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blublirb · 6 years

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Need to Know Basis Pt. 3 | Peter Parker

A/N: The final part! I really like where this ended up, but damn, this took time to write. Thank you for all your support! I hope you stay around for some more stuff I want to write for this account. Maybe I should open requests? Would you guys be interested? Let me know!

Word count: exactly 2.8k (I worked hard to make it on the dot)

“Dude, you can’t be serious.”

“Try me.”

“Ned. Sweetie. No.”

“I stand firmly in my decision.” You dragged your hand down your face, sighing dramatically. M.J. sensed your distress from the kitchen where she was making the popcorn, but, alas, she did nothing to help you. You jumped over the back of the couch, sitting on the arm as you looked down on Ned.

“Jurassic Park 3 is not the best movie!” You practically yelled. Peter emerged from the bathroom, fresh from the shower, staring quizzically at the two of you as he entered the living room.

“Hold, on, what? Ned, you gotta be joking,” he said, eyes wide. He leaned over the back of the couch, hands clasped together as he stared at his best friend. You looked at Peter like he was your savior.

“Thank you!” You exclaimed, moving your hand through your wet hair to part it on the other side of your face. You had claimed the shower first, heading straight for it with your bag in tow the second you entered Peter and May’s apartment, and your hair was still another hour away from being even remotely dry. M.J. had taken a shower next, then Ned, then, finally, Peter.

“Jurassic 2 is definitely the best,” Peter stated, earning a snort from M.J. as she walked into the living room, popcorn in hand. You were shell shocked.

“What?” Your hands flew up to grab your hair in frustration.

“Now, hear me out,” Peter pleaded, spreading his hands wide. He stood straight, gauging your reaction. He had a fairly strong feeling you would strangle him at any moment. “Jurassic 2 focuses on Malcolm and his daughter, mainly, and has a pretty badass plot.” You made a noise of protest. “I’m not finished,” Peter held a finger up to you, much like Liz had earlier that day, causing you to stop in your tracks. M.J. laughed, taking a seat in between you and Ned on the couch, slouching in her seat.

“Malcolm makes a pretty awesome lead, and they move to a completely different island where the dinosaurs were first created.”

“We know the plot, Parker,” you deadpanned. You had really expected more from the boy.

“But it’s such an awesome movie!” Peter defended, clearly giving up an intellectual tactic on the movie. “When they bring the T-Rex to the mainland and the guy gets eaten and don’t look at me like that!” He nearly pouted when he saw you and Ned both giving him a look, basically pitying him.

“And watch how his argument crumbles,” M.J. says, starting to dig into the popcorn. You reach up to pat Peter’s head. You look to Ned, grinning smugly, narrowly missing Peter blush.

“It’s okay, little one,” you tease. “We all know the original is the best.” Ned groans, pulling at his eyes.

“No its not!”

“It’s a classic, Leeds!” You yell, ignoring M.J. nearly snorting. You give her a suspicious look. “What’s so funny, huh?”

She snickers. “It’s just.. You’re all so petty.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ned crosses his arms. “Which one do you think is the best, then?” M.J. spreads her arms, as if about to state the obvious.

“Jurassic World, duh.” Chaos ensued. Ned started arguing dramatically with M.J. You grunted, spreading your arms out with a little too much force, whacking Peter in the face. He flinched a moment later, almost as if it was a second thought. He covered his eye, looking at you in horror. You grimaced.

“Oops?” The front door opened, revealing May with a bunch of groceries.

“Why is everyone yelling?” She asked, obviously struggling with the bags. Peter immediately jogged over to help her, Ned trailing close behind. You turned around and waved.

“Hey, May. We were just, uh, arguing over which Jurassic Park movie is the best. We’re about to start a marathon.”

“Ooh, fun. The original was always my favorite.” She handed over several bags to split between the boys. Peter groaned.

“Yes! Take that, losers!” You lifted your arms in triumph and let yourself fall backwards onto the couch, your head landing on M.J.’s thigh.

“Um, ow,” she said, monotone. You rolled your eyes, smiling and sitting up, using your elbows to prop you up. May dusted her hands off as she re-entered the living room. She blew a strand of hair out of her face, resting her hands on her hips.

