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#spider man homecoming

Homecoming was a Spider-Man plot with a Peter Parker subplot. Peter was focused on Spider-Man this movie, and trying to be a worthy hero. The Peter Parker plot of it was directly tied around the Spider-Man plot, as everyone was trying to encourage him to just be a kid for once.

Meanwhile, Far From Home is a Peter Parker plot with a Spider-Man subplot. Peter was focused on having time for himself after coming back from the dead. His Spider-Man plot was directly tied around the Peter Parker plot in this movie, as it was quite literally about how he couldn’t run from it no matter how he tried.

After we got both a Spider-Man centered plot in Homecoming and a Peter Parker centered plot in Far From Home, I think the third movie will be centered around connecting the two. The first two movies dabbled a bit into this, but I really think we’re going to see how both parts of his life directly affect each other.

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🎭DEUX VISAGES🎭 ch.07 (peter parker x reader)


What exactly was he supposed to do when you came asking for his help with an article about Spider-Man’s connection to Midtown High? Sabotaging his crush’s ongoing investigation to protect his secret superhero identity might be suicide, but at this point, Peter Parker is willing to try anything.


word count: 9k

a/n: 😀 i am once again asking for your forgiveness. that’s it. bye.


In Newton’s Third Law of Motion, he states that for every action, there exists an equal and opposite reaction. As a science geek, Peter Parker could recite that sentence in his sleep; it would remain ingrained in his brain as yet another basic fact for eternity. For someone who claimed to enjoy physics as much— and for someone who was a human being with common sense— he should’ve known, then, that just like an object that pushes a second object, every decision and fault of his would fabricate a reaction that, whether he liked it or not, would impact him along with those in his surroundings.

At last, the time had come where every little consequence of those actions was culminating into one fatal outburst.

Keep reading

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Do you guys ever think about how smart Ned Leeds is?

He hacked Peter’s suit. He hacked the suit made by Tony Stark. He broke trough FRIDAY security! I mean, he’s a genius? 

I like to think that after the events of Homecoming, Tony realises how smart this kid is and gives Ned some kind of opportunity at SI.

Someone, please write an fanfic about it!

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I hate stupid people

Benedict Cumberbatch is signed on to Tom Holland’s third Spider-Man movie as Doctor Strange. And lots of people are pissed because apparently it means that they’re trying to ruin the character, erase uncle Ben, hype up the dead Tony Stark (theres a surprising amount of people who hate rich heroes but love rich villains. It sickens me), and dumb down Peter Parker. And naturally absolutely no one is actually thinking critically. They don’t have the full rights to Spider-Man. Just like they don’t have the full rights to hulk. Bruce banner has to appear in group movies like avengers or Thor Ragnarok. And I’m guessing they’ve got a similar deal with Peter Parker. And honestly. To my mind. It’s more responsible to have an experienced adult around to make sure he doesn’t get killed

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trust fall

in which you jokingly tell peter you don’t trust him and he over thinks. (so unlike him)

song lyrics from “pluto projector” by rex orange county and “trust fall” by incubus


Originally posted by starkissedtom

being a junior in high school absolutely sucks. there’s dual credit pre-calc, dual credit us history, dual credit chemistry II, and of course, the worst in your opinion, english. you adore writing. it gives you a sense of escapism, something you desperately cling to in your times of stress. you can feel your mind ease as you mindlessly write thoughtful words and intriguing stories down on any paper available. however, when you’re asked to do it in a class, suddenly you hate it.

so, you do what anyone normal person does. procrastinate. you’ll go to tiktok, tumblr, among us, instagram, snapchat- anything before doing your work. of course, there’s also your best friend, peter. he is the yin to your yang. he’s totally proactive. he gets things done almost the minute they’re assigned. he forces himself to have some restraint by turning his phone upside down on his desk and won’t touch it until the work is done.

sometimes, when he invites to over to do homework together, you don’t even need your phone to procrastinate. all you need to do is watch that stray curl that bounces in front of his narrowed brown eyes. that jawline that you swear could cut glass. that aggravated sigh and reddening face when he gets stuck on a pre- calc problem. that mesmerizing tapping of a pencil against his temple-

-yes. you might have a crush.

so, as you sit in peter’s bedroom typing your poem the literal hour before it’s due on a lazy friday night, you’re feeling a little stressed. naturally, peter is done, correction, has been done for over a week. just thinking about how much better of a student he is than you makes you want to scream.

