can even think about trying to comfort her, the tears have started. All of Sarah’s anger from moments before suddenly disappears, and is replaced almost immediately with an overwhelming anxiety.

“Hey, baby, no, it’s okay. Don’t cry.” She bounces Harper on her hip as she walks, but the crying only gets worse.

By the time they get to the elevator, Harper’s wailing, a shrill, ear-piercing shriek that attracts whispers and angry stares from everyone they pass. It’s only one floor down, but Sarah can’t bring herself to inflict a crying baby on anyone who might be there with them, if only because she can’t handle a confrontation right now.

She walks towards the stairs.

Somehow, being back at Med after everything that happened isn’t as difficult as she thought it would be. Enough has stayed the same here that sometimes it’s like she was only away for a few months. On holiday, perhaps, travelling around Europe like she’d always dreamed of. Dr. Cuevas would tell her that this is a perfect example of how she’s pretending nothing happened. 

They don’t pass anyone going down the stairs. It’s a small blessing; Harper’s still crying, and she’s not showing any signs of stopping. Sarah’s ears are starting to hurt, and she’s not sure how long it will be before she’s crying too. 

When they get to the lobby, her mom is already waiting for them on a bench, and Lolly’s sitting at her feet, most of her face covered by a mask that’s slightly too big for her, and completely oblivious to her surroundings as she lines up her toy cars and drives them around. The purple one is her favourite, and as Sarah gets closer, she notices it at the front of the queue of cars.

“Mom!” Elizabeth looks up smiling when she hears Sarah’s voice, but her face quickly drops when she sees her expression. “I told you not to let her play on the floor. It’s dirty, and her immune system isn’t strong enough for it. I don’t want her getting sick.”

Moments like these were to be expected, Dr. Cuevas had explained to Elizabeth months ago when she’d asked what she was going to be dealing with. Anger, hypervigilance, and difficulty with a sense of control are all extremely common after trauma, she’d said. After years of having no control over her life, it wouldn’t be surprising if Sarah either sought out control in any way possible or deferred to her mom for even basic decision-making. The last few weeks had seen a definite shift towards the former.

Elizabeth does her best not to react to Sarah’s anger. Instead, she asks Lolly to come and sit with her, then offers her a blob of the strawberry hand sanitiser she’s started keeping in her bag.

“That’s not enough. She needs to wash her hands.”

Elizabeth takes some of the hand sanitiser for herself and then puts it back in her bag. “It’s fine for now, Sarah, I promise. We can all wash our hands when we get home.”

Sarah nods, then sits down on the other side of Lolly. This wasn’t the reunion she’d been dreaming of when her mom dropped her off for her appointment, and she feels a pang of guilt at the thought that her interaction with her mother might have upset Lolly. She seems okay, but Sarah’s never sure with her, so she leans down to kiss the top of her head and tell her that she loves her.

Harper’s cries start to peter off.

“Do you want me to hold her?” Elizabeth reaches over Lolly to take Harper, but Sarah instantly pulls away. 

“We’re fine. Don’t touch her.”

She nods. “Of course. Sorry.” Sarah looks at her, but she doesn’t say anything. Her expression is almost unreadable, just a blank stare, and it hits Elizabeth that she hasn’t seen her smile once in the months since she was rescued. “Are you ready to go, or do you want to stop to get something to eat? I remember you telling me that the cafeteria here does really good muffins.”

Sarah shakes her head, then crouches down to pick up Lolly’s cars. “I’m not hungry.”

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

With all of Lolly’s toys safely put away in Elizabeth’s bag, they start the short walk to the car. Harper’s asleep now, exhausted from a long morning of looking at pictures and crying in her mom’s ear, and she drools a little on Sarah’s shoulder as she naps. With her free arm, Sarah takes Lolly’s hand in hers, and the pair walk a little behind Elizabeth. Every so often, Lolly will stop and point to something she’s never seen before — a funny-looking lamppost, a really big truck, or a window washer 60 feet off the ground — and each time, Sarah will explain it to her. 

It’s the only time she talks the whole way home.

She ignores all her mom’s questions — “How was the appointment today?” “How are you feeling?” “What would you like for dinner tonight?” — and just stares out the window instead, her focus drawn to the city around them. It changes as they drive, from glass skyscrapers near the hospital to low, wide stores and fast-food outlets, and then eventually the small apartment buildings that signify they’re almost home. It’s getting dark already — sunset is a little under an hour away — and Sarah gazes at the houses they pass on the way to their own, some with lights on inside. There are people visible in most of them, couples, families, friends, and Sarah can’t help but wonder what their lives are like. Are they happy? Are they good people? Are they hiding anything?

