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#The comic for christmas before new year

swe3tte4rs · 4 months

Note

Batifamily headcanons feeling jealous about their siblings spending more time with Batmom? Or something like that, however you like to write it 🙊

" Jealousy jealousy " - Batmom!Reader x Batkids

Author's note: MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR (late)!!! Love this 🫶. And I feel like this request is VERY my AU!!! Dah, who wouldn't compete for the love of their sweet and loving mother!? (The hatred between them began when Bruce had to set schedules for each one so they wouldn't fight for Batmom's attention... joke)

Also I am very sad, because when I was responding to this kind of request and I saved it as a draft, it was deleted 😭!!! CRYING 💔💔!!! On top of that, I loved the request, it was beautiful 😭! It was about Batmom as Bruce's couple and Bruce introduces Batmom to the batkids... And if it was you who sent it 🫵, let me tell you that I loved it and it will take me a while to upload it 💓!! Lov you all

And (I almost forgot to mention this), This AU of the batfamily is a mix of comics, series, headcanons (I LOVE headcanons of batfamily 💗), video games, movies and webtoon! + My main language is not English, so if you find any spelling mistakes, tell me in a comment!

Request opens 💗💗!!! BUT, before you request anything check my rules.

Dick Grayson / Nightwing

Honestly, I don't see him being jealous of his brothers at all! But since I haven't read all of his comics and in this AU he is a mix, I don't have an opinion. 👀

Let us begin.

I feel like Dick is a real mama's boy, he love his mom and he will prove it.

Dick is very used to having all of Batmom's attention to himself.

But he hides his jealousy very well, or so he thinks…

Jealousy began when Dick started having siblings. DON'T DENY ME GIRL 🤝🤝!!!

When he gets jealous that you spend more time with, I don't know, he'll go to sleep with you and Bruce, but leaving Bruce aside and enjoying your caresses in his hair while he listens to his siblings complain from outside the bedroom. (Bruce hate this, but I feel that at the same time he love it just a little bit. Very little.)

Possibly he will also rub things you did with him that you didn't do with your other children in his siblings' faces.

I think he is the only one (along with Jason) who has a complete album with photos of him as a child. So he'll show it off to others by saying that you loved him so much that you made an entire photo album of him.

He would do the same with Jason, telling him that his album has more photos and with more photos of you and Dick.

I feel like he would start a whole fight against one of his brothers just to carry all the shopping bags by himself so you don't do it. (This idea is similar to "Jason Todd is a total mama's boy" because I was inspired by it, so credit to its respective author 💓)

"Mommy, did you just call me Damian? Oh my god... my heart..." #atotaldramaqueenbaby💋💋👊👊

Jason Todd / Red Hood

Another drama queen...

A mama's boy from head to toe. (My poor baby just needed a fucking mother figure 😭💔)

He is first in everything. Do you need help opening a jar? He already opened it for you and said I love you and then left and returned to a mission.

But that's not what we're talking about right now... Nonono, we're talking about jealousy, guys...

I bet he's the most sensitive of all.

He makes sure you don't show favoritism to anyone, unless it's him, if so he lets it go.

Did you spend an extra minute with one of your other children because you didn't see the time? He is already burning in a pit of jealousy.

I feel like he would start fighting with his sibling and then he would apply the law of silence to you. But it doesn't last long because he can't resist your cute nicknames and your "you're my favorite" (you say that to each of your babies)

"Why do you call him "son"? He isn't even your son!" And he gives you a whole long speech when you were just trying to be nice to Roy.

He even gets jealous of Bruce.

He doesn't care if it's one of his sisters or a good friend of his, you can't call them cute nicknames! And even less if they are the ones you use with him!

He has good hearing, he makes sure that you call him by his nicknames and not by one of his siblings' nicknames.

"WHAT THE FUCK, MA?! Why are you washing Tim's hair with the shampoo you use with me!?!?" You broke him...

Tim Drake / Red Robin

( I haven't read almost anything by Tim, so forgive me if something doesn't add up, but I promise you that I already have more or less what his personality is like.)

Tim does not admit his jealousy, he is calmer compared to his brothers.

He might start scheduling his patrols to coincide with Batmom’s free time, ensuring that he gets to spend some time with her.

I feel like he would feel more insecurity than jealousy

But I also think he would try to take Batmom's attention away from his sibling by calling Batmom to help him do something he can easily do alone.

He wouldn't care if you treated his friends like your children. I think he would be happy.

Umh Well… I think there's not much to jealousy about this one...

Damian Wayne / Robin

Yes, I headcanon that Damian is one of the most jealous once he realizes that Batmom can give him the love that Talia didn't give him.

He is the same as Jason, he has the same percentage of jealousy.

The only thing is that he would start making arguments about why Batmom would have to spend the whole week with him and not with her brothers.

Oh, and he doesn't care what Bruce does with Batmom. Although he is disgusted by the slightest affection they have.

At galas, I feel like he would be glued to you, hugging your waist and making sure there is no threat.

If you're not patrolling, he'd be with you watching some movie. (I DON'T KNOW WHY I IMAGINED HIM WATCHING MEAN GIRLS)

"I say mom Is going to go with me first because I'm the best-" And then he was interrupted by his siblings.

There is a relationship of hate and equality between him and Jason…

"Don't you see that my mother has an engagement ring and I'm next to her, son of a- *you interrupt him*" I feel like he would say this to anyone who flirts with you.

He is not understanding why his siblings get to spend more time with her.

Mama's boy

I would continue writing, but I have no more inspiration and ideas, sorry...

Cassandra Cain / Orphan

WHY DID SHE PUT THAT NAME BRO???

Cassandra, being the quiet and observant one, might internalize her feelings of jealousy.

Cass is the last one to get jealous, honestly.

She understands that Batmom loves them all equally and there is no favoritism.

Although sometimes she doubts…

She would feel excluded every time she sees you spend more time with one of her siblings.

But putting that behind, she would know that you love them all equally and would let it go by speaking with you how she feels.

0,1% jealous.

Stephanie Brown / Spoiler

Depends…

I think she would feel jealous if Batmom shows favoritism towards others.

In itself, I don't think Steph is VERY jealous. Just... a little bit.

Duke Thomas / The Signal

I need to read more about this man 😭

He's the newest one in the batfam, but he was still able to connect with Batmom very well.

Duke is not one to be jealous, he just doesn't care what batmom does.

Although he is a similar case to Cass.

He would feel a little "insecure" seeing the ties Batmom has with his siblings.

But it always ends well with Batmom watching a movie with him.

[You can put more headcanons in a comment if you like!! And suggestions are always welcome <3]

#🍓୧ ‧₊˚ Request answered! ⋅ ✮⋆˙#batmom #jason todd is a mama's boy #batfamily #batmom reader #batmom imagine #batfam x reader #red hood x reader #nightwing x reader #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #duke thomas #batfam #idk what else to tag

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rainylana · 1 year

Text

“Something you wanted.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

Summary: you show up to Eddie and Wayne’s with gifts.

Warnings: language, very soft eddie, eddie doesn’t know how to react to presents, some insecurities on his behalf, new relationship with him and the reader. i hope everyone had a great christmas!!<3 okay and also i’m not going to do my taglist anymore because that’s a pain in the ass so sorry for my laziness!!

“Merry Christmas!” You beamed, lugging in bags of christmas presents in your arms, huffing a breath as you tried to cram yourself in the door.

“Uh- babe,” Eddie helped usher you through the door, eyeing your skeptically. “Why do you look like Santa Clause?”

You chuckled as you dropped your gifts to the floor, face red from the cold. “I look like mrs. clause, thank you very much. You like my skirt?” You twirled your red and white skirt, matched with a red sweater and a santa hat on your head.

“What are you doing here?” He started patting the snow off your shoulders, closing the door to his home. “Thought you’d weren’t coming over till tomorrow.”

“Well tomorrow won’t be christmas anymore!” You smiled, looking around the trailer. “Is Wayne here?”

Eddie gave you another weird look before turning. “Old man! Y/n’s here!” When he looked back you were on the ground shuffling through your gift backs.

“What are those for?”

You paused, looking up at him to give a funny look. “What do you think they’re for? They’re for you guys, dummy! Christmas presents!”

“All of these?!” His eyes widened. “Y/n- no way, you shouldn’t have.”

“I know that.” You chuckled, taking them out one by one at his feet. “But I wanted too.”

“Why is Santa in our living room?” Wayne announced himself, standing in the kitchen with a raised brow.

“Merry Christmas, Wayne!” You waved, sparking off your pearly teeth. “You guys go sit down so I can pass these out!”

Eddie looked to his guardian with confused eyes, not sure what to do. Wayne muttered under his breath as he made his way to the couch, nodding for Eddie to sit down.

“Okay, so I have these labeled.” You crawled over to their feet with two gifts in hand. “Read what it says.” You sat them in their lap.

Eddie was looking at it like it was a ticking time bomb, while Wayne fished out his reading glasses. “Something you need.” His voice came out in a deep hum.

“Are we supposed to open it?” Eddie said confused.

Wayne rolled his eyes as you laughed. “Yeah, Eddie, open it!”

He nodded before both of them started to tear open the paper, and you noticed how Eddie kept looking at you, then to the other gifts you had behind you.

“Underwear?” Eddie raised a brow, holding up a five back of boxers.

“Oh, thank god,” Wayne exhaled. “You’ve been living in those blue checkered ones for three years now.”

“I have not!” Eddie burned red, straightening. “Quit talking, old man, and open you’re shit.”

“Hey, I’m the one who does your laundry, boy, I outta know.”

You giggled behind your teeth, watching as Eddie felt the fabric at the opening, giving you an awkward smile.

“Batteries?” Wayne said skeptically.

“Uh-huh!” You nodded. “Because the last time I was over you were bitching about your flashlight dying with those old batteries, so know you don’t have to bitch!”

“Thank god.” Eddie praised. “Say, thank you, old man.”

Wayne gave his nephew a glare before giving you a grateful nod. “Thanks, kid.”

“You’re welcome.” You nodded back. “Okay, next!” You reached behind you to grab two other gifts, making their jaw drop.

“Y/n, you didn’t have to do all of this.” Eddie furrowed his brows as you placed another gift in his lap. “We don’t need-”

“Something to read.” Wayne read the label on the red paper before tearing it open.

Eddie hurried to catch up.

“Hey, nice,” Wayne chuckled. “Peanuts comics.” He showed to Eddie. Wayne liked to read the comics in the paper before work, especially peanuts and Garfield. “Thanks, doll.”

“No fucking way.” Eddie cursed, revealing a thick, brown book. “You did not.” His eyes were wide as saucers. “Y/n, this is-”

“Not as expensive as you think.” You finished for him, grabbing his calf. “Just look inside, it’s actually pretty cool!”

It was a collectors edition version of The Fellowship of the Ring, maps on the inside, facts of lore and inspiration from the author. Eddie had seen it once in a bookstore in Indianapolis. That was four months ago.

“Pretty cool?” Eddie’s voice rose an octave. “Babe, this is amazing.” He looked over at Wayne, holding up his book as the man smiled at him. “Look away, old man.” Eddie flung his hand toward Wayne as he leaned down to give you a peck on the lips. “Thank you so much.” Eddie allowed himself to smile. “Really, thanks a lot. This is epic.”

You blushed, your heart warming at his own happiness. “Okay last one.” You placed two other gifts in their lap as wrapping paper laid down at their feet.

“Something you wanted.” Eddie read this time, giving you a smile.

Wayne tore into his quickly, making you laugh as he revealed his present. “Now, just how and the hell did you know I wanted this?” Wayne chuckled, holding out his new leather wallet. It was expensive, but they didn’t need to know that.

“I specifically heard you say damn wallet one day when the zipper was stuck.” You smirked, patting his knee.

“New chains!” Eddie squealed that time, nearly jumping in his seat. “Holy shit, thank you!”

You smiled widely, then over to Wayne who looked very proud. “You’re welcome, Ed’s.”

“These will look perfect on my black jeans, don’t you think?” He asked, taking them out of the package.

“Without a doubt.” You tossed off your santa hat, getting hot. “Look right sexy.”

And then Eddie got quiet. Very quiet. Both you and Wayne noticed it, but he was the first to say something. “You okay, bud?”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything, keeping his head down. You tried to find his eyes but couldn’t, chewing on your lip nervously. He had seemed to like everything.

Wayne mentioned something about going out for a smoke, stepping over the wrapping paper and thanking you once more for the gifts.

“Eddie, what’s wrong?” You grabbed his ankle. “You’re quiet all of a sudden.”

Your heart sank when you saw he was crying. “Hey,” you said gently, moving to sit beside him on the couch. “Eddie, what’s wrong? I saved the receipts if you want to exchange them.”

“Exchange them?” Eddie looked at you, eyes tearful and red. “No, y/n, it isn’t that. It’s just…”

This wasn’t normal for him. Wayne and him would give each other something small sure, but someone coming into their home with gifts wasn’t normal. Someone thinking of them for a change wasn’t normal. You should of realized, but it wasn’t your fault. This was your first christmas with him.

“Hey,” You grabbed his red cheeks. “You deserve every little bit of this and more, you hear me?” You wiped his tears with your thumbs. “You’re my boyfriend and I love you. I wanted to do this.”

“I’m sorry,” He shook his head shamefully. “I just..well, I’m not very good at this stuff. I have something for you too, but it’s not near as good as all of this.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, baby.” You shook your head. “That’s not what this is about. I just want you to know how much I care about you, is all. That’s what this time of year is for. Both you and Wayne deserve it.”

Eddie allowed himself to shed one more tear before he buried his face under your chin, pressing his nose against your collar bone. “I love you so much. I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do.” You wrapped your arms around him, kissing his ear. “Both of you deserve this.”

You could feel his tears slide down your skin, and you held him tightly close, knowing Wayne was outside probably close to freezing to death. When you heard his sniffled stop, you peaked down at him with a smile. “Should we go check on your uncle? He’s probably an ice block by now.”