“how does she expect us to write this?” you ask, irritation dripping from your tongue like venom. you readjust so that instead of a computer in your lap, it’s a pillow being hugged to your chest. you know deep down that you’re just exerting your frustration at yourself onto your teacher. she’s just doing her job.

peter grabs the desk with a surprisingly tight grip and the chair he was spinning around in comes to a stop. “what do you mean? it’s just a poem.” he questions, his head tilting side to side in dizziness.

you sigh. “yeah, a poem in only twelve lines! my creative head contains too much for a limit like that.”

peter only shrugs and picks up his pencil to tap it against the desk. “she made it that way for this exact reason, y/n. but, i’m going to be honest with you, i sorta bs’ed mine.”

you drop the pillow you were clutching and ask, “can you read it to me? maybe i’ll get inspired.”

he laughs to himself in doubt that his mediocre writing could ever impress you as he grabs his laptop. “alright,” peter says in a warning tone as he opens google docs. “i’m just letting you know that this will probably not do anything for you.”

“doubt that.”

he clears his throat and recites:

the great protector

is that what I’m supposed to be?

what if all this counts for nothing

everything I thought I’d be?

what if by the time I realize

it’s too far behind to see?

seventy-mil projector

i can show you everything

and we’re on our way to glory

where the show won’t ever end

and the encore lasts forever

and it’s time we’re due to spend

when he looks back up at you from reading, his face cascades with a light shade of pink at the shocked look on your face. you grab the pillow and hold it to your face before screaming your frustration into it. “bs’ed it, huh? how? how do you do that?” you shout.

peter laughs and closes his laptop, hoping his blush is gone. being a part-time superhero had its effects on mental stability. he would never admit it, but he writes his worries down in the form of fears and questions that fly around his head. this is just a combination of twelve of those. “let’s see what you’ve got so far,” he says, crossing the room to sit next to you.

you close your laptop and tuck it behind your back. peter’s eyebrows furrow. “y/n, can i please hear what you have? i want to help you.” you shake your head and lean farther back onto your laptop. “alright,” he sighs, reaching around to try and snatch it. you let out a playful scream and lay down on the computer. “you leave me no choice.” he says before tickling your sides. you cackle, your legs thrashing around under peter.

“stop, please!” you beg, tears forming in your eyes and you feel your abs sting. he persists in tickling you, but you hold your ground, letting him wear himself out. he finally stops, and sits back up.

“why can’t i read it?” peter asks sweetly.

you almost feel bad as you follow him in sitting up. you catch your breath and wipe the corners of your eyes. “well, duh. i don’t trust you.” you state with a sarcastic hint. unfortunately for you, peter parker cannot seem to pick up sarcasm.

his face softens, but not in a good way. he seems disappointed. peter stands and crosses back to his chair, silently leaving you to calm down. you reopen your laptop and stare at the blank page, trying so desperately to come up with something artistic, anything. nothing. your eyes flicker over to peter. he’s fiddling with his wrist, but the moment he notices your eyes on him, he pulls his sleeve down further.

he notices your paranoia about his wrist as you turn back to your laptop. so, he stands and unlatches his window, an idea unfolding in his quick-witted, yet not-very-responsible head. “come on,” peter beckons you to follow as he climbs through the window frame.

“peter,” you whine, throwing your legs over the side of the bed. “it’s 11:15 and i have to get this poem done.”

peter pokes his head through the window, the rest of his body off to the side on the fire escape. “please, y/n, for me? your best friend?” that was enough to send butterflies to your stomach and get you to your feet. you sigh and pull your hair back with the hairband you carry on your wrist at all times before following him and climbing out the window.

he takes your hand as you stumble onto the fire escape, the metal bars freezing cold under your bare feet. guess you forgot to slip your shoes on. and a jacket! you hug your own arms in an attempt to warm up, the wind spreading goose bumps down your skin. “what are we doing? it’s too cold.” you complain.

peter swallows nervously and says, “you’ll see.”

he begins to climb up the ladder and you follow, the bars making your hands go numb. “this better be good, peter benjamin parker.” you mumble.

as soon as you reach the top, it becomes two times more cold. you feel your eyes water and your teeth begin to chatter involuntarily. “okay, come over here.” peter directs, pointing to the very edge of the building. you walk over to him carefully. one wrong step and you’d have a pebble lodged up the heels of your feet. once you reach as far as you can go, directly by peter’s side, he points to the ledge.

you explode. “oh, hell no. why do i have to stand on a ledge ten stories up?”

peter waves his arms around frantically. “whoa, y/n, just trust me!”

you look into his eyes and he stares back. what in the world could he possibly be up to? however, if it’s really important to him, you’d do anything for peter. you release from your staring contest and sigh. “fine.” you deadpan, climbing up onto the ledge.

peter grins and says, “trust fall.”

you laugh in relief. “that’s all?”

he nods and you turn your back to him. “wrong way.”