“I’m thinking about trying to make a loaded potato casserole tonight. Thoughts?” Peter came back in, sitting on the ground by your end of the couch, head resting against the armrest your legs lay upon. He quirked a brow.

“It’s 9 o’clock. Isn’t it a little late for dinner?” You lightly smacked his shoulder.

“Don’t ruin her spirit.” You looked up to May. “I think that sounds great.”

And it would’ve been great if May hadn’t forgotten to put the potatoes in. Majority settled for ordering pizza instead, boxes resting between the coffee table and the floor and the couch. May had gone to bed after the first movie, trusting M.J. to keep a watch on things.

“I’m responsible!” Peter protested. “You barely know Michelle!”

May gave a smug smirk. “Yes, but Michelle has barely said a word since she’s arrived. All you’ve done is shout.”

“Not true!” May gave Peter a knowing look, sending him into a grumble of arguments as he slouched against the back of the couch. The rest of the marathon spent in a comfortable silence, the sound of pizza boxes being moved between persons and popcorn crunches being the only audible sound besides the movies. After Jurassic World ended, you all planned sleeping arrangements. Ned had been too tired to move to Peter’s room, and M.J. had no intention of sharing the couch. Since there was really only room for two people in the living room, you and Peter shared his bedroom. Peter had insisted you take the bottom bunk, so that’s where you lay as Peter cleaned off the top bunk for him to sleep.

It had been about one hour since, and you had yet to fall asleep. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the elevator. You saw your friends grow farther away as you fell, holding Ned as tight as you could. You felt your stomach drop, the glass scrape your palms, even the hairs rise on your neck. You couldn’t risk sleeping when you knew you would only relive that day’s events. You wouldn’t dare wake anyone up when they slept peacefully.

You checked if Ned had any problems, but when you walked into the living room, you saw him resting soundlessly on the floor, perfectly fine. You couldn’t help but wonder how he could sleep so well when he had nearly died earlier that day. When you got back to your room, Peter was awake, legs hanging over the edge of the top bunk. He rubbed at his eyes, yawning.

“Y/N?” He asked. You tried to look tired, like you just woke up, but you didn’t have the energy. Ironic. You settled for running a hand through your hair. “What are you doing?”

You debated whether or not to lie. Should you tell him you wanted to know if Ned had been plagued with flashbacks, too, or simply say you couldn’t sleep?

“You’re thinking about the incident today, aren’t you?” How did he know? You tried to get words out, but you didn’t know what to say. You made your way to the bottom bunk, finding it easier to form words when peter wasn’t staring into your soul.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. I wanted to know if Ned was having trouble sleeping, too.” You said, staring at the bottom of the bunk above you. There was silence for a moment, then you heard fumbling above you. The feet retreated onto the bed.

“Do.. Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked, his voice quiet. You closed your eyes tight.

“I don’t know. I just.. Nothing makes sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“What caused the explosion? Why did Spider-Man, of all people, save us? Why was he in D.C.? Why wasn’t he in Queens? Did he know something was going to happen?” You heard nothing in reply. Your brows furrowed as you thought the events over in your head. “It doesn’t make sense.” Your palms dug into your eyes, visions of the elevator replaying in your mind. “I almost died, Peter.”

Before you knew it, tears were pooling in your eyes. You tried to keep your breathing steady, but you found it hard when the reality of the situation hit you like a truck. Peter must have heard you, because in an instant he was sitting on the edge of your bed. He hesitantly held his arms up, surprised when you sat up and hugged him. He sat there for a moment, frozen, before he snapped out of it, cradling you in his arms.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” he mumbled. Wait. You lifted yourself out of his arms, staring at seemingly nothing. Why did that sound familiar? “Y/N?” Peter asked. You looked him in the eye.

“Say that again.”

“Say what again?” Peter dropped his arms, head tilted. You gestured your hands in a circle, signaling him to repeat his sentence.

“What you just said-- say that again.” You looked at him with such intensity it scared him a little.

“You’re okay?” You quirked an eyebrow, looking at the wall. Where had you heard that before? You wiped away a stray tear, looking to Peter again.

“Say it like you did before.”

