Hello Seekers!

Bucky Barnes

Honey Girl. by @violentdelightsandviolentends

Pie-eyed over you by @themorningsunshine

Marked what’s mine by @daxisyzz

It’s been calling me by @godmadeaterribleerror

Timeless by @mandoalorian

Hold on by @aquaticmercy

Don’t touch the tech girl by @aquaticmercy

How to impress a 21st century girl by @brunchable

Jackass by @aquaticmercy

First base by @writingunderneathawillow

Let it happen by @flowersforbucky

Marked what’s mine by @daxisyzz

Have we met before ?by @aquaticmercy

Late night shenanigans by @navybrat817

Love and Deepspace - When a bunch of fictional characters care about you more than your own parents do.

Whoops!

Anon request! Tysm!

Summary:sending the LADs men a nude then saying 'wrong person'

Warnings: 18+ themes, MDNI.

·˚ ༘Rafayel 🐟

·˚ ༘Zayne ❄️

·˚ ༘Caleb 🍎

·˚ ༘Sylus 🐦‍⬛

Hello, seekers! Long time no see, right? I have an announcement to make. Even tho I haven't been active on Tumblr, I want to respond to the asks that I've gotten. Not very many, but they are still there. For what it's worth, some of them have been sitting in my inbox since 2021 in August, because unfortunately I've created this account right before my life went downhill. I am really sorry, I will try my best to answer the asks as soon as I get the time. I'm in the last year of highschool now and alot is on my mind. My mom has gotten worryingly sick over the past 2 years. 2 times cancer, and she's currently fighting it. Alot more diagnosis but Tumblr is no place to talk about stuff like this. Hope y'all understand my situation but don't relate! I hope I'll be able to come with an update soon. In the meantime, I'll leave you with some drawings that I've created. Some of them are part of a mini comic, for a contest. The red haired male's name is Toma Neftali Aaron "Hiroto" King, or simply, Aaron King. Kay then! Ancient Seeker, out!

Silver Wit: VI - To Look Within

══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══

"Nature loads the gun, nurture pulls the trigger" 

Silver Wit Masterlist Chapter VI on ao3 taglist: @silverzoomies, @quickandsilvers, @icannot3, @ancientseeker

a/n: hello yes i am back with another chapter, sorry it took longer than the previous ones! motivation took a hit but i still love this story and these characters so i’m not abandoning it anytime soon. btw, i am well aware that Moving Pictures as an album came out in 81’, but also walkmans didn’t exist until 1979, so everyone can shut up about my lack of accuracy with the timeline (jk). just roll with it, lads. 

══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══

“Omega level, I’d say,” the Professor says, rather calmly for the fact; he sets his fingers down, picks a fountain pen up and looks to Dr. McCoy, whose lips part in shock in turn. 

“Are you sure?” He asks in disbelief.

Writing on a pad, Professor Xavier confirms, “Positively. She’s a psychoscope with no discernable upper limit to her abilities. There are some… complications as to how that manifests for contact with lifeforms.”

I swallow. He must have seen my father. “Professor, did you…?”

Only now do I notice the slightest shine to his eye. “Oh, my dear, I did. I normally would have avoided anything personal, but the wound is a little too fresh for those memories to stay hidden at all,” he exhales. “I’m so incredibly sorry, both for intruding on your privacy but also that that ever happened to you. For what it’s worth, nothing like that would ever happen to you here, I’m sure of it.”

“It’s alright, Professor. I wasn’t opposed to sharing that with you and Dr. McCoy anyway; besides, it’s the only instance of that power manifesting. There’s no way you could have missed it. I understand.”

“Hey, uh—I’m sorry to hear that something awful happened to you, even though I don’t really know what’s going on,” Dr. McCoy’s condolences are heartwarming. “For what it’s worth, I think your powers are going to be really useful in the lab. I’m sure the Professor already knew that when he suggested I take you in.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I would be glad to offer you whatever help I can. I’m looking forward to working with you—laboratory work has always been a dream of mine; if this power can be used for academic research, then at least there’s one good reason for all of this.”

Glancing at Dr. McCoy, Professor Xavier wheels himself over to me. “May I have one more look? In there?”

“Of course. For you, I’m an open book. Nothing to hide,” I say, briefly forgetting that I had ever been worried about my thoughts pertaining to Peter. Not to mention, it’s true; I don’t take any issue with sharing this tumult with the Professor. If anyone can understand this plight, it’d be him. 

‘One good reason’—a Freudian slip. It’s been evident for a long while now that my relationship with and attitude towards my power has been complicated at best. What started off as an innocent excitement for knowledge became hubris, and now punishment. How warped, how corrupt! for the thing I adore the most to turn into fodder for nightmares. How wicked it’s been for me, that should this power devour me whole that I would lose the very fabric to my reason for living. Not only my capacity to understand would be corrupted, no—just how simple that would be. With this psychometric curse growing would come the devastation of everything I could hope to do. My contact with the world in all meanings of the word would be severed. All or nothing; know everything there is to or don’t at all. If this takes over me, how can I ever hold someone again? How could I love if to do so would be to intrude on their soul?

After a pause, he sets himself back as a tear buds at the corner of his eye. “My dear, nature loads the gun, nurture pulls the trigger. I know that this power feels like a curse to you - for the moment, I should say - but I want to assure you; with training, this power coupled with your extraordinary mind is certain to be a force to be reckoned with. As much hurt as you’ve been caused by having this ability, it’s a gift, truly. You can train it such that it wouldn’t cause others hurt the same way. These powers never feel like gifts at the beginning, but you’ll grow to develop it, hone it. It’ll be an instrument beyond any others that have come before it—for whom it is that you are, this power is perfect.”