your eyes fly open. how are you the wrong way? if you turn your back the other way, you’ll fall ten stories into a busy intersection. no way in hell. “what do you mean wrong way?”

peter swallows thickly. “for this to work, you have to turn around. please. you know i would never let anything happen to you.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose and calm your heart rate. “okay. oooo-kay.” you say to yourself. you turn so you’re facing the roof and right away, you can feel your stress levels take off. “shit.” you mumble as peter crawls down the fire escape. “what did you get me into?”

peter chuckles, and you can barely hear him as he continues down the ladder. “it’s only a trust fall.”

a trust fall? a trust fall into the new york streets. you could almost laugh. you adjust your weight, the pebbles beneath your feet causing a searing, pinching pain in your heel.

you ignore the pain and just breathe. “go when you’re ready!” peter calls up to you. you just continue to breathe. in through the nose, out through the mouth. you wanna know what in the world he could be up to. and, unfortunately for you, the only way to know is to let go and fall. and simply trust.

so, you cross your arms like you would in a coffin and lean back. as soon as you feel your feet leave the pavement, you wish you never left. you scream a bloodcurdling scream as you begin your plummet. your shirt flutters around you in the wind and you’re glad you didn’t wear shoes because they’d be gone.

helplessly, you flail your arms around until you realize it’s no use and call for peter relentlessly. the rest happens in slow motion. you look over your shoulder and find the ground getting close. you squeeze your eyes shut and brace for impact when you feel something attach to your back. you reopen your eyes and you begin to move back up. however, you’re still moving.

an arm wraps around your waist and when you lean into the torso of your savior, it’s peter’s shirt. but when you look up, it’s spider-man’s mask on his head. you feel faint as he swings you back to the fire escape.

once you feel your feet on solid metal, you throw yourself away from him, stumbling to your feet right outside his bedroom window. you can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ear and your lungs sting with cold air and adrenaline. peter pulls the mask off and grins boyishly. “hehe, surprise?”

your eyes narrow and he shrinks away. “what is wrong with you?” you yell. “you dragged me outside in the freezing cold when it’s almost midnight to let me fall nine stories, and then tell me you’re spider-man? what made you think this was ever a good idea?”

peter shrugs nervously. “you said you didn’t trust me.”

you scoff. “that was a joke! peter, i was so scared out of my mind that you were gonna let me die. this is ridiculous!” and as you continue to scold him, you can see his face become more and more conflicted. he looks like he’s thinking of doing something impulsive. “-and because i don’t trust you to see my poem you think i don’t trust you in general? please-“

you’re caught off guard by his lips pressing against yours swiftly and quickly. you gasp into the one-sided kiss before he pulls away. you’re speechless.

“please, don’t kill me.” peter begs. “i needed to get you to be quiet.”

and just like that, you’re crushed. that’s all he wanted to kiss you for? as mad as you are, he’s still your best friend and the boy you’ve loved for a while now. you know peter isn’t the best and thinking things through. that’s why you’re there. you know he had good intentions. this boy has a heart of gold.

“i won’t kill you.” you sigh, not being able to look at him. you’re sure he can see how disappointed you are.

suddenly, you feel his hand gently grip your jaw, tilting it upwards. you look up to see him staring softly at you. “that’s not the only reason i kissed you.” he admits in a whisper. you find yourself blushing wildly before he kisses you again, this time, a passion driving it. you immediately draw your hands into his curls, something you’ve always imagined doing. his hands rest on your waist as you sigh into his lips.

he pulls away after a moment and holds you against his chest. “i’m sorry for putting you through that. i don’t want anything to come between us, wether it’s spider-man or a poem.”

your eyes widen quickly. “shit. my poem.” you exclaim, crawling through the window. you dash to the bed and grab your laptop, typing the first things to come to mind. after a little over five minutes, peter, now sitting back in the spinny chair with a stupid grin plastered on his face stops his spinning.

“can i hear it yet?”

“only my boyfriend gets to hear it.” you tease.

peter’s face goes bright red. “that’s… me?”

you hum and response and clear your throat, reading:

things have been a little inside out, apologies

even if i was in disguise it would follow me

funny how the little things stick, make you seasick

sweep you off your feet

i like it when you look at me like i’m an alien

lure me with a lock of your hair

taking that dare is a fire under my feet

now i see i’ve got to let go if i wanna know

it’s only a trust fall

into the arms of all

love is a blessed curse

let’s you sail across the known universe

peter’s jaw is on the floor. you smile in satisfaction. that look is all you wanted from this poem. “not a poet?” he asks.

“never said i wasn’t.”

