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derivativealigner · 4 years ago

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Well, I’m done rewatching season 2 of south park and I’ve taken plenty of notes and screenshots to document all the facts and tidbits I thought were interesting or just funny. Under the cut is a collection of notes where I progressively start caring more and more about fake children

Kenny’s house is full of empty bottles, his family eats frozen waffles for dinner, and his dad is drinking at the dinner table

Kenny’s and Kyle’s dads have some history. They were best friends as teenagers

Kenny’s dad is kind of anti-Semitic, he says Kyle’s dad was successful because he’s Jewish

Cartman kind of expresses agreement with Stuart’s anti-Semitism, which I think is the first time Cartman’s been clearly anti-Semitic

Kenny’s house has rats, but his room has lights that shut off when you clap twice

WOW KYLE wtf he says “Kenny's not really my friend, Ma. I don't give a rat's ass about him.” FUCKING RUDE

Kyle and Kenny have a fun little sleepover where they play “ookie mouth”, a game where they take turn spitting in each other’s mouths. This episode (S02E10 Chickenpox) is great for fans of K2 despite how absolutely disgusting ookie mouth is

The McCormick house was something Stuart and Gerald built as teenagers. A fort in Stuart’s mom’s backyard

Gerald went to community college

Gerald and Stuart have a fun fist fight by a pond

Kyle makes a haiku: Fatass Cartman was / not on the school bus today. / What a big, fat turd.

Kenny makes a haiku: When you rub your dick, / you might find a discharge that / winds up on the floor.

Kyle makes another: Ass full of pork fat / jiggles like a Jello mold. / Mouth is flapping, too.

And another by Kyle: I bet you don't win. / They don't let big fat asses / perform on TV.

Cartman responds: Shut your God-damned mouth / or else I'm... gonna... kick you / square in the balls... asshole

I spy with my desperate eye the beginnings of Craig’s gang, featuring Kenny with wonky eyes

Bebe thinks Kyle has a hot ass and she’s not shy about saying it

Bebe writes a note to Kyle, and Stan tries to pass it on but Mr. Garrison thinks it’s Stan’s note for Kyle and makes him read it out loud. So he reads: “Dear Kyle. You have got such a great ass. I could sleep for days on those perked cheeks, let me tell you. I'd like to live with you and wear your ass as a hat for all eternity.” (If that happened to me I’d be embarrassed forever)

POV: You’re Stan and you just said you love Kyle’s juicy ass in front of the whole 3rd grade class

The first time Stan’s mom and dad get a divorce is in S02E12, way sooner than I remembered

Bebe kisses Kyle when they’re playing truth or dare in their clubhouse, probably Kyle’s first kiss. Kyle thinks it’s disgusting (despite having played ookie mouth with Kenny which is arguably more disgusting)

Bebe breaks up with Kyle and goes off with Clyde, who says “Bitchin’ 😎”. Later Clyde is with Bebe, Stan, and Wendy at the club house

Cartman and Kyle have a fist fight once again. Kyle hated Cartman way more than Stan did very early on, kind of all along really, they truly were destined to be arch enemies

Kenny has food stamps

Oh, and Cartman’s made poor jokes about Kenny and twice (I think) Kenny has punched him in retaliation in the past 2 seasons. Kenny’s family is probably a bad and violent example for him

By the way, if you’ve ever wondered what Kenny says in the theme song but never looked it up, in seasons 1-2 he sings “I like girls with big fat titties, I like girls with deep vaginas” but in the remastered versions of seasons 1-2 (which is the version I’m watching) they changed it to the season 3-5 lyrics: “I have got a ten-inch penis, use you mouth if you wanna clean it”.

When an evil twin version of Cartman says nice things, Stan, Kyle, and Kenny stare at him in horror. Stan says, “Dude, this is creepy.”

Also, the boys say dude a lot. At least Stan, Kyle, and Kenny do, Cartman not as much

Kenny’s mom hits him when he’s hogging the blanket from his brother. Kenny makes a sad face and it made me feel bad :(

When evil twin Cartman comes to give the McCormicks some supplies, Kenny’s dad asks if that was his “fat, racist, foul-mouthed friend” so Cartman clearly has a reputation

When Stan gets scared of his evil fish, he wakes Shelly up and she slaps him. Their mom sees it and says nothing

But on the other hand his mom buries a body that Stan’s fish killed because she thinks he killed it so I guess she’s not entirely a bad mom

Kenny was supposed to buy a pumpkin for Halloween but he could only afford a squash and his friends are really mean about it. The more I watch the more I feel bad for Kenny (and Stan)

Cartman kind of has a shitty friendship with Kenny. He says “I hate you Kenny” because of the squash

Kyle is really annoyed by Cartman saying “hella” all the time, nobody else is as annoyed

Evil Cartman sings a cute little song while wielding a knife: You guys / are my best friends, / through thick and thin, / we've always been together! / We're four of a kind, / having fun all day, / palling around and laughing away. / Just best friends, / best friends are we!

Stan still has his dog, Sparky, in season 2

After Stan’s fish kills Kenny, Kenny’s mom comes over to ask about her son and she’s drunk and upset. Honestly seeing Kenny die all the time makes me kind of sad

Stan says Kenny’s squash isn’t a bad little squash. Very heartwarming. The squash gets first prize at the pumpkin carving contest :)

Cartman’s grandma and extended family live in Nebraska

When the boys go to Cartman’s family to have Christmas dinner, Kenny’s dad tells him to take any leftovers and bring them back home (he does it very gently and Kenny just says “okay” and why do I care that this fake child dies all the time and barely has food at home, like why the fuck do I care so much???)

Cartman’s mom is wearing glasses when she drives. She doesn’t do it in the later seasons but maybe she has contacts

Cartman and his mom sing a road trip song for 4 hours. Kyle says “please stop” but when they ignore him, he kicks Cartman’s seat and makes Cartman hit his head

Stan has a complicated relationship with his family, he says they’re dead to him because they didn’t want him to go on a road trip to Nebraska so Stan went without telling them

Kenny doesn’t eat at the dinner table with Cartman’s family, he just shoves the food in a bag :( I feel so bad for him

Stan, Kyle, and Kenny all hit Cartman after they wake in the night to make sure they’re not dreaming

Under his coat, Cartman wears a pink tank top that says BEEFCAKE. He wore it in S1E02 Weight Gain 2000

Charles Manson invites Kenny to go to a more secluded location and Kenny just says okay and goes, but honestly he should know better since he’s aware that he keeps dying

Cartman bonks his cousin Elvin on the head and gives him brain damage. Elvin gets better though

THE NEXT EPISODE IS GNOMES!!! TWEEEEEK!!!!