I’d thought that for someone like me, so easily overwhelmed by the littlest things, having the sheer force of this psychometry was the worst possible thing that could have happened to me. Just touching any object sends a torrent of information strong enough to make one collapse just by bearing witness. Even the prospect of it being useful in any trivial way had been vastly overshadowed thus far; hearing it from the Professor changes so much within me. “That means so incredibly much to me, Professor. Thank you, truly.”

“No matter, I only speak the truth.”

Dr. McCoy moves to sit in the chair next to me. “He’s right, you know. Your mind and your psychometry together could make you one of the greatest researchers of the history of Science. No flattery. You have access to so much more information than anyone else ever could dream of. Your power is invaluable; I hope you’ll come to see that one day.”

At the Doctor’s encouragement, I can only smile in the comfort he offers. “I’ll try my best, Doctor. Thank you kindly.”

“Of course. Do you have any other secondary abilities? Mutants often do,” Dr. McCoy asks.

I look to the Professor for permission to demonstrate, and to me he grants it with a single nod. As I point at the pen he had used to write, it floats over to the pad and writes the words ‘Beta level telekinesis’ under ‘Omega level psychometry’; the top sheet of paper rips itself off the pad and slips into Dr. McCoys hands.

He grins. “I can’t wait to have you in the lab.”

“The pleasure will be all mine, Dr. McCoy. I’m excited to join you.”

“It’ll be great. Oh, any ideas for a codename? We do have good fun with them, but it’s also always helpful to have a shield of anonymity when we’re out in the field,” the Doctor asks. 

Peter had mentioned that I would need one, though I hadn’t thought much of it at the time. A codename—seems almost fictional. All I am is a British teenager, I’m not MI6. “How would I go about deciding? What would I even base it off of?”

Professor Xavier hums. “Oftentimes our abilities, or sometimes, such as in Hank’s case here, appearance. For example, you’ve met Peter; he goes by Quicksilver, and it’s rather evident as to why. I’m Professor X, and Hank is the Beast.”

“I’m sorry, the Beast?” I query.

“Uh—you’ll understand when you see it,” Dr. McCoy states matter-of-factly. “Bad medication gave me some side effects.” 

Sensing the trepidation, I leave it be. “Alright, I see. Well, I’m honestly quite lost; drawing a blank, as it were. Professor, I’m more than happy to receive a name from you. You’ve looked in here, after all,” I point to my head, “I trust you’ll come up with a good one.”

“I’d be honoured,” Professor Xavier’s smile is knowing—a soft smile much like the ones my father used to give me in my childhood, in the years before everything had gone awry. Where my father hates me for my mutation, this man before me will name me for it. A conflicting confusion of sentiments. It dawns on me: the Institution isn’t the sanctuary; the Professor is. His philosophy and his teaching—that’s what serves as the protection and nurturing on these grounds. 

“With your psychometry and your intellect? I think we best name you Cognitia.”

══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══

Peter had never been so forward before. Hell, he’d never been forward, ever. S’not like he was ever that serious about anyone before, so... sure, okay, if he was really being honest with himself? He’d occasionally find himself feeling a little attracted to someone he’d see passing by.

Dang, remember that one guy, the one with the sleeves always rolled up? His arms w—uh, no, his ripped jeans were hot. Peter didn't know what the hell he was doing on Xavier’s grounds that week, but he wasn’t complaining at the time at all. Still, it’s not like Peter ever really gave that much of a shit about any of the admittedly sorta-maybe-kinda-a-little-tiny-bit attractive folk he’d - okay, fine - had minor crushes on. It really didn’t mean anything, though, he swears on his life. Man, it was only just ‘cause they looked nice, y’know? That’s all there was to it. Unless he’d fooled around with them for a second, he never even actually bothered to talk to any of them—testament to how little it meant, he thinks. Even then, Peter was always the one to be hit on, and he would just roll with it. He’s never had it in him to really actively pursue anyone, really. Looking was plenty enough for Peter. The feelings would eventually pass pretty quickly anyway. That’s what he was always good at, right? Being quick and all. That was his thing.

Scarily, he isn’t so sure this feeling would eventually pass quickly. Worse, he isn't sure this feeling would pass at all, for the foreseeable future, anyway. He tries not to think about the implications too much. Some itching in his heart is refusing to let him deny that whatever is happening to him is different to the random and superficial infatuations he’d had before.

She’s the on–

What the actual fuck is wrong with Peter? He doesn’t even know her, not to mention, he didn’t even think he’d ever wanted anything seriously romantic before. Everything before was just ‘that guy is hot’, ‘that girl can get it’, but this is… 

He has to stop this. This can’t happen.

She probably wouldn’t ever consider him that way. Peter’s pretty sure he saw she looked nervous whenever he had been a little flirty—what was up with the flirting, by the way? He didn’t even know he was capable of doing that; it was like he was in a trance, a perpetual state of internal panic whenever he had teased her. He’d just been witnessing his body go through the motions while he had alarms sounding, flashing red in his head the entire time. However nervous she was, Peter’s certain his nerves were tenfold. The fact that he didn’t explode is shocking.