“I don’t understand--”

“Just,” you paused, closing your eyes and rubbing your face. You gently reached for his hands. “Just do it, Parker. I need to hear it.” He sighed. You opened your eyes, studying his features. Things were clicking together, but you didn’t understand what it meant. His gaze softened. He tipped his head slightly forward, as if the words he were about to say were critically important.

“You’re okay,” he said, sincerity and comfort dripping from his words. Realization dawned on your face, and Peter must have noticed. “Are you okay?”

“What do you do at your internship?” You blurted, thoughts racing a mile a second.

“Paperwork.”

“But that’s not true, is it?” You stood up from the bed, looking around the room. You weren’t sure what for yet. You still had to get your thoughts in place. Peter seemed confused for a second, before sitting up straight, wary of your words.

“What do you mean?” Peter stood, scratching his head.

“Why were you so anxious to talk to Ned?” You looked at him dead on, tired of walking circles around the conversation. You needed answers. Peter’s eyes widened, his jaw slackening.

“I… I was going to apologize for missing the Decathlon. Ned was a bit angry and he wouldn’t listen to a word I was saying.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you took a step forward, causing Peter to sit down on the bed again.

“Y/N, I--”

“You’re Spider-Man, aren’t you?” Silence. Everything seemed to stop, Peter staring at you, you staring at Peter. You crossed your arms, silently daring him to deny it. Peter seemed to know he had been defeated. He was at the end of the line. He sighed, closing his eyes.

“Am I really that obvious? How did you know?” He asked. Your gaze lowered, your energy leaving you.

“‘You’re okay.’ You said those exact same words to me earlier today. When you saved my life.” You sat next to Peter, legs folded under you. His gaze stayed on the ground. “Is that why you missed the Decathlon? You were off doing Spider-Man things? Is that why you left the hotel last night? Why you quit band? Why you spend all of your time on your Stark internship?”

He slowly nodded. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, wrapping his body in a hug. You buried your face in his shoulder, feeling him relax. “Thank you.” He let out a breath, a small smile gracing his lips.

“I couldn’t just let you guys die. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I hadn’t gotten there in time.”

“I’m sure Ned would be thankful, too, if he knew.” Peter turned his head towards you.

“Hm? Oh, Ned knows.”

“He does?” Peter nodded, lightly laughing at the memory.

“Yeah. He caught me crawling through my window one night. Didn’t realize he was there.” You looked out the window to the New York streets.

“That makes sense.” You let go of Peter, resting against the wall instead. A thought passed your mind, and you didn’t realize how much it hurt to think about. Still, you grinned a bit. “Dude, Liz is obsessed with you.” Peter furrowed his brow, resting against the wall adjacent to you.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You okay? Shouldn’t that be sending you through the roof?” Peter took a moment to respond.

“Normally, yeah, but… I don’t think I really care about that anymore.” Well what was that supposed to mean?

“What do you mean? You’ve been interested in Liz since forever.” You tucked your legs under the blankets, exhaustion finally catching up to you. You yawned, not quite sure you wanted to reach the end of this conversation. Your hand rested under your cheek, trying to blink the tiredness out of your eyes.

“Well.. I think I’ve been misplacing my feelings.” Peter held a slightly concerned expression, as if trying to work out his feelings.

“Oh?” You replied. You took the time to study Peter’s profile, commiting it all to memory before you dozed off. He looked graceful, even at what must have been around 3 in the morning. You almost couldn’t describe it. His hair, his eyes, even down to the tiny freckles you almost couldn’t see unless you were really paying attention.

“Yeah. I noticed something earlier-- in the elevator.” You hummed in response, closing your eyes. Sleep was right around the corner, and you weren’t fighting it. “You tried to get everyone else out before you.” You sleepily opened your eyes, realizing this conversation changed to be about you. You looked to Peter, who was already staring at you.

“Yeah, I did. I wanted to make sure Liz and Ned and Mr. Harrington and everyone else would be okay before I was.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, and you don’t have to go out risking your life everyday, but here we are. You know, you do that a lot.” you closed your eyes once more.

“Do what?”

“Change the subject.” Peter snorted, and you wished you had the energy to see it.

“I was leading up to that.”