Token gets named when he’s put in a group with Wendy, Bebe, Clyde, and Pip. Craig’s gang is getting closer to becoming a thing!!

IT’S OUR FUCKING BOY TWEEK TWEAK BITCH YEEEEAAAH

Tweek says he’s awake at 3:30am because he can’t sleep, ever

Jesus, Tweek’s dad kind of sucks immediately. He says he might have to sell Tweek to slavery if his coffee shop goes out of business

Cartman says Kenny’s family is happy being poor and on welfare, “right, Kenny?” and Kenny says “fuck you” which is completely justified

When the underpants gnomes don’t appear, Tweek is worried he’s going insane and pulls on his hair

His parents say Tweek is jittery and anxious just because he has ADD (but the kind of severe jitteriness and anxiety Tweek has isn’t a symptom of primarily inattentive ADHD, even though people with ADHD do experience restlessness and can even have some tics and are more likely to have anxiety as a comorbid disorder than a neurotypical person is, but I mean come on, we all know Tweek’s slurping way too much coffee so even if he has ADHD beneath all that, his parents should stop giving him coffee and they definitely should not start lacing it with meth. Basically what I’m saying is that Tweek’s parents are full of shit)

Actually Tweek’s mom is kind of okay. She tells Tweek’s dad that he’s being shitty for using kids to advance his agenda. But… the agenda is against big corporations and I hate to say it but Tweek’s dad kind of has a point

Ew, the boys are giving a pro big corporations speech. That aged really poorly considering how shitty billionaires are

Aww, look at Kenny! He got scared of a crocodile that Steve Irwin is about to bother by jamming his thumb up its butthole

The boys are really excited about Steve Irwin jamming his thumb up a crocodile’s butthole

Oh my God, Kyle calls Cartman a fatass penis

Kenny is a mediator between Stan and Kyle. They ask him which one found this ice man in a cave first, but Kenny just deflects and agrees with Kyle’s name suggestion (Steve) for the ice man

I kind of like Dr. Mephesto. I’m glad he came back for Fractured But Whole

Stan and Kyle are having a terrible fight about who found the ice man. Kyle says they’re not best friends anymore and that Cartman is his new best friend and Cartman says “Sweet!”, then Stan claims Cartman as his new best friend and Cartman says “Killer!”

This prehistoric ice man episode is actually funny, I love it

Stan and Kyle are having a fight to the death

They reconcile and become best friends again. They both agree that Cartman’s a sucky best friend

Well, that was the last episode of the season. This was fun. South Park is actually a fun show

Kenny deaths:

S02E10 Kenny is in the hospital because of chicken pox. He laughs at Cartman’s joke so hard that his heart flatlines like beeeeeeeeeeeeeep

S02E11 Kenny’s head explodes after Stan and Kyle make him watch planetarium lights at a high intensity

S02E12 Kenny gets trampled in a mosh pit

S02E13 A cow impales Kenny’s head with its horn

S02E14 Ozzy Osbourne bites Kenny’s head off

S02E15 Kenny is killed by Stan’s evil fish, he gets spun in the fish tank until the water’s red

S02E16 The police shoot Kenny who came outside with a white flag during a hostage situation, then the police hit his dead body with a baton and handcuff him

S02E17 Kenny gets crushed by the underpants gnomes’ mine cart. The gnomes are horrified but Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Tweek are kinda like whatever

S02E18 Kenny gets squished underneath a conveyer belt

Onto the next season I go. I’ll watch the movie too since it was released around halfway through season 3

#south park #sp rewatch #this was supposed to be a quick little thing but i'm taking it too seriously #i feel like i'm screaming into a void

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starkeristheendgame · 5 years ago

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Prompt tony giving peter a wedgie just to be a little shit and finds peter wearing iron man boxers

Whelp, I guess I’m back and writing :’) Thank you sm for this prompt! This is kind of an IM1/2 era prompt, where Peter is basically Pepper and is Tony’s long-suffering but doting assistant. No trigger warnings for this, unless you’ve had a series wedgie-related trauma in the past.

“Mr. Stark, you can’t just-"

"I’m sorry, what? What did you just say? I don’t understand the word that didn’t just come out of your mouth, because nobody tells me I can’t do anything. I’m Tony Stark, I can do whatever I want,” the self-mentioned genius spun on his heel as he backed into the room, arms spread and a lopsided, friendly smirk on his mouth as he tossed his apple from one hand to the other.

He spun back around as he crunched into it, free hand flying in all sorts of gestures that pulled holograms from one corner of the room to the other.

“Yes, congratulations, you know your own name,” Peter responded wryly, stepping inside after him and through each hologram that his boss tossed in his direction in a valiant attempt to keep him at bay. “But you absolutely can’t-"

"Ah? What was that? That word? Began with a ‘c’, I’m pretty sure. Doesn’t apply to me. Like, ever. Unless its in the context of eating olives. In which case, I can’t. shan’t, and won’t.”

A slender hand stretched through a scaled-down hologram of the Tower and gripped the front of the genius’ shirt in a tight first, dragging him forwards until he was staring into a pair of stormy, dark eyes.

“Anthony Edward Stark. You are not going to make a cast of your own penis and market it as the 'Iron Rod’,” his personal assistant growled, and it was truly the eighth wonder of the world that he said it was a completely straight face.

“Ah, but you didn’t say I couldn’t make one and market it at all,” Tony countered, and he could feel the threat of bodily harm radiating from the younger man. In fact if he looked close enough into his eyes, he could see a tiny reflection of himself getting beaten to death with his own suit.

He wriggled free of the vice-like grip Peter had on his shirt and darted out of reach, stretching for a hologram of his aforementioned body part. Peter emerged from the hologram behind him, mouth open and ready to argue before he snapped it shut and slapped his hand over his eyes, spinning away with a sound of disgust.

“This violates so many workplace laws,” the younger man muttered, and Tony gave a low hum. Was he agreeing? Probably. Tony hadn’t read a Stark Industries contract since Pepper had finalised them all for official use. Frankly, he wouldn’t have even read them then, but she’d physically sat down next to him to make sure he read every. Single. Word.

It had been tedious and boring and to top it off, she’d even confiscated his glasses on the off-chance he’d fitted them with software again to play Angry Birds. (He had.)