Eddie chuckled and sniffled, using his sleeve to wipe his tears. “Yeah, let’s go check on the old man.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #soft eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson imagines #eddie stranger things #eddie blurb #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x you #christmas eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanons

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shares-a-vest · 5 months

Text

@steddiemas Day 16: Angst-Themed (Saturday Sentence Starters)

wc: 1k | Rated: T | cw: Steve’s parents are arguing (he is overhearing it briefly but there are some descriptions of yelling), toxic family dynamics, unstable marriage, cheating

Tags: Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unstable Marriage, Toxic Family Dynamics, Cheating

“I don’t want to fight with you, Caroline,” Steve hears his father bellow from downstairs, “Not tonight.”

He snaps his comic closed and tosses it on the floor.

Steve has no idea what his parents are arguing about. Hell, they don’t even need an excuse these days, he thinks. Someone can so much as fart and it will start a goddamn screaming match.

He guesses he shouldn’t be surprised. It’s the holidays and his parents are both off work until the beginning of the New Year. It’s snowing heavy out so they can’t go down to the Martens’ house – their best friends-come-buffer zones.

“Oh, John!” his mother chides before there is a lower muffle that he can’t quite make out.

While being hard of hearing allows him not to hear anything below a shout, the broken argument is still frustrating.

His parents might not need an excuse to fight, but he’d still like to know what it’s about. Gain intel for the inevitable coming days of being stuck in the middle.

Steve has a few guesses as to what it could be.

His mother bought a new car with her Christmas bonus finally topping up her bank account and thus justifying an indulgent and expensive purchase. His father always hates that.

Steve smirks.

If his father didn’t like that kind of independence, why did he marry a high-paid lawyer?

But, the more likely scenario considering his father’s apparent insistence he ‘doesn’t want to fight’ is that he is cheating again.

Cindy, his secretary, or someone new – take your pick.

The telltale signs have been there for a month or two. A renewed cheery attitude, longer office hours, a fresh haircut and new clothes.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, it might be a little bit of a motivator behind his mother’s car purchase too –

“ – Cindy!” his mother shrieks.

Yep, there it is.

Steve rolls off the bed, planting his feet on the carpet right by his shoes.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, scooping up his keys and wallet from the nightstand.

He’s just about halfway to Forest Hills, driving at a snail’s pace because he can’t see for snow, when he begins to regret his decision to leave the house.

Maybe he shouldn’t just barge in on the Munsons unannounced. Like sure, his friendship with Eddie is… teetering on not being entirely platonic. But this might be too much.

He always thought it was too much when he’d walk down to stay at Carol Perkins’ house for an impromptu sleepover. And there was always this awkward, knowing going on with the Wheeler’s when he was dating Nancy and spending a lot of time just hanging about.

Lingering for too long in the kitchen chatting to Karen or watching a game with Ted until the guy started snoring too loud to hear the commentators.

It was all there but largely unspoken.

Only Robin knows the details. And even then, he’s sure that her father’s friendliness towards him was partly due to his daughter telling him all about the trouble at the ‘ol Harrington house. He doesn’t blame his best friend for likely doing so. And he doesn’t consider it blabbing, either. Robin’s parents – her whole family – are amazing.

But some of his parent’s shit is stupid at best, hard to take at worst.

And he is scared to let Eddie in on it.

It’s too much.

He’s too much.

Being a Harrington is too much.

Wayne answers the door with a cup of cocoa that seems glued to his left hand in winter.

“Steve,” he says, voice gruff as ever despite a warm smile.

“Hi,” he replies, looking down at his snow-covered boots, “Eddie in?”

Of course, he’s in, his van is parked outside.

Steve can feel the warmth from inside the trailer. See the twinkle of lights from the Munson’s small, but heavily-decorated, Christmas tree. The smell of cocoa overpowering the ever-present hint of cigarettes.

“Eddie!” Wayne calls over his shoulder, “Steve’s here.”

In a flash, Eddie runs to the front door and practically bumps into his uncle.

“Come in!” he insists, wide-eyed as he looks past his shoulder at the falling snow.

And before Steve can even step in, Eddie is pulling him by his parka sleeve. He only just manages to scrape off his boots on the ‘Home Sweet Home’ adorned welcome mat.

“What some cocoa?” Eddie offers, eliciting a grumble from Wayne.

“I asked if you wanted some,” he chides.

“But Steve might want some,” Eddie grins.

“How about I heat up a pot now, and whoever wants some’s got it?” Wayne suggests, pursing his lips at Eddie and moving to the stove before his nephew can make any more requests.

“Follow me,” Eddie says, grabbing his hand, “I made cookies.”

He wiggles his brows and begins leading Steve to the kitchen.

As he is pulled along, Steve tries not to think about the fact that they are holding hands. Or how he wishes his fifteen-minute-ago Self had thought to bring an overnight bag and allowed himself to assume the Munsons would allow him to stay the night.

But it might be even harder to stop himself from squeezing his friend’s hand and lacing his fingers with Eddie’s.

Eddie lets go of his hand to gesture to the tray of Christmas-themed shapes, all looking a little too dark for gingerbread as they rest on the kitchen island.

“Pick one, Big Boy,” Eddie beams.

Steve reaches for a reindeer, flexing his fingers as he goes and commits the feeling of Eddie’s rings to memory.

“No!” Eddie shrieks, lightly smacking his hand enough that he drops it, leaving the cookie to snap in half as it falls back onto the tray, “His antlers are broken.”

“Christ, boy!” Wayne curses, stirring the pot on the stovetop.

Okay, a tree then…

“The star is missing!”

A bell?

“That was already snapped in half when I got them out of the oven”, Eddie admits with a tight-lipped smile.

Steve places his hands on his hips and rolls his eyes. To him, they all look at least a little crumbly – some he would even describe as lightly charred.

“How about you pick one for me then, Betty Crocker?” he chuckles.

Eddie giggles, twirling a lock of his hair as he carefully considers the tray of mostly broken, dry cookies.

He watches Eddie for a long enough time that Wayne pushes a mug into his hand, the warmth of Eddie’s hand remaining in place due to the heat of the cocoa. It’s a Chicago Cubs mug, one that he finds himself holding at some point each time he is here as if Wayne considers it Steve’s own.

He smiles for the first time in three days.

#i have a few days i've missed and fell behind finishing so i might go back and post them later #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington has bad parents #steve harrington angst #steddiemas #wayne munson #steddie #steddie fic #lily writes a fic #harrington family TM

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4dango-the2nd · 9 months

Text

4Dango Comic Masterlist

These are mostly twitter links right now. I’ll slowly replace them with the tumblr posts as I upload the comics here!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BIRTHDAYS Anthology

Bennett’s Birthday (twt 2022)

Childe’s Birthday (twt 2021) (2022)

Diluc’s Birthday (twt 2021)

Eula’s Birthday (twt 2021)

Jean’s Birthday (twt 2022)

Kaeya’s Birthday (twt 2020)

Kaveh's Birthday (2023)

Kokomi’s Birthday (2022)

Razor’s Birthday (twt 2021)

Rosaria’s Birthday (twt 2022)

Sara’s Birthday (2022)

Xiao’s Birthday (2021)

Zhongli’s Birthday (twt 2021)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CELEBRATION Anthology

Secret Santa (2020)

Father’s Day (twt 2021)

Christmas (2021)

New Year (2022)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MONDSTADT Anthology

Albedo-centric:

Voices in Ice & Snow (Corrupted Albedo dj, Completed) [twitter] [webtoon]

Cold Tolerance & Homunculus Body (ft. Albedo, Aether)

My Sword (ft. Albedo, Aether, CW: GORE)

Ghost AU page test (ft. Albedo, Aether)

“Father” (ft. Albedo, Subject 2, Dainsleif)

Fleeting Shadow (ft. Albedo, Subject 2, Aether)

Teasing Huffman (ft. Albedo, Huffman)

Dawn Winery centric (Diluc, Kaeya, Adelinde):

Eye (ft. Diluc & Kaeya)

Badass Adelinde

Diluc’s Raw Strength (ft. Diluc, poor hilichurl)

Long Live The King (ft. Kaeya, Diluc, Kaeya’s father)

500 Years (ft. Kaeya, Kaeya’s father)

Rain Anthology flipbook animation

AUs:

LUPICAL (Modern AU) [webtoon]

Mondt Gala [twitter thread]

Others:

Klee’s Big Bang skill (animation)

Use Your Claws, Boy (ft. Razor, Rosaria)

If You Hurt Him (ft. Razor, Rosaria)

Shadows (ft. Diluc & Rosaria, crack ship)

Growing Up (ft. Razor, Klee) [part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

Ties (ft. Diluc, Razor)

Summer Event (ft. Razor, Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo, Dvalin)

Viktor & Lily

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

LIYUE Anthology

Ancient Liyue Collection

Burning Karmic Debt (Indarias’ death)

Farewell Harvia

Xiao’s Hobby

Qiqi’s Wish (Lantern Rite comic, ft. Qiqi, Xiao)

Resonant Wave zine entry (ft. Tartali, Childe/Zhongli)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

INAZUMA Anthology

Teppei’s Ambition (ft. Teppei, Aether, Scaramouche)

Familiar Fatui Recruit (ft. Aether, Childe, Chouji)

Grand Aspiration (ft. Kazuha, Kazuha’s Friend)

Orobashi & his Generals (character fandesigns)

Rui & Kanna Kapatcir (character fandesigns)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SCARAMOUCHE Anthology

KAGOME [Webtoon compilation]

Kabukimono's Tales of Tatarasuna

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

If Niwa, Katsuragi, & Nagamasa comes back to life (ft. Wanderer)

If Niwa comes back to life (ft. Wanderer, Kazuha, Niwa)

Kabukitty

Standalones not featured in my books:

Catharsis (ft. Wanderer, Dottore)

Wanderer animation (based on Deko’s illustration)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SUMERU Anthology

Bug Talks (ft. Collei, Cyno)

Following Footsteps (ft. Cyno, Collei)

Caretaker & Protector (ft. Collei, Cyno, Tighnari)

Pay Attention, Or Else (ft. Collei, Cyno, Tighnari, Aether)

Do You Remember (ft. Nahida, Aether, Lumine)

Ashes & You (ft. Kaveh, Alhaitham)

Samsara (ft. Dottore, Nahida)

Flower for my most gallant knight (ft. Dehya, Dunyarzad)

Your Turn, Milady (ft. Dehya, Dunyarzad)

NPC-centric:

The Gilded Sand’s Lullaby (ft. Jeht, Jebrael)

Falcon’s Sunset (ft. Aether, Tadhla)

Child of Snow & Forest (ft. Alphonso, Rana, Arana)

Waiting Forever (ft. Alphonso, Aether, Iotham)

Zandik’s Dream (ft. Zandik/Dottore, Rukkhadevata)

Character Fandesigns

Professor Cyrus [grandpa energy] [fandesign]

Pari [part 1 twt] [part 2 twt]

Sheikh Zubayr (doodle)

Greater Lord Rukkhadevata (before cutscene release)

Nabu Malikata, Goddess of Flower

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Others

Rhinedottir fandesign

We Promised (ft. Aether, Lumine)

“I’m Just A Feeble Scholar” (commission, ft. Alhaitham/Aether)

Albedo vs Childe rough animatic

Abyss Memories [part 1, ft. Kazuha, Kazuha’s Friend] [part 2, ft. Lumine, Enjou, Kazuha’s Friend]

Missing You (ft Aether, Lumine, Albedo)

Humble Wish (ft. Lumine, Dainsleif, Aether)

Deception (ft. Aether, Venti, Zhongli)

#genshin #genshinimpact #genshin impact #4dango #4dango comic #4dango genshin comic #masterlist #im feeling a little insane

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mamayan · 5 months

Text

★SWEET★

Yandere! Dabi x Fem! Darling

Secret Santa 2023 Event!

Word Count: 4k+

Welcome to the Secret Santa Event, hosted by @ectologia (thanks for throwing this together ♡)

My Secret Santa is… @wilderuby ♥️ I hope you enjoy your Christmas present even if it’s not really Christmas themed~

cw: NSFW • Obsessive/Possessive Themes • Fem! Reader • Yandere Themes • Stalking/BNE • Dubcon • Dabi • PIV • Fingering • Praise/Degradation • Kidnapping • Psychological • Dacryphilia

It keeps happening.

No matter how many times you’ve visited the local police station, or how often you knock on the door to your neighbor’s home, you keep finding them.

Innocently resting beside your head when you wake up, whether you sleep in your room, the living room, or even your bathroom, is a single red rose.

Never intact either, the delicate scarlet petals singed in one way or another, to the point now it seems to have become an art form. The dark veins running along inside the thin petals blackened until the rose takes on nearly a new color of ashen burgundy.

You went to the heroes, the police, your friends and family, and yet nothing has come about stopping it.

“It is odd but maybe it’s nothing?” Your friends had said, claiming it was seemingly harmless.

How could it truly be though? You locked your doors, all of them, from the front door to your bedroom door to putting padlocks on the windows. You’d awake to everything intact how you left it, not a single thing out of place… except the addition of a single burnt rose.

It was breaking you down mentally and emotionally at this point. Seemingly being haunted by a ghost, faceless and voiceless, no physical form to blame and scream at. You do scream though, after a year of it occurring despite all efforts—even moving to a new home in a different city. No matter what, when you wake up, there’s a rose. Whether you sleep in a hotel, your friend’s home, your parents, even on the damn subway.

There’s always a fucking rose. Every. single. morning.

It’s to the point where you stopped sleeping, staying up to see with your own eyes if you’re truly insane. You blink and it’s just there, even when you search, and search, and search. A rose, a little crispy, rests in front of you without fail.

It was possibly a new method of torture, but soon enough your nervous system no longer perceived it as a threat. You’d awake to the rose, roll over, and start your day. You stopped mentioning it to family and friends, and eventually it became as normal as breathing. You’d place the roses in a vase, comical at this point, and change them out weekly. A few you even preserved, out of sick humor more than actual appreciation. You’d be certain to mention you wanted no roses at your funeral, at least not red ones, and especially not scorched ones.

