#ben May have only been sixteen when he died but I know he thinks of himself as a better driver than Klaus

[pearl-stonecutter]

I love how in the beginning of the first season Klaus cons Diego into giving him rides place because he says he can’t drive.

Then proceeds to drive an ice cream in the later half of the first season and then drive regularly throughout season 2 and 3

The point I am trying to make is Klaus just wanted quality brother time with Diego and Diego is to much of a softie to say no to everyone’s favorite brother.

#klaus hargreeves #diego hargreeves #the umbrella academy spoilers #the umbrella academy #i think Alison would give him a ride if he asked #Viktor obviously because he gave the whole fam a ride to sissy’s place #honestly surprised five didn’t drive on their road trip #umbrella ben would be driving if he wasn’t you know dead #ben May have only been sixteen when he died but I know he thinks of himself as a better driver than Klaus #also feel that Luther doesn’t drive either #moon buggy is one thing car nope #five hargreeves #allison hargreeves #luther hargreeves #lila pitts #lila tua #lila and Klaus shouldn’t be in a car together

[starryeyedrookie]

Before It’s Too Late (Ethan x MC)

Book: Set during book 2 ch. 11.

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Evelyn Long)

Word count: 1,996

Rating: General

Category: Angst

Summary: An attack scene rewrite when Ethan spends the night with MC.

A/N: Characters and some dialogue owned by Pizelberry.

I finally decided how I was going to write this rewrite. Initially I was trying to do a full chapter rewrite but half way through, I was already at 3k+ words so it would be waaaay to long. Thankfully, I managed to summarize it but also give it a ton of angst. (This was my first time writing angst btw.) I hope you enjoy!

8:30 pm

It's been exactly five hours since the attack. Five excruciatingly long hours since Evelyn’s world was turned upside down.

Travis, Senator Ed’s assistant, had slowly been poisoning him with lead. When they went to confront him, he pulled out a can and sprayed everyone in the room with a deadly unknown substance.

The Senator managed to escape and Travis was dead. But so was Bobby, with Danny fighting for his life.

Evelyn begins to cry again as she thinks about Bobby’s wife and two kids that he left behind. They would now have to grow up without their dad. He would miss so many big milestones in their lives all because of two selfish people.

“E-Evelyn…?” a weak voice calls from across the room.

She walks over to the bed where Raf is lying down, a light sheen of sweat covering his pale face.

The team had come a little while ago with a shot that they had hoped would slow the progression of their symptoms, but Raf’s still seemed to be getting worse.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, gently wiping the tears from her face.

“I was just… thinking about Bobby’s family and… everything that he… would miss. He was… just telling me… this morning that… his oldest daughter is turning sixteen this year…”

“I know… life isn’t fair. They didn’t deserve any of this.”

“You didn’t either, Raf.”

“But I saved you from having to suffer so much… and that’s what matters.”

“Raf…”

“Shh… listen, I feel… like I’m… getting worse. Will you… do me a favour?”

“Of course. Anything you need.”

“Please help me call my vovo.”

Evelyn hands Raf his phone to unlock, then scrolls through his contacts until she sees his grandmother’s name, tapping it, she places the phone to his ear.

“Olá, vovo.”

“No… I’m not well. There was an attack at the hospital today and the Senator’s assistant tried to kill him. A few people were in the room when it happened. The Senator escaped, but his assistant and one person that works here died and the other is in critical condition. Evelyn and I are in quarantine right now.”

“I just wanted to let you know… that if I… don’t make it… I love you with all my heart.”

“Alright, take care. I love you too.”

“Thank you, Evelyn.” he takes a shaky breath, his heart rate slowing and growing more shallow.

“Evelyn… I think you should… call the team… I'm sorry I couldn't save you… that this… might be the way it ends…” he murmurs, eyes meeting hers, as warm and kind as the day they met.

Taking his hand, she can barely see him through her tears.

“You'll make it through this Raf… I know you will…”

He smiles up at her before his eyes flutter closed and his hand falls away.

Moments later Ethan and June rush into the room.

“I’d hoped that the treatment would buy us more time,” Ethan says sadly.

“We don’t know that it didn’t.” Evelyn tries reassuring him.

He nods as June’s eyes fill with sympathy.

“We’ll get him to the support suite. There’s still a chance that we could fix this Evelyn.” June tells her, as she prepares Rafael for transport.

Evelyn’s almost too scared to ask, but she needs to know. “How’s Danny?”

“We… we lost him.” Ethan’s voice comes out in a whisper.

“No…”

“Before he died he… he asked to be autopsied. To help the two of you.”

As Ethan turns to help June, Evelyn reports Raf’s most recent symptom of hot cold reversal.

“Stay strong, Evelyn. We’ll know more soon.” June tells her reassuringly as she and Ethan slowly push Raf out of the room.

Now she’s all alone, curled up on her bed, the pressure in her head becoming almost too much to bear.

Her mind drifts to Danny. She remembers her first day when he was the one that told her that she had just performed a thoracotomy with Ethan Ramsey. The night of the party her roommates had when he and Sienna talked all night until they fell asleep together on the couch.

Sienna. All Evelyn wanted to do was rush to her side and hold her. She and Danny were supposed to be together. They were meant for each other. But how he was gone, and Sienna would have to live with that loss. She probably never even got to say goodbye.

Goodbye. Evelyn had to be prepared.

Picking up her phone, she sees that she has several missed calls and messages.

Calling her mom, she picks up immediately.

“Evelyn sweetie! Are you okay?! Oh my goodness, we saw what happened on the news and I thought we lost you!”

Hearing her mom’s voice, her tears start falling again.

“I’m hanging in there right now mom. It’s just me in the room now. Rafael just got taken to the support suite.”

“Oh, sweetie…”

“Mom… is everyone there?”

“Yes, honey. We’re all here.”

“Can you put me on speaker please?”

“Hey Evey.” she hears her dad’s voice say.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi Evelyn, do they know what it is yet?

“Hi Ben, no they don’t. We got a shot earlier that was supposed to slow the progression of the symptoms, but we don’t have a cure yet.”

“Oh.”

“Listen, guys… if I don’t make it…”

“No Evelyn! You can’t say that!” her heart breaks as she hears Ben crying through the phone.

“Wait… just listen to me. I’m preparing for the worst. I want you guys to know… that I love you all so much. And I want to thank you for everything that you’ve done to help me fulfill my dreams.”

Aside from the sound of soft cries, the line is silent.

Finally, her dad speaks up.

“We love you too sweetie. Stay strong and hang in there. You’ll be fine.”

“I’ll try… take care.”

“Bye.”

Later, her friends and the diagnostics team are gathered outside her window. Bryce looks at her with haunted eyes while a crying Sienna buries her face in Jackie’s shoulder.

“How’s Kyra? The surgery must be over by now…”

“She’s fine and resting. We haven’t told her what happened yet.”

“Good idea.”

“So, do you know what it is yet?”

Ethan explains to her that it’s a maitotoxin that he had never seen before. It was still present in Danny’s bony postmortem and on the surface of his skin.

Processing the information, the realization hits Evelyn like a ton of bricks.

“Maitotoxin… that’s derived from parasites in fish, isn’t it? But… there’s no antidote so… I’m going to die here…” her voice now barely a whisper. “I can’t believe this. Today was supposed to be happy. Kyra was supposed to have a successful surgery and everything was supposed to be fine… but now Danny’s dead, Raf is in a coma, and I’m… I’m…” Evelyn buries her face in her hands as she begins to cry.

“Now isn’t the time to give up hope Evelyn. Because of Raf’s actions, you didn’t get much in your system so your symptoms aren’t as advanced. There may not be an antidote as yet, but I promise you that we’ll be working round-the-clock to synthesize one.” Ethan tries to sound as confident as he can, his heart breaking to see Evelyn hurting.

“You won’t be alone.”

Everyone turns around to see that the statement had come from Tobias, as he, and several Mass Kenmore doctors approached them, all prepared to do whatever it takes.

As everyone heads down to the lab, Ethan lingers behind at the window.

“Are you okay, Ethan?”

“No, Evelyn, I’m not okay. But you don’t need to hear about that. You should try and get some rest. Have you slept at all?”

“No. I can’t stop thinking about Rafael. How long he can last… whether… whether it’s already…”

“…Do you want me to stay for a while?”

“Yes, please. If this is my last night alive, I want to spend it with you.”

“If I was in your position, I’d feel the same way about you.”

“Really?”

“Really, Evelyn.”

Suiting up and entering the room, he gently guides her to the bed.

“Now lie down. I know it sounds impossible, but I need you to relax and try to think about something happy.”

As she lies down, Ethan gently pulls up the covers around her.

“Something happy like what it would be like if we went on a date?”

“If that’s what makes you happy then sure.”

Her happiness leaves as quickly as it came.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just feel like there are so many things that I should have done.”

“Like what?”

“I should have loved more.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve spent the last decade focusing on college, med school, work, always guarding my heart because I might be in another city the next year. It makes me wonder… what could have been,” she confesses sadly.

Ethan is quiet for a long moment.

“Since we’re sharing regrets, do you mind if I share one of mine?”

“Go ahead.”

Reaching across, Ethan’s gloved hand finds hers.

“I wish I hadn’t asked you to stay away.”

“You do?” she asks surprised.

“We’ve wasted so much time. I’ve wasted so much time. I should have held you in my arms every day and told you how much I… how much I love you.”

“Ethan?”

“Shh… I just needed you to know… that no matter what happens… I love and care about you more than I can ever tell you.”

“I love you too, Ethan.”

“You do?”

“Of course! I thought you knew that already.”

“I did. It’s just so wonderful to hear you say it.”

“I wish I could kiss you.”

“Soon. You will soon.”

Joining her on the bed, he wraps his bulky arms around her as eyes begin to flutter closed.

“Evelyn? Can you please look at me?”

“Hmm?”

Forcing her eyes open, she looks at him through his helmet.

“Promise me that you’ll keep fighting. That you won’t give up. Oh, Evelyn… our story’s only just begun and it can’t end here. Please… please promise me.”

“…I… promise,” she whispers before falling asleep.

The next morning she wakes up to excruciating pain in her stomach. Doubling over, Ethan reaches across from the chair for her.

“It’s okay Evelyn, you’ll be alright!”

Feeling weaker than ever, she can barely make out the blurry figures running to her window.

“Evelyn! We did it!” Aurora shouts.

“Huh?”

Baz and June enter the room with the antidote as Tobias explains how they did it.

“What about Raf? He’s much sicker than I am…”

“We administered it to him, but too far there’s been no chance. It’s possible we’re already too late.” Sienna gloomily reveals.

“But he hasn’t gotten any worse, that has to mean something!” Elijah adds.

As Ethan gently injects the serum into her vein, he whispers into her ear.

“Hang in there, Evelyn.”

Over the next several anxious hours, June comes regularly to take her blood.

Slowly, her blood pressure stabilizes and the nausea begins to fade.

As Evelyn looks around, she realizes that the room no longer looks blurry.

“Get up.”

She turns around to see a hazmat suit free Ethan stroll into the room with a big smile on his face.

“You mean…”

“It worked. There’s no trace of toxin left in your bloodstream. Even if there are still traces in the room, we know now that we can-”

“Oh!”

Evelyn flies into Ethan's arms pulling him into a tight hug.

“…What you’re saying is I’m finally free to do this?”

“Yes. This too.”

He leans down capturing her lips in a passionate kiss as tears fall down both of their faces.

“Ethan, aren’t you worried that someone will see?”

“No. After almost losing you, I’ve decided that there are more important things to worry about than what people will think. I love you with all my heart, Evelyn Long.”

Through her tears, she smiles up at him.

“I love you too, Ethan.”

{Two Weeks Later}

Taglist: @mercury84choices @a-crepusculo @emmasumbrella @quixoticdreamer16 @headoverheelsforramsey @mm2305 @adiehardfan @schnitzelbutterfingers

@choicesficwriterscreations @choicesbookclub

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed❤️

#playchoices #open heart #oph book club #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #ethan x evelyn #oph fic #open heart fanfic #choices fic writers creations

[creativeashproductions]

Lost Time II // Luke Patterson

Summary: Weeks after discovering his greatest joy Luke visits his former girlfriend to make up for the lost time. Unable to do it alone his band gives their support to find her and stand by his side as he faces his greatest regret.

Warning: Talk of death, allusion to homophobic parents, teen pregnancy and angst

Words: 3.1k

The book Midnight Club by Christopher Pike came out in 1994 but to fit this fic the book came out in 1993. Also, Alex’s last name will be Mitchell in this.

*For the sake of the story the time frame has been altered, it takes place in the mid-2000s. Also! I tried to make the reader as generalized as I could to make sure that everyone can relate. The reader is Alex’s sister, for inclusion that can be biological, adopted, half or stepsiblings. I want to make sure all people can be the reader.

A/N: Jesus I love Ben with my entire heart and I am a cruel person to have ripped Luke and Ben from each other before they had a chance. Enjoy!

Part One

Masterlist

Los Angeles, 1993

A sunny summer day spent outside reading a new book that had come out recently nestled in your hands under the large tree. The tree that had many tire swings before your parents caved to get a swing set. Now the tree was a companion on lovely days providing shade under the hot sun.

Alex was at band practice with the rest of Sunset Curve in the garage, or studio as Luke deemed it. More often than not, you would be in the studio watching them rehearse, but things changed, things had gotten more serious with Luke in the past six or so months. Plus, Bobby seriously was someone you wanted the least amount of time spent with.

“Hey.” Luke sighed, dropped on the faded blanket you had settled on. Raising one finger, you finished the page before placing the bookmark in.

“Hi.” You grinned leaning in as he pressed a kiss to your soft lips, “Used my Chapstick again?”

Luke hid his face in the crook of your neck, “I’m addicted to it, or it’s just your lips.”

He snuck another kiss before nudging you to adjust lay against his chest between his legs, a familiar position. One where you could read a book, and he could wrap his one arm around you while he wrote in his songbook with the other. God, you loved the boy with your entire heart.

“How’s the book?”

“It’s okay.”

“What’s it about?” Luke asked, wrapping his arms around your midsection.

“Five terminally ill teens living in a hospice tell scary stories every night. They all made a pact together that whoever died first would have to try to contact the others.” You sighed, dropping the book beside you to rest your arms on his.

“Sounds depressing.” Luke hummed, pressing a kiss to your neck, “I can think of more exciting things to do.”

“Over my dead body.” Alex snickered walking passed the young couple on his walk to the house. Reggie following after him with a laugh of his own; it was still odd to see Luke so loved up.

“I was talking about going to a concert!” Luke called out as his friends entered the Mitchell house, leaving the couple alone.

“You totally were not.” You spoke already knowing the answer as Luke nodded his head, “It’s a shock he lets us be alone.”

Turning to face Luke, you couldn’t help the blush that grew from the soft look in his eyes that you had only noticed after he asked you out. The boy had had a crush for a long time even if it was awkward given the previous thing he had with Alex.

“He’ll have to get used to it.”

“So, have you gotten a gig at The Orpheum yet?” You asked, shifting again to nestle against his side content to spend the time there in the backyard.

“Nah, we booked some smaller venues, but we’ll get there. I know it.” Luke was completely confident that one day he would be playing in the most popular venues. The other thing he was confident was his relationship.

“Where will I be?” You spoke looking at the recently turned sixteen-year-old boy who had quickly become the most important thing in your life. Never expected to fall in love with Alex’s ex-fling.

“Cheering us on. Have to have my number one supporter and wife because she’s been there since the dream began. The dream just expanded?”

 “Wife?” You breathed.

“I’m not dating you just to date. I’m dating you because when I dream of my future, you are right there next to me.” Luke admitted caressing your cheek the pad of his thumb, “Wherever in the world, we find ourselves I want you there.”

“What about kids?”

“We’ll have as many as you want. Or however many we are lucky to have.” Luke breathed growing more excited as he finally revealed his ideas and firm belief, “Of course I want to be married first. After The Orpheum I want the next thing to focus one hundred percent on is a wedding that you deserve and-“

“Ask me.”

“What?”

“Ask me.” You raised to your knees cradling his face in your hands, “That’s what I dream of too. Having a career but something that lets me travel with the love of my life and my chosen family.”

“It’s not how I want…I want it to be special and romantic because you deserve it.” Luke adamantly spoke, pressing his hands on yours still resting on his face.

“Luke. I love you. Just sitting here like we are is special and romantic.”

“Will you marry me?” Luke whispered, leaning to press his forehead on yours. The orange beanie tickling your skin.

“Yes. As soon as I turn eighteen.” You didn’t care if you had two more years to wait. As long as Luke was by your side, you didn’t care about how you got married just as long as you married him.

Los Angeles, 2004

There are times that Reggie knows that the last thing people need is his goofy personality and jokes. When Luke returned from wherever he had gone, it was evident that something had drastically changed since the last time they had seen him.

“Luke?” Reggie gently spoke hesitantly moving to the boy curled on the couch, sobbing into his hands. Reggie had never seen Luke like this before, not even when it cemented that they had died and Luke’s future with Y/N shattered in a moment.

“Reg-“ Alex poofed in next going stock still at the distraught teenager. His eyes widened as he quickly made his way to Luke, “What’s wrong?”

“I-I saw Y/N.” Luke choked out, shaking his head, “I knew it would hurt, but it felt like I died again. Like I literally watched my hopes and dream just shatter before me.”

 Alex was quiet taking in that Luke had seen Y/N. Alex missed his sister with everything in him, but Luke had plans.

“How is she?” Alex whispered, grabbing the hands of one of his best friends in the entire world. The one guy he had wholly trusted with his sister’s heart.

“She looks so good. God, it’s been nine years for her but only a few weeks for me. She’s more beautiful than I remember.” Luke breathed, raising teary eyes to meet Alex and Reggie’s concerned expressions, “I also saw Ben.”

“She got married?” Alex questioned surprised, “Please tell me it isn’t Bobby. I don’t think I could stomach that.”

“His name isn’t Ben and he probably tried after deciding on a respectable time for it to be okay-“

“Reggie.” Alex hissed motioning him to stop talking while Luke knew that Bobby had had feelings for you, he didn’t think he would try anything.

“I don’t think she’s married, but Ben is definitely a big part of what I missed out on.” Luke sighed, picking at a loose thread on his jeans, “I’m sure you know that in the three years, I was actually alive and with her that things happened.”

“Things like…?” Alex trailed off having a feeling he wouldn’t want to know about whatever Luke was hesitant to announce.

“Um…well we were, I am in love.” Luke grimaced at how odd it was to word his feelings for a girl he had died while planning a future, “in relationships you show affection in particular-“

“Okay as you struggle to finish that I will.” Reggie spoke, turning to Alex, “Luke and Y/N as a couple were having sex.”

Alex’s eyes went wide at the blunt statement that he never wanted to hear again in his life because you were his sister! He didn’t need to even think of anything to do other than the kissing he sometimes walked in on. He knew already but didn’t want to know either.

“I died, leaving Y/N pregnant! Which I didn’t know about.” Luke shouted poofing to the other side of the garage when he saw Alex’s fist start to clench. He poofed to the loft when Alex appeared to his last place, “C’mon man!”

“You knocked my sister up!”

Reggie’s mouth dropped at the physical aggression that Alex was showing because Alex was more peaceful and non-violent.

“I didn’t know! He’s eight!” Luke yelped when Alex grabbed him in a headlock, “Dude! I didn’t know! We were gonna get married when she turned eighteen! I love her, man!”

Reggie pulled Alex away from the lead guitarist before a fight happened, and even though part of Reggie wanted to see Alex fight…he wanted Luke here as well.

Alex was quiet, “What does he look like?”

Despite the agony of not being there for his son Luke launched into a description of the little boy.

With a white lie out of Julie’s mouth, she had gotten the address from Emily and Mitch for Luke and Alex. The address led to a small house with pretty flowers and a bike in the front yard; the place where Luke’s son had been growing up in since he was two years old.

Julie’s fist raised, knocking on the white door listening as footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. The door opened, revealing a little boy with startling green eyes that he inherited from his father.

“Benjamin Lucas!” You huffed turning the corner with a frown, “You may be eight, but you are still not allowed to open the door alone!”

The little boy slouched at the greeting before his eyes met three boys behind the Peurto Rican pretty girl.

“Oh my god. He looks just like you!” Alex hissed to Luke unable to remove his gaze from his…his nephew. His attention pulled to the woman his sister had grown to be.

“Julie, right?” You spoke gently tugging Ben closer to you, “Can I help you?”

“Yeah.” Julie nodded, mumbled a thank you as you welcomed the girl into the small home you had made. It was small but perfect, “Did he get stitches?”

“Oh yeah! I guess you were there when he got hurt.” You nodded, moving a book from the couch for Julie to sit down. Your attention was on Ben as he went to the corner to play with toys, “He did. He’s kinda like my brother and his dad in that way.”

 “Oh, god.” The overly familiar voice snapped your attention.

Sitting on either side of Julie were exact replicas of three boys that tragically died back in 1995, everyone froze. Even Ben looked up from the tension.

“Mama?” Ben asked, furrowing his brow.

“It’s okay Ben. Can you go to your room?” You asked, staring pale at the two people that you hadn’t noticed before. They hadn’t been visible to you at the time until they sat beside Julie. The scampering of feet and the gentle closing a door left you alone with four people.

“She can see us.”

Mutely you nodded at Alex’s statement slouching into the couch in shock, “What is happening?”

“I found a CD in my garage, and I played it. Out of nowhere, Luke, Reggie and Alex literally appeared in the room. They’re ghosts.” Julie spoke softly, “I’m not sure how I can see them, but I can.”

“Wow.” You breathed leaning back into the couch, unable to tear your gaze from the three boys, “Let me guess. Your first order of business was haunting the hell out of Bobby?”

Bobby, Trevor as the world knew, had lived up to your predictions of him being a lowlife rat boy. If you didn’t have Ben, you would have gone after him, but you couldn’t risk what little you had at the time.

“He stole our songs,” Luke grumbled crossing his arms so like you remember from years ago. He was still the passionate, caring musician you fell in love with so quickly.

 “I know. I tried everything but with Ben…it was too hard, but hey he’s gotten little success from his new stuff. Guess he didn’t think of how stealing songs wouldn’t pan out.” You shrugged, twisting a ring on your finger that Luke gave you a few weeks after the spontaneous proposal.

“So Ben?” Alex questioned, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees with great interest in the new topic.

The tsunami of happiness broke through the heavy fog of sadness when your favourite subject came around. Talking about Ben could go on for years you swore with the amount of love for him.

“His name is Benjamin Lucas Patterson. He’s eight years old and obsessed with music, they say playing classical music helps with mental intelligence. Still, he wouldn’t settle unless I played rock.” You laughed glancing over your shoulder at the closed door, “He adores Bear in the Big Blue House and Dragon Tales. Not fond of Barney or Sesame Street but he’ll still watch it.”