“Do you think the body should be red and the tip be gold? Or the other way around?” Tony asked thoughtfully, and made an affronted noise when the hologram splintered out of existence before him. He’d been intending to work on that, thank you. But then gentle fingertips were brushing his jaw, turning his head with careful tenderness until he was blinking back into those whiskey eyes. Peter had such long, lovely lashes. Tony wanted to count every single one.

“Tony. When was the last time you ate?” Peter asked, voice impossibly soft, and Tony made another quiet sound, shrugging lightly as he looked away, off into the distance. That was a nice wall. The perfect wall. Had that wall always been there?

“That depends. What day is it?” he answered, nose scrunching, and he could feel Peter’s gentle exhale across his cheek.

“Friday,” Peter responded flatly, and those featherlight fingers were sliding from his jaw, down to his arm where the smaller man took hold and began to steer him straight back towards the door he’d only just walked through.

“Which means I’m making you a sandwich and then you’re going to bed.”

“How does not eating equate to being banished to bed like a toddler?” Tony argued, but he went willingly anyway, because he was a sucker for a pretty face and a pout. Honestly, hiring Peter Parker was the worst thing he could have ever done to himself.

He’d essentially hired the one person that could actually make him do anything. Besides Pepper, of course, but then she’d gone and gotten pregnant and now she worked in Public Relations, a much calmer department that meant she could largely work from home and keep an eye on her little… Spawn.

“When you’re a grown ass man that needs to be treated like one,” Peter fired back, nudging him into the elevator. Tony opened his mouth, but the younger man rounded on him. “And don’t even think about trying to weasel out of it through JARVIS. He’ll just agree with me,” Peter warned.

“In this instance, Sir, I’m inclined to agree with Mr. Parker,” his treacherous, disloyal AI remarked from around them, and Tony closed his mouth slowly with a scowl. That’s what you got for giving an AI the gift of free will, he supposed. It bit you on the ass and agreed with your spitfire of a personal assistant/colleague.

“This sandwich better have salami in it,” he muttered darkly. Peter simply cast him a sideways, softly amused glance, and pushed him out of the elevator when they arrived at the penthouse. It had apparently been cleaned since Tony was last here, and it was also apparently overcast today, which meant either the New York weather had turned in the last ten minutes, or it truly had been a considerable amount of time since he’d last looked out of the windows.

Guiltily, he noted it was more likely to be the latter. Someone (Peter) had tidied away all of the tools and random bits of tech scattered around, and someone (Peter) had cleared up from his last round of coffees and his poor attempt at making himself a snack some days (?) prior.

He let himself be prodded into a chair at the kitchen island, and crossed his ankles as he swung his lungs, leaning on the bar and doing his best to look cute as Peter rounded it and made for the fridge. Looking cute helped kids and animals get out of trouble, why not attractive billionaires with supersuits?

He watched curiously as Peter pulled a variety of items from the fridge, and the sauce rack at its side. Burger sauce, mustard, sliced roast beef, pepperoni slices, mixed salad lettuce, American cheese and a crusty, round loaf of Italian bread. Tony’s brows raised. That was… Quite the combination.

“I could make a plug and call it the Arse Reactor,” he suggested after a short while had passed, and Peter pressed down so hard on the knife it almost bit into the cutting board. The petite man cast him a glare over his shoulder and Tony raised his hands in surrender, biting back a shit-eating grin as he watched the flex of Peter’s arms and shoulders. When did Peter ever find the time to work out?

“Eat,” Peter’s gentle voice interrupted his distracted thoughts, and Tony blinked down in surprise at the plate that was pushed gently between his propped elbows. He could have sworn it was only two seconds ago Peter was cutting up the ingredients… But, he had to admit, the sandwich looked mouthwatering.

He picked it up dutifully and took a bite as Peter turned away, reaching for the fridge once more. An explosion of flavour hit his tongue and he moaned, chewing his mouthful like it was an act of worship. Across the island, Peter cracked a small, almost shy smile, and poured a cracked the tab on a can of soda.

“I’m marrying this sandwich” Tony announced when Peter came close enough to slide him the drink, and the other man rolled his eyes, but looked suitably bashful. That one initial taste had suddenly altered Tony to just how hungry he actually was, and he shamelessly scarfed the beast of a meal down, aware of the fact that Peter watched him the entire time, leaning against the kitchen island with this impossible soft expression on his face. When Tony had licked his lips clean of crumbs, Peter took the plate, heading over to the sink where he began to run the hot water.

“I have a dish washer for that,” Tony remarked, and he couldn’t see it, but he knew the man had rolled his eyes. Peter did it whenever Tony said anything that pertained to his 'rich, white man privilege.’ It didn’t earn a verbal response, though, and Tony managed another nine seconds before the silence had him twitching and squirming in place, sniffing as he adjusted his seating position and arm placement.

“I bet you’d buy one, if I did. Or even better, I could just send you an Iron Rod fresh from the factory,” Tony remarked, and his mouth was still open enough at the end of the sentence to catch the soap sud that Peter flicked at him.

“I am not going to own a cast of my boss’ dick, you pervert,” Peter huffed in response, and Tony sucked air between his teeth in the universal signal of ouch.

“Why not? Its just a casting. I highly doubt there’s anything about that written in any contract-” knowing Pepper, there absolutely would be, “-and who knows? It could be the best ride of your life,” he tossed out, intently watching the way that Peter’s spine curved as he focused on the task at hand. His assistant squeaked a laugh and shook his head.

“Oh, I doubt it. You’re probably unremarkably average,” Peter shot back, and oh. Game on, Parker. Tony moved silently from the chair, padding one step at a time like a predator on the prowl.

“We both know I’m not,” he hummed, keeping his voice level and quiet so it wouldn’t give away the fact that he was moving closer. Peter hesitated for a moment in his scrubbing, and deflated slightly. Tony was right, and they both knew it. Peter had seen him naked far too many times to have any other conception.

“Okay, you’re not. But I’m still not buying one.”

“I think you want to. And you’re afraid I know you want to,” Tony purred into Peter’s ear, shameless teasing and victory in his voice at the way the boy locked up like he’d just stepped on a landmine.

“What makes you say that?” Peter asked after a moment, voice faux-light and cheery as he scrubbed at a non-existent mark on the plate.

