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taeescript · 3 years ago

Text

VI. Script of the Angel

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 >> This is the story of three very different people. A successful novelist, a blossoming artist and a dedicated cop. They seem to have nothing in common. Yet, they are continually drawn to each other. It is as if their fates have been intertwined. Written. That they must meet.

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> ft. jungkook and jimin primarily.

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 >> policeman!jimin, author!jungkook, painter!reader, serialkiller!XXX; a classic game of cat and mouse

𝔴/𝔠 >> 2.3k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> mature themes depicted. due to the explicit nature of the topic (serial killers, murders, violence, sexual content, infidelity etc.) this is rated 18+. to spare storytelling: please consider yourself warned.

𝔞/𝔫 >> there is a lot going on tumblr these days, and a lot of things just going on in life right now. i still hope to continue to share chapters with you although they may all be a little shorter than usual now. nontheless, i hope you enjoy (:

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Wax – a diverse class of organic compounds which are hydrophobic, malleable solids at ambient temperatures. Typically containing melting points above at 40 C, they are obtained from multiple resources such as animals or plants. Wax can also be extracted chemically in petroleum. There are many uses for wax such as the manufacture of candles, final coatings on wood products and thickening agents amongst others. One of the most popular artistic use of waxes is the creation of statues from Madame Tussauds.

“Another what?” Jimin asks when he is dragged out of the interrogation room again by Namjoon.

“Dispatch just gave me a call. They want the homicide team on site because…well, you know the reason each and every time we’re called into site,” Namjoon runs his hand through his hair. The news had come as a shock to him as well. “You’ll have to release him, Jimin.”

Jimin shakes his head. “No, Namjoon. I was in the middle of something with him.”

“Jimin, be reasonable here! There’s another murder that’s been committed while you were here questioning him. It’s quite obvious that he couldn’t have killed this person.”

“I’m so close to cracking him!” Jimin yells in frustration. “Beside, how do you know he hadn’t gone and done this before he came in?”

Namjoon has to bite back his words.

“Fuck!” Jimin kicks the door. He doesn’t care that Jungkook could hear how angry he is on the other side. There really isn’t anything to hide between the two of them anyways.

After a minute, Jimin has calmed down. “I’ll meet you on site,” he says to Namjoon.

Namjoon doesn’t leave.

“Look, I promise, alright? I’m just going to send Jungkook off properly and then I’ll drive straight to the site. Text me the address,” Jimin says.

He only has one choice so Namjoon nods and leaves.

Once Jimin is left alone in the room, he punches the air blindly.

Jungkook sits calmly inside the room. It seems that luck is on his side. Perhaps whatever this case was would have Jimin off his back. It would be a little hard to continue any of his extracurricular activities if Jimin continuously monitors all his actions.

“You’re free to go, Mr. Jeon,” Jimin opens the door and speaks without looking at Jungkook.

Jungkook raises his hand and the handcuffs that link him to the table clang as metal hits metal.

Jimin walks up to him and opens the lock. Jungkook rubs his wrists and picks up his jacket on the way out.

“I really do hope you catch the killer, Detective Park,” Jungkook gives a light pat on Jimin’s shoulder.

...

Jimin recognizes her when he brushes under the caution tape onto where the rest of his team stands in a circle. It is not so much that he recognizes her facial features, but it is the outfit she is wearing. The same black and blue leggings.

“Fuck me,” Namjoon says the instance Jimin slides up besides him, “Fucking bat shitting balls.”

Yoongi has one hand placed over his mouth and his index finger pressing against his nostrils. There is a strange smell emitting off the corpse.

“A missing body part, again?” Jimin says. He swallows the bile that threatens to rise. The forensics team does not need to tell him what part is missing this time. It is glaringly obvious to the observer.

Replacing where it usually sits on the body is the head of another species – a buck’s crown with antlers and all. The girl is still standing although it is clear that she is deceased. Her body had been manipulated such that it looked like she was mid-sprint before being shocked by her attacker. She was a live manifestation of a deer caught in headlights.

“Let’s see if we can move her; bring her back to the lab for analysis,” Namjoon barks an order at the forensics team. They nod and move towards the body. Right as they put their hands on her, a loud voice yells,

“Don’t!”

It is too late, however. The team has already lifted her an inch off the floor. At his shout, they drop her immediately and that is when she crumbles, literally, at their feet. Jimin stands as her foot rolls in front of him. He stares at the shoe and foot that has been broken off at the ankle.

“Fuck!” Namjoon exclaims in alarm, jumping back.

Taehyung stands with his arms at his side, defeated. “You shouldn’t have tried to move her,” he mutters.

Namjoon’s face conveys both astonishment and confusion as stalks away to find somebody who could clean the body parts and move them back to the lab.

Jimin carefully tiptoes around the fragments of her body and walks up to Taehyung. “What the hell just happened?” he demands.

Besides being the team’s blood spatter analyst, he was an expert on a multitude of other subjects. “You saw how her body was positioned, didn’t you? Usually, victims are sprawled on the ground because gravity pushes on them, and their muscles have collapsed. She was standing. Something is keeping her muscles rigid post mortem,” Taehyung explains.

“Kim!” someone calls amidst the rubble. The victim’s body had been broken at most of the joints and a gathered team was currently packing each section in a bag.

Both Taehyung and Jimin walk up to the jacketed individual who had called out. She is bent over what looks like the forearm. A brown, semi-clear substance is pooling around the limb.

“This started seeping out all of a sudden. It’s happening to a couple of the broken parts, although most of the liquid is contained in the bags that we have stored them in,” she tells the two of them.

Taehyung bends down to examine the liquid. He is wearing gloves and when he extracts his fingers from the surface of the substance, it is slightly sticky between his index finger and thumb. He wipes his hand on a piece of tissue before slipping that into the bag as well. “Take that and all the parts back to the lab. If you can get a vial of the liquid to analyze, that would be helpful as well,” Taehyung told the assistant. She nods.

As the scene is being cleared, Taehyung walks back to the patrol car with Jimin. “What are you thinking about?” Jimin inquires, seeing that the gears inside Taehyung’s head are turning.

“Tell me, what’s the temperature right now?” Taehyung asks.

Jimin checks his phone and reports, “20 C, but with sunshine it should feel like 24 C.”

Taehyung takes note. “Slightly above room temperature,” he mumbles.

“What was that?”

“Slightly above room temperature,” Taehyung repeats louder. He stops walking and faces Jimin. “I’ve got a theory on what that is, but I can’t be sure yet. I’m going back to the lab and once results are out, I will call you immediately.”

Jimin nods. “I wanted to take a look around the site anyways. I’ll see you back at the station.”

Taehyung waves before leaving.

By the time Jimin returns to the crime scene, the majority of broken body parts have been cleaned. There is only a lone photographer who is packing up his camera into his bag. He greets Jimin with a slight bow on his way to leave the site.

“Any witnesses?”

Namjoon returns by his side. He shakes his head, answering Jimin’s question himself. “This is not a common runner’s route. It’s a short cut from the left side of the park to the right so not a lot of pedestrians know about it.” He sees how Jimin is still standing there with an unreadable expression on his face. “Are you okay?” he asks Jimin directly.

Jimin taps the bridge of his nose. “I know that girl,” he says softly, “Not personally. But I bumped into her before. It was at the park near our station. I also saw – ” His sentence is suddenly cut off.

“Saw what?” Namjoon asks further.

Jimin cannot continue his sentence. He knows what Namjoon will say already. Besides, if he really wanted concrete evidence against Jungkook, he must absolutely make sure that Jungkook was there at the park when the running girl was there. “Saw a red bird. I think it’s called a cardinal,” Jimin lousily finishes his sentence.

Namjoon gives him a strange look. “I’ve never pegged you as a bird watcher,” he comments.

Jimin shrugs. “I’m heading back to the station. Taehyung also says he has something on the possible C.O.D.,” he reports to Namjoon.

“You’re leaving me again to handle the crowd? That happened last time with Sara Michel’s case,” he groans.

Jimin shrugs again as if to say, “Sorry, what can I do?” He gives a reassuring squeeze on Namjoon’s shoulder before leaving.

This time, he is going to find unshakable evidence.

...

“Welcome back,” you smile at him when he enters the door. You are sitting at the table, pencil and sketchpad in front of you.

Jungkook smiles ever so slightly back before bending down to untie his shoes. They needed to be placed in their usual spot; if they weren’t, he would feel the irritation spread throughout his body until he went back to fix it. It is better that everything is perfect the way it is the first time.

After he has made sure that his laces were also tucked into the shoe as was his preference, he walks over to you. He can’t help but muse at how exquisite you look whenever the afternoon’s sunshine would brush through your hair. You are like a marble stature carved by the Greeks and placed on display in the middle of a garden. He moves his eyes over you like a curator would when assessing a piece.

You have your back turned towards him and do not hear when he walks behind.

“What are you drawing?”

Immediately, you stand and hold your sketchpad to your chest. It shields your work from his curious eyes.

“Something!” you blurt, your face flushing.

He cannot read why you are acting so strangely so he does what he always does around you: smile.

You clear your throat and tuck your disheveled hair behind your ear. “A package came for you. I left it in your room!” you say the tumbling words. It is your lame attempt in shifting his attention away from you to something else.

Thankfully, it works as he nods. He sends you a last playful smirk before making his way towards his makeshift bedroom. It is tiny, as you had originally used it as your storage room for your art utensils, but they had recently moved a mattress into the room for him and it helped that he did not have a lot of personal items with him anyways. The said package sits just beside the doorframe to his closed room, and he wonders again of whether or not you are scared of him. You never seemed to want to enter his room and insisted on speaking to him from outside in the hallway.

The package is not heavy and rather small in his hands. He is able to pick it up with one and balances it on his left palm as he opens the door. The blue walls welcome him into his small, personal haven. Carefully, he tiptoes his way between the old canvases and dried paint palettes. He passes by the yellow smudge on the wall and then collapses on the mattress in the back of the room. His suitcase squeaks as the wheels press against the body of the case while being wedged in the small space.

Once he is comfortably sitting cross-legged on the bed, he carefully finds a cutter and slices through the masking tape that conceals the contents of the cardboard box. The movement is as smooth and practiced as slicing through butter to him – a flick of the wrist. Once the tape no longer holds, he pries the flaps open. There is another small box tied with a red ribbon. A single white card is attached to the side. This is what he first takes out.

The envelope is embossed with a strange swirling design. He breaks the seal with another slice of the cutter, sliding out the cardstock letter. It had been written in elegant matching swirling cursive with a golden fountain pen.

“I’ve been waiting for you. Welcome to my town. A small home-warming gift.”

It has not been signed and Jungkook wonders if the writer was the one who wrote the words; each letter had been carved so delicately onto the material. He tilts his head as he thinks of who may have sent this to him. He has not told anybody that he is planning to stay in LA for the time being. He had never been one to open his circle of acquaintances and thereby it had remained small. Digging through his mind, he comes up empty-handed on any of the known possibilities.

Well, there is one person who definitely would not be the sender.

The bow becomes undone by a light tug from his fingers. It falls delicately onto his lap like a ribbon of red liquid. At that, the walls of the box fall easily to reveal its treasure, akin to the opening of an oyster.

His usual stoic expression becomes all the more frozen on his face when he sees what the gift is. Somebody has been watching him. Somebody knows about him. Somebody is out there.

For a single eyeball, pupil and iris augmented in aquamarine and azure hues, stares right back at him. The crystalline gift plucked so delicately from the girl who he had been planned as his next angel.

...

next part

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marjansmarwani · 4 years ago

Note

If it’s okay to ask for another prompt, #6, Tarlos please? If not you can absolutely just ignore this 😄

Feel free to ask for as many as you want! Here it is - it ended up being absolutely nothing like what I planned it to be, but that just happens some times and I have very little say in it.

I hope you enjoy it, and thanks for the request! 💕

----

Not anyone, you’re the one

Read on Ao3

Characters: Carlos Reyes, TK Strand, Owen Strand

Relationship: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand

Word Count: 3222

Prompt 6 - "you're bleeding"

---

In the aftermath of the solar flare, Carlos and TK have a heart to heart.

----

“You’re bleeding.”

There are so many things he should say to TK; wants to (needs to) say to TK, but when Carlos finally gets to his side in the aftermath; the first thing out of his mouth is an observation that is far from astute. For a moment the blood on TK’s shirt - far, far too close to the bandage covering a bullet wound that almost took TK from him before they had even had a chance to truly start - was all he could focus on. There was commotion everywhere, flashing lights and flames and sirens, but all Carlos could focus on is TK and the blood staining his shirt.

TK shrugged in that almost self-conscious way of his; the way he was when he did not want the spotlight, or when he was hiding something.

“It’s nothing, really,” he said with that shrug. Carlos arched a skeptical eyebrow but offered nothing more in challenge. It had been a long and traumatic afternoon - he could still feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Adding in the talk they had finished right before the world had gone to hell, now was probably not the best time to engage that particular desire. He had a feeling that once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He didn’t want to pour his heart out to TK just yet - not here, not now.

“If you say so,” he said instead.

TK frowned at him and for a moment Carlos thought he might have actually been disappointed that Carlos hadn’t pushed him. But then they were surrounded by his team and the frown was gone and Carlos was sure he had imagined it. There is fussing and Carlos knows Judd doesn’t mean it when he rants about how TK is a danger magnet that should never be allowed in public unsupervised, and the others exchange skeptical looks at TK’s insistence that he is fine, really. Carlos isn’t sure exactly how he fits here in this group which has clearly morphed into some kind of ragtag family unit. He’s not sure how to interact here; he’s not sure of his place. He mostly listens, studying the others as they interact. They all strive to be close to TK as if they need assurances he is still with them (a sentiment Carlos fully understands). There are small touches; little moments that are exploited for tactility. A chance to feel for themselves that he is still here; still breathing. Glances around show Carlos that he is not the only one fixated on the bloodstain. It is too soon and far too close for comfort. He’s not sure where he fits here, but he does know that they are all on the same page. They’re all allies on this front and between them, they manage to get TK onto the ambulance right beside the bus driver.

It’s not until the doors swing closed behind him and the ambulance pulls away that the remainder of the 126 starts to show their fear.

“I swear to Christ that kid is going to give me gray hair before I’m 40,” Judd laments.

“How do you think I feel?” Captain Strand asks drily, running a hand through his salt and pepper dusted hair. “This didn’t happen on its own you know.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Mateo asks softly, eyes still tracking the ambulance as it drives away from the scene.

Paul claps him on the shoulder, “Of course he is. He probably just pulled his stitches acting the hero. They’ll clean it up and restitch before sending him home.”

“It’s lucky for her he was here. I don’t think we would have been able to get to her in time,” Marjan says lowly. This brings the rest of the crew and their false bravados back to center and their expressions grow darker. Carlos is speaking up before he even knows what he is going to say: “He’s lucky you guys showed up too. If it weren’t for you…” he trailed off, but the words he left unsaid hung within the group. Their eyes are on him too, as if they are just really registering his presence. There is a raised eyebrow from Judd, a knowing look from Paul; but no one says anything. It hits him again that no one knew about them before the shooting. Even now they have no way of knowing what transpired between them here today.

Though to be fair, Carlos isn’t too sure he knows that either.

Captain Strand, bless him, clears his throat and pulls his team’s attention away from Carlos and back to the matter and the scene at hand.

“TK will be fine,” he says bracingly, with such surety Carlos almost thinks he believes it, “in the meantime, we have a scene to clear.” He then turns to Judd, “I hate to ask again, but would you mind taking over? I need to call the Deputy Chief, make sure...”

“I can head to the hospital,” Carlos says abruptly, the words out of his mouth before his mind has even processed them. “It’s my day off so I have the time and you guys have this to deal with.” He trails off, gesturing vaguely at the mess surrounding them.

The Captain looks torn. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to leave his team and a job unfinished, but the way his gaze keeps drifting towards the direction the ambulance left from betrays just how much he would like to drop everything and run to TK’s side; to see with his own eyes that he is okay. Eventually, he nods.

“Thank you, Carlos, I appreciate that. I’d also really appreciate it if you could keep me updated if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course,” Carlos says quickly, understanding that it is not so much a request as it is a requirement. Captain Strand will not be able to stay here unless he is sure TK is okay, and it will be up to Carlos to make sure that he knows that.”I’ll let you know what’s going on as soon as I know.”

The captain nods gratefully, some of the tension leaking from his shoulders. He smiles as Carlos and claps a hand on his shoulder, “I appreciate this son, thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Carlos assures him, even as his own mind is calling him a fool for getting involved. TK had essentially just dumped him not even an hour ago, and here he was spending his afternoon off heading to the hospital to wait for him.

Not going really wasn’t an option though - he needed to know that TK was okay just as much as the captain did. If he was honest with himself, there was no version of this where he just went home.

With a half-hearted wave in the general direction of the rest of the team and their curious looks, Carlos turned and headed back towards his car. Getting out of the area was easier than Carlos had anticipated and he arrived at the hospital before he was ready to face it. He allowed himself a few moments to sit in his car; to take a few deep breaths. There hadn’t been any time to process anything. It had been one thing after another - each thing coming one after another, determined to topple him blow by blow. And it wasn’t over yet.

He allowed himself another deep breath and pulled himself out of his car. He needed to do this one last thing; have his heart shattered one last time before he could go home, call Michelle, and have a beer. He could do this.

He entered the hospital and approached the information desk, waiting patiently for the nurse to finish her call. When she glanced up at him, he smiled - pushing his doubts and hurt back under the guise of practiced politeness. “I was looking for a TK Strand? He was brought in by ambulance a little while ago.”

She returned his smile and turned her gaze to her computer. She typed and then looked back up, “We have a Tyler Kennedy Strand?”

Carlos nodded, “Yes, that’s him. Would you be able to tell me where I could find him?”

She glanced back at her screen, “He is currently in treatment, but it may take a while for him to be done. We’re pretty slammed here today and it appears his injuries were not priority ones”

“Of course, I understand.”

She looked up at him again, still smiling, “There’s a waiting room right outside the ER. Why don’t you take a seat there? It will likely be a while before you’ll be able to see him.”

“I will, thank you, ma’am.” He left her with a parting smile and headed towards the waiting room indicated. It was crowded, and Carlos figured he shouldn’t be surprised. He had almost forgotten that this hadn’t happened to him in a bubble - the entire city had been affected. He wasn’t the only one having a rough day. In fact, judging by the look of the people and injuries he saw cramming into the ER waiting room, he was having a better day than most.

He sighed as he sank into a chair with a view of the doors to the treatment bays and the nurse’s station. He allowed himself a moment to close his eyes. His nerves were fried. Between his conversation with TK, the shock of the accident, the fear of watching TK going into an overturned bus and then of watching him pulled out of a flaming bus - it had been a long day. He wanted nothing more to hide under his blankets and sleep for the next week, but he had a promise to keep. So instead he settled in and let his mind wander.

One thing he hadn’t counted on when he had agreed to come here in Captain Strand’s stead, was the time for his mind to wander. He kept playing that conversation with TK over and over again in his head. The worst part of it, he mused, was that he couldn’t even be mad at TK. He had asked a question, and TK had given him the only answer he had. He hadn’t lied to him, he hadn’t tried to lead him on. He had done the right thing.

It wasn’t his fault that it was also the thing that had crushed Carlos’s heart.

He had known that there was only ever a 50/50 chance this thing with TK would work. It was chaotic from the beginning and doomed from the start. But things had been looking up. He had been so sure they were finally on the upswing; that things between them would finally be okay. That this was something he could rely on.

Then TK had gotten shot and their short, sweet romance had been blown to hell.

He knew that he had made an idiot of himself then, he knew he had put too much of himself on the line. But he had been so scared, and the thought of losing TK; of losing what they had overwhelmed his sensible nature. His actions had pushed TK who was already in a vulnerable position; had forced him to confront his feelings in addition to the shock and pain and sheer novelty of being alive again. TK had been given too much to deal with all at once, and something had to give.

Carlos had just selfishly hoped it wouldn’t be them.

He let his mind wander as the waiting dragged on, studying the others in the waiting room. He tried to guess their stories, tried to piece together what had brought them here to this hospital today. Had any of them had their heart broken today too?

The waiting stretched on and beyond a few texts exchanged with Captain Strand, Carlos spent most of it utterly unoccupied. He was just about to check the clock on the wall simply for something to do when the sight of a familiar striped shirt and a bloodstain that haunted his mind stepped out of the treatment bays and towards the nurse’s station. He watched as TK said something to the nurse and was handed some forms to fill out.

Even though logically Carlos knew he had to be okay, he was pretty sure there was nothing could have made him feel better at this moment than seeing TK Strand up and filling out paperwork. He shifted anxiously in his seat and when TK handed the forms back to the nurse and turned towards the exit, he shot out of his seat and met him at the door.

He called his name and TK froze, turning to look at Carlos with a bewildered expression. “Carlos?” he asked, “what are you doing here?”

Here, Carlos paused. “Your dad wanted to come but he was still on shift and I didn’t have to work so I said I would because I figured you would need a ride home and...well I guess I’m here to pick you up.”

TK raised an eyebrow and Carlos cringed. Smooth Reyes, he chided himself, not weird at all.

“You really drove out here and spent the past hour in the waiting room on your day off just to give me a ride home after I dumped you?” TK asked skeptically.

Carlos cringed. Well, you put it like that…

But TK was shaking his head, “You’re too good to be true Carlos Reyes,” he said softly, “There was never any chance I deserved you.”

Carlos looked up abruptly, expression furrowed, “What are you talking about?”

“I never deserved you,” TK repeated, “you’re too good to be stuck with someone like me.”

“TK, no…”

“It’s true Carlos, you don’t have to lie to me.”

Carlos just stared at him. He wasn’t entirely sure what was happening but he did know that it was nothing he had planned on. “Hey,” he said, “why don’t we get out of here and talk.”

TK glanced around the crowded waiting room - including a few bored individuals who had taken an interest in their conversation - and nodded. Carlos gave him a small smile and gestured towards the door. Once they were outside he led TK to his car and climbed in. Once they were settled and the doors were shut he turned to face TK, speaking before TK could get a word in. “First of all, that’s ridiculous. And even if it were true I think I get some say in the matter and I want to be with you. Whatever it is you think I deserve or you don’t deserve doesn’t change that. Secondly, how are you feeling?”

TK blinked, mind whirring as he considered all the implication of Carlos’s words. “I’m fine,” he said eventually, “they redid my stitches and I’m under strict instructions to not enter any more flaming buses.”

Carlos nodded, “That’s good advice, you should follow it.”

TK grinned at him, and Carlos returned it. Too soon the smile slipped off his face and he sighed, “I think we need to talk Carlos.”

Carlos swallowed and turned in his seat so he was facing TK and nodded.

“First of all,” TK started, “I’m sorry. What I said earlier...I panicked. I wasn’t sure what I wanted and I panicked. It’s been a weird few days for me and I…”

He trailed off and Carlos raised an eyebrow and offered, “panicked?”

TK nodded.

Carlos sighed again, “It’s okay TK, you’ve been through a lot. I shouldn’t have tried to push you. It’s okay if you don’t know what you want right now--”

“But I do,” TK interrupted. When Carlos gave him a skeptical look he continued, “I do know, now. I want to be a firefighter, here in Austin. I want to be with you Carlos; I want to give this a try - if you’re willing.”

Carlos stared at him, mouth agape. This was what he had wanted, but he hadn’t allowed himself to even hope that it could actually happen. He was mulling it over in his mind, replaying the moment to make sure it was real when he realized abruptly that TK was still awaiting an answer.