The guys ate it up listening to every detail of a little boy they missed even if they only recently learnt about him. Reggie was silent listening to your stories of the young boy.

“His prized possession…come with me.” You gestured turning to head to the bedroom, “I didn’t ask for a lot of baby stuff, just the essentials and anything someone could make. Sunset Curve. You guys were significant to us, so I wanted Ben to have that.”

Ben was settled playing with the cars by his toy chest barely glancing as four people came together. Julie decided to stay in the living room. With a hand, you grabbed the blanket Ben absolutely always needed. It was a homemade blanket made entirely out of clothing—one of Reggie’s flannels, a few shirts from concerts with Luke and clothing that Alex loved.

“Y/N,” Alex spoke, brushing his fingers over the worn material touched at the action of doing something so little yet powerful.

 “I’m going, to be frank. After you died and I went to your fun-“ the word choked you as if you were back in 1995 sitting beside your mother wearing that black dress; a dress you burnt in the bathroom tub, “Mom found the test in my room. Rookie mistake. They weren’t thrilled about the baby and who the father was.”

“They kicked you out?”

“And Luke’s parents immediately welcomed me into their home. I owe them a lot, and Emily made this for Ben, she may not have approved of the band, but she knew it was important, so she wanted Ben to have a piece of his father’s greatest joy.”

“Mama? Can we have burgers tonight?” Ben asked quietly from his toys, “Can they stay for supper?”

Ben was shy with new people, but once he got to know someone, he was just like Luke with his bubbly and passionate personality. He was the spitting image of Luke with his hair and eye colour, but he got your nose and skin colour.

“If they want to.” You smiled, reaching over to pull the eight-year-old into your arms only wanting him to never grow up.

Alex, needing a break from the grief, wandered to a picture hanging on the wall that was a shadow box with his very first drum sticks. Underneath was Reggie’s old necklace that had to be replaced. Lastly underneath was the very first pick Luke used for the first song the band had performed.

“I’m Ben.” The boy spoke, meeting the eyes of the newcomers, “You’re the band that passed away, right?”

“Yeah. This may be confusing but Ben this is Alex, Reggie and Luke.” You replied, brushing his bangs away from his eyes. Ben returned to his quiet nature before looking at your eyes.

“That’s my family, right?”

In perfect sync, Alex and Luke started silently crying at the little boy’s words wishing that that night had never happened. It seemed at the time the right way to start the new chapter with one last street dog.

 “Yeah, baby.” You cleared your throat nodding along to the innocent words your son spoke before he was wandering out of the room, “One hour of cartoons young man.”

“I’m gonna go.” Reggie spoke gesturing after the boy, “I wanna watch Cartoons.”

Reggie poofed out of the room following the little boy out of the room, leaving three sad people. The room was heavy in loss, so sad it could choke a person.

“Does Mom and Dad have anything to do with him?” Alex asked as the boys covered their grief by wandering around the bedroom. Taking in the pictures of Ben from throughout the eight years, some with you or with his paternal grandparents. Few had Alex and your parents.

“They moved a few months after you died.” You admitted, “After the way they reacted to Ben I didn’t want him in that environment. We get Christmas cards and calls on his birthday, but I don’t have the time to travel.”

Alex nodded vividly remembering the way they reacted after he had told his parents that he didn’t like girls. It was challenging since Dad was always excited for the family name to be passed down, he didn’t see that the name could continue no matter who Alex loved. Mom was more open but stepped in line with her husband instead of her hurting son.

“I’m sorry.” Luke blurted stepping closer to you, allowing you to see the ocean of tears and pain swimming in his tortured gaze, “I shouldn’t have gotten that street dog. I should have stayed with you, you weren’t feeling good.”

“Things happen for a reason, Luke.” You sadly reminded the boy, “I wish it didn’t happen, but it did, and I’ve learned to live with that. Ben has a wonderful family and a good life.”

“He knows about us too,” Luke spoke, thinking back to barely half an hour ago when Ben acted as if he knew Luke all his life. God, Luke wished he could have seen everything.

“I have videos of Ben if you want to see them.” You offered the boy, “There’s a television in the den where Ben has his baby book, and the home videos if you want. You can stay in there all you want.”

Luke nodded, playing with his fingers, “I’d love that.”

“If you want to be alone, I can take Ben for ice cream. You can have the whole house to watch alone.” You graciously offered the boy you would always love and believed before that you would see him in decades after your own death.

Luke silently nodded following as you took him to the den where it had a child-sized guitar and floor to ceiling bookshelves. A television was tucked in the corner with a video camera stored on a shelf with a VHS player. In a sealed container, the home videos were kept safe along with the baby books.

“I’ll be back in a few hours. It’s nice to see you, Luke. Really.” You told the now younger boy keeping his eyes on the opened bucket. A bucket that held all the firsts he had missed out on a little boy he had loved since first seeing him in his family home weeks ago.

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#luke patterson imagines #julie and the phantoms imagines #luke patterson x reader #charlie gillespie imagines #jatp luke #jatp au #jatp fanfic #dad!luke patterson #uncle!alex jatp #caitsy and ash productions

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Death | Peter Parker

So I wasn't expecting to post this today (or anything today). I wasn't expecting to have to work through my feelings with death today— to have to try to understand why people die and why they die young— but life hits you when you don't expect it, you know? You don't expect the people you know— especially when they're your age— to die. I don't, at least. And I wasn't sure where to turn to— or even how to say how I was feeling— so I chose Peter— because I'm sure if someone gets it, it would be him. I don't know if this piece will make any sense— but I guess that's fitting because neither did the death. A., you can rest now.

Synopsis: Peter doesn't understand why Death seems to follow him around.

Characters: Peter Parker, May Parker, Ben Parker, Stephen Strange, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts

Warnings: Angst, Heavy mention of death (literally the title), mentions of plane crashes, mentions of animal death (his dog dies), mention of funerals, Endgame references, sadness

Word count: 1.5k

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Sometimes Peter Parker feels like Death follows him around.

It starts when he’s six years old. It starts peacefully. Maybe Death is trying to give a child a break— maybe Death knows it shouldn’t have to happen (both his parents dying on that plane, that is). That’s what he likes to believe anyway— how else does a six year old cope with death?

He doesn’t remember much beyond the long service (which now that he thinks about it was probably only forty-five minutes and change) and the starchy, itchy suit that May stuffs him into between his questions about death and cake. Yeah, he’s focused on the cake— how else does a six year old cope with funerals?

It isn’t much harder when his dog, Stomper, dies a few years later. He cries more— at least he remembers crying more— but then again he’s now ten and he understands more about Death. He understands its meaning— and the way it makes him feel— but not it’s permanence. Maybe that’s just Death yet again looking out for the likes of a child, though.

At ten years old he still allows himself to believe Death is nothing but an entity working a job— that Death doesn’t want Peter’s family to leave him just as much as Peter doesn’t. He tells himself that the proof of this (of Death’s humanity, if ten year olds even understand the concept of humanity) is that Stomper died of old age. His proof is that it was his time and that Death gives people— and dogs— as long as possible.

If that isn’t proof enough, then maybe there’s some more proof in the fact that May still doesn’t answer all of his questions— like why he isn’t allowed to see Stomper one more time. How else does a twenty-nine year old woman explain the intricacies of cars and dogs to a ten year old?

It isn’t until Peter is thirteen that he begins to wonder if Death is as kind as he’s been telling himself. It hits him as he places a rose on top of a shiny metal casket that maybe Death is a little cruel too. It hits him when he sees the initials B.P. carved into said shiny metal casket. His uncle Ben’s shiny metal casket. They had tickets to see the Dodgers next weekend— surely Death would have known that. He’s sure baseball is still revered in the afterlife, so what’s the deal?

He reiterates to May that exact question. This time when he asks her about death, she answers a little more truthfully.

“Why did he die? “

“He got shot— it was an accident.”

“How do you know it was an accident?”

“All death is an accident, Pete.”

“So Death made a mistake?”

“Yeah maybe. Maybe Death made a mistake.”

“How could Death make a mistake?”

She drops the mug in her hand when he asks that one (a mistake too he supposes) and the sound of the porcelain breaking as it hits the tiles around her feet sounds a lot like the home run alarm.

“I don’t know— I don’t know how. We all make mistakes.”

It’s at this point that he realizes that maybe May knows just as much about Death as he does. He would have preferred it didn't happen then— It’s a pretty big revelation for a thirteen year old who’s just had his second dad ripped away from him— but by now he’s starting to realize that, like Death, Life doesn’t work on his schedule either.

Still, at thirteen he has some hope left. Enough to try again, at least.

“Why did he die?”

“He got shot. I told you it was an accident Pete.”

May is bent over picking up the pieces of the broken mug (he’s too smart to think about the metaphor in that).

“Why did he die?”

“It was an accident.”

May tries again, still not looking at him— her hands are shaking now.

“Why did he die?”

She drops the pieces— she’s given up.

“He was shot.”

This time it isn’t an accident (maybe Death doesn’t make mistakes).

However maybe it is (maybe Death does) because at sixteen something happens that makes him revert back to how he was at ten. He starts thinking that maybe Death is on his side after all— that maybe mistakes happen but that it’s okay because they’re made with good intentions. After all, how else does a sixteen year old cope with his own death if he doesn’t believe that Death is kind?

Death must be kind because how else would be here, alive, if it wasn’t?

“Did I die?”

He asks— this time May isn’t here.

“I don’t know, kid.”

May may as well be here by the way Stephen answers.

“Did I die?”

He doesn’t know if he’s asking Stephen again or if he just can’t keep the question from leaving his lips but Stephen answers anyway.

“I think so.”

That’s not the answer May would give— it must be the wrong answer.

“Did I die?”

“Yeah kid— you died. We both did. But we’re back now so you’ve got to stay alive.”

Stephen doesn’t say it but Peter hears it— the relief. They’re alive— they shouldn’t be alive but they are. So yeah, maybe Death is kind after all. Maybe Death makes mistakes. Maybe Death corrects it’s mistakes.

Maybe that’s just the hope, though, because at sixteen (Peter doesn’t want to think about how he should be twenty-one and not sixteen) he stops wondering about those questions. Not because he isn’t curious about the answers anymore— he was just asking Stephen less than half an hour ago if he had died— but because they’re all, in fact, answered.

Peter doesn’t so much see Tony snap his fingers as he does hear it. In fact, he doesn’t know it’s Tony who’s snapping his fingers until the alien with his grimey hand around Peter’s throat dissolves. Kind of like how Peter had. Like the mug— he doesn’t think too hard about that (how else does a sixteen year old cope with an existential crisis?).

When Peter makes it back to Tony at sixteen with his hair matted to his forehead and his face covered in ash, his questions are answered.

“Mr. Stark we won, did you see—”

Peter stops, his eyes drifting to the blood at the corner of Tony’s mouth (he knows by now that his questions are answered but he doesn’t listen— he doesn’t know why). He watches as his lips curl up one last time (he tells himself that it’s not the last time— he doesn’t know why). He tries again (he has hope— he knows why).

He has to have hope (how else does a sixteen year old cope with watching someone they love die?)

“Tony we won— we won.”

He doesn’t get a response, only a hand on the shoulder as Pepper coaxes him to the side. Peter can’t hear what she says to Tony, his ears are ringing too loud. Eventually the light on Tony’s chest goes out— eventually Pepper’s lips stop moving (he doesn’t know why). They won but it doesn’t feel like they won (of course he knows why). Yeah, at sixteen all his questions are answered, even if he doesn’t think about them until he’s back in the starchy, itchy suit.

May’s hand feels like lead on his shoulder but he doesn’t have enough energy to tell her to move it as he watches Pepper lower the arc reactor into the pond. He’s trying to pay attention— trying not to cry— but his thoughts keep drifting (does he know why?). This time he’s not thinking about cake.

He’s thinking about Death (is that how sixteen year olds cope?).

It’s how he copes (finally putting answers to questions).

Death doesn’t make mistakes— how could it when Tony knew what the stones would do to him?

Pepper is crying now— he thinks maybe he is too. He can’t feel anything anymore though, not even May’s hand. All he can do is think.

Death isn’t kind— if it was then it wouldn’t have taken his third dad.

Peter is starting to hate thinking.

He wishes he had never acknowledged Death at six years old. Now he knows that it will never stop following him. He wishes he didn’t have so many questions still. He knows that May won’t answer them— she won’t know the answers. He knows Stephen won’t answer them— even if he knows the answers he won’t be around to tell Peter them.

He blinks, watching as the people around him begin to move. A couple of them stop when they pass, squeezing his arm or patting his shoulder, but he doesn’t move. He can’t.

No, Death isn’t kind, but it sure is persistent.

He doesn’t know why (maybe that’s the last kindness Death does him— giving him a new question to ask).

#Peter Parker #Spider Man #Peter Parker Angst #spider man angst #peter parker fic #peter parker drabble #spider man fic #spider man drabble #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #mcu fic #mcu angst #mcu drabble

[preciouspeterbparker]

the warmest bed i’ve ever known

finally got this bitch finished! 

based on “tis the damn season” by taylor swift. i was also listening to the phoebe bridgers cover of “christmas song”, “last christmas” cover by pale waves (recorded @ spotify), and “home alone, too” by the staves 

also this is only my 2nd time writing starker so lmk what you think plz?

happy holidays! - bloo

word count: 6.07k. this was intended to basically be a porny blurb...instead there’s so much fucking plot it’s probably overwhelming and minimal porn. i’m sorry

warnings: angst, depression & anxiety, drug use (that good kush ft some hotboxing & shotgunning), smut, character death (not tony or peter), tony’s kind of country lmao. despite all the aforementioned things, there is in fact a happy ending! 

summary: peter makes the trip back home for christmas and once again finds himself caught up in deep brown eyes and a charming smile. tis the damn season. 

Peter had forgotten how cold New York winters were. He’d grown used to the year-long warmth of Los Angeles. He supposed the cold was appropriate- it was as if the weather was in cahoots with the solid, frigid thing that was sitting in the pit of his stomach. The last time he’d spent Christmas in Aurora, the last time he’d seen him… Tony.

Just thinking the other man’s name made Peter flex his hands anxiously as he slid out of the driver’s seat of his black Mercedes AMG GT into the amber glow of the streetlight, gently shutting the door closed behind him, still in the overly cautious period of owning the new car. He wondered what Tony would think of it. Last time Peter had come home, he was still driving May’s old Subaru. It’d been almost 2 years to the day, now, which felt like both a century and no time at all. He wished it wasn’t so hard. He wished they hadn’t been caught in this song & dance for so long. It seemed like no matter how good Peter’s intentions, it always came down to one thing: he was so damn scared. He always ran away, no matter how badly he wanted to stay. 

Scuffing a boot through the slush in the street, the brunette straightened his shoulders and made his way toward the brick building, a quick smile quirking half his mouth up as he read the neon red sign above the closed garage door. Stark’s. Memories came flooding back, the countless nights he spent cooped up in the little shop during high school, sketching elaborate ensembles and daydreaming about having his very first collection while surrounded by the smell of motor oil and the sounds of tinkering. The bell above the door jingled merrily as Peter stepped through and wiped his feet on the mat. The pleasant sound of Frank Sinatra crooning the words of “The Christmas Waltz” met his ears. Another small smile flitted over Peter’s face. That was something that tended to happen when he was around Tony. 

“Just a second,” came the slightly muffled voice, a little strained. The man in question was bent over, headfirst in the engine of his old 1979 Chevy C10, the one he’d gotten senior year of highschool. The collar of a heather grey henley peeked out from under a deep red and green plaid flannel stretched over his shoulders as he leaned a little further under the hood, using a wrench to tighten what looked to be a lugnut to Peter from his spot by the door, too nervous to go further inside. 

“I can wait,” Peter replied softly, trying not to stare at Tony’s jean-clad ass and anxious of the older boy man’s reaction. (It looked like Tony had done a lot of growing up over the past two years, no longer the boy he remembered. Peter supposed the same could be said about himself in a way, though he wasn’t sure if it was for better or worse.)

And apparently he was right to be cautious.

Tony promptly smacked his head on the underside of the hood as he jerked upright at the sound of Peter’s voice. “Fuck.”  Moving more carefully, Tony stood upright and turned around, his dark eyes wide. “Peter,” he said, visibly and audibly surprised. To be honest, it hurt Peter a little bit, how surprised he sounded. Maybe coming here was a mistake. Did they not do this nearly every year over the past seven? Had- Oh god, had something changed? Fuck, did Tony finally get tired of-  Had he found-

Peter resolutely cut that train of thought off before he could panic. “Hi, Tony.” He swallowed drily, making eye contact for a moment, before casting his eyes away only for them to make their way back to the open face in front of him. “Think you have time for a quick bite to eat?” He slipped his left hand into the pocket of the new, warm wool coat he bought expressly for this trip. “It’s almost dinner time. And I have a treat,” he intoned, tapping his right pointer and middle fingers against his lips.

Tony beamed and immediately reached for a shop rag to wipe his hands, the black grease and oil smearing on the probably-used-to-be-white-at-some-point fabric. One of those hands came up to scratch at his facial hair, a new addition that made something simmer deep in Peter’s gut. The older man's brown eyes twinkled as he paused to glance at Peter. “You had me at ‘hi, Tony.’” He then proceeded to move about the shop, swiping his phone from atop a chest of metal drawers, Sinatra’s voice coming to an abrupt stop. He pulled on his old lined jean jacket (the one Peter was constantly mending in high school; now it just had small tears in some places, and what appeared to be Tony’s d-i-y patchwork in others). The sign on the front door was flipped to ‘closed’ and Tony pulled a keyring from his belt loop, locking it and flicking off the lights. The streetlights outside the building and the colorful holiday lights strung along the edge of the roof provided just enough light for them to be able to clearly see each other, the sun having set early, around four o’clock. Peter had forgotten about that as well. 

He moved to grab his car keys from a pocket but Tony spoke up, patting the dark green paint of his truck’s hood and walking over to the garage door. His hand hovered over the button that would open it. “Actually, I just finished giving Delilah a tuneup, mind if we take ‘er for a spin?” 

“Sure,” Peter agreed without hesitation, still feeling relieved (and grateful) that his invitation was accepted. 

Tony pushed his palm against the button and paused to do a double-take after the metal door lifted completely. His eyebrows rose at the sight of Peter’s car parked in the small lot beside the shop. “Damn, L.A.. Not worried about your fancy new car?” His tone was slightly teasing, but there was a bit of shock mixed with something else as well, and it caused Peter to go hot, feeling insecure. (What if Tony didn’t like who Peter was, now? Peter didn’t exactly like who he was now.) Tony must’ve noticed his discomfort, because he cracked a grin and bumped his shoulder against Peter’s as he made his way to the driver’s side, yanking the door open. “C’mon, Parker, ‘m just fuckin’ with you. Hop in - how’da some burgers from Delmar’s an’ a trip out to the field sound?” 

***

They grabbed food from the hole-in-the-wall diner down the road (the one where sixteen year-old Peter burned the shit out of his hand on his first day and promptly quit) and once they were bundled back in the truck with their burgers, fries and one banana milkshake (“yeah, but these are your favorite,” Tony had said in response to Peter’s exclamation that it was too cold out), Tony drove them out to the field behind the old high school. He parked the car under the lamppost, leaving it running in order to keep the heat on. His thick mechanic’s fingers began to fiddle with the temperature controls. Nat King Cole was playing quietly on the radio. 

Peter shifted the paper bag of food in his lap, searching for words but not knowing what to say, and plucked the joint and lighter from his coat. The paper-covered filter found its way between his lips and he inhaled softly as he lit the tip. Satisfied with the light, he french inhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. The first hit was always the best. Peter loved the way he could feel it all the way in his bones. He didn’t know how to describe it other than deep. When he opened them, he made eye contact with Tony in the dim light, and immediately cut his gaze away as he felt the heat rush to his face. He could feel when Tony looked away a moment later.

The lull continued and Peter gingerly held the joint between his fingertips as he exhaled, hand outstretched.  

Worn fingers plucked it away, and Peter’s eyes were immediately drawn to the slightly chapped lips that wrapped themselves around the filter. “You stayin’ at um, at May's...old place?” Tony faltered as he inhaled, as if he wasn't sure what the most sensitive way to talk about it was. 

“Yeah," Peter said softly as he looked down at his lap. Spending his first night in the house alone last night had made him feel the loneliest he'd ever been in his life, and that was saying something because he’d been feeling pretty miserable lately. Peter saw May everywhere he looked, waiting to hear her call for him to come taste some new-fangled recipe from the kitchen, or to please, for the hundredth time, rinse the dishes before he put them in the sink. He missed her more than he thought possible, her death earth-shattering after having already lost Ben when he was 17, back when this mess all started. When he left for the first time. When he started running away. “It’s- It’s weird but I’m...adjusting. It’s honestly not that different to when she was alive, though. Y’know- recently.” He cut himself off, not sure if he wanted Tony to know the full reality of his existence, now. 

Because it was true. It killed Peter to admit it, but his relationship with Aunt May started going downhill around the time of Ben’s death, too. By the time she had her heart attack a little more than two years ago, he hadn’t seen her in over a year, or talked to her in nearly as long. It was the biggest regret of his life, pushing May away; the second was the way he essentially did the same thing to Tony, however drawn-out it had been. 

Peter reached out for the joint and his fingers brushed against Tony’s, sending a jolt up his spine. “How,” Peter started, swallowing as he twiddled the lighter between his fingers not holding the joint. “How’ve you been, Tony?” He was scared to ask what he really wanted to know. Have you finally had enough? Did you stop waiting on me? Am I too late? To distract himself a bit, he cracked the window so he could ash the joint before taking another drag. 

"Same ol’, same ol’,” came Tony’s reply, his voice weary. “I mean, you already know this, but nothin’ really changes here." The quiet way he said it was slightly self-deprecating and the younger man hated it, hated that he had something to do with it. (Peter remembered the way he spat the words at Tony in the wee hours of the morning oh so long ago. "I've gotta get out of this fucking town- I can’t stay here, Tony! You might be okay dying here, a nobody with nothing, but I'm not!")

That’s why I had to leave, he thought, chest tightening. I was trapped in this town. It was never you, Tony. You were perfect. You’re perfect. 

"..Yeah," is what came out instead. Peter took another hit before he handed the joint back to Tony and began rifling through the grease-splotched bag, passing the older man his burger before unwrapping his own. He took the top bun off in order to lay down a handful of fries from the bag, smooshing the top back on afterwards. A moan left Peter’s mouth at the first bite, and he heard a chuckle bubble up from Tony’s chest. (He would never admit it, especially not to anyone back in L.A., anyone who didn’t know him before, but this was his favorite meal in the world.)

“Funny that you still do that. So, um,” Tony began again, stuffing a few fries in his mouth and chewing as he spoke out the side of his mouth. “I saw your new collection. It looked nice.” He licked a bit of salt off his thumb. 