“Because you’ve been scrubbing the same plate for the past five minutes, and all I ate was a sandwich,” Tony pointed out, reaching over to take the sponge away from Peter. Peter made a sound vaguely like he was dying, and turned the water off, shoving the plate almost violently into the drying rack.

“Its called good hygiene, maybe if you did the dishes now and then you’d know it,” Peter responded smartly, turning to face him as he spoke. His assistant raised his arm, pointing past him and towards the steps that led to Tony’s room.

“Bed. Now,” he instructed, and it was purely because Tony was feeling generous (honestly) that he complied, turning on his heel to stroll off towards his room.

“I wouldn’t think any less of you, y'know. I’d be quite flattered,” he remarked casually, and jolted when a magazine hit him on the back of the head. “That’s assault. Pretty sure you’re in violation of the workplace law” he teased, and relished in the soft, despaired groan that sounded from behind him as he bounded up the steps like a puppy.

Once inside his luxurious room, he tugged his shirt over his head and threw it onto his sheets, disappearing into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He ought to shower, but he figured he could do that when he woke up.

“Don’t forget eye drops,” Peter’s voice rang out from his room when he’d rinsed his toothbrush and his mouth, and Tony paused mid-way to the door, stepping backwards to peer into the massive mirror wall. He prodded at one of his eyes thoughtfully, blinking. Huh. They did look a little dry, and feel a little raw.

So purely of his own accord, he dripped a few drops in each one and waved off the light in the bathroom, peering cautiously around the corner to find Peter stood opposite his walk-in closet, carefully reorganising all the clothes Tony had skewed around.

He was eccentric, not gross, thank you very much. Just because he was awake for 82 hours at a time, didn’t mean he didn’t change his clothes and brush his teeth.

“Now that I-”

“If this has anything to do with your dildo, I swear to God,” Peter threatened, pointing at him with a clothes clip before sliding the powder blue shirt into it carefully. Tony couldn’t even remember buying that shirt, let alone removing it from its place. His hands went to his belt to unbuckle it as he padded closer.

“Now that I think about it, I can understand why you don’t want one,” he offered gently, voice sincere and soft. Peter paused dubiously, fingers stilling over the soft sweater he was hanging, and then relaxed, slotting it back onto the bar where it dangled with the rest of its garment family.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter noted quietly.

“Its because there’s so much up your ass already, there wouldn’t be any room,” Tony tacked on casually, fingers curling expertly around the band of gold he could see peeking out from atop the boy’s tight jeans, where his shirt had ridden up as he stretched.

There was enough time for him to note how soft his skin was where he brushed it, for Peter’s breath to hitch on the beginning of a protest, and then Tony’s arm flexed as he yanked the band upwards, driving the material of Peter’s boxers right up between his asscheeks. It actually lifted the boy up onto his toes, hands flying out to brace himself on the wall and -

“Huh,” Tony voiced aloud, over the whimper-whelp that leapt from Peter’s throat.

Peter Parker was wearing a pair of very eye-catching, rather bold Iron Man boxers. The waistband was gold, edged with red, and Tony could see the tips of what he presumed were gauntleted handprints on each round, plump cheek.

“Anthony fucking Edwar-!” Peter seethed, and Tony twisted the material in his grip, hitching it even further against the younger man. It had to be right against his sensitive little hole by now, uncomfortable and rubbing.

“I didn’t realise I was already up your ass, darling,” Tony grinned, brow lifting as he stepped closer, closer, until Peter was pressed against the wall, held there by Tony’s grip and the teasing proximity of his body. He could feel the way Peter started to tremble, and he might have felt bad if he wasn’t pretty clued on to the fact that Peter wasn’t actually offended. Well. Not as offended as he was trying to make out.

“Though of course, that statement isn’t quite as accurate as I think we’d both like it to be,” he noted, gaze falling down, down to where his own brand stretched around a fat, plump set of asscheeks. He praised himself for how long he’d gone without doing anything; even Pepper had taken one look at Peter during his interview and immediately demanded Tony keep his hands to himself.

“You’re an asshole and a fiend,” Peter grumbled, though Tony knew him well enough to know there was a smile on his mouth as he spoke, head turning against the wall slightly to make it more comfortable. He hadn’t moved from his position, even though he could quite well have pushed Tony’s hand aside and moved away. Yet he stayed pinned, like a good little trapped prey.

“I could be worse,” Tony drawled, letting go of Peter’s underwear so that it snapped back against his hips with a satisfying sound that had the smaller man’s hips jolting forwards against the wall with a hiss. Tony didn’t back away, though.

He pressed in closer, slotting their bodies together gently. And oh, what a perfect fit it was. Peter’s smaller frame, blanketed and pressed against by his own, his hips perfect for gripping where Tony’s large hands came to rest on them.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” Tony murmured, lowering his head to nuzzle at the slope of Peter’s shoulder. He did nothing more, just lazily nuzzled at the muscle there, the delicate curve of his neck, breathing in the boy’s scent and relishing in the chance to finally, finally touch. Peter breathed out heavily, lowering himself back onto the flat of his feet and leaning just slightly back into Tony’s careful hold.

“If you don’t tell me stop, I’m going to strip you of everything except for the those boxers, and I’m gonna push them aside to eat you out through them,” he added, quiet, promising.

Peter twitched underneath him, a choked off sound cracking on his tongue as he reached back, digging his fingers into Tony’s hip to drag him forwards, coaxing him into rolling his hips, dragging his cock along the groove of Peter’s ass, where his underwear was still hiked up between those tempting globes of muscle.

“If you stop, I'll resign,” Peter demanded, reaching for Tony’s hair so he could drag him down and kiss that stupid, smug smirk off his face.

#fanfic #starker #starker fanfiction #starker fanfic #starker fic #starker au #starker cu #starker ncc #ironspider #ironspider tanfiction #ironspider fanfic #ironspider fic #ironspider au #ironspider cu #ironspider ncc #tony stark/peter parker #sie fics

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monkeystrokes10 · 3 years ago

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We gave birth to the concept in the wee hours in the common area, aka Creative Lounge. Gustaf was sitting cross-legged on the air hockey table, meditating. Ben, doodling body parts, Jaime in headphones, and me Scrabbling With Friends.

It was our third consecutive all-nighter brainstorming next week’s Whole-Heart Brown Rice presentation, and from an idea standpoint, had what we needed. However, Malcolm Bain, agency founder aka work/life balance denier, insisted on these idea-generating marathons. “That's when the genius happens," says the man who considers Wes Anderson films a yawn. "When you are exhausted and spent.”