“Yes. I mean, yeah - I’m willing. Ready, even.” He followed it up with a grin, that TK returned even if it was strained.

“Before you make any hasty decisions, I think I need to tell you some things. You deserve to know the whole story of what you’re getting into before you jump in.”

Carlos nodded and TK started. He told him about his past, how he had been an addict who struggled to get clean. How he had found Alex, and how that had fallen apart. How he had relapsed; how he had ODed. How he had ended up here; not ready for a new relationship, still licking old wounds when they had met. Carlos let him speak uninterrupted, mentally putting the pieces into place in his own story. It explained so many things and made his heart ache for the other man. He had been through so much, but he was still trying; still clawing his way up to the surface, fighting all the way. Carlos was proud of him.

He said as much when TK finished his tale, and TK scoffed, “proud at me for being an addict?”

Carlos shook his head, “Proud of you for fighting, for beating this. I’m sure it hasn’t been easy, but you’ve been putting in the work. I don’t know if I would have been strong enough.”

“You would have,” TK said softly but Carlos shook his head, “Maybe, maybe not. It doesn’t change the fact that what you have done is nothing short of amazing TK, and I am impressed by you. You said you don’t think you deserve me, but I think it might be the other way around. What have I ever done to deserve someone so strong and resilient?”

TK looked like he wanted to say something, but the words seemed to die in his throat. He looked overwhelmed. Carlos reached out a hand and placed it on his knee, “How about we stop focusing on who does or doesn’t deserve who and just focus on how lucky we are to have found each other,” he suggested gently.

TK nodded, looking up at him with a smile and watery eyes, “Unbelievably lucky,” he said so quietly that Carlos almost didn’t hear him. Carlos smiled back at him and they sat there in a warm and welcoming silence for a long time. Eventually, TK placed a hand on top of Carlos’s and squeezed it lightly.

“We should go somewhere and talk some more,” he began, “but there’s another conversation I need to have. Would you mind driving me to the 126?”

Carlos nodded, “As long as you change your shirt. I don’t think I can stand to see your blood for much longer. It reminds me of how close we came to not having this.”

TK glanced down at the ruined shirt and the ominous bloodstain. “I think this is it for this shirt,” he agreed mournfully, “it’s a shame though, I really liked it.”

Carlos shrugged as he turned the car on, “I did too, but I think I’ll get over it. I like you more.”

Read on Ao3

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #carlos reyes #tk strand #my writing #prompt fill

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dancinginthesliverglow · 4 years ago

Text

Assistant, Scholar, Son

By @art-in-the-sunlight for @alicecasch in the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Tony Stark & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Ned Leeds & Michelle Jones, Tony Stark & James Rhodes, Tony Stark & Happy Hogan

Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, James Rhodes, Happy Hogan, Jim Mortia, Roger Harrington, Mr. Delmar

Summary: “Historical/Old Fashioned AU” and “Tony is Peter’s teacher.” I’d really love to see small moments where Tony realizes that he loves Peter (like that “oh. Oh” moment in fics, but make it platonic). Also, could you include a scene where they’re both looking at the stars/at a sunset/sunrise? (Just, give me pretty skies and I’ll squeal happily for hours basically). Also I love when MJ and Ned have to interact with Tony bc Peter’s being a dumbass and they’re concerned friends.

Its the 1900s. Ned gets sick, and in order to help pay the doctor fees, Peter looks for a job. He comes across James Rhodes, who believes his best friend Tony Stark is in need of an assistant. But does he really need an assistant? Or something more?

…okay so I swear I intended this to be around 2000-3000 words. I don’t know how it ended up at 5700 words with a few time gaps. I had a lot of fun planning and writing this out, and I hope you enjoy it :)

ao3 link

Peter paced worriedly outside of the orphanage boy’s bedrooms. He shared a worried glance with MJ, who was sitting with her head in her hands nearby.

“He’s never stayed this long, MJ.” Peter muttered under his breath, clearly stressed. “What- Do you think-”

“I don’t know Peter.” MJ responded. She raised her head out of her hands and looked at Peter.

“I-” Peter started, but he was interrupted by the door opening. The orphanage Director, Roger Harrington and Doctor Morita stepped out.

Doctor Morita was talking to the Director. “He’s still hanging in there, but he’s going to need doses more frequently. I recommend a spoonful daily, before breakfast.”

Director Harrington nodded solemnly. “Thanks for the help, Doctor.” He handed Doctor Morita a pouch full of coins, and then showed the Doctor out.

Peter and MJ went into the room. In the furthest bed lay their best friend, Ned Leeds. He was fast asleep, presumably from the medicine the Doctor gave him. Peter sat down next to Ned and took his hand. “Ned,” Peter said, his voice wavering slightly. “You gotta fight this. I know you can do it.”

MJ replaced the hot, damp cloth on Ned’s forehead with a cool one. “That’s right, loser. Peter would fall apart without you.”

“Hey!” Peter said indignantly.

MJ leveled Peter with a look.

Peter sighed, knowing it was true.

Director Harrington walked back into the room. “Peter, MJ, I know you guys want to stay with Ned but he needs to rest now.”

“How is he?” MJ inquired.

“Doc says he’s going to need daily doses of medicine. We’re barely able to cover the costs of medicine as it is.” The director sat down on the bed next to Ned’s.

“I can get another job?” said Peter. “Mr. Delmar only needs me in the evenings when he’s cleaning and closing up the shop. I could get the other kids, Abe and Jason to help with my chores!”

“I could help too,” interjected MJ. “Mrs. Daly’s been asking if I can stay longer, and work more days in her shop.”

Director Harrington sighed. “If you can convince Abe and Jason to cover your chores, go ahead.” He stood up. “You two need to take care of yourselves, no overworking alright? You’re no help to Ned if you get sick.” Director Harrington pulled them in for a side hug. “It’ll be alright, kiddos. Ned will recover. Have some faith, alright?”

MJ and Peter nodded, and held onto each other tightly. Ned had to get better. He would.

~ ~ ~

The next day, Peter was at the market looking for a job. He asked the local farmers, fishermen, barbers, even blacksmiths and butchers, but they all turned him away due to inexperience or because he wasn’t able to commit to a full time job. (Mr. Delmar was kind to Peter, almost like an uncle, and he let Peter take home half the shop’s tips to take care of Ned. Peter wasn’t going to give it up).

After getting rejected by the bookmaker (he had taken one look at Peter’s worn down clothing and turned away) Peter began to slowly walk out. He rarely got the opportunity to read anymore and he figured a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. Peter wandered into the science section, and quietly pulled The Scientific Revolution: Wave Theory of Light by Stark, Anthony off the shelf.

It was then he overheard two men across the book maker’s shop talking.

“And it’s not like Stark at all to send us on a wild goose chase?” Huffed the first man, clearly annoyed.

“Just keep looking. Tones said the book was here.” said the second man. He dressed in an army uniform, and had several medals hanging on his jacket.

“What was the name of the book?”

The army man pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “The Revolution in Science, by Rupert A. Hall.”

Peter looked up from this book, at the shelf. The Revolution in Science, by Rupert A. Hall sat right in front of him.

Peter picked up the book and made his way over to the men. “Uh, excuse me sir? I couldn’t help overhearing that you were looking for this book?”

The army man took the book and read the spine. “The Revolution in Science, by Rupert A. Hall. Huh, thanks kiddo.” He handed the book to the second man, who went to pay for it, before studying Peter. “What’s your name, son? How well can you read?”

“I’m Peter. I can read fairly well and I can get through most books, sir”

“That’s impressive, Peter. Who taught you?”

“My parents, Ben and Mary Parker, taught me the basics, sir. They were scientists.”

“The Parkers.” The army man turned to the second man, who had just returned, book in hand. “Didn’t Tones work with them a few times?”

The second man shrugged.

“I heard they died a few years ago.” The army man said, not unkindly. He waited to see Peter nod before continuing. “I’m sorry for your loss. You must be looking for work?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come with me. My friend needs an assistant. I can’t promise anything but an opportunity. You’ll have to work hard, but if you take after your parents, you should be fine.”

“I… wow thank you sir!” Peter put his book The Scientific Revolution: Wave Theory of Light back on the shelf followed the army man to a carriage waiting outside the shop.

“It’s Colonel Rhodes.” The Colonel gestured to the second man who was prepping the horses to travel. “That’s Happy. He’s Tones’ carriage driver.”

“He doesn’t seem very happy, for someone named Happy.” Peter mused. Colonel Rhodes snorted in amusement, before climbing into the carriage with Peter.

~ ~ ~

Half an hour later, Peter was following Colonel Rhodes into the largest mansion - if it could even be called that - he had seen in his entire life. Peter struggled not to gape as they walked into the hall. The ceiling was twice as high as a normal house, and that was just the first floor. Fancy paintings and sculpture tastefully lined the walls. Peter was almost scared of touching anything, lest it break.

“Rhodeybear! You’re back!” Peter looked forward and saw a man quickly descend from the grand staircase towards them.

“Wait- did you mean Mr. Stark as in The physicist Stark? The Mr. Stark who is single handedly revolutionizing the field of physics and mathematics? That Mr. Stark?” Peter hissed worriedly under his voice.

Colonel Rhodes put a hand on Peter’s shoulder to reassure him. “Hey Tones! How have you been doing?”

Mr. Stark looked sad for a moment. “Uh, nevermind about that.” He spotted Peter. “Who is this? He isn’t mine, is he?” Tony joked, studying Peter. Peter felt as if he was under a microscope. He was all too aware of the large gap in social status. Peter Parker, the orphan, and Tony Stark, one of the richest men in the entire known world.

Colonel Rhodes clapped Peter on the back. “I hope not. This is Parkers’ kid, Peter. I was thinking, since Pepper returned to her brother’s you could use an assistant.”

“And you brought me a child? No, no, nope. Rhodey, you know I don’t do kids.” Mr. Stark turned away and headed down the hallway, to the kitchen.

Colonel Rhodes followed him, pulling Peter. “Tony, you know I leave for the army tomorrow. You’re going to need someone around.”

“I have Happy.”

“Happy’s only here on weekends, and an hour on weekdays.”

Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes stared down at each other across a table. Peter uncomfortably shifted on his feet, wishing he was anywhere else but there.

After almost a minute, Mr. Stark looked away. “Fine, only for you, Rhodeybear.”

“Thank you, Tony. I think you guys might get along. He was reading your book when I found him.”

“Oh?” Mr. Stark turned towards Peter, curious. “What did you think?”

“Um, I didn’t understand all of it - but the parts that I did I thought it was really interesting! I tried replicating some of the experiments, the one where you observe the color spectrum in the shadow of a slit of paper with my friends but we weren’t able to get the right measurements.”

“What materials were you using?”

“Um, just some paper from my Director at the orphanage? We used a knife to make the slit, and an open window for the light source.”

Mr. Stark shook his head. “You need more sophisticated tools. The slit should be less than a tenth of a millimeter, and most knives are about 3 to 6 millimeters wide.”

Peter looked thoughtful. “Would a needle work? The tip is much smaller than a knife, but I’m not sure if it’s less than a tenth of a millimeter.”

“It’s much closer, and I suppose you might be able to get the right size.” Tony mused. You’d have to consider the type of paper and thickness as well…”

Beside Peter, Colonel Rhodes gave Mr. Stark a triumphant smile. “See? I knew it would work out.” He turned to Peter. “Can you start tomorrow?”

“Yes sir. I’m available in the morning and afternoon from Mondays to Saturdays, and I’m free all day on Sunday.”

“Sounds good.” replied Mr. Stark. He stepped forward, and shook Peter’s hand. “I look forward to working with you, Peter Parker.”

“Me too, Mr. Stark.”

~ ~ ~

The next morning, Happy arrived in the carriage at the orphanage to pick up Peter. Peter quickly got in the carriage, ignoring the amazed and suspicious glances of the other orphanage kids. In reality, the ride wasn’t too long, but the lack of conversation and Peter’s nerves make the ride seem hours long. Colonel Rhodes wasn’t too clear about Peter’s job description the day before. Peter knew he’s going to help Mr. Stark out with his work, but what exactly that entails, Peter has no idea.

Eventually the carriage pulled to a stop outside Mr. Stark’s mansion. Peter climbed out, thanked Happy for the ride, before walking up to the door and knocking. On the first knock, the door swung open. Peter leaned in. “Uh, hello? Mr. Stark?”

Presumably Mr. Stark called out a reply, but it’s muffled. Peter cautiously entered, wiped his shoes and made his way over to where the voice came from. He ends up in the kitchen, and spots Tony putting away a half empty bottle of alcohol.

Hearing Peter come in, Tony glanced behind. “Hey kiddo.”

“Hello Mr. Stark.”

“Rhodey just left for the army yesterday, along with a good portion of my bourbon. I suppose I’ll have to replenish my stash.” Mr. Stark turned around, and studied Peter. “You’re in dire need of a wardrobe upgrade. Systemic, top to bottom, 100 point restoration. I’ll have Happy call someone for this Sunday.”

Mr. Stark spun on his heel and left the kitchen, waving for Peter to follow him. “When did your interest in science start?”

“When I was younger, before my parents passed, they used to show me their blueprints and sketches. Part of their research was working on steam trains and railways. They used to dream about travelling from one side of the country to the hour in a matter of hours. I know it was purely theoretical, and we’re decades or even centuries off from it actually happening but the idea of travelling at that speed is fascinating!”

Mr. Stark stopped in front of a closed door. He placed a hand on the door knob and then turned to Peter. “It may not be as far away as you think.” said Mr. Stark with a smile, before opening the door.

“Woah…” Peter slowly entered the room, completely in awe. The walls were covered in blueprints, sketches and calculations. Peter recognized the sketches on the wall on the left from Mr. Stark’s book on Wave theory of light. The far wall had various sketches of an engine, from multiple angles. In the center was the steam train sketch that his parents had shown him.

Tony walked over to the far wall, and took one of the sketches off the wall. “Several years ago, I worked on his version of the steam train with your parents.” He handed Peter the sketch.

“This-this is the same one they showed me. How-” Peter traces his parents signatures on the bottom right.

“I only worked on one steam train project with your parents. They had their hearts set on this project. It was like they could already see it, the finished product functioning. Sadly they passed away before we could start any of the actual buildings. Somehow it felt wrong to build it without them.” Mr. Stark gazed at the sketches, with an emotion Peter couldn’t quite pin down. “So I improved their systems, made them more efficient and worked on other projects.”

“Like your book?”

“Yes. Among other things.” Tony turned to face Peter. “How do you feel about following in your parents’ footsteps? I think it’s about time Mary and Richard’s dreams start coming true.”

“I…” tears threatened to fall from Peter’s eyes.

“You don’t have to decide now.”

“No! I’d love to work on the steam engine. I just never imagined in my wildest dreams I would be able too.”

“Well, it is going to be a lot of work. You’re going to need some formal education in physics, chemistry and engineering.”

Peter nodded eagerly. “I can do it!”

Mr. Stark laughed. “Alright, Underoos. Let’s turn you into a proper student. You’re in dire need of supplies. Textbooks, chalkboards, and wardrobe upgrade. Systemic, top to bottom, 100 point restoration. I’ll arrange something with Happy. For now, let’s see where you’re at…”

Mr. Stark and Peter spent the rest of the day pouring over textbooks together in the workshop. Mr. Stark quizzed Peter on the topics he was familiar with until he had a good idea of where Peter was, academically. Then Mr. Stark started filling in the gaps and teaching him the new material that Peter had missed. Peter lost track of time. It had been far too long since Peter had a mentor, someone who had the same passion for physics and someone who he could bounce theories and questions off.

Before he knew it, the sun was approaching the horizon, and it was time for Peter to leave for his second job with Mr. Delmar. Tony stood at the door to his mansion, and waved Peter off with a nostalgic, yet content look on his face.

Peter beamed at him, practically bouncing on his toes. For a strange moment, Peter felt the urge to hug Mr. Stark, the way he would hug MJ or Ned, or even his parents before leaving them. Peter shook off the feeling. Mr. Stark was just his employer… right? Somehow, after the day they had, ‘employer’ didn’t quite fit. Peter gave Mr. Stark one last wave before getting into the carriage with Happy.

~ ~ ~

When Peter arrived back at the orphanage later that night, Ned was waiting for him near his bunk bed.

“Peter! How did it go? I can’t believe you actually got to work with the Mr. Stark! This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me!” exclaimed Ned. He was sitting at the corner of the bed next to Peter’s. His eyes were a little red and there was a faint glimmer of sweat on his forehead, but his eyes were focused. It was the best Peter had seen him in a few days.

“It was amazing Ned!” replied Peter with equal enthusiasm. He kicked off his shoes and stood on his bed, bouncing lightly. “He showed me his workshop - you won’t believe it. He has so many projects! He’s done so much more on the Wave Theory of Light! And remember that project that I told you that my parents were working on? The steam train idea? It turns out he was working on it with my parents!”

“Dude that is so amazing! I-”

Hearing the commotion, Director Harrington walked into the room. “Hey! Kids, it’s night time! Settle down. Peter, get off your bed and go wash up. Ned, you need to get some rest.”

“But Peter just got back -”

“I wanna talk to Ned -”

Director Harrington held up his hand, and they fell silent. “I know you’re excited to see each other and talk about Peter’s job. Believe me, I know. But the youngest kids are already asleep, and the rest are getting ready for bed.”

Peter looked around, and saw the younger kids already curled up under their blankets. Reluctantly they nodded, and Director Harrington left.

Peter got down from his bed, as Ned got up. They shared a warm hug, and Peter gently rested his head on the side of Ned’s. He could feel Ned’s heartbeat faintly, and something in him, a weight that had been following him around marginally relaxed. Ned was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

“I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, okay? Mr. Stark’s really amazing.” Peter whispered to Ned as he pulled away.

“I can’t wait! Good night Peter.” Ned whispered back.

“Good night Ned.”

Ned walked back to his bunk, and Peter quietly grabbed his pajamas and tiptoed out of the room to clean up before sleep.

~ ~ ~

The rest of the week passed similarly. Peter wakes up before sunrise, quickly eats and does as many of his chores around the orphanage as he can before Happy arrives. Then, he goes to study with Mr. Stark and work on the steam train plans for the rest of the day. Just before supper, Peter goes to Mr. Delmar’s to help serve food and clean up. Afterward, he walks back to the orphanage in the night, manages to tell MJ and Ned a few quiet, exhausted yet ecstatic words about his time with Mr. Stark before Director Harrington sends them to bed. Every night, Peter falls asleep before his head hits the pillow.

~ ~ ~

On Sunday, Peter woke up at the crack of dawn. He quickly ate, did his morning chores, waved MJ off as usual (with the promise of telling her everything when he got back) and jumped into the carriage with Happy.

Unlike usual, when Peter reached the mansion, Mr. Stark was impatiently waiting at the door.

Peter jumped out of the carriage, excitement shining on his face. “Good morning Mr. Stark! I can’t wait to get started again!”

“Uh uh. Not in those clothes, you’re not. You got a pass these past few days, but today if you’re going to be a scholar, you need to look the part and have the right materials, Underoos.”

Peter stopped in his tracks. “Um…”

Without missing a beat, Mr. Stark draped an arm over Peter’s shoulders and directed him back into the carriage. “We’re going shopping.”

“Shopping?” echoed Peter, a little bewildered.

~ ~ ~

Half an hour later, Mr. Stark, Peter and Happy were standing in a tailor’s shop. The tailor took a few measurements, and then handed Peter a dress shirt and pants, before directing him to a room at the back of the shop “Go try these on. They should be a close fit.”

Peter looked at the clothes. It wasn’t the same quality suits that Mr. Stark normally wore, but it was far above Peter’s regular clothes.

“Mr. Stark I couldn’t-”

Mr. Stark shook his head. “Uh uh. If you think I’m going to tinker around with my inventions and current research in those, you are mistaken, Underoos. Now try them on, let’s see.”

Peter walked into the back room and gulped nervously. He could pay for half a month’s worth of medicine with the dress shirt alone. Peter carefully put the dress shirt and pants on. Just as the tailor predicted, the pants and shirt fit nearly perfectly.

Outside, Mr. Stark was arguing, or maybe bantering with Happy, but the moment the door opened they both fell silent.

Happy huffed, turned to Mr. Stark and said, “I told you, he could’ve been your twin.” Mr. Stark muttered something back to Happy, who then left.

Mr. Stark turned to Peter before nodding. “Much better.”

“Um, is this really okay?” Peter looked up at Tony hesitantly. “I mean…”

Mr. Stark waved the question away. “I told you yesterday, Underoos. 100 point restoration. We’ll make a scholar of you yet.” Mr. Stark turned to the tailor. “We’ll order 3 pairs of dress shirts and pants, in addition to these.”

“Three pairs?!” Peter’s incredulous tone echoed around the shop.

Mr. Stark turned around, heading after Happy. “Come on, kiddo. We have a couple more stops.”

Peter dutifully followed Mr. Stark out, into another shop.

~ ~ ~

By the end of the morning, Peter had gotten a pair of new clothes, a new pencil case, box of pencils, a box of chalk, a few slates and a school bag. They were about to leave, when a salesman stepped in front of Mr. Stark.

“Hello good sir! Might I interest you and your son in some fashionable hats?”

“S-son?” Peter squeaked, turning red. Distantly, he heard Mr. Stark chuckle in amusement.

The salesman picked a curved, pencil grey hat and placed it on Peter’s head. It fell down, covering his eyes.

“Hmm, perhaps something smaller.” In a flash, the salesman took the hat off Peter’s head, and grabbed a slightly smaller black hat with a ribbon around it.

Peter ducked out of the way before the salesman could put it on his head. “I-I really don’t think -” Stuttered Peter, clearly flustered by the misinterpretation.

Suddenly, Peter felt a hand on his back, nudging him forward. Peter’s head snapped to Mr. Stark. “My son and I think that’s a wonderful idea.” said Tony, grinning ear to ear.

Peter turned beet red.

“Let’s try the small black newport hat, at the back.” Suggested Mr. Stark.

“A wonderful choice sir!” The salesman handed the hat to Mr. Stark, who gently placed it on Peter’s head. The salesman held up a mirror for Peter to see.

Peter stared at himself. The newport hat complimented his dress shirt well. He looked… different, but in a good way. Smart, more sophisticated, perhaps. Peter stood up straighter, and turned his head to the side, almost mesmerized. A small bit of his curly brown hair poked out from under his hat. Peter tucked it back in, and looked at Mr. Stark. “I like it.”

Mr. Stark agreed. “It suits you.” He turned to the salesman. “We’ll get it.”

A few minutes later, Mr. Stark and Peter were walking back to the carriage where Happy was waiting with his new newport hat. Peter climbed into the carriage after Mr. Stark, took off his hat and stared at it contemplatively.

The carriage started moving. Mr. Stark nudged Peter gently with his elbow. “You’re kinda quiet, Underoos. Everything okay?”

Peter nodded.

“I hope I didn’t bother you with the ‘my son’ comment?” Mr. Stark said it jokingly, but Peter could tell it was a genuine question.

“No no, it’s - that was fine. It just surprised me.” Peter looked up at Mr. Stark and gave him a smile.

“So what’s up then? If the last day is anything to go by, normally you’d be chatting away.”

Peter shrugged. “It’s just a lot.” He held up the hat and his bag, full of school supplies. “This used to be my life, before my parents… Before the orphanage. It’s just bringing back memories, I guess.”