Peter’s ears burned as he swallowed his bite and raised an eyebrow at the man across from him. “You pay attention to fashion, now?” He fought off a smile at the thought of Tony delicately flipping through the pages of a high-fashion magazine. 

“Not like- I’ve tried to keep up with your work,” Tony mumbled, swallowing, his own face taking on a bit of a rosy-hue. “Like to know what you're up to all the way out there.” The joint touched his lips for a few seconds before it made its way back to Peter’s fingers. “I do know how Google works.” 

Peter shivered as he felt something flutter in the pit of his stomach at the salt grains that touched his tongue when he took his next pull. “Tastes like salt,” he breathed on the exhale, locking eyes with Tony through the smoke that had accumulated in the car. 

Something flashed in the older man’s eyes as he stole the weed back and took a large hit, crooking his salt-sprinkled fingers to beckon Peter closer. 

Peter’s own reddened eyes widened when he caught on to what Tony wanted, his heart picking up speed. They hadn’t done that in years. Still clutching his burger in his left hand, he used the right to support himself as he leaned over the console to press his mouth against Tony’s. He closed his eyes as he inhaled, fighting the urge to slip his tongue somewhere it didn’t belong. One of Tony’s hands came up to pull his head closer for a moment, his tongue having the same idea as Peter’s, causing him to whine into Tony’s mouth. His pants were getting tight as he licked right back in response, feeling a slight burn from exhaling through his nose. He missed this. Nobody kissed him like Tony did-

“Shit!” Tony pulled away sharply, and Peter’s heart stopped for a second. But when he realized what was happening, he couldn’t contain the surprised cackle that erupted as he saw the joint land in the other man’s lap. “Quit it,” was Tony’s reply, though he was grinning as he said it. He grabbed what was left of the joint off his jeans and stubbed it out the rest of the way on the dashboard. “It burned my fuckin’ finger.”

“Oh poor baby,” Peter shot back, shifting in his seat and taking another bite of his burger. He willed the slight chub to go away, but knew it was a lost cause. He pretty much signed up for it; he was always turned on when he was high around Tony (and most of the time when he was sober, too). Some kind of conditioning or something, he thought deliriously. 

“Ya better hush up, Parker,” Tony snarked and dipped some fries into Peter’s banana shake. He rolled his neck a bit, reaching for his burger. “So, kid. Tell me ‘bout L.A..”

***

Peter was basking peacefully in his high, humming along to whatever was playing through the speakers. He and Tony had both finished their food, chatting about this and that, but nothing of real substance, their earlier stilted conversation far from their minds. Shooting the shit, as Tony called it, over some weed and a meal was their normal routine when they were younger, and it came as naturally as breathing. Peter had never met anyone else he could simply coexist with on this level, simply enjoying the other’s presence for what it was. I love you, he thought as he looked at Tony, who was leaning back in his seat with his eyes closed and nodding his head along with the beat. I’m so in love with you and it scares the shit out of me. 

The younger man’s eyes roved over Tony’s face as his mind raced. What was he doing? Would something be different this time? He wasn’t that angry seventeen year old anymore- now he was twenty-four, clinically depressed, and living someone else’s life. Would it be so bad to finally leave that all behind, to finally let himself have what he’s denied himself for so long? Didn’t he deserve to be happy, after all this pain? And even if it wasn’t in the cards for them, if Peter was destined to be alone, wouldn’t even the most miniscule amount of time with Tony be worth it? 

Tony’s gravelly voice startled him back to the present. “I should probably be gettin’ you home, huh, Peter?” The bearded man opened his eyes and began sitting up, turning to look at him. The expression on his face was unreadable, and Peter didn’t know if he should agree or protest, so he merely lifted a shoulder in faux indifference, shooting Tony a half-smile.

Please, call me Pete… Just Pete, Peter begged in his head. Tony calling him by his full name made the ugly thing in his chest wriggle uncomfortably. Last time he was home, before he said those awful things, Tony hadn’t called him Peter in years. Yet another beautiful thing that he’d taken for granted and ruined for himself. 

“Could also drive around for a bit if you wanted, see some lights.” Damn Tony and his ability to read Peter so well. The suggestion was soft, and he looked down as he said it, almost as if he was feeling shy. 

Peter shook his head minutely and shifted a little in his seat, gently biting his lip. “I’m getting a little tired, haven’t smoked in a while,” he lied through his teeth, but the smile on his face was real this time. 

Tony grinned right back at him.

(“What would we even do on a date? There’s nothing to do here, Tony,” Peter said with a laugh. “I dunno,” Tony replied, snuggling the lighter-haired teenager closer into his chest as they snuggled on the couch. “We could go look at the Christmas lights, get some hot chocolate… I could tie some mistletoe to the mirror in the truck. There’d be sum kissin’ involved….” He trailed off as Peter’s lips found his own. “Or we could do the kissin’ right here,” he murmured, sinking into the kiss.)

***

The drive back to May’s house was spent with Tony catching Peter up on everyone in town as they passed various houses. (“Remember Happy Hogan, the butcher?? Him an’ that pretty florist, Ms. Potts, got married last year. Think they’re havin’ a baby,last I heard.” “Rhodey’s mama died this spring, she got cancer, but he an’ Mr. Rhodes still live out here now that Rhodey’s moved home. Honorable discharge last fall. Done got himself a new girlfriend now too, Carol; he met ‘er in the Air Force.  She’s a sweet one, I think you’d like ‘er.”) 

When they pulled into the driveway, Tony cut the engine and hopped out. Peter did the same, grabbing the bag with their trash and patting his pocket, double-checking for his keys and lighter. He stepped around Tony, who had stopped at the bottom of the front steps, and walked up to the door, fumbling for a minute with his keys under the porch light to find the right one (it had robin’s egg blue polka-dots of May’s favorite nail polish). Tony’s footsteps followed him up the stairs. 

Peter stuck the key in the lock and opened the door a crack before turning to face the taller man. “So.”

Tony’s eyes searched his own as they gazed at one another. “So,” he parroted back. His index finger went up to rub at his nose as he took a hard sniff in. There was a beat of silence. “Thanks for the joint, and uh, the company. It was good seein’ you,” he said at last, a hint of his signature lopsided grin curving his lips. 

Peter felt the goodbye that was coming before it even left Tony’s mouth, and something in him broke. “Don’t leave me here alone.” The words came out of Peter’s mouth in a mumble, and suddenly he couldn’t make eye contact with Tony, losing focus and staring at his own feet instead. He felt the harsh burning of tears as it hit him again just how alone he was about to be when he walked inside, how alone he already was. He was always so fucking alone. 

Even in L.A., so much bigger than fucking Aurora, New York, surrounded by thousands of people, Peter still felt invisible, insignificant. He had no friends. Sure, he had a publicist, and connections, and celebrity acquaintances & clientele. But without his money and his clothes, what would he have? What did he have when he was just Peter Parker, rather than Peter Benjamin, semi-famous designer? Nothing. (When he got the call about May, and he’d broken down in the bathroom during a business meeting with representatives for Tom Ford, he realized he had no one to call. No one to comfort him or tell him it would be okay. He’d sobbed into his pillow that night, screaming his throat raw with Tony’s number punched into his phone, ready to be dialed. He never called.) He had nothing and no one, and it was all his fault because he was so stupid, and maybe this is just what he deserved. If he hadn’t pushed everyone-

“Hey- Hey, Peter, no. Never,” Tony was saying gently, cautiously pulling Peter into his strong arms and out of his anxiety attack. “‘m not goin’ anywhere if y’don’t want me to, baby.” He tucked Peter’s head under his chin, a chill running down his spine due to the chilly evening air. “S’okay, everythin’s okay.” 

Peter sucked in a deep breath through his mouth, trying to calm himself. His forehead dug into Tony’s shoulder painfully but it helped to ground him. The soothing sensation of Tony’s fingers tracing circles on his back helped, too. Peter’s breath was still hitching every so often, so he shut his eyes and tried to synch his breathing with Tony’s. It felt so nice to just be this close to someone- Peter couldn’t remember the last time he’d been held. Tony had probably been the last one to do it, though. (He’d had sex in L.A. of course, but it was all superficial. Nothing real. Nothing like what he had with Tony- not even close.) Shifting slightly, he buried his nose in the crook of Tony’s neck, searching unconsciously for the smell he loved so much; a mix of gasoline, teakwood, and something smoky. The scent sent a shiver down Peter’s spine, and that hot feeling simmered in his stomach again. He’d always joked that he would bottle Tony’s smell if he could. Tony would just laugh and jokingly tease Peter for always having his nose in his neck or armpit.

Now Tony just hummed lightly in response, tightening his hold for a moment before relaxing. “‘Yer’okay,” he whispered, once he could feel that Peter’s breathing had evened out for the most part. 

Peter pulled back a bit and stared at a spot in the middle of Tony’s chest, thinking. He decided to go for it. Worst that could happen was Tony saying no, and leaving Peter here alone, but he knew he’d end up alone eventually. But he’d delay the inevitable as long as he could.  “Kiss me, T,” he said quietly, leaning in before he could change his mind. His lips brushed Tony’s and he pulled back, trying not to go cross eyed looking into the other’s eyes. “I don’t wanna be alone anymore.”

Tony stared at him for a moment before their mouths met again, and Peter nipped gently at his lip before clumsily walking backwards through the cracked front door, pulling Tony with him with their mouths still connected. Tony’s foot kicked it closed behind them, bathing them in darkness, and he tripped a bit when Peter clutched at the lapels of his jacket a little too hard. Cursing under his breath, he leaned back against the door and tugged Peter along, using the support behind him to balance as he toed his boots off. They disconnected momentarily as the shorter man did the same, hands still gripping the denim. 

Peter licked his lip as they stood in the dark entryway. Looking up at Tony, he shrugged his coat off, letting it fall to the hardwood floor beneath them. He reached out and gently pushed the denim jacket off the taller man’s shoulders too before leaning in, stopping just before their lips made contact. “Come upstairs with me,” he whispered. 

Tony’s mocha eyes flitted around for a minute, searching his face for something. Peter couldn’t tell if he liked what he saw, but Tony kissed him again before taking his hand. “Your room,” he questioned, taking hold of the banister and leading Peter up the stairs. 

***

“Fuck, Tony. Right there, right there, ohhhhh.” Peter was on his back with one leg thrown over Tony’s shoulder and the other bent off to the side, the ball of his foot pushing into the mattress. The mechanic’s uncut cock was stretching his lubed hole. Tony was leaning over him and one of his hands was clutching at Peter’s hip, the other at the leg up by his face. His facial hair scratched deliciously against the pale skin on the inside of Peter’s knee as he pressed a kiss there. 

(Tony had kissed and licked and sucked praises into the skin of his neck, chest, stomach and thighs as he’d fingered him open at a torturously slow pace. “So good fer me, Pete. Look at you. You’re so goddamn beautiful.” Peter had whimpered and whined the whole time as he tried to fuck himself on the thick digits whose pads were caressing his prostate.) 

A moan left the older man’s lips as he looked into Peter’s eyes. “You feel so good, baby. Always feel so- fuckin’- good,” he grunted, thrusting further in the tight, wet heat. “Love fuckin’ your ass.”  He dug his fingers tighter into Peter’s skin, sure to leave bruises. 

Gasping, Peter arched his hips up, toes curling, cock bobbing against his stomach with every thrust. He could feel Tony deep inside him, in that place that only he had ever been able to reach. Fuck, why had he ever let this go? Never letting you go again, Tony. You can’t leave me alone. I need you. I love you. He whined, baring his neck in a silent plea and bringing his leg down so that both were wrapped around the man’s thick waist. Tony reacted accordingly; his hands moved up to clutch at Peter’s near the headboard and his mouth latched onto the column of Peter’s neck, sucking. A wounded noise escaped Peter, his hole clenching, and Tony bit down harshly at the sensation. Peter keened again, going limp on the mattress as his legs fell open to the side. “Shit, Tony, god!” 

Hot, wet breath tickled Peter’s neck with every ragged exhale that left Tony’s mouth, causing the smaller to whine lewdly, squirming. “Yeah? Are you- mine? Y’gon be mine- huh, Pete?” Peter heard the unspoken question, the twinge of desperation in Tony’s voice. Will you finally be mine? He sounded tired, that deep-in-your-bones type weariness, Peter noticed as he felt his own chest start to get tight. He’d really done a number on the person who deserved it the least. And for what? To come crawling back years later, expecting to be forgiven? 

Yes, he thought in response to Tony’s question, hating himself for it. One of his hands tangled itself in the crown of Tony’s head, fingers pulling the strands at the root possessively as teeth sunk into his neck again. Yours. Always yours. He let out another moan, rolling his hips in an attempt to get some friction on his neglected cock that was weeping precum as Tony continued to thrust in and out of him. “Please, please- Tony, please.” If Peter had any shame left, he’d probably be blushing at how needy and wrecked he sounded. Instead it just turned him on, knowing just how gone he was for the other man. 

With a grunt, Tony redistributed his weight and brought two fingers to Peter’s lips. “Open up fer a minute, baby,” he requested softly, slipping the digits inside. Peter laved them with his tongue, coating them with thick saliva and Tony groaned at the feeling, dick twitching in Peter’s ass. Once they were sufficiently wet, he pulled his fingers away, a thin string of drool stretching to connect them to Peter’s slick lips. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, Pete, Christ.” His calloused hand wrapped loosely around the hot, rosy cock between them. “Fuck my hand, baby.” 

Peter complied without hesitation, rocking his hips and pressing his shaft in and out of the slick tunnel that was Tony’s hand. He cried out when Tony’s thumb caressed the underside of the head as the cock inside of him nailed directly into his prostate. The pressure had already been a lot, but the pleasure was suddenly overwhelming in a new way. He was so close and Tony hadn’t even been touching him for thirty seconds. “F-fuck, Tony, I’m gonna- Ahhhhh-”  

“Yeah, cum for me, Pete,” Tony’s warm breath heaved into his ear, tongue sneaking out to lick the outer shell and dip inside briefly at the same time he tightened his grip on Peter’s sensitive member.  “Fuck, cum for me, baby, cum on my- Cum on my cock- God-.” 

And with a cry, Peter did just that, biting into Tony’s shoulder as the tension in his gut snapped, hole twitch relentlessly around the hard cock inside him as his own shot spurt after spurt of hot cum on his chest; some reached the hollow of his throat and his chin. “God, Tony, shit, shit, shit.” 

“Yesssss, Pete, holy fuck.” Tony buried himself inside one last time, his mouth latching onto the column of Peter’s neck as he reached his orgasm, shoving himself inside as deep as possible. His dick twitched, painting Peter’s insides with his spend and making him groan. 

They stayed that way for a moment before Tony pulled back to look into Peter’s eyes. “Lemme clean’ya up,” he offered gently as he carefully pulled his softening cock out of the heat of the younger man’s ass. There was a slight burbling sound, and he brushed his lips against Peter’s when he saw the embarrassment flash across his face. “Hol’ on.” Climbing out of the bed, he made his way to the bathroom that was adjoined to Peter’s room.

Peter’s heart was beating uncomfortably in his chest as he lay among the sheets, bringing his hands up to his chest to fiddle with each other anxiously. It couldn’t be over. He wasn’t ready for it to be over. He wasn’t ready to be alone again. 

When Tony walked back in, he got back on the bed, gently wiping the cum off Peter’s chest with a warm rag, smirking at the full-body shivers that ran through the young man in response to the cloth being swiped lightly over his nipples. Once his chest was clean, Tony moved down to run the fabric between Peter’s ass cheeks, collecting the milky-white substance that was leaking out of the hole. 

“Stay,” Peter whispered, once Tony had thrown the washcloth in the hamper and climbed back into bed at Peter’s invitation of patting the spot beside himself in bed. He wiggled so that his back was pressed up against Tony’s front. His fingers tangled themselves with those on a slightly larger hand and as he let his eyes slip shut, he felt Tony’s lips press a kiss into the sweaty curls at the back of his head. 

*** 

When Peter woke up, it was well past noon. The bed was so warm that the heat from his and Tony’s bodies trapped up under the fluffy comforter would be sweltering if he didn’t crave it so much. 

Peter swallowed drily as he looked at Tony’s face in the afternoon light, peaceful in sleep. At some point during their sleep, they had shifted to where they were facing each other. He wanted to trace his fingers along the strong facial features in front of him, but he refrained, not wanting to wake the older man. He knew he needed to talk to Tony. He knew that Tony deserved better. But maybe Peter could be selfish just this once... It was Christmas after all. Tis the damn season and all that. 

Leaning forward, with a hand pressed gently against Tony’s chest, Peter pecked his lips against the sleeping man’s in a kiss. He got no response, so he did it again, adding a little more pressure. Tony began to stir; his arm wrapped lazily around Peter’s naked waist, pulling their bottom halves together. 

“G’mornin’,” Tony mumbled sleepily as he blinked a few times before his gaze focused on Peter. His voice was scratchy and rough, and Peter’s hips jerked slightly in response as he whispered back his own greeting, partially because Tony had begun to get hard. The mechanic brought up a hand and took hold of Peter’s chin, pulling their mouths together as he ground their burgeoning erections together. 

Peter wrapped a leg around Tony’s waist as they lay there on their sides and began to gently rock his hips. “Tony,” he mewled, eyes screwed shut. The words were bubbling up inside him, just like the arousal was blooming in his gut. One of his arms wrapped around Tony’s neck, pulling their bodies together as close as they could get. 

“Yeah,” came Tony’s breathy reply. His eyes were roving over Peter’s flushed face as he undulated his own hips, thumb coming up to press against the younger’s spit-slick bottom lip. “Whadisit?”

Peter took the digit into his mouth for a moment and they made eye contact as he swirled his tongue around the tip, fellating it. He released it from his mouth with a pop, biting his own lip. “Am I too late,” he asked quietly, burying his face in the muscled chest before him, pecking tender kisses on the heated flesh. “Do you still love me?” His voice shook as he continued, breath faltering as well as the sensations built up. He squeezed his eyes shut even though Tony couldn’t see the tears building in his eyes as he chased his pleasure, preparing for the inevitable pain that was sure to follow. 

“Pete.” The way Tony said his name was reverent, like he didn’t see Peter for the walking mistake that he was. He was breathing heavier now, too, with the exertion of frotting their hard cocks together. “How could I ever stop, baby?” He craned his neck in order to meet Peter’s eyes. “Was just waitin’ on ya t’come home.” He pressed their lips together as Peter’s leg tightened around his waist. “Was always just waitin’ on ya t’come home,” he repeated. A particularly hard thrust had them both groaning, clutching desperately at each other as they chased that euphoric feeling. “’Course I love you, Peter. Now cum for me.”

Peter couldn’t help but obey as a sob burst from his lips, Tony following him over the edge. “I love you,” he cried, as their bodies shook together. “I’m s-sorry Tony, I love you- Don’t go, don’t ever leave me. I won’t- I promise I won’t go again. I can’t go again, I can’t leave you again. I won’t.” Tony’s thumbs came up to wipe the tears from under his eyes, and a kiss was pressed to his temple as he felt himself be pulled into those strong arms. 

“I’d never leave you, Pete.”

***

The bed was cold when Peter woke again. He lay there, watching the sunset through his bedroom window. Gentle creaks could be heard as the house groaned under pressure from the falling snow. He rolled over, grimacing at the pain in his lower half and pulling a pillow to his chest. It still smelled of teakwood, smoke, and gasoline. He smiled, burying his face further into the intoxicating scent. “I love you,” he whispered to the empty house, feeling lighter than he had in years. 

(Yes, the bed was cold, now. But Tony would be back to warm it up. And he’d have burgers, fries, and a banana milkshake when he returned. Maybe even a joint. Peter was glad he didn’t have to wait long. They’d had just about enough of that over the past seven years.)

#starker #hey it might be a week later than i intended to finish but at least it's out by christmas #bloo writes bad things (tm) #enjoy!

[randomfandom815]

Defending the women of LOST/Sexism in LOST

People say they don’t like Kate Austen because she’s “annoying” “can’t choose between Jack and Sawyer” “always wants to join every single mission”. Kate has way bigger things to worry about than sorting out her romantic feelings. Yes, she is developing feelings for both Jack and Sawyer, but she doesn’t have time to figure them out while trying to survive on the island. And the fact that people don’t like her because of the whole “I’m coming with you” thing is a little ridiculous, because they’re hating Kate for wanting to protect her friends and do whatever she can to help. You know who else does that? Jack. But plenty of people love him for those very same reasons. Yeah, a lot of Kate’s character was centered around the love triangle, but that isn’t the character’s fault, it the writers’s.

Then there’s Claire Littleton. People always complain about her “my baby!” thing, but... she only actually says that a few times, AND, if your child was taken from you or you thought your child was going to be hurt, wouldn't you be worried out of your mind? Wouldn’t you want to do anything to help them? People also criticize Claire for her entire Season 6 arc. She was alone, on the island, thinking everyone had abandoned her, with only the MIB for company. She was also tortured by the temple Others, who she thought had taken her child. Claire was a single mother who just wanted to keep her son safe, give her a break. 

Sun-Hwa Kwon is a character who actually doesn’t receive that much hate, but there is still the fact that people don’t like her because she left Ji Yeon to go back to the island for Jin. Here’s the thing: Sun had no way of knowing what was would happen on the island. She had no way of knowing that Jin had time traveled to the past, and she had no way of knowing what would happen with the MIB/Locke. She thought that she would be able to go to the island, bring Jin and the others back, and the two of them would reunite with Ji Yeon. And then in the submarine incident, Sun didn't want Jin to stay. She wanted him to live and take care of Ji Yeon. It was Jin who made the decision to die with her, not Sun.

Shannon Rutherford is a very unlikable character. Even I don’t enjoy her character, or Boone, and that is a view shared by many other people in the fandom. Many people call her selfish, spoiled, and just plain rude. And she was all of those things, but that wasn’t her entire character. Remember, they had all just been through a plane crash, landed on an island with no chance of rescue. Also, friendly reminder that she was only 20 years old. She was scared, and her way of coping with that was to try to do something normal. Let’s not forget, in Pilot, Part 2, she volunteered to go on the mission to fix the transceiver. She was constantly feeling useless, and it didn’t help that other characters, especially Boone, were constantly putting her down and mocking her. When she started to see Walt, she genuinely made an attempt to help him, even though she wasn’t sure if he was even there. Her death was untimely, and I wished we had gotten to see her grow more as a person. Also, her death was used for shock value and to further Sayid’s character development.

