#trustfell

Seasoned New Yorkers stepped around him, barely sparing him an annoyed glance. Thanks New York. 

Once the horrible sensation had passed Peter glanced around him, grinning at the familiarity of it all. The lights of Oscorp gleamed brightly in the background, he could even smell the grease off his favorite food cart down the block. He was home, and with Gwen at his side everything was perfect. 

Wait.

Peter blinked, hard and looked again. Sure enough, half-collapsed on the pavement next to him was Gwen Stacy, looking ruffled but gloriously alive.

For a stunned moment, he couldn’t speak. He made a strange squeaking noise before he managed to rasp out; “Gwen?”

I drew her

I-- I finally did it - -

@frog-e-box

I love her so much

Art trade with @frog-e-box!!

Two Furry monster girls, who are teens, whose name's both are "Angel", have manipulative boyfriends, and they are still kind, meet

Sirius Black was in a mood. The sort of mood that told smart people to get out of his way and prompted stupid people to ask what was wrong. The sort of mood where he hoped someone would give him an excuse – any excuse – to pull out his wand. The sort of mood that involved a lot of stomping and glowering and general attention seeking.

The sort of mood that brought out the Black in him.

It’s not fair. It was never fair, that’s just life. But Sirius wouldn’t accept just life. That would be giving in, something that was not in his playbook. So instead he was stomping and glowering and generally seeking attention. And the common room was, of course, the place to do such things. But the common room was becoming an increasingly unsatisfying stage and he really just needed to be away.

Away ended up being a small alcove with a stone bench beneath an uncommonly used staircase. A place the Marauders often met between classes to plot and gossip. The bench was frozen, along with the rest of the castle. Sirius kicked it, grimaced, and sat anyway.