Fuck, what if Peter actually freaked her out? What if she’d never want to actually talk to him again because of that stupid shit he pulled on the couch? That would be hell. Genuine torture. She had said earlier that she would, but Peter also had just ambushed her when she agreed. He doesn’t know what to believe anymore; it would be actual agony for Peter if she never wanted to speak to him again.

Weirdly, it wasn’t during the lighthearted joking around that Peter felt the most lucid. Instead, it was when they were being open, vulnerable, and emotional. That has to mean something, right? Why her? It hits him: he sees himself in her. What really gets him? is how real he felt while talking to her. He’d never felt that comfortable being honest about himself before. Every time he made a joke about how much he thought he was a loser, everyone else would just laugh it off. Speaking to this one British girl he’d only just met was the most genuine he had ever been other than with his sister and mother. To be fair, Wanda doesn’t count, though, he thinks. She can just look into his head whenever she wants, often regardless of whether Peter wants. This was him actually actively sharing parts of himself with someone else.

He just really, really wants to be her friend. After all, she’s really cool! he thinks.

She’s really prett—No. 

She’s really smart! he thinks.

She was flirting bac—No. No. 

She was really nice to me! he thinks. 

It’s not like Peter thinks she’s pretty. Alright, fine, he thinks she’s beautiful, drop dead gorgeous, completely bewitching—sue him. Still, it’s not a big deal to him! He just thinks she’s really smart, and kind, and funny, and powerful. In a really platonic way. Super, super platonic; no romantic or sexual attraction anywhere as far as the eye can see. She doesn’t have Peter whipped at all. No, no way. Peter’s going to be fine. He’s going to be totally fine.

I want to be with he—

Oh, fuck.

══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══

Holding the door open to my new quarters, Dr. McCoy allows the Professor and I to enter the room. There's a sweet full-circle from the Doctor letting me into the mansion, and now letting me into my new bedroom. My eyeline darts around the space, and it meets a bed, a desk, a closet. Clothes are set on the bed for me. Down are wooden floorboards matching the foyer, before is decor reminiscent of the common room. The room looks the part to be one in a mansion of this standing—somehow, the posh English privilege hasn’t left my life. This bedroom for me is my respite, my salvation, my gratitude.

Spinning his chair to face me, the Professor remarks, “Here we are, then. This wing is where some of our older students live. You’re seventeen, yes?”

“I am, that’s right.”

Professor Xavier nods, “That’s about the age range here. Mind, we only had this room left in this wing, so if you’d like to switch, we’ll have to see what we can do…”

My curiosity is piqued. “Oh no, I absolutely adore this room. I have no complaints in the slightest, and I’m so grateful and relieved to even have anywhere to stay. Why would I ever want to switch?”

With impeccable timing, my question is answered wordlessly. Cue a loud bang, followed by an ‘oh fuck!’, rounded off with the chimes and riffs of Rush’s YYZ. Faint is the Doppler effect’s familiar melody in whooshing gusts of air zipping to and fro across the hallway. It’s not at all slow to dawn on me—my neighbour immediately opposite the hallway is the speedster I’ve been desperately trying to ward out of my mind all this while.

Dr. McCoy sighs. “Peter.”

“Look now, I’m going to be candid; we’ve seen our fair share of Peter being a pain in the arse, but what happened earlier was an anomaly even for him,” Professor Xavier explains, to which my face reddens accordingly. “He’s normally a good young lad, but we don’t want to force you into an uncomfortable living situation if you wouldn’t feel at ease here.”

‘An anomaly even for him’? I suppose my suspicions that he was always that flirty are moot. “I think I’ll be fine, honest. I’ll let you both know if that isn’t the case, but it should be alright. I can handle my own,” I say, unsure of how convinced I am myself. “I promise I’ll voice it if I change my mind.”

“Good. Well, as long as you’re alright, we’re happy. We’ll leave you to get settled in then; you’ve had quite a long day, Cognitia,” Professor Xavier graces me with a smile.

Dr. McCoy opens the door and readies himself to leave after the Professor wheels himself out. “Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? We can go down to the lab after breakfast if you’re up for it.”

I can’t contain my excitement; to be surrounded by cutting edge apparatus and research with one of the most well respected academics in genomics? What a rush it’ll be! All I had wanted was somewhere to live, anything better than that cold London homelessness; and yet, it’s beginning to truly sink in—I’m to work with the Dr. Hank McCoy from tomorrow onwards. I may as well collapse from the sheer ridiculousness of the entire situation.

Laughing, I say, “I’m sure I’ll be up for it. Thank you both once again; I know I’ve repeated myself much but I genuinely don’t know how else to thank you. You’ve saved my life.”

“Don’t thank us, we’re doing our jobs is all. Protecting and caring for young mutants is all we can hope to do. We both look forward to having you be a fixture in the School and our R&D facility. Rest well, then,” Professor Xavier bids me good night as he and Dr. McCoy exit the room.

══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══

As I pace about, taking everything in, my heart rate climbs ever so slightly. I look around the room in my lonesome, still hearing Rush playing through my door. Peter’s zipping around seems to have come to a conclusion, though I can’t say I know the reason as to why. A small part of me wonders if he isn’t alright, and an even smaller part is tempted to go over to check, but I dismiss it. The timing isn’t right. 