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🎭DEUX VISAGES🎭 ch.06 (peter parker x reader)


What exactly was he supposed to do when you came asking for his help with an article about Spider-Man’s connection to Midtown High? Sabotaging his crush’s ongoing investigation to protect his secret superhero identity might be suicide, but at this point, Peter Parker is willing to try anything.


word count: 11k (bro fuck i’m so s orry)

a/n: idris behrens is my dream man. fun fact: i based him off of one of my sims, lmaoo. i created a game where i made a sim of myself and married peter (let me indulge myself!!!) and idris dated one of our sons. anyway, i put peter through too much pain in this part. sorry to this man. i’m also really sorry to y’all. if you think things are fucked here, just wait until next part <3


“What if I hacked her?”

Initially, Peter wondered if he’d misheard Ned. However, when he asked the boy to repeat himself and he uttered the same unmistakable words, dread clawed an icy trail down his neck.

His eyes grew with terror. “Oh, my God, Ned. That’s the worst idea you could’ve come up with.”


“We agreed there would be no hacking involved! It’s not part of the game plan!”

Ned scoffed. “And vandalism was?” Peter squeezed his eyes shut and put his head in his hands— he still couldn’t wrap his head around what he’d done. “Peter, accept it: we’re done with the game plan! It’s no longer going to help us.”

Peter nibbled on his bottom lip. “But…”

“Look, it’s no big deal— we’ll just see whatever MJ has told her, I don’t know, maybe we can stop her from messaging Flash, and we can see her progress!”

“Good luck, she writes down everything important in her notebook.”

“Fine, we’ll burn the book, then.”


“It was a joke!” Ned exclaimed, but a thoughtful silence followed. “Unless…”

“No,” Peter said as a final warning. However… Peter shook his head at himself—  no way. “What if… what if she finds out? I’ll be done for,” He mumbled, mostly to convince the voice that whispered into his ear: would it be so bad to give it a shot? Ned’s devilish beckoning fed the voice when he released a disapproving huff.

“Peter, please: you’re talking to the mastermind who hacked a multimillion dollar suit made by the Tony Stark— who, by the way, may he rest in peace—” Peter frowned. “—but, anyway, I assure you, dude, getting caught isn’t something you’ll have to worry about.”

…Would it be so bad to give it a shot?

Keep reading

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You know in school when you let your friend copy your homework and you’re like: ok, but change a few things so it’s not obvious?

That was the first thing in my mind the second I learned Jon Watts is bringing Jamie Foxx back as Electro. I mean, he already brought back J.K Simmons as J.J.J…I don’t know why I was surprised and a little disappointed.


Originally posted by gameraboy1

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hey guys lil self promo here

if you’re interested in seeing manips (i’m looking into doing a variety of different ones like hariana, harry and zendaya, tom and harry, etc. i used to primarily do tom holland and ariana grande manips), please check out my instagram @spideyjawn (don’t question it i live right outside of philly)!

here are some examples of past manips:


i’m currently asking if people want dedications, so if you respond to my story on there then chances are you’ll get tagged!

i used to be hella active on there months ago and am just now getting back into the groove of it and would like to make this comeback the best it can be so please give my account some love !

thank you <333

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Close to the Ground


Title: All In a Name

Word count: 4,204

Characters: Peter Parker, oc

Warnings: fluff? Platonic fic not romantic.

Notes: Sweet damn!!! This came out a lot longer than I intended for it to. Let me tell you. As I was writing I kept thinking of more ideas and the word count kept getting longer. I’ll edit this when I have the time if I’m able, so forgive typos. There are so many typos. I’ll change this when I’ve edited the story.

I came up with the idea years ago back when Civil War came out. But now I have time to headcanon and perfect it.


The little girl stared at Peter and he in turn stared back the two looked at each other as if they were deer caught in the head lights. That both sat criss cross, across from the other on May’s living room sofa. Every time Peter even tried to make a move the little girl would flinch, a cold chill creeping up her spine so Peter tried to remain motionless.

While he appeared cool on the outside, inside his thoughts were spiraling out of control. What do I do!? What do I do!? Where’s aunt May? One of my first real “rescues” as Spider-Man and I come home with a kid!? In the grip of silent panic his right foot beat uncontrollably against the cushion. It seemed to be the only acceptable action, as it didn’t send the pipsqueak into a tizzy.

He had been doing a routine sweep of neighboring area swing through the cityscape when a scream as good as a a banshee’s rent the air. Nobody screamed like that unless they were in fear for their life. It came from a darkened alley, and like a true hero he’d taken off toward it ready to take on whatever threat lied ahead. He shocked to find the alley seemingly empty though after a careful look around just to be safe he had found her. Lonely, buried beneath bags of trash, she laid out.

Peter wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking back then, forty minutes ago. Scratch that, he knew damn well. The city streets were no place for child, especially one so young. It was going to be dark soon and thunder had been in the forecast for later that evening. He’d used his best judgement.