And now, one of the most hated characters of LOST, Ana Lucia Cortez. Now, while the characters I mentioned above were shit on and criticized, Ana Lucia was absolutely hated by the fandom. People hated her attitude, her toughness, her dislike of most of the people around her, and the fact that she killed Shannon (who, by the way, was just as disliked by many Ana Lucia haters). You know who else has a similar attitude? Who has that same toughness and dislike of people? Who else killed someone? That would be Sawyer, a fan-favorite, white male character who is beloved by the fandom. Now, for the last point, what I am comparing here is Ana Lucia killing Shannon to Sawyer killing the man he thought was Frank Sawyer in Australia, right before flight 815. Ana Lucia killed Shannon because she was trying to protect the people she was leading (including Sawyer!) from who she thought was the Others, and killing Shannon was an accident. Sawyer killed the man completely on purpose and out of revenge. Oh, and it wasn’t even the right person. Yes, I am aware of the man Ana killed long before flight 815 out of revenge, but if we can take her very small amount of character development, in which she refused to kill Henry Gale, a known Other at that point. Whereas Sawyer was still willing to kill a bunch of people in Season 6, the end of his character arc. And yet, Sawyer is still in most people’s top five characters lists (just to be clear, I do not hate Sawyer at all, and this is not anti Sawyer but pro Ana Lucia). You may argue that people love Sawyer because of his character development, which I do agree with. However, Ana Lucia was never given the chance to have Sawyer-like character development because she was killed off in the same season that she was introduced in. She wasn’t even allowed to be in the church in the flash-sideways, and she didn’t get to “move on.” Ana Lucia deserved way better than the death for shock value that she got.

Next up on the list is Juliet Burke. She, like Sun, also isn’t the target of a lot of hate, but there are still things that need defending. The first thing is, of course, her sudden change of mind when it came to detonating the hydrogen bomb in Season 5. Yes, it was selfish of her to endanger everyone on the island just because of the way Sawyer looked at Kate. But if the plan did actually work, which she thought it would, that meant she would lose everything she had gained over the past few years, including Sawyer. Juliet is incredibly kind and feminine while also being badass at the same time, which is amazing because you don’t usually see those two traits coinciding (usually a badass character isn’t very feminine and a “traditionally feminine” character isn’t a good fighter). As for all of her motives in Season 3, Juliet was trapped on the island for three years. All she wanted to do was leave and go home to her sister. Yes, she manipulated Sun, but right after that, she made things right by helping Jack make a plan to stop the Others. Her death was heroic, and I’m glad she was finally able to be happy in the flash-sideways. (I am declining to mention her whole relationship with Goodwin and all the drama with Ben, although I might dive into that in another post). 

Now, the character Rose Nadler has almost nothing that needs to be defended. She is a constant wise voice of reason who isn’t concerned with the drama of the rest of the survivors. Her relationship with her husband Bernard is very sweet, but she doesn’t let that stop her from doing the smart thing (like stopping his SOS sign idea). Not only that, but Rose has one of the best (and most meta) lines on the show: “If you say live together, die alone to me, Jack, I’m going to punch you in the face.”

Another character who doesn't need much defending is Charlotte Lewis, but not for the same reason as Rose. Charlotte was done dirty by the writers. Of the science team, she is the least fleshed out and explored. She had a single flashback and a little bit of exposition information from Ben, but that’s pretty much it. Every significant thing she did was for the sake of other characters. She had a fake-out death so Ben would reveal that he had a spy on the boat. She was taken to the Barracks so that members of Jack’s group would have a reason to go there. Her going to the Barracks was also an excuse to get Miles and Kate there. And she only died/was dying for shock value, to up the stakes of the time flashes, to provide more questions to the characters and the audience, and to further Daniel’s character development. In the flash-sideways, all she did was go on a date with Sawyer and further his character development. She didn't get to go to the church and move on. Daniel and Miles, the other members of her team, on the other hands were given compelling backstories and centric episodes.

Penelope Widmore is similar to Charlotte in that there isn’t much to defend because she doesn’t do much that affects the plot. Nearly everything she does is about Desmond, and the writers barely even gave her a personality. I’m sure Penny was an actually interesting person, if they had bothered her to give her any storyline that didn't involve her love interest.

Danielle Rousseau is a character that kind of slides in and out of the story as needed. Now, Danielle isn’t the subject of a lot of criticism just because she isn’t very focused on, but from what I have seen, here’s what I have to say: Danielle was alone on the island for sixteen years. And for sixteen years, she had to live with the knowledge that she was forced to kill the man she loved and her team. Not to mention the fact that her daughter, Alex, was taken away from her when she was just a week old. Can you blame Danielle for being paranoid? Her death was not a fair end to the character, and it was only used to kill off Danielle quickly and provide shock value.

Her daughter, Alex Rousseau, is similar to Charlotte and Penny in that she doesn’t need to be defended because everything she does is to affect other characters. In this case, those characters are Ben and Danielle (especially Ben in the later seasons). Danielle’s entire character is centered around the fact that she lost Alex and has been searching for her, and Ben’s motivations after Season 4 are largely motivated by Alex’s death. She herself doesn’t have much of a character arc, and her death was only to provide shock value and further Ben’s character development.

Another character that falls into the category of not having much to defend because every action is for someone else is Libby Smith. Once the tailies and the main survivors joined together, she was almost immediately shoved in a relationship with Hurley. The only things we knew about her backstory were that her husband died, she was a clinical psychologist, she was in the same mental hospital as Hurley, and she gave Desmond a boat. That’s it. She didn’t have a centric episode, and she only appeared in other people’s flashbacks. Her death was only to provide shock value and further Hurley’s character development, as well to show that Michael betrayed the survivors. 

Notice how many of these women died for shock value and/or to further a man’s character development? Notice how many of these women are disliked for traits that other characters are loved for? Notice how many of them barely exist as their own character without a man? I love LOST, I really do, but their treatment of female characters needed a lot of improvement.

#lost #lost tv show #abc lost #lost tv series #fandom sexism #sexism in fandom #kate austen #claire littleton #sun-hwa kwon #shannon rutherford #ana lucia cortez #juliet burke #rose nadler #charlotte lewis #penelope widmore #penny widmore #danielle rousseau #alex rousseau #libby smith

[anarchyduck]

Peas in a Pod

Day 20 Alt Prompt: De-Aged 

(posted it on AO3 yesterday, forgot to post it here oops) AO3

----------------------

“So let me get this straight,” - Tony massages his temple in effort to soothe his growing headache - “There was a wizard.”

“Yeah,” Ned nods. “And he was shooting off fireballs, like real fireballs, and it was awesome and kinda scary and-”

“Ned. Ned. Find the shortcut to the point. Because nothing explains” - Tony gestures towards the couch - “that.” 

Ned blushes with embarrassment and nods . “Right! Sorry, sir. So, uhm, Pete was fighting the wizard guy and he was doing really good! Was totally kicking his ass! And then the wizard like, shot him with some kind of purplish black energy ray stuff? Like it shot right out of his hands. Then the wizard was gone and Pete was… like this.” 

Tony eyes the kid on the couch. Same curly brown hair. Same doe brown eyes. It’s everything else that’s wrong. Peter is sixteen, a teenager, and this kid looks like he’s no more than five years old. 

As for Peter, well, he looks content watching videos on Ned’s phone. Some children’s cartoon about dogs or something, Tony didn’t quite catch it. But the kid likes it and he isn’t crying anymore so Tony counts that as a win. Judging from the confused state the kid was in upon arrival, it’s safe to assume Peter’s memories are wiped. Or, rather, memories of his life in the present day which is a problem in and of itself.  

“So,” Ned’s drawl catches his attention. “What are we going to do?”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “We?” he shakes his head. “No, no, you are going home.” 

“What about Peter?” 

Yeah Stark, what about Peter? 

“He’ll go with his aunt.” Tony says simply. Easy enough solution. 

“You mean you can’t like, fix him?” Ned asks. “What if he ends up staying like this forever?” 

Tony waves off the teen’s concerns. “He won’t.” he assures. “Whatever the wizard guy hit him with will probably wear off in a couple hours. Easy peasy.” After all, the kid couldn’t stay like this forever, could he? That is just absurd. 

----------

The effects don’t wear off. 

Two hours later and Peter is still a child. Ned is gone, reluctantly dragged out by Happy who also delivered clothes that fit the kid better so he’s no longer swimming in the Doctor Who shirt Tony assumed belonged to one of the boys. During that time, Tony contacts May to fill her in on what’s going on. The woman is stuck at work (“We’re incredibly short staffed today, it’s ridiculous.”) and unable to leave before her shift is over. 

It leaves Tony in charge of the kid which, while normally wouldn’t be an issue, he suddenly finds himself out of his depth. Teenagers, he can handle. No problem. They could be reasoned with. But small children? 

“Mr. Tony?” 

Tony jumps, spinning on hell with his hand pressed firmly against his heart. “Holy shit!” he gasps.

Peter flinches back, eyes wide and looking as startled as Tony feels. Then his bottom lip begins to quiver. 

“No no, don’t cry.” Tony says in a rush. “I didn’t mean to scare you, kid. You snuck up on me. Ought to put a bell on you someday.” 

That earns him a giggle which washes away the rising guilt. “Uncle Ben says that too.” Peter says. “Says I’m really good at sneaking.” 

“You are good at sneaking.” Tony affirms. “What are you doing down here anyway? Thought you were watching TV?” Least that’s where Tony left him. Kid was content with watching the cartoon with the dogs and he figured he could get some work done tracking down the wizard guy. 

“I was, but it’s over now.” Peter says dismissively, his eyes already wandering the workshop. Then he actually begins to wander. Tony watches him, contemplating on whether it’s a good idea to let a four year old wander his workshop. It isn’t exactly kid proof and if he knows anything about kids (which is very limited) it’s they like to touch everything. And put things in their mouths. 

“What’s that?” Peter asks and Tony leans to the side to look past the monitors and equipment to see what the boy is pointing at. 

“Oh that’s DUM-E.” 

The robot chirps in response, clicking it’s claw as it peers curiously at the boy. Tony takes a couple steps towards them, immediately thinking Peter might fear the robot. Much to his relief, the boy’s mouth is agape with wonder and eyes equally wide. 

“Wow!” he gasps. “Hi DUM-E. I’m Peter.” Peter reaches up to pet DUM-E’s extended arm, giggling as the robot chirps at him. “So is he a robot?”

“Yep. I made him.” 

“You made him?” Peter gives him the same look of wonder and amazement. “Wow. Are there other stuff you’ve made?” 

“I’ve made a lot of stuff.”

And so Tony gives the kid a proper tour of the workshop. Like his older self, Peter is sharp minded and incredibly smart. He asks questions Tony doesn’t think a four year old would know to ask and hangs onto every word Tony says. When he introduces Peter to FRIDAY, the kid is so ecstatic he can’t sit still. It warms his heart to know Peter keeps that same excitement as he aged. 

After the tour, Tony brings him into the kitchen to feed him a late lunch. The kid sits on the kitchen counter next to him, watching Tony’s every move. PB&J sandwiches are the easiest thing he can fix and turns out to be the kid’s favorite.

“So you’re a superhero?” Peter asks curiously. 

“Sometimes.” Tony replies as he spreads the peanut butter onto the bread. 

“Like Batman?” 

“Kiddo, I am way cooler and richer than Batman.”

Peter giggles and Tony thinks it might be the cutest goddamn thing he’s heard all day.

“My daddy is like you.” the kid says suddenly.

“Oh yeah? How so?” Tony asks, finding himself equally curious. He knows through his early research into Peter Parker that the boy’s parents are deceased. Father worked for OsCorp, mother worked for some type of law firm. Aside from the atrocious choice of working at OsCorp, both of them seemed relatively normal. 

“Because he makes stuff. B-But not robots like you do. He makes other stuff and-and he white wears a coat and he helps people.” Peter gives a long, wistful sigh then and adds, “I want my daddy and mommy.” 

Tony freezes, butter knife stuck in the jar of jelly. Quite suddenly he remembers something else about Peter’s parents. 

They both died in a plane crash. 

When Peter was four years old.

The man internally panics, mind going blank on what to do, what to say because what can you say? 

“Mr. Tony?” Peter’s little voice draws him from his internal crisis. He tilts his head, looking at him curiously and, dare Tony say it, concern. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” Tony sniffs and finishes up the kid’s sandwich. “Yeah, totally fine kiddo. A-OK. So you want this cut up?”

“Yes.” Peter replies, apparently moved on from the incident. Yet, as Tony puts the knife to bread in order to cut, the kid shouts, “No! No no, not like that! You have’ta make the X.” 

“Huh?” Tony looks a little helplessly from the kid to the bread.

“The X!” Peter leans over and traces an X on the sandwich. “Like that!” 

Tony cuts it up according to the kid’s desire and it’s only then that he sees what the kid means. “Yeah, guess it does look like an X when you cut it, huh? Well, here you go kiddo. Eat up.” He slides the plate to the boy’s side. 

Peter takes a large bite and hums with approval as he chews. “‘Ood yob!” he says around his mouthful. It’s the additional thumbs up that makes Tony chuckle. He grabs a juice box from the fridge for the kid, something teenage Peter would have rolled his eyes and grumbled about. Toddler Peter says a polite ‘thank you’ and picks it up with fingers covered in grape jelly. 

He decides to capture the moment for May and pulls out his phone. “Heads up, kiddo.” he says and takes a picture. Peter is caught in a half smile, peanut butter smeared on the corner of his mouth. There’s a glob of jelly on his shirt that’s run down the image of Thor’s hammer. 

“I wanna see! I wanna see!” Peter instantly demands. 

Tony moves to stand next to him and flips the phone for the kid to see the picture. Peter grins and immediately reaches for the phone. “Uh uh, sticky fingers.” Tony says, which gets the kid giggling about being called ‘sticky fingers’. He moves the phone out of reach and sends the image off to May. 

“So,” Tony says. “What do you want to do after lunch? TV? Go play with DUM-E? Whatever that wannabe Merlin did to you took away your powers, or maybe just suppressed them. Maybe we ought to run some tests to figure that out.” 

On second thought, maybe not. Teenager Peter detests needles; he imagines little Peter hates them just as much. 

“DUM-E!” Peter says excitedly. 

“You’re going to spoil that bot, kid.” 

---

“Thank you so much, Happy.” May says as she steps into the Tower’s elevator. “You really didn’t have to pick me up. I could have drove.”

Happy directs FRIDAY to take them to the penthouse then shakes his head. “It’s no problem.” he says. “Boss wanted to make sure you got here quickly and with that guy who attacked Peter still running around-”

“Right.” May sighs. “Well, guess he could have done worse things than turn Peter younger. At least him and Tony seem to be hitting it off.” She smiles fondly as she recalls the image Tony sent her. She only hopes Peter has been good while they wait for her.

“Yeah, well, the kid’s grown on him.” 

“I feel a little jealous, honestly.” May admits. “Peter was so cute when he was little.” 

The elevator comes to a stop, the doors slide open to the entrance of the penthouse. It’s oddly quiet inside and the lights are dimmed. “Tony?” Happy calls out as he and May walk through the foyer into the living room. 

It looks like a tornado hit it. There are papers thrown about with childish drawings covering them. A sheet covers the kitchen table which has been pulled away from the dining area and there are mini marshmallows covering the floor with some sticking to the large windows that overlook the city. A device that looks like a mini catapult sits on top of the table next to a pile of marshmallows and markers. 

May follows the chaos, finding the TV on with the Incredibles playing on a low volume and both Tony and Peter fast asleep on the couch. Peter is still a toddler in every way May remembers, sleeping with his head on Tony’s chest. There are stickers on their faces and she spots marker smears not only on Peter’s arm but also on the hand that’s resting on Peter’s back. 

“Did you find-” Happy starts, quietened as May shushes him. He comes to her side, expression softening at the sight. “Least they kept each other busy.” he remarks. 

May nods in agreement as she pulls out her phone to take a quick picture of the two. “Like two peas in a pod.” 

#webpril 2021 day 20 #webpril 2021 #peter parker #tony stark #irondad #ned leeds #may parker #happy hogan #spiderman #spider-man #iron man #marvel #mcu #duckie's writing

[yelenasdog]

FUCK IT- DEAN THINKING OF EMMA YEARS AFTER SAM KILLS HER BC CANON SUCKS

btw for those of yall who dont remember ms. emma, she was dean’s amazonian daughter LOL

warnings: this is 1.3k words, has many plot inconsistencies ,and is basically an au where the slice girls happened before the whole amy situation. dean is kinda sick and creepy at one point but like bc he wants revenge ig? idk. also ik i have some mutuals who are also just starting spn, so s7 spoilers! LOL enjoy this mess

-

He had shaken his head, laughed, and looked up to the indigo sheet that rested above him, seeing how the stars seemed... dull. It was odd, as most nights, it was one of the few things that Dean Winchester would truly rely on always remaining the same.

For all his years as a hunter, through shitty motels, through demons and monsters and angels and apocalypses. The stars always were there when the sun would fall and the moon would arise, twinkling at him as if to say “we’re still here”. In fact, even before he was a hunter, though that time slot is miniscule as the salt grains he so heavily appreciated (and sometimes grew to loath), he would sit outside on the damp grass with his mother.

He would sit, and he would look up and smile at the dark sky, smiling at what Mary had told him about the stars.

“They’re angels.” She had said, leaning down to talk softly in her baby’s ear, playing with his soft brown locks. “All the people who died and went to Heaven.” She had lied, lied right through her teeth. Not that she knew it, of course. She knew the same was true about demons, so why wouldn’t it ring true with the supposed angels she believed in so fiercely?

But Dean still held that memory with him, even when she was gone, despite knowing it wasn’t truthful.

It was after a Djinn hunt, Dean was fifteen, sixteen in four days, matter of fact. His responsibilities had begun to evolve from watching over Sammy while his father was away (which he now knew he would never really stop doing), to assisting on hunts, learning from the elder Winchester for when he inevitably would have to take over the “family business”.

“Right, so a Djinn will poison their victim, putting them in a comatose state- Hey, are you listening to me at all? Did you hear a word I just said?” John had shouted, his son not even flinching as he would when he would be in the same position just a few years prior.

“When in the comatose state, the Djinn puts them in their dream life while they feed on the person, which is where the genie lore came from.” He recited, never looking down from where his head was angled upwards, enthralled by the stars. All the talk of dreams, wishes, he couldn’t help but think what life would be like if he was living his. Maybe get to be on the football team, have his own home, his own room, even.

Having his mom. Not having extensive knowledge on the fact that there really was a reason to be afraid of the dark.

As he got older, his idea of a “dream life” had changed. In a flurry, it seemed like it had somehow changed from having a normal high school experience and his mom being alive (even though that part never changed, just faded towards the back of his mind), to pushing that away and gravitating towards drinking, drugs, and girls. All only to come back to wanting a domestic life, one that he had with Lisa and Ben. He wanted that, badly, and when it was ripped away, he felt like a piece of his heart had been ripped out, too.

So he didn’t talk about it. He left, it hurt, and he didn’t talk about it, because that’s just what Dean Winchester did. He got snappy, moody, and slipped back into the habits and youthful rush of his years prior, much to Sam’s disappointment. Back to the girls, back to the drinking, all of it.

Nothing had stood out to him about the night he’d had with Emma’s mom. She was normal, the drinks were normal, all of it. It was routine, almost.

What was not routine, was having to return the next day, and finding a baby when there was not one there before. Even more out of the norm, was when the baby began to speak as if it were 8 years old. And so as him and Sam began to put together the pieces like some sort of fucked up jigsaw puzzle, it began to dawn on him; He could try again.

Sure, his daughter was a crazy Amazonion, and sure, it wouldn’t be ideal with being on the road and all, but family was family, right? But he knew it wouldn’t be easy, he was prepared to fight the internal battle he knew he would be cursed with. But she was innocent, she hadn’t killed anyone yet.

He pondered it, as he stood, walking over to the fridge. He knew this was an act, he knew that there was barley any hesitance in her heart as she stood, preparing to slain her father. Dean knew this, yet he couldn’t bring himself to kill her, take the easy shot. She was human, and she was his daughter.

Sam, on the other hand, showed no such mercy.

And Dean was grateful to his brother for saving his life, for killing the monster that he didn’t have the guts to gank. They’d killed blood before, no problem. Samuel was a problem, a threat, so he had to go. And Dean supposed that Emma shouldn’t have been different. Blood doesn’t always equal family, he supposed.

That night, he stepped outside of another shitty motel, telling Sam he had gone out for a smoke. And as he looked up at the sky, he tossed back his head and he laughed at the stars, as it no longer seemed like they were comforting him, but rather mocking him. Because Emma wasn’t up there. She wasn’t a sparkling ball of light, shining down on him.

Rather, she was probably scared, cold, and alone down in purgatory, fighting to stay alive. And the worst part was that he put her there. A day on Earth, barely getting a handle on things, and she’s thrown into purgatory by her father, of all people. And he knew that hopefully she would find some other Amazons that had managed to stay alive down there, and that with her strength and all, she would have a chance to survive.

But truthfully? He doubted she would. She was a tough kid, sure. But with the vamps and wendigos and whatever the Hell else was down there, he was having a hard time having faith.

It was only mere weeks later when Sam had let Amy off the hook.

And a part of him was bitter, angry, saddened. So why did Amy get to live? Why did Dean have to watch his blood, his daughter, get slaughtered by Sam, just because she was a monster? Why in God’s name did she have to die, but Sam’s little friend from however many years ago, got to live “just ‘cause”? It wasn’t right, none of it was.

And so he thought it would feel satisfying to drive the knife into her, to see the life leave her eyes.

But it didn’t, and Dean was confused as to why, as simple as it may have seemed. When he turned to see her son standing in the doorway, tears beginning to roll down his face, he understood.  

And when he had made it to purgatory all that time later, through the threats and scares pumping through his mind, he was consumed by thoughts of Emma. He wanted to ask Benny if he’d seen an Amazonian, who could be any age really, with orange hair and warm brown (or fiery red, depending on her mood) eyes. He wanted to grab and interrogate every creature in that damned place, demand them for answers. Though, he was afraid he wouldn’t like said answers.

He would find himself thinking of Emma right up until the moment he died, thinking for a moment that he would finally get to see her again, sort things out. After all, part of her was still human, or moreso, part of her was not a monster.

Even then, Benny was a monster, but he loved him like a brother, he’d do anything and everything for him. Sam, his own brother, was even a monster at one point, and Dean still loved him more than life itself. And when he would think back on this every so often, all he could think of, was why couldn’t he have loved her?

#also this isnt mary slander i love mary #fuck john #he's not rlly mentioned here but fuck john anyway #basically i just think that emma's storyline could have had so much potential and could have been used to develop dean's whole familial arc #like a lot further #bc i rewatched the slice girls to write this #and i just think that they began kind of handling it really well but then moved on from it way too quickly #supernatural #dean winchester #the slice girls #season 7 #s7 spn #spn s7 #sam winchester #mary winchester #john winchester #jensen ackles #k bye #emma winchester

[starryknight09]

No longer in service

Febuwhump Day 10: “I’m sorry. I didn’t know”

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

“We’re sorry.  You have reached a number that is no longer in service.”

Peter hung up and redialed.  He must’ve pushed a number wrong.

“We’re sorry.  You have reached a number that is no longer in service.”