She’s sure that there must be someone out there who drove past Crockett’s house and wondered the same thing about him. She imagines him watching a Saints game in his living room with the curtains open, or experimenting with a new recipe and waving out of his kitchen window at his neighbours, projecting the exact image he wanted them to have of him.  

He liked Halloween as well. He’d dress up every year, and probably decorate the house, but Sarah never saw it. If she listened carefully, she could hear chants of “Trick or treat!” coming from upstairs, little kids being chaperoned by their parents and taking candy from a stranger, the one night a year when it was okay to do so. Would they still have done it if they’d known about her? If they’d known who he really was? 

Her chest tightens.

They pull up outside their house less than a minute later, and Sarah’s out of the car before her mom has even had a chance to turn the engine off. She makes her way to the back of the car and unbuckles Harper, then helps Lolly undo her own seatbelt and takes her hand to lead her to the front door. Her keys are in her bag somewhere, and the bitter January wind bites at her bare legs as she rummages around for them. Still, she won’t give up the shorts.

Just as her mom makes her way up to the porch, Sarah opens the door and gently nudges Lolly inside. It’s too cold to be standing outside any longer than necessary, and all Sarah wants, more than anything, is to hide away in her room.

Going out isn’t as scary now as it was when she was first rescued. She hasn’t quite conquered public transport yet, but she’s happy to drive or be driven to places and spend a few hours out with her girls; their favourite thing to do at the moment is going to the aquarium, and Sarah’s considered asking her mom to pay for a membership. 

Even so, she still prefers being at home in the safety of her bedroom. It’s smaller than the basement was, and cozier. Her mom bought the house a year after she went missing, so she could be nearby when (when, not if, she always emphasises) Sarah was found. She packed up the house in Connecticut and brought most of Sarah’s things with her when she moved. Now, they live in her new bedroom. The shelf is filled with books, new and old, and the armchair she inherited from her grandmother sits in the corner with her beloved childhood teddies calling it home. There are some things — trophies, school books, old clothes she hasn’t fit into since she was 13 — that live in boxes in the attic, but everything is still within reach. 

Her bedroom is the one place where she feels some semblance of safety.

There’s a storage bench by the front door, with a dark green cushion on top, and when everyone’s inside with the door shut behind them, Sarah sets Harper down on it so she can help Lolly. Her hand-eye coordination isn’t good enough yet to unzip her coat and boots on her own, and she’s too little to reach the coat pegs on the wall. Two months ago, Lolly didn’t have a coat or a pair of shoes, and somehow, remembering that fact always makes this task a little easier for Sarah.

Once all shoes are off and coats hung up, Sarah takes the girls upstairs. It’s a couple of hours until dinnertime, and she knows they’ll be left alone until then, so she decides the best thing they can do is sleep. She shuts the bedroom door tight behind her, then changes the three of them out of their outside clothes, into outfits that haven’t seen the inside of a hospital yet. 

The bed is big enough for all three of them to lie comfortably, and they cuddle up together the way they used to in the basement. It’s a stark contrast to the way Sarah had spent the last five years sleeping — on a mattress on the floor with a bloodstain in the middle and one limp pillow to share between three — and she has never in her life been more grateful for a normal sized bed and soft, plump pillows. 

Within minutes of lying down, they’re all fast asleep, and they only wake when Elizabeth knocks to announce that she’s ordered pizza and it will be here soon. From then, the rest of the evening follows a normal nightly routine, something Sarah never thought she’d have again.

When the pizza arrives, Sarah sits with her daughters on the floor and shares it with them. Her mom pokes fun at them for having pineapple, so Lolly points at her pizza — Italian sausage, green peppers, and olives — and tells her it’s “yucky”. They talk about everyday things like the weather and the show they watched the night before, and there’s no mention of basements or therapy.

After dinner, Sarah helps her mom clear up, and then she gets the girls ready for bed. She runs a bubble bath for them and fills the tub with toys, something they never had before, and for twenty minutes, she watches as they splash each other and cover the room with suds. They’re happy and giggling, and really, that’s all she wants for them.

They deserve to have a normal life.

That feeling, the feeling that maybe, finally, everything is going to be okay, continues all the way through the girls’ nighttime routine. She thinks about it as she reads them a bedtime story. She wants them to have a normal life, and that’s what she’s giving them. Lolly will probably retain a few memories of the basement, but Harper won’t remember anything. This life, their new life in this new house, that’s what counts. 