“Then you better get to it before I pass out.” Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I think… I think I like you.” You smiled a little, slightly shaking your head.

“Aw, Petey’s got a lil crush,” you cooed. “He doesn’t even know if it’s real.” Peter gawked.

“Are you kidding?” He laughed. “I spill my heart out and that’s what I get?” You would’ve rolled your eyes if you weren’t on the brink of falling asleep.

“Oh, shush, you big baby.” You held your arms out. “I’ve liked you long before you even knew my name. I just didn’t realize until yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Peter scoffed playfully.

“Mmm, and you didn’t realize until just now. Now are you gonna hug me or not, Spider-Man?” You teased. Peter rolled his eyes and moved over to sit beside you, taking you into his arms. “I hope you realize full well that I’m expecting a date soon.”

“I know.”

“Preferably next weekend.”

“Got it.” You let go, sliding down the bed to lie down. Peter moved to get up, going to his own bed, when you stopped him. “Actually, do you think you could stay here? I don’t trust myself to sleep without nightmares. I need Spider-Man to fight them off.” You said, only slightly teasing. You opened your eyes a little, having a bit of trouble focusing your sights on Peter. He sighed, a small smile on his lips.

“Of course,” he said, getting under the covers. You closed your eyes for the final time, content with your night. You felt warm lips grace your cheek, a chaste kiss being placed. It was soft and warm, and it felt like an angel made Peter just to give you kisses. You grinned, pulling Peter’s arms around you.

“So, what kind of stuff does Mr. Iron Man have you do at your ‘internship?’”

Peter laughed lightly, gently pulling you closer. “I’m afraid that information’s on a need to know basis.”

You hummed. “Fair enough.”

I can only assume you guys wanted to be tagged for part 3? Let me know if you didn’t and I can take you off of the list :)

tags: @morgannope @laurie-ofmoonlightandstardust @immsmarvel @buckylatte @slythxr @tiarrasmith

#blirb writes #Spider-man #spiderman #spider-man x reader #peter parker x reader #x reader #x reader fic #peter parker #peter parker fic #spider-man fic #spiderman x reader

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ke11088 · 3 years

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Dinosaur hunt 🦖🦕 Leeds Jurassic Trail 2 24 July - 12 Sept https://www.instagram.com/p/CSguy4KNlyx8K-ejqEMTSfNLXi9cHdt6tlOH6A0/?utm_medium=tumblr

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loubabykitten · 6 years

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FICS OF THE WEEK

Atlas at last (83k, chaptered) - 1970s au, Queen stan!Louis

He doesn’t know what he had been expecting out of the road trip itself besides burping contests and too much shitty gas station food with Oli and Stan, but in the brief moment before Harry ambles up his driveway, Louis idly wonders if this is about to become some sort of Gay Coming of Age story.

Maine to California in ten days. In which Zayn’s an open-shirt hippie they meet somewhere in Ohio, Liam’s the pastor’s son running away from home, and Niall’s the number they call on the bathroom wall.

It’s 1978. Harry and Louis are just trying to get to San Fran in time for the Queen concert.

Things gone cold (24k, one shot) - soulmates au

"your heart is warm for things gone cold.” Sophocles, Antigone

With his soulmate’s thoughts about him written on his skin and the world’s eyes trailing his every movement, Harry Styles is having a bit of a rough time releasing his second album in peace. And that’s not even counting the breakup. Or the car crash.

Spirit to a dove (97k, chaptered) - reality show au

For as long as it’s been on the air, Harry’s been an avid watcher of Trivialities. He’s always imagined what it’d be like to compete on the show himself, and when the opportunity arises, he’s fast tracked to join the new cast for the show’s eighth season.

Alliances are formed, strategies are planned, and Harry finds himself with his very own nemesis. Between trivia and physical challenges, Harry’s making the most of his time in the house, but nothing could’ve prepared him for Louis Tomlinson.

(we will be) as if chosen (35k, one shot) - royalty au

There's not a royal in the world who doesn't carry some sort of secret, and Prince Louis has more than his fair share. To protect himself and his family, Louis withdrew from the public eye and tried to live a quiet life, biding his time until his sister Lottie could take the throne in his stead. Unfortunately for him, the national media and the worst person Louis has ever met team up to bring him kicking and screaming back into the spotlight.

