you did it you broke spiderdads down to the bare essentials!

no but seriously look at this snippet of my wip.

“Oh,” he says simply, at a loss for words. It’s— It’s overwhelming, this blatant display of Peter’s love for him, and he curses himself for this being the state he meets MJ in. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“It’s alright. His love can be overwhelming, sometimes, I know.”

like. peter “i am loud with my love no matter how cheesy it is” b parker. miguel “i get overwhelmed by love and question if i deserve it” o’hara. mj “i am subtle with my love and it cuts all the deeper because of it” watson-parker.

let the bullying of peter b parker commence

[Text ID: It’s subtle, but Miguel recognizes it for the acknowledgement of the situation that it is. He wonders if MJ, despite inviting him, was as nervous as he was.

“She does tend to make paperwork more interesting,” he says, and hopes MJ hears the thank you that it is.

Peter chuckles and steps away from MJ. “A kind way of saying she annoys you until you sigh and give in to letting her stay with you.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Miguel says, and raises a pointed eyebrow at Peter.

He grins broadly. “What can I say? I teach her all my best tricks.”

“And your worst habits,” MJ says dryly. “I spent twenty minutes looking for her the other day only to find she had webbed herself to the ceiling and was asleep. Which I’ve found Peter doing more times than I can count.”

did i hear people were interested in miguel and mj meeting? cause lord it's happening

[Text ID:

It’s not the idea itself that he’s opposed to. In fact, he’s been looking forward to meeting MJ for months, even before he and Peter got together. It’s just that he expected that he’d have a few days, or even a few weeks, to figure it out: what he’s going to say, what he’s going to wear, how he’s going to make himself less intimidating, how he’s going to prove to the love of his life’s wife that he’s good enough for Peter—

It’s fine. It’s fine.

as you wish beloved!!! zukka hands fic, fresh off the press:

After stumbling upon that poetry center in Ba Sing Se, Sokka had tried to write poetry, another attempt at creating something beautiful with his hands instead of something violent, but that failed just like all his other attempts at art. 

He thinks now, fighting in tandem with Zuko, that he had failed because he wasn’t writing about the right thing. 

Any poem he wrote wouldn’t be about the beauty of the moon rising, the gentle floating of a leaf falling to the ground, the softness of the spring air. It would be about the push and pull of him and Zuko, of the twisting of Zuko’s hands as he reflects Azula’s flames, of the singing of Sokka’s sword as he rushes forward. It would be about them fighting as two halves of a whole, two warriors with a single mind, two people blending so seamlessly it is difficult to say where one ends and the other begins.

and cat shenanigans:

“Hi,” Zuko says, and Sokka wants to curl up into a ball and scream at the sound of his voice alone. “Are you okay? I heard…” His eyes drift over Sokka’s shoulder to land on the pile of books and the toppled over bookshelf, and he huffs out a laugh. “Well, I guess I heard your bookshelf fall over.”

“And me,” Sokka says, because Sokka is stupid when it comes to talking to beautiful people. “I fell over, too.”

He kicks himself mentally— first time he’s ever talked to the guy beyond a short greeting, and he’s making a fool of himself. 

LOL so this was supposed to be @rejectscanon’s birthday fic but it got out of hand and i didn’t finish it in time and now it’s been two years and it’s still not done!!! but basically the name is because it started out as a fun way for me to explore how shadow and oka met and became friends and stuff and then it turned into a deep dive into oka’s relationship with the chronic knee pain that i gave him 👍 here’s a snippet

He can’t— he doesn’t know how to explain it, how to put his fears into words. He doesn’t know how to say that if he loses skating, he’ll lose himself, too.

The next day, a bouquet of red carnations shows up at his front door, with a little piece of paper that has Hiromi’s neat handwriting on it.

I’m sorry.

something something winners of the best atla ship—

[ID: a screenshot of a google doc that reads:

“They take Zuko’s war balloon, and Sokka… Doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

It occurs to him that this is the first time in a while where he hasn’t had anyone to look after, where he hasn’t been looking over his shoulder to make sure they have everyone, where his hand wasn’t drifting to his sword or preparing food or tracing their route.

He’s just idle, watching Zuko fly a war balloon that Sokka helped build, fiddling with his hands because he doesn’t know where else to put them.

Zuko’s hands are steady as they pump fire into the balloon, but when the flames die down, they fiddle just like Sokka’s.