He mentally scoffed, best judgment.

Now here he sat just him and what could be more than a two-year-old. Her icy blue eyes stared directly into his soul unsure yet whether to consider him friend or foe. Her clothes were of the spring variety a season that would becoming to an end in following few weeks. They seemed kind small for her, which was saying something, stained with dirt, garbage, and other thing Peter didn’t care to name. Her hair was knotted and tangled giving it a troll rat nest appearance. If he had to guess, she was brunette.

The ringing for the apartments land line went of like a school bell. The two caught off guard both flinched at the sudden noise, the little girl letting out a high pitched yelp as she did. Second ring. Peter shared a look with toddler at the other end of the couch. He needed to answer the phone, but he didn’t want to trigger a panic. Third ring. She whimpers bring her knees up into her chest. Fourth ring.

“I need to answer the phone,” Peter said. His words were clear and concise, carefully spoken as to not spook her. “Please, I promise that’s all I’m going to do.” Her icy eyes softened, not by much but enough to convince him she would allow him to get up and move across the room.

He moved in at brisk walking pace very aware of the fact that with each step he was silently being judged. Once in the kitchen her scooped up the land line and spoke into it. “Parker residence. Hey this…” he listened for a moment.

“Hey, May… I’m- I’m fine. I could really use your help though… Can it wait?” He looked over to the child now staring out the window, from the couch, with wide eyed fascination at the rain outside. “It’s kind of important… Oh I see… Uh-huh… Uh-huh… But still… Uh-huh. Okay… Later? Sure… Okay… No, no I got it… okay, see you then… I love you too…bye.” He hung up the phone, placing it back on it charging stand.

With a sigh he ran his hands across his face. The child immediately turned her focus back to him eyes darting up and down to discern his current emotional state. He wouldn’t cuss in front of her, at least not a loud. Inside his head he was Kenny McCormick.

He gave a feeble smile to the toddler when he noticed she was watching his every move, as if she were studying him. “What am I going to do with you?” he laughed somewhat dryly. She obviously didn’t like that lowering her head so only her eye and above peeked out from behind the couch’s back.

Indeed what would he do with her?


It seemed there was nothing he could do to make her budge. She was’t interested in his action figured, books, or legos— Probably a good thing she wasn’t to keen on the legos kind of a choking hazard — she ignored his funny faces and attempts to make her laugh. She just stared on, gnawing on her fingers, curled up at one end of the couch. She had moved when Peter accidentally came too close to her but he wasn’t about to do that again. It would be cruel to use her spacial fears against her.

“Okay I give up,” Peter declared. “You can just sit there on the couch and do nothing.” He was laid out across the rug surrounded by various items he’d pulled from his room in an effort to entertain the emotionless youngling.

At Peter declaration she raised a brow, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of her lips. As quickly as it came it went, Peter was none the wiser.


She hadn’t meant to do that, Peter could tell by the light pink pink color flushing her cheeks. Her stomach rumbles again making her squirm in her seat.

Peter raced to the kitchen. He swung open the fridge, digging past the left over takeout none of which he figured she’d like, he found a box with leftover chicken nuggets from a meal he’d made himself a few days prior. He took out the remaining seven nuggets and quickly placed them in the microwave for 49 seconds before coming back to the living room.

He sat back down, set the plate out on the coffee table in front of the child and asked.

“Are you hungry?” A lick of the lips was all he got in response. She carefully eyed the plate, focus switching from,Peter to the tenders on a loop. “It’s okay, the foods fine,” he tried nudging the plate a bit closer to her. “It’s chicken nuggets. Do you like chicken nuggets?” She curiously dropped her head to one side eyebrows drawing together as if to ask ‘what are chicken nuggets?’

“There really good,” Peter coaxed taking a piece for himself to demonstrate. “It’s okay, they’re not poisoned or anything.” He took a bite and smiled.

Hesitantly she reached an arm out but was quick to realize her arms were to short. Cautiously, carefully she slid herself off the couch cushion, eye never leaving Peter. Feet firmly on the ground she let herself relax a little. She finally took one of the nuggets off the plate and sat her little bum on the rug. She sniffed the meat then just barely touched it to her small tongue.

She cooed, kicking her legging up and down, as she’d just been hut by a stoke of lightning. Her eye dilated losing there icy sheen as she devoured the chicken nuggets. Eyes shining with new found life she looked to Peter. Clicking her feet together she held out the plate, making series of inaudible noises.

Peter bit back a laugh, “do you want some more.” There was bag in the freezer, they would actually require more than a microwave to bake. But she was happy, maybe more would make her smile.