Under the watchful eyes of millions, Louis has to figure out how to keep his carefully constructed house of cards from falling, and the first step to accomplishing that is to keep from falling in love with the irritatingly charming Prince Harry, who just won't stop showing up and trying to whisk Louis out of the constraints of his boring life.

Or: the course of true love never did run smooth, because sometimes people are stubborn and sometimes people are scared and sometimes, just sometimes, love can cause just as many problems as it solves.

Homegrown (51k, chaptered)

“It wasn’t an easy decision, if I’m honest” Harry admits, shoulders sagging in on himself. “Moving is really difficult. My whole life was in Manchester. But Manchester didn’t want me. Leeds did.”

“Well, Leeds is happy to have you,” Louis says, giving Harry a kind smile.

Harry brightens a bit at that, undeniably pleased. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis replies, expression soft and lips curved.

Or, a gardening AU where Harry is new to town and the newest volunteer at the local gardening club, Louis is the attractive grandson of one of the members, and the nosy volunteers hatch a plan to get them together.

Just a walk in the park (124k, chaptered) - Jurassic Park au

It's 2015, the first time dinosaurs walked the earth in over 65 million years. The multi-billion dollar company, Twist Corporations, is planning a summer opening for their world changing attraction, "Jurassic Park".

They take an interest in the history making duo of Dr. Louis Tomlinson, a stubborn paleontologist, and his partner, paleobotanist Dr. Liam Payne, giving them the chance of a lifetime to work for the new theme park. Louis is apprehensive, but Liam has a "gut feeling" that it will change their lives. He isn't wrong.

Featuring Niall as the top engineer to get the park up and running, Zayn as the raptor expert, and Harry as the grandson of one of the most influential men in the world.

Who we used to be (29k, one shot)

“The doctor said he might remember,” Gemma said. “If he was around familiar things. Mum thinks that means he needs to stay with her forever, spend all day looking at old baby pictures and school photos. But he remembers all that perfectly. It’s living with you and your weird gang of lost boys that he doesn’t remember.”

“And you think the best way to jog his memory is some weird kind of full-emersion re-enactment?”

”It might be,” said Gemma. “It can’t hurt to try.”

An au where Harry and Louis used to be together, and then they broke up, and now Harry can’t remember any of it.

Better still, be my winding wheel (179k, chaptered)

Future fic. The band goes on their last tour.

Taken over by the feeling (53k, one shot) - adult au, bakery owner!harry, magazine editor!louis

After almost a year of increasingly troubling behavior, Louis agrees to let his sister live with him. It's a last resort before more drastic measures are taken by their mom.

Harry Styles runs Given A Chance, a program for troubled and disadvantaged teens out of the bakery he owns. He offers the kids in his program what he believes they need to start on a different and better path for their lives.

Louis learns all too quickly that Harry's goodwill does not extend to him. Only because he happens to remind Harry of an ex he'd rather forget. It's not the smoothest of beginnings, but in the end Louis' own issues might be the real problem.

#larry #larry stylinson #larry fic #larry fanfiction #larry au #fic rec #larry smut #larry fluff #larry angst #louis tomlinson fanfiction #harry styles fanfction

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kiran-wears-science-blues · 7 years

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So tonight is the three year Andrew anniversary, which is awesome!!! But I’m also letting it go.

Now that I’m hanging in one place for 4-5 years I want to try to start dating seriously, and since I’m looking for something monogamous for now, it’d be unfair to be engaging with real emotions for someone else, regardless of how fictional that someone else is. Andrew can still be a favorite character, but anything that would be inappropriate with a real life ex would be inappropriate with him, which includes self-insert fantasies.

I mention this here because I have a lot of wonderful anons who engage in the Andrew stuff with me, and my birthday is coming up and in past years I’ve had wonderful people drown me in Kiran/Andrew stuff, but I’m asking to not receive that anymore as I’m trying to move on. I absolutely love everything you guys have given me, but it’s time to let go. (If anyone forgets, that is a-okay, I’ll just reply privately.)