The carriage wheel went over a rock, and Mr. Stark grabbed Peter’s shoulder to steady him. For the longest moment, they were silent, before Mr. Stark spoke up. “I get it, you know? I lost my parents too. Granted, I was older and the situation was drastically different…” Mr. Stark cleared his throat. “My mom, she was a pianist. She had this way of playing, that was so graceful, so… warm. We were never good at communicating, except when we were playing on the piano. It was like the music would speak for us, in our special language.”

“After she passed, I couldn’t barely look at the piano. I boarded up the room, and nearly threw the key away. It wasn’t until about three years ago that Pepper, my uh, friend convinced me to open the room. I thought it was a bad idea. I thought all that hurt would come flooding back. And some of it did, but along with it…”

Peter nodded in understanding. “Yea. It’s like you got a small piece of them back.”

“Yea, something like that.”

The carriage came to a stop abruptly, ending the moment. Peter stuck his head out the side, and realized that they’re already back at the mansion. Mr. Stark and Peter climbed out and headed inside.

“How about some lunch?” suggested Mr. Stark. Peter agrees, and then turns red when his stomach growls audibly. Mr. Stark laughed not unkindly, ruffled Peter’s hair and then went to the kitchen. Peter followed him, still red, but smiling.

Mr. Stark and Peter resumed working in the workshop. It’s equally as studious as the day before, except there’s an air of familiarity that wasn’t there before. Just like yesterday, Peter’s attention was consumed by his excitement to learn, and he doesn’t notice the time fly by, until it’s approaching sunset. Mr. Stark asked Peter if he had to leave, but it’s Peter’s day off from Mr. Delmar, so he says no. Mr. Stark turns on a few oil lamps and they continue working into the night.

~ ~ ~

Eventually Mr. Stark straightens up and stretches. There’s a few quiet cracks, at which Peter snorted, before looking outside, noticing that it’s already dark and the stars are out.”

“I should probably get back soon.”

(Tony follows Peter’s line of sight until he’s looking outside at the night sky with Peter. Tony looks back at Peter. His face is peaceful, slightly sleepy, and in the dim lighting Tony can see part of the night sky reflected in Peter’s eyes. He feels a surge of protectiveness, and affection..? Tony shakes the feeling off, and an idea suddenly comes to him.)

Peter followed Mr. Stark upstairs, and watched curiously as he pulled a large cloth off… a telescope. “Woah… can I, Mr. Stark?”

Mr. Stark arranged the telescope, and fiddled with the knobs for a moment before stepping away and looking at Peter. “Go ahead, kid.”

Peter steps closer to the telescope and peered inside. “Woah…” Peter turned to Mr. Stark. “This is amazing Mr. Stark!” Peter peered back into the telescope, still in awe of the beautiful sight. He felt Mr. Stark lay his arm across Peter’s shoulders. The warmth of his arm was nice in the cold night.

(Peter stared up at him with complete awe and eagerness. That feeling from earlier comes back, ten fold. It tells him to protect Peter, to keep him safe, warm and happy. It compels Tony to step closer and lay his arm over Peter’s shoulders. He feels Peter lean slightly into the half side hug and -

oh.

Oh.

It’s love.

He loves Peter.

Tony loves Peter, as if he were his own son. The revelation rocks his world. When did this happen? Why now? What is he supposed to do?)

Unknown to Mr. Stark’s world shattering revelation, Peter shivered and sniffed in the cold air, before straightening up and fully leaning into Mr. Stark’s side. “‘ts cold.”

“Yea.” Mr. Stark exhaled. “Let’s get you home, Underoos.”

Peter nodded, and allowed Mr. Stark to lead him back inside and wrap one of his coats around Peter. He called for Happy, who came with the carriage. This time, before Peter gets in the carriage, Mr. Stark wraps him a hug, before entering the carriage with Peter. Sleepy and cold, Peter pulls Mr. Stark’s coat around himself tightly. The last thing he remembers was resting his head on Mr. Stark’s shoulder, the sensation of an arm wrapping around him keeping him warm and falling asleep.

~ ~ ~

When Peter woke up the next day, he felt awful. His head throbbed, this throat felt like sandpaper and he felt like he was freezing. Peter cracked an eye open, and painful bright light sears through his brain. Peter cries out in pain and shuts his eyes.

Hearing Peter, Director Harrington walked over. “Hey Peter, it’s time to get up.” When Peter didn’t move, Director Harrington frowned. (It was uncharacteristic of Peter not to be awake by now). He laid a hand over Peter’s head, and sweared under his breath when he felt Peter’s boiling forehead.

“What’s wrong with him?” MJ worriedly inquires from behind the Director. He quickly turned around and saw her and Ned.

“He’s sick. I think it’s just because he’s been pushing himself so hard this past week. Honestly, I was expecting this to happen days ago.” Director Harrington stood up. “He’ll be alright. He just needs rest. I’ll send a message to Mr. Stark telling him Peter won’t be able to attend for a few days.”

MJ nods. She knows what she has to do.

~ ~ ~

After MJ’s shift finished, she made her way to Mr. Stark’s mansion. Steeling her nerves, she firmly knocked on the door and waited. One minute, two minutes… just when MJ thought was wouldn’t get an answer, Mr. Stark opened the door.

He frowned. “Do I know you?”

“I’m here about Peter.”

“Come in.” Mr. Stark stepped out of the way, welcoming MJ inside. “Is he okay?”

MJ looked around the mansion. Part of her admires it; everything looked so elegant. Part of her critiqued it, wondering how it was built, and how the Stark family inherited their fortune.

“Peter’s sick. He’s been overworking himself, with everything he needs to do at the orphanage, with you and Mr. Delmar.” MJ explains. “He’s been going to sleep really late, and forcing himself to wake up before sunrise, and he’s on his feet pretty much the entire day.”

In a single moment, it looked as if Mr. Stark aged years. The wrinkles in his face stood out, and he looked worried. Extremely worried. MJ knew that Peter was attached to Mr. Stark (what science nerd wouldn’t be), but she didn’t expect that Mr. Stark would reciprocate the sentiment equally.

Mr. Stark took a moment, but eventually he composed himself. “Thank you for telling me. Are you headed back to the orphanage?”

“Yea.”

“I’ll give you a ride back.” Mr. Stark left to call Happy, completely missing MJ’s surprised expression.

Mr. Stark comes back a few minutes later, with his coat. “I’ll head back with you. It seems like I need to have a few words with Peter, about responsibility.”

MJ would’ve been worried, if Mr. Stark hadn’t sounded so… parental. Not for the first time, MJ wondered what exactly had they done, for Peter and Mr. Stark to feel so strongly for the other in such a short time. Instead, she just nodded.

“Why is he overworking himself?”

MJ’s mouth went dry, and she looked away at her feet. So Peter hadn’t told Mr. Stark then. “Our friend, Ned - he’s sick. Like really sick.” She quickly glanced at Mr. Stark. He looked contemplative. “Director Harrington is doing what he can, but the doctor visits and the medicine - it’s really expensive. Peter and I are paying for most of it.”

Although Mr. Stark didn’t say anything, MJ can practically hear him understanding. Peter always puts the needs of his loved ones above himself, and they both know it.

Happy arrived with the carriage in front. They climbed in and headed for the orphanage.

~ ~ ~

Peter’s awareness came back, and he felt the bed sink down on his left. At the edge of unconsciousness and in pain, Peter whimpers unintelligibly and tries to stick his head under the blanket.

Suddenly, there was a hand softly brushing through his hair and rubbing at his scalp. His headache began to ease up for the first time, and Peter cracked his eyes open. There was a blurry figure that looked awfully familiar sitting on his bed.

“Hey Underoos. How are you feeling?” Mr. Stark asked softly.

Peter closed his eyes, and tilted his head towards Mr. Stark’s hand, silently asking for him to continue.

Above him, Peter heard Mr. Stark chuckled. “Peter, it’s dinner time. You need to eat.”

With a groan Peter opened his eyes again, this time fully. It takes a moment, but his vision focuses. Mr. Stark helped Peter sit up, and then held out a bowl of soup with a spoon. Peter held his palms flat against the bowl, and let the steam rise against his face, trying to absorb the heat.

“Kiddo, you’re supposed to eat it.”

Peter grumbled, but picked up the spoon and began slowly eating.

Mr. Stark waited for Peter to finish half of his soup before speaking up, his tone gentle. “Peter, you were seriously overworking yourself.”

Peter swallowed his soup, and then responded, “Ned needs the money. He’s-”

“- sick, I know. MJ told me.” The surprise must’ve shown on his face because Mr. Stark elaborated. “She came to see me earlier today, to tell me that you were working yourself sick trying to pay for Ned’s medicine.”

Peter opened his mouth to defend his actions, but Mr. Stark interrupted him. “Underoos, why didn’t you tell me?” He chided, gently. “I would’ve helped you.”

“I - really?” Peter looked at Mr. Stark in hope.

Tony nodded. “Anything, Peter.”

Peter put the soup aside, leaned over and hugged Mr. Stark tightly. “Thank you so much, Mr. Stark. You have no idea - it means so much to me.”

“Anything, Peter. Although you have to concentrate on getting better, and taking care of yourself. I don’t want to hear that you’re sick and refined to bed for days, geez. I nearly got a heart attack when I received the message this morning.”

Peter laughs weakly. Mr. Stark handed him back the soup, and sat with Peter as he finished it. When Peter’s done, Mr. Stark takes the bowl, and helps Peter crawl back under the covers. Peter rolled onto his side, facing Mr. Stark, and silently asking.

Above him, Peter heard Mr. Stark huff, in amusement. A moment later he felt Mr. Stark’s hand softly brushes through his hair and rubs at his scalp. Peter falls asleep to the sensation.

(When he’s sure Peter’s asleep, Tony leans over Peter, presses a kiss to his forehead and whispers “I love you.”)

The End.

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eujazmine · 4 years ago

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⟨ RYAN DESTINY. CIS FEMALE. SHE/HER. ⟩ though the mist might prevent some from seeing it, JAZMINE HARPER is actually a descendent of H E C A T E. it’s still a question of whether or not the 23 year old BUSINESS MAJOR from HOUSTON, USA has taken after their godly parent completely, but the demigod is still known to be quite PASSIONATE & MISCHIEVOUS.

hi everyone it’s rae #2 again 😔 but allow me to introduce you all to my darling jazmine, who is a revamping of a couple muses i’ve played in the past. as always, like this post and i’ll hit your dms!

History (death tw)

claimed at birth in houston, texas since her father could see through the mist. her father started physically training around the age of three. it wasn’t anything too crazy at first, since she was only a toddler when they began, but her father wanted her to have a head-start athletically. on her 6th birthday, hecate gifted her a spell book and required that she started her magical training.

she started attended camp elektra in california during the summers when she was seven years old. at some point, her father got married and started having more children. when she was twelve, he announced that they would be moving to new york for her new step-mother’s job. that summer, she attended camp half-blood, and leaving for camp was the last time she had seen her texan home.

it was around that time that her and her father’s strong personalities truly began to clash. they had different visions for jazmine’s future, and she started to resent being under his control. it also frustrated her that she couldn’t alter his perception via mist, which led to even more complications whenever she was caught doing so to her step-mother.

she spent nearly two years with her family in new york. after nearly getting expelled from school and having too many issues at home, her father sent her away to year-round camp in greece by the time she was 14.

due to extensive training, she was among the top-ranked during her time at camp athens. she devoted much of her free time, including summer breaks, to questing and rigorous training, and was often recruited through the school for selective quests.

once she graduated, she tried staying with her father in new york again to work and save money, but this only lasted about six months. she went back to europe to travel and she fulfilled quests for money to support this new lifestyle.

at 20, jazmine had another terrible fight with her father. she left and hasn’t seen him since. after this, she started to take questing seriously again. she went on more dangerous and complex quests, knowing there was no one really out there waiting for her safe return.

then came 2019: the zeus incident. she, celeste (daughter of zeus) and adelphie (daughter of apollo) teamed up to retrieve poseidon’s trident from zeus. these three had quested in the past, and were a notoriously powerful trio, but they had never gone against celeste’s own father.

by the time they had defeated the guard monsters and reached the trident, zeus had become aware of what they were up to. he killed adelphie on sight. as jazmine futilely tried to heal adelphie’s lifeless body, celeste used this moment to carry the trident back to the ocean via the wind. soon enough, zeus zapped celeste off the mountain. whether the god of thunder hadn’t seen her hiding in the darkness or he just didn’t care, she’ll never know, but he spared jazmine and left.

after carrying adelphie back down the mountain and presuming that celeste was also dead, she came across rostam, who had prophesied that something would happen at the mountain. he helped her bring her friends back to eonia, where she was allowed to rest and enroll for the following semester.

now, she’s at eonia studying business because 1) she has nowhere else to go and 2) she doesn’t think she wants to fight her whole life anymore.

Personality

being able to manipulate mortals as a child has made her view people more as vessels of entertainment or stimulation, and it shows. her sense of humor primarily revolves around teasing others, such as mocking them or playing tricks on them, and her blunt remarks can often be perceived as quite insensitive. she is very observant and has no problem using this trait for blackmail or manipulation, but she uses this to provide frank judgment or advice when asked. “0 to 100″ is a pretty accurate way to describe jazmine -- meaning for the most part, she has a calm, cool vibe, but her hot-temperedness can quickly get her in trouble. she can be impatient, vengeful, and petty, refusing to be the bigger person or the “loser” when crossed. stubborn and prideful, she could hold a grudge forever until she serves her own sense of justice or receives external mediation.

her bluntness and outbursts might give off the impression of her being mean, which she kinda is sometimes, but she isn’t that mean. she’s a compassionate person, and she’ll often help others if she feels sorry for them, despite trying to brush off their problems as beneath her. this is especially true when it comes to her friends. although she can be particularly harsh with them, her fierceness also comes with extra love and protection.

Powers

her most powerful ability is mystiokinesis, but it didn’t come easily. like other children of hecate, her magic is strongest at nighttime and very limited during the day. she was given a spellbook once claimed and has been perfecting her craft since. her magic gives her a limited grasp of all kinds of abilities, but she is most skilled in the areas of magic that have helped her the most on quests, such as vitakinesis, offensive spells/curses, and magical tracking. she works hard to improve her mystiokinesis through camps and personal training, but she is prone to overdoing it and negatively affecting her own health.

mist control is her secondary ability. it was the first of her powers to develop. as a child, her suggestions seemed to be a little too convincing to mortals. although it wasn’t fool-proof, she found herself manipulating people’s perceptions in her favor, possibly to get herself out of trouble or solely for entertainment purposes. she mostly uses it to her advantage around mortals or on quests. at eonia, and hasn’t found much use for this skill at eonia.

umbrakinesis is definitely her weakest power, but she would love to be more skilled in it. it has been the most difficult for her to develop, so she can only sometimes use the shadows as a shield or as a method of travel during the night. however, she has been able to levitate since she was a kid, which has been pretty convenient ever since she learned how to control it.

Extras

tl;dr: retired adrenaline junkie prone to moodiness

she has been at eonia since summer/fall 2019. you can get some more details about that last quest on celeste’s intro and self-para, if you haven’t already! feel free to assume that your muse had heard something about it.

she’s very hard-working and puts 110% into the things she cares about. the number of hours she has devoted to magic and academics is endless. neither of these areas come super naturally to her, so she has to work extra hard to develop them to reach her standards.

those 2 years she spent traveling europe and questing for cash?? she was living her best life. she used mist control and mystiokinesis a lot during this time to do things like avoid getting arrested, sneak into fancy masquerade balls, crash weddings, and waive any extra fees she couldn’t afford. she’ll bring up a wild memory from time to time if the conversation calls for it, but it’s rare for her to give out too many other details.

character inspo: think michelle jones (1), jessica huang (1, 2), hotaru imai (1, 2), fallon carrington (1, 2, 3), mal (1), daoming si (meteor garden), jennifer pierce (1, 2, 3), sam puckett (1), rosa diaz (1, 2, 3, 4)

works at the dining hall. she doesn’t care about this job and therefore puts no effort into it, so don’t expect a smile or cheery tone from her when you walk in.

involvements: black student union, gamer’s guild, football (soccer)

a skilled fighter, she is well-versed in swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat, but she prefers using magic since it comes from her godly lineage.

she’s been playing soccer since she was a child, a sport her dad forced encouraged all of her siblings to partake in. although her and her father had many other issues, this actually wasn’t one of them, seeing as they both shared a genuine love for the sport. she’s known for being overly aggressive and instigative on the field, so she's at risk of losing her position if she starts any more fights.

Potential Connections

ex: there was probably never any official title tbh so she might even claim that they weren’t exes. jazmine’s a very private person and finds this kind of stuff too vulnerable, so maybe your muse got tired of being treated like a secret.

quest mates: could’ve been for anything tbh, but if your muse was significantly weaker than jazmine, she would’ve for sure let them know.

tutor: she works hard to maintain her grades, but sometimes she needs the extra help.

people she protects: for whatever reason, jazmine has a soft spot for your muse, so she’ll take care of them when they’re sick, bring them home from a party, put a curse on their ex, you name it.

past hookup: she never called. consider yourself blocked.

friends: self-explanatory! unlikely friends, friends who bond over mutual hatred, frenemies., etc.

enemies: her moral ambiguity and rude remarks probably rub some people the wrong way, so enemies wouldn’t be too surprising.

clients?: i’d imagine that some people have paid her in the past to bring misfortune to their enemies. they probably paid her some money to put a lil curse on them. it’s never anything permanent. if they paid her extra, maybe she did some research and brought them something to blackmail them with.

targets: the people that her clients have paid her to curse. she’s just a third party trying to chase the bag, so no hard feelings, really -- but if your muse somehow found out they got cursed by her, she’d be willing to reverse it for a price.

pawns: maybe she views them as weak. maybe she just finds them funny. either way, she has little respect for your muse and will mess with them for her own entertainment. it’s all in good fun!

people she met while exploring europe: she was up to a lot of shenanigans during those two years, so the possibilities are endless.

#euintro #death tw #violence tw #okay and now i disappear

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below-average-fangirl · 4 years ago

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Pillow Talk

Fandom: Red

Pairing: William Cooper/Michelle Cooper

Warnings: Smut, fluffy, PWP

Summary: William returns home after a month away with a new look and Michelle very much approves.

A/N: Thank you to @billybutchersbabe

Any errors are my own

Link to story on AO3

Fan Fiction Masterlist

Reaching behind her Michelle grabbed at Will’s hair as he buried his face into the back of her neck, his beard rough against her delicate skin, his teeth nipping at her neck. Palming her breasts he pulled her closer to his chest.

“Will.” Michelle panted. “Faster, please.”

Breathing heavily, Will obliged and increased the speed of his thrusts causing Michelle to tug harshly on his hair.

“Fuck.” He groaned.

“Little too rough for you Agent Cooper.” Michelle breathed.

“No.” He growled in her ear before taking her lobe between her teeth, Michelle moaned. God, he had missed her.

Moving a hand from her breast, sliding it down her torso he slipped his fingers between her legs and started massaging her clit, Michelle let out a strangled cry. Smiling to himself Will leaned over to cover her mouth with his, kissing her like he wanted to devour her, capturing her moans and mews as she reached the climax of her orgasm. His own soon followed.

"Jesus." Michelle said as she tried to catch her breath.

Will kissed her shoulder blade as he carefully pulled out before lying sprawled on his back.

"Fuck." He exhaled.

Michelle chuckled, “Did I wear you out there big guy.” She teased, turning over to face Will.

“You almost killed me, sweetheart.”

Smiling, Michelle observed him for a moment as he lay there, eyes closed, his broad tanned chest heaving from the physical excursion. Reaching out she ran a hand along his jaw, enjoying the sensation of his beard against her palm. He usually kept himself clean-shaven but being in the middle east for a month other priorities had taken precedence.

When he'd walked through the front door earlier that evening, looking all rough and ready, his skin dark and tanned, Michelle had wanted to jump him right then and there.

“Do you think you could keep this look?” She asked.

A smile tugged at Will’s lips. “Like it huh.”

“Much.” Michelle whispered as she kissed his cheek, “Makes you look all rugged and sexy.”

Will opened his eyes and looked at her. “What?” He asked, with mock offence. “You don’t think I’m sexy already.”

Michelle sat up and straddled his lap, a satisfied smirk on her lips when Will inhaled a sharp breath, his hazel eyes travelling down her body. Resting her hands either side of his head she leant forward and kissed him, her long dark hair falling around them.

“Mm.” Will moaned as he ran his hands across her back, hugging her body closer to his.

When Michelle broke the kiss Will brought his hands to her face brushing her hair aside as he looked at her adoringly.

“I think you’re the most handsome man in the world.” she said smiling.

“Apology accepted.” He smirked as he kissed her, “I’ll keep it for the weekend. But l need to shave it off for the office on Monday.”

Michelle grinned like a giddy child and he laughed, shaking his head as she lay down beside him, “It’s just a beard.” he chuckled.

“I know,” Michelle said, as she rested her head on his shoulder, squeezing his waist as a small thank you, “but it’s the novelty, something different.”

“Oh I get it. I’m handsome but you find my normal face boring.”

Michelle let out a small snort and buried her face in his shoulder, placing a soft kiss there. "Your face is perfect, right down to the little dimples you get when you smile. But for two days I can pretend I'm sleeping with some kind of rogue agent, a bad boy." She joked.

Will chortled and squeezed her hip as they lay there enjoying the closeness of one another, bathed in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

"Do you remember when we used to do that.” Michelle mused as her fingers played with his chest hair, “Roleplaying."

Will glanced down at her, smiling. "Of course I do." He said as he slowly ran his fingers up her spine, the tingling sensation making her shift beside him, wrapping her legs tighter around his. "Like that one night in New York," He reminisced, his voice hushed and low, "when we met in the bar and pretended not to know each other. Me being the agent and you the super sexy femme fatale in that plunging red dress."

“Funny how you remember the neckline of my dress but forget the fact we almost got caught, making out in the alleyway with me in handcuffs.”

“What, it worked out fine.”

Michelle sat up, looking at him in disbelief. “Will. You had to throw me over your shoulder and carry me off before we were seen. It’s a miracle we didn't get arrested for indecent exposure or you for attempted kidnap.”

Will sat up alongside her wrapping his arms around her waist as he kissed her cheek. “Yeah, but it was exciting wasn’t it.” He gushed.

“Thrilling.” Michelle said sarcastically.

“Okay the alley was a bust,” he conceded, wrapping his hands around Michelle’s wrists and gently pushing her onto her back, pinning her to the mattress, her arms above her head. “But the flirting in the bar. The sex in the hotel afterwards. That all went extremely well.” He said smugly as he lowered his mouth to her neck, his teeth nipping her skin, Michelle moaned.

She shifted underneath him but didn’t ask him to let her up. Closing her eyes she took great pleasure in his attention and the feeling of helplessness at being held down. “Okay,” She breathed. “I admit those parts were okay.”

Will looked at her, eyebrow raised. “Okay, only okay.” He asked with disbelief, “Because in the hotel I seem to remember an awful lot of moaning and screaming and begging.”

Michelle smirked. “I wanted you to feel encouraged.”

“Now listen.” Will said as he let go of her wrists and began tickling her sides, ignoring her soft giggles, “I know when you’re faking it and that night it was all real.”

“Oh it was, was it.” she said between bouts of laughter.

Will grinned at her. “Totally. You’re not that good of an actress.”

“Will”, she said as she struggled underneath him trying to keep her voice down, “We’ll wake the kids.”

He smiled at her wickedly. “I’ll stop when you take back that slander.”

Michelle struggled to catch her breath, she was giggling so hard, “Okay, okay.” She panted. “You were the best.”

“Were?”

“Are the best.” Tears of laughter were in her eyes. “Still very much the best.”