Stopping at the foot of the bed, I look at the clothes in front of me; I rummage through them and find an appropriate set of a black t-shirt and some simple shorts for sleep. I notice a pair of gloves much cleaner and sleeker than the ones I currently adorn have been placed on the bedside table for me. How kind! of the Professor and Doctor to think of me so; my heart soars. I can’t wait to get out of this ridiculous hodgepodge of an outfit. Not to mention, I can’t wait to get out of being completely covered up. It is dreadfully uncomfortable in the Summer Heat.

Picking the clothes up and making my way to my en-suite - and I must say, how very delightful it is to have one - I can’t shake the nervousness. Peter lives directly opposite to me, and that notion is... conflicting. Quite obviously, I bear no grievances towards him and I really did enjoy his company, but I still have my worries. I’m not sure I can survive the emotional rollercoaster constantly being teased by him. If that moment on the sofa was anything to base my suspicions on, I may as well be pumping myself full of adrenaline shots on a daily basis. Who needs a cuppa when the mind reels so easily? Honestly, what have I become?

I enter the bathroom. It’s time then—to take these gloves off. Drenched in hesitance, I slide my old gloves off and place them on the bathroom countertop by the sink and the rest of my clothes follow. Nervously, I turn the shower on as quickly as possible; thankfully, I’m spared the hell of attempting to solve the impossible mystery of working out how to operate a shower with which one is not already familiar. Another good thing about these powers, I suppose.

As I wash myself off, I notice that the stream of water in this shower isn’t bothering me as much as the raindrops splattering themselves onto me when last I was at my family home. Perhaps the emotional state affects my psychometric experience? I wonder. That hypothesis will have to be tested—another study to add to the list of questions I want answered.

Drying myself off and stepping out of the shower, I’m met once again with Moving Pictures. Vital Signs; the humour of the aptness the lyrics are for me at this moment is hysterical. Unstable condition? A symptom of life in mental and environmental change? How very, very on the nose. I don’t mind the music at all, strangely. Maybe if it continues every night I might, but right now it soothes the loneliness away. With the music is the feeling that someone is right there—I know for a fact that I’m not living alone. Others are right by me, and I know that they’re like me too. Rather, I’m like them.

Once I’m changed, I make my way back into my new bedroom and sit on the bed. It doesn’t yet feel like home, but I cannot wait for the day that it does. Looking over, I see that I had left the clothes I had been going through in a messy pile. They were so kind to even give me clothes, and I made a mess of them immediately? What is the actual matter with me? Sighing, I collect the motivation to do anything about it; this is for the Professor and Dr. McCoy, I think to myself. Out of respect and gratitude for their help. At least pinning my obligation onto others helps in manifesting the guilt into doing basic tasks.

I hum along to Vital Signs as I start folding the clothes and moving back and forth between the bed and the new wardrobe. Finding new homes for all the clothes feels poignant given the circumstances. In the monotony, I lose myself to the music and sing along. “Everybody need reverse polarity—”

Immediately, a zoom and a knock at the door. It’s obviously Peter. We did agree that we would talk, I remember. Scanning the room, I decide it’s in a decent enough state for him to see. “Come in…?”

The door opens a touch, and his head pokes in through the narrow gap. “Everybody got mixed feelings?” He shyly continues the lyrics. 

Huffing, my eyes shut closed. “God, truer words have never been spoken…” I mutter. “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry. Just blanked for a second. You can come in, Peter.”

Walking into the room, his tongue briefly darts out and he ruffles his hair. “Hey, sorry for barging in. So uh, you know Rush?”

“Yeah, I do,” I laugh. “Thanks for playing the music. It’s nice to hear other people around.”

He shifts his weight and points at the chair, and I nod for him to sit. “Oh, yeah, sorry about that too. Since this room was empty for ages, I’ve gotten kinda used to just blasting my music out loud when I’m in my own room. The other rooms are further down the hallway,” he explains, and I flush at my own inferences. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my Walkman, but sometimes I don’t wanna have the earpieces on, y’know?”

“No yeah, I understand. No worries at all mate, I don’t mind. Just let me pick out what we listen to sometimes, yeah?” I giggle. “I had a lot of music back home but I couldn’t bring it over. So many LPs and cassettes just wasted…”

Upon my words, Peter grins widely in enthusiasm. “Wow, really? That’s great though, y’know, the others around here aren’t so big into music like I am. Another thing we have in common then, huh? And don’t worry about it, we’ll get you new music in no time. I’m a decent pickpocket, I can get you whatever you want easily.”

“That sounds great,” I grin back. “And hey, the music’ll sound great too.”

“Pfft. Yeah, no shit, that’s sorta what it’s for,” The corner of his mouth quirks in amusement. 

I fold my arms. “Alright, smartarse. Thank you for that; and by the way, I’m a good pickpocket. I’m better than good. Everything you saw me wearing earlier was stolen.”

Peter’s eyes widen impossibly large. “No way. Also, you’re one to call me a smartass.”

Waving my hand in dismissal, I explain, “Yeah, I didn’t have a choice. I had to leave with nothing, so all I could do was take whatever I could since I didn’t have any money either,” I huff. “Thanks to my father, anyway.”

He nods. “I get it. Don’t blame you at all. Also, I get the whole shitty dad thing, I’ll tell you about it some time, but uh—that’s not what I came in here to talk about. Sorry if that ruins the vibe but I… yeah. We said we would, right?”

Gulping, I reply, “That we did. We did say that. Yes. Let’s… do that.”

“Hey hey hey, if you don’t wanna right now, that’s fine! Seriously, we can go back to talking about the music crap or I could go back to my room, I get it. I’ll even switch to talking about my crappy father if you want that for some reason. It’s been a long day for you, y’know? I don’t mi—” He dramatically punctuates each clause in gesture.

