Fanart Of Spectra Dying In A Gluetrap

older!eddie mood board requested by anon

all the credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple for the edit of eddie!

Silver Wit: VI - To Look Within

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"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. 

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“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.”

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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.

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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.

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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.

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𝙲𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝙲𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙳𝚘𝚎𝚜

Tags: fluff, cute shit Cove does, ooc cove slightly?

Synopsis: basically, Cove doing things that gets you flustered and fall in love with him deeper

Word Count: 1073

Characters: Cove x GN! Reader

Leaning over and buckling your seatbelt

▸Cove huffs whenever you forget to buckle yourself in. Of course, he’s not upset, in fact he loves leaning over and doing it for you. Totally not using that as a reason to steal a smooch from you. 

▸He also cares about safety; anything can happen, and he doesn’t want to see you hurt. Like what if a helicopter suddenly falls on top of your car? Or what if he breaks too hard and you fly out the window?? 

▸He always makes sure you’re buckled in first before he does so himself and starts the car. Even if you’re in a rush. Safety first! 

▸And he totally doesn’t grumble in displeasure whenever you beat him in buckling your seatbelt first. 

“I wanted to buckle you in… what? I didn’t say anything?”

Zipping up your jacket

▸Whenever you both decide to go out whenever it’s cold, you always toss on a jacket and not zip it up. Cove will and aways zip it up for you, not caring of your whining.

▸He doesn’t want you to get sick! If you do, he won’t be able to kiss you until you feel better and even though he has good patience, he doesn’t want to wait too long. 

▸And once he reaches the maximum level, he just dives in and smothers you in kisses despite your protests, next thing you know, you’re both sick. 

▸But hey! What’s a better time to spend with your partner than being sick together? He doesn’t care if he misses work, he’s happy enough to spend this time with you. 

▸Unfortunately, you can’t be angry with him for too long because look at that face! He’s really sorry but he’ll make it up to you once you both get better. 

“I’m sorry (Name) for not listening... But at least we get to be sick together!” 

Holding your hand before crossing the street

▸Again, a safety thing, but he loves holding your hand and uses this as an excuse to hold yours. And to show off to others that ‘hey look! we’re holding hands so that means we’re dating! so back off!’. Especially in front of the cars you’re walking past, Cove giving the poor drivers a scare from his intense staring.

▸Y'know that one Tik Tok audio clip from Chowder that basically goes like “Hold my hand NOW”. Yeah, that’s Cove, but he would never yell or use force on you to hold his hand. He instead pouts and gives you the puppy look so you can hold his hand.  Which you do because he looks adorable.

▸Always, without missing a beat, always kisses your hand. He loves bringing up your intertwined hands to his lips and plant a kiss, letting his lips linger for a bit before bringing your hands down and swinging them gently, a skip in his step. 

▸The warmth seeping from your palms brings Cove a sense of calmness. Just being near you calms his mind from any negative thoughts that spring up randomly. 

“Oh, we’re about to cross the street, (Name)! Hold my hand before we cross!” 

Tying your shoes

▸Sometimes we leave the house in a rush and forget the most important thing. Tying our shoes! But with our trusty boyfriend, Cove, he always does it for you! He would stop you, kneel down and tap his knee, signaling you to put your foot on it so he could tie your shoes properly. 

▸He always checks if you tie your shoes or not. Cove doesn’t want you to trip and fall for other people. See what I did there?? No? Okay anyway if you do fall for some reason, he’ll be there to sweep you off your feet. 

▸Whenever he finishes tying your shoes, Cove would stand back up and look into your eyes with a shiny smile. You question him and he points at his cheek, blue eyes shining even brighter. 

▸He wants a reward from saving you from any falls you could’ve had in the future! Cove wants a kiss. From you. Either on the lips or cheek, he’s not a picky person. 

“Here, let me tie your shoes for you.”

Always offering you food

▸Even though Cove loves shoving food in his mouth and swallowing it in one go, he never forgets to offer you some. Doesn’t matter if the snack is small and it’s not enough to feed two people, Cove will walk over and ask if you want a bite.

▸If you offer him food, he’ll be floored and open his mouth as you spoon feed him your meal. He’ll be happy with whatever you feed him a tiny crumb, a vegetable he doesn’t like, reluctantly, he’ll eat that.