Peter couldn’t help but feel proud of himself. Making more chicken nuggets had clearly been the right decision. She chattered and observed everything with a newfound curiosity. He still hadn’t seen her smile but that didn’t bother him too much.

He sat on the couch watching her wander around the apartment reaching for and looking at everything. Every now and again she’d find something so interesting to her that she’d pick it up and bring it over to show Peter. She chatter and babble nonsensically then leave at his feet and amble of to continue exploring.

Peter was keeping a list in his head of where she was finding everything so he could later put them back. So far she’d gifted him nine items; an electronic candle, the tv remote, one fuzzy sock, his Mathematics of Astronomy textbook, a spare set of keys, a decorative flower, an orange, a quarter and two nickels, and his Wicket the Ewok action figure.

There was pull from under him. He looked over the back of the couch to see the little girl tugging atone end of the throw blanket, the other end firmly lodged underneath him. “Whatcha doin’?” She briefly stared at him, then continued to tug at the soft blanket.

“I don’t think I can keep pretending you don’t have a name.” He said suddenly, lifting himself off his end of the throw blanket.

With no one else home it was easy to ignore the fact that he didn’t know her name but it was starting to feel rude. She knew his name, he just thought she couldn’t yet say it. Either out of shyness or verbal development.

“Do you have a name?” He asked. She blinked a few times before draping the blanket over her head. “Can you tell me what it is?” He tried. From beneath the blanket she chattered and honked at Peter stomping her feet against the floor.

“Really?” Peter smiled, pretending he knew just what she’d said. “Well, how about I give you a nickname?” she babbled some more craning her head to one side. “Okay cool,” he pulled out his phone and brought up a cite for nickname recommendations. “Let’s see… cutie? You are pretty cute,” Peter teased. He couldn’t see her face but he heard her blow a raspberry. “So that’s a no… monkey?” she was curious. Another raspberry. “Bee?” This time she shook her head, her interest fading.

Blanket still over her head she traveled around the room like a ghost. A cute ghost. An unnerving tingle ran up Peter’s spine making the hairs on his skin stand on end. He immediately looked to the toddler. “Ooah,” she squeaked. She hadn’t gotten far before bumping into one of the apartment’s ceiling support beams. His eyes flew wide and his muscles went all rigid.

He surprised himself, he was at her side in seconds, still maintaining an arms length distance. Her arm length not. “Hey, hey are you okay?” He softly cooed, cautiously lifting the blanket off her head. He looked her over, as best he could from where he was, for any bruises or marks. She nodded.

“Yep? You’re okay?” She continued to nod making clicking noises with her tongue. There was this twinge feeling in Peter that just wasn’t convinced. Not a spidey-sense feeling just a fEeLiNg.

She affirmatively nods, struggling to stand up in the blanket tangle she’d created. Peter couldn’t help but laugh softly watching her struggle to stand. She reminded him of the videos of newborn calves standing for the first time. She sneezed tripping backwards back down on her bum.

His muscles went stiff, he had to stop himself from touching her. “Hey, be careful. Clumsy.” He laughed dryly. “You alright?” She turned her head to him, wiping the snot dribbling down her nose away with her sleeve and nodded.

Peter crinkled his nose in disgust, he was compiled by sheer grossed outness to peel her arm away by the sleeve. She flinched at the sudden contact, her face washed blank with confusion. Then she remembered, and her muscles relaxed.

“Let’s use a Kleenex,” Peter suggested bringing her arm away from her boogered nose. Her clothes were already coated in a thin layer of grime. “Maybe… take a bath?” He added. She was in desperate need of one, he was getting used to it but she reeked. And he was curious to know what she looked like without the filth layer.

That being said, this was the first time he’d been allowed to contact her in anyway since he’d brought her home and she still seemed agitated. So bath would be hers and his summit.


“Okay look it’s just a little water.”

He managed to coax her into the bathroom and fill up the tub before she’d put two and two together. She stood back against the one door and shook her head. He’d been at this for fifteen minutes, though her trust in him had grown she refused to enter the bath. Peter wasn’t about to make her that’d just undo her confidence in him.

“Hold on I’ll show you.” Peter dunked his head into the mildly warm water. Her nervous became frazzled jumping all together in a frazzled panic. Heart rate spiking, she speeds across the room to the edge of the tub. It wasn’t long before Peter brought his head back up, he’d only been under for a couple of seconds. His hair lies plaster about his forehead beads of water dripping down from the tips. “See? Perfectly fine?”

Looking to her his smile fell. Gripping tightly the edge of the tub, her eyes held a sweet amount of concern. Lower lip drawn back in her, eyes brimmed with watery tear threading to fall. Guilt hit him like a fright train. “I’m sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He apologized. She shakily sniffled, gnawing on her middle, index, and ring fingers as she sat her bum on the tile. She needed to calm her nerves.