He frowned and stared down at the phone screen as if it held the answer to why the number wasn’t working. He knew it was the correct number.  Although it’d been five years for everyone else, it’d only been a blink for him.  There was no way he’d forgotten May’s number.

He tried dialing one more time even though he knew it was pointless.

“We’re sorry.  You have reached a number that is no longer in service.”

He blew out a heavy breath and tried not to panic.  Just because May’s number was out of service didn’t mean anything bad had happened.  Maybe she’d been snapped too.  That seemed like the most likely explanation.  But even if she hadn’t, five years had passed.  There could be any number of reasons for why she’d changed her number.  Maybe it’d been a reminder of him that’d been too painful.  Although didn’t most people keep their numbers when that happened to preserve old voicemails and relisten to them?

In fact, that nudged something in the back of his mind.  A memory hit him along with a shot of adrenaline.  May had a voicemail from Ben that she’d kept, and she’d listened to it over and over when he’d first died.  As far as he knew, she still listened to it sometimes, just not everyday.  His stomach clenched.  She wouldn’t get rid of her number by choice.  Not if it meant losing that last piece of Ben.

Maybe something had happened financially and she couldn’t afford her phone anymore?  But he knew he was grasping at straws.  If anything, losing Peter would’ve relieved some financial strain.  Or maybe…  His brain wouldn’t even go there.  Wouldn’t acknowledge the other possibility.  He shook his head.  She had to have been snapped.  She had to have been.

But then what could he do?  He took another deep breath and looked out at the beautiful blue sky and lush rolling hills, the magnificence of the scenery in direct juxtaposition to his mood.  Any other time he’d be over the moon to be in Wakanda, but even before the phone call mishap, he’d barely been keeping it together.  He’d arrived there in terror along with everyone else, hoping for a miracle for Mr. Stark.  The man’s heart had stopped on the battlefield but that hadn’t phased Dr. Strange.  He’d portaled him to Wakanda along with some other girl that looked to be about Peter’s age, who he’d later found out was Princess Shuri.  

When Dr. Strange had returned to the battlefield half an hour later it was with the news that they’d managed to restart Mr. Stark’s heart but they couldn’t make any further promises yet.  Dr. Strange had transported whoever else wanted to go to Wakanda, which had been quite a few of them, but not all.  

Now, it’d been almost 24 hours since Peter had arrived.  Initially he’d gone straight to Mr. Stark’s room to see him, and eventually he’d fallen asleep for almost sixteen hours.  He’d been exhausted.  The fight in the city, on the spaceship, on the alien planet, and at the compound had all occurred in the span of less than twelve hours for him.  And he hadn’t escaped the final fight unscathed.  His concussion, broken nose and broken ribs had mostly healed, but he was still sore.  Things with Mr. Stark had improved as well, but not quite enough that the medical personnel were ready to guarantee he was going to survive.  

“Peter?”

He turned and it took him a couple seconds to acknowledge the other man.  “Hey Mr. Rogers.”  Maybe he needed some more sleep.

“It’s Steve, son.”

“Right.” He nodded.  But really, no way was he calling Captain America by his first name the day after he’d officially met him.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but have you had a chance to shower?”

He blushed but the other man probably couldn’t tell behind all the dirt and grime on his face.  He’d accidentally seen his reflection a couple hours after he’d arrived and he’d looked a mess then, and since he hadn’t had a chance to clean up yet, he definitely didn’t look any better.

“Oh.  Uh, no.  I don’t, um, know where it is.”

“The shower?”  Captain American frowned.  Great, the man probably thought he was an idiot.  “There isn’t one in your room?”

“My room?  I don’t…I don’t have a room.” He frowned.  He’d passed out in a comfy lounge chair in Mr. Stark’s room, and even after he’d awoken, he hadn’t left the man’s room until about fifteen minutes ago when he’d suddenly remembered May and realized he should try calling her.

“I’m sorry.” Steve apologized, looking slightly chagrined.  “We must’ve missed you.  You have a room.  We all do.  T’Challa was nice enough to accommodate us.  Come on, I’ll show you.”  Mr. Rogers beckoned him forward, and Peter automatically followed.

After a short walk, Mr. Rogers stopped in front of a door.  “Here we are.  This is your room.”

At least his room wasn’t too far from the medical wing.  Not that it mattered.  He didn’t have any intention of staying in it.  As soon as he cleaned himself off, he planned to head back to Mr. Stark’s room.

When he made no move to open the door after a few long seconds, Mr. Rogers reached out and opened it for him.  

“Go shower son.” Mr. Rogers said and the suggestion came out like a gentle command.  “And then maybe take a nap.  You look a little rough.”

“I’m fine.” He denied automatically.

Captain America cocked his head to the side and studied him intently for a few seconds with a slight smirk.

“What?”

“Nothing.” The man shook his head.  “You just remind me of someone.”

Peter frowned but didn’t care enough to ask.  Now that he was faced with the idea of a hot shower, he found it was all he could think about.  “Ok, well um, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Mr. Rogers gave him a slight nod and then turned and walked away, heading toward the medical wing.

Peter sighed and walked into his room.  It looked like something out of sci-fi movie.  Windows composed the entire back wall and light streamed in, illuminating the interior with all its sleek lines, metals combined with woods to make the space feel a mix of modern and natural.  Calming earth tones in the space set a calming mood, but Peter couldn’t take the time to appreciate it.  He headed straight toward the only other door in the room, which he assumed was the bathroom.

The bathroom décor matched the rest of the room.  He almost felt like he’d stepped into a spa.  Wow.  This place was nice.  It reminded him of Mr. Stark’s living spaces except with more of a nature twist.  Mr. Stark.  He really needed to shower so he could go back and check on the man.  Pepper had been with him when he’d left, so he hadn’t been alone, but Peter didn’t trust that something wouldn’t happen while he was gone.

He quickly undressed and stepped into the shower, scrubbing all the dried blood, dirt, and grime off his body, the water turning a dirty grey as it swirled down the drain.  Any other time he would’ve slowed down and savored the luxury, but right now he couldn’t, not with his thoughts filled with Mr. Stark and May.  As soon as he was clean, he turned the water off and stepped out, eyeing his dirty clothes warily.  He’d changed out of his suit and into a pair of scrubs when he’d initially arrived in the medical wing, but after 24 hours, he really didn’t want to get back in them.  He stepped out and searched the wardrobe in the room, not surprised to find it stocked with clothes in different sizes.  Mr. Stark did the same thing in his guest rooms.  Peter picked out a pair of black sweatpants and a grey sweatshirt in his size.  He threw them on, and was about to leave, when the desk computer in the corner of the room caught his eye.  If May was dusted or…not, there should be some record of it online.

His feet made their way over to it, and as soon as he sat down, the screen lit up.  It only took him a few seconds to find the browser icon and click on it, Google coming up as the default home page.  He settled his fingers over the keys but paused, breath quickening.  He knew what he needed to search, but he was afraid to find the answer.  The only way he managed to force his fingers to move was because he still held onto hope that everything was actually ok, and he wanted that reassurance.

‘May Parker Queens New York City obituary,’ he typed in, fingers stuttering over the last word.  He took a deep breath and clicked ‘enter’.

The results came up and his heart stopped.  The first link had a match for all his keywords.  He clicked on it, still hopeful.  It was probably just her obituary from being snapped.  

But no.  The short paragraph popped up on the screen and his eyes skimmed over it, taking in all the important information in a matter of seconds.

‘May Parker…’

‘…lost her brave battle against breast cancer on June 23, 2021 at the age of 51.’

‘Preceded in death by her husband Ben Parker and her nephew Peter Parker.’

‘A funeral service is scheduled for June 26th at…’

The words blurred in front of him.  He tore his watery eyes away from the screen and let out an anguished sob, head falling into his hands.  She was gone.  She’d been gone for two years.  He’d missed her funeral.  Thought after thought struck him like bullets, tearing his heart open.  He was alone.  He’d been resurrected from the snap just to find himself the sole survivor of his family.  He had no one left.

And he had no home.  He had nowhere to go.  That last thought hit him so hard he buckled forward, falling from the desk chair to collapse onto the soft carpeted floor.  He dug his hands into its plushness, not caring if he ripped it out, not caring about anything, as he cried and cried.  His entire being was pain.  How could one person have such bad luck?  Why did he have to live though loss like this over and over?  First his parents.  Then Ben.  And now May?  And now he might even lose Mr. Stark.  What had he done that the world saw fit to punish him this way?  Anyone that ever got close to him died.

“Why?” He whispered, between sobs, face pressed into the floor.  He didn’t know exactly what he was asking.  Why did they all have to die?  Why had he been brought back?  Why couldn’t he have stayed dead?  “Why?” He repeated, louder, and more desperate even though he knew it was pointless to ask.  It wasn’t like he would get an answer.

He had no idea how long he laid there, sobbing uncontrollably, but eventually he exhausted himself and his tears tapered off until all that was left were intermittent weak hiccupping cries.  He stared at the wall as the agony ebbed away and numbness crept in to take its place.

Eventually, he pushed off the floor with a sniffle, wiping the evidence of his anguish off his face.  He had to pull himself together.  For Mr. Stark.  There’d be plenty of time to fall apart later, especially if the worst happened with his mentor, although he hoped the world wouldn’t be so cruel as to take him too.

‘Please.  Please.’ He closed his eyes and begged, mouthing the words, afraid voicing the plea might jinx it, like telling someone your birthday wish.

He took a deep bolstering breath before stepping out of his room and making his way back to the medical wing.

When he entered Mr. Stark’s room, Ms. Potts graced him with a smile from where she sat in a chair next to the bed.  Or wait, he supposed her name was Mrs. Stark now.  At some point she’d told him they’d gotten married in the intervening five years.  And they had a little girl together, but she was staying back at home with Happy.

“You look better.” She commented on his clean appearance.  “Are you hungry?  The staff brought some dinner by.”

He shook his head.  No matter how hungry he was, there was no way he could stomach anything right now.

Mrs. Stark seemed to sense his mood.  She frowned, concern lining her face.  “What’s wrong honey?”

He shook his head and his gaze fell to his feet.  May used to call him that.  Honey.  Hearing the endearment come from Mrs. Stark’s mouth made his throat tighten.  He didn’t know how to form the words to explain what he’d found out.

Mrs. Stark stood and crossed the distance between them, her hands landing to rest comfortingly on his shoulders.  “What happened?”  He looked up at her as she searched his face for answers.  “Something happened.” She stated.

He nodded.

“You can tell me.” She encouraged softly.

He swallowed hard and croaked out, “May.”

“May?” Her brow furrowed.  “What about May?”

After a few quick inhales through his nose, he managed to say it.  “She…she died.”

“Oh sweetheart.” Mrs. Stark lamented, pulling him into a hug.  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Faced with the comfort of her embrace, he started crying again.  She just held him tighter, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled into her blouse once he’d calmed down.

“Don’t apologize.  You’ve had a terrible couple of days.”

He snorted messily.  That was the understatement of the century.  He pulled away, wiping at his face again.

“I don’t want you to worry about anything, ok?” Mrs. Stark told him, making a point to look seriously into his eyes.

He chewed at his lip.  “I-I don’t know what to do.  I don’t…I don’t have anywhere to go.”  Admitting it almost made him break down into hysterics again.

“Of course you do.  You’ll come with us.”

Peter’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

“I know he wasn’t good at showing it back then, but Tony loves you.” She explained having seen his disbelief.  “You’re not alone.  You have a home with us.”

“But what if…what if Mr. Stark…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, the possibility too terrible.

Mrs. Stark winced.  “The doctors say he’s doing a lot better, but if that happens, you’ll still have a home with me and Morgan.  As long as that’s ok with you.”

He nodded, eyes welling up again.  “That’s…thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” Mrs. Stark leaned forward to hug him again.  “I know it feels like the world’s ending right now, but it’s going to be ok.  We’ll figure it out together.”

“Ok.” He whispered.  He just hoped it was true, but even if it wasn’t, at least he had somewhere to go.  He had a home.

And he wasn’t completely alone.  

#febuwhump2021 #febuwhump #irondad

[coconutknightshade]

Mr. Stark’s A+ Parenting

By @coconutknightshade for @girlofiron in accordance to the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: Gen Relationships: Tony Stark & Peter Parker ; Tony Stark/Pepper Potts (Mentioned) Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, May Parker Word Count: 4.1K Chapter: 1 of 2

Summary: 

It's Peter's first Father's Day without Ben, and Tony's first Father's Day after discovering how Howard actually died.

Peter plans to skip school, and Tony plans to skip the whole damn day by losing himself in his lab.

Fortunately, May and Pepper have made the executive decision for both of them that spending the day together will be healthier than the two of them hiding away, grieving alone.

Or, in which through a road trip down the coast, Peter learns more about Tony, and Tony learns more about what fatherhood really means.

A/N: Hiya! I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope it’s okay that it’s a two part fic! I went with your Father’s Day prompt, and it’s a little angsty with hints of a “self discovery” type vibe, but it’s mainly humor! I hope you enjoy it!!!! <3 

Read On: Archive of Our Own (Won’t work until revealed on AO3)

"Are you sure about this?" 

Morning rays of sun bleed into May's small kitchen area where she sits at the table shuffling around her lecture notes for the day. Tony leans back against the edge of the counter, arms crossed over his chest only to keep himself from fidgeting with a stray hair on his left sleeve that definitely is not there. The calming light of the rising sun had not eased his anxieties during the drive across town, and now it bites at him, drawing forth beads of uncertainty. 

At his question, May pauses, leaning her elbow on the table with papers still in hand. Her expression is patient when she says, "Tony, I'm sure about this. Peter loves spending time with you. He'll be confused and more than a little awkward - you know the kid - but he's not going to turn you down." 

Tony can only nod his head, self-assured in a way that nobody, not even himself, believes. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and casts a hesitant glance over towards Peter's bedroom door. Subtly twisting his wrist to catch the time on his watch, he breathes out a sigh of relief. It's not yet seven, and the kid isn't due to be up for another half hour. Just enough time for him to have one more crisis of confidence before hardening his resolve for the next few days to come. 

"Tony," May's warm voice is laced with concern. "If you aren't sure about this, it's okay. He'll be none the wiser." 

"No, I'm sure." Tony stands up straight and absently wipes his damp palms down the sides of his shirt. "It'll be fun. Good for both of us." 

"It will be," she assures confidently, pulling herself to her feet as she begins slipping manilla folders into her purse. May is dressed comfortably, straight leg jeans tucked into ankle boots, and a flowy blouse that nearly reaches her knees. Tony thinks if his professors had been more like May, he probably would have made it to more of his classes. He follows her through the apartment, leans against the doorjamb once she steps into the hall. 

"Thank you for doing this, Tony. I really appreciate it - Peter will, too, even if he doesn't acknowledge it. Besides," she grins, "at least this way, he's not skipping school." 

"Do you think he really would have skipped?" 

May looks at him, considering. "I do, yeah. And I don't think he would have been careless enough to risk us catching him in the suit. I know he's, you know, but I don't want him to spend the day wandering Queens with only his thoughts for company. And the way I hear it, you're not much better yourself on Father's Day." Her teasing grin is all too knowing, and Tony grumbles. 

"Pepper can't be trusted."

"I never mentioned Pepper." She takes one, two, and then three steps backwards down the hall and shoots him a lazy salute and a wink before turning on her heel and continuing her retreat. Tony shakes his head, lips twitching in amusement as he watches her go. Sooner or later, her unlikely friendship with Happy Hogan is going to come out, and Tony hopes he's there for it, just to catch the look on Peter's face as he slowly begins to assume "the worst". 

Turning back into the apartment, Tony finds himself pilfering through May's cabinets until finally he's pulled everything he needs to stuff as many morning calories into Peter as he can. Eggs and bacon and pancake mix and milk and any other distraction that comes to mind. When the counter is sufficiently littered with more than he knows he'll actually cook, Tony groans. What's left to do than stir in his own thoughts?

Even as he glances down at his watch, not really processing the numbers, Tony wanders into the Parker's living area and over to the double bookcase snug in the corner. May's collection is extensive and eclectic: from a sea of iconic women's autobiographies to a wave of new-age spiritualism. What draws his attention even more so are the photographs scattered about the shelves, all focusing on the same three individuals - Peter, May, and Ben. They look happy, and Tony's throat tightens before looking away. He's been through some shit in his life, no doubt, but Peter's not sixteen, and he's already lost what effectively amounts to three parents. 

This Father's Day will be Peter's first without Ben. 

May had approached him earlier in the week, cautious but unwavering in her broach the subject. Father's Day in the Parker household meant Ben pulling Peter out of school and making a day of it - Movies, museums, rock climbing, whatever Peter wanted to do. This year, he'd cut school. Or so May had told him. While the supposition had caught him by surprise, Tony couldn't blame the kid. May wasn't asking him to babysit, but to please keep an eye on him. To which he agreed without question. Tony could understand. Well, maybe not entirely. It's not like he and Howard had the best of relationships. Shit, they didn't even have one of indifference. Still, what he'd discovered - what he'd seen - in Siberia had brought on a lot of memories he thought long forgotten. Loathe as he is to admit it, a lot of anxiety had made home in his chest over the last few weeks leading up into today. 

Later that night, after he'd spoken with May, it was Pepper who'd suggested maybe it would do Tony and Peter both some good to not spend the day stewing in their own thoughts. And while Tony didn't disagree with the sentiment, he'd felt uncomfortable with the notion of spending Father's Day with a kid who'd just lost the closest thing to a father he'd had. It's not to say that he doesn't, ya know, care about the kid, but there's a line, and Tony was not about to overstep. 

One of these days, Tony will realize that through Peter, he now has not only one, but two strong, determined women in his life. And when May had called him with a pointed, 'I'm thinking Miami. A road trip to Miami. What do you think? It doesn't matter, I've already called the school. Be here at seven,'  Tony wasn't about to argue. Instead, he'd sighed, accepted the inevitable and headed down to the lab to make plans. 'There are worse ways you could be spending Father's Day, Tones. At least this way, you'll have someone to keep you in your place,' Rhodey had joked. 

For all of the groans and complaints and anxiety about imposing on the kid's Father Day - this one of all years - the idea of taking Pete on a trip down the coast is exciting, and Tony has low-key spent the week looking forward to it. And be it Pepper or May or Rhodey… They're right, This trip will be good for him. For both of them. 

-------

A miserable week to lead up to a miserable day. Peter hadn't even bothered setting an alarm, knowing full well school wasn't in the cards for him today. May has back to back lectures all morning, which means he'll reasonably make it until noon - asleep - before she starts blowing his phone up. Or so was the plan. 

When Peter's door bursts open, he nearly startles right off the side of his bunk bed, catching himself only by slapping a hand against the ceiling to steady himself. For all the adrenaline dumping into his system, there's no element of danger coursing through him alongside it. 

"Mr. Stark?" Peter watches in confusion as the man crosses the room towards his closet and begins pushing clothes out of the way, rummaging instead through the bottom. 

"Let's take a road trip," the man says, now pulling clothes from the closet and dropping them onto the lower bunk in a manner that tells Peter Tony doesn't actually know what he's looking for. And, neither does Peter, who rolls out of bed just in time to take two shirts to the face. 

"A road trip?" he echoes, snatching the shirts off his face and catching another that Tony tosses over his shoulder. Finally, the man makes a triumphant noise as he stands up with a duffel bag in hand - The one Peter always carries with him whenever he spends the night at Tony's. 

"Yeah, kid. C'mon, it'll be fun. Get up." Tony begins pulling the shirts out of Peter's hand one by one, eyeing each carefully. Peter can only stare, baffled, as Tony hangs one back in the closet and pulls the other off its hanger and tosses it onto the bed behind Peter. It's domestic in a way he's not used to and has him feeling wrong-footed, caught off guard. 

"Mr. Stark, I can't go on a road trip. It's," he almost says Father's Day, that he can't do anything but sleep and wander the city, but catches himself. Peter clears his throat before beginning again. "It's a Friday, I can't just-" 

"Okay, and?" Tony turns to look at him with sharp, knowing eyes. Peter shifts awkwardly, crossing his arms high, hands caught between arms and side. "You're telling me you didn't plan on skipping today?"

"May told you," It's not a question. Peter wants to scowl, wants to feel something akin to betrayal wash through him, but he has neither the heart nor energy for it today. Tony's headed towards his dresser, towards the top drawer, and god wouldn't Peter just straight die if his mentor unwittingly opened his underwear drawer as he packs for him. Peter lurches forward, slipping between Tony and blocking him before he can take another step. The man shoots him an amused look.

"May told me that you didn't need a babysitter and that I should let you do your thing but to please keep an eye on you. But then-"

"This isn't exactly letting me do my thing." 

"But then," Tony begins again, voice an octave higher to speak over Peter as if he hadn't been interrupted, "she and Pepper had a conversation." 

Peter winces because yeah, okay, that makes sense. His voice is tentative, cautious, when he says, "So, road trip?" 

Tony grins like he's won something, and pushes the partially filled duffel bag towards him. "Shower, pack, and meet me in the kitchen. I'm going to burn us some breakfast." 

Peter's eyes widen. He's never seen the man cook, but he's heard stories- Stories that have Peter rushing to throw his shit in a bag so he can babysit his mentor while the man cooks. Tony's voice pulls at his attention. 

"And, Pete, leave the suit. You aren't going to need it." Peter snorts, abandoning his task and turning towards Tony with a knowing smirk much too similar to his aunts. His eyes flick down to the device at his chest. 

"Go ahead, Mr. Stark. Drop the tech, it'll be safe here." 

Tony narrows his eyes, not considering it even for a moment. Instead, he turns and walks away, throwing over his shoulder, "Grab the suit, brat. And speed it up, we're on a schedule." 

Peter rolls his eyes. Tony Stark couldn't follow a schedule to save his life. 

-------

"Oh, wow, you weren't kidding." 

Peter sits at the kitchen table, working through his second - burnt, definitely burnt - omelet, eyeing Tony as he waves a hand towel towards the fire alarm until finally, it shuts off. He'd taken the fastest shower of his life to avoid just this - Or, well, maybe not entirely to avoid, so much as watch the shitshow unfold. No disappointment here. 

"The snark isn't necessary." Tony scowls, wiping his hands on the towel before tossing it over onto his shoulder. 

"And yet, you're getting it anyway." He fails to hide the smirk behind a swig of orange juice. "Why are we doing this, Mr. Stark?"

"Because breakfast is the most important meal of the day." Tony doesn't bother looking his way as he sets about cleaning up his mess. Peter's half tempted to pull his phone out and snap a picture for Pepper, but he's too distracted by the whole fanfare. 

"You know what I mean," he counters. 

Tony sighs, finally meeting Peter's gaze before slipping back into the seat across from him. "Being alone with your thoughts isn't fun." When Peter doesn't answer, he continues. "Ya know, it's Father's Day for everyone, Pete. My old man, he and I didn't get along so well. And I've been told that I don't tend to cope in a "healthy way", so really you're doing Pepper a favor by babysitting me." 