Shaking my head, I interrupt him, “No, it’s fine. It’s good, actually. I want to talk about it, you don’t have to leave. I’m just a little antsy.”

“Oh. Great, thanks. So I wanted to say that I—oh hey, the gloves are off, huh?” Peter notes.

I double back and notice how uncovered I am. Compared to how Peter saw me covered head to toe, my arms and legs are now relatively bare as I sit across from him cross legged on my bed. In embarrassment I redden slightly, but notice that Peter’s shirt is tucked in a tad awkwardly into his shorts in one spot. The boy must have rushed to change before knocking on my door. Rushed… Rush. Hilarious. I wonder for a moment what Peter in a superspeed rush looks like. Must be a complete blur if at all visible. I retort in snark, “I mean, yeah, If I was in a t-shirt and shorts but still had the gloves on, I think the purpose would be sort of defeated.”

“Good point. I’m not complaining about the view, though,” he smirks, but quite immediately, it drops and he smacks himself in the forehead and buries his fingers into his silver hair. “Fuck, sorry. I need to stop. That’s literally what I came in here to apologise for. I dunno why but I can't help myself from fl—uh, I mean, teasing you.”

I blink. So apparently he was flirting. Does that mean anything? Was it just playful? What are the consequences? What is he thinking? How is he feeling? What are his feelings? Yeah, this is mint. Absolutely sound. Very much so. I am, at this moment, the pinnacle of calm. I’m merciful enough to spare him the embarrassment by harping on it, despite my own nerves. “It’s fine, Peter. It really is. It was alright! I was just a little bit thrown off because I wasn’t expecting it, but I didn’t mind.”

“No, no, it’s not alright. You’ve been so fun and nice to talk to and we were laughing and being honest and all that, and I just… God, I dunno. I’m sorry man, it wasn’t cool o’ me,” he purses his lips. “I’m really sorry. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable. I wanna be friends and I don’t want whatever bullshit I pulled earlier to ruin that before we even actually get to know each other.”

Frowning, I tilt my head. “Peter, you asked me if I was alright—you didn’t overstep in the slightest. Additionally, we both admitted we could be really open with each other. I think it’s safe to say we’re friends. I genuinely don’t know what you’re on about ‘ruining’ anything, mate.”

Almost as if he’s deflating, he breathes a sigh of relief. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that. Friends?” He extends his hand out towards me from his chair. I whip around and grab my new gloves, I slide them on shivering with the influx of information, and I take his hand in mine.

“Most definitely,” I grin, and he does the same back at me. Barely noticeable is the whisper in the back of my mind wondering if friends are all we’ll ever be.

══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══

Some words to use when writing things:

winking

clenching

pulsing

fluttering

contracting

twitching

sucking

quivering

pulsating

throbbing

beating

thumping

thudding

pounding

humming

palpitate

vibrate

grinding

crushing

hammering

lashing

knocking

driving

thrusting

pushing

force

injecting

filling

dilate

stretching

lingering

expanding

bouncing

reaming

elongate

enlarge

unfolding

yielding

sternly

firmly

tightly 

harshly

thoroughly

consistently

precision

accuracy

carefully

demanding

strictly

restriction

meticulously

scrupulously

rigorously

rim

edge

lip

circle

band

encircling

enclosing

surrounding

piercing

curl

lock

twist

coil

spiral

whorl

dip

wet

soak

madly

wildly

noisily

rowdily

rambunctiously

decadent

degenerate

immoral

indulgent

accept

take

invite

nook

indentation

niche

depression

indent

depress

delay

tossing

writhing

flailing

squirming

rolling

wriggling

wiggling

thrashing

struggling

grappling

striving

straining

Wildlight Chronicles ending

inspired by Springtime by Pierre Auguste Cot 1873

Jack Frost X Fem!Reader

warnings throughout the series: sad, bits of angst, but also has some fluff.

A/N: Yes, yes, I know! "Seeker, where the hell have you been? You're not very serious about your blog!" I know, but I'm trying to switch between school and another huge project that I've founded, and it mainly requires at least 24/7 of my attention. Anyway, hopefully my friend @rxses-and-reverie is still around here :)

= The Ice Knight =

- CHAPTER ONE -

Snowflakes were floating freely into the starry night, above the winter paradise. Each of them slightly shifting forms as they collide into one another. Jack Frost himself gave each a part of his own soul, for he was lonely inside the sea of people, and his heart wouldn’t stop aching. All he ever desired was a friend, someone to believe in him, and eventually see him. But nobody had eyes for the iced ghost.

Years passed by, and Jack was flying around the village, carefree, watching the people around him. The spirit especially enjoyed watching the times change. Change can bring happiness or destruction. The boy was watching different kinds of relationships die, either by the distance that was growing inside, or the differences between people. Time had always liked to ruin friendships, as much as it enjoyed the warmth of healing. But for Jack, time wasn’t a cure.

One day, not long before winter had to leave the village, a little girl dressed in red was sitting on a lonely bench, crying, watching the snow simply melt away. As Jack was about to leave, letting the spring spirits come and bring new hope, something stopped him. A small cry. At first, the winter spirit hesitated to get near to the scene, knowing that she wouldn’t even notice him there, but after reconsidering, he decided it was worth a try. The white haired boy got closer to the girl and landed on the bench, right next to her. He still thought it may be all useless, until he noticed her notebook, and that got him an idea. Jack gently took it and he began writing in hopes that the red girl could read.