But thank you all so much for all the support you have given me over the years of this whole Andrew thing. It means the world to me. This was a fantastic journey and I loved every second of it.

I wrote one last self-insert thing to see this out.

Andrew’s hands are soft as they brush my hair behind my ear, but I can feel the rough callouses of physical training on his fingers. I lean into his touch, my eyes closed.

“Hey,” he says. “You okay?”

I nod once. “Will be,” I murmur back.

---

The first time I dreamed of Andrew, I dreamed of his pain. He was quiet and distant, troubled thoughts keeping his eyes downcast. I reached to him. He was startled by my touch, but accepted it – in time he came to seek me out when he was overwhelmed, would tuck his head into my shoulder as he melted into my hugs.

I dreamed I lay down to nap with the afternoon sun warm on my bed. I was drifting when a shift in the mattress woke me. Andrew had lain beside me, his back pressed right up to my chest, sadness a tension running through every line in his body. I slid my arm around his waist and held him close to me. He relaxed. I felt warmth suffuse me as I pressed my face against his neck and felt his hair tickle my nose.

I woke to reality – a cold, empty bed, but that warmth still radiating throughout me.

Dreams are not reality, and yet they usher in emotion as vivid, as tangible, as any waking feelings. Dreams are not reality, but they are moments of experience all the same -- gifts that do not have to follow the rules, where fiction can be made flesh and bone and wrapped in a hug.

---

I curl up into a ball on the couch, fleece blanket draped over my shoulders. Andrew brings us tea -- mine in the Star Trek mug with the likeness of Kirk and Spock emblazoned on the side; his in the mug painted in a facsimile of R2-D2. I cradle my tea in my hands, and the scent of chamomile wafts up to me.

---

I wonder what Andrew would smell like. I like to think of cedar and cinnamon – they go together, and they call to mind the earthiness and homely comforts I associate with him. Cedar and cinnamon. But it’s only a romantic, poetic phrase that would never capture the nuances of a personal scent.

It was late summer in Montreal. I pressed my face into a sweatshirt and a pillow and an old stuffed animal and imagined them Andrew. The sweatshirt smelled not of much; the pillow of me; the stuffed animal of the milky muskiness of an old childhood toy. The window was open, letting in the scents of thunderstorm. My roommate had lit a candle; it smelled like pine. My feet were propped up on one of many boxes stacked around the emptying apartment, and dust tickled my nose.

I was on the cusp of a move, of letting go of a home that breathed happiness and trying to rebuild all that on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. I was going to leave almost everything behind. I was nervous and excited and wary and hopeful, and the feeling of being caught in the currents of life was so strong it was almost overwhelming. But Andrew was coming with me.

It was all so fucking tangible – the feeling of change of hope of growth of life, and of Andrew being there. He’d be coming with me in the form of a pillow and a sweatshirt and a stuffed animal and a whole lot of imagination, but it all tangled together and he felt real. I could almost feel his warmth, could almost see the scrunch between his eyes as he thought. I could almost smell him.

I tightened my arms around the pillow and inhaled again.

----

“You wanna watch something?” Andrew asks, as he scoots onto the couch next to me.

I pull my knees up so they’re resting in his lap. “Sure. Surprise me – something I haven’t seen yet.”

Andrew quirks a slight smile. It’s that awkward, asymmetrical kind of smile, the one that so wonderfully suits the restless energy he has even now as he snuggles up close and pulls out his phone.

Andrew talks in references the way others talk in idioms. Sometimes I get them. Sometimes I stare blankly at him, and he catches my bewildered expression. “Oh man, you’ve never seen that? It’s going on the list.” Then it’s times like now the list comes out.

“I’m sorry; I can’t decide,” he declares after a moment, and pushes the phone at me. “What do you want?”

I skim the list. “How about Indiana Jones?”

Usually the thought of Harrison Ford would make Andrew light up, but when he smiles this time, it’s sad. I find his hand and give it a squeeze.

“Okay,” he says.

---

I started the list based on the references in the show or the comics that Andrew would make and I didn’t know. It grew to references he made in fanworks; then the list grew to include anything I simply thought he’d like and I hadn’t seen.

Star Wars, James Bond, Ghostbusters, Men In Black, Jurassic Park.