It’s only when she’s in bed too that the warm, hopeful feeling is replaced by something else. 

Ignoring the thoughts she’s been trying to suppress all day is harder now that she’s alone in the dark. When she’s out and doing things, she can easily distract herself, whether that’s by looking after her daughters, picking a fight with her mom, or putting all her effort into listening to Dr. Cuevas. Now, though, she has no distraction. Her mind is all over the place, and she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

She tosses and turns for an hour. Her mom’s still awake downstairs, pottering around in the kitchen, and Sarah listens as she pours herself a glass of wine, then makes her way into the living room to watch reruns of Murder, She Wrote. It’s like being seven years old again, just after the divorce, when her whole world was flipped upside down for the first time, and it makes her chest ache. 

After three episodes, Elizabeth packs up and starts on her own nighttime routine. She’s in bed with the lights off in less than half an hour, and then suddenly Sarah’s truly alone. After all that time alone in the basement, she can’t bear it anymore, and she’s desperate for someone, anyone, to be there with her. She can’t wake the girls up — they’ll be grumpy and tired tomorrow if she does — but the sense of isolation gets more and more overwhelming with every second that passes.

The baby shifts, jabbing an arm or a foot into Sarah’s ribs, and her chest tightens at the sensation. Unlike her siblings, Baby is nocturnal, and her movements each night are a reminder of everything that happened and everything she lost. She can’t bring herself to even begin thinking about baby names yet.

She closes her eyes for a moment and takes some deep breaths, a futile attempt at grounding herself, but as soon as she does, she’s back in the basement. Crockett’s moving about upstairs, and she can smell his cooking. He always fed her well when she was pregnant. 

There’s no light coming in from outside, so if Crockett’s cooking when it’s dark, that must mean it’s winter. Nearly Christmas, perhaps? They had some good Christmases, she’s sure of it. Their last one together was good. Neither of them knew it was their last. They almost had one more together, but instead, she spent it hiding away in her room here, and he was God knows where. A cell of some sort, probably, and she almost laughs at the irony of it.

Baby moves again, pulling Sarah back to reality, and she reluctantly opens her eyes. There’s nothing comforting about this pitch-black room, and her mind is racing too much for her to try and sleep. She needs a release.

She’s careful not to wake Harper and Lolly as she gets out of bed, and she stands for a couple of seconds at the edge of the bed to make sure they stay asleep, before tiptoeing across the room to the desk in the corner. There are pens and old notebooks in the drawers, and she rummages around as quietly as possible until she finds something suitable. The notebook is a Moleskine, one she’d bought for her second year of residency but hardly had the chance to use, and she grabs a handful of pens as well, just in case some of them don’t work. 

Harper and Lolly don’t stir.

The en suite is on the other side of the desk, and she slips inside and shuts the door behind her before flicking the light on. It’s bright, too bright, and for a moment, she can only squint as her eyes adjust. When she can open them again, she sits down on the floor, the bathmat soft against the exposed skin of her legs. She briefly looks through the notebook, skimming over the few case notes in there, then flips to an empty page and picks up a pen. 

Everything is loud, she writes. Everything is too loud and too quiet, and I don’t know how to cope with it all. 

People think they know how to help, but they don’t. My mom doesn’t. Dr Cuevas doesn’t. Sorry if you’re seeing this.

She crosses out some words.

People think they know how to help, but they don’t. My mom doesn’t. Dr Cuevas doesn’t. Sorry if you're seeing this. Sometimes, I feel like Crockett is the only one that knows how.

People think they know how to help, but they don’t. My mom doesn’t. Dr Cuevas doesn’t. Sorry if you're seeing this. Sometimes, I feel like Crockett is the only one that knows how. Dr Cuevas    Crockett

Baby kicks, and Sarah rubs her stomach with her thumb in response. Two more kicks, and then she settles.

Crockett doesn’t know about Baby. I’ve been told that’s a good thing. It means there’s no connection there, apparently. But that’s not true. He’s her father. There will always be a connection there. I will always know.

I wish he knew. All I want is one more day. I can’t tell anyone this. Her heart pounds and she takes a moment to pause and blink back the tears burning her eyes. I’m not supposed to want this. He hurt me. I remember it all and I don’t know if I’ll ever forget it. But it wasn’t all bad. We had some good times, and they’re all I can think of lately. I want to tell him about Baby. I want to lie with him on the mattress again while he tells her how much he loves her, the way he did with Lolly and Harper. I think he still loves them. 