Bain. Former business-park developer whose favorite pastimes are power-washing his Cessna 172 and guesstimating his net worth with each Dow closing. His favorite director is Oliver Stone.

Whole-Heart Brown Rice tastes like gerbil bedding. Milled just like white rice, nothing whole grain about it. The brown is food coloring.

It took the account team a two-hour powerpoint to convey to us dope-smoking "creatives" that most consumers combine rice with other foods, including the Asian demographic. We pay these people?

Ben came up with "Everything's right on Whole-Heart Brown Rice." Jyoti added the Gwyneth Paltrow lookalike popping out of the box, flashing a shaka. "Right on!”

The account people would eat it up, pun intended. Bain too. “Right on!” over-designed into billboards, TV, digital, email, point-of-purchase, translites, and oh yeah, fidget spinners. Anything to justify the iceberg-sized invoice of billable hours. Right on!

Gustaf opened his eyes like a genie from a lamp. "This is boolshit."

There’s a picture of Gustaf on the agency website. When Diversity and Inclusivity became buzzwords, B(r)ain Power Inc. hired man-bunned Gustaf “who enjoys tai-chi and rock climbing.” Also Jyoti, Head Designer, sporting chartreuse buzz cut and choli top.

"Look at us,” Gustaf said. “We’re pathetic. Selling fake brown rice.” He bounced a nerf basketball off my head. "Locked in a playpen with toys, spinning gold for shysters."

We laughed. Gustaf did not. "We are better than this," he said.

Erika wasn't laughing either. "I have a gay friend who works for Chick-fil-A."

"She's a whore." Gustaf put his foot behind his head. "We all are."

As introvert copywriter dork, I keep my mouth shut unless I have something on paper to read from. But it was 3:30 a.m. and I just cracked an Allabash Truepenny from the pretentious agency beer fridge, my fourth. "Can't argue,” I said. “Those illiterate cows want to kill the Equality Act.”

Boycott posts had been on my newsfeed for years. Fundamentalist chicken-sandwich billionaire isn't open on Sunday and believes in conversion therapy.

Despite the headphones, Jaime could hear everything. “Advertising feeds the monsters,” she said a little too loud.

Ben flipped an Exacto knife into the drop ceiling. "We are better than this. We should do something worth a damn.”

Erika went for more beer and creative genius struck. An hour later we made a run to the 24-hour home-supply box store.

Tomorrow night, we go into production.

***

The billboard was just off the beltway, at Exit 10. A rusted frame of girders and I-beams supporting the weight of two three-dimensional life-sized fiberglass cows.

One cow stood on the back of the other, hoof reaching up to paint the headline, "Eat Mor Chikin.” I hate it. Bos taurus telling you to eat Gallus domesticus. So creepy.

Jyoti thought of the white coveralls to look like a Chick-fil-A work crew, painting them with big black splotches to match the Holsteins.

Gustaf in his harness scaled the thing and rigged a pulley system off the scaffolding, hoisting Jaime, Ben, and Erika behind him onto the narrow work platform. Jyoti waited below with art supplies. I manned the other end of the base in charge of tools, including the crowbar I used to pry open a breaker box and flip-switch the board into darkness.

Jaime and Gustaf switched on their headlamps and crawled under the cows. A bucket lowered on a rope. “Half-inch drive ratchet, three-quarter socket, combo wrench, cutting wheel," Jaime called down. I rummaged her toolbox, took my best guess, and tugged. The bucket ascended.

Erika lowered a bucket from her end of the platform. “Red, white, two angle brushes, nine-inch roller," she stage whispered. Jyoti filled the order.

At 3:00 a.m., traffic was scarce, but my heart was banging away like Sheila E. Gustaf grinding sparks and Jaime in a ratcheting frenzy as Ben performed the sex changes with a handsaw, epoxy, and four Sculpey horns.

Then the three of them grunted the two transgender Holsteins into Verse 37 of the Kama Sutra.

Erika brushed away at copy revisions on her side of the billboard, teetering horrifically on Jyoti’s shoulders, who’d somehow climbed up to get in on the action.

I could hardly watch. If someone got hurt, we'd all be touring emergency rooms, central booking, Dewey, Cheatum, & Howe law offices, and unemployment lines.

On a lighter note, my headlamped co-workers in makeshift cow-coveralls looked like Oompah Loompahs working Willy Wonka's milking machine. I heard nervous giggling, and realized it was mine.

In five minutes, it was a wrap. After everyone rappelled to terra firma, I flipped the power back on so we could admire our work.

As an ad, it put the mess in messaging. A convoluted shitshow. But to overworked, frustrated, guilt-ridden creatives, it was the best thing we'd ever done.

The receiving bull, standing on its hind legs, gazed dreamily into the night while the servicing bull fellated its single modified udder/penis.

An LGBTQ rainbow was art directed over the bovine lovers. Erika had rendered the cow scrawl like a photoshop wizard. Gustaf was right, "Home of the Homophobe Sandwich" would’ve been copy heavy.

However, "Suk More Dik'n" was One Show Pencil gold. Underneath, the tagline in pink script. “It’s Natural!”

Erika took the low-hanging fruit. "The client's going to have a cow."

***

A celebratory IHOP blueberry stack, and we were back in the office. Bain didn't show up until after 11, wearing an Adidas tracksuit and a Tag Heuer.

"It's nuts out there this morning. Exit 10 is backed up like you wouldn't believe," he said.

Jyoti, still in her cow get-up, gave a triumphant moo.

Bain didn't blink. “Well, team, did lightning strike?"

"We're in a good place, Chief," I said.

"Right on," Bain said.

Right on, indeed.

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path-of-my-childhood · 4 years ago

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What's this article about? Idk how to break a paywall, don't mind paying but it's just for an article 😂

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/spotify-has-forced-pop-stars-to-lower-their-standards-so-taylor-swift-do-you-fancy-a-pint-hk2mv6w00

Ahahaha I know that article, I read it when it came out 😂 it’s basically just writer messing around... I’ll copy it below the cut if you wanna read it...

Spotify Has Forced Pop Stars to Lower Their Standards. So, Taylor Swift, Do You Fancy a Pint?

The Times // by Martin Hemming // November 29th 2020

“Hey hey, my my, rock and roll can never die,” sang the hairy Canadian Neil Young in 1979. With hindsight, he should have added: “My my, hey hey, unless an insane business model takes over, which allows you effectively to own almost all the popular music ever recorded for a tenner a month, and gets in the way” — which may not scan terribly well but just about rhymes, and makes a very good point.