Satisfied Will stopped his tickling assault but before Michelle could gather herself Will took hold of her wrists again and pinned her once more to the bed as he kissed her.

“Bastard.” She mumbled into his mouth smiling

“What can you expect from a rogue agent.” He asked, his voice laced with desire as they stared keenly at one another.

Michelle took a deep breath, the weight of him on top of her, the feeling of skin to skin contact sent an erotic charge to her core. “What now?” She whispered.

Will said nothing as he placed chaste kisses to her throat, his beard scratchy against her skin but Michelle moaned in pleasure and arched her body into him, desperate for more contact.

“Sure you're ready for another round big guy.” She goaded, playfully. “You're pushing 50 after all. Wouldn’t you like to take a nap.”

Will growled in her ear “Careful sweetheart.”

His gruff voice and hot breath on her skin sent shivers down her spine, she could feel her arousal pool in her belly. She was desperate to touch him.

“Or what?” She asked as she turned her head to take his earlobe between her teeth.

“Fuck.” Will groaned.

“New York was a long time ago. Doubt you still have the stamina…”

But Michelle’s teasing was soon silenced when Will covered her mouth with his and kissed her hard. She breathed deep when Will deepened the kiss as he let go of her wrists and ran his hands down her body, his fingers grabbing at her flesh. Wrapping her arms around his neck, her hands delved into his hair pulling and tugging she elicited deep growls and moans from him. She smiled against his mouth, satisfied.

When Will pulled away from the kiss they were both panting, their hot breath mingling as they smiled lovingly at one another.

“Good to know I can still get you riled up.” Michelle said, her voice husky.

Will’s smile grew wider, making his cheeks dimple and green eyes sparkle as he looked at her longingly, “Always.”

#Karl urban #red #william cooper #michelle cooper #William Cooper x Michelle Cooper #fanfiction #fanfic

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go-redgirl · 4 years ago

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Ellen DeGeneres Loses 1 Million Viewers After Apologies for Toxic Workplace

When Ellen DeGeneres returned from a summer hiatus to open the 18th season of her daytime talk show in September, she came armed with an apology. “I learned that things happen here that never should have happened,” she said. “I take that very seriously. And I want to say I am so sorry to the people who were affected.” Those remarks came in the wake of reports of workplace misconduct at “The Ellen DeGeneres Show.”

Viewers tuned in for the apology: This year’s season opener had the highest ratings for an “Ellen” premiere in four years. And then they tuned out. “Ellen” has lost more than a million viewers since September, according to the research firm Nielsen, averaging 1.5 million viewers over the last six months, down from 2.6 million in the same period last year.

The decline has come at a time when workplace behavior, in Hollywood and elsewhere, has come under intense scrutiny against a backdrop of protest and social change. It is a startling setback for one of daytime television’s most successful franchises and for Ms. DeGeneres, who was at the forefront of an earlier cultural shift when, as the star of a prime-time network sitcom in the 1990s, she announced that she is gay.

The show’s loss of more than a million viewers translates to a 43 percent decline, representing a steeper drop than any of its competitors. This TV season, “Ellen,” the winner of dozens of Emmys since its start in 2003, is no longer in the same league as traditional rivals like “Dr. Phil” (3.1 million) and “Live: With Kelly and Ryan” (2.7 million). Now it finds itself uncomfortably close to shows hosted by Maury Povich (1.4 million), Kelly Clarkson (1.3 million), Rachael Ray (1.2 million), Tamron Hall (1.1 million) and Jerry Springer’s former security guard Steve Wilkos (1.1 million).

The loss of viewers includes a 38 percent decline in her core audience, adult women under 54, according to Nielsen. And it appears to have put a dent in the show’s ad revenue. From September to January of the 2019-20 season, “Ellen” brought in $131 million from advertisers, according to the research firm Kantar. That has fallen to $105 million for the same period in 2020-21, a drop of about 20 percent.

Ms. DeGeneres, 63, has publicly mused on the possibility of leaving the show in recent years, and the spotlight on her workplace troubles has added to the questions about her future. Her talk-show contract runs through next year. Warner Bros., the division of AT&T’s WarnerMedia that produces “Ellen,” confirmed that the show would return for a 19th season in September, after her usual summer hiatus. A spokeswoman for Ms. DeGeneres declined to comment when asked if the 2021-22 television season would be her last.

“‘The Ellen DeGeneres Show’ remains one of the top three highest-rated syndicated talk shows this season,” David McGuire, an executive vice president of programming at Telepictures, a Warner Bros. subsidiary, said in a statement. He suggested other reasons for the decline, like changing viewing habits during the pandemic.

“While broadcast is down across the board and Covid has been challenging for production, we are looking forward to bringing back our live audiences and a 19th season filled with all of the hilarious and heartwarming moments that have made ‘Ellen’ one of the longest running and most successful talk shows in history,” he added.

Whether or not the next season of “Ellen” is its last, WarnerMedia and Ms. DeGeneres are together for the long haul. In 2019, the company made a deal with her to produce four programs for its HBO Max streaming platform, including a home-design challenge series; a dating show; an animated show, “Little Ellen”; and a documentary series on inventors made in conjunction with the Albert Einstein estate. (In another deal, she recently signed a multiyear pact with Discovery to produce natural history documentaries and series.)

Public perception of Ms. DeGeneres started to change in July when BuzzFeed reported that several of the show’s former and current staff members said they had confronted “racism, fear and intimidation” on the set. Several staff members also said producers had sexually harassed them. Warner Bros. investigated the workplace and found “deficiencies.” Three high-level producers were fired, including Ed Glavin, an executive producer; Jonathan Norman, a co-executive producer; and Kevin Leman, the head writer. Ms. DeGeneres apologized to her staff before addressing her viewers in September.

Some observers believe the accusations may have weakened Ms. DeGeneres’s relationship with her audience. The host built her show as an oasis from the outside world, a place of goofy dancing, light jokes, cash giveaways to surprised audience members and high-wattage celebrity guests. Several years ago, she adopted “be kind” as her motto, in response to the suicide of Tyler Clementi, a gay college student who took his own life after being bullied.

“Her brand is not just being fairly nice — it is ‘Be Kind,’” said Stephen Galloway, the dean of Chapman University’s Dodge College of film and media arts. “She’s chosen two words to stamp herself. You cannot have hypocrisy better defined than when you’ve chosen those two words to define yourself and everyone is seeing the opposite is true inside your show.

“The reason the incident with the producers was such a difficult and perilous moment is it’s the first time where something surfaced to indicate that a family — Ellen’s own professional family — was dysfunctional,” he continued.

Ms. DeGeneres referred to her motto in her on-air apology. “Being known as the Be Kind Lady is a tricky position to be in,” she said. “So let me give you some advice. If anyone is thinking of changing their title or giving yourself a nickname, do not go with the Be Kind Lady.” She added that she was indeed the cheerful person she appeared to be on television, but was also someone who experienced moments of sadness, anxiety and impatience.

In addition to her daytime show, Ms. DeGeneres is also a prime-time star for NBC — and her show for that network, “Ellen’s Game of Games,” also a Warner production, has lost 32 percent of its viewers this season, as well as 35 percent in the adult demographic important to advertisers.

Even with the complications affecting all talk shows during the pandemic, “Ellen,” with its loss of 43 percent of its audience, has suffered a steeper decline than its rivals. “Dr. Phil” is down 22 percent, and “The Kelly Clarkson” show has lost 26 percent of its viewers. Kelly Ripa and Ryan Seacrest’s show has just lost 3 percent, and “Tamron Hall” is down 9 percent.

Ms. DeGeneres beat the odds to make her show a success. There is a television graveyard filled with the comics, actors, anchors and reality stars who have taken a crack at syndicated talk shows only to be yanked off the air because of low ratings. And when “Ellen” premiered, she also had to overcome the hesitancy of affiliate managers who thought an openly gay person could not connect with the women who make up most of the daytime audience. Her quick wit and approachable manner earned her millions of fans and ultimately a plum late-afternoon slot in most markets. As recently as a few years ago, the show was drawing roughly three million viewers an episode.

As Ms. DeGeneres fights through a loss in popularity, she has turned to celebrity friends to help her make the case that there is not much difference between the on-camera Ellen and the real Ellen. When Michelle Obama was a virtual guest last week, she spoke warmly about the time she went to Ms. DeGeneres’s house and they played a piano duet together. A video clip of the pair at the piano was shown.

Another recent guest, Jennifer Garner, also appearing remotely, raced to her hotel room balcony at the host’s request to tell passers-by how much she adored Ms. DeGeneres. “I love her!” Ms. Garner shouted. “She’s kind! She’s a humanitarian! She loves animals!”

By John Koblin

The post Ellen DeGeneres Loses 1 Million Viewers After Apologies for Toxic Workplace appeared first on New York Times.

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magnesiaandlemonjuice · 4 years ago

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Friday 22 December 1826

7 1/4

11 50/60

the magnesia does very well for me, not acting too much like medicine - In my salon at 8 5/60 - fine morning finished dressing - at my desk at 8 55/60 - finished my letter to Miss MacLean (vide yesterday) wrote the 2nd end and much under the seal, and a few lines across one end, all very small and close - what I extracted yesterday took up about the latter 1/3 page 1 and 1/2 page 2 - the following is about 1 or nearly 2/3 of page 3 after promising to write regularly I go on to observe

‘you give me no hope of seeing you here - you doubt whether you should like Paris in ‘my way’ as I do - what way is that? Perhaps you mistake it a little - I am sensible of the merits of the place for edification, and amusement, and salubrity, and the general purposes of living in all the comfort that money can purchase - but I am patriot still, and British to the bone - were it not for my aunt, I should have no thought of settling here - But what can I do? we sometimes talk of going farther south - The question is whether, when it comes to the part, my aunt can bear the journey? - I know not what to think - On leaving England and on arriving here, her life seemed not worth 1/2 a years purchase - Since writing to you last, she has changed so wonderfully for the better, she may continue for a dozen years - The climate has been of very great service, and till this last day or 2, she was really as she said, quite well - Even now that she cannot walk about quite so well, it seems merely a temporary effect of the weather - we had had a little sleet and drizzling rain all the morning, the 1st time we have had the 1st appearance of snow in its smallest shape - One might have hitherto walked, and sat out in the Tuileries gardens every day excepting 1 or 2 rainy days - and one might indeed, have walked there well enough this afternoon - I was not aware of having given you to understand that, in the event of anything happening to my aunt, I should positively and immediately return to England - She has desired to be interred here; and this might, or might not, according to circumstances, make so little difference - Be this as it might, you would probably see me soon - At present, however, I have not, as before, this to muse upon; for my aunt, tho’ very infirm, appears in no sort of danger - It is extraordinary that my 2 letters should give such opposite accounts - but such is the fact, a fact certainly beyond my calculation when I wrote to you last - ‘I am happy MacDonald still pleases’ - this sentence struck me at the time, and strikes me now - were we on terms more formal, I should still be cautious what I replied to this, grateful always for the Trouble you took for me; but, as it is, I shall write exactly what I think at present - It was difficult to find such a person as we wanted, without some fault or other, or if not a fault, some failing in what we wished for - I begrudge spending much paper on such a subject, especially as, on the whole, we go on pretty well - My aunt sometimes complains of carelessness on the part of MacDonald, and that she seems as if she did not always know what she was about - there are 2 things I have never named to my aunt, Miss Reed’s last letter (on her return from Bath) and a circumstance that occurred at Shibden - I have more than once spoken seriously to MacDonald I abominate what looks like prevarication and since a talkathon last Monday, I have had less confidence in her than ever - Her head is certainly not clear at all times - whether she has any thing on her mind, or any thing in her blood to confuse it, I know not - She is always very obliging, and cooks for us very nicely, and can do quite well for my aunt - Had she never the appearance of being so oddly confused, she might be invaluable - I shall probably speak to her no more - She is not in my province - Enough - It is probable you do not give me much credit for knowing how to manage woman servants - Mrs Lawton could no more understand her than myself - Perhaps if you were here, you might excuse us both - But breathe not a word of all this - we shall go on as we do, - well enough - and you shall give me a practical lesson 1 of these days in housekeeping, which, by the way, pothers me not a little just now’ -

….. Breakfast at 10 20/60, read about 1/2 the paper, and had done all the above of today at 11 1/4 - ‘How do you and Mr Lawton agree? ‘I thought you did not at all like him’ there was a time when we did not agree; but we both thought better of it, and agreed to agree in future - He does not like York, so never goes there’ - Say we shall change our apartment - on account of ‘a kitchen 2 stories above us - bells that the servants cannot hear &c [etcetera] &c [etcetera]’ - altogether a very long, kind letter - sent it off at 11 1/2 to ‘Miss Maclean of Coll, Tobermory, N.B. Ecosse’ - Settled my accounts - dawdling over 1 thing or other - took George and went out at 1 3/4 - went to the potshop rue Saint Honoré numero 357. ask 5/. for basket panier de couteaux rue du marché Saint Honoré Numero 42. the woman asked George 3/. for it the other day - asked me 1/50, and I could get it for no less but could have had the other set for 1/25 at another shop merchancer the rue neuve des petit champs when I bought the large vegetable basket sometime since - thence to Bertaud rue neuve des petit champs Numero 33 - nice little pot of marmalade oil abricots very good à 1/50, but did not buy it - Roquefort cheese 2/. a lb very good - from de Parma (Parmesan) 2/40 a lb - thence to Berthellemot Palais royal for bonbons - Chinois &c [etcetera] 6/. a lb. all things of this kind 6/. a lb - said I had paid only 5/. - they declared it could not be - bonbons 6, 8, 10, 12/. a lb. - they said at last ‘nous arrangerons’, but I walked off determined to try elsewhere - bonbons 8, 10 and 12/. in the rue de Richelieu - just before coming to Saint Roch very nice figs in a little box at 2/. a lb. might have the box for 3/. allowing 2oz for the weight of the box - stopt at no. 334 and bought the plaqué tea-pot (vide line 7 page 60) for 29/. then got a little porcelaine sucrier à l’Anglais made me 1/75 tho’ only asked me 1/50 in the morning and another blue finger glass at the cheating pot-shop Numero 357 (rue Saint Honoré) and then some oranges and marrons, numero 353, and sent George home - I called at Melleriod about the plate, and bought some bombons à 8/. à la Belle Angelique Numero 25 Boulevard des Italiens - the boy followed me home with them - came upstairs at 4 - Dawdling over 1 thing or other (seeing that my money was right) till 4 20/60 then thro’ the gardens to the Faubourg Saint Germain to order wine chez meurice Numero 21 rue des petit pères - went up the rue des augustins almost to the end of the street then turned back a got right - ordered 2 dozen macon for the servants at 1/05, and 1 dozen for ourselves (red Beaune) and 1 bottle white Beaune à 2/. a bottle and 1 bottle Champaigne à 4/. and 1 ditto Bordeaux Lafitte à 4/. to come tomorrow morning - Got home (thro’ the place du carrousel) at 5 1/4 - Dawdling over 1 thing or other till dinner exactly at 6 - shewed the teapot &c [etcetera] - she hoped 1 could afford it - on telling the cost she was satisfied -

on speaking afterwards of the dessert she said it was all for Mrs B I said I would have as much every day for only myself with my own consent and if π [Mariana] came and I hoped she would manage it so we might have nine plates of dessert without costing very much my aunt only hoped that what ever I did I should manage to have a few franks for her to go out airing in the summer I said this sstruck me exceedingly she should always have as many franks for this purpose as she chose I would order no more about the table I had meant to agree for her to have the carriage twice a week it was she who prevented me she saw she hat touched a tender cord and began to lament her always ssaying what she thought it was all for my sake and she was crying but I told her what she had said she would know must strike me if she thought about it a minute I would rather go without dessert all my life than abridge her of the carriage or anything else I would rather be hundred more in debt she dried up her tears and we talked of macd our now frequent subject thought I to myself well no more thought beyond what is absolutely necessary I will save my money said I would not interfere about the table I see I had best make up my mind to a little more hugger mugger than necessary to enter into society it out of the question remember save my money and do not fidget my aunt by attention to desserts and appearances of this ssort I had thought of getting better teacups I shall give it up and will spend as little as I can begged my aunt to order the carriage whenever she liked - but we were very harmonious afterwards -

at Michel’s this morning as my eye casually glanced over the order book I saw an order for the Tasburghs rue Royal Numero 13 - from 9 1/4 to 10 wrote the last 38 lines - wrote a little note this morning to Mrs Barlow to ask her to order more charcoal for us. George took the note after leaving me - the charbonier chanced to call this evening to inquire if we wanted any - ordered it for tomorrow - we consume a sack i.e. 12 boisseaus in 3 weeks - charcoal 9/. charbonier for bringing 14 or 15 sols - made minutes of what I have to go tomorrow. no time to settle my accounts tonight - go to my room at 10 1/2 very fine day - O [two dots, marking discharge]

extraordinary my cousin does not come ought to have been with me wednesday week -

[Margin] ver[y] fine mild morn[in]g F40 at 8 1/4 a.m. 44o at 12 1/2 p.m. 41o - 6 - - - 10 1/2 -

SH:7/ML/E/10/0033 & SH:7/ML/E/10/0034

#December1826 #AnneLister #GentlemanJack #AnneListerCodeBreaker

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you-guys--are-losers · 5 years ago

Note

I need a fic of MJ confused bc she feel good with both Brad and Peter but then Peter did something to get her mad and Brad ask her out she accepts but then she realized she is falling for Peter but hide her feelings till Ned set them up

//Well, I am happy to comply! I had a really good time writing this, and I am really pleased that this is gonna be the first bit of purely-FFH-inspired work that I’m posting. Here goes, and I hope that everyone enjoys!

an informed decision

summary: mj isn’t the type of person to lead herself on, so she is able to recognize her limits and be realistic in the face of an unrequited, confusing crush. but not every opportunity is worth taking, and it’s up to mj to allow her experience to help her make a choice about what she wants.

characters: michelle jones x peter parker, brad davis, ned leeds x betty brant, flash thompson, mr. harrington

word count: 4,361

warnings: a little bit of angst, awkward crushes, teenage confusion, the works

MJ’s crush on Peter Parker has been around for so long that, when something finally changes, she has no idea how to proceed

She isn’t sure exactly when it starts, but there’s definitely a change: he talks to her more, for one thing, and she’s never seen Peter this interested in decathlon

Sometimes, she’ll even walk up to Peter and Ned, and they’ll stop talking suddenly in a very suspicious way

But the really big thing that MJ notices is that sometimes when she turns instinctively to glance at Peter, she’ll find him already looking at her

MJ knows that someone else in her shoes would feel something positive: excitement, maybe, or at least satisfaction that she’s not the only one being observant

But the problem is that MJ can’t let herself feel those things

Her mind is much too loud and confused for that

For one, MJ isn’t sure that the reason he’s watching her is that he feels the same

Maybe he just figured out that she has a crush on him, and now he feels bad for her, and basically this whole thing is Peter Parker being a literal puppy and pitying her

That thought hurts, but MJ reminds herself that it’s much more likely than the alternative

But however much panic the thought induces, it’s a lot better than the thoughts she gets whenever she considers that he might like her back

Because if he does?

MJ is even more vulnerable than she ever has been before, and she is facing the terrifying thought of having to actually let someone in

In the wake of the Blip, the mind game of it all is enough to drive MJ a little bit crazy

There’s already a ton to think about: the Europe trip coming up that she somehow has to pay for, the fact that she returned to a family who thought they were done with children, and now that she’s back there’s nothing there for her, the endless craziness of facing college and the future after five years of being dead and having to enter a completely different pool of competition

And now, on top of all of that, she has to think about Peter Parker and his confusing mixed signals

She manages for a little while, at least– there are the weeks leading up to the trip, and through these, the stupid grin she sees so often on Peter’s face is enough to counterbalance the chaos of it all

But as they get ready to board the plane, it all seems to be a little bit much

First, there’s Brad, and the fact that they’re both on the trip together makes him a little bit bolder

She’s caught him looking at her once or twice before, so it’s nothing too shocking, but all the help with her luggage and the casual jokes and the quick glances are an unexpected development, and one that she’s not quite sure how to deal with

And then there’s the fact that, as soon as they get on the plane, Peter has to be all freaking confusing again

She catches him staring as she puts her things away, which she guesses isn’t that different from being home

But then, after MJ is all situated and ready to spend the plane ride with the several true-crime novels she has in her carry-on, there’s a stir in the seats where Ned and Peter are, and in the space of a few minutes Peter’s developed a “perfume allergy”

MJ has no idea where that one is coming from, especially because she had specifically heard Peter and Ned having conversations about what perfumes Liz wore during Peter’s thing for her sophomore year

Is it a ploy by Ned to get next to Betty, maybe?

MJ isn’t sure, but what she does know is that it only adds to her confusion, and for a moment she gets her hopes up and thinks that maybe it has to do with her

The reality of it all, though, is that it only moves Peter further away, and suddenly MJ is sitting next to Brad

“Hi,” he greets her, and MJ looks him up and down for a moment

“Um, hey,” she replies after a second, sparing him a small smile

For a moment, the two of them lapse into an awkward silence, and then he offers her a little shrug

“So, it’s gonna be a long flight, huh?” he muses, glancing down at his watch and then back at her

“Yeah,” she confirms, eyes not leaving his face, “I mean, we are going across an ocean.”

“I’ve never been the biggest fan of planes,” Brad admits, running a hand through his hair

“But then, I guess a good seat partner can make all the difference, huh?”

MJ can tell that the smile he offers is supposed to get a reaction out of her, but this doesn’t feel like any crush she’s had in the past

It’s not particularly wild or unsettling; in fact, MJ mostly feels a calm, collected sort of hesitation as she looks at him, considering him in her thoughts

He’s not her first choice, that’s for sure, and he never really has been; Brad is a bit too… much, sometimes, and he’s a little bit too perfect

He’s nice enough, though, so MJ decides that she’s not going to be a complete jerk

“Yeah, I guess so,” she agrees, allowing her posture to relax slightly as she buckles her seatbelt, letting out a breath

Giving someone new a shot couldn’t hurt, right?

It’s not a bad decision to keep her options open

That’s why, when Brad offers to share his headphone jack with her, MJ says yes, and then they launch into a long stretch of comedy movies that effectively drowns out MJ’s confusion for a little while

That all changes, though, when MJ has to get up after her third plane-provided ginger ale

Because as the locked bathroom door opens, she finds herself face-to-face with Peter Parker

And before she even has a chance to make some stupid quip, Peter has slammed the door in her face

MJ blinks several times, staring at the door with her brain moving a mile a minute

And, through the flurry of feelings, one finally manages to surface as the dominant one: frustration

Some of it is with Peter, sure

Why does he have to be so confusing, all the time? Why does he have to make her heart skip a million beats a minute whenever she catches him looking her way, and why does he have to be the way he is?

He’s made her past few months even more confusing than they needed to be in the wake of literally coming back from the dead, and MJ has had enough of the second guessing and the constant overthinking that he’s caused her

But more than that, she’s frustrated with herself

Because if all of this is because he knows she likes him, then she’s the one making him uncomfortable with unwanted advances, and that’s, like, breaking half the rules of feminism right

And, more than anything, she’s the one who can’t seem to pull herself out of her own head

So, after using the bathroom at the front of the plane instead of the one in the back, MJ resolves herself that when Brad returns from his own bathroom trip, she’s going to focus on what’s ahead of her instead of what’s behind

Or, in this case, what’s sitting right next to her

For the rest of the plane ride, this does not turn out to be the worst decision she’s made

Sure, Brad is a bit vanilla for her liking, but then MJ doesn’t really have anything against some good vanilla bean ice cream

He’s playful, and he’s kind enough, and sure she could get her suitcase down by herself (and kind of wants to, since she’s got the books inside stacked in a very specific formation and he might disrupt it), but there’s no harm in it, and it’s the thought that counts

Right?