I miss the basement. I miss him. I want to see him again. 

I don’t know how to tell Dr. Cuevas this. I don’t think I will.

#chicago med #sarah reese #missing!fic #writing #whumptober 2023 #nellie cuevas

[baronessblixen]

Valentine's Day Is a State of Mind

Made it just in time! Here's my Year of the OTP fic with the prompts: Valentine’s Day / different / “If I kiss you now, will you shut up?”

Set in season 7, fluffy fluff-fluff. Wc: 1,274

Tagging @today-in-fic

She’s asked Mulder several times where they’re going. Each time she does, he just grins at her before he returns his gaze to the road. It’s a case, he said earlier when he called her. One of utmost importance, he’d added when he picked her up. One – and he made sure to emphasize it – that requires casual clothing. He knows how much she hates dressing casually for a case.

What if they have to deal with authorities? It’s different for him, of course. No one bats an eye if he shows up in jeans and an old t-shirt. No one will take him less seriously if he wears whatever he wants. But Mulder assured her that they would not be dealing with authorities today.

As suspicious as it all sounded, she was in right from when he said 'Scully, it's me'. Her partner of six years knows her all too well and he knows she’s too curious to pass up an opportunity to investigate a potential x-file. So she dressed casually, yet smart, and got in the car with Mulder.

“Why don’t you just tell me where we’re going? Where is the file?” She tries again. They’ve been driving for a good twenty minutes by now. Mulder is in a good mood, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm with whatever song is playing on the radio.

“Just be patient,” Mulder says with a laugh. “We’re almost there.”

“We are?” She asks, looking around. It’s a lively area, full of cafes and restaurants. No wonder Mulder asked her to dress casually. She would have attracted way more attention in one of her suits here. A moment later he parks the car and they get out.

“So Mulder,” she says, their arms brushing as they walk. It’s cooler than she anticipated, the February air biting into her skin and she cherishes the warmth he gives off, even through his clothes. “Fill me in. what are we doing here? Where are we going?”

“Well,” he says. “Dea Mon.”

“Demon?” She asks, blinking at him. “This case is about an alleged demon?” He smiles when she says ‘alleged’.

“No, it’s Dae Mon.” He points at a restaurant where the name Dae Mon is written in bold, creative letters all over the window front.

“There’s a demon in a restaurant? Mulder.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest. No wonder he didn’t explain where they were going, or why.

“Scully, no.” He laughs again, delighted by her confusion. At least one of them is. He puts his hands on her shoulders and just for a second, she flinches. It’s not his touch. Never that. But they’re in public. They’re here on a case – however ridiculous it may turn out to be. When they started this thing (undefined, still), they made a pact that it would stay inside their four walls. Meaning his apartment and hers. But his hands are warm and big and she doesn’t find it in her heart to remind him of the rules.

“There’s no demon,” he says. She glances back at the restaurant. “It’s Dae Mon,” he repeats. “Two words. There are no demons, monsters, or other otherworldly creatures here. I promise. Only food. It is, however, open-minded cuisine.” His grin is not as self-assured as she’s used to and she’s still trying to understand what he’s saying. It can’t be what she thinks he’s saying, can it?

“There’s a case,” she says, not asking. He said there was a case. An important case. But his grin turns sheepish and it all starts to make sense. “There’s no case, is there?”

“Well, maybe the food is an x-file. We won’t know until we try it.”

“You brought me here under false pretenses.”

“I did,” he admits. “But I did it with the best of intentions. I heard you on the phone with your mom the other day.”

“The other day?”

“Okay fine, it was three weeks ago. Anyway, you were talking about going to a restaurant and how you haven’t been to a fancy place in ages and I thought, hey, as your bo- your partner?” He sighs before he goes on, “as your Mulder, I should do this. Remember when I asked you about having dinner the other day?”

“That was… also three weeks ago.” She remembers now. It was some time after her phone call with her mother. Mulder asked her if she wanted to have dinner with him. There was no mention of a restaurant. They had take-out at her place and he stayed over for the first time. The memory shoots heat through her whole body. The way they kissed in the darkness, fumbling like inexperienced teenagers and giggling all the way to her bedroom. How could she possibly forget that?

“As you maybe know,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’m a bit rusty when it comes to… dating.” There, he said it. The term they’ve been avoiding these last couple of weeks. Dating. That is what they are doing. Or trying to do.