So bath was a no go. Something about the water unnerved her.

“How about a shower?” He offered. Sure the toddler was small but she wouldn’t fit in any of the sinks for a baby style bath. It was after all a small apartment. So a shower seemed like the next option. Peter pulled the the drain stopper out, to let the water run down.

Her blues curiously watched the water drain until the base of the tub was bare. “I promise a shower isn’t bad.” She looked at him, monitoring his movements as he stood and took off the handheld shower head. “Promise, promise,” he joked sending a reassuring smile her way.

He turned the nob over the water nozzle, activating the hot water. “It’s just like a rain…shower.” He explained spraying the shower head toward the bath’s back wall.

Eyebrows arching toward the sky, her eyes widened. She chirped and squeaked pointing — with the hand not in her mouth — toward the watery spray.

“See?” He held his hand out in front of the gentle spray. She moved close to him, so close her shoulder brushed against his. She held out her own hand, the warm droplets tickled her skin.

“There you go,” Peter beamed. She babbled about, looking between him and the spray, her senseless words ran into one another. Peter reached over her head and took out rubber duck from the shower caddy. “Ducky will even be your shower buddy.” It hadn’t had purpose until then, previously nothing more than a decoration.

“Quack-quack quack,” he teased tickle the duck against her side. She hummed, crumpling up. Her mouth formed what wasn’t quite a smile but also not a frown. She poked at the rubber duck, attempting to mimic Peter’s quacking. Peter laughed, she sounded like a chick.

“Ducky?” He tried.

She crinkled her nose making a stank face. Another raspberry.

He chuckled softly, she really is cute


Peter couldn’t believe it. Under all that dirt and grime the toddler was actually quite adorable. She was cute before but now that she was cleaned up she had this new glow to her. The toddler was Celtic looking, fair skin, sharp eyes, spotty dotty freckles that shifted with her cheeks and beautiful strawberry blonde locks.

“And blue,” Peter called out.

The two were back in the living room. They spent the better half of an hour sorting Peter’s stuff by color, something he thought she wouldn’t be interested in but took to quite naturally. They’d run out of stuff from Peter’s pile on the floor to sort twenty minutes ago. He wasn’t quite sure how it started but now all he had to do was call out a color and she’d toddle off to find a match, then return so he could add it to the corresponding color pile.

No completely clean she’d certainly perked up even more so then before. She wore a pink black-squared tank hooded capri romper, hair still damp it fell loosely on to her shoulders.

Prepping for her a shower he’d discovered she wore pull-ups. Shouldn’t have surprised him. This however made him realize there weren’t any clothes suited for her in the apartment. Luckily one of the neighbors a floor below had a child close to her assumed age. The mother was confused as to why he needed some of her child’s old clothes and pull-ups. Peter had just said he was babysitting and the child didn’t bring an extra pair of clothes. Which wasn’t a total lie.

The patter of little feet filled the room as the toddler waddled over to Peter from where ever she had been. She held out a blue sandal, not a pair sandals, just the one. “Is there another shoe,” Peter asked raining a single brow. She drew in her lip, rocking back and forth on the soles of her feet, and nodded hesitantly.

“Can you go get it for the blue pile?”

She rolled her eyes but nonetheless complied, scuffling off to retrieve the other sandal. She was really enjoyable to be around, a bit of goof ball.

It wasn’t long before she came barreling in sandal in hand, a blue metallic 1966 model Chevrolet chevelle clamped between her teeth.

“Hey what did I say?” Peter asked adopting a stern tone. She blinked a few times before remembering. She widened her mouth allowing the car to drop to the floor. “Little gum monster.”

This earned him a raspberry.

Peter was certain she was still teething. If she wasn’t gnawing/gumming on her own fingers she was gumming on some object. She’d gnawed on the rubber duck, a spatula head, four of the gifts she’d given Peter and now a metal model car. He’d have to get her a teething ring.

Peter shook his head mentally hitting himself. She’s not staying.

Peter had to found himself forgetting that fact a couple times in the past two hours.

“Okay go find…” he wanted to challenge her this time. “Yellow.” She chirped and squeaked before toddling off. She was a little scout, obtaining articles and returning them to Peter.

This time it too, her bit longer to find something of a yellow color. The duck had already been used so she need to find something else. She found herself in what could only be Peter’s room. She sifted and searched, eyes on the lookout for some yellow.


He heard it… again. The litter patter of little feet approaching. Heart swelled as he saw her round the corner of the couch, proudly clutching a mustard yellow cloth. “You found yellow,” he commended holding a hand out for her to give him the cloth. Peter couldn’t help but laugh as he spread out what was actually his mustard yellow tee with the words 'Bacteria. The only culture some people have’ printed on in bold black lettering.