Peter's eyes narrow suspiciously, skeptical. He knows Tony is full of shit, he's just trying to decide if it's the type of bullshit he wants to play along with. He'd really planned on sleeping most of the day and wandering Queens for the rest of it - Revisiting every place he and Ben had hit up last year. But even Peter can admit that yeah, he's still not entirely emotionally prepared for that. Peter knows it's going to be a rough day for him, he's just not sure if he's ready to spend a rough day with Tony seeing him like this. He thinks, based on the way Tony sighs heavily, again, that Peter must be broadcasting some of this in his expression.

"Listen, Pete. Today is going to suck, at least, a little bit for both of us. We may as well suffer together, yeah? I mean, it can't make things worse." There's something in his eyes that Peter can't quite place, that has him dropping his gaze towards the table so he can think. 

Peter knows he's going to be hit with waves of grief, and what if it, ya know, makes things awkward? Tony isn't great with emotions, and Peter doesn't want to make the man feel uncomfortable. But, at the same time, he'd admitted that Father's Day wasn't exactly the greatest day for him either. And if Tony's feeling whatever it is he's feeling, Peter doesn't want to leave him alone to it, not when he doesn't have to. Absently, he picks at the skin of the palm of his hand, worrying the inside of his lip. He can feel it - the guilt - teetering within him, threatening to spill over, but knowing the rationality isn't there. He knows what May would say, knows deep down what Ben would say. And it's with that in mind that a slow, cocky grin crosses his face. 

"I mean, I'm always kind of suffering with you, so I guess it won't be too much different than usual." He expects a witty retort, something snarky from Tony, but instead, the man leans over and claps a hand onto his shoulder and shoots him a broad, open smile. 

"Glad I can be consistent." Peter laughs, dropping his head into his hands at the absurdity his day has already turned into. 

"Alright," Peter concedes, carrying his empty plates over towards the sink and flipping on the nozzle. "Where are we going, exactly?" 

"The exotic city of Miami." The man looks all too pleased with himself as he joins Peter at the sink, rolling his sleeves up his forearms. 

Peter nearly chokes. "You're joking." 

"Well," Tony begins, taking a dish from Peter and dumping it into the soapy water, "I assumed Malibu would be a bit too far, but if you think your aunt can pull you out of school for most of next week…" 

"We can't go to Miami. You're out of your mind." 

"I'll let you break the news to your aunt. I don't want to be the one to tell her she's not getting all the souvenirs she's asked for." Tony doesn't look at him when he says it; his voice very a matter of fact as he continues to scrub the dishes Peter is passing over to him. 

"May's okay with this? The Miami part, I mean." he says, surprised. "You know we can't make it there and back by Monday." 

Tony snorts, stepping back and grabbing the clean dish towel looped into the refrigerator handle. "Astute observation, Underoos. But we'll be flying back from Miami." 

Peter's still staring at him in open surprise when he says, "This is so unnecessary." 

-------

"This is so unnecessary!" Peter throws his hands up. They're standing in a dealership whose floors alone Peter is relatively sure he should have taken his shoes off before being allowed to step onto. He, Tony, and an attendant are standing in front of a vehicle so expensive Peter is afraid to touch it. The thing is flashy and loud and not at all what Peter'd had in mind when Tony mentioned a road trip. He turns to Tony, exasperation coloring his expression. 

"What?" Tony says defensively, though the grin on his face says he knows exactly what. "It's top of the line."

"Hence - Unnecessary! This is a road trip, Tony, not a drag race." Looking around, none of the vehicles are adequate road trip vehicles. The attendant's gaze darts between the two, and Peter can almost hear the gears shifting in his head as he tries to puzzle together what Tony Stark is doing looking at luxury vehicles with a teenager. Which, honestly, good question. Like Tony doesn't have a hundred cars to choose from which, still, honestly - not for road tripping. 

"I've competed in a few drag races in my days," he shoots back, lips quirking in a way that makes Peter's nose wrinkle. Okay, well, they'll be circling back to that in the future. 

"Mr. Stark, why are you so extra?" The dealer snorts, catching himself with an ill convincing cough when Tony shoots him a look. Peter plucks the keys from Tony's hand and leans across him towards the attendant. 

"Thank you so much for your time, but we're going to have to pass." When the man takes it, looking baffled, Peter then takes Tony's wrist and pulls him a few steps to the side. "Okay, it's become very obvious that you don't know how to Road Trip, so look at me. I am your captain now." 

Peter doesn't wait for a response before turning on his heel and walking towards the door, nodding politely at the employees he pass. In doing so, he completely misses the open amusement coloring his mentor's expression as he shakes his head and follows after. 

-------

"No. No way. Absolutely not." 

They're not at a dealership, but rather a rental place. The attendant is standing with them, mouth agape and staring openly at the multi-billionaire standing on his lot with "Ben Parker's kid". Tony didn't necessarily mind Peter's insistence on a rental, and he certainly doesn't mind Peter's insistence on renting from one of Ben's old friends. What Tony does mind is the car Peter has drug him through the lot towards. It's an older, relatively run-down Toyota model that Tony hasn't even bothered to remember. Because they absolutely aren't taking it. 

"Um," Peter turns to him, hands on hips, "yes way. If we're doing this, we're doing it my way." 

Tony frowns - which is far better than the way his lip had curled up in confused discontent when Peter had first thrown his arms out wide with a pleased, "Ta-Da!" to which Tony'd hit back with, "I don't think you know that phrase means" - as he steps closer to the vehicle, walking around towards its side. 

"Why does your way have to look like it's going to breakdown?" he says quietly, forgetting momentarily that Peter has super-hearing until the kid snorts in amusement. 

"Pepper's right. You're dramatic about literally everything." And though he shoots for snarky, the light in his eyes as he looks over the car, and the reverent way he drags a finger along its side sort of betrays him. 

"Yeah, well, Pepper speaks only in slander, so I wouldn't take what she says too seriously." 

When Peter doesn't respond, still too enraptured by the vehicle, Tony frowns, this time in confusion as he eyes the kid. Idly, he wanders back over towards the dealer, Leland, who has finally pulled his awe-struck gaze away from Tony in favor of watching the kid fondly. Gently, Tony pulls the man over a few steps, hoping Peter's distraction will protect him from being overheard this time. 

"I don't get it," he admits, hoping maybe the man who seems to have been close with the Parker's might have some insight. Leland turns to him with a sympathetic expression before turning that very gaze back over towards Peter. 

"It's not actually for rent, that one. Couple years back, Ben told Pete if he saved up half the cost by the time he hit sixteen, he'd cover the other half." Tony's eyes widen in surprise, though Leland still has soft eyes on Peter. He's not sure what he expected, but it certainly hadn't been this. With this new insight, something fond washes through Tony when he looks back over at Pete that he can't quite put a name just now.

"That's cheating," he says thickly, going for humor but falling flat, a little too emotional. Tony clears his throat, shakes his head a bit, and steps forward before speaking louder, steady, "Alright, Underoos. The Council approves. Fetch me the keys and pray we make it all the way to Miami in this bad boy." 

Tony doesn't exactly buy the vehicle. He just, ya know, makes sure that nobody else can buy it before Peter does. 

-------

They've got a full tank of gas, a backseat filled with snacks that may or may not kill them before they make it to the Carolina's, and a heater/AC unit with busted, loose vents. The leather on the steering wheel is peeled in places, and Peter feels closer to Ben then he has in a long time. In a way, he feels like he's taking this trip with Tony and Ben. It's nice. Comforting. Peter pops a can of Dr. Pepper, laughing when they hit a pothole and soda spills out onto his chin and shirt as he takes a sip. 

"I usually try and keep the liquid in the can or my mouth, but hey, that's just me." Tony quips, looking back and over Peter's shoulder before switching lanes. Peter's in too good a mood to put up a fight. He laughs again, slipping the drink down into the back holder between them - Front holder is for the driver, Mr. Stark. Hello, road Trip 101. 

"Oh, hoh. Look who's got jokes." 

At that, Tony snorts, which only widens Peter's grin. He doesn't bother trying to hide it. Now that they're moving through the city, excitement floods his veins, and he's practically vibrating in his seat. An emotion so, so far from the one he'd woke up with. The sort of excitement that nearly brings tears because you can't physically flail the enthusiasm out, but it has to escape somehow. Abruptly, Peter pulls his phone from pocket and turns towards the window, holding the phone out so that he can fit himself and Tony into the frame. 

Tony grins, eyes darting quickly between the road and the phone. Peter thinks he's going to pop off with another snarky remark, but instead, he raises his left hand and shoots the camera a peace sign, eyes still on the road. In doing so, Peter lights up, throwing up his own peace sign before gasping at a sudden thought. He lowers the phone, eyes sweeping the car hurriedly, and, before Tony can ask, Peter snatches Tony's tinted sunglasses from the pocket at the bottom of the dash and slips them on. 

"That's bold." Tony's voice is laced with poorly masked humor.

"I like to play with fire," Peter says absently and almost to himself, before twisting back into position and throwing up a peace sign to match Tony's. When the man glances over and catches sight of Peter, glasses seemingly taking up a third of his face, Tony's head tips back in laughter; it's at that moment that Peter snaps the photo. 

Peter shoots the photo off to Ned and subsequently spends the next several minutes texting him as Tony works his way through traffic. It's as they're merging onto the interstate that Tony says, "Alright, Kiddo. You ready?" 

When Peter doesn't immediately respond, he chances a quick glance over - Peter, still in Tony's sunglasses, is staring down at his phone, but rather than texting Ned, he's now grinning openly at the photo of him and Tony. 

"This is gonna be the best weekend ever."

Tony knows Peter hadn't meant to say it out loud - that he hasn't realized he's said it out loud - and, somehow, that makes it all the better. He can't help but agree. This is going to be the best weekend ever. 

#irondad #irondad fic #tony stark #peter parker #coconut writes #the friendly neighborhood exchange #mine #text

[pridebooks]

It’s Trans Day of Visibility, so have some books!!

Full list of books (with synopses) under the cut.

First picture: Books by trans authors (most also have trans characters)

Memoirs of a Man’s Maiden Years by N. O. Body - "I was born a boy, raised as a girl. . . . One may raise a healthy boy in as womanish a manner as one wishes, and a female creature in as mannish; never will this cause their senses to remain forever reversed." So writes the pseudonymous N. O. Body, born in 1884 with ambiguous genitalia and assigned a female identity in early infancy. Brought up as a girl, "she" nevertheless asserted stereotypical male behavior from early on. In the end, it was a passionate love affair with a married woman that brought matters to a head. Desperately confused, suicidally depressed, and in consultation with Magnus Hirschfeld, one of the most eminent and controversial sexologists of the day, "she" decided to become "he." N. O. Body was identified as Karl M. Baer (he/him).

Spy Stuff by Matthew J. Metzger - Anton never thought anyone would ever want to date him. Everyone knows nobody wants a transgender boyfriend, right? So he's as shocked as anyone when seemingly-straight Jude Kalinowski asks him out, and doesn't appear to be joking.The only problem is ... well, Jude doesn't actually know.Anton can see how this will play out: Jude is a nice guy, and nice guys finish last. And Anton is transgender, and transgender people don't get happy endings. If he tells Jude, it might destroy everything.And if Jude tells anyone else ... it will. Matthew J. Metzger (he/him) is a queer trans man.

I Wish You All The Best by Mason Deaver - When Ben De Backer comes out to their parents as nonbinary, they're thrown out of their house and forced to move in with their estranged older sister, Hannah, and her husband, Thomas, whom Ben has never even met. Struggling with an anxiety disorder compounded by their parents' rejection, they come out only to Hannah, Thomas, and their therapist and try to keep a low profile in a new school.But Ben's attempts to survive the last half of senior year unnoticed are thwarted when Nathan Allan, a funny and charismatic student, decides to take Ben under his wing. As Ben and Nathan's friendship grows, their feelings for each other begin to change, and what started as a disastrous turn of events looks like it might just be a chance to start a happier new life.At turns heartbreaking and joyous, I Wish You All the Best is both a celebration of life, friendship, and love, and a shining example of hope in the face of adversity Mason Deaver (they/them) is nonbinary.

George by Alex Gino -When people look at George, they think they see a boy. But she knows she's not a boy. She knows she's a girl.George thinks she'll have to keep this a secret forever. Then her teacher announces that their class play is going to be Charlotte's Web. George really, really, REALLY wants to play Charlotte. But the teacher says she can't even try out for the part . . . because she's a boy.With the help of her best friend, Kelly, George comes up with a plan. Not just so she can be Charlotte -- but so everyone can know who she is, once and for all. Alex Gino (they/them) is genderqueer.

Starglass by Phoebe North -  Terra has never known anything but life aboard the Asherah, a city-within-a-spaceship that left Earth five hundred years ago in search of refuge. At sixteen, working a job that doesn't interest her, and living with a grieving father who only notices her when he's yelling, Terra is sure that there has to be more to life than what she's got. But when she inadvertently witnesses the captain's guard murdering an innocent man, Terra is suddenly thrust into the dark world beneath her ship's idyllic surface. As she's drawn into a secret rebellion determined to restore power to the people, Terra discovers that her choices may determine life or death for the people she cares most about. With mere months to go before landing on the long-promised planet, Terra has to make the decision of a lifetime--one that will determine the fate of her people. Phoebe North (they/them) is genderqueer.

Power Surge by Sara Codair - Erin has just realized that for the entirety of their life, their family has lied to them. Their Sight has been masked for years, so Erin thought the Pixies and Mermaids were hallucinations. Not only are the supernatural creatures they see daily real, but their grandmother is an Elf, meaning Erin isn’t fully human. On top of that, the dreams Erin thought were nightmares are actually prophecies.While dealing with the anger they have over all of the lies, they are getting used to their new boyfriend, their boyfriend's bullying ex, and the fact that they come from a family of Demon Hunters. As Erin struggles through everything weighing on them, they uncover a Demon plot to take over the world.Erin just wants some time to work through it all on their own terms, but that's going to have to wait until after they help save the world. Sara Codair (they/she) is nonbinary.

Out of Salem by Hal Schrieve - When genderqueer fourteen-year-old Z Chilworth wakes from death after a car crash that killed their parents and sisters, they have to adjust quickly to their new status as a zombie. Always a talented witch, Z can now barely perform magic and is rapidly decaying. Faced with rejection from their remaining family members and old friends, Z moves in with Mrs. Dunnigan, an elderly witch, and befriends Aysel, a loud would-be-goth classmate who is, like Z, a loner. As Z struggles to find a way to repair the broken magical seal holding their body together, Aysel fears that her classmates will discover her status as an unregistered werewolf. When a local psychiatrist is murdered in an apparent werewolf attack, the town of Salem, Oregon, becomes even more hostile to monsters, and Z and Aysel are driven together in an attempt to survive a place where most people wish that neither of them existed. Hal Schrieve (xie/hir) is a genderfluid trans man.

This is Kind of an Epic Love Story by Kacen Callender - Nathan Bird doesn’t believe in happy endings. Although he’s the ultimate film buff and an aspiring screenwriter, Nate’s seen the demise of too many relationships to believe that happy endings exist in real life.Playing it safe to avoid a broken heart has been his MO ever since his father died and left his mom to unravel—but this strategy is not without fault. His best-friend-turned-girlfriend-turned-best-friend-again, Florence, is set on making sure Nate finds someone else. And in a twist that is rom-com-worthy, someone does come along: Oliver James Hernández, his childhood best friend.After a painful mix-up when they were little, Nate finally has the chance to tell Ollie the truth about his feelings. But can Nate find the courage to pursue his own happily ever after?  Kacen Callender (they/them) is a demiboy.

Ninefox Gambit by Yoon Ha Lee - Captain Kel Cheris of the hexarchate is disgraced for using unconventional methods in a battle against heretics. Kel Command gives her the opportunity to redeem herself by retaking the Fortress of Scattered Needles, a star fortress that has recently been captured by heretics. Cheris’s career isn’t the only thing at stake. If the fortress falls, the hexarchate itself might be next.Cheris’s best hope is to ally with the undead tactician Shuos Jedao. The good news is that Jedao has never lost a battle, and he may be the only one who can figure out how to successfully besiege the fortress.The bad news is that Jedao went mad in his first life and massacred two armies, one of them his own. As the siege wears on, Cheris must decide how far she can trust Jedao–because she might be his next victim. Yoon Ha Lee (he/him) is a trans man.

Second pic: Books with trans characters

Gracefully Grayson by Ami Polonsky -  Alone at home, twelve-year-old Grayson Sender glows, immersed in beautiful thoughts and dreams. But at school, Grayson grasps at shadows, determined to fly under the radar. Because Grayson has been holding onto a secret for what seems like forever: “he” is a girl on the inside, stuck in the wrong gender’s body.The weight of this secret is crushing, but leaving it behind would mean facing ridicule, scorn, and rejection. Despite these dangers, Grayson’s true self itches to break free. Strengthened by an unexpected friendship and a caring teacher who gives her a chance to step into the spotlight, Grayson might finally have the tools to let her inner light shine.

Beautiful Music for Ugly Children by Kirstin Cronn-Mills - "This is Beautiful Music for Ugly Children, on community radio 90.3, KZUK. I'm Gabe. Welcome to my show."My birth name is Elizabeth, but I'm a guy. Gabe. My parents think I've gone crazy and the rest of the world is happy to agree with them, but I know I'm right. I've been a boy my whole life.When you think about it, I'm like a record. Elizabeth is my A side, the song everybody knows, and Gabe is my B side--not heard as often, but just as good.It's time to let my B side play.

Symptoms of Being Human by Jeff Garvin - The first thing you’re going to want to know about me is: Am I a boy, or am I a girl?Riley Cavanaugh is many things: Punk rock. Snarky. Rebellious. And gender fluid. Some days Riley identifies as a boy, and others as a girl. The thing is…Riley isn’t exactly out yet. And between starting a new school and having a congressman father running for reelection in uber-conservative Orange County, the pressure—media and otherwise—is building up in Riley’s so-called “normal” life.On the advice of a therapist, Riley starts an anonymous blog to vent those pent-up feelings and tell the truth of what it’s REALLY like to be a gender fluid teenager. But just as Riley’s starting to settle in at school—even developing feelings for a mysterious outcast—the blog goes viral, and an unnamed commenter discovers Riley’s real identity, threatening exposure. Riley must make a choice: walk away from what the blog has created—a lifeline, new friends, a cause to believe in—or stand up, come out, and risk everything.

The Art of Being Normal by Lisa Williamson - David Piper has always been an outsider. His parents think he's gay. The school bully thinks he’s a freak. Only his two best friends know the real truth: David wants to be a girl.On the first day at his new school Leo Denton has one goal: to be invisible. Attracting the attention of the most beautiful girl in his class is definitely not part of that plan. When Leo stands up for David in a fight, an unlikely friendship forms. But things are about to get messy. Because at Eden Park School secrets have a funny habit of not staying secret for long…

Mask of Shadows by Linsey Miller - Sallot Leon is a thief, and a good one at that. But gender fluid Sal wants nothing more than to escape the drudgery of life as a highway robber and get closer to the upper-class—and the nobles who destroyed their home.When Sal steals a flyer for an audition to become a member of The Left Hand—the Queen’s personal assassins, named after the rings she wears—Sal jumps at the chance to infiltrate the court and get revenge.But the audition is a fight to the death filled with clever circus acrobats, lethal apothecaries, and vicious ex-soldiers. A childhood as a common criminal hardly prepared Sal for the trials. And as Sal succeeds in the competition, and wins the heart of Elise, an intriguing scribe at court, they start to dream of a new life and a different future, but one that Sal can have only if they survive.

The Past and Other Things That Should Stay Buried by Shaun David Hutchinson - A good friend will bury your body, a best friend will dig you back up.Dino doesn’t mind spending time with the dead. His parents own a funeral home, and death is literally the family business. He’s just not used to them talking back. Until Dino’s ex-best friend July dies suddenly—and then comes back to life. Except not exactly. Somehow July is not quite alive, and not quite dead.As Dino and July attempt to figure out what’s happening, they must also confront why and how their friendship ended so badly, and what they have left to understand about themselves, each other, and all those grand mysteries of life.

I Was Born For This by Alice Oseman -  For Angel Rahimi, life is only about one thing: The Ark – a pop-rock trio of teenage boys who are currently taking the world by storm. Being part of The Ark’s fandom has given her everything – her friendships, her dreams, her place in the world. Jimmy Kaga-Ricci owes everything to The Ark too. He’s their frontman – and playing in a band is all he’s ever dreamed of doing. It’s just a shame that recently everything in his life seems to have turned into a bit of a nightmare. Because that’s the problem with dreaming – eventually, inevitably, real life arrives with a wake-up call. And when Angel and Jimmy are unexpectedly thrust together, they will discover just how strange and surprising facing up to reality can be.

The Pants Project by Cat Clarke - Whoever wrote the uniform policy decided (whyyy?) that girls had to wear skirts, while boys were allowed to wear pants. Sexist. Dumb. Unfair. “Girls must wear a black, pleated, knee-length skirt.” I bet I read those words a hundred times during summer vacation. The problem wasn’t the last word in that sentence. Skirt wasn’t really the issue, not for me. The issue was the first word. Girls. Here’s the thing: I may seem like a girl, but on the inside, I’m a boy.

#trans #tdov #trans day of visibility #transgender day of visibility #tdov 2020 #books #trans books

[passable-talent]

Power Hungry [1]

“I’m writing a vampire short story but in the most homoerotic way possible “ -🦌 Roe 2k20

warnings: lots n lots of blood, a little bit of self destructive behavior in the beginning, death of an unnamed character, angst out the ass, please and thx

| part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | 

The way in which the world had ended didn’t particularly matter. 

Lucas Clark had spent many nights following the one that changed the world trying to figure it out, how it had all gone to shit so fast, to no avail. And what did it matter, anyway? Regardless of how it had happened, his life had changed, and it wasn’t going back. 

If he could call it a life, anymore. 

Six months ago, he’d returned from a store trip to find two vampires on the necks of his mother and father. He’d chased them off- and then received the last words of his parents before they both died in front of him.

Six months ago, he’d run to his best friends, Ben and Anthony. Ben had already lost both of his parents to cancer in his teenage years, and the two of them had been living with Anthony’s father- who’d been bitten and turned, who was begging for death. 

Six months ago, three twenty-two year olds became orphans, all in the same day. 

Six months ago began Lucas’ hell.

He spent every day staring at ceilings, at walls. The power grid was still working, but he never wanted to turn on the television- everywhere he’d see sit-coms and news reports being paid to glorify the creatures who’d destroyed the Earth. Plus, neck coverings were in style, and Lucas couldn't stand looking at those, either. 

