This Is An Excellent Beginning. Puns Are The Honey On My Biscuit, Let Me Tell You. Can't Wait To Read

This is an excellent beginning. Puns are the honey on my biscuit, let me tell you. Can't wait to read more!

Golden Hour

Pairing: Professor!Peter Parker x F!Reader

Summary: You are a graduate student working on your master's in journalism to get your dream job. Your adviser convinces you to take a beginner photography class to boost your resume, even though you swear you don't have an artistic bone in your body. Turns out, your professor, Peter Parker, is charming, patient, and handsome. Will something else develop in class besides film?

Warnings: Eventual highly inappropriate professor-student relationship, but no significant age gap, reader is already an established journalist looking to get her master's degree. Each chapter will have individual warnings. This chapter is pretty tame aside from some curse words and mention of wine consumption.

Author's Note: I have crawled out of my depression pit and I bring you this! Many thanks to @loveroftoomanyfandoms for beta reading! Divider by @firefly-graphics

Chapter One: Syllabus Day

“I have got to start using that gym membership,” you panted as you continued hauling yourself and your backpack up the second of four flights of stairs to your class. You weren’t sure what possessed you to sign up for an 8am class on the fourth floor of a building with only a freight elevator, but here you were regretting it. You finally reached your floor and took a moment at the top of the stairs to catch your breath before going to find your classroom. 

“At least today is syllabus day,” you thought as you took a seat towards the back of the classroom. 

Continue Reading on AO3

Where Hugo, I Go...

Rewatched for the umpteenth time, the lovely film, Hugo (2011). If you haven't seen it, nor read the book by Brian Selznick upon which it is based, please consider a look and a read.

We rewatch films for a variety of reasons, just as we often do for books. Always something new and different to see, to hear, to learn, to experience.

But that wasn't why I put this film on the blog. With the WGA/SAG-AFTRA strikes, now more than ever, the Martin Scorsese directed piece seems relevant. Here we have the young orphan, Hugo Cabret, living in the train station and maintaining the clocks; the timepieces that make the trains, and presumably society, run on time. Those horological machines are human made and what time represents in the lives of humans is a constant tick tock, tick tock. With every beat of our heart, every breath taken, time passes.

Hugo senses this, as does his young friend, Isabelle. At one point in the film, Isabelle questions the future and what her purpose in life is to be. Hugo thinks for a moment and remarks:

"I'd imagine the whole world was one big machine. Machines never come with any extra parts, you know. They always come with the exact amount they need. So I figured, if the entire world was one big machine, I couldn't be an extra part. I had to be here for some reason. And that means you have to be here for some reason, too."

And during their conversation, Hugo also states:

"Maybe that's why a broken machine always makes me a little sad, because it isn't able to do what it was meant to do… Maybe it's the same with people. If you lose your purpose… it's like you're broken."

Turning that scene over in my mind and thinking about the plot (w/o spoiling too much, it is a wonderful homage to humans and art and film and history and human connections) and the ongoing strikes...but...

How is it that we humans have so readily turned the machines into the masters and the humans who created them into the extra parts?

This marvelous film would be nothing without the humans who dreamed and created and built and moved and loved it into being along with the original work upon which it was based. The humans aren't broken, the system is. The studios/corporations must recognize the labor that gives purpose to our lives and place the technology in the place wherein it serves the greater good before time runs out.

I could contemplate this film and its themes for a long time, it is a real gem to view and think about in the context of the past, the present, and the future. Hats off to all involved.

This was adorable and I mean it in a complimentary way. I wasn't certain as I began reading how the 'spellwork' would entertain me (meaning, that isn't something I'm usually reading) but it's engaging and the conversation the two leads share has that offbeat Spider-Man humor/gentle teasing that I adore. A part of TASM that I loved was how Spider-Man/PP would (as we often do in reality) change his tone/banter based upon the person with whom he was speaking. We were only given a little between Peter & Gwen, but it was enough to have a wee insight that she was not afraid to needle him any more than he was her but it was never mean. He was a little harder on the criminal types but even then, he kept up a wonderful dialogue that only disappeared when things got quite dark (such as with Harry Osborn in the fight scene in TASM 2).