Last week, some rock’n’roll stars went up in front of a government select committee to moan that Spotify and other music streaming services were ruining their livelihoods. This was a bit rich coming from the bloke from Radiohead, a band that once gave fans the chance to pay nothing for an album.

But it was rather upsetting to hear that the singer Nadine Shah, who — despite being nominated for a Mercury music prize and selling out the Roundhouse in London — was effectively skint. The satirical online newspaper The Onion recently ran the headline “Spotify celebrates 100th dollar given to artists” — which was so funny I bought a CD.

Also there was Guy Garvey, whose band Elbow at least started out in the era of people splurging £12.99 on compact discs. Indeed, I bought their first CD, in 2001, and thought it rather good. It contained no clue that they would go on to make overwrought, string-laden anthems destined to be soundtracks to Olympic closing ceremonies and episodes of DIY SOS, but there you go — I’m partly responsible. (Free interesting fact: Garvey is the late Dame Diana Rigg’s son-in-law.)

While Guy spent his record profits on elaborate string arrangements, other rock stars in the pre-Spotify era spent their money properly. By which I mean, hilariously irresponsibly.

I’m currently reading the memoir of a hip American beat combo called the Beastie Boys. You may remember them: the Daily Mirror put them on its front page in 1987, calling them the world’s nastiest pop group. One Beastie Boy became a Buddhist and campaigned for a free Tibet, which shows the power the tabloid press had back then.

When their debut album “blew up”, they did what any self-respecting rock stars should do. Which was drink, take drugs, chase women, rent a house with a pool in Los Angeles and buy impractical cars. Before the band’s first headline tour, their record company said they could have anything they wanted as stage props. They asked, quite reasonably, for a 15ft-high hydraulic penis. They got, without fuss, a 15ft-high hydraulic penis, which is perhaps what has been missing from Elbow’s most recent performances.

Cut to the end of a gig by one of today’s struggling fledgling rockers: “You’ve been wonderful, Milton Keynes, but, sorry, no encore tonight — I’ve got a Deliveroo shift and I still need to do my accounts before bed.”

It’s the rock star’s right, privilege and prerogative to be wild and obnoxious. If money is no longer being thrown at young wallies in bands, the rock memoir of the future is going to be a dull affair. I have no idea what Mojo magazine will write about.

Which brings me to Taylor Swift, a woman who, by virtue of her being very beautiful and very talented, could go out with any man in the world. She could pick a Californian fintech billionaire, an Italian duke or, indeed, a mysterious lead singer/drug addict from a noisy rock band. Instead, she goes out with a chap called Joe from Tunbridge Wells.

Joe, 29, was last week confirmed as a co-writer on some of the songs on Swift’s most recent album, Folklore, which is sweet. But more revealing is an earlier song she wrote in his honour, London Boy. In it she sings of going to Brixton and Shoreditch, and asks him to show her Hackney — presumably the bits with the overpriced small-plate restaurants rather than the, you know, stabby bits.

One line runs: “You can find me in the pub, we are watching rugby with his school friends.” Err, Joe? You’ve started dating Taylor Swift and you thought you’d impress her by... taking her down the boozer with Bodger and Smithy?

Another song on Folklore is called The Lakes, which you might assume would be a paean to some dramatic slice of American big country. Nope, it’s about the Lake District.

So, Taylor is partial to gentrified London boroughs, pubs with BT Sport and the walking holidays you went on when you were 12. How did ordinary Joe — OK, he’s a moderately successful actor — get the memo that pasty blokes from the home counties were within the Venn diagram set of “men Taylor Swift might go out with”?

I mean, I’m from an average London suburb (“He was from Sutton / I thought we should get it on...”). Plus, I own all the relevant Lake District Ordnance Survey maps (OS Explorer OL4 through OL7). I would happily have spent lockdown, fuelled by Kendal mint cake, working on an Alfred Wainwright concept album with you, Taylor. Look, I’ve already started on the track-listing: For Whom the Cat Bells Tolls, Helvellyn is a Place on Earth, I’ll Show You My Old Man of Coniston If You Show Me Yours...

Maybe the Spotify effect has lowered expectations. Rock stars used to want to date people with yachts and castles and inheritances. Or who were just really fit. Now, if Taylor’s anything to go by, they’re wowed by a Thermos and a National Trust membership card.

Suggesting people go out with you via the pages of a newspaper might not appear very rock’n’roll. But who knows any more? Look, I’m sure Joe’s lovely, and the banter with his rugger mates is riveting, but I’ll leave my invitation here anyway, Swifty. You can shake it off, shake it off, or, if you do ever find yourself, in Gore-Tex, wandering lonely as a cloud, I’ll meet you in Keswick. Have you been to its pencil museum?