Over the next couple days after they arrive in Venice, MJ allows herself to spend a little more time with Brad

It’s harmless, she reasons, and it’s trying to explore things a little bit

After all, she’s had this crush on Peter since her freshman year, and then another six years if you count the time she spent dead

So it’s healthy, she decides, to experiment a little bit, test how she feels with Peter Parker out of the equation

Or at least as far out of the equation as he can be

Because, even though MJ is talking more with Brad and letting him make her laugh, she still catches herself looking at Peter every so often out of instinct

And, when she does, it always makes her heart race a little bit to find him looking back at her

This, she decides, is all the more reason to figure out who she is on her own

Sure, she’s talking to Brad, and when he makes the suggestion of maybe hanging out a little bit on their own after they get back, she doesn’t exactly say no

But what she doesn’t admit to Brad is that none of this is really about him, or even Peter Parker

MJ is making the decision to remove herself, a little bit, from the situation that has kept her on her toes for months now, and she’s doing it for her

Still, the more she tries to focus on the present, the more observant of Peter Parker MJ finds herself

As they spend their time in Venice, she can’t help but notice him ducking off at a lot of strange moments

Sure, she knows about his little arachnoid problem, but even at home he isn’t normally this busy with it

So why on earth would it be a problem in Europe, where there’s no neighborhood for him to protect?

But it’s not just spidering stuff

Because MJ, for the first time since she’s decided to step back from everything, finds herself having a playful conversation with Peter while they walk around, and something about it seems too easy

He’s quick, and he keeps up with her thought process in a way that would take loads of explaining to Brad, and more than anything, he doesn’t try to fit her into any boxes or labels

It’s definitely some added confusion, so MJ finds herself grateful for the distraction when their tour is upgraded and they are tossed onto a bus the next morning

At least, until she finds out that her seat has been chosen for her

MJ has just finished putting her things away when she finds Brad sitting across the aisle, gesturing vehemently to her

And, though MJ knows it should feel good, something about it is a little draining

MJ takes the seat next to him, answering his cheerful, “What’s up?” with a noncommittal shrug

As soon as she takes her phone out to glance at the time, he does the same

“So, what do you wanna do for the ride?” Brad asks

The question makes it sound like they’re in it together, and suddenly MJ is slightly more self-conscious of her plans to dissect a few more books on the journey

“Uh, I mean, I was gonna try to get through this,” she admits, gesturing down at her book

Is that the first time she’s ever pretended to be anything but enthusiastic about reading?

“Oh, nice!” Brad responds, offering a little grin

MJ is relieved that the conversation seems to be over, but then he’s talking again

“So, what’s it about?”

“Um, a series of killings in some woods back in the US.”

“Oh, cool! So who did it?”

“That’s the thing. No one’s really sure.”

“Oh. So are you trying to figure it out?”

“I mean, I have some thoughts. But I kind of like the open ending.”

“Wait, so you don’t wanna know who did it?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it. I just like the ambiguity of it.”

“But, I mean, someone did do it.”

“Well, yeah.”

“So is it really ambiguous if there is a definitive answer?”

“It is unless someone figures it out, which isn’t likely.”

“Oh.”

He does seem to quiet down after this so that she can get to reading her book, and Brad settles into fiddling on his phone

MJ gets in a bit of good reading time, then, and at their stop in Austria stop she even manages to go to use the restroom without Brad offering to accompany her

As they get back to the train, though, a change seems to have come over him, and it’s not a good one

As soon as MJ slides into the seat next to him, Brad settles into silence and begins to rifle through his phone

It’s the kind of silence meant to demand attention, however, complete with furtive glances in her direction; MJ does not plan on making any attempts to get information out of him, though– it’s not her style

Instead, she finds herself noticing a commotion with Peter

Flash seems to be harassing him over a pair of sunglasses, and between glances, MJ watches as Peter literally punches Flash, evidently on accident

MJ finds herself hiding a smirk in response to that, but she can’t seem to fully surrender to the mirth while Peter looks so panicked

In fact, she knows something is up when Peter desperately focuses on getting ahold of the glasses while getting in trouble with Mr. Harrington

Something is wrong, and, as MJ looks at Peter Parker, she realizes that he’s different than Brad

With Brad, she knows what’s going on in his mind, for the most part

He’s a very open person, which is healthy, she supposes, but it also takes out any interest MJ might have in trying to figure out how his brain works

Peter is the opposite

Because, even though it’s business that doesn’t involve her, MJ wants to understand what’s going on in his mind, and more than anything she wants to help

After the ruckus has settled down, MJ has a lot to think about

It doesn’t help that, from her side, Brad insists that he has some information on Peter that she needs to know, then goes searching through his phone again for it

“I promise, it’s here, I just need to look in a few more folders-”

He comes up blank, but Brad insists to MJ that Peter isn’t who she thinks he is

It takes all of MJ’s self-restraint not to say, “No shit,” but she manages to keep quiet as Brad searches for whatever dirt he has on Peter

It is then, on the bus to Prague, that MJ knows two things for certain

#1: Jealousy is not a good color on Brad Davis

And #2: Maybe the risks and complications involved with Peter Parker are worth the while

They arrive at the hotel in Prague that night, and MJ finds herself surrounded by an incredible amount of history and luxury, and with her own room nonetheless

They have a few hours to themselves, so MJ takes advantage of them and uses the time to take her time unpacking, to have a warm shower, and to wrap her mind around the events of the last few days, all while ignoring the numerous texts of Brad Davis

By the time she is done processing it, MJ is certain: the constant moving around on the trip has something to do with whatever has Peter running all over Europe in spandex

And, now that she’s had some time to think about it all, MJ knows that she wants to understand it

She tries not to think about her feelings for Peter; they’re complicated, and they’re extra work, and they’re risky enough to send her stomach jumping

So, for now, it’s better to just focus on the changing schedule: she wants to know what is happening, and why, and MJ is going to figure it out

She is fully prepared for this by the time that the group meets in the lobby after changing for the festival, and MJ knows exactly what it means when Mr. Harrington informs them that they’ve been given tickets at the opera

Though the rest of the group grumbles over being inside on one of the year’s most beautiful nights, MJ holds tight to the new nugget of knowledge she’s just received:

Whatever has been going on?

The next part of the saga is going down tonight

MJ tries to focus on this, but it’s a bit difficult as they all walk through the crowd to the opera house

Especially because, as MJ looks at Peter, she finds him staring at her with a stupid, dopey expression that sends her heart fluttering

As her eyes meet his on the way into the building, MJ’s chest hammers like a tom-tom, and that’s when a thought she’s been repressing for some time finally crosses her mind for the first time

Maybe, just maybe, it’s worth giving this a chance.

“You look really pretty.”

His stupid voice breaks MJ away from her thoughts as they enter the theatre, and she pauses as she turns to face him

Though MJ manages to keep her face straight, she is pretty sure that a written transcript of the thoughts in her head would look something like “?!?!?!??!”

She was expecting the same sort of thing that had been going on for the past month: some glances, weird, little smiles, maybe even a conversation about the stupidity of the plot

But this?

This serves as an encouragement of the feelings that have been brewing in MJ’s chest for literal years, and it’s exactly the surreal sort of moment that makes her question whether or not she’s dreaming

MJ knows that, though her mind is racing, she needs to keep her cool

“Therefore I have value?”

MJ arches an eyebrow as the question leaves her lips, scanning the face of the slightly shorter boy opposite her

He’s done his best to smooth those soft, brown curls that she likes so much, and his earnest eyes are completely focused on her

They widen into a shocked expression that sends another twinge of panicked admiration through her chest, and MJ struggles to repress her amusement as he attempts to recover

“No, no,” he stammers, voice rising in pitch, “that’s not what I meant at all, I was just-”

MJ can’t keep back a grin then, and for once, she doesn’t try to hide her smile as she replies, “I’m messing with you.”

His eyes widen, and the relieved smile that slowly takes over his face is an expression that MJ decides she is going to commit to memory as she adds, “Thank you.”

He stays silent for a moment, though, and MJ knows what she wants to say

Actually saying it, though, is going to take a bit more courage

So, after steeling herself, MJ cocks her head slightly to the side and murmurs, “You look pretty, too.”

The moment might have stretched on longer, but Ned and Betty begin to fawn over the opera glasses from a short distance away, and Peter and MJ both turn to look

As they look over the glasses, MJ finds a persistent thought dancing in her head, and as she glances back at Peter she knows what she wants

“Want to go in on a pair?”

The suggestion leaves her lips before she gives herself a chance to pull it back, and MJ hates how nervous it sounds

Luckily, she can find some consolation in the fact that Peter looks just as nervous as she does when he looks back at her, but she can see the pleasure the suggestion brings him as well

He looks to the seats, then back at her, and the little smile that grows on Peter’s lips is enough to cause MJ to hold her breath

“You mean, uh, sit next to each other?” he confirms, and the stupid grin on Peter Parker’s frog mouth is making it far too difficult to think

“Yeah,” MJ replies, the word coming out in a constricted voice as she fights to stay composed through the awkwardness

For a minute, Peter stares back at her, and MJ can’t help but think that the strange sort of awe in his eyes should not be allowed in public because it is far too disconcerting

Before she can get too caught up in the thought, though, Peter says something she was not anticipating

“No?”

MJ knows her face is falling, and she quickly retreats back into herself

Right, right

This was a bad idea, and she was pushing it a little too far anyway, she tells herself, so it’s cool

She just needs to get through this conversation and then she can go regret it in her mind in silence

“Okay… No,” MJ repeats, taking a step back as she averts her gaze

“No, you don’t wanna sit next to me, or… No, you just don’t want the glasses?”

She doesn’t know why she bothers confirming it, but she does know that the widening of Peter’s eyes does not seem to fit the situation, so she allows herself a glimmer of hope

Peter fumbles with something in his ear, and MJ tries not to get too optimistic about the situation as she realizes maybe, just maybe this has something to do with his bugsuit issues

“No, I-I didn’t mean that,” Peter confirms quickly, and MJ feels herself relaxing slightly

“I, uh… If you go ahead, I’ll go grab us a pair.”

MJ tries to keep her smile from spreading, but it’s a bit difficult, so she offers him a quick nod as she breathes, “Okay,” in a tone that is a bit too relieved

MJ keeps her cool as she walks down the aisle, moving to settle in next to Ned and Betty

The couple is busy fawning over one another, and MJ is glad that they are caught up in their own little world as she fixes her eyes on the closed curtain

It gives her time to process what just happened…

Because she just asked Peter Parker to sit by her, and he just said yes

After several minutes, though Peter hasn’t returned, and MJ finds herself wrestling with the same confusing thoughts that followed her around in Queens

Maybe, she tells herself, she made him uncomfortable by asking him to sit with her, and maybe he wasn’t sure how to react

But this time, as she thinks about it, something is different

Because, as MJ replays his reaction in her head, she knows that the hope in his eyes when she suggested it was not the response he would have had if he felt bad for her

It’s what he would have done if he felt the same

A few minutes later, Ned turns to her after a brief time spent on his phone, and she can practically see the gears turning in Peter’s best friend’s head as he starts talking

“Look, uh, that was Peter, on the phone,” Ned says, gesturing to his device, “and he’s not… He’s not feeling well.”

“Really?” MJ presses, raising an eyebrow

Her confident persona, now that Peter is gone, has returned, and she fixes Ned with a piercing look as she presses, “He was fine a minute ago.”

“Yeah, uh, he came down with a really bad case of…”

Ned trails off for a moment, glancing at her as if to see whether or not she’s paying attention; MJ fixes him with a sweet smile to let him know he’s not getting off the hook that easily

“…Uh, the runs?” Ned finishes, and the poor excuse sends MJ’s heart soaring

Because, as both MJ and Ned know, Peter Parker is absolutely fine, and MJ was right: whatever is going on with Spider-Man, tonight is the culmination

For a moment, MJ just rides that dopamine, letting it settle in:

She was right.

She’s been right for a long, long time

As the curtain rises and the lights fall, Ned manages to figure out what he’s saying, though

“But he wanted me to let you know he’s sorry, and, uh, he was really looking forward to spending time with you.”

That part, MJ knows now, isn’t a lie

The show is beginning, and as she glances over to her side, she finds Brad moving to sit next to her

“You deserve better than that,” he tells her in a ferocious whisper, and MJ studies him for a moment with a sharp, unrelenting gaze

She can tell, by the way Brad is looking at her, that he thinks he’s some sort of hero

He’s swooping in to save the damsel, determined to defend MJ’s pride and to “make it up to her,” healing all of the collective wounds he sees as being caused by Peter

But, as MJ looks at him, she knows now what’s wrong with Brad Davis: he’s been missing the point

Because, even if Peter had intentionally toyed with her feelings, it wouldn’t be Brad’s job to fix her

MJ doesn’t need fixing, and she doesn’t need anyone going through the work of making her understood

MJ doesn’t need anything

But she wants acceptance, to be seen for who she is and respected for it, and that’s not something that Brad can give her

So, after a moment of beholding the boy sitting next to her, MJ stands up from her seat and slips into the aisle, walking up the stairs and out of the theatre

She can feel Brad’s eyes on her back, as well as the gazes of some of her classmates, but MJ can’t bring herself to care

Because this is about so much more than some school trip

This is MJ choosing Peter Parker, and not because of his feelings, but because of her own

This is MJ going into the night, in pursuit of what she wants

This?

This is MJ making an informed decision.

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doctor243 · 5 years ago

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The Girl Who Cried Wolf Chapter 8

I question myself when rereading this chapter.

Summary: 5 times MJ says ‘I love you’ and 1 time Peter says it back.

Characters: Michelle Jones, Peter Parker

“Got it Jake?” MJ asked with her arms crossed.

“Yeah,” the large footballer grinned gleefully. “Prom and then paper.”

“Exactly,” she sniffed, satisfied.

“Oh my gosh, this is actually really exciting,” Jake gushed. “You guys ware gonna be so cute.”

“Oh please,” MJ rolled her eyes before spotting the Love of her Life. “Okay shut up here he comes. BABE!!”

She flung herself at Peter with as much gusto as she could muster and wrapped her arms around his neck like an octopus.

“Play along and I’ll make you cookies for a week,” she growled in his ear. “Don’t, and watch me make your life a living hell.”

She heard him gulp nervously and concluded that he’d made the right choice. She could feel his heart pounding against his chest and, therefore, hers. Once she was satisfied that he was afraid, she released him and turned around.

“Sorry Jake,” she cooed, congratulating herself on how genuinely fake she sounded. “I know what I promised, but I don’t think my boyfriend will be very happy if I don’t take him to prom.”

“Wha-prom??” Peter squeaked, but MJ shushed him.

“I know,” MJ sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. “But it was before us, I swear!”

“Um-”

“You goddamn bitch!” ‘Jake’ yelled, garnering unwanted attention from surrounding students. His demeanour had completely changed from the teddy bear persona he’d emanated earlier. “You made a deal.”

She felt Peter stiffen for a quick second before he slipped out of her arms and positioned himself strategically in front of her.

“Whooaaah whoa whoa whoa,” he interjected, throwing his hands into the air. “What’s going on?”

“Your girlfriend here promised that I could take her to Prom if I did our science project by myself,” Jake growled out in reply. Good job Jake, MJ mused. Colour me impressed.

“That was last year!” MJ rolled her eyes. Never in her life would she imagine this to be so much fun.

“A deal is a deal, Jones,” he bit out. “Never took you for a liar.”

“Okay now listen here, Igor,” Peter stepped in. Oh no, MJ perked up. His Spider-Man is coming out.

“What the fuck did you call me?” Jake’s face was growing increasingly redder.

MJ had no idea whether Jake was just an outstanding thespian, or in fact enraged by Peter’s quips.

“I know you’re still hung up about things that happen in the past,” Peter continued, unperturbed. Peter, please stop. MJ pleaded mentally. “But you need to move on if you want to grow! Mind you, you should actually stay off the steroids, it might be hurting your brain.”

“You little shit-”

“But one day I’m sure, Hodor, you’ll come to realise that there’s so much more to life than forcing dates out of pretty girls and bullying people smaller than you.”

“My fucking name’s Jake!!”

“That’s what I said, Wun Wun,” Peter rolled his eyes. “C’mon, stay with me here. I’m trying-”

::::::

“MJ, I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean to take a swing at him, I just didn’t know how to-”

Jake was immediately apologetic to MJ, and was afraid he’d ruined her plan of taking Peter Parker to prom.

“Dude,” MJ scoffed. “It’s fine, he can take it.” He’s Spider-Man.

“I know, but I feel so bad, cuz he was just protecting you and being a nice guy.” The poor guy was still pulling out his hair.

“Hey, it worked didn’t it?” MJ smirked. “I got him to go to prom with me.”

“Why didn’t you just…ask him like normal people do?”

At that, MJ’s face fell a little. “Cuz he doesn’t like me like that, and he’d get all weird if I just outright asked him.”

Jakes expression softened into an amused smile. “Oh my dear Michelle Jones,” he whispered as she turned and left. “Ever so observant, and yet ever so blind.”

::::::

“I don’t appreciate that you called him Wun Wun,” MJ grumbled as she entered the roof deck of her apartment complex. She also didn’t want things to get so out of hand, but no one died, so that was a plus. Peter sat on the ledge of the roof, stuffing his face with a pout.

“What??” Peter exclaimed through a mouthful of cookies. “But he was being a dick!” She stared at his puffed-up face and indignant glare. It was strange to want to kiss someone so badly, yet here she was, staring at the crumbs on his face.

“I know, so don’t disrespect one of my favourite characters like that,” MJ smirked in response, passing him the ice pack and getting comfortable on the ledge.

Peter just grinned in response and accepted the ice pack, gingerly placing it on his bruised eye.

“Why didn’t you fight back anyways?” MJ grumbled as she hugged her knees, although honestly, she was glad he didn’t fight back. “You coulda trashed him - you’re fucking Spider-Man.”

“Language,” he warned.

“Okay Captain America,” she rolled her eyes, half tempted to push him off the roof. “You’re freaking Spider-Man. Better?”

“Much,” he grinned cheekily, before looking into the skyline. She opted to keep looking at his face, trying to drink in every detail and soothe her pounding heart. He was beautiful, even with that bruised eye and chocolate stained mouth.

“I don’t know,” he said after a while. “Probably for the same reason that I don’t fight back when Flash picks on me.”

MJ didn’t say anything, she knew he’d continue in his own time. She knew he was comfortable talking to her, and somehow, the favour was returned wholeheartedly.

“It probably sounds stupid,” he mumbled, grabbing another cookie. “But I mean, fighting fire with fire doesn’t actually work. Nobody became a better person because they got beaten down by someone stronger than them. Most people become bullies after they got bullied anyways.”

MJ shifted to take a cookie as well. She lived for moments like this, when Peter’s soul was revealed in his speech, not just his eyes. Moments where he wasn’t just cute or funny, but he was such a good person.

“And anyways,” he took a gulp of milk, “if they can’t pick on me, they’ll probably pick on someone who can’t take it, right?”

She didn’t answer, just reached over and took a sip of milk. And then she smiled at him.

Her heart felt as if it was going to explode, but she had to hold herself before she burst into song like a Disney princess. She smiled at him with as much hope and joy as she could muster, wishing with all her heart she could sweep him up into an embrace, and force another cookie into his mouth. She wanted to tell him she loved him, that he was the best person she knew, that moments where it was just the two of them was all the social interaction she would ever look forward to. But she couldn’t express her love, because he didn’t love her back, and anything that even remotely drifted past the boundaries of their platonic relationship could sink the ship, so she did the next best thing.

“I love you for using Game of Thrones references, though,” she smirked, eyes still pointed to the sky.

And there, her heart ached as she almost let slip her deepest secret, teasing it with revelation and tempting it into exposure. One day, she promised, one wonderful and blissful day, she would say it while looking at him square in the eyes, raw and stripped of all disguise. One day, she would say it true, and he would say it back. One day.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “I guess we’re going to prom?”

Previous Chapter: Here

Next Chapter: Here

Masterlist: Here

Tags: @you-guys--are-losers @spideychelleforever @spideychelleee @spidermaninlove @tonystarkissist @spideychellefics @spiderxboy @spideychelle-4-ever @spideyxchelle @thespideychellelibrary @here-be-spideychelle

#spideychelle #peter parker #spider-man #michelle jones #far from home #homecoming #mcu #marvel #game of thrones #fanfiction #5+1 #5+1 fic

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forasecondtherewedwon · 5 years ago

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On the Subject of Your Subject Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E/NSFW Word count: 5717

Spideychelle Week Day 6: College AU

Summary: MJ's spending her summer taking yet another art class, but it's not about the college credit, it's about the practice. She's considering how to fix a sketch when she overhears some classmates discussing their work. While the work might be their own, MJ hears enough to know that the subject most certainly is not. It's time for this art studio wallflower to stake a claim on Spider-Man.

MJ was very observant. It was one of the two things that had remained constant as time went by (faster all the time, she swore)―the other being the boyfriend she’d had since her junior year of high school. Right now, she was hoping it was the observing thing that was going to eventually get her a job. Oh, she was sure that the boyfriend could get her a job if she asked, but it would almost definitely require crippling overtime, a wardrobe full of metal, and a readiness to go starry-eyed with hero-worship at the mention of the name ‘Tony Stark.’ Or at least that was the cue she was getting from him. The boyfriend. Peter.

But the job, yeah. So, what she was doing didn’t exactly look like laying the foundation for steady employment right now, like, per say, but between the three years of college still ahead of her, bursaries, and some additional bankrolling from her mother the doctor, MJ was going to use art school to turn her detention caricatures into a career.

Something she’d observed since starting college was that not everybody wanted to be there. MJ found it totally disturbing (if not occasionally warranting a pity laugh) that so many people either barely showed up for classes or only showed up; in her opinion, the former were fledgling adults still acting like children and the latter were today’s youth already clocking in and out like weary middle-aged suits.

Meanwhile, she couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t get enough studio time. Couldn’t get enough of her ideas on paper. Enough charcoal under her fingernails. Enough standing behind a canvas until her feet ached, or curved with feral possessiveness around a drawing pad on her lap. Enough lines drawn and redrawn and redrawn and redrawn and redrawn.

So MJ had completed year one (her mom bought a very fancy cake that they ate with their feet up on the coffee table at home, using forks which neither of them could absolutely confirm were clean, since between an on-call doctor’s schedule and a student’s, nobody had exactly been on top of loading and emptying the dishwasher) and enrolled in a summer class. It was figure drawing, which, yes, she’d already taken as it was a mandatory class―arguably the class upon which all other art classes depended―but while figure drawing had finished with MJ, MJ had not finished with figure drawing. She felt that it was impossible to overlearn the basics, plus the professor she’d had the first time around had been a dick. In fact, MJ believed that there had not been a bigger dick known to humankind since Michelangelo got up close and personal with David.

The summer prof was a marked improvement. Less ego, more encouragement. More understanding, less likely to make MJ want to flip her easel and ram one of its legs up their… Warhol. And with fewer students enrolled during the warmer months, there were fewer classes running, and therefore more studio time, which she took gleeful advantage of, with a territorial staking-out of the best spot in the room and the nasty glare she sent towards people who were too friendly. She was gleeful on the inside.