Any humans left lived the way Lucas did, huddling in a home with two or three other survivors, never leaving, except to get food. Lucas didn’t even do that- Anthony was the hunter. He’d learned the skill from his dad, so he’d drag home an animal every few weeks, and Ben would help Lucas clean and preserve it, and they’d spend the next three weeks letting their tongues go numb to the taste of the meat. There was still food sold in stores- but to enter a public building was like opening your neck up to anybody. No one came out, or, no one came out human. 

Anthony was really the only reason that the three of them had survived. Lucas could fight, sure, and Ben had the skills to hunt if he needed to, but Anthony had the reaction. He kept them alert, imposed rules to keep them safe, ventured out into the fang-infested world and returned safe. 

It was thanks to him that they’d acquired some of the last bleach available in stores. 

TV shows had been way off when they thought about the apocalypse- clans of ‘anemic assholes’, as Ben called them, had an interest in keeping the world working, so stores still sold things, the power grid was untouched, television shows were still being made. These clans weren’t around the area where the three of them lived, though, so mostly they had to worry about the Lones, the vampires without a clan or family and the steady food source that such a family or clan would come with. It did make it somewhat easy to find a human- they were the ones that didn’t have those bite marks on their necks. 

Between Tony’s rules, and the semi-ease with which a human could spot a Lone, things weren’t extremely dire. There was a little bit of a rush on canned goods, back in May, when it all started, but now things were mostly back to normal, other than the fact that it was best never to leave the house. 

Bleach, though. Bleach was gone. 

Humans bought it for the same reason that Anthony had grabbed it up- to douse clothing in, masking any human scent sticking to them so that they could leave the house without attracting a Lone. Vampires bought it up to clean the stench of slaughter from their homes, and to keep it from humans, so that they could easily find their prey. 

They had two bottles of bleach, kept under lock and key, a key that only Ben, Anthony, and Lucas knew the location of. It was the most precious thing they owned, the most valuable. More valuable than the silver daggers each of them carried at every moment of every day. 

The stories of old were wrong. Silver didn’t kill vampires any more than iron, but it was about the statement. The promise that any of the three of them would murder any bitten that dared cross cross their path.

That silver dagger was how Lucas spent most of his time. There was no point to sleeping, so he’d stand in the living room, and practice throwing it. It wasn’t supposed to be a throwing knife, but Lucas did it anyway, taking joy in putting holes in the pristine white wall that still felt so suburban, as though it mocked him, mocked the loss of his nuclear family. 

He gave the knife a particularly forceful throw, hearing it thunk into the drywall. He was about to take it out again when he heard the door open. 

“Tony’s back,” Lucas called up the stairs to Ben, who was in the middle of a long shower. Lucas closed the door behind Anthony, who had a buck balanced over his shoulders, an arrow extending from between its eyes, bouncing over Anthony’s shoulder. It wasn’t even bleeding- Anthony’s white shirt, still stinking of bleach, hadn’t been touched by the buck’s blood. 

“Nice shot,” Lucas said, as he often did when Anthony came home, toting an animal who had died on impact. It was cute, six months ago. Now, it felt dry. 

“Can’t believe I found a deer,” Tony said, letting it thump onto the kitchen counter. “It was out on eighth street, like it didn’t think the town was dangerous anymore.”

“For him, it isn’t,” Lucas said, running his fingers down the ridges of the antlers. “He’s no longer the prey.” 

“Don’t get all poetic on me,” Tony said absent-mindedly, slightly teasingly, opening the fridge to see how much room they had. “Where’s Ben?”

“Taking a shower,” Lucas said, leaning on the table. “I don’t think he could stand to look at me anymore.”

“You and I both know that he could stare at you forever,” Tony said, and somehow, Lucas smiled. Ben was certainly special to him- and he to Ben. All three of them could see it, and had seen it since middle school. Still, they were friends. Nothing more. 

“Yeah, well. Even my pretty face gets boring when it’s all you ever look at.” 

“Tell me about it,” Tony said with a smirk, “I could stand to see a little less of ya.” He lifted his hand and shoved Lucas’ face back, giving both of them a bit of a laugh. The three of them had been best friends for twenty-two years, as long as they’d been alive. Lucas was lucky he still had them- without them, he’d have lost it long ago.

“Either way,” Tony said, turning back to the deer, “When he gets out, you two get to deal with that.” Lucas turned his gaze toward the buck, and his smile fell, as fast as it had appeared. 

“Joy,” Lucas said, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. “So we can eat nothing but deer for the next two months.” Anthony shrugged, but there was a stiffness to the movement. 

“Hey,” he said, with all the warning of a parent about to start a lecture, “if you want something else to eat, you’re welcome to try your luck out there.” Shutting down against Anthony’s tone, Lucas looked to the floor.

“Or I could starve to death,” Lucas said, digging his teeth into the inside of his lower lip, “and not have to worry about it.” 

“That’s not the kind of shit you should be saying,” Anthony told him, jaw working to manage his annoyance.

“Like you can tell me what to say?” Lucas accused, pushing back against the controlling nature that Anthony took on, sometimes too often.

“Apparently I have to, to keep you safe!”

“God, who are you, your dad?” Lucas saw it when the words hit Anthony- his dad was a sore spot, and every mention of him took Tony right back to the moment he’d had to kill his own father. 

“Sorry,” Lucas breathed, and he left the room.

He hated whenever something like this happened- and it was happening too much, recently. He was getting sick of this ‘life’, Anthony was sick of him being snappy. The only one who seemed fine was Ben, but who knows what he’s thinking about in those hour-long showers. 

The house had three bedrooms. Anthony still had the one he’d had as a child, since it felt like home. Ben had what was once the guest bedroom, which he’d taken up at sixteen after Anthony’s dad took him in. That left just the master bedroom, to Lucas- which had never been a blessing, always a curse. At first, because it just felt like Anthony’s dad. And now, because the size of it made it feel so empty, its black king-sized sheets, and high ceiling that felt so far away. 

He laid on his back on top of the sheets, looking up, dagger rolling around his fingers. He knew it was a bad idea, he shouldn’t- but the frustration got too much, and he hurled the dagger upward, into the ceiling. It stuck for just a moment, before falling back down. 

Lucas’ immediate reaction was to roll over, out of the way, before he realized he also wanted to protect the sheets from the blade. He reached out, to try to catch the knife, and got his fingers around the blade just beneath its hilt, slipping just a bit, but enough to slice open his palm, and a line through each of his fingers.

“Fuck!” He roared, blood already rolling down his palm. He jumped to his feet, his uninjured left hand shoving the dagger into its sheath on his thigh, and ran into the bathroom, Ben’s shower be damned. He rustled through the cabinet, looking for their bandages. 

“What happened?” Tony called, appearing at the doorway just a moment later. 

“I did something dumb,” Lucas hissed through gritted teeth, even the touch of the bandage to his raw flesh stinging, “Don’t worry about it.” Once he’d pulled the bandage around his palm, Lucas shoved past Anthony to close the door, letting Ben have his privacy again. 

“What the hell did you do?” Anthony asked, grabbing Lucas’ hand and yanking it in front of him so he could get a good look. Lucas hadn’t dressed the slits along his fingers. 

“It’s nothing,” Lucas said, angry at himself, not wanting to bother Tony so soon after he’d hurt him. 

“That’s not nothing, Lucas, what if it gets infected?” 

“So what if it does?” Lucas snarled, ripping his hand from Anthony’s grasp. “It’s not like it fucking matters.” 

“Lucas, what are you talking about?” Anthony said, anger and concern swirling in his tone. “We want to keep you healthy!” Lucas turned his head to the side, scrunching up his nose, slightly, trying to keep his anger at bay. But every passing day was another blow to the dam, and there wasn’t much left keeping the floodwaters at bay. 

“Why?” he shouted, clenching his hands into fists, fingernails forcing his bandages into the wound. “So I can live in this fucking house for the rest of my life? Staring at white walls, pretending that everything’s fine, hoping that someday, something will change, but knowing that nothing ever fucking will?” Lucas heard the shower shut off, and if he hadn’t regretted the outburst before, he did now- he couldn’t face Ben, not knowing that Ben had heard every word. So he shoved Anthony out of the way, and charged down the stairs. At the front door, he ignored his shoes, ignored the white scarf that stunk of bleach, and charged outside.

“Lucas!” Anthony yelled after him, but Lucas didn’t turn back. 

He kept his fist tight, knowing that it was bleeding, and to expose it to the air would be to attract every Lone in the surrounding four blocks. Thanks to the Lones, there were so few humans with blood to give left, that even existing as one was dangerous. But he needed to take a walk. 

He loved Anthony. He loved Ben. They didn’t deserve to have to deal with him- to keep him alive when he was so stupid, rash, angry. They’d be better off if he was somewhere else, but he had nowhere else to go, so he could at least give them this break, let them get along for two hours while he walked the neighborhood. 

He’d long stopped trying to keep track of the humans in the homes. He’d once been able to tell you who had been turned, and who hadn’t, but there was no way to know, anymore. He just kept his chin down, eyes on the blacktop, ignoring the freezing, November cold. His dark grey hoodie didn’t even have a pocket he could shove his hands into. 

When he looked up, he stopped dead. Standing thirty feet in front of him was a woman, her eyes deadset on him. Her cheeks were sunken in against her face, her skin deathly pale, her bones poking out against her skin.

She wasn’t just a Lone, she was starving. Which meant Lucas was in grave danger. 

He pivoted hard, taking off across the street, and with a glance over his shoulder he was terrified to realize she’d taken chase. She was faster than him, they always were, but she’d tire out faster than he would. If he could make it past this house, and into the woods behind it, he could escape into the shrubs, and she’d be too exhausted to force through them. 

She was too close for his comfort by the time he broke into the woods, but exactly as he expected, she had much more trouble pivoting around thorn bushes and jumping over fallen logs. He planned to outrun her until he could throw her trail, but suddenly he’d reached a clearing, and he looked up to a massive mansion. 

His momentum lost, he tried to pivot his direction, but she’d caught up, and he wouldn’t even make it into the woods before she caught him. So he reached to his sheath and grabbed his dagger, ignoring the sting as the metal slipped over the wounds on his fingers, and turned around to plunge it into her chest with a battle cry. 

And that’d kill anybody. 

She fell forward, and took Lucas down with her, shoving the dagger further into her chest when they impacted the ground. She didn’t move. 

Lucas took a few deep breaths, trying to slow his heartbeat, and a moment later, threw the woman off of him. There was blood coating the hilt of his dagger, protruding from her chest, but he realized quickly that it was his own, from his fingers. She’d been so starved, she didn’t even bleed when she died. 

He’d hit the ground hard, and groaned against a bruised shoulder as he stood, yanking his weapon out of her. He felt just a little bit of sorrow for her, like he always did- a Lone vampire didn’t have a clan, which always meant that they were bitten, once human. It wasn’t her fault. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

-🦌 Roe

| part 1 | part 2 | part 3 |

#vampire #vampire bf #angst #original plotline #gay vampires #post apocalypse #roe #lucas #tobias #anthony #ben #original characters #fics

[thestarkerisobvious]

Sixteen -- The DeSlaughter House -- 1

Sixteen -- The DeSlaughter House

1.  I Didn’t Do Anything Wrong

“I didn’t do anything wrong, I didn’t do anything wrong.  I didn’t tell him to do anything wrong.  I didn’t tell him to do anything…”  Peter chanted it to himself like a prayer as he walked as fast as his legs would go, ignoring the burn in his calves, ignoring the stitch in his side.  Soon the pain in his lungs was going to become a problem, but mostly he ignored that too. 

He was good at ignoring things he didn’t want to know.

The gravel road seemed longer than it ever had before.  He ran until he simply couldn’t run anymore.  Then he walked.  And as he walked, he prayed.

Sweat stung his eyes and he cursed himself for the hundredth time.  If he had just let Uncle Ben drive him to Mike’s house, he would be there by now.  It was a 45-minute walk, normally.  He was hoping the adrenaline caused by sheer panic would make him run faster.  That was what happened to the Incredible Hulk, the science magazines said.  A mutation exacerbated by the onslaught of adrenaline.  Peter couldn’t possibly have more adrenaline than he had right already, but it wasn’t making him incredible.  He needed to be incredible now.

But he couldn’t have asked Uncle Ben for a ride, he explained to himself the for the hundredth time.  How would he explain?  Explain that with three dead animals laying in the front yard in the most important thing he could do was check on his next-door neighbor?

All because of a whispered conversation he had a few nights before, while lying in the arms of his demon… friend?

“There’s got to be a price to pay.  There’s always a price to pay.  Everything has a price…” Peter moaned to himself as he pushed himself to move forward.  He was longing to stop but if he stopped he might collapse.  “Even if it isn’t wrong… even good things have a price…”  He stopped talking.  Talking required air he didn’t have.  But the thoughts in his head hurt almost as much as the pain in his ribs.  He couldn’t stop thinking.  So he just started running.

Even if it wasn’t wrong to have Tony in his bed every night, Peter had realized at some point during the day, there still had to be a price, didn’t there?  Everything had a price, that’s what all the old people at church kept saying.  They talked a lot about “sin” at First Devil’s church, but Peter had decided a while ago that having Tony as his friend was not a sin.  Tony couldn’t help what he was, or what he had been forced to do long before Peter was born.  And as for what they did in bed together in the darkness…

Peter moaned even as he ran.

He had tried to replay the conversation in his head, but replaying the conversation was causing him too much pain.  Because he had just been talking to be talking, he knew that without a doubt.  He had already told Tony all the important stuff that had happened while Tony had been asleep.  He didn’t have anything left to tell.  It was 3 o’clock in the morning, oh god he remembered, and by then he was just talking to stay awake.  Stay awake and enjoy what Tony was doing with his hands.

When Peter climbed onto Tony’s lap first night Tony had come from the place where he lived under the bed, well, that had been the bravest thing Peter had ever done in his life.  And probably the bravest thing he would do for a while, because pulling Tony’s mouth to the vein in his neck had resulted in a very surprising, embarrassing problem.

Namely, a very sudden and very painful erection.  Instant.  Aching.  Seemingly two feet long.   And pressing shamelessly and helplessly against Tony’s stomach  as Peter clung to Tony, wide-eyed and speechless.

Not that Tony commented, of course.  (But how could he?  He had been moaning and clutching to Peter like a drowning man, drinking deep.  Maybe he didn’t even notice himself.)

The next night Peter had to feed him the same way, of course.  After fulfilling his summer-long plan to demand it, he couldn’t exactly go back on it now.  That meant they lay on the bed more like the letter V than the letter I, Tony’s mouth attached to Peter’s neck, Peter’s body angled safely away in the other direction, his problem hidden under the covers.

But the third night, Peter had found a solution that was both simple and delightful.  Laying in Tony’s arms, his back pressed against Tony’s chest, his problem became a non-problem.   And it felt incredible. 

When he was in Tony’s arms, facing Tony, Tony’s hands stroked and caressed his back, which felt good.

But when he was in Tony’s arms, turned away from Tony, Tony’s hands stroked and caressed his chest which felt amazing. 

And that’s what he had been doing.  That’s why he had been talking.

He had been talking just to stay awake, just to enjoy Tony’s arms for a few more minutes.  Just to enjoy Tony’s hands for a few more minutes before Tony slipped away. 

He remembered it so clearly.  Tony was done with his second feeding and now was content to lick and nuzzle along Peter’s neck and shoulder, his hands roaming and exploring over Peter’s arms, and chest, and stomach.  Complimenting over and over the new muscles he found there.  Making Peter glow with pride.

“And that’s why you just had to keep talking”  Peter told himself.  “And that’s why this is your fault.”  He left off running and bent over, hands on in his burning thighs, struggling to breathe, fighting back tears.  He had been talking so Tony would keep touching him, not because he really had anything to say.  When he fell asleep Tony would slip into the basement and go back to hunting and consuming the rats that Peter had tasked him with.  Then, if there was still night left, he would be into the forest to consume “whatever the owls and the foxes eat,” with Peter’s permission.  Peter had been talking to keep Tony with him.  That’s why he had been complaining about his neighbors.

And he only had two.  The Lovelaces on the south side, and the DeSlaughters on the east.

On the south side, Missy Lovelace and her constant insistence that she was going to marry Peter.  Because once upon a time a girl that had lived in her house had wanted to marry a boy that had lived in Peter’s house and somehow that meant something.  Missy and her constant, unwelcome attempts to hold his hand.  Missy and her constant complaints about her dad, about school, and her ever-present fears about grades, both good and bad. 

On the east side, Mike DeSlaughter, who actually thought comics were a good idea.  Who thought college was a smart idea too.  Who had been friendly to Peter’s face but seemed to also be saying things behind his back.

“Shall I slay your foes in their beds, sweet Peter?” Tony said with a smile, nuzzling and nipping at his earlobe.  Peter had laughed (because Tony was joking, he could tell Tony was joking) and slapped at Tony’s hand playfully.  Then pressed it back to the center of his chest.  He loved it when Tony pressed his hand to the center of Peter’s chest.

“Just slay the rats in their sleep,” he had said that night.

“There are so many tasks I could perform for you, my master scholar.  Sometimes the Patriarchs would send me far and wide to seek out the prettiest maidens in the counties beyond.  I would spy upon them for weeks, then report back.  The Post sons wished to know all about the ladies and their lives, so they would know what to say when they went courting…”

“Stop,” Peter said laughing, reaching up to put his hand on Tony’s mouth, laughing even more when Tony began sucking on his fingers.  “The last thing I want to talk about is girls.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, I say anything wrong,” Peter started up the chant again as he forced himself to keep walking.  “I didn’t tell him to do anything… I said I wish he’s stop telling the kids at school… I didn’t say anything else… I said good things.  I said he was a decent guy, although a little gun-crazy, I said his dad went to college, and that we were talking about college, and that’s all I said…” 

But he knew.  It had been days since that conversation, but last night was different.  Last night was something called “The Day of St. Cyprian,” which meant something to Tony, but Peter hadn’t really been interested right at that moment.  Right that moment, he wanted to Tony to keep feeding.

But when he woke up, Peter knew.  Knew that Tony had been to the DeSlaughter house, sitting right there inside the border of what had used to be Post Family property. 

He knew the moment he woke up that morning, Uncle Ben knocking on his door, calling him ‘son.’  Telling him he needed to come outside.

He didn’t know how he knew, he just knew.  It was in a dream he had, or dreamed that he had, a dream he struggled to remember as he headed straight to the sideyard, barefoot and pajamaed.  In the dream Tony had been apologizing, panting and straining, his voice almost too weak to hear.  Begging for something.  Something that sounded like ‘pardon.’  And Peter knew exactly where he had been.  That he had chosen that special night to visit the DeSlaughter house.  Because Peter had said “I wish.’   

Uncle Ben explained that Old-Blue, the dog that they always said had “come with the house” had not come with the other dogs to meet Uncle Ben when he went for his morning walk.  The dog wasn’t hard to find, he was still lying, unmoving, in his doghouse.  Peter could hardly hear him over blood pounding in his ears.  The three doghouses Ben and Peter had built together each had detachable roofs.  Without speaking Peter unlatched all four sides and pulled Old-Blue’s roof free.  He looked directly into his dead friend’s face.  Old-Blue’s eyes were closed, his face relaxed.  He had died in his sleep.

Just like those neighbors who had made the mistake of asking Evan Post when he would get himself a a wife.

Just like the full-grown male raccoon that was lying dead in the middle of the yard, not 8 feet away from Old-Blue.  It was the two peacefully-dead animals that were causing Ben and May much consternation, but Peter didn’t stick around to exchange theories.

“I didn’t tell him to do anything.  I didn’t.  I said Mike was a decent guy.  He is a decent guy.  I just said I wish he’d stop telling people…”

Maybe it was just a coincidence.  There was nothing special about Old-Blue dying, he was old, that’s why they called him Old-Blue.  He was a stray, all the family dogs were strays, but they considered him older than the others because he appeared the same day they moved in, sitting happily at the door as if he had been expected.  And the dead racoon wasn’t strange either (although the fact that the other dogs wouldn’t go near it was) and neither was the skunk lying dead in the ditch by the driveway, the one May and Ben hadn’t seen.  No, those three dead animals might not mean anything in particular.

But the crows laying beside the road, the two snapping turtles, the multiple rabbits and what might have been a coyote (Peter didn’t stop to check) were no coincidence.  No coincidence at all.

“I just said ‘I wish he would stop telling people he sees strange lights over my house.’  That’s all I said.  I said he was a decent guy.  I said I liked him…” Peter moaned as he sprinted.  There was no one on the empty gravel road to hear him.  Tony was gone and wouldn’t reappear until dark.  There was no way to talk to him now, to tell him Mike was a good guy, had even warned Peter in front of the other guys that the shed was just a prank.  But Peter hadn’t told Tony that.  Because Peter didn’t want to talk about the shed.  Not with Tony.  Not with anyone.

-----------------------

The Master (Post)     -- please ask/comment/question/argue on @witchwayisright​

#The Thing That Lives Under The Bed #Demon!Tony #But not THAT Demon!Tony #TheWitchway writes stuff #Starker

[elizabeth-234]

The Hourglass

Previous Chapter Eleven: Where in the World is Peter?

This fills prompt eleven for whumptober: crying, struggling, defiance. Thank you for reading!

Here is a link to summary/ chapter guide: THANK YOU

Chapter Twelve: The President, Shrek, and Sweater Vests

Peter didn’t know what to do so he did the only thing he could. He panicked and ran out the door. He wheezed against the quick motions of his feet. The cold tile was like a bucket of cold water to his body and his mind snapped to attention.

Tony – not Tony – yelled after him but he didn’t stop. Peter made it down the hall before he heard footsteps and an IV pole trailing after him. His smile curled higher despite the butterflies in his stomach. He stepped into an alcove whose walls were filled with self-help pamphlets. The blanket fell off of his shoulders as he pressed himself against the wall. His gown fell down along with it leaving his shoulder bare. He didn’t move to cover himself up and suffered through the shivers wracking his body.

None of this made sense. The blood loss and damage to his head must have been worse than he thought. It was the only logical explanation. All the evidence stuffed his brain until all stream of thought abandoned him. He stayed there leaning against the wall as the wheels of the IV came closer.

Shadows passed by on the floor, walking past him, and then the owner of the shadow stepped into view. The short shadows of hair on his face had the beginnings of a small goatee. He stepped closer to Peter and picked up the blanket drooping on the floor to secure it up around his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. It’s been an off day, well year to be honest. Rhodey is always telling me to control my temper and once again he’s proven right. You were hiding from something right? Come back to my room and we can talk. I have some contraband hot chocolate in there and to be honest, kid, you look like you could use some.”


Peter blinked but was helpless against the arm around his shoulder. They walked in quick, quiet steps. Both sets of eyes on watch for any rogue nurse or doctor on the night shift until they were safe behind Tony’s closed door. Tony settled back on his bed.