“I haven’t noticed,” she says truthfully, but Mulder snorts. “Mulder, I’m as rusty as you are.” Which might explain why she didn’t see through his plan. “So is this a date? There really is no case?”

“There’s no case,” he confirms. “It’s a date if you want it to be. I didn’t want to pressure you, but I did want you to have the experience of going to a fancy place and eat good food.”

“Mulder,” she says softly, feeling her throat constrict with emotion. His hands are still on her shoulders, but she steps into his personal space and leans against him. Rules be damned. She presses a gentle kiss to his lips, like an appetizer. He’s still smiling with his eyes closed when she leans away again.

“This isn’t how I planned it.”

“You could have just told me, you know. Asked me to go out.” Like an average couple, she thinks. But they aren’t average. Never were, never will be.

“That would have been way too easy. And the reason I didn’t say anything is… I planned this for Valentine’s Day.”

“Mulder, Valentine’s Day was two weeks ago.” They shared a cupcake that day and made eyes at each other during a boring meeting.

“I know. They didn’t have a free table for Valentine’s Day but I didn’t know that because I’ve never asked a woman out for Valentine’s Day.”

“Never?”

“Never, Scully. So you see, with Dae Mon being new and trendy, they couldn’t tell me when they’d have a free table and I told them to put me on a waiting list. They called me earlier and said they have a table so…”

“You made up a case,” she finishes for him.

“I did. I didn’t mean to blindside you. I knew you’d be up for a case so I figured that’s the safest option to get you out here. I knew you’d love this place, but you know I do my best convincing face to face. Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“If I kiss you, will you shut up?”

He gives her a full grin, tugging her close to him before he says, “you know it’s the best way to shut me up. Happy very late or very early Valentine’s Day, Scully.”

She seizes the opportunity and his lips, smiling as he moans into her mouth. It’s not just the best way to shut him up, but her favorite, too.

#i ran i read i wrote #just in time! #better luck next time #also maybe no fluff next time #oh who am i kidding #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic

[faithfromanewperspective]

red desert arrangement brainstorm i guess

Heal and replace. Heal and replace. It doesn’t take too long to heal and replace; the demons we’re running from, they’re begging to stay. How do you capture that musically, when I’ve already got the parts all going on, the four-part harmony, the chords and the percussionbass rhythm going on underneath? What do I do when it sounds almost exactly like the first verse? The demons we’re running from, they’re begging to stay. I think I see the problem.

Pop music is notoriously repetitive; orchestral music is not. When you don’t have lyrics that change between lines and verses, when you have 40 or 50 people playing instruments who don’t want to play the exact same thing, on a 4-bar repeat that changes up a couple times depending on the section of the song, you’ve gotta get creative. And can I just say, of all the songs I’ve played covers for or even attempted, I chose this album because from a musical standpoint it’s not boring. It’s no cookie cutter I V vi IV or whatever chord combination with a simple drum beat and repeated melodies. The bridges, at least, of each song, are something else. They were clearly written to be fun to play, rather than easy. I wouldn’t recommend them to a beginner busker. Few people I know will cover 5 seconds of summer, for good reason too. It’s difficult. The chords are unpredictable, for example red desert, focusing on vocal harmonies and using simple melodies to bring them out, has a sneaky E major chord in a B minor piece, G sharps littered around the place that aren’t in the key signature, aren’t always there. It means you’ve gotta look twice before improvising, figure out what bar you’re in, what notes to play. E is the subdominant in a B minor piece, in making it major instead of minor, it’s harder to tell that the piece is in a minor key. It shakes things up a bit. It should make it easier to fill in with something interesting, a countermelody over the verse: should I give it to the flutes maybe, or should I switch some of the parts that people played in the first verse around? I can figure that out later.

In the meantime, note that the other commonly occurring chords in the song are B minor and A minor. This is clever: B melodic minor scale ascending adds a G sharp; and A minor has a G sharp in both its harmonic and ascending melodic versions. As a result, the song works smoothly and feels calming and resolved.