You became complacent, as you set your keys down upon entrance to your home, to see an entire bouquet of flowers resting on your kitchen counter. Singed red roses, and one singular black rose in the middle… this time there’s a card. A small folded note about the size of your palm, attached to a silken ribbon wrapped around the thin neck of the vase. Condensation slowly slid down the side of the intricate glass, and for some strange reason, your heart felt dread seeping into its core. Your blood felt icy and your farthest appendages chilled as you shakily lifted the delicate paper up. Several seconds ticked by as perspiration dotted your brow before you eventually sighed and unfolded the note.

Ready to come home, doll?

It was motionless in your home. Deathly silent and still but nonetheless your body shook as tears welled up in your eyes while the foreboding words registered with you. You were home, weren’t you? You knew that much. You also knew you’ve never been called the nickname doll a day in your life, at least by no person you knew.

Was it a joke? Your instincts screamed it wasn’t. You did a pathetic job of staying calm, dropping your keys noisily on the floor as you trembled and dropped to pick them up. You’d leave, stay somewhere else tonight and figure it out in the morning—

“Going somewhere?” You hadn’t head even a footstep. You could see in front of you now a pair a beat up leather boots. Dark jeans lazily bunched up around them with a few nicks and tears in the denim fabric. Your eyes continued up until you were staring at a man.

Bright blue eyes, framed by thick dark lashes, stared down at you. His skin was like patchwork, staples actually pierced through healthy looking flesh while connecting what looked like chard leather to it. His skin you realize after a moment. Some healthy, some burnt, while he stood casually over your crouched form with his hands shoved into the dark trench coat he wore over some ratty band t-shirt. You didn’t watch the news often, hardly ever since your stress was high enough dealing with your own issues, but you knew who this was.

What villain this was.

“Dabi…” you barely even breathed his name, almost inaudible despite your close proximity, but it seemed he heard just fine as a slow forming Cheshire grin spread his lips wide open, revealing his white teeth and sharp canines.

“What’s that doll? Y’look like you’ve seen a ghost, speak up, can’t hear ya down there.”

You were right to feel dread. This was likely the worst scenario possible, one you truly hadn’t even thought of. A notorious villain leaving roses for you? Who’d believe such a ridiculous thing? Even you were struggling to believe it.

“Th-the roses…?”

“Hn? Thought I said speak up.” The waning of his smile shouldn’t have your blood pressure spiking as it did, but you scrambled to speak louder as those violent blue irises blazed.

“Did you—uh, a-are the roses from you?” You slid back, nervous as he stepped forward, eye lids growing heavy as he settled for a smirk on his lips.

“Bingo.” He confirms, not a hint of shame or embarrassment in his laxidazical tone.

You heart hammered against your ribcage, eyes briefly leaving him to look at the bouquet on the counter, mind running faster than a hamster in a wheel. He seems fine just staring at you, expression unreadable besides shallow amusement. He’s giving you time to think, and something in your gut is telling you to tread with caution.

What does it mean to leave roses for over a year for you, every single day? No matter how difficult it was made to do?

Someone in love or someone with a grudge. He doesn’t look the part for either, but the bouquet and strange note having you leaning towards some kind of affection for you. However disturbingly he shows it.

Swallowing thickly, nails scraping on the tile floor, you give a wobbly smile.

“T-they’re very pretty… thank you.”

His eyes briefly widen, head tilting as he observes you with a keener interest than before.

“Yeah? Y’like ‘em, doll?” Doll, that nickname again, you wonder if that’s how he refers to you in his mind. You never likened your appearance to a doll.

You nod with a short jerk, smile still plastered even as your bottom lip wobbles minutely.

“I-I do,” it’s more nerve wracking to be staring up at him from the floor, so you make a show of moving incredibly slow, standing on fawn like legs as you reorient yourself with your own feet again. “You gave me a bouquet this time…” even standing you’re forced to tilt your head back to look at him.

“I did.” He confirms, and the sweat sliding down your spine begins to cool as you shiver. You keep wetting your dry lips, struggling to truly grasp how you’re supposed to get the hell out of this situation.

He seems to visibly enjoy your panic and nervous ticks, watching you pick at your nail bed while he makes you stew in confusion and unanswered questions.

What do you do when the country’s top villain stands in your kitchen? You don’t have a quirk that can compete with him and you sure as hell regret squandering the times your friend encouraged learning some self defense.

He’s not in a hurry it seemed either, leaning a hip against your counter while he continues to observe your every movement. His presence made the space around you appear smaller, like he was sucking the energy from the room.

“Are you…” you look down at your feet, “…going to kill me?”

He snickers, catching your gaze again as it flicks up briefly.

“Nope.” He pops the p with a smile.

You don’t feel relieved.

“Are you going to hurt me?” A better question in all honesty.

“Maybe, probably.” He admits casually, shrugging as if it can’t be helped.

Then the best question for the evening, one still festering in your mind, “Why me?”

The air shifts, the scent of smoke like a campfire, wafting over to you.

“Asked myself that question a lot,” he stands up straight, removing his hands from his pockets. He ignores your flinch, coming closer even as you backed up into the counter. “Asked what the fuck is so special ‘bout you,” he jabs a finger into your chest, eyes flaring as he immediately flattens his palm and lays it over your heart. “To make me like this.”

He smells like campfire and something with chemical undertones, his breath held traces of menthol and tobacoo.

“Y’know what conclusion I came to sweetheart?” The way he said sweetheart was laced with venom.

He’s so close you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“W-what?” You don’t really have an option but to ask. He looks manic, languid expression sharpening into something dark and terrifying as he smiles.

“That it doesn’t fuckin’ matter. That I can do whatever the fuck I want, when I want, how I want. Not you, the heroes, or the shitty cops can do a damn thing to stop me.” He leans back, face melting again into something akin to pure satisfaction.

“Why you? It’s your own fault, doll, should’ve tried harder not to catch my attention, don’t’cha think?” It’s like he’s mocking you, eager to get a rise from you as anger and humiliation burned in your soul.

You shook in rage. Fists clenched at your sides as you urged the tears in your eyes away. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry like this.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” He laughs as you bite out the insult, a deep belly laugh, nearly doubling over as if you’d told the funniest joke possible.

“Wrong move,” he fakes at wiping a tear, eyes crinkling at the corners before your scalp is suddenly on fire, a gasp yanked from your lips as you're hauled up and back to the floor. “Said I’d probably hurt ‘ya, didn’t think you’d sass me so early. That’s okay, I’m good at breaking people, fix that mouth real quick.” He murmurs, as if he’s not using your hair like a lead and making the tears you’d fought back so hard earlier fall.

“Hurts!” You grunt, now putting up a decent struggle as you fight back.

He ends that quick with a flick of his palm, blue flames lighting up your darkened kitchen and striking horror into your soul as he waves it around in your face.

“Think I won’t do it ‘cuz I won’t kill ‘ya?” He asks, his eyes matching the flames he produces, filled with a sick sort of glee.

“I’ll make your face look like mine if you keep acting up.” That shuts you down quickly, going limp even as he releases your hair to grip your arm, dragging you through your home with confidence to where everything is, going straight to your bedroom.

“W-wait—! Dabi please, I-I’m sorry,” he stops in your doorway, looking down at you with over-exaggerated sympathy.

“Poor thing,” he coos, no less gentle as he drags you to the bed and pushes you down. It’s a gentle landing, but your panic gives you energy as you try to quickly crawl away. He grips your ankle, his palm heating so quick you hardly realize you’d been burned until you screech, teeth clenched tight as you struggle to even breathe. It hurts so much.

Your will to fight ends as he climbs above you, shrugging off the trench coat and yanking his t-shirt over his head while grinning at you.

“Too early for cryin’ doll, that one won’t even scar.” He looks disappointed by that fact. “Now, I can be nice ‘n sweet if you’ll be good for me…or I can push your fucking face in the mattress and take you like a filthy whore. Pick or I’ll pick for you.” His shift in tone as he tells you to choose how he’s going to rape you instills a strange sort of hopelessness inside you.

He doesn’t care when the water works start up again, rolling his eyes as he watches you weep and tremble like he’s done anything worth crying over yet to you.

“Well babydoll? I’m so fuckin’ hard right now you won’t like the choice I make for you.”

“Sweet…” you’re all curled up like a kitten doused in water beneath him.

He’s unbuckling the belt around his hips, tugging the denim down and his boxers along with it as he grunts.

“C’mere” he all but growls, yanking you up again and pulling at your clothing, quick and efficient in stripping you despite your actions mimicking the nickname he’s given you. Acting like a doll in his embrace as he tosses each article of clothing you wore off to the floor until you were down to your bra and panties. He’s yanking at your bra first, eyes greedily drinking you in as he leaves your top bare finally.

You sniffle pathetically, any attempt at hiding yourself useless as he uses his knees to knock yours open, fitting himself in between as he messily licks two fingers and shoves aside your panties to rub at your folds.

“Hgn!” Your eyes open wide as he crassly works two fingers into your dry cunt, his saliva barely enough to grant him access to the tight confines. “D-Dabi—,” your nails are digging into his arms, tearing at a seam of staples and causing a few small trails of blood to stream, but he’s too focused on you to truly mind.

“Y’asked for sweet doll, means you need to relax and let me in,” he explains, like he’s not stretching you open and jabbing his thick digits inside you despite your weak protests and groans of pain.

Your body gives way to the intrusion after a few minutes, adrenaline fading and leaving you almost exhausted as your cunt lubricates itself to ease his passage.

“There ‘ya go,” he murmurs almost hoarsely, letting you go when he sees you’re being obedient enough and using that freed hand to grip his leaking cock.

Your eyes track his movement, watching him grasp the thick appendage hanging heavy between his legs.

You note before even his size the piercings, not just one or two but a multitude lined his cock like a weapon more than a sexual organ.

Dabi notes the hitch in your breath and where your eyes lay, proudly running his thumb over the ladder of piercings up the spine of his shaft to the tip where two small stainless steel balls rested.

“Scared?” He teases, relaxing himself as he jerks his cock and relieves a little of the ache which had been building in his balls. Curling his fingers up, you gasp in surprise at the pleasant feeling which accompanies the action.

“Nah, you ain’t scared, doll. Not a coward, y’would’ve run a long time ago but you stayed ‘cuz you like this. You like knowing someone is out there willing to do anything to have you,”

“I don’t—,” he cuts you off with a sharp thrust up, pressing into the rough textured spot along your gooey walls.

“Shh, y’should know I don’t like liars, especially not ones who get exposed by their cunt dripping all over the bed.” His smile is filthy, lecherous gaze running along your sweaty exposed skin as he just keeps hitting that spot inside which makes your toes curl.

“P-please stop, Dabi I can’t—,”

“Still lying?” He asks, more amused than angry as you try your best to twist away from the pleasure now wracking your body.

“How’s this doll? You drop the Dabi bullshit n’say Touya when you’re about to cum, okay? Y’listening?” He stops working himself over, freeing his hand again to tap your cheek and catch your clouded watery gaze.

“Try it out.” He orders softly, sweetly, like he’s trying to be gentle but the way his fingers fuck you is anything but sweet or kind. The loud lewd squelching exactly as he said earlier, a confession to how much your body at least enjoyed his careless attention.

You huff, mouth opening to choke on a moan as he adds another finger, fingers wrapping around his wrist where they attempt to halt the sudden oversensitivity inside you.

If anything he jams his fingers inside you harder.

“T-Touya!” You hope he’ll stop. Hope he ends this strange psychological torture as your stomach coils up tight.

He doesn’t, Dabi merely groans in delight and chuckles over you, leaning down to slot his lips over yours in a kiss as messy as he’s making you down below.

His soft top lip is contrasted by the rough feeling of his bottom, but his kiss is hot and you can taste the menthol now. His scent is strong, and you catch a hint of his natural odor beneath the smoke and tobacco. Your cries are silenced by his lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth when you open to complain. You shiver as you feel the drag of a piercing on his tongue, the light touch somehow more erotic. He parts sloppily, saliva connecting your lips for a moment before you flinch as he spits in your mouth.

“Open your fucking mouth.” The tone he uses and language are harsh, and you tearily do as instructed. “Stick out your tongue.” He murmurs a bit more nicely this time, humming in approval as you obey with shaky hesitation.

You won’t hesitate soon enough, if he has anything to do about it. He’ll make his words gospel in your cute brain and have you eager to listen to his every command.

Dabi lets his spit hit your tongue slowly, watching you pant like a dog with your tongue out as he brings you closer and closer to your release. The way your walls clamp around his fingers and constrict makes his cock weep to sink inside you already. “Touya—!”

You cum when he finally allows you to swallow, gushing and throwing your head back while he fucks you through it, laughing as you tense up and beg for mercy and try to escape the pleasure he’s delivering relentlessly.

“Good fuckin’ girl, say my name baby, let me hear it.” Dabi nearly loses it himself watching you shatter, eyes wide and wild as he keeps going. “Touya pl-please…hn!” You keen almost like you’re in pain, fingers digging into his shoulders now while your legs kick out.

“Y’asked for sweet, doll, means you get to cum as much as you want tonight.”

That wasn’t what you’d thought it meant, even as you choke and cum again, this time more softly as he slows his furious pace to something manageable now.

Dabi smiles at the fucked out expression you now wear, pliant in his hold as he maneuvers your body, hoisting your legs up and pressing them to your chest as you whimper in protest.

“You can stay nice ‘n pretty like this doll, doing so good f’me.” He’s not very assuring as he murmurs to you while positioning the weapon he’s armored on his cock at your dripping entrance, tapping his tip a few times on your puffy clit as you moan and twitch, view perfect to watch how he slicks himself up. “T-Touya…” he moans as he catches on your entrance only to slip up, eyes looking at your face as he licks his lips and tries again, enjoying the soft warm feeling of rubbing on your cunt.