You captured some of the levity and I would love to read further interaction between the main character and 'official' Spider-Man.

You're just trying to work, but Spider-Man always has to drop by and keep you company.

or, reader is a sort-of-hero doing small, meaningful work to keep the city safe. Spider-Man can't turn down the opportunity to keep them company (i.e. tease them relentlessly).

A/N: maintenance-type heroics are something i love, so this 'verse is very dear to me. no i don't know how they transition from reader knowing spidey to reader knowing peter to reader knowing spidey is peter, but that's a problem for another fic

WC: ~1.2k

(warnings: is this the first one with no warnings? i think it is. lots of pining and teasing)

Spider-Man drops down so close to you that you can smell him – cheap laundry detergent and hot asphalt, like he’s been hanging out on a sunny rooftop. You flinch and drop your tackle box of spell components, but Spider-Man leans easily into your space to catch it. Worst of all, he takes one of your hands in his and wraps your fingers around the handle again. 

Any chance of you maintaining a cool, relaxed exterior is lost when he squeezes your wrist – gently, so gently, achingly gently considering you’ve watched him juggle cars with those hands – before letting you go.

“Whoa, sorry,” he says, so good-humored it gives the impression he’s laughing even though he’s not. “Didn’t mean to drop in on you unannounced.”

“Terrible,” you announce automatically, shaken out of your love-struck stupor by his horrible pun. “Zero out of ten.”

Shoulders drooping dramatically, Spider-Man groans and lets himself fall backwards just to catch himself in a one-handed back handspring and pop back up in front of you with a flourish. You get the impression he might be grinning and raising his eyebrows at you behind the inscrutable mask. Biting down a smile, you try to focus on your spellwork again. 

You don’t have a real-hero job like his, but you like to think what you do matters. Almost every community has a little bit of magic, natural or otherwise, woven into it, and New York is no exception. Tens of thousands of people like you have been dripping little dollops of magic into sidewalks, trees, buildings, even the subway, for so long it makes your head spin if you look at the overlapping lines of spellwork too closely. After all this time, it’s a framework that keeps a lot of the really scary magical stuff to a minimum, but it takes some maintenance. 

Unfortunately for you, sometimes following the trail of decaying magic that needs some bolstering leads you to rooftops, construction sites, and other variously dangerous places for someone without superhuman agility. Even more unfortunate, Spider-Man swept you off a ledge exactly one time and decided he would be bugging – the first of his many horrible jokes – you every chance he got, which is insanely frequent considering how busy you know he is. 

It was nice, at first, having someone who could keep you company in some of the scarier maintenance locations or help you safely reach dangerous areas. The problem with Spider-Man is that he gets more likable with every second he spends in your general area, and the problem with that is you’re much too busy to be tongue-tied in front of a local superhero when you’re supposed to be working. 

Puffing out a put-upon sigh, Spider-Man jumps up to sit on the ledge next to you. “Yeah, okay, that one was pretty weak. Still made you smile, so I count it as a win.”

“It didn’t make me smile,” you say, smiling. You swallow your next words before you can add something stupid like, you’re what made me smile. 

“Sure, whatever you say, Gandalf.” He swings his legs a little and tucks his chin into his neck to, you’re guessing by the angle of his lenses, scrutinize you. “Hey, you got the stain out of those!”

You glance down at your favorite jeans. After a mishap while straightening out some tangled arcane webs in an abandoned subway tunnel, you ended up with splotches of nasty gray-green oil staining the denim. He had been almost as distraught as you were, immediately hooking an arm around you to escort you to what was apparently his most trusted laundromat. And now here you were, stains impossibly lifted by a stern-voiced and kind-faced woman behind the counter. 

Yet another thing that Spider-Man effortlessly saved.

“I didn’t do anything. Mrs. Marcus got the stain out.” Risking a glance up at him, you add a quiet, “Thank you for introducing us.”