So imagine the creatures in the desert. You’ve got the hot wind blowing red sand over cacti and scraggly brown shrubs, the occasional bunch of desert trees, eucalyptus or acacia or mulga I’m not sure, I haven’t brushed up on my ecology quite that much. For the purpose of this exercise, it doesn’t matter. Imagine a bird flitting above the desert. A little spiky lizard or maybe a spinifex mouse flitting around. Can I write all of their parts, weaving in and out of the melody, so each instrument doesn’t get bored? Can I write the migratory birds that fly overhead in search of water, seeing the same landscape every year, never landing on it? how about the red kangaroo, and the western grey? Is there a brown snake sneaking around the bushes: ominous, how about a minor chord for it. I’ll fit it in the transition from A minor to E major, because the harmonic tone-and-a-half jump between F natural and G sharp, both accidentals in this piece (meaning F is meant to be a sharp and G a natural) gives just the sound I’m after. No one wants to be bitten by a brown snake when you’re miles away from the nearest road, let alone hospital. But the red desert is here to heal our blues. We’re safe. Snakes are scarier than they sound: they don’t actually want to bite you. Their venom is meant for the little prey they can actually swallow—they can’t eat a human. They’re not likely to bite unless they think you’re going to hurt them first.

In the recording, the bugle sounds I gave to the bassoons and brass in the first verse could be these animals peeking out. I can see a scorpion when I listen to it. They’re great for looking at from a middle distance, gorgeous, angry, spiky things. But the spiky grasses and desert leaves you can pluck and take apart for your liking. They’re not overgrazed: ecologically there is no problem with that. Some of them you can even eat, bush tucker, you should try it sometime. Connect with the land. Red, red desert, heal our blues.

These plants are the ‘ooh’s in the second verse in the recording. Lovely and ominous. Yet despite being first in the album, red desert is the last of eleven songs in my arrangement. It’s an album theme: every song has ‘ooh’s in the second verse. Well, at least three of them. I think they can be edited a little to wrap around our desert creatures. And our muse! Who is our muse? I’ll dive deeper for you. Who did we call to leave all their fears at the end of the world with us? Let’s make the little melodies dance around them, using the notes that we discussed. You’re the only one I do this for.

So now I have it. Ideas. Concepts, theories, imaginings, that I can build out of notes that somehow go with what I’ve already done. Do the same with the chorus. I don’t know when I’ll get to it all. But here is the framework. I hope we all learned something today. Had ideas. I know I did. I know this orchestral part is going to be better for it. One day. When I make the ideas a reality.

#red desert #music recs #musician #5sos #5 seconds of summer #silver arranges 5sos #silver arranges CALM

[aromanticbuck]

hi its been a whileee, i saw your post about 2011 au and if you have any more snippets to share i would absolutely love it <3

⚡️

Hi, nonny, welcome back!

I have a few other sections of this chapter that I really love, to the point that I don't feel like I can keep writing this chapter at the same level right now, so it's kind of... just getting ignored. I typed up all 2k+ words I'd written on desk duty and that was my accomplishment this weekend.

But here is a snippet involving more of Jay's trauma, and this moment where he realizes that Hailey (who, for people who aren't aware of the timeline of the 2011 AU/math from my headcanons, is 19 in this fic) is just... a kid. She's a child who happens to be in the same place as him and making conversation. That's what this entire scene kind of is.

warnings for mentions of past violence (specifically in a war zone), death and grief, Jay having a small existential crisis,

“You still haven’t gone home.” 

The quiet observation was one he should have expected, really. It seemed like something she wanted to talk about whenever they had the chance, or at the very least, she liked to tease him about it. At least she’d waited until they were done eating to bring it up. 

“No, I haven’t. With observation skills like that, you’d be a great detective.” 

The comment was enough to make her fall quiet, just for a minute. She seemed to be intent on watching him finish the last few bites of his food, her eyes narrowed in something like concentration. In that moment, he was almost violently reminded of how young she was. He didn’t know her exact age, by any means, but it was abundantly clear that he was looking at a child. Even if she was only a few years younger than he was, it could feel like decades. He’d seen too many horrific things to ever feel young again, lost too many people, suffered too much. Somehow, the little kid in front of him didn’t see any of them, or she just didn’t care. She was young, and naïve, and he suddenly understood why somewhere like a hospital might feel safe for people. 

He was one of the unfortunate few who knew what life was like, outside. Over four years of his life had been spent beyond what most people around him would consider safe. The world was bigger than a hospital, bigger than Canaryville, bigger than all of Chicago. It held more than just newborn babies and teenagers who did stupid things with fireworks and sick people getting the help they needed. It held more death and violence in a single day than most people he knew would see in their entire life. It held more grief than they would all be able to carry. It held joy and relief that no one living within a hundred miles of their family could understand. It held so much that a single person should only take it in over the course of a slow century. 

And he’d seen most of it before he turned twenty-four. 

#answered #⚡ anon #alex says things #the 2011 au #jay halstead #hailey upton #upstead #cpd #chicago pd #one chicago