“Sit here.” He said with a wave of his hand in a casual manner at the end of the bed. Peter stopped for a moment, looking between the chair and bed. But again, he felt his lack of intelligent thought keenly. He sat on the bed, crossed legged at the end, staring Tony.

Was it him? Everything he’d seen so far led him to believe it had to be him.  

But then again, it wasn’t him at the same time.

“So, let’s start with the first thing. I’m Tony and you are?”

“Peter. Peter Parker.”

“Circumstances could have been better but nice to meet you.” Peter nodded and avoided his eyes.  The brown flecks were so familiar but lacked the warm expression in them. This Tony, or whoever, was a stranger. Peter had a feeling the other one had never been one to begin with. “So, what are you in for?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you in the hospital?” A smirk played on his lips and Peter’s neck grew hot.

“Oh. I, that is, I fell.”

“You fell?”

“Into a lake.”



“You fell into a lake?”


“That’s what I said wasn’t it?” He snapped.  Tony had the decency to look apologetic though Peter noticed that he didn’t apologize for the pestering.

“How’d that happen?”

This line of questioning was going to be the tricky part. He didn’t know how to respond and his brain was thoroughly checked out so he decided to go with the simplest answer and the one he would be most likely to remember in time. The truth at least in part.

“I was attacked – chased- and I got hurt. I was cornered on the dock and it was an accident. I fell into the water. It was cold but calm down there.” He shivered as something stirred in his memory. “It was calm until… until it wasn’t. Something must have stirred up the sand! It was everywhere and there was so much blood until everything went black. Then I was here and it’s so strange here and you look so different.”

Another shiver wracked his body and he hunched in on himself. Tony leaned forward and put his hand on Peter’s knee. His eyebrows were furrowed as he thought about what Peter said. He could only imagine what he looked like. Some strange kid running around the hospital, breaking into rooms, and then running away again. But Tony wasn’t treating him like he was delicate. There was concern in his eyes but a curious glint to get to know the truth as well.  

“Easy there. I’m sorry. That totally sucks. It must have been scary, too. Do you…” Tony swallowed. “Where are your parents?”

“They’re dead.” He said flatly.

The questions were enough to trigger a cacophony of memories. He was back in the hospital standing in the waiting room. Hospital staff rushed by but he was left there surrounded by empty chairs. His aunt and uncle arrived and though they smiled at him, their eyes were filled with tears. Their arms wrapped around him so tight, like they thought he wouldn’t crack under any amount of pressure. Little did they know their embrace was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. It was the last time he saw his parents before the funeral and the first day he went to live with his extended family.

And now in some warped twist of time he was back in a hospital.

“I’m sorry. Mine, too.”

Tony shrugged and quickly looked down at the blankets but not before Peter saw the hurt in his eyes. They held the same dull expression Peter saw for months in his new bathroom of his aunt and uncle’s apartment.

“You’re pretty young, aren’t you?” 



“I’m sixteen. You?”

Peter yawned and Tony frowned again. The restless energy from before his second escape attempt had faded leaving a vague unrest in his stomach and heavy eyes.

“Hey, it’s late. Why don’t you try and get some sleep? Don’t worry,” He said addressing Peter’s glance at the door. “I’ll keep watch if someone comes. They won’t bother you in here.”


At least this evenings toll on his brain was consistent. Peter didn’t even spare another glance at the door when he nodded. Tony tossed down a pillow and Peter curled up along the bottom half of the bed. The room was warmer than his room, his limbs were sore, and this would be the perfect place to hid from everyone. The CPS and any other appointments never would think to find him here. Maybe he wasn’t so bad at escaping, he thought with a small smile. All he had to do was leave in the morning and his escape was complete.

Tony must have turned the TV on and Peter listened half asleep as the news played.

“President Clinton, who is Gennifer Flowers?”

Something tugged at his consciousness. Something important but the sandman had spun his sand too well that night and Peter fell asleep with a revelation tugging at his mind - at the tip of his tongue.

-

“Holy Shit.”

Peter sat up without regard for anything around him. His head was spinning and he planted both hands on the blankets surrounding him. The morning sun filtered into the room. The bed as bigger than the one in his room and the room itself had a more spacious design while looking fancier too. These were all things Peter would have noticed if his mind, miraculously recovered from last night’s vacation of his brain, hadn’t been putting together everything from the past couple days.

President Clinton.

Shrek rocking out to Queen.

The sweater vests.

Tony!

He was, somehow and inexplicably, not in 2017 anymore. It was insane and unthinkable, but he was convinced. Peter had traveled to the past.

He started to hyperventilate. The short bursts of air sent his head spinning dizzy. Too many questions and not enough answers raged in his mind. Peter tried to remember every detail that could prove him wrong. He stared at his clenched fists with a scowl. This was all wrong. How was this real? Surely, there was a reasonable explanation. Surely, he would wake up tomorrow in the blue room.

Peter began crying. The large tears dripped down his face onto the blankets staining them with flecks of dark grey. Loneliness was often a plague he dealt with. It found him in the silent waiting room and followed him, dogging his steps. When Ben was gone it was there. When May died it was there, waiting like an old companion. He’d grown fond of the weariness in some way. It was a familiar comfort to have. The ache in his stomach gave him a place in the world, a feeling to hold onto. All of that was gone. There was an absence now where the ache was. He clenched his fists tighter and couldn’t feel the sting of his nails against his palms. It was all wrong. He didn’t belong here.

Something wrapped around his shoulder.

Tony’s hand.

“Hey there, it’s going to be okay.”



“No.” Peter moaned and fell forward. His head hit the soft bedding. He almost wished it hit him harder. “I can’t… I can’t…”



“It’s going to be okay, Peter. Trust me.”

Peter screamed into his pillow, pounding his fist onto the bed again and again.

“No!” he yelled sitting up to stare at Tony who was standing beside the bed in a hospital gown and socks. He looked so young and Peter knew why. Tears began anew. He heaved a breath. It caught in his throat and ignited a coughing fit. Tony was there in an instant with tissues. He rubbed his hand up and down Peter’s back, hesitant and awkward in his comfort.

Somehow, he ended up leaning boneless against Tony. His breathing was deep but uneven as he came to grips of his new reality. He felt incredibly fragile after his outburst. Like the only thing keeping him together were the rigid arms around him. Tony’s back was stiff and Peter could tell from his body language how uncomfortable he was but it didn’t matter. He was still there trying to help him.

“Are you worried about CPS?” Tony said quietly. “I, don’t be mad but I tried to look you up last night and couldn’t find anything on you. Are you hiding from the people who tried to attack you?”



Peter was so damn tired. The movies taught him the rules of time travel but the problem was each movie had its own rules. He didn’t know what was the correct thing to say so he nodded. Tony squeezed their hands together. His eyes calculated observed him and Peter watched as he came to some conclusion. Tony nodded at him before getting up.

“Alright, I’ll help. You stay here and don’t leave. I’ve got this room to myself without any interference. I’ve got an appointment later today but I will be back with all the paperwork. Stay here, Peter. I promise it will be okay.”

With one last searching look, Tony turned and left the room. Peter barely noticed he was still in the hospital gown for his expression was so similar to the one from old Tony. He was alone again. The sounds of the TV played on but he didn’t pay attention. All of his plans went out the window when he found this room and its occupant. Determination and hope all rolled into one could be a scary and effective combination.

He rolled onto his side to stare out the window. His eyes wilted shut and the room faded from view. The last thought he had was at least he didn’t have to worry about running into his past self as he had not yet been born. Peter hiccuped and wondered what he’d gotten himself into.

Thank you all for reading.

Next Chapter Thirteen: Trust in me

#whumptober 2020 #whumptober2020 #no. 11 #day 11 #whumptober day eleven #crying #struggling #defiance #Spider man #Marvel #Avengers #Peter parker #tony stark #irondad #irondad fic #time travel #marvel time travel #fic #ao3

[greetjk]

Ironfam Whump/Angst Fic Recs

Here is a masterlist of some of my all-time favorite whump/angst Spider-Man fics! If anyone is looking for some good reads while in quarantine, here you go! Be sure to read the tags and warnings associated with each story, because many of them have potentially triggering or sensitive subject matter. Read safe!!

CHAPTERED FICS

A Parent Apparent by happyaspie (446k+, ongoing)  

Where Tony and Peter’s relationship grows into more of a father/son relationship after an accident involving Aunt May (who lives).

Identity Theft by KitCat992 (244k+)

It's been months since the events of Civil War, and the Avengers are doing their best to remain a team, having promised to forgive and forget. Unfortunately for them, Tony Stark's latest invention has been stolen and recovering it causes tension to reappear.

Meanwhile, in Queens, Peter Parker has two main priorities on his plate — complete his midterm finals, and track down a fishbowl wearing criminal that may or may not lead him right into the hands of the Avengers.

Somehow between all of this, Spider-man's identity is revealed to the Avengers, Steve and Tony's friendship may permanently be damaged due to continued hidden secrets, and Happy struggles to buy a youth-sized casket for Peter's funeral.

Things were a lot easier when they were fighting over Bucky Barnes.

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle (200k+) 

Ben and May divorced before Peter’s parents died, so when Ben is murdered Peter goes into foster care. It takes just a tiny taste of superpowers for Peter to decide he doesn’t want to put up with his horrible foster father anymore—the streets are infinitely more appealing. All he wants is to be Spider-Man anyway.

So he leaves.

Simple.

Simple, that is, until Iron Man needs Spider-Man’s help. Peter isn’t about to turn down an opportunity to fight alongside Tony Freaking Stark, but he also isn’t going to let his hero know that his recruit is a fifteen-year-old homeless dropout. So they strike a deal. Peter will help Tony. In return, the mask stays on.

And that’s when things get complicated.

ever in your favor by iron_spider (153k+)

Peter startles awake when someone shakes him.

“Sorry, honey,” May says. Peter blinks a couple times and she comes into focus, her hair pulled back from her face. She’s trying not to look a certain way, but he can see it in her eyes anyway. She clears her throat, keeps talking. “But it’s…” She glances away, wets her lips. “You gotta get ready.”

He remembers what day it is, and his heart beats like a drum at someone’s execution. But he tries to put on a mask, make it all seem normal. It’s everything but, despite the fact that he’s been dealing with reaping day since he was born, between himself, Ben and May. That fear that one of them could be taken away. Sent to surefire slaughter. But now Ben is gone, taken despite never having his name drawn from a bowl, and May’s finally safe. Now Peter’s name is in there alone. The last Parker sitting on the chopping block. He doesn’t know how to be. He doesn’t know what normal is, when the Hunger Games are looming on the horizon.

I Never Knew I was Broken by GotMyInkPen (111k+, ongoing) 

Peter Parker has been living in HYDRA ever since his parents died at age four. All he can remember are the lesson's HYDRA taught him and a series of words that strike fear into his heart. The only thing driving him forward are the memories of meeting his hero The Winter Soldier when he was seven and the goal to one day be as great an assassin as him.

At age sixteen Peter finds himself tangled in the lives of the Avengers and can't help but wonder if there's more to life than what he's been told.

Tony wants to help him, no matter what.

In the Home by aloneintherain (68k+)

The Avengers have been infected, turned violent and aggressive against their will. And Peter, the only one unaffected, is trapped inside the Tower with six feral teammates.

“Natasha,” Peter says cautiously, “what happened here? Steve attacked me, and if there was ever a sign that something was wrong, it’s having the embodiment of Truth, Justice, and the American Way throw you across the room—”

Natasha comes closer, her stride controlled. Nothing necessarily out of the ordinary, but there’s something in her face, in her eyes—

Natasha lunges across the space, and slams into Peter, hard.

Promotions Aren't Always A Good Thing by Svn_f1ower (67k+) 

"When Peter was almost thirteen, May met Carter."

"Not too many months after Carter moved in, May got a promotion at work."

When May gets a new boyfriend, Peter's okay. When Carter moves in, he can deal. When May gets a promotion so she works days and Carter works nights, Peter finds it harder to deal. When Carter starts abusing him, he begins to feel crushed by the weight of it all.

Archetype by Bean_reads_fanfic (57k+)

Tony knows something is up when the research of ex-Hydra agents gets recycled in an underground Oscorp lab… what he doesn’t expect is the boy in a hospital gown sticking to the ceiling; or, how said boy proceeds to imprint on him like a baby duckling (a poor decision on his part, really). Did he mention he wasn’t intending on bringing home a kid that day?

Filling the Gaps by ironfamjam (53k+)

Tony looked at him, bold and true and utterly sincere, “Kid, I’m on your side, no matter what.”

Like most good things, it started with an accident.

Well, kinda.

This is a story about how a snarky, emotionally stunted genius became more than a mentor and how a just-trying-to-figure-it-out, doing his best superkid became the son he never had. No matter how empty our hearts are, love can always fill the gaps.

There’s a hole in my head and my words are falling out by wolfpuppypiles (30k+)

Tony’s stomach clenched into a knot at the sudden cut off of Peters' voice because he hadn’t trailed off, no his word had been strangled before a groan and crash sounded from the other side of the door.

Steve jumped in fright at the crash and Tony’s stomach curled tighter at the heavy thump of something hitting the carpet. Something like Peter.

let’s kick it by CivilBores (28k+)

Tony and Peter’s relationship becomes strained after the events of Infinity War. When a mysterious alien gas infects Peter with a strange disease, they realize they need to pull themselves together or risk losing everything.

For Pete’s Sake! by KitCat992 (26k+)

Maybe he’d feel better if he closed his eyes, just for a second. It was too dark to see anything clearly anyway, and he’d be able to concentrate better without seeing how fast the ground was coming up to meet him.

A rush of wind sent goosebumps across his skin before two strong hands gripped his shoulders tightly, keeping him upright and from nose-diving straight into the alleyway cement.

Peter snapped his eyes open, blinking a couple times to clear his vision. Everything was blurry. Was that…?

“...ice cream man!?”

how can the body die? (you tell me, everything) by madasthesea (8k+)

Tony felt panic creep up his spine. Something was occurring to him, slowly percolating in the back of his mind.

“You said the stinger got you. Is Scorpion’s stinger venomous?”

“I don’t—” Peter cut off as he groaned, the muscles in his jaw tight. “I don’t know. He upgraded—he was faster. Bigger. I—I thought I could beat him.”

beam me up, mr. chewbacca by iron_spider (6k)

“It’s 4:58 in the morning,” Karen says. “Your morning alarm is set to ring at seven. By the time you make it home, you will not have much time to sleep. Less than an hour, and that’s only if you fall asleep immediately.” Peter hums to himself, blinking blearily. “I’ll go to sleep, it’s fine.” “And you have the Macbeth report due tomorrow,” Karen says. “Two thousand words, of which you have written...six.” “Oh shit,” Peter gasps, his heart jumping in his chest. “Okay, I’m not gonna sleep.” “This is the type of event that Mr. Stark has told me to inform him about,” Karen says. “Because he is aware you wouldn’t share this type of thing with him on your own.” “Do not do that,” Peter says, shooting another web and cascading through an alleyway. “For real. For real for real. It’s fine, I got it, he doesn’t need to know, okay? He’s busy, this is—Spidey business, I got this, I’ll tell him when it’s all over. All the details. Cross my heart.”

Poison Apple by whumphoarder (5k)

“I-I think something’s wrong with me.”

Ned gives a short laugh. “Pretty sure we established that when you puked in a corn maze. You’ve got like, food poisoning or something.”

Peter shakes his head. “No, not that.” He takes a few short breaths. “Chest feels weird. Kinda hard to breathe.”

ONE-SHOTS

On sleepless roads the sleepless go by frostysunflowers (10k+)

Peter and sleep have been avoiding each other lately. Enter Tony Stark, the man with many plans.

you heal my like the light of day by searchingforstars (9k)

Peter tries to hide a stab wound and an infection-fuelled fever is never any fun. Also, it turns out that Beck is still lurking in Peter's mind much more than anyone realised.

a numb road forward by WhimsicalEthonographies (5k)

The light is bright, painfully so, but Peter can’t jerk away, he can’t do anything because his body is being crushed by something heavy but not entirely unpleasant.

“Hey, there he is,” Mr. Stark’s face appears in front of him, blocking the white light, thank God, then May’s face is next to his, blurry and hazy but it’s them and that’s nice.

“Hi, baby,” May smiles but she looks sad. So does Mr. Stark.

Cyanide? In My Shawarma? by losingmymindtonight (4k+)

Pepper convinces Tony to bring Peter along on his first dinner with the Rogue Avengers since their pardoning.

Poor Tony had thought the whole thing was a recipe for disaster before someone decided to shove some cyanide in his food.

stop, don’t start by iron_spider (3k)

“Shit shit shit.” Tony severely underestimated this guy, if this is on him, because Tony has a backup plan for every backup plan in his suit, has protocols for every misstep, every frayed wire, every glitch, and yet here he is, someone else’s weapon.

The true horror of it doesn’t set in until Tony sees Spider-Man swing by—Tony raises his own hand, aims and locks on.

“No, no!” Tony yells, panicking. “No!”

He shoots a repulsor blast, and knocks Peter out of the air.

Something the Soul Needs by blondsak (3k)

As he races closer, Tony winces at the knowledge that Peter had to have already hit the pavement-- that he was too late. But when Tony finally gets around the last corner, he sees that no-- Peter didn’t hit the pavement. Instead, the scene that greets him is somehow inconceivably worse.

Rather than landing on the cement - which would have been bad enough - Peter had landed on a fence. An old, rusting, wrought iron spiked fence.

#whump #hurt/comfort #fic rec #spider-man fic rec #spider-man angst #peter parker fic rec #peter parker #tony stark #irondad

[cogentranting]

7, 13, 14 for SPN ask game

Thanks!

7. 

I think that there’s a lot about the season 5 ending that is sort of tighter and cleaner-- the season arcs all flow one to the other very naturally  so that the themes and the character arcs and plot feel very unified and well thought through. And the seasons after season 5 don’t have that same level of unity and foresight. And I think that the first five seasons present a very clear, fairly simple, and satisfying arc for Dean and him getting a sort of happily ever after with Lisa and Ben and a normalcy he never could even admit that he wanted. So on the one hand I think season 5 is a good ending on most counts. Sam sacrificing himself in a final defiant triumph over the destiny that everyone has predicted for him for so long, is also I think a really good crowning moment. But you’re also presented with the problem of the aftermath not being a satisfying ending. I’m totally fine with characters dying but your options with Sam would be dying and going to Hell to be tortured by Lucifer forever (not a good ending), leaving it on an ambiguous note of Sam’s back but how and does he reunite with Dean or... ? (not a satisfying ending because it is way too ambiguous and pretty much any prediction of how it plays out casts the rest of the ending into doubt too), or you send him to Heaven and at that stage in the show that’s not even a good either. 

Add on to that all the things that would have been lost if the second 2/3rds of the show weren’t there and I end up really favoring the season 15 ending. I think Sam and Dean get such a chance to mature and grow and regain some balance in their life after that point and all that makes such a difference. And I really do like how things ended. 

BUT I might move that ending we got and make it a season SIXTEEN ending. Not from a position of “I didn’t want it to end yet” but because of how the end date affected a couple arcs. While I like the season 15 ending, I thought season 15 as a whole was pretty lackluster. There was a lot of missed potential, a few things I really didn’t like, and overall just not that much that I was particularly attached to. But season 14 had so much potential. Dean being possessed by Michael, the Malak box, Jack losing his soul. But all of that fell short in the last handful of episodes, and my theory is that came as a result of deciding to end with season 15 and meant that they had to switch gears into setting up that final season arc which I think they’d been holding in reserve for a bit. So Michael ends up being kind of anticlimactic, Jack losing his soul happens and then never really gets fully dealt with because season 15 didn’t seem to want to dive into all those complicated emotions .  But if there was one more season, season 14 could have ended with a big confrontation with Michael-- allowing more of the consequences of what Dean went through with Michael at the beginning of the season to be felt, more resolution for what it meant for Dean to try to cage Michael himself, the consequences of choosing not to use the Malak box (and why Billie was so sure that was the ONLY way), another appearance of Michael Dean (who I really enjoyed), and then have Jack lose his soul at the end. Then you have all of season 15 to deal with what that means, letting maybe the moment when Jack goes completely off the rails happen around midseason and then at least half a season to work on fixing the relationship between Jack and Sam and Dean (especially Dean). Then you could even end season 15 with Jack still dying, and being brought back part way through season 16 then regaining his soul, all the same, But that final season wouldn’t have the burden of trying to fix the damaged relationship. It would just be there. Because my least favorite part of the last season is that it doesn’t do nearly enough to fix the relationship between Jack and Dean.  So yeah. Give season 14 more breathing room. Then copy and paste 15x20′s ending but put it onto the end of season 16. 

13. My favorite arc is probably the Mark of Cain. Which is a long arc since it’s a full season and a half, but I really like how all of it plays out. I think it’s really interesting to dive into that darker side of Dean that has been present since season 1 (I think of the end of the season, him telling Sam that it scared him how he didn’t hesitate to kill the possessed man in order to save Sam and John, and that he’s scared of how far he would go for either of them) and that just kind of kept getting amplified over the seasons, with his time in Hell, and then really became even stronger after how he had to live in Purgatory for a year. But the Mark of Cain stuff draws on it in this really interesting way of making it a curse on him and while simultaneously pulling Dean down into the worst, darkest, most twisted version of himself (which is so fun to see), it also highlights a lot about what is best about Dean-- how strong he is in fighting against the Mark, how deeply he wants to do the right thing and protect people, the force of his determination, how much he cares and how intensely he feels the weight of every time he ends up hurting someone. And it confronts this image of himself that Hell and Purgatory and everything in between have given him that he is dark and damaged and a killer and warrior and that’s it but ultimately makes all about how much he is willing to sacrifice to protect the people around him (especially Sam) and about everyone else around him-- Sam, Cas, Charlie, even Crowley-- loving him so much that they’d go to the ends of the Earth and cross all these lines just to save Dean. It’s one long extended character study of so much of what I find fascinating about Dean and it’s dripping with angst and I love it.  I also really like the arc in season 2 of Dean coming to terms with the fact that his father died for him. The arc where Jack is dying is really good too, because I love seeing Sam and Dean and Cas being paternal. 

14.

Agh. I don’t know. I think Jody probably reflects a lot of things I’d like to be. But overall my gut reaction is to say that I’m more Sam than anyone else. I can’t even put into words exactly why. Certainly I wouldn’t say that I identify with Sam’s struggles-- more like, if Sam had a led a more normal stable life we would have a lot in common. As it is I wouldn’t say I really identify with Sam (or with any character really. most of the shows and stories I like I don’t have someone I really identify with) and that it may actually be why I don’t find myself very drawn to Sam or his storylines. I like Sam (probably more as I’m rewatching now than I have in the past) but its not often that I’m super invested in his individual arcs or storylines. 

#supernatural #spn ask game #also i think there's a lot i agree with you about regarding spn #but i think with the last two questions you managed to ask me the things that elicited me talking about some of the points #where our opinions most diverge