“Yeah doll? Need somethin’?” He grins, his cock finally breaching that tight ring of muscle that lets him sink into your hot welcoming depths. “Fuck, been dreaming ‘bout this cunt for so long. Y’know how many times I’ve had to just cum on your sleeping face instead of fucking you? All the times I could’ve just woken you up and had you?” He moans, laughing at the horrified and almost strangled look you gave him, his chest vibrating with a laugh as you mewl like a cat in heat when the first row of piercings sinks into you. “Like ‘em baby? Fuckin’ looks like you do, they feel good in your little pussy?” He moans again when you accidentally bare down on him, the tightness increasing painfully as you whine when his piercings dig in too much.

“Easy doll, let me in,” he murmurs, dark hair falling into his face as he braces above you with one arm, lithe muscles taunt as he works his hips a little at a time into you, enthralled with how you fit around him enough not to slam himself inside all at once.

When the top balls of his piercings kiss up against your cervix, you’re ruined, face a mess as you struggle to adjust to the stretch and sensations.

“S’too much, Touya—” you can only cling to him, eyes drawn to where he’s sunk his entire fat cock into your depths, the way your body contorted giving you the best view.

Your words have the opposite effect though, his groan guttural as he drags himself out, drunk on the feeling of your pussy and lost to it.

“Keep sayin’ my fuckin’ name, lemme hear ‘ya scream babydoll,” you go to protest again, when he slams each inch back into you, the ribs along his cock now working in tandem with his thrusts, effectively shutting you up as you squeal and dig your nails into his shoulders for purchase.

Dabi fucks you hard and deep, speed unnecessarily to keep the air from your lungs as each thrust feels like it’s hitting up in your stomach, the pain and pleasure blending until you aren’t sure if it truly hurts or not.

He sets a steady rhythm, watching your body shake each time he lets his hips fall like a hammer, seeing his cock swallowed each time by your greedy cunt until he’s delirious at the sight.

“Pretty fucking slut, look how your pussy takes me.” He’s spewing filth at you, but when it should offend, it instead makes you burn hotter, his name falling from your swollen pouty lips like a chant.

“This cunt want me to breed it? Fill your pussy full until you can’t take anymore?” You shake your head in denial, unable to truly form words anymore as he picks up his pace, fucking you hard enough to make your headboard slam into the wall. Each thrust accompanied by a symphony of wet slapping, his balls tapping your ass each time his groin kisses your own. “Bet it does, huh doll? This greedy little cunt keeps begging for more.” He loves the dichotomy between your sloppy pussy and the way you shake your head. “No? Y’sure doll? Think it does. Don’t like lyin’ baby, remember? You want me to punish you?” You shake your head again, a bit frustrated when he slows, letting you feel all of him inside you like this, his weight keeping you pinned.

“Shakin’ your head ain’t an answer doll, I’ll be nice ‘n give you another chance, but I expect a fucking a verbal answer this time.” He’s like a light switch. Either on or off but much more terrifying when he flips it on, eyes and voice menacing as you cough and answer in a husky voice. You don’t want to test him on the punishment, truly you don’t, as your ankle still fully throbs in the back of your mind as a reminder of what he’s capable of and who he is.

“I-I like h-how you do it now…” he cocks a brow, sinking deep and then pressing even further so you whine and try to push back further into the bed.

“Y’like how I’m fuckin’ you now? That it, doll?” You go to nod before remembering his warning, swallowing thickly and voicing a soft agreement.

“Hmm… then y’oughta say it, right? Tell me how good I’m fuckin’ this pussy.” He growls, bright blue eyes lighting up as you moan, his pace increasing again as you blabber out whatever nonsense you can to satisfy him. Whatever would make him be sweet, because you have a feeling you don’t want him any other way.

“S-so good! Mhn, f-feels so good Touya, pl-please, ah,” he’s being too rough, your eyes watering and tears spilling as he drills into you, but even still you feel yourself close to coming again as those piercings rub perfectly inside you.

Dabi lifts up, letting your legs fall to either side of him as he grips both your hips tight and fucks you more aggressively. Jackhammering into your gummy walls like he’s eager to imprint the shape of his cock inside you, mouth open and brows furrowed while he groans feeling you tense up again, this time around his dick.

“T-Touya—! M’coming, oh fuck—!” You look painfully suprised when you realize how much it all becomes as you cum, the peircings becoming more prominent as you spasm and clamp down on him, eyes rolling back as your vision slightly blurs.

“Yeah y’are doll, fuck, that feel good? Looks like it did.” He chuckles, chest swelling with a deep satisfaction as he fucks you harder despite your weak whines, overstimulated cunt begging for a break despite how he bullies himself inside you.

“Tell me where you want it,” he’s close, panting and overheating even as he nears his end.

“N-not inside…” he laughs at the soft reply, thrusts only getting deeper as he resorts to simply humping into you for friction after you tighten up so much it hurts to go harder.

“Can’t pull out though doll, look how tight you’re gripping my cock.” You aren’t paying attention, mindlessly moaning as he finally gasps and cums, cock twitching deep inside you and filling you up despite your earlier request.

He nearly collapses on you, chest rising and falling quickly as he regains his breath and relaxes on your soft chest for a moment to recouperate.

When he’s caught his breath, he leans up, slowly pulling out and watching his heavy load immediately spill from your hole.

“Tsk,” he uses two fingers to scoop up what dribbled out, stuffing it back into you as you sleepily huff and press a hand against his chest.

You’re helpless to stop him, too exhausted to fight more and figuring it better to let him have his way than risk his wrath right now.

Once he’s satisfied he’d stuffed you back up well enough, Dabi is quick to leave the bed and begin redressing, speaking casually with you despite your lack of answering.

You watch the villain act as if nothing had occurred, face the same smug arrogant grin when you’d first spotted him.

It’s when he returns his attention to you that fear begins to trickle back into your blood stream.

He seems to notice too, smile growing with your apprehension.

“Now doll,” he crosses back to where you’ve sat up and covered yourself with a blanket, weary gaze locked with his.

“Ready to come home?”

Then it’s dark, your vision going out with your consciousness as Dabi catches you in his arms, dragging your limp figure from the bed and into his arms quickly.

He’s kind enough to wrap you in a sheet as he takes your house keys and phone, shoving them in his pocket as he leaves your place with you in his embrace.

He whistles on his way home, a bit eager to see your expression when you wake.

He figures you’ll learn to like your new home once you realize you’re never leaving it.

He even decorated for the season, the tree a little burnt but he’s sure you’ll appreciate the sentiment.

Dividers/@cafekistune

#Secret Santa 2023 #BNHA #MHA #Bnha Dabi #mha Dabi #touya todoroki #Touya todoroki x reader #Dabi x reader smut #dabi x fem! reader smut #dabi smut #bnha smut #mha smut #yandere #yandere dabi #yandere dabi smut #yandere x reader #bnha yandere #fem! darling

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mighty-ant · 3 months

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i've been rewatching tmnt 2012 and tmnt 2003, and there's one extremely specific difference between the two that really exemplifies to me why 2003 is the better show: how both series treat unhoused people

the Professor is a character we meet very early on in 2K3 - the turtles met him sometime before the series start and he's close friends with all of them, gifting them computer parts or comics or anything else he thinks they'd enjoy, while the turtles bring the Professor and his community blankets and help protect them from bad guys who would take advantage of unhoused people

the turtles respect the hell out of him, and he's invited to their christmas parties as well as april and casey's wedding years down the line

the societal mistreatment of unhoused people is the focus of the Professor's first episode, and at no point is he ever depicted in a meanspirited or stereotypical way or are there are any jokes told at his expense. he's a well-written, fleshed out character that the show and writers actually respect as a character, and that goes for most of the reoccurring non-white characters in the series like Angel, Karai, and Silver Sentry

and then you have tmnt 2012

"Homeless Guy" makes his debut in the very first episode of the series, on a dirty mattress in a filthy alley, farting in his sleep. he's part of the joke that new york city is absolutely disgusting but the turtles are in awe of it all anyway

as a character, "Homeless Guy" never goes beyond this cheap, insulting depiction, and pops up a few more times in the series as the butt of the joke or to have something absolutely vile happen to him (FOR REAL THO, this series had a major gross-out obsession, it was hard to watch sometimes)

to me, the depiction and treatment of "Homeless Guy" exemplifies the generally meanspirited nature of the show, and the lack of empathy in its characters

calling every new mutant or alien they meet an ugly freak feels iffy at best and just wrong at worst when your main characters are inherent outcasts from society - basically, instead of building bridges with their fellow outcasts, tmnt 2012 would rather blow up the bridge and cook pizza over the ashes

#ive kept silent too long #ive got tmnt brainworms right now don't look at me #and don't come after me either lmao #im a tmnt historian at this point #but also don't be mean if tmnt 2012 is your fave #it's just not my fave #ant talks #ant posts #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2k3

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starryeyedjanai · 4 months

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All things end and all things change.

Steddie | 23k | Explicit | Read on ao3

written for @patchworkgargoyle for the server gift exchange! 🥰 this is also a fill for @thefreakandthehair's winter challenge

Summary:

When Eddie took over Robin's room, Steve made a promise to himself that he wouldn't scare Eddie off, that he wouldn't do anything to let him know that he’s still carrying a torch for him this many years later—because Steve feels like Eddie had to have known in college.

He had to have seen it every time Steve looked at him for a beat too long, every time he looked to Eddie first when told a joke, every time he wore his feelings so loudly because he’s never had to reign them in before.

And now he’s doomed to spend more than a week letting Eddie show him glimpses of his life that he’s never seen before, parts of him that he’s kept to himself up until now.

Steve feels like the more he gets to know Eddie, the more ingrained these feelings for him become.

But, you know, other than all of that, what could possibly go wrong?

Or, Steve was planning to spend the holidays alone, but there's no way Eddie's going to let that happen.

excerpt under the cut!

“Hey, are you going to be in town for New Year’s Eve?” Eddie asks as Steve walks out of his room, bleary eyed and barely awake. “I told you I’m visiting my uncle Wayne for Christmas, but I can be back in time for New Year’s Eve if you’ll be here.”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll be here,” Steve says, his voice still scratchy from sleep.

“What are your plans for Christmas now that Birdie’s gone home with Chrissy?” Eddie asks, dropping the curious act and getting to what he really wants to know.

It’s too early for this.

Eddie knows he has less of a filter when he’s just woken up, so this is a targeted attack.

He’s been avoiding answering the question when Eddie’s asked what his plans were before, but Christmas is in a few days and it looks like his hemming and hawing around an answer—‘I might go with Robin and Chrissy,’ and ‘I’m not sure yet’—won't suffice anymore.

Robin left yesterday with Chrissy to spend Christmas and New Year’s Eve with her family, her first time taking Chrissy home to her parents, and Steve obviously didn't go with them.

He hums and takes the cup of coffee Eddie pushes into his hands when he takes a seat at their kitchen table. He takes a sip, trying to formulate a way to not say outright that he’s staying here alone.

He shrugs his shoulders and says, "I’m not doing much. I’ll be in town for New Year’s Eve though,” because his brain is still mostly offline and he’s hoping Eddie will leave it alone. (He knows that he won't, but it’s a nice thought.)

Eddie asks, “How are you getting to your parents’ place? Or are they coming to town?”

Eddie knows Steve isn’t super close with his parents just like he knows that he hasn't spent Christmas with them since he graduated college—he and Robin have spent it together since she and her parents aren't big on Christmas as a whole.

They did visit Robin’s parents the first year after college and spent the holidays there, but since then, they’ve just had Christmases at their apartment, getting each other a couple gag gifts and a couple real ones and opening them in front of their comically small Christmas tree. The only reason they aren't spending it together this year is because Robin’s parents want to finally meet Chrissy.

He gulps down more coffee before saying, “I’m not going to Hawkins.”

“Steve, work with me here. Are you or are you not spending Christmas with your parents?” Eddie asks, leaving no room for ambiguity or ‘misinterpretations’ of his question.

So he just sighs and comes clean.

“My parents are in France for Christmas, so I’m just hanging out here for the holidays,” he says, not looking Eddie in the eyes. His parents did invite him to come along, but his passport is expired and he didn't want to stress about getting it renewed in time for the trip.

“Hanging out here alone?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods, still not looking at him, fiddling with the handle of his coffee mug.

“And how’d you get Robin to leave without you?” Eddie asks, suspicion in his voice.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, playing dumb.

“I mean there’s no fucking way she’d let you spend the holidays alone, first Christmas taking her girlfriend home or not. So what did you tell her you were doing for the holidays?”

Steve sighs, so worn out all of a sudden. He wishes they weren't having this conversation at 8 in the morning—well, he wishes they weren't having it at all, wishes Eddie’s ADHD would have let him forget to ask what his plans were before he left for his uncle’s place.

“I may have said I was spending the holidays with you,” he says sheepishly, finally looking up at Eddie.

Eddie levels him an unimpressed look and then, in an even voice, he says, “Okay. So you’re coming home with me.”

“No,” Steve says. “No. I swear I’ll be fine. It’ll be nice even. Relaxing, having some time to myself.” It sounds weak even to his own ears, so he’s not surprised when Eddie doesn't let up.

“Uh huh, sure. You come sit by me when I’m doing my virtual D&D sessions even though you don’t play because you hate being alone for that many hours, but you want me to believe you’ll be alright being alone for more than a week over the holidays?”

God, it's so not fair bringing up how needy Steve is right now. Steve only pretty recently realized how codependent he and Robin were. They spent almost all of their free time together before she started dating Chrissy and when she moved in with Chrissy and Eddie took her bedroom in their apartment, he had to actively stop himself from monopolizing all of Eddie's time because he doesn't deal well with being alone.

He keeps finding himself almost meandering into Eddie’s room first thing in the morning because spending any amount of time without someone’s voice filling his ears is unbearable to him. Even just having someone in his presence, even if they weren't talking, is better than being alone.

He tries to save face by saying, “I swear I’m fine being alone—“

“Nope, you’re coming home with me,” Eddie says, cutting Steve off, his voice final. “It’ll be a tight squeeze since my uncle’s place is pretty small, but he’ll be glad to have someone to talk sports with, so—you’re coming.”

And this is why Steve has been trying to avoid this conversation so hard for weeks now, skirting around the truth with half-answers and changing the subject because he knew Eddie wasn't going to drop it once he knew.