“The way I see it, people who take care of the city should be taken care of by the city, you know what I mean? And you and Mrs. M are vital cornerstones of the city, so. Iconic team-up.”

You can hear the smile in Spider-Man’s voice. You wish you could see the smile, but that’s not really in the cards for you, is it?

“You’re so,” you start, shaking your head and finding that you don’t know how to finish the sentence. He’s leaning in awfully close, big blank lenses zeroed in on you. You settle on, “Silly.”

“I’m silly?” Spider-Man asks, delighted. 

“You are!” 

“Tell me about it, toots,” he says, affecting a really terrible old-timey accent.

Dipping the fingers of one hand out of mundane reality and into the whirring whimsicality of arcana, you hook around the frayed line you’ve been following all day and then pause awkwardly. Like he’s reading your mind, Spider-Man hops down and takes your component box from you. He flips the latch and then opens it, holding it out at just the right height for you to use your free hand to pick out the little bits of magical paraphernalia that you need. 

Despite his propensity for whip-fast conversation and endless teasing, Spider-Man is actually really good company when you’re working. It’s like he knows exactly when you need a few seconds of quiet to really focus on something, and he also has a preternatural gift for guessing what you need and providing it before you even really know what would help. It more than makes up for the way he makes you feel fluttery and flushed just by existing in your general vicinity. 

The world narrows in focus while you finish up your mending, but Spider-Man is still right next to you when you slip back into reality. His mask twitches a little near the cheeks when you blink up at him. 

“Hey there,” Spider-Man says, steadying you with a warm hand under your elbow. “All done?”

“All done,” you confirm, trying not to think about how he must give really incredible hugs. 

“Am I gonna get to buy you dinner, or are you cooking tonight?”

Just like that, he has you flustered and smiling again. Taking the component box from him and shaking your head, you resist the urge to shove at his chest like some high schooler just learning how to flirt. You’re trying not to flirt with him at all, but you’ll settle for not flirting badly. 

“You’re not buying me dinner, Spider-Man.”

He slaps a hand over his heart like he’s affronted. “Back to full-naming me? I thought I was officially your Spidey? Just for that offense, I should be able to buy you dinner.”

You had caved and started calling him Spidey, but you’ll die of mortification before ever calling him my Spidey. 

“That’s really not how this works,” you inform him, and then, sensing you’re not going to win, propose, “How about I buy you dinner, then? For helping and keeping me company.”

“Please, I should be paying for the pleasure of your company.” He holds out a hand and meets you in the middle. “Final offer, you can buy your own dinner, but I’m buying dessert.”

Even without dessert, you would be walking away with a rare treat – it’s not every day that you get to see Spider-Man roll up the mask and reveal his pretty mouth and lovely chin. 

You shake his hand and manage not to swoon at the way his fingers close around yours. “Deal.”

And Stuff. And Ken. You Don't Say...

Took me a minute, but Ryan Gosling's character, Holland March, (from The Nice Guys) telling his daughter,Holly, "and don't say and stuff" and him going on to play 'and Ken' in the Barbie movie is career serendipity at its peak.

If you haven't seen Gosling and Russell Crowe in The Nice Guys, it's worth a look. (Note: adult language, etc)

"Check The Math On That..."

With respect to The Social Network gif regarding Universal Studios, Tree Law, and the WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike I posted, look once more at the scene where Mr. Garfield is smashing the laptop. Besides Jesse Eisenberg and Justin Timberlake, how many background actors do you see? The witnesses to this pivotal scene are there for a reason that enhances every single thing about the emotions on display.

I want human beings in those scenes, not AI. Do the math, pay the actors, and don't replace them with machines. Destroy the laptop not the people.

The people you don't see in films, the writers, the crew, and all the others who labor or work in industries nationwide to support our well-being and our daily lives? Pay them a living wage. They count.

THAT was intense! Really enjoyed it; showing Peter having strong emotions and from his P.O.V. and it was real. He’s not perfect and I like that you write him that way.