Was that boyfriend mopey about her choosing the art life instead of spending her summer with him? Absolutely not. Peter had his own thing going on (this was how MJ downplayed the daily saving of lives). Besides, they found ways to see each other. Like how she bought the famous Spider-Man a hot dog in Central Park after he turned one end of the skipping ropes for a couple of kids playing Double Dutch. Or how he scared the bejesus out of her while she was painting alone in the studio and glanced around to see what was throwing a shadow on her canvas (just a dork waving at her through the window―a window on the fourth floor).

They had to be careful when Peter was in the suit; it wasn’t really safe for any of those freaks (‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes,’ or whatever) to make potentially skulking bad guys aware that they had less-than-super friends, kids, girlfriends, etc. Lucky for Peter, MJ was incredibly good at careful. It was worth it for the rest of the time that they got to be together without the suit.

The suit wasn’t her problem at the moment though. There was no article of clothing (pioneered by Tony Stark or otherwise) that was her problem. Actually, the lack of clothes was the problem, because she was hesitating, hand hovering over a nude sketch that she wanted to fix. MJ squinted. She just couldn’t see how. A trio of bohemians across the room sent up giggles like scattered pigeons and MJ closed her eyes in irritation. She opened them and stared at the sketch. Yeah, maybe she could stand to watch something else for a while.

With a little subtle angling, she created a line of sight to the other girls. Looked like two of them were clustered around the easel of the third. They were teasing her. Ah, but this particular student―MJ had observed―liked to be teased. It wasn’t the common mocking of the scholarship kid or the uninventive, elementary school, lunch money shakedown. It was that sunny, sticky teasing that left extroverts flushed from all the attention. Yuck.

MJ watched the three friends, studied their postures and dynamic. Everything was food for art. Reading their body language might help her sort out her difficulties with this sketch. She assessed them with her ears as well as her eyes; art might have been a largely visual experience for the viewer, but for her, shaping a piece in ways that could never be understood in the passing sweep of a gaze, it was multisensory. Peter might have taught her a little something about that. He claimed that she had her own enhancements, even without the super-biology.

From their words and the giddy pitch, it was obvious that they were tackling the same type of project that MJ was: a nude. She directed her face downward, towards her page, as she rolled her eyes. Art models were just people, not porn stars. Students at this level should really understand that, MJ felt. Giggling over a bared breast or the muscular indent of a man’s ass was amateurish.

She rolled her shoulders, trying to shrug off the judgement. Ok, maybe these three were inelegant twerps, but who said twerps couldn’t be art? If Dalí could find inspiration in a loaf of bread, then MJ could see how she progressed with a vapid, unoriginal muse. As long as her own work didn’t turn out derivative, the girls could present as clichéd a scene of immaturity as they pleased. MJ listened harder and let her grip loosen on her pencil. The lines would come when she was ready.

“You didn’t,” Girl One insisted.

“Of course she didn’t.” Ooh, bit more of a petty tone from Girl Two. “She just wants the attention. She can’t get the grades, so she’s hoping to cause enough of a scandal that her work is noticed and somebody pays big bucks for it. Who gives a fuck about a degree when some dude drops a million and puts you on the map?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that big of a deal,” said The Artist Herself. MJ blinked a few times in case any of that false modesty was airborne, keeping her eyes free of the irritants her ears couldn’t help but admit.

“Everyone’s going to freak,” Girl One squealed effervescently.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t stay quiet instead? Just keep this piece for myself or… maybe give it to him?”

“You can’t! This would be, like, a cultural phenomenon.”

Don’t get ahead of yourselves, MJ thought wryly.

Girl Two snorted, earning her a moment of approval from the observer.

“But no one’s even going to know it’s him,” the skeptic argued.

MJ frowned. All of their models this term had been female. Sure, it was reasonable that the artist could’ve had someone else pose for her―either professionally or casually (though MJ didn’t have that kind of relationship with any of her friends)―but it sounded like the girl’s plan A was to submit her piece as part of her coursework. That didn’t add up. Their instructor preferred that the students work from the same subject, one that the professor themselves was familiar with so that they could properly assess the fidelity of the rendering.

“They’ll know by the title,” The Artist Herself asserted.

“You’ll still have to give him a face, Mel.”

“It’s kind of avant-garde this way though, right?” Girl One’s comment was plenty chipper.

“It’s a copout,” Girl Two stated. “If you really slept with him and you’re prepared to tell the tale, you can’t just call the thing ‘Spider-Man in Repose’ and leave it at that.”

They carried on with their playful chatter, but MJ’s hearing had fuzzed out. What they were saying―that this art bitch had nailed her dork of a boyfriend―was impossible. She didn’t need to endorse the ridiculous claim by actually asking Peter if it was true. No, MJ wasn’t heartbroken or confused, she was angry. Didn’t they, any one of them, consider Spider-Man’s privacy? The respect he had earned as a public figure? He wasn’t just a mask, or a picture of that mask on a souvenir t-shirt. This would be libel if Spider-Man’s real identity was known to the general public. Little kids needed to see their hero on the morning news helping old ladies across the street and rescuing animals from burning buildings, not as the subject in some horny coed’s mediocrity.

“―it seriously. This is probably the only case where people are more interested in seeing a celebrity’s face than his dick.”

The pencil fell from MJ’s fingers and she didn’t pick it up, more focused on controlling her expression so she’d look unaffected if any of them glanced over.

“Sandra, stop,” Girl One twittered.

MJ supported the sentiment, if not the tone of voice. She lifted her foot and deliberately stomped on the end of her pencil, snapping the point. Uh oh, it looked like she’d have to go to the supply room to find a sharpener. It was located through a door half a dozen feet behind the other girls. Convenient for sneaking a look at whatever was on that canvas, which would enable her to come up with a tailored plan to fix this.

She began with a loud sigh and a forlorn look at her broken pencil. Again, not trying to be quiet, she pushed her sketch aside and crossed the room. The girls were still talking. Maybe they hadn’t forgotten MJ was there. Maybe they were crossing their fingers that she was a shit-stirrer. A patient zero for the gossip they were hoping to benefit from spreading. She circled around them and darted into the supply room, swinging the door only partially shut while she rattled a box of pencils before coaxing as much noise as possible out of the most ancient-looking sharpener she could find.

“Would you do him again?” Girl One asked.

“If she says no,” Girl Two cut in, “then she’s definitely making it up. Who the hell would hit-it-and-quit-it with Spider-Man? Especially if he’s that ripped under the suit.”

MJ crept to the threshold and looked in their direction. The Artist Herself shifted from one foot to the other, contemplating her own work, and MJ finally got a look at the unfinished painting. In its technical aspects, it was fine. Not accomplished, not garbage. So, better than she’d been expecting. It just wasn’t Peter. Even without a face, it wasn’t Peter. Peter was ripped―not that these people knew that, or ever would―but this wasn’t his body as she’d come to know it. Which was extremely well.

Grinning, MJ hurried back to her sketchbook and flipped it shut. Watching the girls from a different angle had made her consider a new approach to her block with her work in progress, but that wasn’t what propelled her out of the studio. She had an amazing idea.

\\\

“I don’t see how this solves the problem,” Peter said. “It still generates Spider-Man gossip.”

“But if it involves me, no one will believe it,” MJ emphasized, grabbing his shoulder. “I’m background noise in that studio. I’m furniture, Peter. I’ve never tried to be the center of attention and we can use that.”

He narrowed his eyes, but she could see the trust in them, like always.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. You’re just confused because this is a plan and those are foreign to you.” She gave him a sad smile and released his shoulder with a consoling squeeze.

“Hey―what? I-I plan,” he said defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. Yep, this was the body of her Spider-Man, not that generic canvas Adonis.

“You’re impulsive and adaptable. You can think on your feet in the middle of a fight, but, babe, you don’t plan.”

“But what about―”

“Peter.”

“There was that time I―”

“Peter.”

He sighed.

“Ok, when are we gonna do this?”

\\\

The research was really only two steps: showing up on campus at different times to learn when The Artist Herself (and co.) normally arrived, and figuring out how to unlatch one of the large studio windows. Both of these elements fit extremely easily into MJ’s schedule.

The friends’ interest in the Spider-Man portrait seemed to rise and fall and rise again; frequently, they actually worked on their own pieces instead of gossiping. Ok, instead of only gossiping. They still gossiped. Whenever it wasn’t about the unfathomably unrealistic Spider-Man affair, MJ drowned them out with headphones and made progress on her sketch.

She gave it a week―the recon―because that was a standard length of time and the mission felt more scientific that way. Ugh, these were Peter’s words. Her head was full of Avengers vernacular these days, all mixed up with a spectrum of graphite hardnesses and the names of a couple dozen French landscape painters. That was how MJ really knew her body wasn’t going to one day reject Peter like a mismatched blood donation. He’d become part of her mental vocabulary, and that was her sanctuary.

She hustled him through the propped-open window and into her physical sanctuary, the studio, on a Friday. Midmorning and the light was clear and white. The room would transform around 4:30pm when a hot afternoon glow inflamed the space through westward-facing glass, but this earlier, crisper light was good for a lot of things. Uniform illumination across textured sheets of watercolour paper. Fidelity of oil paint colours roughly blended and scraped with a palette knife. Minimal shadows cast as Peter’s feet, saran-wrapped into his Spidey suit, landed on the wood floor. With heavier footfalls, thanks to her black combat boots, MJ led him to the supply room and shut them in.

“Cutting it a little close,” she complained, glancing at her watch.

“I was on my way,” Peter said, gesturing widely (what kept MJ calm was the knowledge that his superhuman agility would make sure he caught anything he knocked over before it hit the ground), “and then there was this guy trying to grand theft auto a flour truck out in front of this bakery.” He pointed like the bakery was hiding just across the room behind the industrial-sized jugs of linseed oil. Peter deflated, mind snapped swiftly into the present. “Long story short, the bakery owner promised me free bagels if you wanna go after.”

MJ nodded, trying to tame her fond smirk. She would’ve loved him just as much if his biology had been totally garden-variety, but Peter in the suit―eyes of his mask widening as he relayed his latest crime bust―was adorable.

“After.”

“Ok… ok, great.”

Peter attempted to lean casually into a stack of collapsed easels, which squeaked loudly across the floor, threatening a noisy topple, before he jerked upright and steadied them. The way he’d never gotten calmer about her saying yes to a date was pretty adorable too.

“So, when are they―”

MJ heard the door to the studio bang open and slapped a hand across the mouth area of her boyfriend’s mask. Her palm didn’t actually obstruct his words, but the action silenced him. He tensed at her side as they tilted their heads, listening. A more minor part of the mission―dammit, plan―had been for MJ to make sure there were enough easels, brushes, and various other tools of the trade out on and around the counter that spanned one wall of the studio; the last thing she and Peter needed was an unsuspecting audience member striding into the supply room. Oh, those girls would know they were in here, but it wasn’t going to be by accident.

“You don’t think they’ll leave when they hear us?”

MJ shivered―Peter’s lips were right against her ear. She hadn’t heard him peel up his mask and lean in. Turning her head slightly, she tried to respond just as softly.

“Not these three. They’re shamelessly curious.”

“You’re sure?”

God, her face was getting hot. He was just talking to her. Talking at a whisper. Fine, it was kinda sexy, though there were things besides his last-second questioning of her brilliant plan that she’d rather have heard in that voice.

“You didn’t see the painting,” MJ reminded him.

“Yeah, there’s that,” Peter allowed.

They waited a few minutes longer, enduring the insignificant chatter and grating laughter coming from the studio. MJ tried to keep as still as Peter. Gradually, the human sounds lessened and were replaced by the glop of a brush through too much paint, the hiss of that same brush across a taut canvas. She looked at him and nodded.

“We’re starting?” he murmured.

MJ turn away from the door and smacked the center of his chest, turning the Spidey suit into a slack mass that Peter reflexively caught in his elbows before it could fall all the way down. She raised her eyebrows. Peter let the suit drop.

“This isn’t very romantic,” he complained quietly, yanking his feet free and piling the suit on the lid of a large tub of gesso.

“Yeah, well, we can’t exactly do this with the suit on.”

“The mask?”

MJ assessed his face, everything below his nose uncovered.

“I think half-off is fine, in case they barge in. The lower part of your face isn’t very distinctive.”

She twisted towards the door once more. At this point, they were supposed to be past discussion. Peter really didn’t understand the concept of planning something in advance, even when they had planned this in advance.

“Again with the lack of romance,” he griped, suddenly pressed up right behind her. Immediately, MJ’s heart was pounding more fiercely.

“Trying to be practical, nerd.”

Her voice didn’t come out overly stern, not with Peter’s hands touching down very lightly on her hips.

“But what do I always say when we order pizza and you try to get me to choose between bacon and ham?”

“You don’t need that much meat on a pizza. It’s high in sodium.”

His sigh ruffled the hair hanging in a loose ponytail against the back of her neck.

“No, that’s what you always say. What do I say?”

Pressing her palm to the door, MJ let her eyes slide closed. One of Peter’s hands had ducked under the hem of her shirt. She felt the side of his thumb skim her abdomen.

“That you prefer both,” she replied.

He made a low agreeing noise, flattened his palm against her for a second, then rotated his hand to unbutton her jeans. There was a surge within her. Peter always turned her on, but this was a fresh excitement. Subtly, MJ pressed her hips forward. She heard him breathe harder. His other hand moved from her hip to grasp the waist of her jeans while he unzipped them. She could feel it. She could feel him behind her, rising and thickening. Dipping his hands into her undone jeans, Peter nosed her hair out of the way to kiss her for the first time since they’d entered the room, on the side of her neck.

“I think I prefer both too,” she said.

She felt his teeth as he smiled and pushed against his crotch in response. His groan was abbreviated to a grunt when he clamped his mouth shut; the clench of Peter’s jaw bumped her throat. MJ grinned to herself and rolled into him again. There wasn’t any hesitancy as his fingers pried the thin elastic edge of her underwear away from her skin and plunged one hand beneath it. She gasped aloud and the fact that they were doing this for a reason came back to her. That didn’t mean being overheard had to be the only reason.

Because MJ knew it was one of Peter’s weaknesses, she grasped his wrist, slowly smoothing her hand down to lay flat on the back of his, and urged it further. He panted, kissing her neck, more loosely this time. Reaching up and back with her other hand, she toyed with the little flick of hair at back of his neck, right where it started to curl if he went too long between haircuts―exposed below the peeled up mask. With a shudder, Peter stroked a finger through her increasing arousal. Her hand tensed on his. A subtle widening of her stance wouldn’t be quite so subtle to the guy whose super-senses allowed him to notice the tiniest details even when distracted, but so be it. It wasn’t like he didn’t already know how she wanted him to touch her.

She turned her head, disengaging Peter’s before bringing him back just as quickly with a thorough kiss. Continuously, MJ’s fingers stroked his hairline. Goosebumps spread across the back of his neck.

“Let me know,” she said in a teasing voice, pausing to lick his lower lip, “if I’m being too romantic.”

Peter’s lips smiled against hers.

“And you tell me…” His mouth remained open, questioning almost, as he traced her opening with the tip of his finger. MJ exhaled roughly. “…if I get too practical.”

With that, Peter withdrew his hand (she would not admit to actually fucking whimpering in disappointment), grabbed her hips, and spun her, forcing her back against the door. The resultant thud was followed by confused-sounding voices from their prey in the studio. Exhilarated more than panicked, MJ looked her boyfriend sternly in the eyes of his mask.

“We need to make more noise, now, before they come to investigate,” she murmured.

Appearing to barely make contact with his fist, Peter forced another thump out of the door. MJ rolled her eyes, heartrate dropping.

“Not like that. They’ll just think somebody’s locked in here.”

“Like what then?”

“Like… sex-type noises,” she said, gesturing vaguely before folding her arms around his neck, fingers back to playing with his hair.

The only problem with Peter’s improvising was that he didn’t give her enough time to check him out―wearing nothing but his boxers and folded-up mask―before he did it. He just stepped close and snatched the jeans and underwear down her legs, then cupped his hand between them. MJ panted in surprise and reawakened desire. It wasn’t loud enough. They both knew it.

Necessity was supposed to be the mother of invention, but she figured the smirk on Peter’s face right before he stroked his finger inside her was necessity’s other child. MJ sighed in pleasure and paired it with a look that said, about time, nerd. Though he dug in deeper, he would only curl his finger slightly, making her hips wriggle and, consequently, bump against the door.

Shit, there were footsteps heading their way. Peter had it handled―MJ flushed retroactively at her mental double-entendre―pressing another finger into her and hooking both firmly. She let out a genuine wail.

From the other side of the door, a hysterical giggle.

MJ didn’t care what they said, just that the girls stayed in the studio―that was vital. Rather than straining to hear the specific words constructing the scandalized tone, she pulled Peter closer. Running a palm down his chest, she had him faintly trembling before she suddenly grasped his erection through his boxers. He groaned loudly enough to send a prickle down MJ’s spine. Now the listeners would know there were two people in here, instead of a lone pervert masturbating to the sight of uniformly sharpened coloured pencils. (She did enjoy being surrounded by beautiful new art supplies, just not in a way that made her want to go American Pie on them.)

Biting lightly along Peter’s jaw (so maybe she thought the lower part of his face was more special and alluring than she’d implied), MJ released her hold on him, only to sneak her hand inside his boxers and grasp him properly. He was hot and pulsing in her palm, breath muggy on the side of her face. It intensified her pleasure. She stroked him, steady and torturous, and eased down on his fingers as Peter continued his own motions.

“You’re getting me so wet, Spider-Man,” MJ breathed.

Peter tilted his head away.

“Louder,” he said.

She kissed him before taking a good look at his parted lips and the pink of his cheeks, delicate as a watercolour wash. Peter interrupted her study.

“They should hear you say it,” he prompted, glancing down to where he fingered her. “So they know you’re in here with him. Me.”

Gradually, still grinding down on his hand as he kept a fixed momentum, MJ grinned.

“Would it really be for their benefit, or yours?”

Peter looked up immediately. His gaze slid from one of her eyes to the other. Suddenly, he jabbed his fingers more insistently. MJ gasped and automatically squeezed her fist, making her boyfriend lurch closer.

“Let me see you for a minute,” she said. It stopped being a request as she pushed his mask up herself.

He raised his free hand, trailing the backs of his fingers across her cheek, then slapped his palm to the door, making it (and her heart) jump. Biting down on her lip, she tempered and tenderized her excited smile.

“Just say it,” Peter demanded, brown eyes molten.

Letting her head tip back and hit the door, MJ repeated herself at a much higher volume. That got the girls in the studio talking again.

“Better?” she asked Peter, looking him square in the eye. He shook his head.

“I didn’t like that one either.”

His thumb went to her clit and she rubbed while he held still, fingers unmoving inside her.

“Suggestions?”

MJ was trying for nonchalant. The truth was that she couldn’t manage a full sentence, not at the moment, not while a tingle like static charge was building, climbing her body from the location of Peter’s thumb. He gave her a kind, very normal, Peter sort of smile.

“Say it to me.”

Locking eyes with him, MJ rotated her wrist, caressing up and down his length. She saw his jaw clench.

“You’re getting me so wet, Spider-Man.”

Peter exhaled evenly.

“Condom?”

“Front pocket.”

First, his hand went from the door into his boxers, gently unwrapping her fingers from his dick with an expression of great sacrifice on his face. Continuing to gaze back at her, Peter pushed his boxers off and nudged them away with the side of his foot. MJ lowered her eyes to sweep his body, but when they came back up, she discovered he hadn’t quit looking at her. With another trust-inspiring smile, he knelt. Dextrous fingers retrieved the condom from her jeans. Peter kissed her hip, her inner thigh, before helping her out of her boots and clothing the rest of the way. Only her thin t-shirt stayed on, and he could probably feel her nipples through that, especially when he straightened up and lifted her by the backs of her thighs. MJ’s hand met his against her leg and she took charge of the condom, opening it and then unrolling it on him.

“Already feels good,” Peter told her. She kissed him for a lengthy minute in exchange for his honesty. And for his desire for her, currently standing rigid between them. “M,” he whispered fervently as their mouths parted.

Her inner thighs clamped to his hips as she shifted, angling herself. Ready. He was careful not to hide his grin as he tugged the mask back down over his eyes and nose. Peter’s expression became focused as he followed her guiding hand, delving into her. Already too worked up to receive him slowly, MJ used her legs to draw him all the way in, although it stopped her breath. When she inhaled, the sound in her ears was of someone surfacing from a deep dive.

“Spider-Man,” MJ said, loud, clear, hungry.

Peter thrust.

“Oh, Jesus,” she gasped, though she’d only ever found religion in paintings; angels―good and terrible―in unearthly detail, or obscured by heavenly backlighting.

Her boyfriend spoke to her like mindreading was part of his lunchbox assortment of superpowers.

“How would you paint me,” Peter asked, begging while he commanded. Another thrust, deeper. She clung to his shoulders.

“Haloed,” MJ panted.

Surging forward, he kissed her messily. She did nothing to bring order to the kiss, tongue twisting and tumbling with Peter’s, moaning lustfully into his mouth. He rocked his hips even harder when MJ clawed her fingers into his hair beneath the mask and took a good grip. She didn’t know anymore if they were noisy, couldn’t count how many times his driving thrusts tested the strength of the door. Every breath shaky, MJ rolled what felt like her entire body. She sweat―the room’s circulation was poor and the day must have been getting hotter―and Peter’s hand smoothed greedily over her hip and up to her waist, under her t-shirt.

His other hand supported her, the grip on her leg soft yet strong, and MJ was confident, throwing her hips down onto his, caught by a solid prod and the best feeling in the world. Peter bucked faster and her hand clamped to the back of his neck, the other sticky on his shoulder. Formless, desperate sounds left her mouth, giving up on the kiss, and convinced her boyfriend to reach between her legs and manipulate her clit in tight circles.

“Spide… Spi… Sp…”

MJ climaxed, yanking Peter’s torso to hers, and squeezing her eyes shut. Things were blurry, even inside her head. Holding tight to thighs that felt only distantly like her own, Peter strove through a final handful of thrusts, ending in a completion that heaved MJ’s limp body into the door one last time. They waited it out, the calming. She wanted to tell him that he was her hero for not having weak human arms, which might have been worn out by the sex and set her bare ass down on the supply room floor (ew), but she prioritized breathing. There would be other opportunities to make the nerd blush.

Peter exhaled forcefully after a little bit.

“Are you good? Do you wanna stand?” He pulled back, swiping hair away from her face. Damn ponytail had been too loose.

“Yeah.”

MJ’s feet touched the floor and she stepped around Peter. That was when her legs forgot how to be legs and she tripped over a massive roll of bubble wrap. The jolt woke her up, but it was Peter’s quick hands that caught her.

“Now I’m good,” she said, a little giddy.

“Ok.”

Peter’s hands backed off, but his arms stayed extended towards her.

“Relax.” Her voice probably wasn’t sarcastic enough to hide how sweet she thought he was being. “If I need rescuing while I put my pants on, you’ll be the first to know.”

They dressed quickly―meaning MJ did her best, skipping her socks (they went into her pocket), while Peter stood there, already in his full Spider-Man suit. Yeah, if her outfit was a single sausage casing, she’d be fast too. She assumed the condom had made it into the large trash can, alongside pencil shavings and her classmates’ scrapped ideas.

“Show off,” she mumbled.

“Hey, I don’t want to keep the bakery guy waiting. I have a lot of respect for the schedule of a man who wants to give me free bagels.”

MJ couldn’t see the smirk on his face since he’d pulled the mask down, but she could hear it.

“Yeah, yeah. Go out the window and I’ll meet you two blocks down, like we planned.”