He really has no choice but to accept or else Eddie won't shut up about it. Or worse, he’ll tell Robin and she’s definitely not going to drop it. And she’ll be disappointed that he lied and she’ll make him drive to her parents’ house and threaten to come get him if he refuses and it’ll spoil her Christmas with Chrissy and her parents. And he doesn't want that, obviously.

This is the first time Robin’s been serious about someone and all he wants is for her to spend her Christmas in love and happy and not worrying about him.

So he says, “Fine. Fine, I’ll go home with you.”

As much as he doesn't want to insert himself into someone else’s holiday plans, he doubly doesn't want to ruin Robin’s Christmas.

“Great. We leave tomorrow afternoon.”

The triumphant smile on Eddie’s face doesn't lessen the growing guilt and unease in stomach.

He really was going to be fine, spending the holidays alone. It would have been quiet and he would have hated every second of the silence, but he could have handled it.

His parents were never super into the Christmas spirit part of Christmas anyway. They never had traditions or decorated the house or anything. Growing up, Christmas was mostly about the gifts—not that he was complaining. He always had the newest toys or video game consoles, so for the most part, he was happy enough to skip the rest of it.

It was only when he was dating Nancy and saw how her family gathered for the holidays and spent time together that he realized that his Christmases were always kind of lonely even when his parents were around.

So after college, when he and Robin moved in together, they started to make their own traditions for the holidays, decorating their apartment and wearing matching pajamas and FaceTiming Robin’s parents on Christmas morning.

This would have been the first Christmas since he started having actual Christmas traditions that he’d be spending it alone. So yeah, it would have sucked, but it would have been worth it if it meant Robin got to have her Hallmark Christmas movie moment.

And now he’s apparently going to the Munson’s for Christmas.

At least now Robin won't actually kill him when she gets back and finds out what he did for the holidays.

read the rest on ao3

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #SpicySixWinterFanworksChallenge #stuadholidayexchange #janai.doc

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fluentmoviequoter · 5 months

Text

Special Edition

Day 4 of 12 Days of Ficmas

Pairing: Jason Todd x vigilante!fem!reader

Summary: Jason Todd doesn't like you. He does like Jane Austen, though.

Word Count: 2.2k+ words

Warnings: angst, arguments, brief description of injuries, fluff, Pride and Prejudice quotes. reader is a vigilante!

A/N: Sorry this is late; thank you for being patient and the encouraging messages!! This is my first Jason Todd fic and I am so excited because I'm madly in love with him. He may be OOC, but I didn't specify which version so you can imagine whichever Jason you want! I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

Masterlist | DC Comics Masterlist | Request Info

You are the bane of Jason Todd’s existence. He’s never said it outright, but he shows you constantly that he doesn’t like you, trust you, and certainly doesn’t want to work with you. That doesn’t deter you from trying to bring a little Christmas spirit and friendship to the man in the red hood, though. All he’s missing is a little green and some lights.

December in Gotham is cold, wet, and busy for vigilantes. With Batman breathing down your neck about staying in fighting shape no matter the weather or the time of year, it can be easy to let Christmas slip by unnoticed, and Jason usually does. Since you joined the team, though, you’ve decided it will never happen again.

“Those lights are new,” you point out as you trail behind Jason, cutting through a previously undecorated alley.

“Focus!” he snaps, his helmet turning as he looks over his shoulder at you. “Just because it’s Christmas doesn’t mean we stop to look at pretty lights instead of finding Scarecrow’s new hideout.”

You shrug and jog a few steps to catch up, your eyes focused on his red helmet as he slows. He pulls a grappling hook from his belt and aims it upward.

“You don’t have one do you?” he asks, his voice giving away how annoyed and tired he is.

“Pretty sure Bruce only gives those to his sons,” you answer sheepishly. “I can just take the ladder on the backside of the building. Or we can split up.”

Jason barks a single, harsh laugh. “One, Bruce isn’t sexist like that so maybe he just knows you’re incompetent. And, two, we’re not splitting up.”

“Because I’m incompetent?” you ask, smiling.

Jason’s shoulders rise and fall as he sighs before wrapping his arm around your waist and holding you against his chest until your feet meet the solid roof. His hand raises but lingers by your side as he looks down at you. Nodding to himself, he pulls his arm back and turns to look out over the freezing, dirty streets of Gotham.

“What are the chances he’d go for the water supply again?” you ask quietly.

“Not very good,” Jason answers. “Do you think before you ask those questions?”

“Think? No. But I do see Bane pushing a huge crate into the water department offices down the street.”

Jason jumps from his crouched position and moves toward you, the heat radiating off his body like a warm hug against your skin as he stands behind you.

There’s a hint of grumbling as he raises his voice to ask, “Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Bane didn’t walk out until after you asked, Jason. I may be incompetent but I’m not a complete idiot,” you answer.

You blame the December weather for your change in attitude; any other time, you would have made a joke and asked for his help since Bruce was working on your grappling hook and didn’t have a spare (not that you’d ever tell Jason the wire snapped and dropped you three storeys the last time he asked you to split up). But now, you’re tired and cold and want to get away from Jason before you say something you shouldn’t, so you jump off the roof and onto the fire escape as Jason’s yells fall on deaf ears while you rush toward the water department.

When you try the handle, the doorknob twists easily, but as you prepare to open it, a gloved hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you back.

“What are you doing? Trying to get yourself killed?” Jason whispers angrily.

“Why do you care, Jason? If I die, you don’t have to work with me anymore, right?”

“Just because I don’t like working with you doesn’t mean I want you dead,” he snaps.

“Then watch my back and try not to be such a Grinch.”

You tear your wrist away from him, blind to his face dropping and his jaw clenching under his mask. Pulling the door open slowly, you slip into the shadows, grateful to feel Jason behind you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“You found Scarecrow’s new hideout?” Batman asks.

Jason nods, but you keep your eyes on your feet.

“And you went in - without telling anyone - only to get into a fight with Bane and doused with Scarecrow toxin?”

Jason nods again.

“Who made the call to go in without backup?”

“I…” Jason begins.

You don’t look up as you cut him off. “I did. Jason wanted to wait but I went in without him and he followed me. It’s my fault.”

“Hood, you’re dismissed then. Alfred said you need 24 hours of rest before you can patrol again,” Batman says.

Jason turns, stopping to look down at you before walking out of the Batcave. You hear Bruce pull his cowl off, but keep your eyes trained on your shoes.

“Alfred said the only reason Jason got out unscathed is because you took most of the toxin; without a mask. Why did you rush in there, then put yourself in harm’s way when Jason is more prepared to deal with it?”

“I didn’t think about that. I saw a threat and wanted to help my fri- teammate.” He’s not your friend, you remind yourself, no matter how badly you want him to be.

Bruce sighs, then clicks his tongue. You finally look up at him, and he looks like he’s fighting an internal war between Bruce and Batman. The one who wants to bench you for being reckless and the one who wants to hug you for protecting his son, even if he didn’t need it.

“Thank you. Just- call for backup next time, okay?”

You promise that you will. “But if someone is in danger, I will not hesitate to help.”

“I know that. But try to be a little more careful in the future, okay? Are you hurt?”

“No,” you lie, your mind racing on the remnants of the toxin as your face aches from the impact of Bane’s punch.

As you exit the Batcave and cut through Wayne Manor, Jason is leaning against the front door, his mask gone and his blue eyes leveled on you.

“Did he bench you?” he asks.

“No. Just told me not to do it again.”

Jason nods and pushes off the door, walking to you and looking down into your eyes. “That was incredibly stupid and if Bruce didn’t have this attachment to you, I’d be fighting him to get rid of you or stick you with someone else.”

“Sorry you feel that way,” you mumble, skirting around him and walking outside.

You breathe in the fresh air and try to ignore the feeling of your heartbeat in your face. You’ll undoubtedly have a bruise, so maybe it’s time to finally wear the mask Bruce seems keen on convincing you is for your safety. Maybe it’ll get Jason to lighten up, too.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Bruce must’ve given a powerful lecture if it got you in the mask,” Jason teases.

You hum, hoping you don’t have to say anything and make the pain in your jaw worse.

“Just ordinary patrol today, so we can split up if you still want to,” he offers.

You shrug, watching the helmet tilt as its unblinking eye slits stare at you.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m great,” you say. “Split up, then.”

You take the East side of your quadrant while Jason goes West. As the night goes on and your pain medicine wears off, you want to curl up into a ball on one of the roofs you're jumping across and go to sleep. You slow before stopping in the middle of a roof, gently pressing your hand against the underside of your jaw, trying to alleviate the pain.

“What are you doing?” Jason asks, his voice distorted by the mask as he appears suddenly behind you.

“Nothing,” you say, the word mumbled by your hand holding one side of your jaw closed.

You hear his footsteps as he walks around you, stopping in front of you and pulling your hand away from your face before gently lifting your mask to your nose. His sharp inhale is barely audible through the helmet, but you catch it.

“Look that good?” you joke.

“When did that happen? Tonight?”

“No. Bane punched me two nights ago; it’s getting worse, as usual.”

“You should have told someone; what if he had broken your jaw?”

“Then you wouldn’t have to hear my commentary that you love so much.”

“Can you take anything seriously?”

“Can you stop taking everything seriously?” you argue. “I got hurt, so what? You don’t even like me!”

“I never said- no matter my feelings, you’re my teammate. Just tell me this stuff.”

“Because you’re such a good listener,” you mutter.

“Let’s go. We’ll finish patrolling together.”

You nod, pulling your mask back down and following Jason to a roof with a bird’s eye view. You sit on the edge beside him, looking at the twinkling Christmas lights scattered throughout Gotham.

“What do you want for Christmas?” you ask.

Jason’s mask swings toward you. “What do I want for Christmas?” he repeats incredulously. “Oh, let’s see… a partner who doesn’t rush us both into danger, a life that isn’t marked by death and loss, a team that doesn’t look at me like I’m one second away from becoming a supervillain, and maybe, if there is anything like Christmas magic, a day where you don’t act like my life is worth more than yours!”

You hold your breath as he yells at you, releasing it when he looks back out to the skyline.

“Red, we’re here to relieve you. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night,” Red Robin says through the comm system.

Jason storms off as soon as he hears that, leaving you alone two nights before Christmas.

“I don’t think they have that on Amazon,” you whisper to Gotham, rubbing the good side of your face to stop yourself from crying.

✯✯✯✯✯

Bruce gave you a few nights off, presumably because Jason complained about you. The morning after Jason told you what he wanted for Christmas, you get a package containing the gift you thought he’d like. You wrap it, then set it on your kitchen counter, unsure whether it’s worth it to take it to him or if you should leave it at the manor while he’s gone. Shrugging, you decide you have time to make the decision and walk to your couch, queuing your favorite Christmas movie and trying to push Jason Todd out of your head. Deep down, you always believed he was mean because he cared and kept you safe by keeping you at arms’ distance, but now you’re not so sure.

On Christmas Eve, you find yourself standing outside Jason’s apartment, his gift in one hand and the other hand ready to knock. Taking a deep breath, you hope for the best and knock. The door opens a moment later, and Jason looks at you, his gaze catching on the bruise momentarily.

“Um, I just wanted to bring you this. And say that I’m sorry. Merry Christmas,” you explain as you extend the bag to him.

He takes it, pulling his eyes from yours to peek past the tissue paper. His blue eyes widen as he sees what’s in the bag before he closes the door quickly. You step back, hurt, and prepare to leave when the door opens again. Jason pulls you into his arms and into his apartment, kicking the door closed behind him as he holds you close. Your arms wrap loosely around his waist.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

Your arms immediately tighten around him, and you press your uninjured cheek against his chest.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Of course. Merry Christmas, Jay.”

“No, no,” he begins, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his shining like a frozen lake. “You don’t say ‘of course,’ like I deserve it. Not after everything I’ve done to you. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to apologize, but I just..”

“Push people away because you think you’re a bad guy?” you suggest quietly.

“I am a bad guy,” he responds.

“No, you’re not. Jason, do you push people away for you or for them, and their safety, because you care about them?”

Jason is quiet as he stares into your eyes, dropping his gaze to your bruise once. “I care about you,” he whispers. “You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.”

“She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes,” you quote.

“Where did you find a special edition of Pride and Prejudice this close to Christmas?” Jason asks, smiling brightly.

“I thought it was going to get here too late.”

“Thank you. For the book and for pushing back.”

“You’re worth it, Jay. Merry Christmas.”

He barely lets you finish before he pulls you in for another kiss the Christmas lights twinkling on the Gotham skyline starkly contrast the streets below, going unnoticed in the background as you realize Jason only pretended not to like you because of how much he cares for you. That, and being wrapped in his arms, is the only Christmas gift you’ve ever needed.

#fluentmoviequoter12daysoffics #jason todd x reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #fem!reader

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distorted-smile · 4 months

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@citraniumscience Happy birthda—… wait, no. Happy Christmas! I hope you have a wonderful day and new year!! I also hope you enjoy this— it took awhile, haha. Glad that I got it done before the day. I hc Chell as being mute and P Body and Atlas don’t exactly speak…so just… suspend disbelief—

Unfortunately the quality went down from page to page due to some burnout. The words are also placed strangely due to me drawing the speech bubbles first (don’t do that). A big thank you to @sm01-sis for helping me with the flat colours on the second and third page, it helped a lot!

God bless.

For a less blurry version I put it into a google drive: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1PF9hWpWUbKpCXxzqJSjcMJIBhhx3bzkP?usp=sharing

@portal-secret-santa

#portal secret santa #secret Santa #happy Christmas #merry Christmas #digital art #digital drawing #digital illustration #art #my art #fanart #portal 2 #chell #p body portal #atlas portal #comic #glados #test chamber portal

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devilfic · 4 months

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❝small favor❞

V. the christmas special.

parts: previously / next plot: it's the most beautiful time of the year. pairing: mcu!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: christmas shenanigans, alcohol mentions, harry gets drunk for norman osborn related reasons, peter is a little ball of anxiety because he likes you, can I share with you what jobs I think ned and mj got after graduation. words: 8.4k.

a/n: this was gonna be a two-parter but I thought. no. so instead it's just super long :D

Peter has started visiting more.