Hello dear! My request for you is: TASM Peter Parker + IDFC by Blackbear. I think the music fits perfectly in the dilemmas of Peter and fem!reader. What do you think? Thanks ;)

ahhh this is the best idea ever!! I love this song lol thank you for requesting it!

note: I'm writing Peter as the person feeling the emotions of the song

/

Peter watches as you get more inebriated. God, how many drinks could you throw back, the burning amber liquid seeming to have no effect on your throat?

His jaw clenches as he watches you giggle, snort, stumble over your words towards Flash. Flash Thompson, big blonde jock, not worthy of your attention, not like this. Flash would never know how much pining and groveling Peter had done just to get you to look at him the same way.

And last week? You did. You smiled at him, as if he was the only person in the world, the only guy worthy of your attention. You smiled and Peter's stomach exploded with butterflies and nausea and all those typical feelings that Uncle Ben had always told him would happen.

You certainly don't remember any of that right now. You're drunkenly giggling- your face reaches closer to Flash's own at the dinner table, and Peter cringes as he tries to look away, heart shattering as Flash combs back a piece of your hair. He knows- he knows- you might as well have been another pretty girl at Flash's disposal, and that he would never treasure you as you should be.

Flash licks his lips, and Peter feels himself give in. To the anger that he swore he'd never feel- the agony he feels because he's always thought you liked him. That one day, you would put a resolution to this dynamic you had with him- he just never thought it would be like this.

Peter gets going. He takes his bag, his camera, everything he brought for your stupid party, and heads out the front door, slamming it a little too hard.

Flash moves, perturbed. "Looks like that psycho is getting into one of his moods again."

"Oh, no..." You don't know why Peter's run out the door like that, but you let go of Flash, who to his credit, doesn't really mind.

"Peter, Peter!" You call after him, wrapping your arms around yourself. It's cold outside and your drunken stupor does not help.

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk. The street light illuminates him, and you don't notice how Peter's hand is balled into a fist.

"Hey. Why are you leaving, what happened?" You look up at him in confusion.

Peter can tell you're still too drunk to really talk things out with him. The fact that you're even pretending to care with him right now hurts. But despite that... he still wants you to lie to him. To be compassionate- even if Peter knows it's fake, he feels like it's better than nothing.

Unfortunately, you're still rather drunk, and Peter has to steady you with the most chaste of touches. He watches as you stumble over your words, not once, not twice, but three times of trying to work up something to say. And he just... he doesn't want your half-assed, drunken pity.

He knows for a fact you don't love him. That it was a fake dynamic concocted by his own idiocy.

"P-Peter?" You mumble up at him. "I don't want you to be unhappy with me. What's wrong?"

Peter shuts his eyes, feeling embarrassed to have to comfort you, but he doesn't know what else to do.

"Nothing's wrong. I didn't have anything to do at the party, so I thought I'd go back home." Peter shrugs as if it was completely nonchalant on his part. "No offense, but I was bored out of my mind. And I don't fucking care enough to exchange niceties and make other people feel comfortable."

You flinch, and Peter feels bad for just a moment. Just a second. Becuase you're not sober, so you're not in the best state of mind.

But he's been playing the fool this entire time, and he thinks it would be nice if you felt the same for a bit. Just for a day or two. He really doesn't care to see what you get up to at your fun, cool party, with fun, cool drinks and slutty, slutty hook ups.

"I... I'm sorry. If I knew that..." You swallow, looking down at the sidewalk, feeling humiliated by Peter's comments. You've always tried to be a good friend for him- you've always wanted to do right by him.

But something about the coldness in his tone right now tells you to back off. And you do so, with a lump in your throat.

"I would tell you to stay, but, um..." You shake your head. "Have a safe walk home."

Peter nods tightly and moves quickly, telling himself that he doesn't care. He didn't see the tears hanging from your eyelashes. He does not care especially because you're willing to tamper with his feelings so much.

He thinks that you'll be fine. You'll have Flash whispering sweet nothings into your ear, pressing kisses on your cheek and neck, and you won't ever pay him mind ever again. He represses the urge to go and make things right- go and fix things so you won't end up with a douche like Flash.