Peter nodded and she let him hold the door for her as they stepped out into the studio. Looked like the audience had hung around. Applause would’ve been nice, MJ couldn’t lie.

“Until next time,” she told Spider-Man, ignoring the others for a moment.

He did a lame little salute that she was definitely never going to let him do again before bounding to the window and scrambling out. Maybe it was smoother than a scramble, but she was suffering from the lameness of the salute.

“How’s the painting going?” she asked The Artist in a tone of colossal disinterest once Spider-Man was out of sight.

Before the girl could answer―or maybe she couldn’t, all three of them did look pretty stunned―MJ strolled to the far end of the studio and collected her sketchbook and pencils, tucking them into her bag. The trio continued to stare at her as she leisurely returned and circled behind them to scrutinize the artwork for herself.

“Huh,” she said, and headed for the door.

One of them―Girl Two, if her memory served―managed a few words.

“Was that…?”

MJ turned back to them, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

“Yeah.”

With a ridiculous feeling of power, she approached them again and pointed at the painting of so-called ‘Spider-Man.’ Her finger made a circle in the air in front of not-Peter’s crotch.

“You haven’t been generous enough here,” she critiqued. “I’d drop his name from the title, if I were you. The inaccuracy gives the whole thing away. Not that any of you will ever get the chance to see for yourselves.”

This time MJ didn’t pause on her way out, just called back, “Have a super weekend,” and let the door bang behind her.

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letterboxd · 5 years ago

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Milking It.

Peerless American filmmaker Kelly Reichardt talks to Ella Kemp about her new film, First Cow, her favorite animal performers, and getting down to the nitty gritty of things.

We’re resharing this post to mark the arrival of ‘First Cow’ on VOD. The interview took place timed to the original release of the film in March, prior to the coronavirus pandemic.

With little fuss, Kelly Reichardt has been making some of the most tender and thoughtful films about American loneliness for decades. The quietly acclaimed director, writer and film lecturer began her feature career in 1994 with River of Grass, a runaway story of a couple caught in a tragedy, and now celebrates her ten-title milestone as a filmmaker by gifting the world the peaceful and moving portrait of another pair of nomads in First Cow.

Reichardt has earned her reputation as one of the most impressive and reliable American filmmakers with knockouts including the stripped-back heartbreaker, Wendy and Lucy and the stunning portrait of feminine isolation and frustration, Certain Women. There is always a common thread—and there is often Michelle Williams—but then, also, each film is a rich, vivid new tale that feels like it belongs to you and no one else.

Based on the 2004 novel The Half-Life, written by Reichardt’s frequent collaborator Jonathan Raymond, First Cow has been coming together for over a decade, and feels like the culmination of Reichardt’s finest skills and sensibilities. The story follows Cookie (John Magaro) a taciturn cook travelling alongside fur trappers in 19th-century Oregon, whose ambition comes into focus when he meets King Lu (Orion Lee), a Chinese immigrant. Together, they develop not only an essential friendship, but also a delicious business model, which involves slyly stealing milk from a cow owned by a wealthy landowner. It’s a film of subtle gestures, of deeply tender attentions, with a sharp eye across endless landscapes, and already has devoted fans on Letterboxd.

“I have never felt so well cared for by a movie,” writes Liz Shannon Miller in her Letterboxd review. Zachary Panozzo appreciates the way the film tackles American capitalism as a system, writing that “First Cow, in the most pleasant and honest way, calls bullshit on that.” And Phil Wiedenheft observes: “It feels—like all her work—so simple and elegant that it’s a wonder how [many] histrionics so many other filmmakers have to perform to end up saying less.” And, everyone wants those butter-honey biscuits.

First Cow premiered at the Telluride Film Festival last year and went on to the New York Film Festival shortly after, before impressing European audiences last month in competition at the 2020 Berlinale.

Sharing memories of the writers who shaped her movies, the first film that proved that cinema could show a different view of the world, and the greatest animal performers of all time, Reichardt chats with our London correspondent, Ella Kemp.

Orion Lee as King-Lu and John Magaro as Cookie in ‘First Cow’.

How did you choose where to strip The Half-Life back, to get to a film-sized story? Kelly Reichardt: The novel goes through four decades and they sail to China, so it was way outside the realm of what we could do. It also has a contemporary thread, and that just became a prologue and we settled into the 1820s. We found the main mechanism, the cow, which doesn’t exist in the novel—in the novel they’re selling the oil from beaver glands to China. So once we had the narrative element of the cow, we could work our own way into the script while still using a lot of the themes and stories from John’s novel. And the other thing John did, which was great, was to combine two characters from the novel. King Lu is actually a fusion of two people in the novel.

On paper, First Cow might seem like a straightforward Western but in practice it feels much softer. How do you see it in terms of genre? I didn’t feel any limits by a genre, and I wasn’t really thinking of it as a ‘big W’ Western. I actually see it as a heist film if anything. When I made Meek’s Cutoff, we were dealing with bonnets and wagons and the desert and people crossing West. That felt like having to deal with the whole history of the Western while we set up the camera, but I didn’t feel like that at all here. I just felt like we were telling an intimate story about two people. We were in the minutiae of trying to find out as much as we could about the Multnomah tribes that lived on the Columbia river, and we had fashioned Toby Jones’ character—the Chief Factor—after John McLoughlin in the [retail business group] Hudson’s Bay Company. It was more about researching the beaver trade and definitely taking artistic liberties, while also really trying to stay pretty true in the details to the period. It was such a little world we were building, I didn’t really have the feeling that I was confined in a genre at all.

Kelly Reichardt. / Photo by Jens Koch courtesy Berlinale

You work with outdoor landscapes a lot, particularly in Oregon. There are similarities with Meek’s Cutoff but also with Wendy and Lucy—the nomadic loners, the animal companion… What keeps you coming back to these places? I’ve actually worked outdoors much more than I’ve worked indoors. It’s really the indoors which was really fun to shoot here, because with Tony Gasparro, who was the production designer on First Cow, he and I were able to design these cottages and interiors and build around what [we] wanted to shoot, which is really great and a first for me. But outdoors is where I’m usually mostly shooting. It was recognizable to me at different points in the film that we were recalling Old Joy and Meek’s Cutoff and Wendy and Lucy. It was like the ‘Best Of’ of my movies.

There were some echoes of the other films for sure. It’s interesting to think how that’s happened. Because really, John’s novel The Half-Life is the first thing I ever read of his, and I wrote to him asking if he had any short stories—because I knew the novel was too big back in 2004—and he sent me Old Joy, the short story, which became the first thing we did together. But in between all that we’d been musing together for a decade, whenever there’s a lull in whatever we’re working on, we’d ask ourselves how we could do The Half-Life. It’s been cooking on the back burner for a long time, so maybe it’s bled into other films along the way.

Would you ever consider working in the city? I’m definitely ready to do something contemporary. It could be anything. I will just say on the practical side I do enjoy going away with a crew and feeling somewhat off the grid while making a film, separate from everyday life. When you say a city, I immediately think of New York. Never say never, but it’s just the practicalities of it… even if you can hire the crew you want, it doesn’t jump out at me as the most inviting thing.

In First Cow, your central characters are two men. Did you encounter different things in delving into male psychology after shaping so many rich female characters across your filmography? I don’t think of it in terms of gender, more in terms of personality. Maile Meloy’s short stories that I was working off for Certain Women focus on isolated women, a theme in some of her writing. But it’s really more about getting down to details on all levels of filmmaking for me. You have at some point the bigger picture, but I like to get down to the nitty gritty of things, in the story I’m telling and the people I’m making the story about and not worry about what gender anybody is. It’s more about who are these characters. A big draw to The Half-Life was that the Cookie character was so great. King Lu was totally fascinating as well. So it was more about keeping track of what they wanted, what they were to each other in the minute-by-minute, more even than in the big sense.

Lucy, the very good girl in Reichardt’s ‘Old Joy’.

Evie, the titular cow, is a terrific performer. What is your favorite animal performance on film? Oh god… Lucy! My own beautiful dog in Old Joy (2006), actually. No, of course there’s others. The animal that probably made the biggest impression on me as a kid was in Mike Nichols’ The Day of the Dolphin (1973). That dolphin was everything. You’re always afraid the animals are going to come to some demise. There’s [Vincente] Minnelli’s Home from the Hill (1960), which has the tragic hunting dog there. But it’s such a beautiful film. Whenever a film is named after the animal, you know it’s bad news for the animal.

Do you have a favorite film to teach your students? I’ve been teaching since 1998 so I wouldn’t call anything a favorite, but one film I’ve used in a sound class a lot is the opening scene of McCabe & Mrs. Miller (1971), where we’re just listening to the sound, and we turn off the image and the students describe the space. And so by doing that over the years I have René Auberjonois’ voice so firmly planted in my head, as he’s the bartender in the opening scene. I had the great pleasure of working with him on Certain Women and we wrote a little part for him [in] First Cow where he’s the cranky guy in town with the raven.

What is the film that made you want to be a filmmaker? When I was a kid and I saw Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962) on TV, and there was a scene on a beach at night that happened in black and white. It was the first time I’d seen the ocean in black and white—I grew up in Miami. It was the first time I became aware that people could do something as far as film went. I think when I was in art school, Stranger Than Paradise (1984) came out, and it probably opened the door to a lot of people’s minds—like a lot of people who saw the first band who played their own music and not cover tunes, like, ‘maybe I could tell my own story on film’. It made something seem possible, for myself anyway.

‘First Cow’ is in US cinemas now. An international release is yet to be confirmed. Kelly Reichardt’s films ‘First Cow’ and ‘Wendy and Lucy’ feature in Letterboxd’s Official Top 100 Narrative Feature Films Directed by Women.

#kelly reichardt #first cow #american film #american cinema #capitalism #animal performers #hollywood animals #female filmmakers #directed by women #52 films by women #female director #letterboxd #interview #q&a

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awhilesince · 4 years ago

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Friday, 24 December 1830

7 40/60

12 10/60

Incurred a cross just before getting up thinking of Pi (Mariana) Fahrenheit 33° and snowy morning at 8 1/2 – out at 8 3/4 – took Mac Donald – the 1st time and even said and probably the last time I ever shall try such experiment – went with her to Michel’s – but too early to get what I wanted – at least none but a woman in the shop who knew nothing about serving me – then en passant bought a couple of mince-pies at Tavernier’s – then unluckily thinking it would better suit Mac D– (Donald) to do what she had to do in the Marché St. Honoré, let her go out of my sight to buy a fowl while I stood bargaining for ten eperlans (smelts, asked 4 sols a piece at no. 56 – got them for 1/40) and never could find her again – wandered about the marché making inquiries – then walked along the rue neuve des petite champs as far as rue Chabannais then back to the marché – then away a little – then back again all in vain, so gave the thing up and returned by the rue de la paix and sauntered along the boulevard des Italiens – asked in vain at 2 shops for chinoises au sirop that I meant to have got with Mac D– (Donald) – at Corcelet’s, palais royal –

home at 10 1/4 – dressed – wrote the above of this morning – somehow I feel out of humour now with Mac D (Donald) no great fault of hers shall say nothing to her but it vexed me that I need be pothered so about dinners that there is nobody to whom one could say let us have dinner for so so and and there would be an end of it my poor aunt is really nobody well I am resolved on her going to Shibden where I hope not to be living with her again till I have somebody to keep house Cameron is not the person for me she is not a sufficiently good confidential thoughtful servant and George is a drunkard I shall merely remind him this morning that I observed the state he was in yesterday I shall just keep him to get us back to Shibden and as much longer as ssuits my convenience and that is all and I shall be delighted to get rid of him I will either have more gentlemanly people about me or none If the latter I shall save my money at any rate – writing all this has done me good as writing my journal I have none to speak to writing must do and does do instead –

‘tis now 11 1/4 when I have written so far and Fahrenheit 33° and fine morning – It ceased snowing almost as soon as I got out, and has been fair and fine ever since – there is a little attempt just now at the sun’s getting out – wrote the latter 3rd page my letter to M– (Mariana) then came the man from Giroux’s with albums – had Madame de H– (Hagemann) and long, very long doubting whether to take the soufflet writing box thing I chose last night or not – at last, yes! – then breakfast from 12 1/2 to 1 1/2 – then wrote the ends and under the seal and finished my letter to M– (Mariana) speaking of her ‘professed cook’,

‘you are pothered with one, and I without – I sigh every day for somebody to arrange these matters – nous verrons ce qu’il faut faire – ‘Shall you come over next year?’ – I have a great deal to say to you, on this subject, by and by – you know I told you long ago, if you could not come to me, I should go to you – I really must see you before another year is over – However short the time we might be able to pass comfortably together, a few days would be better than nothing – the state of politics is so completely changed within these 6 months, it is difficult to know what to do for the best – I am not sanguine as to the very long preservation intact of the peace of Europe – things are too much embrouilliés for me to see the way very clearly far before me – not that I have any fear for ourselves at present’ …

then the whole of the 2nd page of Paris news the republican has joined the Buonaparte party – stronger united than might have been imagined, but do not think they can overthrow the état actuel des choses – this morning say

‘so I see the Eastnors will not be near you – tell me what you determine to do about calling – Circumstance may probably occur to decide you are way or other – you are right not to be too anxious about the acquaintance I know everybody takes fright at the squire, more or less’ –

ask her to write by bit and bit, and say afterwards that ‘if it was not for shame, I should beg to make up for lost time, and hear from you once a week’ – Fear Miss Hobart is not quite well – she has a complaint – begin to be uneasy about the possibility of her having in some measure caught it from her anxious attention upon our dear Sibbella – ‘You well know how and where to find comfort’ Yes! Mary, I only wish that comfort was nearer – Do not hint to anyone my hope of seeing you next summer’ – will be 2 years next March since I saw her last – quite long enough –

‘the lease of our house will be out the 1st of July, and I must stay to make some arrangement about – ‘I often wish you were once more safe in England’ – I cannot imagine how you would contrive for us – now do let me have your ideas on this subject – my aunt was not all alarmed last summer into wishing to return to England – nor has she cared a halfpenny for the Trial of the ministers, or anything else – I am much the most thoughtful of the two, tho’ you know, I am anything but an alarmist – I really do long to see you – however, I have all along dwelt on the promise of your coming to me, or my going to you –’ ….. where are you likely to be about the middle of July?’ –

conclude with ‘I should be glad of your writing me ‘a good comfortable letter – adieu – again, my dearest Mary, ever very especially and entirely yours AL Anne Lister’ –

at 2 3/4 had just written the above and sent off my letter to ‘Mrs Lawton The Priory, Leamington Warwickshire, Angleterre’ from 2 3/4 to 6 (Mr Henry Edwards called at 3 1/2 for 1/2 hour to say how sorry he was he could not dine with us tomorrow but Mrs de Boyve had made them all promise 3 weeks ago to be at home on Xmas day) from 2 3/4 to 6 except this interruption, writing out posting account in Travelling Daybook – about 5 1/2 letter a full 1/2 sheet dated December 21st from Miss Hobart Whitehall to ask me to get 2 little almanacs according to an enclosed for Lady Gordon who has been very ill – the 20th the the 1st day she had been out of her room for many days –

‘she had been cupped at the back of her neck, bled, blistered calomelled, bathed, bedevilled, and done every sort of horror to, as she herself describes it, and is consequently now bettering a little’ – excellent accounts from and of Cosmo from Sir Charles Gordon who saw him the other day at Cadiz – ….’ we have Wimpole thoughts rising – January will prove them – adieu – ever yours Vere Hobart’

sat musing near 1/2 hour over the fire in my sitting room which I have had read there this last day or two to warm my fingers by occasionally having sat writing in my bedroom without fire, fancying the fire did not suit me – have observed myself always having indigestion pain come on in the course of the afternoon with a fire and not without – was it on account of the smell of the wood and smoke? Dinner at 6 25/60 – read the paper

Monsieur de Quatrefages came at 7 – and hearing I was at dinner said he would come again in an hour – came at 8 1/4 – I kept him waiting 5 minutes while I swalled a glass of Medoc, and then tho’ very civil did not absolutely keep by dint of talking and he went away at 9 – unusually and fortunately soon – he said Mrs Opie said I was a person of great talent – took many notes at Cuvier’s letcures – I said it was difficult to judge of one’s talent in an hour or 2 under such cercumstance – and afterwards somehow, on hearing Mrs O– (Opie) was absent from the last lecture from attending a pious meeting of the dames de la rochejaquelin, de St. Aularie, etc, wondered how Mrs O–‘s (Opie’s) sentiments could argue with those of these ultra catholic pious ladies, and how the death of the husband could turn her quaker thought the singularity and of tutoying saved less of real simplicity than pride – I would not give one of Cuvier’s lectures for all the meeting of the de la rochejacelins and de St. A–‘s (Aularie) of Paris – It seems Mrs O– (Opie) travaille – is writing, and will give Monsieur de Quatrefages a little niche in her work – he asked if I was not writing – no! I thought there were books enough without my adding to the no. (number) – I had no thought of turning another in any genre, but certainly should not write des romans (novels) – coffee at 9 25/60 then from 10 to 10 1/2 wrote the last 2 lines the last page and so far of this – Fine winter’s day – the man from Giroux’s brought the score-paper (with soufflet and drawer) tonight, and a geographic decoupér of Denmark Norway and Sweden for little de Hagemann on new year’s day – came to my room at 11 1/2 at which hour Fahrenheit 38°.

(SH:7/ML/E/13/0128) (SH:7/ML/E/13/0129)

#annelistercodebreaker #annelister #paris december 1830

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karenninaaa · 6 years ago

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Iron Dad Bingo #1

AN: wheew! glad to finally cross out something after staring on that bingo card for days! i love this au so much so i took the liberty to play with this idea. also i love tony stark interacting with kids! there would probably be a lot of plot holes and inconsistencies but whatever.

Unbeta-ed Chapter.

enjoy!

Summary: In which, instead of Mr. Harrington, Mr. Stark was the head of the Decathlon team at Midtown Tech.

(alternate events of Spider-Man Homecoming and Tony never recruited Spider-Man for Civil war. Though CW still happened (lets just fit everything within the timeline :D))

For Irondad Bingo: Au: Teacher and Student

Chalk and Rebel

Peter could feel Mr. Stark’s piercing gaze at him. The science teacher and the head of the school’s Academic Decathlon Team remained quiet when Peter had broken out the news to his teacher that he couldn’t go to Washington for the Decathlon competition. He was sitting adjacent to Peter and arms crossed on his chest.

“Can’t you take one weekend off?” Finally, Mr. Stark asked sitting up straight. This time, he settled his one elbow on the desk. “It’s nationals. We’ve been preparing for this for weeks.”

“I-I’m sorry. I really can’t, Oscorp internship is really strict and-”

“If you were interning for Stark Industries, things like this wouldn’t be a problem.” Mr. Stark said shaking his head.

“W-wait, what’s happening?” Cindy, one of their decathlon teammates, asked. She was sitting behind the desk on the stage.

“Parker is not going to Washington because apparently, the internship was more important to him,” Flash said who was sitting at the far behind with his feet propped on a chair. He was holding their reviewer booklet.

“Flash,” Mr. Stark called in warning not bothering to look at him.

“You can’t really go, Pete?” Abraham asked who was sitting next to Cindy.

“Really? Right before the Nationals?” Liz was standing behind a podium. Dismay was evident in her voice.

“He already quit the marching band and robotics club.” Michelle piped in from the corner of the stage. All heads turned in her direction.

“I’m not obsessed with him, just very observant.” Michelle defended.

“Flash, you’re in for Peter.” Liz glanced back at Flash.

“Oh, I don’t know, I have to check my calendar first. I’ve got a hot date with Black Widow coming up.” Flash answered looking down at his booklet.

Abraham rang his doorbell. “That is false, right Mr. Stark?”

“I’m not quite sure about that, I haven’t seen Widow in a while and why did I tell you about abusing of the bell?” Mr. Stark said then turned to Peter. He relented. “Fine, you may not go but it would be such a shame that you wouldn’t be with us. This kind of competition just happened once in a while you know.”

Peter’s eyes wandered on the stage where his best friend sat. Ned Leeds was looking back at him. Ned was the only one who knew the real reason why Peter couldn’t go to the competition.

Three days ago, Spider-Man discovered a group of robbers stealing in a bank one night. They were using weirdly looking and enhanced weapons. Unfortunately, they got away after Spider-Man chose to save Mr. Delmar’s bodega that had been hit by the said tech. However, they might have gotten away but a piece of tech fell out from that weapon. Ned was holding that tech for safekeeping since his best friend was the only person who knew his gig as Spider-Man. And now, Peter was going to use the weekend to track down those robbers. The whole Oscorp internship was obviously a lie because he quit the internship months ago when he had gotten so busy being Spider-Man.

Peter felt bad for lying to Mr. Stark. After all, Mr. Stark was the coolest teacher he ever had. He remembered freezing in his seat when Mr. Stark casually strolled into the classroom and introduced himself as their new science teacher. He remembered feeling giddy, because the person he had been idolizing his entire life, was standing in front of him and whom he could now see every day.

“Can’t you just ask Mr. Stark about the glowy thing? Maybe he can help you out or something?” Ned whispered to Peter as they walked through the hallway full of students milling around.

“I just couldn’t bother him with that,” Peter glanced at Ned. “He’s probably so busy being a teacher, Iron Man, and an Avenger.”

“It’s just that, he’s always feet away from you most of the time. He’s got a lot of resources. You could probably ask him for tips about this whole superhero-ing.”

“But, I got you,” Peter smiled at him. “My guy in the chair?”

“Oh stop that,” Ned waved his hand at him in dismissal, though he was visibly pleased with the title.

“See you later okay? Same time?” Peter said.

“Fine and bring some chips on your way to my house later,” Ned replied.

“You got it.”

In all honesty, Peter had a lot of questions.Often times, he would find himself faltering on his way out of the classroom as everybody had dispersed out and he was the only one remaining standing next to the desk. There was one time when Tony Stark was erasing the writings on the whiteboard and Peter was dumbly standing there. He should be leaving but the things that he wanted to ask Mr. Stark left him rooted to his spot, things that he didn’t know how to voice out loud. Tony turned around and paused when he saw Peter was still there.

“Mr. Parker.” Tony put down the eraser on the table. “Is there something wrong? Or do you have questions about our earlier lesson?”

How do you deal with bad guys and still looked cooler?

Where are you getting that huge amount of courage when facing life-threatening situations? Cause I still get scared most of the time.

How do you deal with failure when things had gone wrong in a mission? Have you ever failed? Cause you looked like someone who did things in perfection.

How to be a great superhero like you?

“N-nothing, Mr. Stark, t-the lesson was great, I learned a lot today.”

“Well, that was the goal.” Tony sat on the edge of the table crossing his arms. “And because of that, I expect you to be ready for our quiz tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

Tony nodded. Peter was about to walk away when he paused once again. Instead of asking the questions that had been swimming in his head, he asked a different one.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you suddenly become a teacher?”

“I need a change of pace.” That was all his teacher had said. He glanced at the window. Rays of sunlight were seeping through the window making Tony’s brown eyes appeared to be lighter. For one second, Peter could see his teacher’s tired and worn out eyes. There seemed to be more wrinkles on the side of his eyes. He looked sad and resigned. Another question popped in Peter’s head, a question that would probably stay unanswered.

“I told you they’re gonna come back!” Spider-Man was swinging through the buildings chasing a gray truck zigzagging on the street.