There were the surprise visits on weekends. Something was just too important to wait a week, and too important to give you a call, and you liked that he made a note of bringing you food for the trouble. Then he was popping in on Wednesday nights—sometimes Friday mornings—because he'd forgotten to tell you this or he just couldn't wait to tell you that.

And he has texting you more, too. Not super serious things either, and after a few days of it, you had worked the fight or flight reaction to his ringtone out of your system. At some point, you had started feeling like this was becoming... a genuine friendship.

"I mean... I... yeah. We talked about it, didn't we?" Peter stops pouring, brownie batter dribbling off the lip of the bowl, "Friends. I- I think of you as a friend. If you think of me... as a friend."

You gnaw on your pen as you study him. It's another weekend surprise visit, and this time he's brought you boxed brookie batter as an olive branch. You'd actually been busy this time, and so you'd put him to work baking it while you made your vacation list, "It's just... crazy. I mean, we went from being strangers to only seeing each other once a week—purely professionally—and now you bake me things. And we hang out."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing! It's just weird," he continues to pour as you talk, "I used to see you as this unattainable hero. I couldn't believe you trusted me, felt comfortable enough to tell me your name, to care enough that even EDITH knows who I am. And now we're friends."

Peter's nose scrunches at that, and you've never wished more than now that you could see the rest of his face. He starts placing balls of cookie dough in the batter, "You talk about me like I'm Beyoncé or something."

"You're the Beyoncé of superheroes."

"Hey, that is not true. That title goes to Captain Marvel."

"Not to me."

"Well, of course not to you. You're my biggest fan."

"Wow, demoted to a fan already."

Peter slides the pan into the oven, "You know what I mean. You're biased."

"You're starting to sound like Jameson now."

He kicks the oven door closed and hops up onto the kitchen counter next to you, nudging your knee with his knee, "Oh, you haven't heard my Jameson impression. Watch this." Peter clears his throat, clenches his fist, and shakes it in the air, "Spider-Man is a menace and should be charged with domestic terrorism!"

You giggle, "Do more."

"5G isn't giving your kids cancer, it's Spider-Man leaving his webs all over the city!"

"More!"

"Spider-Man is laying eggs in our city's sewers so that one day, all his freaky spider children will rise up and take over New York!"

"Please, keep going."

Peter groans. You see his head tilt toward the notepad in your lap, "How's the vacation going? Or vacation planning, I guess."

You sigh. Your list to pack kept getting longer, and yet, anytime you tried to focus on what to bring, you would just remember something else you needed to do before leaving New York. "How do you think, based on my utter lack of excitement?"

Peter raises a brow, "Whaaat? You're not excited for Miami?"

"I was, but... everything in the world is happening at the same time. Jameson wants me to get two more articles out before I leave and my family wanted me in Florida three days ago. At this rate, I'm just barely going to make it there before Christmas. Not to mention..." You trail off as you look to Peter, whose mask eyes have gone comically wide in interest, "I don't want to leave you all alone."

"You know I've been Spider-Manning since I was like, 14, right?"

"Well, yeah, but- wait, 14?" Peter grimaces. You gloss over it before he can worry himself about it, "Anyway, I just worry. I mean, with Fisk turning the PR tide and God knows what he's planning, I don't wanna just fly to the other side of the country. It feels wrong."

Peter smirks, "Nah, nah. It's fine. I can take care of myself."

"Don't make me remind you about how all of this," you gesture between Peter and the oven, "started." He looks away from you, sheepish. "You know what I mean, right? Maybe I'm overestimating my worth to you, but-"

"You're definitely not. You have no idea how much you mean to me." That stuns you. It stuns both of you, clearly, if Peter's frantic peek at your face was anything to go by. His mouth gapes like a fish out of water for a moment, "I just mean that... you've made being Spidey... easier on me. It's nice knowing someone's actually on my side in this city. So yeah, it will feel really weird without you being just a swing away."

"You can still call, Peter. I won't mind."

"And when your family asks who's bothering you while you're sunbathing on the beach?"

"I mean, my little cousins will be impressed if I name drop Spider-Man."

He smiles. He kicks his feet out, heels bumping the cabinet doors beneath you while silence settles. You take this chance to examine a slight fraying on the fabric of his suit, a hole beginning to form on his upper thigh that you could just fit your pinky through. You remembered a time when his suit was made out of sweatpants and a dream.

He was 14 when he first started all of this. When you were 14, you were stressing over high school essays and alien invasions. You couldn't help but think that maybe he'd lost his youth to this thing. This thing that brought you together.

Spider-Man who, back then, was really a kid. He'd had to grow into it. You couldn't imagine having to grow into that. "Well, that's enough about my holiday plans. What about you?" Peter prepares to answer, then deflates. "What's up?"

He bites his bottom lip, "I don't... have any."

Your heart sinks, "What? Why not?"

"No, no, it's fine. I'll probably be out on patrol making sure everybody else is having a safe, criminal-free winter break."

Sliding off the counter, you come to stand in front of Peter with your arms folded, "Absolutely not."

"Okay, before you say anything-"

"It's Christmas, Peter! You're supposed to take time off! Be with friends and family. If you never take a break, you'll wear yourself out."

"Just hear me out-"

"No! I won't have it. You're not the only hero in New York. You're taking Christmas off. I don't care if I have to stuff you in a carry-on and take you with me but you will not be working-"

One hand clamps around the back of your head and the other silences you, turning your complaints into mush, "If you would let me finish..." you huff indignantly against his hand, "you'd know that a friend of mine is throwing a Christmas party and I was invited. There. I have plans."

Your face softens. "Really?" You ask, but the sound is muffled and it comes out more like, "Will-ee?"

Peter laughs, hand slipping from your mouth, "Really. I'll at least take a few hours off. Maybe more if I fall into a food coma."

Peter's other hand is still cradling your head, but you don't bring it to his attention. "You promise? I won't have to fly back early and check up on you, will I? 'Cause I'll do it."

"I wouldn't stop you." You glower, making Peter's mask eyes squint with amusement, "I promise."

"Sometimes I think you like making me worry over you."

"Would you believe me if I said that I'm just this awful all the time?"

"Yes, but that would make me worry even more."

The hand at your neck gently curls around the side of your throat, Peter's thumb angling your chin up to his own. The brush of it makes you tremble just slightly.

Was he trying to make you dissolve into a puddle?

"I'll be okay. Just... come back to the city, will ya? Don't fall in love with Miami."

You place one of your hands over the hand on your throat. The other hovers somewhere near his knee on the countertop, unsure of yourself. When you admire his exposed mouth, you think of Peter. Parker.

You remember you hadn't actually talked about that since it happened. It was Peter's intention to skirt around Parker, regardless of how certain you were that they were the same person. It was all in jest, sure, but some small part of you (some incredibly small, minuscule, microscopic part of you) wondered if your reporter brain just fit the two pieces together because it wanted them to fit.

Perhaps he wasn't Peter Parker. Perhaps this really was all a coincidence, and perhaps aliens didn't fall from the sky and gods didn't save the world.

You wouldn't push him on it. You wouldn't look into it either, because reporter brain be damned. You cared more about the Peter you knew than the Peter you didn't.

You smile up at him, "How could I? Miami doesn't have you."

"Nice to see you could finally make it, kiddo." Jillian is grinning at you when you arrive, her baby tucked at her hip and her wife entertaining the little monster over her shoulder. She sees the winded look on your face and immediately motions you over, pressing a hand to your cheek, "Did you crawl out of a snowdrift? You're freezing!"

You lean into it, chasing the warmth in hopes that it would restore some feeling to your skin, "The storm's getting awful out there."

"Came outta nowhere, didn't it?" Jillian's wife snorts, booping the baby's nose. "We almost didn't risk coming with the little one, it was so bad."

Said little one looks perfectly warm wrapped up in her blanket, an envious sight as you shiver and shuck off your coat to hang. You would offer the kid a boop on the nose yourself, but with your fingers frozen solid around your offering—a plate of sugar cookies—you don't want to make her cry. You give her a smile instead.

"Oh, and would you believe it?" Jillian whispers, sidling up to you, primed for gossip, "We've got a real treat here tonight. Take a wild guess who decided to show up."

"Jonah's wife?"

Jillian cackles, "God no. The stalker."

As soon as she says the name, your eyes zero in on him.

He's wearing that plaid shirt again, but the collar and cuffs are all that peek out from underneath a wrinkly blue sweater. His hair is free and gelled back, revealing his nervous expression more clearly. Nursing a cup of apple cider, he just barely looks like he wants to be here. But then he catches your eye across the room.

And he waves.

"Oh my," Jillian teases, "you must've left quite the impression if he came all this way just to see you."

"He did not come just to see me." You reply in a hushed tone, but she laughs at you all the same.

"Sure. And that's not him heading over right now, even though he's been hugging the wall all night."

You jerk your head to where Parker was standing, and, sure enough, he's pursuing you.

You part from Jillian before she can get the chance to embarrass you (she accepts your cookies as payment), and so you all but jog to meet him halfway.

He doesn't get the chance to be polite before you're interrogating him, "Where did you go?"

"Uh... What?"

"At the gala. When I ran back inside the ballroom, I couldn't find you anywhere."

Peter's eyes slowly widen, "You went back inside?"

"Answer the question, please."

"Wh- I... I was there. You didn't see me?"

"No, I didn't."

"It got crazy after Fisk rushed the stage. I got swept up in the crowd. You must've missed me."

"Really? 'Cause I was with the crowd, you know. In front of the building? Where Fisk was giving his big speech about how he saved the day? I didn't see you anywhere."

Peter blinks, then gasps as if he'd just remembered something important, "You know what? That's right. I went to go find Harry. I wanted to make sure he was alright, and then I couldn't find you in the crowd so I just assumed... I'm sorry for leaving you back there all alone." You watch as he fumbles for something convincing, "I texted Spider-Man about it, though. He said you were safe."

You fold your arms, "...Is that all he said about me?"

"Well, that. And something about your conspiracy theory?"

"Conspiracy theory."

The topic change gets some of the tension in Peter's shoulders melting away, replaced with a smile faint enough to not pass as overtly smug. He waits for one of your co-workers to move out of earshot before continuing, "You think... I'm Spider-Man."

Your jaw tightens. You know that anyone would draw the same conclusions you did after that night. You also know that no matter how logical your reasoning is, you sound highly illogical when you admit to it out loud. If you brought up the same accusation to Jillian or Jameson, they'd both laugh you out of the office.

You have to stand your ground, though. If there was one thing you were learning about Peter, it was that he was easy to fluster, "And if I do?"

"I'm flattered, really, but I don't really have the hand-eye coordination."

You know it's bullshit. He should know you know it's bullshit. If it hadn't been for his quick thinking, you and Harry would've been trampled under the masses at the gala. It's bullshit and he's waiting for his checkmate that will never come.

You do not give it a second thought. You toss your phone at Peter's head.

And he catches it. Of course he does. He stops it mere inches from his face.

If anyone saw you try to give him a concussion, they don't come over to question you on it. "Can you..." Peter starts after a breath, a bit dazed, "...can you stop trying to hit me?"

You go to defend yourself because, at the very least, you hadn't meant to try to punch Peter—which meant it didn't count—when someone barrels right into you.

And, to prove you right twice in a row, Peter is quick to catch you. He scoops you up into his arms before you end up a reporter pancake on the floor. One of your co-workers, already blitzed off spiked eggnog, had bumped you on their way to the drinks table for what looked like the umpteenth time tonight, and didn't have enough marbles to apologize before bumping someone else.

Peter is careful in how he holds you. There's that unmistakable strength behind his grip, but also... he was gentle. He felt safe.

You don't make to escape just yet, all your bravado knocked right out of you. "Jesus, you okay?" His eyes dart over to your co-worker and a scowl turns his expression sour, "Jonah should put a cap on the drinks."

You feel more than embarrassed stumbling to your feet, even more so when Peter still coddles you after you're standing upright. "I'm fine. Thanks." Peter's looking at you, brows drawn together, with so much concern it makes that second thought from earlier come in hot with a sizable topping of shame, "Talk about instant karma."

Then it's gone. Peter laughs and... it sounds just like your Peter. Undeniably. You can't help but give in. For a fleeting moment, the question of secret identities has melted away and it's just the two of you, giggling about something silly.

You're ashamed enough to apologize for throwing your phone at his head when the laughter dies down. You succeed in stealing it back and lead him over to the windows, far away from any more drunken disasters, "It's alright. I've had worse thrown at me before."

You raise an eyebrow, "Oh? Like what?"

His voice catches in his throat at first, "A... carton of expired milk. High school bully, Flash Thompson. We were both on the same academic decathlon team but he never gave up on his dream of professional baseball."

"Flash Thompson? You mean, Silicon Valley, MIT grad, tech startup millionaire Flash Thompson?"

Peter winces, "The one and only."

You frown at the distant look on Peter's face, aware of some regret there at the mention of Flash. "You and Harry went to ESU together, right? Is that where you always wanted to go?"

Peter shakes his head, but a smile comes to his face regardless, "MIT was my first choice, actually. But... even with a scholarship, I just couldn't imagine leaving New York behind. So I stayed. Went to ESU. Helped my Aunt May with the mortgage on her first house since my... my uncle passed. And now I'm selling pictures of Spider-Man to pay my rent."

You can't help the way you soften. "I'm so sorry about your uncle, Peter. Your Aunt May is lucky to have you around."

His eyelids flutter closed for a breath, and his smile grows wider. If it were even possible. "I'm lucky to have her."

You stand there together in silence after that, but it feels more comfortable than before. All the scrutiny and speculation you'd come in with had faded away, and now you were left wondering more about Peter. His hopes, his dreams, his life before all of this. What would it have been like if he'd gone to MIT? Where would you be? Or Spider-Man?

Peter's eyes peel open, "So, what about you?"