▸Drinks! Drinks are included in the equation. 

▸Even though Cove wants to sip on the refreshing slurpy, he will make sure you have the first zip without fail. 

▸Cove blushes at the thought of the indirect kiss whenever you put your lips on any of his utensils he eats with. Even though y’all are already dating. He still gets flutters from you. 

“Want a bite, (Name)?”

Forehead goodbye kisses 

▸Whenever you or Cove are running late or have to leave for a few hours, Cove will pull you towards him and plant a kiss on your forehead.

▸Has become a routine for you both to never leave without you receiving Cove’s kiss before heading out to work. Honestly, it’s the best way to start off the day and he hopes that it never changes.

▸But when you’re in a rush, you sometimes forget to receive that kiss and that brings down Cove’s morning. He pouts and waits for you to return so you can pepper your face with kisses to make up for the one you missed in the morning. 

▸You’re sorry but you can’t complain from the kiss onslaught so it’s a win-win

“Oh, you’re leaving right now? Let me kiss your forehead!” 

“I miss you...” texts throughout the day

▸This kinda goes with the ‘goodbye kisses’ 

▸Cove texts you throughout the day that he misses you. He sends one not even a minute of you leaving the house you both lived in. 

▸He’ll send a text saying that he ‘craves to cuddle you’ when you leave to take a shit. 

▸It’s really cute until he starts spamming you while you’re in a meeting, your embarrassed face sputtering out apologies towards your workers. 

“Heyy, i miss u :(“ 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

A/N: Heyy ya'll I got another one for you hehe but I kinda rushed at the end because its late and im tired

Like my work? Buy me a ko-fi!

Some time ago I was like "After all... why not? Why shouldn't I redraw Bakugan screenshot in Sk8 The Infinity style?". Finished it and adore the result~

The screenshot:

We Can Be Fucked Up Together

(Randy Meeks x Riley!reader)

Summary: You find solace in Randy after your best friend and boyfriend go on a killing spree

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Warnings: making out, no actual smut but allusions to it, memories of murder, murder, former Stu x reader, backflashs to The Night of the murder, blood, reader having sympathy for Stu

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An: This is My first scream fic, And I am very happy to be Writing about Randy. My baby deserves more love

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The walls felt like they were closing in around You. You shouldn’t be alive, the blood loss was already making your head woozy and your midsection was starting to go numb from where you had been stabbed. You chose to believe Billy was the one who stabbed you, otherwise you’d Look Even more pathetic kneeling on the ground trying to stop Stu’s bleeding.

“Stop moving.” You mumbled while putting more pressure on some of his wounds.

“Im feeling woozy!” He whined, And you hated How it made you feel. You shouldn’t feel bad for him. He had killed people, he was planing on killing you, and yet your heart hurt to hear the person you’d loved for the past two years Be in pain.

“You’re going to die If we stay Here-“ You started to try and push yourself to your feet, but a gun to your back stoped you.

“Don’t fucking move,” Billy hissed.

“He’s going to die!” You yelled back, But You didn't try to stand up again.

“Then you better keep pressure on it until i fucking kill Sidney.” He snapped before running off to find Sidney, who had gone to hide somewhere.

Once the gun was gone Your attention went back to the man on Front of you. He had tears in his eyes, but an almost smile on his face.

“Why?” You whispered, unsure if you even wanted an answer.

“Why not?” He chuckled, jerking his arm up and pushing the knife straight into your stomach.

You sat up straight in your bed, letting out a small scream as you ripped at your shirt. The only thought running through your head was ‘i Need This Off.’

“Fuck!” You mumbled, struggling with getting the shirt up. You started to calm when you saw the lack of blood on your shirt. Another nightmare.

As you steadied your breathing, you couldn’t help but notice how small your room felt. How dark it was. You couldn’t stay here. Not tonight. You would either fall back asleep To Deal with nightmares, or Lay awake And Deal with memories. Not that you had a lot of places to go.

You could wake up Dewey, but his pain meds knocked him out. Besides, you didn’t want to bother him. Sidney wasn’t on the best terms with you currently; the two of you were never the closest in your group of friends. The only left Randy.

You stood up and pulled some sweatpants on along with a jacket. You debated going out the window, but you would have to walk the few blocks to his house and you weren’t brave enough for that yet. Instead you quietly made your way through the house, sneaking by your parents and brothers room so you could grab your car keys. Thankfully, your parents slept hard enough that they wouldn’t hear you driving away.