#the times #article #taylor swift #asks #Spotify

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ngendo · 4 years ago

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Birthday Flex

*Text first published on 23rd March 2021 on Facebook.*

Dear People, Thank you so much for the birthday wishes. It's very strange to try to celebrate while there is so much hurt in the air, streaming through our blood, burying itself between each, single, breath. I know three people who have lost loved ones this week, and it's Tuesday. Because of them and so many others, I celebrate the fact that I am still here. That I still breath, that I still get pissed off, that I continue to march on wards to (and hopefully through) 40, that I can complain, that I can lay on the grass in my garden, go for walks in the evening, drink tea, cuddle with my lover, play football with Chairman, harvest mint between giggles with my niece. I MUST celebrate that the things that prickle my skin and make my blood boil, can only do so, because I am here. Being angry is part of being alive, and knowing, that we DESERVE better WHILE we are here. Here. Not tomorrow, not in an afterlife unseen. HERE. I am grateful to be alive on this beautiful, hectic, violent ass planet. Violent, because we made it so. I am grateful to be aging because the other option is to be gone. I am grateful to have anger coursing through my veins, because it means that sometimes I find enough courage to erupt, to burn, and to say NO FUCKING MORE. The liberation to be a woman and to burn so bright that people fear your voice, but cannot come to your face and silence it..... ahhhhh, it's like eating cool chunks of pineapple in the afternoon sun, until my tongue stings. To be an African Woman that can shout my truth and only receive whispers in the wind from those who prefer my silence.... to KNOW that I have brought fear to those who willingly oppress others daily..... it is the scent of freshly cut strawberries saturating my nose. It is the fruition of my toil. I wish that all of us could experience this at least once in our lives, for it is simply being a human. Being allowed to occupy space. That is it. Daily, we operate in fear, silenced in advanced by doctrine, by tradition, by manhood, by whiteness, by the patriarchy. Fuck all that shit. Burn Bissshhhh. Burn. My anger is born of LOVE. >Love for my people. >Love for Afro women carrying too much weight on their backs, while foreigners with lenses exoticize the length of our necks, and our male counterparts pontificate about our resilience with opaque ideas of 'tradition'. >Love for my LGBTQI people ducking and diving between shadows because our society worships a white god that banished Blackness and ALL African sexuality, into aberration. >Love for the people who service our middle class asses daily but every damn time one of us tries to get them better salaries, the neighbourhood committee throws mountains of paperwork in your face to keep poor people poor. (Note for anyone who is economically marginalised, DO NOT trust the Kenyan middle and upper class. We're too busy imagining we can become millio-billionaires while using the Bible to justify your poverty. At any chance you get, throw us overboard.) > Love for the fucking effort it takes just to speak your truth despite knowing that some of your friends will feel the need to inform you that they as a person living in white skin (especially the ones in Europe) KNOW the ultimate and only legitimate complete alpha and omega truth about being a Black person. (Fuck right off by the way. Cheers.) > Love for all of us surviving Christianity through complete cultural erasure and the severing of ourselves from our own Black bodies and tongues, even when we cannot name that emptiness. > Love for all of us relegated to even lower depths of the hierarchy because we were born with not a penis nigh! >Love for us additionally ostracized for being the parent that stayed. (Single moms where you at!? ) > Love for all of us who silently cry NO MORE even as society uses our bent backs as a foundation for the institutions that oppress us. Growing up, I was repeatedly told that I as a girl should be quiet, I should sit with my legs close together and cover myself up, I was told it's not nice for me to be angry, or to swear, nice girls don't move their hands about when talking, nice girls don't shout. I was told, "Women don't have muscles" even as I could tense the rippling sinews on my abdomen and form a juicy waru on my arm. Anger is perhaps the greatest muscle we were taught to never flex. It was smothered into the most silent corners of our ever silent bodies. But our anger is bright and buoyant and fucking beautiful. While others are allowed to tear through nail salons, and churches, and communities, and races, and entire continents, and their psychosis is celebrated as conquest and empire, or noted as depression and 'having a bad day'...... Our rightful and justified anger has been silenced from our very first cry at birth. The rage of women, could turn this whole world upside down, inside out. This woman has muscles. This woman swears. This woman sits with her legs open when she fucking wants. This woman has sex. This woman takes shits. This woman writes poetry and paints pictures. This woman makes films, and my films are fucking legit. This woman loves herself. I love myself. I love myself over and beyond the conditional respect and allowances you may grant me. They are not important to me. I have no love for your rules and regulations set to limit my freedoms. If this hurts your sensibilities, try loving yourself instead. In any case, IDGAF. Happy New Birth Year to me. Happy Re-Birth to all the women I know. We must burn today, because we won't be here tomorrow. We must burn today, because otherwise, when we are gone our only legacy will have been our subservience; kneeling as a stepping stone for the dreams of others. We must burn today, because that subservience will be celebrated to oppress those that come after us. Women. Burn. May our collective anger over run the shackles that contain us. Heck fucking yeah!!

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elisaphoenix13 · 6 years ago

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A No Good, Very Bad Day

He wished he never got out of bed that morning. He should have gone right back to bed when he accidently gripped his glass of orange juice too hard and shattered the cup, cutting his hand. Tony cleaned the mess while Stephen tended to the teen's hand, and then Peter left for school without a word.

It only got worse.

He missed the subway, so he had to take the next one which made him late for school, and when he got to his locker he realized he forgot his book report at home. That was at least easy to fix. He could call Stephen and ask the man to portal it to him.

Ned was absent so getting through the day would be harder without his distraction, and he even managed to fall off the rope in gym glass. Very Spiderman like. He still wasn't sure how it happened.

He would have been able to brush all of that aside, but then Flash happened. Peter tried to leave as fast as possible as soon as the final bell rung, but he must have been waiting for him because he tripped Peter as he was walking around the corner to the main doors. Flash laughs when he swan dives to the floor and his next words shatter Peter's heart.

"Hey Penis! I'm surprised Tony Stark is still alive considering your curse." Peter pushes himself to his feet. "It's only a matter of time until you kill him too. Then you'll have no one. You're just a charity case Parker."

Tears spring to his eyes but he blinks them away. He wouldn't give Flash the satisfaction. It would only spur the other teen on and he didn't want to hear any more insults. So he rushes off and through the main doors and blindly climbs into the familiar Audi in silence. Peter ignores the concerned look Happy gives him through the rearview mirror and elects to look out his window to avoid conversation.

You're just a charity case.

That wasn't true was it? Tony and Stephen seemed to genuinely care about him...but maybe it really was for the public. Tony Stark taking in and caring for an orphan from Queens? It would definitely give a positive impression.

Or maybe it was because he was Spiderman. Maybe Tony wanted to keep him close in case he need his powers.

Even if all of that wasn't true, something else bothered Peter.

A curse.

The teen was inclined to agree with Flash in that regard. Peter had two sets of parents already and they all died. He was legitimately terrified of losing Tony and Stephen. They were the only parental figures he had left and if something happened to them...

Peter chokes on a sob as he jumps out of the car when Happy pulls up to the tower, and hangs his head when he steps into the elevator. He needed to push down his emotions and lock them away. It wouldn't do to worry Tony and Stephen anymore.

"Are you alright Peter? You seemed distressed." FRIDAY asks.

"Just tired."

The AI says nothing as the elevator doors open on the family floor and a trembling hand immediately grabs his chin as soon as he steps off. Stephen tilts Peter's chin up and to the side, and frowns.

"Did someone hit you?"

Peter pushed the sorcerer away. "I fell. I'm fine."

"Peter--"

"I said I'm fine!" The teen shouts. "I'm just a charity case anyway!"

Stephen narrows his eyes. "Charity case?! You are anything but! Where did that even come from?"

"So I'm here because of Spiderman?! Is that why Tony took me in?!"

"Spiderling what is going on? Do I need to get your father?" Stephen reaches out but Peter flinches away.