"Oh. Well, I took a shine to my school newspaper. After... everything in 2012, I knew the world would never be the same. So I had dreams of becoming a journalist, covering the street, being the first on the scene. Took my ass to college on part-time jobs and a dream, and interned at nearly every newspaper in the city before Jameson gave me a shot here. As much as I can't stand the way he talks about Spidey... he's not that bad of a guy. All things considered."

Peter agrees, "He did hire you, so..."

"Yeah, well," you lean your cheek against the window, glass cooling your blush, "At least Spidey doesn't hold it against me... but, I have to ask: why the Bugle? I mean, with photos like yours, you should be fighting off every publication in the city. Instead you turn in these... absolute masterpieces, freelancing, for a guy who can't even give you due credit, and you only stop by for a paycheck."

Peter looks to the window, the wind howling over a crooner's cover of Santa Baby. The storm was still raging on outside, and you dreaded the thought of having to walk through it to get back home. The taxis wouldn't have much luck either from the looks of it. "I... like my job, but it's not what I wanna do forever. I don't care about fame or Pulitzer prizes. It's always been about taking care of me and my Aunt May, and Jameson is a lot of things but he's always understood that. He pays me enough that I can have a place of my own and a little leftover for my aunt, and he doesn't ask questions.

"I don't need to be seen. And that's the whole point, isn't it?" His expression gradually warms as he recalls something, "It's not who's behind the lens that matters, but who's in front of it."

Your expression warms too, "I can see why Spidey likes you."

A notification disturbs the moment. Raising a finger at Peter, you check the latest notification... and your stomach drops.

Peter takes a step forward, sensing the change in atmosphere, "What? What is it?"

"My flight's been cancelled. I was leaving tomorrow for Miami but the storm..."

"Oh. Man, I'm sorry."

"I should've left sooner, I should've left when my family..." You lose the motivation to even finish your sentence, feeling exhausted all at once, "It doesn't matter anymore. I'm stuck here for Christmas."

Peter stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet as he searches for something to say. You're about to tell him not to worry about it when he speaks up, "You know," he starts, the uncertainty in his voice giving you pause, "it's no... Miami, but my aunt throws this Christmas party every year? For Christmas Eve. We invite a few friends over for dinner. She'd love it if you came."

"Oh, Peter, that's sweet but... I don't really want to intrude on a friend thing-"

"No, no, it's okay! Anyone can come. It'll just be my aunt, some of her co-workers from F.E.A.S.T., a few of my friends, my ex-girlfriend-"

"Your- what?"

"Oh. Well, I mean, we were friends before we dated. Well... technically? She sort of just... hung around me and Ned in high school and then we started dating for a while but then we broke up in university. But we stayed friends. Became better friends, actually. So, she's my ex but also a really good friend. I promise it's not weird or anything. She's super cool about it. And I am too! Her name's MJ. I think you'll like her."

You stare at Peter. You think you see a bead of sweat twinkle on his forehead underneath the Christmas lights above.

He insists that you're welcome to come, and staying home alone for Christmas would be pretty hypocritical after your argument with Spider-Man.

Spider-Man.

"...and Spider-Man will be there."

Spider-Man?

You abruptly lock eyes with Peter. "Spider-Man?"

Peter's smile is tight-lipped, "Yeah." His voice cracks. "I mean, he's just stopping by real quick, but I invited him. He might not come. But... he also might."

Was this the friend of his throwing a Christmas party? Why in the world would Peter (Parker) invite you to the same party Spider-Man would be at, unless he could stand in the same room as him at the exact same time? There'd be no other way to convince you otherwise, and you'd be forced to accept that they really were two completely different people.

Yeah, right.

You'd go to this party and suss it out for yourself.

And it wouldn't hurt, would it? Peter was nice, if not the most awkward person you've ever met. To offer you a place at his aunt's Christmas dinner not long after hurling an object at his head was a sign of true Christmas spirit. You could learn a thing or two from him, "Okay. You've convinced me. What's your number? You can text me the address."

Peter blanks for a moment, "Um... yeah, um..." You watch him flounder, growing increasingly suspicious, "Can I see your phone?"

You drop your phone in his hand. His fingers move quickly across the keyboard before returning it to you. Peter Parker is now in your contacts. You check the number against Spidey's but there isn't a match. "Thanks," you glance at his wobbly smile, "I sent you a text."

Peter gestures behind him, "Oh, cool, awesome. Will you excuse me for a sec? I gotta use the restroom." And he doesn't wait for you to affirm before he's rushing down the hall and out of sight.

A full minute passes before you receive a text back from Peter.

15 Amfan Ave Forest Hills, NY 11375 7pm :) Hope you can make it! He never shuts up about you *I *shut

Hm.

So... I hear you're throwing things at people now Who told you that? You lose one phone, then you try to bludgeon an innocent man with another. I should lock you up and throw away the key I wasn't trying to bludgeon him, because I knew he'd be perfectly *fine*. And he helped me prove a point Which was... That the chances of him being you are more likely than either of you would have me to believe Could it be that you just have a thing for attractive, masked men? That is That is irrelevant to the conversation HA you so do Literally nothing to do with anything I just said It's okay. The mask makes it really easy to project one's ideal man onto me. Or so I've learned through Twitter I'm not projecting *anything* onto you Do you picture Ryan Reynolds when you talk to me? It's okay if you do Peter, shut up Maybe someone more boyish like Timothy chalet Timothee Chalet Timothee Chalamett I'd say you just like hearing yourself talk but this is a textual conversation I like that we can talk like this :) I like it too :) What about Tom Holland? We've got the same jaw If you think me accusing you of being Parker is me projecting a handsome man onto you, I can only assume you think he's hot. Which means I can assume you have a thing for him. Because I can also make things up Like Batman and Clark Kent? Are you saying Parker is the Clark Kent in our fictional relationship? More like Superman and Jimmy Olsen And you're my Lois Lane? ... Goodnight, Peter

Aunt May's home is beautiful. There's a lovingly sculpted garden out front that has since given into the snow, but you can tell it's a sight in the spring. For now, the Christmas garland lining the doorframe—wrapped in a rope of rainbow lights—brightens up the porch. As does the collection of little striped sweater-wearing gnomes gathered around the front door.

There's a commotion of voices behind it as you approach. You shift your plate into one hand, pressing the doorbell with the other, and the voices get louder. You swallow down your nerves when the door is ripped open by a stranger.

The stranger in question is staring out into the dark at you like they weren't expecting you. Your eyes quickly dart to the plaque beside the door and see a bold "15" emblazoned there. Nope. This is the house.

Their eyes zero in on the plate in your hand. Smiling, they open the door wide and step back, "Sweet! Peter said you'd bring dessert."

You kick the snow off your boots before stepping inside. The stranger shuts the door behind you before any more of the cold could get in. "It's peppermint bark," you explain, returning a smile of your own, "but I hear May's making a cake."

"May and Peter. May's great with everything but the oven- don't tell her I said that. I'm Ned, by the way." Ned holds his hand out for a shake.

Ned is really talkative, you find out. He holds your peppermint bark as you undo your boots and coat at the door, rattling off about how Peter and he had been friends at Midtown. He tells you about his job as a cybersecurity specialist, a job he'd naturally floated toward after graduating from MIT, and how he'd stayed with the Parkers for a few months after moving back to New York. It's how he knows that the downstairs bathroom door won't close unless you lift up when you shut it. You only remember about half of what he says by the time you get to the living room.

There are considerably fewer people than you expected, one of which makes his way over the minute you catch his eye.

"Hey," Harry grins. Unlike the nice suit he'd worn to the gala, he's dressed down in jeans and an ugly sweater with "I've been naughty" printed in big letters across the front, looking a lot less tense than when you'd first seen him, "Fancy seeing you here."

"I could say the same." You can't help but ask, "Don't the Osborns host Christmas Eve at Oscorp tower every year?"

Harry's good mood fizzles out right before your eyes. You feel pretty awful about it. "Uh, yeah. Norman does. But it's more business than anything, so I dipped. I'd rather be here watching Pete fuck up a perfectly good cake."

"I heard that!" Peter's voice calls from a room away.

Harry's good mood returns, "Well, it's good to see you at the annual Parker holiday celebration. And I'll forgive you for poking into my family business if you hand over those treats."

Bashful, you let Ned pass the plate into your hands before passing it to Harry, "Sorry. Reporter brain."

Harry's nose scrunches up, "Don't apologize. Unless these taste like ass."

"I promise they taste better than ass."

"Good enough," he backs away, turning his head to shout down the hall, "Peter! Get in here already!"

When the redhead is immersed in a game of UNO, you turn to Ned, "And that doesn't... feel weird? Having Harry Osborn at family dinner?"

"There are weirder things about Peter. Speak of the devil."

The ugly sweater is the first thing you notice. A companion to Harry's, it is nearly the exact same design, except for the "I've been nice" where the "I've been naughty" had been. He's dusting his hands of something when he comes around the corner. His eyes soften when he sees you with Ned, "Hey, you came." He says in a much too gentle voice. Harry and his opponents nearly drown him out with their cheers and boos.

Unlike at the office party, you notice, Peter's hair isn't tamed by hat nor hair gel. Instead, it curls incessantly around his flushed cheeks. He looked like a damn Keebler elf. It was frustratingly adorable. "Of course. I heard there'd be cake."

"How is that cake, Peter?" Ned pulls on a piece of the ugly sweater as he walks by, and you realize that some of the red had been singed. You follow Peter's frantic gaze from the hole to you.

"This was unrelated to the cake."

"You burned something else?"

"No! One of the stockings fell into the fireplace and I-" Peter trails off as you begin to smile, "you don't get to laugh at me if you didn't bring sweets."

"I did! Harry stole them." You nod over to the coffee table where the group is devouring your peppermint bark with reckless abandon. At least you knew they didn't taste like ass. Peter rushes over to steal the plate before they could polish off the last handful, much to their protest.

"Dinner's almost ready, I swear. You've met Ned, uh, Harry..." Peter scans the group, using his free hand to point out people, "...that's Yolanda, Katie, Lexie, Eduardo: all May's friends. May's in the kitchen but I'd stay out of her way until the ham comes out unharmed."

You notice that out of everyone gathered in the house, he does not mention his ex-girlfriend. "And MJ?"

You wait for an answer. Instead, something heavy shakes the house from above. It doesn't sound like it came from outside, but rather somewhere in the house. Not quite above your head. Weirdly enough, only you seem to be concerned about it.

Peter just glances at the ceiling, "And MJ."

MJ is tossing an empty storage bin to the side when you crawl up through the floor behind Peter. She's crouched on the balls of her feet, shoulders slouched, the sharp bones of her back poking through her tight graphic tee. Her head snaps toward you both when she hears you grunt up the last rung of the ladder. Her eyes narrow on you, then Peter, "I can't find it."

Peter offers you a hand to hoist you further into the attic, "Did you check the-"

"Yes. And I checked the one next to it. And the one next to that."

You look at Peter for an explanation, but he doesn't provide you with one. He walks over to where MJ has now fallen back on her ass, rifling through one of the bins. His mouth twists to the side. "Maybe she meant the box next to her old CDs?"

"There's like 15 boxes in here, Peter."

Off to the side of the room, where MJ was currently facing the mysterious dilemma, were about nine—not 15—storage bins in disarray. Two were off to the side, emptied of their contents: there were piles of men's clothes, women's clothes, baby blankets, and more. The third box that MJ was poring over had Halloween decorations in it.

"Well, you're getting close." Peter encourages.

The way MJ grumbles resentfully has you squirming. As time ticked on, your presence unannounced, you were starting to feel like an intruder. You clear your throat and MJ looks over at you for the second time, "Maybe I could help?" You offer.

At this, MJ brightens. "Finally! Someone cares about my plight. I don't know you, do I?"

You crawl over to where MJ is sitting and Peter gestures to you, "MJ, I told you about the reporter from the Bugle, right?" You give your name for good measure, and MJ's eyebrows raise. She gives a quick, indecipherable look to Peter. He returns it. Then she examines you.

After a moment, she dusts her hand off on her khakis and holds it out for you to shake, "Michelle Jones. Call me MJ." You repeat her nickname warmly. "Peter never shuts up about you."

Peter chokes on his spit.

"He... he does?"

MJ continues shaking your hand for longer than necessary, smiling secretively now, "Oh, yeah. He's got your blog bookmarked too. Post notifs for your Twitter, the works." You cut your eyes to Peter, appalled that he'd ratted you out to someone else, but MJ is quick, "I figured it out on my own ages ago."

"Is it really that obvious it's me?"

"No." And she smiles wider.

Peter is about to cut in with something when a woman's voice rings out, shrill and clear despite two layers of flooring in between you. He's needed with the ham. He looks between you and MJ, reluctant, "Look, if you can't find it-"

"We will." MJ's reply is confident, leaving no room for failure. You feel a little pressure applied to "we".

Peter nods. He mouths an apology at you and skitters out of the attic.

Left alone with MJ, you notice that she is staring at you now. You feel like you've been left alone with an oracle, prepared for your innermost being to be laid bare before you: past, present, and future. She looks like the type to know what makes people tick.

"What are you looking for?" You try to break the silence, though your voice comes out meeker than you'd have liked.

She doesn't look away from you as her fingers grip the container in between her legs, "Uncle Ben's favorite Christmas sweater. All I know is it has a reindeer holding a beer on the front."

Reinbeer. You almost laugh at it. You imagine it would tickle an uncle pink too. "Then I'll get to looking."

You've only just crawled over to a bin of your own when MJ asks you outright, "You like Peter, right?"

Your hand stills as it pries the top off. You feel her eyes burning into your back. "He's... nice, yeah."

You can hear how unimpressed she is with that, "I don't know if it's obvious, but Peter isn't exactly popular." You think that's kind of a cruel thing to say about someone you consider a friend, but MJ keeps going, "All he had was Ned back at Midtown. And me, eventually. I've known him since high school and he's made maybe a handful of friends, maybe less. The last time he invited someone new to Christmas dinner was Harry."

And that had been at least a few years, judging by how long Harry had been away at Oxford.

But why was she telling you this?