The little girl tried mimicking his laughter, but sounded more like a dolphin or chipmunk. This only made Peter laugh more.

“Thanks Gummy.”

The name just slipped out. Her eyes sparkled like freshly fallen snow. He could tell by her body language and lack of raspberry that she at the very least didn’t hate the name. In fact Her babbling happily like spring brook suggested she liked the name.

“Gummy,” he repeated.

There was something about the nickname that just… suited her.


When this kid, Gummy at as Peter now called her, got her energy she made the most of it. He never wanted to hear the Hokey-Pokey or the Baby Shark songs again. His muscles were tight from the childish motions. Simon says had been much more his speed for the night, at least until it was Gummy’s turn be Simon. Hide-and-Seek nearly gave him a panic attack.

He could no longer deny the fact that he cared about her. Her bright eyes, bubbly chirps, and button nose. Her in all her quirkinesses.

“Okay Gummy, behold one of the greatest movies ever!…” He exclaimed holding up a colorful dvd box. Gummy did her cute curious head tilt, crinkling up her nose. “That we own.” Peter murmured somewhat sourly.

Peter had the room set up for comfy movie watching. She’d burned out after four rounds of hide-and-seeks, showing clear signs of tiredness. Now she sat tired-eyed rather sluggishly on the couch. Peter himself was sort of tired too, she’d drain a lot of his energy. A movie seemed like the perfect way to wind down. He wasn’t sure how long she’d last, her eyes already glazing over, but he’d enjoy himself even when she inevitably fell asleep.

Gummy reached for the box making grabby hands. Peter took out the dvd and handed it’s case to the two-year-old. “It doesn’t go in your mouth.” He emphasized before turning his back on her. She tried to play with the thin plastic case but quickly discovered the only thing interesting about it was the sound it made when she opened and shut it.

“My Neighbor Totoro. It has animals I really think you’ll like.” After getting the dvd ready, he sat beside her, letting his body sink into the cushions.

They sat, brains off, engrossed. Peter would peel his eyes away every few minutes to check if Gummy was still awake. Though the television blared her eyes were half closed and her fingers were back in her mouth. She’d yawn, little tongue curling as she did. Her eyes lit up when the first Ghibli creature appeared on screen but there was still a tiredness behind them.

She’d be out like a light soon. Peter returned his focus to the movie.

Some time passed and he suddenly felt a weight increase against his side. He looked down and his eyes immediately softened. Gummy had curled against him. He gave her a side hug and brushed her wispy bangs back. She hugged her little arms around his, nuzzling her face against it, the softest smile gracing her lips.

Peter’s heart melted. She’s not staying. She’s not staying.

He watched her chest rise and fall. The two’s combined body heats, tethered with the bump-bump-buh beat of Peter’s heart sent the sweet girl off to dreamland. Her fingers unconsciously curled into the fabric of his top, not clasping it tightly, but just enough to reassure her, he wasn’t going anywhere. Peter using his other arm brought her onto his lap, protectively holding her against himself.

She’s not going anywhere.


EXT. Ending

The apartment was dark. The only sources of light came from the one lamp still lit down the hall, and the frequent passing of street cars. Their lights shining through the apartment windows. There was shuffling of feet out in the hall, a muttering of a curse, a jangle of key, and finally a satisfying click. The door swung open. In the door way, the silhouette of a woman shaking the rain off her umbrella.

“Peter?” She whispered quietly entering in. Just barely making out some movement on the couch she shook her head. Her nephew most have fallen asleep on the couch again. “Peter,” she called out. At the second call of his name Peter awoke, his hold around the still sleeping baby in his arms tightening.

“Hey Pete sorry I had to work late.” May apologized tussling her nephew’s hair. “A coworker had leave suddenly, his wife went into labor. And it was my turn to cover.” She headed to the kitchen.

Peter pushed a hand through his hair fixing the tussled up areas. “Yeah it’s fine May,” He assured looking back at her from over his shoulder. “Something huge happened after school.” He began.

He didn’t get a chance to finish as his aunt held up the dirty pair of clothes Gummy had been wearing earlier. Their apartment didn’t have a washing machine so he’d simply discarded them in the sink until they could be washed. “Peter who’s clothes are these? Who’s Emilia?”


May held up the shirt tag. While he was seated too far to see what was written, he had to guess it was the word 'Emilia’.

Peter bit the inside of his cheek, mentally kicking himself. Her name was on her shirt tag! As the full realization, sank in, he threw his head back. From the pit of his stomach, came all his emotion, and a loud groan passed through his lips.

"Damn it.”

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