“Hello! What’s wrong, little one? Why are you crying?” He could already feel her gaze wandering towards, right through him. The little girl soon saw the pen moving on its own, so she took a closer look. But no one seemed to be there. Jack also noticed that the girl was slightly frightened by his actions, so he slowly placed the pen down, not intending to scare her off.

“What’s happening? Who-… who’s there?” she whispered, a little scared. Seeing that she’s also curious, maybe more than scared, the boy took the pen back between his fingers.

“Can you read?”

“Yes… my mom taught me. Who are you?”just then, Jack got an idea.

“Kid, do you believe in Santa?” he wrote again, a bit excited for the possible outcome. ‘This might as well just work!’

“Santa? Yes!! Why? Have you seen him around?” the child happily responded. ’Okay, Jack! You can do it!’

“Yeah, I have. He is friends with Jack Frost. Do you know who that is?” the spirit wrote again. The girl stood quiet for a while, thinking.

“Jack Frost? As in.. ‘Jack Frost nipping at your nose’?” the girl curiously asked.

“Exactly! Do you know him? Do you.. believe in him?” Jack wrote, a hint of hope hiding in the depth of his eyes. ‘Of course she doesn’t… She would have been able to see me after all.’ The girl stood thinking again for a while.

“Is he magical, like Santa?”

“Of course he is! He is the one bringing all of the snow and blizzards!” Jack explained, eager to see where this was leading. Just then, she did it. The little girl melted his heart.

“Then I believe in Jack Frost!” she exclaimed. Who would have thought that one simple sentence could get the frost spirit to his tears? Magically, Jack lazily took form in front of her eyes, and the expression her little face showed seeing him come real was enough to reassure Jack that this was a new beginning.

“WOW! Are you… Jack Frost? Hi!! My name is Y/N!”

“You.. You see me…”

For the I love you prompts how about tasm!peter and

[  ASLEEP  ]:     sender, having climbed into bed to cuddle the receiver (who they believe to be asleep), tells them that they love them.

🥹💕I just think this radiates Peter energy 😫

AN |  Alright, so this is just soft and with a happy ending❤️

Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 3.3k

Masterlist | Main | Peter

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Peter?” It was the combination of how softly you said his voice contrasted to your rapid knocking that captured his attention more than anything. He stopped what he was doing, jumping off the couch before almost running to the door. He opened it without hesitation, only to frown deeply when he saw you on the other. Peter was always over the moon to see you…but he hated seeing you upset. You looked at him with teary eyes, lips trembling with effort not to cry, “hi.”

“Hey,” he pulled you into his arms before you could say anything else, and you fell apart as soon as he touched you. You buried your face into his chest, holding on to him tightly as he brought you inside and closed the door. His heart broke as he listened to you sniffle, trying your best to hold in your tears, “it’s okay, sweetheart. It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

“I know,” your soft response was muffled by the fabric of his t-shirt, “‘m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he rested his head on top of yours, rubbing your back in soothing circles, “you don’t ever have to apologize.”

Peter felt you nod in response before the emotion overwhelmed you and the tears started to roll down your cheeks. It wasn’t long before he felt the cotton of his shirt get soaked. He held you, rocking you gently back and forth until you slowly calmed down. The boy possessed many amazing qualities and skills, and giving the best hugs in the world was one of them.

“C’mere,” he loosened his grip, smiling softly when he saw the pretty pout on your lips, already missing his touch. He took your hand in his, his much larger one dwarfing yours as he led you to the couch. He set you before kneeling in front of and tenderly brushing away your tears with his thumb before pushing a few rogue locks of hair behind your hair, “do you know what this moment calls for?”

“For me to stop being a blubbering idiot?” you asked meekly, the corner of your mouth twitching up ever so slightly. 

“First of all - no,” he tutted softly, “and secondly - you’re not an idiot. The moment calls for hot chocolate.”

“Oh,” your eyes widened in excitement and you reminded him of a kid on Christmas morning, “will there be mini marshmallows?”

“You should know by now that I always keep  a bag on hand for you,” he gently tapped your chin with his knuckle before standing up, “just back, get comfy, and I will be right back.”

“Do you need a hand, Pete?”

“Absolutely not,” he insisted, “you stay and I’ll be back. Less than ten minutes. Pick out something to watch - and it better be something good!”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, such a normal thing for either of you to do, and as always it made your stomach burst with butterflies. You watched him go, already feeling a million times better; Peter had that effect on you. No matter what happened or what was going on, he always made everything better. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Peter made good on his promise and was back in even less time than he originally promised, two large mugs in his hands. You gratefully took one of them and moved so he had plenty of room to sit next to you. He set his own mug on the coffee before grabbing the big, fluffy blanket off the back of the couch and draping it over the two of you. He’d never admit it, but he bought that blanket because you had liked it so much at the store and he wanted you to have it at his place whenever you wanted it. He was thoughtful like that, among so many other things.

You pulled the blanket around your frame before cuddling up into his side before putting your feet on the table. Next to Peter, whether at his place or yours, or anywhere else was definitely your favorite place in the world. You’d put on some random show, more for background noise rather than anything else. 

“Want to talk about it?” he asked after a few moments of quiet. You knew it was coming but it still made you sigh softly, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I hope you know you can tell me anything.”