It began in Montreal, movie nights in the apartment softly lit by multicolored fairy lights. Friends passed around “Andrillow” as the pillow-sweatshirt-stuffed animal conglomeration had been named, laughing, hugging, hiding behind his mass of fluff when dinosaurs jumped out of the shadows.

Later, on the other side of the ocean, it was just me and the pillow. But movie nights with a pillow can be surprisingly healing when you’re struggling to adjust.

Back to the Future, Battlestar Gallactica, Footloose, Mission Impossible, Jaws.

I curled up against the plush of Andrew’s chest and propped the laptop up in front of us. One of the sleeves of his sweatshirt tangled around my arm. I felt a rush of softness, and I thought of the hormonal changes one undergoes as a result of experiencing reliable social support and fondness and love – increased serotonin and oxytocin and reduced cortisol in response to stress. I wondered, if one were to sample my saliva, what would the effects be of pillow hugs and sharing in the interests of a fictional character?

Maybe a test would find me aptly in love. Maybe there would be measurable effect on my hormone levels, but not as strong as it would be with a flesh-and-bone partner. Maybe there would be nothing at all. But in Leeds, where underwhelming days melted together and movie nights with a pillow were a regular heartbeat of happiness that kept it all alive, I had to think there would be something.

---

Andrew usually has many opinions about the movies we watch. Oh, he’s good about not talking over the movie; he would never want to compromise a movie-watching experience like that. But I can see his reactions in his body language, in the way he tenses or relaxes or leans forward or shifts his weight.

Today, he’s barely watching. When I try to hold his hand, he fidgets restlessly; we finish our tea and he goes to make more without pausing the movie.

“What did you think?” I ask when the credits roll.

---

Andrew’s not real. I know that, of course. I feel his unrealness most in his silence.

Andrew is so defined by his words, by his passions and opinions and stories. But to hear them, I write – contemplate his perspectives on media I know only tangentially, painstakingly word them in his voice. There are only so many words I can write for a storyteller before I make him obsolete. I write and create and imagine and examine, and the more I build Andrew’s character in my head, the less real he feels. He is no longer his own; he is an entity of my imagination and biases. That is not whom I love.

But then there were comics that wrote him in a pen other than my own, and in the smallest details I would never have considered, I fell in love again. I wouldn’t have given him polo shirts or boaters shoes – and oh, the watch! I was so bowled over by that watch; such a small detail, so not me. I could imagine it was pure Andrew, and I loved him for that damn watch.

There were of course the out-of-character moments, but there were also just the moments that pushed my expectations, and how I loved him for each. In Pieces on the Ground tells me we’d argue about the merits of media piracy. I’ve considered what moments of tension we might have, but what a gift to have an unexpected disagreement. I’ve cried over new issues in which Andrew appears, because those are the moments where the realness of Andrew would be the most poignant; one short appearance of a handful of panels would protect him from being consumed by my own imagination for months.

I still ache to hear him talk. To hear him ramble, to see his eyes light up as he tells me about the nuances of comics I’ve never read, to hear his opinions, to learn more about him. For him to teach me who it is I love.

But he is not real.

---

We fall into a heavy silence. Our second cups of tea are finished; the television is dark.

I feel my chest ache. I’ve anticipated this moment, but it still sucks. My eyes prickle at the corners, and I squeeze them shut. I lean into Andrew’s shoulder; he wraps an arm around me.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into my hair.

“We always knew there was an expiration date,” I tell him. “It could never be forever.”

“I know, but…”

He trails off. I twist a hand in his shirt. Fuck, I hate to let go of all of this. To let go of this source of joys, of inspirations, of support, of tenderness. My head spins with all the points of my life he has touched: hundreds of thousands of words of writing, a novel, drawing, embroidery, baking, secondhand joy at the Star Wars merchandise in every grocery store, friendships –

I exhale. “This was an incredible run. I don’t regret a damn thing.”

“You’re going to be great.”

I nod haltingly, then pull back and let Andrew’s arm slip off my shoulder. “Thank you. I really did love you.”

“I know.”

I give him a small smile and squeeze his hand.

It’s time to let go.

#personal log #andrew my ashayam #i can feel your pulse in the pages

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