“Yep, but the cops are moving too slow. Your bad guys are quick and smart. Are you closing in on them?” He heard Ned answered through the Bluetooth earpiece under his mask. His phone was on the pocket of his red hoodie, his improvised costume. Well, not everyone was as reach as Tony Stark to make cool superhero outfit. Meanwhile, Ned had a walkie-talkie that was intercepting the signals of other walkie-talkies used by the cops. That was how they were able to get some news from NYPD.

“I am!” Another web shot out from his webshooter. It hit the wall of a building nearby. Spider-Man made a great swing like a pendulum and landed on the rooftop. He ran and used his web to leap off another building. “And I would never let them get away. They were our only shot on knowing the source of their weapons.”

Spider-Man had been chasing the same robbers who were using enhanced weapons. They successfully robbed another bank. They immediately fled before Spider-Man could even reach the scene. When he was sure that no one got harmed on the scene, he switched to plan B and the chase was on.

As Ned had predicted, the robbers lost the cops. Spider-Man continued to tail them until they reached an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the borough. The truck went into the warehouse as he quietly sneaked in by crawling on the wall. The robbers, seven in total, climbed down the car whooping in joy because of their successful heist.

Spider-Man crawled in closer to them but not close enough that he would be noticed.

“This is awesome!” Robber no.1 guffawed. “I can’t believe those idiot cops fell for our bait.”

“But of course,” Robber no. 2 piped in. “This wouldn’t be possible without our babies.” He patted affectionately the weapon he was holding. It looked like a shotgun but bulkier and instead of bullets, it was shooting off a laser beam that could cut through almost anything. Spider-Man had witnessed how it worked earlier.

Another roar of laughter echoed among them.

“Hey, have you heard that boss is going to Maryland for another heist?” Robber no.3 said to Robber no.4.

“Is that at Crain Highway? I’ve heard some of them talking about it.” Robber no. 4 said. “It would be fun if we could join that heist. It is going to be one of our biggest heists so far!”

“Maryland huh?” Spider-Man mused as he crouched on the steel frame of the ceiling looking down at the robbers.

“That was too far,” Ned said.

“But not too far from Washington,” Peter supplied.

“I think I know what you’re thinking,” Ned replied.

“Yep, we can’t let these bad guys pulled off another heist,” Peter said. “But first off, let’s web these people up.”

And so Spider-Man leaped in action.

Soon, patrol cars surrounded the warehouse. The cops had found the robbers webbed up in different areas of the warehouse. Another cop had found a letter from Spider-Man webbed on the wall, letting them know that they were the robbers from the earlier heist.

Peter jogged towards the bus that was parked on the school grounds. Their bus wasn’t your ordinary yellow school bus. It was a private air-conditioned bus owned by Tony Stark. Once Tony had a full look of the bus they’re going to use for their future out of town decathlon competitions, it only took three seconds for him to decide to replace the school’s old and cranky bus with a luxury one, with built-in speakers and fully automated system run by Tony’s very own AI, Friday. His decathlon teammates were lounging next to the bus with their luggage.

Tony Stark climbed down the bus clapping his hands and calling the attention of the students. “Alright guys, it’s time-”

“Hey, it’s Peter!” Abraham cut in and pointed at Peter. Everyone looked in his direction

Tony Stark turned and saw Peter approaching them. He smiled at the teen.

“I-I was hoping I could rejoin to the team. . .” Peter said.

Flash walked up to him. “No way! You can’t just quit on us and strolled up and be welcome back.”

“Actually, he can,” Tony butted in. He patted Peter’s shoulder. “Welcome back, Pete and Flash you’re back on being the first alternate. Come on guys, let’s all get into the bus.”

When they reached their destination, the group walked through the lobby of the hotel where they would stay for the night.

“Wow, this place is huge!” Charles marveled looking around.

“Kids, stick together,” Tony instructed as he talked to the facilitators of the event sitting behind the desk.

Soon, Tony gave them their keys to their designated room. Ned and Peter were roommates and retreated to their room. Later that night, Peter suited up. He wore another hood and jeans to hide his suit.

“Just ring me up if something happens,” Ned said who was sitting on the bed. “Be careful.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, I’ll do my best to be back before the competition starts.” Then he headed out of the room. “Keep the glowy thing safe. That would be our evidence.”

Ned nodded picking up the purple glowing stone on the table.

Peter closed the door behind. He sneaked through the quiet and dimly lit hallway. He made another turn around the corner. “Shit!” He cursed under his breath. He backtracked immediately and hid behind the wall.

Peter slowly poked his head from his hiding spot. Tony Stark was walking towards his direction. Thankfully, Tony hadn’t seen Peter yet since he was looking down on the phone on his hand. Peter leaned back on the wall and took a deep breath. He looked at the railing on his left. He took a few steps back. Then he ran straight to the railing and jumped off. Web shot out and stuck on the railing. Gravity took over. Peter twisted around and swung towards the floor below. He safely landed on the ground.

Meanwhile, Tony Stark paused and looked up. He blinked on the empty hallway.

Peter hitched a ride on a car carrier truck towards his destination. At first, he thought that he had gotten lost along the way. He reached his destination and jumped off the truck a while back and was walking along the darkened road. He stopped at a gas station and crawled towards the roof of an abandoned bodega.

Peter looked around and muttered. “Is this really the place or the Google maps is wrong?”

It was then that three trucks came lined up together. Suddenly out of the sky, something with huge wings came down. Thanks to Peter’s enhanced senses, despite the darkness of the area, he easily figured out that it was a human with mechanical wings harnessed to him.

“Oh, that’s the boss!” Peter straightened up, more alert.

Big Bird anchored himself to the truck that was on the rear. He dropped down and disappeared inside the truck leaving his wings strapped to the roof of it. Peter swung towards the truck to investigate.

He also dropped on the roof and looked closely. The roof had gotten a rectangular hole thanks to the small stones placed on 4 corners.

“Woah cool, this looked like some kind of a matter phase shifter!” Peter said in quiet awe.

When the masked man emerged from the hole, he dropped the bag on the roof to retrieve the stones. That was Peter’s opportunity to web up the bag pulling it towards him.

“Hey, Big bird this doesn’t belong to you!” Spider-Man quipped.

Big bird turned to him with green glowing eyes. He growled at Spider-Man.

“Oh, god,” Spider-Man said, a bit startled by his eyes.

Big bird attached himself to his wings, retracting his strap anchors. He flew towards Spider-Man. Spider-Man ducked down and stepped back. He shot Big Bird with his web but the latter dodged it. He charged at Spider-Man again, taking the bag from him with his feet claws. There was a tug-of-war between them as no one wanted to let go of the bag. Then, Big Bird kicked the bag and letting it go. Spider-Man toppled backward and into the hole. He fell with a thud inside the truck. He immediately stood up and was about to jump off the hole again but ended up banging his head unto the concrete metal roof.

Spider-Man blacked out.

Ned Leeds was already dressed and pacing back and forth in his room. It was already morning and Peter was not yet back. He tried calling him but Peter wasn’t answering the phone. He was worried about Peter’s status and also about what alibi he was going to tell the team, especially to Mr. Stark about why Peter was missing.

“Ned? Peter?” Liz knocked on their door. “Come on guys, we’re gonna be late!”

“Y-yeah! Coming,” Ned stuttered. He quickly grabbed his bag and the glowy thing on the bed and headed out.

Peter woke up with a dull pain on his head. He guessed that he had a mild concussion from hitting his head earlier.

“Ugh, my head?” He groaned and observed his surroundings. He was surrounded by metal cages containing junk techs. “Wait, where am I?” The gears on his brain started to turn. “Wait, they must have hijacked the truck and had taken it to their evil lair.”

“I must find a way out of this one.” He briefly stared on the wall ahead. He squared his shoulder and ran straight to the wall. With his superhuman strength, the wall broke. Spider-Man rolled on the ground. He stood up in a fighting stance.

Spider-Man blinked. The place didn’t look like an evil lair. It looked like a huge storage warehouse with rows and stacks of huge container boxes in it.

“W-where am I?” He turned around to get some clue as to where he was. He paused. On the wall, there was a huge DODC-VO5 written.

“DODC?” He muttered. Then it dawned on him. “Oh come on, you’ve got to be kidding me. Am I in a Department of Damage Control facility now?”

Tony Stark gathered his student in the backstage. Any second from now, his students would be called to be on stage and the competition would start.

“So, guys,” Tony said to them. “No pressure, alright? Just enjoy the competition.”

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Abraham said. “If we win this one, pizza is on you, yeah?”

“Sure,” Tony said without missing a beat. “We’re gonna have a celebration party if you win.”

That seemed to boost up the team’s morale as they cheered upon hearing the news. He looked at everyone and noticed something.

“Ned,” He called a certain teen. The teen was hiding behind Charles and was quiet the whole time.

“Y-yeah, Mr. Stark?” Ned answered peeking from Charles’ back.

“Where is Peter Parker? You two are roommates.” Tony asked.

All the team’s attention was now on Ned who was fidgeting with his yellow coat.

“I-I don’t know, Mr. Stark. . .” Ned answered.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Tony frowned.

“He sneaked out last night, said that he was going to study in the business center and he didn’t come back.”

“And you’re just telling me this now?!”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. . .”

“The next team that will participate in this year’s Decathlon competition is from Midtown School of Science and Technology!” They could hear the emcee speaking from the stage.

The team was quiet and seemingly didn’t know what to do about their teammate’s sudden absence.

“Flash, you’re up on Peter’s place.” Tony finally decided.

Flash punched the air in delight.

“Come on guys, Go on stage.” Tony forced an encouraging smile on them. “Go kick some butts!”

He continued to smile at them as the team disappeared on the stage. That was when Tony’s smile slipped off. Peter Parker was many things. He was hella smart for his age that sometimes, Tony couldn’t help but to remember his youth when he was Peter’s age. He was aware that the kid had potentials, potentials that could take him anywhere he wanted. Yet, it was the same potentials that were giving Tony Stark an incoming headache.

Peter’s first thought when he reached the 246th sequence trial on overriding the time lock of the storage vault was, he wouldn’t make it to the Decathlon competition. He still didn’t know how he would explain it to Mr. Stark and not get into any trouble. He tried calling Ned earlier but a secured facility like this; he should have known that the signals would be jammed. Though, getting in trouble with his teacher was for later problems to brood over, when there was an even bigger problem before him. He just couldn’t wait for the vault to open up later or for who knows how long, so he took it in his own hands to find a solution.

Somehow, he managed to find a way to navigate through the wirings of the time lock. He used his scientific calculator and wired it to the circuit to control the system. He needed some sort of password to open up the vault so far, he was on 246th combination of the code and probably counting.

“Right, here’s 247th trial. . .” He punched in the codes on the calculator.

To his surprise, the door slid up and opened.

“Oh my god! It worked!”

The Midtown tech team cheered as they exited the auditorium hall. They won the national, thanks to their group effort, especially to Michelle Jones who gave the answer on the Sudden Death Round. The group was taking pictures when Ned checked the phone that was given back to him after the competition. There were 5 missed calls from Peter. Then his phone rang. Peter was calling.

“Peter!” Ned hissed walking away from the group. Unknown to him, Tony Stark was looking at him.

“Where were you?” Ned continued when he reached an empty and short hallway. “You completely missed the decathlon, we won! We’re still here at the building.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, I got locked up at the Damage Control facility-”

“What?”

“Yeah, long story, I’m just gonna tell you afterward. I’m on my way back there. How’s the glowy thing?

“It’s safe, it’s in my pocket-”

“Hey,” A voice came from behind Ned.

Ned turned around putting down his phone. There were two unknown guys standing before him. They were tall and bulkier and had a menacing look on their faces. And when Ned looked down, he could see a gun peeking out underneath the jacket of one of them. Though, Ned was sure that both were armed. How did they get in despite the security, he didn’t know.

“Ned?” Peter was still on the line. Ned dropped the phone on the ground.

“Where’s the gem?” The guy with long hair and cap asked stepping forward.

“W-what gem?” Ned stepped back.

Long hair dude raised a small rectangular machine. There was a red and blue light on it and it was beeping. “This thing is reading high energy signatures from you. You have the gem.”

It must be the glowy thing, they were after. Ned thought. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ned continued to step back.

“Alright, you die or you’re gonna give us the gem.” The other man, the bald man, fished out his gun and pointed it at Ned.

Ned was frozen in his spot in fear.

“Hey!”

Suddenly, there was a deafening shockwave that momentarily paralyzed the two men, even Ned. Then there was a blinding light. Ned got yanked away by someone, away from the men.

When Ned returned to his senses, he looked up and saw Tony Stark was dragging him away.

“M-Mr. Stark!”

“Who are they and why they were after you?”

Before Ned could answer, gunshots echoed. Tony and Ned ducked down. People around them started to scream in panic and ran away.

“Shit.” Tony pushed Ned into the corner, into the safety. “Stay there!”

Tony stood up and tapped his chest twice. Blue light glowed in his chest as the detachable arc reactor underneath his shirt activated. Nanites seeped through the fabric and spread around his body. His nanite mask covered his face, eyes glowing blue.

“Fuck, that was Iron Man!”

“Hell yes, that was me.” Tony flew towards them, his hand repulsor aimed at them. However, to his surprise, the bad guy whipped up his weapon and shot off a purple laser beam. Tony raised both his arms shooting off a similar laser beam. Two laser beams collided. When the energy of collision was too much, it exploded throwing both parties away. Though, Iron Man immediately regained his stance. There was thick smoke everywhere. The fire alarm was blaring. His students were still there and could be in danger. A lot of civilians could get hurt

So Iron Man flew straight to the smoke, using the smoke as a cover. He knocked down the weapon from the bad guy’s hand. Then he grabbed hold of the two of them and went straight to the nearby window. The glass shattered as Iron Man flew out of the window. He dropped the bad men unto the lawn and aimed his repulsor at them again. The two men remained laying on the ground as Iron Man hovered over them.

“So, why you guys are after a kid?”

Friday was doing a facial scan on them but none of them were on FBI’s wanted list, which confused Tony even more.

They remained quiet even though, fright was evident on their faces.

“Oh, so we’re playing bad cop and good cop here? I don’t have all day.” Iron Man fired his repulsor above their heads.

“W-we’re after the gem! The kid has it!” The bald man replied hastily, shaking in fear. “Please don’t kill us!”

“What gem? What is it for?” Iron Man asked.

Before Iron Man could get anything from them, there was an explosion from the building where they had come from. Iron Man glanced back at the building. There was smoke coming out of it and a huge chunk of wall was starting to collapse from the third floor. There were civilians down below right where the wall could drop and crash them.

“Fri, what the hell happened there?”

“An exposed Chitauri core has detonated,” Friday said. “A section of the wall was about to fall off.”

“I’m not done with you.” That was all Iron Man said as he flew away from them and towards the building.

As Spider-Man reached the building where his teammates were, all he could think was, his best friend was in danger, because of the glowy thing he entrusted him with. He webbed up his backpack somewhere as he ran towards the auditorium hall. They must somewhere near there. He used the Fire Exit staircase to reach his destination. He was on the second round of stairs when he heard a gunshot.

He froze. Then he started to imagine the worst. He swung his way up faster.

The Fire Exit door burst opened. People ran for the stairs against Spider-Man’s direction. Spider-Man fought his way against the tide. Then there was a sound of an explosion.

“Excuse me, coming through!” Spider-Man shouted dodging people left and right.

But then when he reached the floor, Smoke was everywhere and Iron-Man zipped past him holding two men towards the window and out of it.

“Holy shit, what the-!” Spider-Man was flabbergasted.

“Spider-Man!”

He turned to see Ned running to him.

“Ned! Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine!” Ned answered which was to Peter’s relief. Then Ned fished out the glowy thing from the pocket of his coat. The glowy thing was brighter. Ned continued hastily. “There were two guys who were after this. I don’t know, they were able to track this thing. Then Tony Stark came and saved me.”

“I know,” Peter said. “I’m sorry, you almost got in danger because of that and because of me. Give me that.”

“It’s alright.” Ned gave him the stone. “Wait, is just me or the glowy thing was hotter than usual?”

Peter accepted the stone and Ned was right. It felt like the stone was burning in his hand. His glove was started to blacken. Ned looked at Peter in panic. It mirrored Peter’s expression.

“Get back!” Spider-Man shouted. “All of you get back!”

“W-what are you going to do?” Ned asked stepping back. Some of the people listened to Spider-Man as well and some were even more confused as to what was really happening.

Spider-Man turned around. He threw the stone to the wall next to the shattered window and webbed it up. He coated it with a lot of webs until it looked like a white cocoon.

“This better works,” Spider-Man muttered.

Soon, the cocoon glowed purple. Spider-Man stared at it and so were the civilians and authorities who were on the scene. As if all of them were anticipating on what was going to happen next.

Then, there was a blinding purple light that they all had to cover their eyes. Afterward, there was another sound of an explosion. People screamed.

The light was gone. And when Spider-Man looked up there were cracks on the wall, quickly spreading out like a web. Moments later a huge chunk of the wall started to fall off outwards. Spider-Man webbed up the wall. With all his might, he pulled it in. He couldn’t let it fall back when there were civilians down below.

He pulled harder, his feet sliding on the floor. Suddenly, the chunk of wall moved inward easily without even Spider-Man’s effort.

“What?” Spider-Man let go of the web as the wall fell on the ground with a thud.

Iron-Man was floating right outside the hole. Everyone cheered.

Tony Stark had enough as he watched the news of the earlier incident in Washington on the holographic screen in his lab at Avengers Compound. Fortunately, no one had gotten hurt from the incident. Thanks to Iron Man and Spider-Man’s immediate rescue. The news believed that it was rogue shooters who just wanted to wreak havoc in the place. Their faces were now on the wanted list and the authorities were searching for them.

Then he gazed at another holographic screen where the feats of Spider-Man showed. He should have talked to that young vigilante sooner. He should have come to Peter Parker before he got himself killed in one of his adventures.

He knew for a while that Peter Parker was the one under the mask. After all, he was keeping tabs on people with potentials who could be trained as an Avenger.

Peter Parker was the reason why Tony Stark chose Midtown Tech to teach, so he could keep an eye on him and see for himself what the kid was like when he wasn’t playing hero.

Well, what he had discovered about him exceeded all his expectations.

Peter Parker was the kind of kid who refused to pick up a fight with his bullies. Instead, he avoided it when he could have easily won the fight because of his abilities. He was this bright spirited boy who could easily be awed by simple things. There were so much wonder and curiosity dancing in his eyes and who was so eager to know more about the world. He was this kind of kid who would not hesitate to step forward and help when no one would and could. There were just so many things ahead of him and Tony could see all of that.

That was probably why he hesitated to recruit him for Avengers.

There was a future waiting for him and Tony didn’t want to steal it from the kid. So he remained quiet and watched from the distance instead.

But he couldn’t watch now when he discovered, thanks to Ned’s phone he hacked down earlier when the kid was on stage competing, that the kid was actively chasing criminals that used junks from Chitauri’s as weapons. Peter had disappeared last night to do another chase. Tony was also aware of Peter’s lie about Oscorp’s internship, but he initially didn’t know why the kid couldn’t join. And for whatever reason, he came back and Tony learned the reason why later on.

Tony reached for his mug of black coffee on the table and sipped. He was about to put it down when a hand reached for his mug instead.

He looked up to see Pepper smiling down at him.

“Hey, hon.” Tony smiled back.

“You’re watching him again,” Pepper noted as she sat on the armrest of the chair Tony was sitting on. She sipped on the mug and blanched at the bitter taste of it. His fiancée was the type who put lots of cream on her coffee.

“I swear, that kid is gonna kill himself sooner or later.” Tony leaned back on the chair. Pepper leaned on him as she put her arm on the top of the backrest of the chair. She crossed her legs resting the mug on it.

“I told you, you should mentor him so he would know how not to kill himself with his little adventures,” Pepper said.

Tony looked up. “Do you think I’d be a good mentor?”

“You are a teacher now at his school, do you really need to ask me that?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“That was different,” Tony argued.

“Oh, how different?”

“Being a teacher was easier because you’ll gonna spout things that came from a book but mentoring someone to be a hero? I don’t think I have the right qualifications for that. You knew I screwed up far more many times that I could actually count on this superhero business.”

“Oh, Tony,” Pepper put down the mug on the table and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. Tony leaned into her as he rested his head on her stomach.

“Yes, you screwed up a lot of times but you are also the type of hero that always fights for what was right and doing your damn best to protect this vulnerable place. And I think that was the most important thing of all. So get your ass up and just mentor the kid, the kid needs someone who could guide him, that job will suit you.”

Tony closed his eyes and smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

With that Pepper stood up. “I’ll just be in my office.” Then she paused when she had noticed the papers and notes laid haphazardly on the table. “What are those?”

“That, my love, is my lesson plan for next week and test papers that I haven’t checked yet. But first off, I have to be somewhere.” He stood up.

Soon, Iron Man flew into the night sky.

Iron Man set his course to Peter’s apartment. He wasn’t even nearing his destination when Tony saw something he truly didn’t expect nor imagine happening.

Tony didn’t expect to see Peter Parker on the way, falling from the sky, a hundred feet to the ground and falling at a speed that could totally kill him on impact without something that would slow down his descent.

There was a screeching sound from the sky. Tony looked at the source of the sound. His night vision scan could see a man with mechanical wings. Tony had a lot of questions as usual, like how the kid had gotten himself in the air and been thrown down by a mechanical devil out of nowhere. But questions could wait; he had a spiderling to save first. After all, spiders couldn’t fly.

Tony dived down towards Peter’s direction increasing his thrusters. As he neared him, he could hear Peter screaming.

Iron Man zoomed in and grabbed Peter before he could hit the lagoon. The mechanic teacher made a loop in the sky before changing his flight course towards the Avengers Compound instead.

“So, uh, you knew the whole time that I was Spider-Man?” Peter asked in a small voice as he played with his mask. He was sitting on the couch of Tony’s lab.

Tony was looking down at him with arms crossed on his chest. “You know that wasn’t the issue right now, you could have gotten died! What-why are you even up in the air?!” He threw his hands in the air.

The kid, again, was a lot of things and one of them was giving Tony a consistent migraine, vertigo, aneurysm and all other kinds of headache. The mentoring wasn’t even starting and Tony’s hair was starting to turn gray quickly.

“The guy with wings threw me down. I was chasing bad guys then he swooped in and dropped me on a hundred feet.” Peter explained.

Tony took a deep breath. “That’s it! I am going to mentor you if you’re so sure about this career path and please remove that onesies, you’re going to have a new suit.”

And all Peter could say was, “W-what?”

Tony rolled his eyes and turned around. “Friday, unlock 16-A.”

At the far end of the lab, the wall shifted and slid open. A big glass transparent cylinder emerged. Inside the cylinder was a new Spider-Man suit. Tony walked to the cylinder. He glanced at Peter who remained frozen in his seat with wide eyes staring at the suit.

“Your new suit.” Tony knocked on the cylinder for emphasis.

Peter finally stood up as he walked in a daze towards the cylinder, still staring at it.

“T-that’s mine?” Peter asked stopping in front of the cylinder.

“I just said that,”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark!”

What surprised Tony, even more, was when Peter hugged him. He froze on the spot while the kid squeezed the oxygen out of him.

“This is so cool!” Peter exclaimed pulling away. “I have a new suit and Mr. Stark is going to mentor me! You’re not just going to be my science teacher. This is the best moment of my life! I have an awesome mentor and dope suit. Oh my god!”

And with that, Tony had a fleeting thought that maybe mentoring this kid wasn’t going to be that bad after all.

#tony stark #peter parker #irondadbingo #irondad and spiderson #fic #karennina writes #karennina prompts

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