“Of course I know,” you gently nudged your arm into his side, “you’re my best friend, Pete. I trust you more than anything or anyone in this world.”

“Yeah?” he teased softly, giving that boyish smile you adored, “glad to know the feeling’s mutual.”

You finished off the rest of your hot chocolate and set the mug down, shifting in your seat so you were facing him. You couldn’t quite bring yourself to meet his eyes, knowing it would make you want to cry all over again. It wasn’t even Peter himself that made you want to cry; if you were being completely honest with yourself, it was that you knew he would never be yours.It was something you’d accepted over the years - not that it made it any easier - which is why you forced yourself to date other people. 

Not that any of those worked. You knew why this never did. This time around, your current boyfriend figured out exactly why. 

“Matt, umm…he broke up with me today,” you confessed, voice dropping so much that the average person definitely would not have heard you, but you knew that Peter heard you loud and clear. His eyebrows raised in surprise, so high they almost disappeared into his hairline. 

“I…what?” he asked softly, clearly not believing what you had said. Although there was no reason you’d lie to him. It just seemed so sudden, “he broke up with you? That makes no sense. You two were so good together.”

Too good together if you asked Peter Parker.

“Well,” you exhaled slowly before shrugging your shoulders, “I guess we weren’t. At least not to him. So…he ended things today.”

“Did something happen?” he asked softly, putting a finger under your chin to turn your face up towards his. He could see that the tears were welling up again and wished he could do something to make it all better. Peter could see that you were struggling with trying to find the words, “did he do something?”

“No,” you shook your head, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and pulling his hand away. Despite the fact that he broke up with you - for the most valid of reasons - you couldn’t find it in your heart to dislike him. He wasn’t a bad person….he just got caught up with someone that happened to be in love with someone else, “he didn’t. I’m not…it sucks, but I’m not mad at him. I guess it’s just the situation.”

Peter could tell that you were holding back and not telling him the entire truth but he always didn’t want to push you. He knew you’d talk about the full details if and when you were ready.  He let out a small sigh to commiserate with you before reaching over and putting his hand on your face, resting it on your cheek, “well, if you ever want to talk about it, just let me know. And if it’s any consolation, it’s his loss. Anyone would be a fool to let you go. You’re gold, sweetheart - I can’t believe he didn’t see that.”

You swallowed thickly, desperately wanting to ask what about you, Peter? Do you want me?

But you didn’t. You weren’t about to throw about two decades worth of friendship out the window just because you couldn’t get your feelings in check. 

“Thanks Pete,” you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from saying anything else. Did he really have to look at you like that? With the sweetest, most honeyed eyes that made you want to get on your knees and beg him to love you? You nodded instead, keeping your mouth shut, “there’s some girl out there that’s going to be so lucky to get to love you one day, Parker. Whether or not you see it, you’re a huge catch.”

His cheeks flushed a pretty shade of rose as he turned his head away. You laughed softly. The sound went straight to his heart and was easily his favorite sound in the world. He gave you your knee a small squeeze, “well, I guess one day we’ll both find those people that are worthy won’t we?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed softly, “can I ask you for a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Can I stay tonight?” you asked, as if Peter Parker ever said no to you, “you know what, I’m so rude. I just kind barged right now and didn’t even ask if you had plans or were busy. I shouldn’t just-”

“Shh,” he put a gentle finger to your lips to keep you from rambling further, “I am never too busy for you and before you argue, you are never a bother. Besides, I didn’t have plans. Just maybe some patrolling, but it can wait.”

“You don’t have to put that off,” you insisted softly, “there are more important things out there than just me.”

Doubtful, he wanted to say. 

“I don’t mind-”

“Peter, I can just go home,” you promised, “or stay here if you don’t mind.”

“When have I ever minded?” he teased as you grinned sheepishly, “never. And I don’t mind now. Stay, please. You practically live here anyway, don’t act like some sort of stranger.”

“Okay,” you felt ready to cry again, “thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he insisted sweetly, “and you got lucky - I just washed and put on my clean sheets.”

“Ahhh, you’re my hero,” the idea of slipping into his warm bed with the smell of fresh laundry and pillows that always smelled like him was heavenly, “thank you, Peter. Will you…don’t be out too late?”

“You just want me for my warm body,” he playfully huffed but you grinned like the Cheshire cat, “all these years, I should have known.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a radiator,” you stuck your tongue out at him, “one of the many good things that came out of you being bitten by a radioactive spider.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he teased, “there’s some clean stuff for you in the dresser, okay? Are you sure you’ll be fine-”

“I’m sure, Pete,” before you could stop yourself or overthink it, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, “I’ll be okay if you promise me two things.”

“Anything.”

“Come home soon,” you pleaded softly, “and come home safe.”

“I always do,” you raised an eyebrow, silently reminding him of the many times he came home battered and bruised, “you know I’ll always come home to you.”

“I know,” you wondered if he picked up on how quickly your heart was suddenly beating; you were sure he did. You swallowed thickly before turning your face away, “I guess I’ll let you go then.”

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised, “I know it’s pointless to say, but don’t worry about me, sweetheart.”

“It is pointless,” you snorted in amusement, “but I’m just gonna go to bed and maybe watch a movie or something while you’re out.”

“Don’t wait up.”

“Again, pointless to say,” you were both well aware of that fact, “I’ll see you soon, Pete.”