Driving definitely wasn’t the best idea; your entire body was still shaking and you didn’t dare go more then 10 miles an hour. When you arrived at the Meeks, you were quick to turn off the car to not wake the entire family and got out.

Just like you had the other three times this week, you found the window into Randy’s bedroom. You couldn’t see the man, but the tv in his room was on. You knocked on the window lightly, and it didn’t take long for his face to appear in front of you. He quickly opened the window, frowning at you.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you offered a small smile. He helped you climb into his room, and you took your spot on his bed next to him. He was sat with his back to the wall, an arm wrapped around you. You were cuddled into his side, watching the tv in front of you both. Nightmare On Elm Street.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“How can you watch this shit?” You ignored his question for his own, turning your head away from the screen.

“I love this movie,” he shrugged.

“I used to,” you mumbled. It was silent for a few minutes, saved for the movie playing, before you said something. Something that had been bothering you every day for the past 6 months.

“I should have noticed it sooner.” He tensed slightly, and you immediately regretted saying it; but you had to. The thought had been filling your head for months.

“You couldn’t have.”

“Ya, I could have. My best friend and boyfriend went on a killing spree, I should have noticed something.” Randy pushed you away slightly, making you look up at him.

“Sidney was dating him, should she be blamed for what happened too?”

“Thats different,” you snapped. “She fought back, I tried to save him!” You whisper yelled, worried about the others asleep in the house.

“Thats because its who you are,” he argued back. “You go out of your way to see the best in people, even if they don’t deserve it. Even after what Stu did, you didnt want to be the reason he died.” You flinched at his name, you hadn’t heard it be said out loud other then on the news. Dewey normally shut it off relatively quickly when it was on.

“You told me plenty of times how awful they were,” you pointed out. The tops of his ears turned a light pink, making you frown. Why would he be blushing?

“That may just be because I hated seeing you with them all the time,” he admitted.

It was your turn to blush, your face heating up a bit. ‘He doesn’t mean it like that,’ you reminded yourself. Randy had been in love with Sidney for years, the only reason he hadn’t made a move was to avoid angering the women.

You didn’t actually get a chance to say anything before chapped lips were people pushed against your own. You eyes shot open, surprised by the contact, and he quickly pulled away.

“Shit! Sorry sorry, god. What the hell os wrong with me?” He mumbled the last part to himself. He didnt get much time to feel bad before you reached up to pull his face to your own so you could kiss him again. He made a sound of surprise, but he didn’t fight against it; instead he kissed back. It wasn’t rough, but you could feel relief coming from him. Like any tension was being removed from him.

He pulled you lightly so you would settle on his lap, knees on either sides of him. He kept his hands on your hips while yours slid down to his chest, gripping his shirt lightly, like he would fly away if you let go.

This wasn’t necessarily a new position for you. Stu had you like this plenty of times, but it felt so different. Stu left bruises on your hips, Randy’s hold was gentle. Stu kissed with the intent of going further, Randy kissed you like he was thankful to even get this. Randy felt…safe.

Eventually you had to pull away, your lungs burning from the lack of air. You both stayed just as close, foreheads resting together and you coups feel his breath on your face.

“I thought…Sidney…” you mumbled between breaths.

“I never thought I had a chance with you,” he admitted. “I had you as a friend, so I thought it would be enough. But it wasn’t.” His eyes boar into your own, and it felt like he was staring straight into your soul.

“Caring about me right now will be rotten work. I’m really fucked up” you told him.

“I dont mind. We can he fucked up together.” He offered, making you smile.

“I’d like that.”

Hello seekers!

I am really happy about the good feedback I already slowly started to recieve on my work, and I can't help but notice that I've already got some asks too.

I have to tell you guys something. I might have to take my time writing them, for a dear friend of mine died of cancer and today is the funeral. Please, forgive me. I'll try to get them done within two weeks, but if I can't, please, anon seekers, forgive me.

@thelasthargreeves

Honestly

Unless you hit me in the face with a brick that says “I’m flirting with you,” I’m most likely just gonna think you’re being nice.

Wildlight Chronicles ending

inspired by Springtime by Pierre Auguste Cot 1873

a redraw from error 143 💗

Chewy wife