Peter knows no one has ever cared about him. He knows he's a bit of a nerd, an anti-social weirdo, and even if you made the effort to bridge the gap... he feels it's better this way. Why change?

He works on not giving a fuck. He pretends to not care when Aunt May asks how the party was. He does not lie awake thinking about you in the throes of passion, mouth open, chest flushed and red as Flash begins his disgustingly inelegant thrusts. Especially because it should've been him doing that, him and you together, and since it isn't- he doesn't fucking care.

/

Peter is surprised to see you sitting at his dinner table the next morning.

He's half asleep, but entirely awake when he sees you. Your eyes are bright, misty, a little teary- you have clearly been waiting for him. It looks as if you've spent some time regretting what you did to him.

Good, Peter thinks. Good that you understand how I felt for once.

"Aunt May let you in?" Peter asks, and you meekly nod. Peter doesn't have it in him to scoff at you- you're too clearly upset and he, try as he might not to care, still doesn't want to see you cry.

He thinks for a moment that you might've done so last night.

"Peter. Please, talk to me." You stand up from the table, but Peter isn't really listening, because he's grabbing cereal and a bowl, and trying to ignore you.

"You said everything you needed to say yesterday." Peter shrugs.

"No way. We didn't even get to talk about anything before you ran off." You cross your arms, but your gaze is still soft. "What did I do wrong? Tell me, so I can make things right."

"Sure, tell me a few more of your pretty little lies. That'll help." Peter scoffs with a heaping amount of pessimism, and you look even more hurt than you did yesterday.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Really?" Peter shuts the fridge a little too hard after pulling out the milk. "Okay, play dumb. I don't really care anymore. You've been out all night, probably fucking Flash, and you want me at your beck and call to be... what? Some sort of pushover? Do you have any idea how ruthless it is to mess with people's feelings?"

You gasp, but Peter isn't finished.

"You never loved me. You never even liked me." He shakes his head, getting a resolute look of sadness on his face. "You know how hard it is to be me? Be a fucking loser who has to try so hard to even get people to like him a little bit?"

Peter bites back some of his resentment, knowing that he doesn't want your pity. "Never mind. I don't care, just live your life without me."

"Peter. How can you just-" You inhale, a tight short breath that has Peter feeling that maybe he said too much.

Oh well. Seeing you again had ignited those angry feelings, and even if he pretended not to care- he still needed to speak on it.

"Me and Flash aren't anything. We didn't even kiss, for crying out loud-" You run your hand through your hair, feeling insane. "I'm sorry. I should've watched how close I was to him. I got a little bit too drunk."

"Yeah, you did." Peter snaps back.

"I really, really like you, asshole." You shut your eyes, feeling bile in your throat from how Peter seems to be judging you so harshly. "I thought I did. I don't know anymore. I pretended not to give a fuck because you always- you seem so aloof, Peter, and it was easier to pull away because I didn't want to get hurt- but I'm actually fucking scared of losing you. I guess I should've made that more obvious."

Peter pauses. Feels his heart thump a little harder, this time with immense regret. He loves you, he knows he does, and hearing the same thing from you? The same feeling of inadequacy, of wanting to be enough but having to pretend not to care?

Peter grabs your arm as you try to leave. You're stubborn, but he shakes his head- he looks remorseful.

"I'm sorry." He pulls you into a hug, one that you don't respond to for a moment, until you tentatively hug him back. "I am an asshole. I love you a lot, you must know that. It's not an excuse- I just wanted you to feel as bad as I did."

"Well, mission accomplished." You mumble into his chest. "I'm sorry, too."

"I thought I was like, some fool that was easily duped by a pretty girl like you." Peter admits, and you laugh. "No, really. You're too good for me."

"Let me decide that, Peter." You shake your head at him. "Come on. Why don't we try this again?"

Peter agrees, and thinks now is a better moment than ever to do what he wanted to do yesterday. He combs back your hair behind your ear, pressing a kiss there, and then leans in and kisses you, relishing in the fact that you tipped your head back so easily. Just for him, no one else.