“Soon, sweetheart.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Once he left, you padded to his bedroom and snuggled up in his bed, letting the warmth and familiar smell surround you. Nothing made you feel better and more at home than being in his bed. You helped yourself to a shower as you often did before rummaging through his drawer and picking a pair of his boxers and a sweater to put on. You felt so much better already, but then, that just proved that Matt had been right all along. You pushed that thought to the back of your mind as you cuddled up in his and turned on the TV. You knew you weren’t going to be able to focus on much so you turned on a show the two of you had seen a million times.

Despite your best efforts to stay awake, you were fast asleep in less than an hour. It was definitely the combination of warmth and comfort and the overwhelming feelings you were currently trying to process. 

Peter came back at a relatively early hour, deciding that things were quiet enough for him to go home. And honestly? He really just wanted to go home and see his favorite girl; his girl  - at least in his mind. His heart panged when he remembered the fact that you were unfortunately not his and likely never be his. But he could pretend, right? There was no harm in it. 

When he got home, landing on his firescape, he was ready to tap on the window to let you know he was back, but then saw that you were sleeping peacefully. A smile crossed his features as he quietly let himself in, landing on the floor with the softest thud. The boy made quick work of pulling off his mask before grabbing some pajamas out of his dresser and quickly changing in the bathroom. He thought about changing in the bedroom but didn’t want to give you a heart attack in case you woke up. Not that you hadn’t seen him shirtless about a million times before, but still. Peter was a gentleman.

Once he came back out, he walked to his side of the bed and watched you for a moment, taking in your small, light snores and even breathing. He pulled and blankets back before climbing into bed as quietly and gently as he could. Despite his best efforts, you made a small sound, “Peter?”

“It’s me,” he whispered, “‘m back. Just rest, sweetheart.”

He immediately felt the warmth of your body and he realized just how badly he wanted to hold you. Like really, really badly. You listened to him try and get comfortable while maintaining a proper distance and smiled to yourself, “can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” oh. You could practically feel the smile on the boy’s face, “but I guess you can ask something else.”

“Will you…will you cuddle me?” the shocked look on Peter’s face was something to behold. You let out a small little exhale before slowly turning around to face him. Even in the dark you could see the pretty flush on his cheeks, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” he was quick to dispel any of your worries as he swallowed the lump in throat. He wanted nothing more, “I-I always want to.”

You hummed in content as you scooted closer to him and you felt him wrap an arm around you. Before you could say or do anything, he pulled you closer, causing you to bump noses and laugh softly, “you’re so warm.”

“You’re so soft,” he sounded like he was in awe as you tangled your legs with his, “so soft and delicate.”

“Peter,” you leaned into him and buried your face near his chest before closing your eyes again. Alright, this was definitely your favorite spot in the entire galaxy. You laughed despite your best efforts to stay away, “you smell ‘s good.”

“Oh yeah?” you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head, “so do you.”

You smiled to yourself as you let yourself get lolled back to sleep. A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as Peter tried to keep calm as you slept in his arms. He wanted to get some rest too, but found that it was almost impossible with how loud his thoughts were. He tried to ground himself with the feeling of you in his arms, along with your steady breathing. It all served to remind him just how deeply in love with you he was.

He laid there for a while, trying to figure out and process his own feelings. Eventually he ended up watching you, trailing his fingers over your cheek and along your jaw before sighing softly. How were you so pretty and soft and lovely and everything? It almost wasn’t fair. 

“I hope you know how much I love you,” he whispered into the dark, accompanied by a wistful little sigh, “maybe one I’ll actually be able to tell you.”

What he didn’t know was that you were awake as well, unable to fall asleep while you were in his touch. You tried to control your inhale, still contemplating if you should say anything or just let him think you were sleeping. But you were pretty sure that he might have just said the words you’d been wanting to hear for the years.

“Peter?” you whispered after a few moments, so softly that he almost didn’t hear it. But you could hear the small sound of surprise that he made, “I wasn’t fully honest when I told you that Matt broke up with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“He broke up with me because he said he wasn’t the one for me,” you could feel him watching you intently with baited breath, “he told me that I could never love him like he deserved to be loved because…because I was already in love with someone else.”

“O-oh.”

“Because I’m in love with you,” you confessed, finally getting it all out in the open, “because it’s so obvious.” 

Peter was silent for a few moments, his mind racing as he tried to figure out if you were being serious or just repeating what Matt had said. You pulled back so you could face him, reaching over and brushing some of his wild hair out of his face, “and he was right.”

“He was?” he asked softly, setting his hand on top of yours where it rested on his face, “sweetheart?”

“He was,” you promised, “it’s always been you, Peter. I just never thought that you’d feel the same. If I did-”

“I would have said something years ago,” he finished for you as you nodded, “me too. I…I feel so dumb. All this time…”

“It’s okay,” you insisted sweetly, “we’ve always had each other - and we always will. Now we can just…do all the other stuff too.”

“All the other stuff,” he teased and you laughed softly, a mixture of adoration and nerves, “hmm, you might have to tell me more. Just to make sure that we’re on the same page.”

“First of all,” you leaned in so your lips were almost brushing against each other, “like kissing, you know?”

“Does that mean I can kiss you?”

“I insist on it, Parker,” the two of you were grinning at each other like fools, “please.”

“What if I don’t want to stop?” you saw his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, a sight he was sure would kill him. He pulled you towards him, his large hand splaying on your waist as you stared at each other intensely. 

“Don’t,” you insisted softly, “don’t ever stop.”

Fanart of Spectra dying in a gluetrap