"He likes you." You yelp when you realize MJ's voice has gotten close. You turn, and she's kneeling behind you with no interest in your fear. "But do you like him?"

In her hands is a faded, toy Iron Man mask. "I... I think he's nice. I mean kind," you correct yourself when MJ frowns, "but I... I don't really know him. I mean, I don't think I do. I've only actually spoken to him twice and one of those times, there was a gun involved. Everything I know about him is through his pictures and Spidey, and I trust Spidey. So, I trust Peter."

"And Spider-Man?"

"What?"

"Do you like Spider-Man?"

You swallow. Like didn't really sum up how you felt about him. He was a hero, an inspiration, a friend, and also... yeah, you felt something more there too.

You think about why she would ask. Why it would have anything to do with you liking Peter or not. You look at her and it feels like she hasn't really asked you that different of a question at all. Your answer is much more definitive this time, "I do. I like him more than I know what to do with."

MJ leans back on her haunches. She appraises you, "He's pretty great, isn't he?" Her tone is considerably softer.

"Yeah. He really is." You smile.

MJ hands the mask to you and you take it, admiring the chips in its paint and the lovingly worn edges. She scoots between you and the bin you'd been looking into and pops the lid off. Almost immediately, she swears in relief. Sitting folded on top is the most gaudy sweater you've ever seen. A deformed reindeer is embroidered on the front, and sure enough, holds a can of beer in its hoof. When MJ shakes it out, little specks of dust fly everywhere.

This, too, she hands to you. You look at her in bewilderment. "You'll wanna make a good first impression with May," she advises, "just be prepared for the water works."

And there are water works.

May throws her arms around your neck and just about sobs her thanks to you, squishing the sweater between your chests. You note that she smells like candy canes. When she draws back, her glasses are all askew, "And I'm so glad you could make it! Peter wouldn't shut up about you. Isn't that right, Petey?"

Peter's eye twitches. "I'm gonna set the table. Ned, you wanna set the table?" And he scoots past you and May without waiting for a response.

"Don't mind him, he gets testy when he's cooking. Did Petey give you the tour?" You shake your head and May kisses her teeth in Peter's direction, "Okay, this is the kitchen, around the corner here is the dining room. You've seen the living room and the attic. The bathroom is by the front door, and the bedrooms are upstairs. If someone's in the bathroom down here, do not use the bathroom by the stairs. That's Ned's favorite when he gets bubbly guts, and he will get bubbly guts."

Ned complains under his breath as he walks by.

"If you need somewhere to get away from the festivities for a bit, backyard's that way and my room's upstairs, first door to the left. All good?" She pets your shoulder. Then, she looks down at the sweater still in your hands and takes it from you, tenderly. "I'm gonna go change into this and then dinner is served. Help yourself to anything, okay?"

May leaves you in the kitchen with that. Around the corner, Peter and Ned are fussing over where to put the ham and sides. Around the other corner, Harry is drunkenly singing Christmas carols with Yolanda. MJ watches on from the corner of the room, recording on her phone. She catches your eye and mouths, "For blackmail."

You peek into the dining room and Peter is worrying over one of the chairs. You can hear Ned scold him, "Sit next to them. You don't wanna talk over the ham. It'll kill the mood."

"But how do I... subtly get them to sit in this chair and not next to MJ or something?"

"Tell MJ not to sit next to them."

"But what if-" You jolt a little when Peter suddenly spots you eavesdropping. He straightens up with a death grip on the chair he'd been messing with, "Hey! Hi. This is your chair by the way." And he tops it all off with a smile.

It's warm in May's home.

You don't even register the cold at first. You do register Harry's frenzy, the way he grabs far more napkins than he needs to, pressing them to your stomach where the majority of his spilled drink had gone. When you finally do comprehend what just happened, you place your hands over his, "How long have you been plotting your revenge?"

Harry is red-faced. He lets you hold the napkins there while May rushes to find a towel, "Sorry. I wasn't looking where I was- sorry."

You don't get to dwell on the déjà vu of it all. May is ushering you up the stairs with a beach towel pressed to your front, muttering about how she'll have to put Harry on ginger ale for the rest of the night. She guides you into what you're certain is Peter's old bedroom.

It's been cleaned out, and most of his personal belongings must be at his own place, but there are still old posters on the wall, and a calendar dated in April, two years ago. His bed is ruffled like he'd slept overnight. It's neat, and looks like it usually is neat, but there are traces of him everywhere, like picture frames with Peter and May and a man you don't recognize.

"Peter probably has something here you can wear. It's all stuff from college." She digs through the top drawer of his dresser, finally stopping on a sweatshirt with Empire State University in college block across the chest. "Here! You think this'll fit?"

She stretches it out and you nod, thankful, "Yeah, thank you so much, May."

She smiles, "Okay. Bathroom's across the hall if you need to wash off. I can run your shirt through a wash while you're here if you'd like. Just let me know, okay?"

May is, perhaps, the sweetest woman on earth. She leaves you with a thumbs up and shuts the door behind you, reminding you to lock it after she leaves.

Your shirt had absorbed most of the drink, and you're relatively unscathed besides some sticky residue. You wipe at your stomach with the towel she'd given you and slip Peter's sweater on. It feels... odd, wearing it. It smells like May's house with little traces of Peter.

Your eyes drift back to the picture frames.

One such frame sits on top of the dresser, a photo of Peter and the man who you assume is Uncle Ben. He holds Peter in a headlock but they're both smiling at the camera. You smile too, tracing a finger around the wooden edges.

Another picture is of Peter and MJ and Ned, standing outside of MIT with their fingers pointing at the school. Another is of Peter and MJ sharing cotton candy at Coney. Another is of Peter as a little boy, with two people flanking his side that you do not know. You realize you'd never asked about Peter's parents.

There are other photos of him around that age with May and Ben, and as you piece together what feels like an undoubtedly tragic story, you catch something outside the window.

A person. Hanging onto the side of the house.

Your heart hammers in your chest as a hand pushes the window up, and then, "Did I scare you?" Spider-Man perches on the sill with what you can imagine is a shit-eating grin.

You stomp over to the window and shove at his shoulder, but he doesn't budge in the slightest, "You almost gave me a heart attack! Were you watching me get dressed?"

The mask's eyes blow open, "What? No! I swear I just got here."

"Do you ever use the front door?"

"Not if I can help it," he crawls in, staying planted by the window, "don't tell me you're snooping through Parker's things."

"I was just... looking. At the pictures. And Harry Osborn spilled his drink all over me so I had to borrow Parker's shirt."

"Hm. ESU looks good on you."

You look up at Peter, who keeps his hands tucked behind his back, leaning against the wall by the window. "Aren't you gonna say hi to the party? Make Parker look cool?"

"Eventually. Maybe. Might just watch from afar."

"No, nuh-uh. You said you had holiday plans and that you were going to a party. That doesn't count if you're watching from afar."

Peter's head sways to the side, "I never said this was the party I was going to."

"Is there another?"

"Well... maybe. Maybe not."

"Peter-" You whine, but he cuts you off.

"I'm not a party guy! Sue me."

"Well, then Parker's got you beat two for two. Unless you're lying, since I haven't given up on my conspiracy theory."

Peter presses himself off the wall, sauntering toward you in a zig-zag. Your eyes follow him, back and forth, back and forth, until he's a step or two away. His hand reaches out to play with one of your sleeves, its seams resewn with mismatched thread, "Leaving a party as Peter Parker to come back as Spider-Man. Give Parker some credit. That's the kind of plan you come up with in high school."

You shrug, trying not to act like Peter playing with your sleeve wasn't giving you goosebumps. "You never know."

Peter nods, "Yeah, you're right. I mean, he was really excited to see you."

"Oh yeah?" You swallow.

"Yeah. Was kind of pathetic, actually."

Peter shoots a web at the ceiling and twists, catching the web between his feet so he could hang upside down. The suddenness makes you stumble back with a breathless laugh, "That's not a very nice thing to say about a friend."

"Weren't you the one who said he'd be shaking and crying if you yelled at him?"

You sigh, "I was... I was teasing you."

"Because I'm Peter Parker."

He says it matter of fact. You stare at him, "Yeah," you whisper, "that's right."

He pulls himself up the web until he's face to face with you, "Then that wouldn't be very nice to say to a friend, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't. If you were Peter Parker, I guess I'd have to apologize to you."

"Yeah? How?"

You breathe deep. Everyone is still laughing downstairs. You become hyper-aware of the fact that you hadn't locked the door. At any moment, someone could walk in and...

Peter waits, curious.

Your fingers trace the lines of his jaw, pressing into the fabric of his mask, feeling over the ridges where black lines broke red. You know what you want to do. And you also know that there is no going back if you do it.

Your fingers reach the place where the mask meets the rest of his suit. Hooking two fingers under the fabric, you pull.

Your fingernails trace over the curve of his Adam's apple as it bobs, over the jut of his chin. Peter's breath is heaving. One of his hands releases its grip on the web and you see it glide toward yours out of the corner of your eye. You just feel the skin of his bottom lip under your finger when you realize how this might look. What he might think you're trying to do.

Mask in hand, questions of his identity hanging in the air, your curiosity and his vulnerability. You release the mask, awash with worry. You want to get it out before there's any misunderstanding, but as your hand drifts back to yourself, his catches it. You would give anything to know what he's thinking right now.

Peter lets your fingers fall. Silently, he drags the mask over the tip of his nose and leaves it resting there. An invitation. "I trust you." He promises. And kisses you.

He has to stretch a little to reach you. You understand this and press closer, taking the back of his head in your hands and holding it steady for you, but you know you're trembling. You curse yourself for how much your body reacts to this, how uncool you must look, how you shake with all the excitement and terror of this. You kiss him and feel silly about how you claimed to know his lips so well before now. That was nothing.

This is everything. So many things. Each time you go back in for more, you lock away some new little detail about him.

Peter places a hand against your neck and tugs you even closer, but the momentum makes him swing a little bit so his nose bumps your chin. You're too stiff to laugh, but he does, "Sorry," his voice is raspy, "this looked cooler in my head."

You lean into him, dizzied, "Was this... did you plan for me to kiss you? When you got up there?"

"I've wanted to kiss you plenty of ways." Peter's admission is followed by a sigh. He presses a hand to your chest and nudges you back a step before he's dropping to his feet and advancing upon you once more, bumping you against the dresser as the picture frames rattle. Your fingers sneak under his mask at the back of his head so they can sink into his silky hair.

He probably kisses you a hundred more times after that. Every kiss you think might be the last, but then you feel a tug in your chest and go in for one more. An itch that no scratch can soothe.

Peter's mask starts to slip and you feel one of his hands leave your waist to fix it, but the warmth your fingers had snuggled into disappears and-

You keep your eyes screwed shut, "Peter." You gasp against his mouth. Your fingers twitch in his hair, finding no resistance.

"It's okay," he nudges your nose with his, still pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth, "it's okay."

"But-"

"Don't you wanna know if you were right?"

You squeak when his lips find the underside of your jaw, "I don't need- you don't need to-"

"You're always right," Peter interrupts you, kissing down your neck, "I was never fooling you. You're so smart, you know that?"

"Peter." You say his name with no real plans for it to do anything, letting your head fall back.

"Please." He says back. Urging.

You lift your head, heart hammering away, and meet the eyes of Peter Parker.

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes @bi-andready-tocry @thescarletfang @spider-biter @hufflepuff-n-fluff @daydreamdrive05 @mentalidrainedfangirl @gwennesy

#peter parker x reader #peter parker scenarios #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker #spiderman x reader #spiderman scenarios #spiderman fic #spiderman fluff #tom holland peter parker #marvel #mjwrites #if you see any mistakes in this no u didn't #this has gone through a few revisions and uh. i'm sleeby

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liquidashesart · 4 months

Text

Hi, everyone!

The drawing you see here is one commissioned by one of my patron on Patreon! <3 Thank you! Join my Patreon to have your own commission too. Plus, you get first access to everything weeks before the public. My patron asked for an illustration from the Inuyasha canon. This is when Kagome is comforting Inuyasha after he had turned into a demon. So sweet.

Any News for the New Year? I know I've been MIA for a few months. I had a lot going on with work, then we all got Covid, got over Covid, did my toddler's first Halloween, had a birthday, and then there was Thanksgiving and Christmas. Frankly, I was just very very tired.

Now we're rolling into the 2024. I'm feeling refreshed and ready to pick up my pen to work on The Last Days comic again. I'm finishing up Chapter 5. I'll post all 22 pages next week. Stay tuned!

#inuyasha and kagome #inuyasha #kagome #inuyasha comic #inuyasha doujinshi #inukag #inuyasha fanart #inuyasha anime

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xxspirit · 5 months

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Hi guys!! Sorry I haven’t been active for a while, just wanted to check in since it’s been like half of a month lool

I was taking a break from tumblr and drawing in general to focus a bit more on school, but now I think I’m stuck in art block which is poo cause I wanna draw now rgrgrggr 😡😡😡

But I figured I could share with you my upcoming projects that I’ll be working on sooner or later:

✦first I have some asks, about 4-6 of them I can’t can’t remember how many :V I’ve been trying to work mainly on 3 of them, but haven’t really gotten anywhere :c

✦Second I have a silly comic idea I want to draw soon. featuring the baby boy- well it’s mainly about Dream and swap but baby boy will be there too- I’m waiting to start after I respond to at least 1 or 2 asks

✦I want to do something for Christmas, prolly nothing big but something simple and sweet, which I’m aiming to post it on Christmas or the day before(I’m thinking of drawing sum ship kids for this one :>)

✦I have super cute Dreamberry drawing idea, I’m hoping to make it animated(gif)!! Have no clue when I’ll make this but I really am excited about the idea and I hope I stick with it

✦finally, I was also thinking I could do art dump for end of the year- kinda like a new year special—idrk(not posted drawings, unfinished pieces & decent doodles)

And that’s all for now, I’m hoping to get this all posted before the end of the year, I do have a break coming too, which will be awesome so I can have more time to draw but ya-

Thanks for letting me blabber! Hope u have a good day or night!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

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