"He's not my dad...and neither are you." The sorcerer recoils and the teen looks away from the elder man's hurt expression. "Just leave me alone."

Peter rushes into his room before Stephen collects himself to react and he slumps against the wall after slamming the door. The hurt he saw in the sorcerer's eyes hurt him too but he decided pushing them away was the best decision. He'd rather they hate him and be alive than be dead because Peter cared about them. He couldn't lose another set of parents.

With another choked sob, he fumbles to take his watch off and he throws it, his phone, and his Spiderman suit into the closet. He was going to leave and didn't want his parents to track him. No. Not his parents anymore. He didn't deserve them. He wasn't going to take anything except the clothes on his back and whatever money he had, and maybe his web shooters. Peter wasn't about to risk another confrontation with Stephen or Tony, so his exit was going to have to be his bedroom window.

He would climb his way down.

_______________________

Tony whistles as he strolls into the living room and he pauses when he finds Stephen sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. Scarred hands were very obviously shaking and that told the billionaire that his boyfriend was anxious, so he rushes to sit next to the sorcerer and rubs his back.

"You alright? Did you have a nightmare or something?"

Stephen laughs half-heartedly. "If only. I'm still waiting to wake up."

Ok. Now Tony was really worried. "Where's Peter?!"

"He's okay. Physically at least. He's in his room."

"What do you mean physically?"

Stephen takes a shuddering breath and lowers his hands into his lap. "Peter came home looking upset. I saw a bruise and asked him about it, and he told me that he just fell and he was fine. I was going to ask him if he wanted an ice pack...and he went off about being a charity case."

"Where the hell did he get that idea?"

"He didn't say. I asked if he wanted me to get you and...he said..." Strange swallows. "That you weren't his father...and neither was I."

Tony curses. "I bet you everything that Flash kid said something. Just give Peter some time to calm down. I'm sure he didn't mean it."

Stephen nods and Tony gets up after pressing a kiss to his temple and makes his way into the kitchen. Peter must have had a terrible day if said something as hurtful as he did, and to Stephen no less. It made him wonder if there was more than what was said because his son was too nice for this world to say something so heartbreaking without a reason. Peter was hurting more than he let on and that also meant the kid was thinking too much. Tony didn't know what about though.

A few hours pass as the engineer plans and makes dinner, and when their meal is finished, Tony asks Stephen to get their son. The sorcerer does with some hesitation, before racing into the kitchen in a panic.

"Tony, Peter's gone."

Tony freezes. "What? Are you sure?"

Stephen holds up the Spiderman suit, cellphone, and watch, causing Tony to blanch. "When did Peter leave FRIDAY?"

"Shortly after his argument with the doctor. He told me he was getting some fresh air. Shall I check neighborhood surveillance?"

The billionaire swipes a hand through his hair. "Its too dark for that. Stephen did you check for hair?"

"He thought of that too."

"Okay...we'll just have to look the good old fashioned way. He won't be getting very far at this hour."

"I'll check bus stations and...alleys."

Tony nods. "I'll call Ned and look around Queens."

_________________

It was nearly two o'clock in the morning when a thought came to Stephen. Tony had called to let him know that Peter wasn't at his friend's and that he was going to check his usual haunts, and Stephen had checked bus stations, subways, and any other place of transportation with no luck. When he recalled his rather one-sided argument with Peter he remembered the teen renouncing he and Tony as his parents.

Wasn't his family buried?

With that in mind, Stephen opens a portal to the graveyard they went to for May's funeral and immediately begins his search for Peter or specific graves. He found his parents graves first. Ben and May were right next to them but Peter was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps this was the last place Peter would want to go. It was, after all, a reminder that he was the last remaining Parker, and he probably thought he was alone if Stephen knew him well enough.

A sneeze from behind Richard's grave startles Stephen from his thoughts, and he steps around the large stone marker to find Peter huddled against it. The sorcerer falls to his knees in front of him and reaches out to brush away brown curls, waking the dozing boy.

"You're freezing." Levi moves from his shoulders and wraps around Peter's shivering form.

"What are you doing here?" Peter whispers.

Stephen grabs the boy's face and forces him to meet his gaze. "I'm here to take you home. You had us worried."

Peter pushes his hands away. "I don't want to be a charity case."

"I already told you, you are anything but. The moment you called us when May..." Stephen sighs at the younger's flinch. "Tony called his lawyers about adopting you. He...we...didn't want you to go anywhere else. You are important to us and even if we aren't your parents, you are our son. That will never change."

A tear falls down Peter's face and the sorcerer gently wipes it away. "I don't want anyone else to die because of me."

Stephen pulls the boy into his chest and gently strokes trembling fingers through his curls. The cold was starting to affect the pain in his hands but he would ignore it for now.

"Peter...no one died because of you. They were all terrible accidents."

Peter sobs. "You and Tony are all I have left. What if something happens?"

"You still have the rest of the Avengers, Happy, and even Pepper. But," Stephen pushes Peter away just enough to look at him. "Tony and I don't plan on dying anytime soon. At least Tony isn't. I've died thousands of times already."

Peter looks at him incredulously. "What?"

Stephen chuckles. "I annoyed an other-worldly being with a time loop." Peter actually laughed at that. "Now please, let me take you home."

Peter nods after a moment and the two move to their feet, but before Stephen can start opening a portal, strong arms wrap around his waist and the teen buries his face into the sorcerer's shoulder.

"I'm sorry Mom."

Strange sighs with relief at the familiar term as he returns the hug, and then adjusts Levi around Peter's shoulders when he finally pulls away. He turns and opens a portal, leading the teen through, and Peter sits at the table while Stephen heats up their dinner. It was halfway through their meal and the sorcerer was drinking his tea mid-sip when he remembered an important detail and spews his tea.

"I forgot about your father!"

#ironstrange #supremefamily #peter parker #tony stark #mama bear stephen strange #stephen strange #ironstrange family #irondad #doctor dad

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iamthekaijuking · 5 years ago

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Nice Guys

Nice guys. We’ve all heard the stories. They’re disgusting hypocritical freaks who won’t go away if they get you in their sights.

So you can understand why I was a little on edge when I realized one was stalking me in a Walmart.

He was constantly looking around corners and trying to sneakily stare at my breast. Of course, his idea of sneaky wasn’t very subtle and it was pretty obvious to everyone that he was stalking me. I tried race walking from one end of the building to another, hoping his big flabby body would run out of breath. Initially it did work, and I didn’t run into him for the rest of my shopping. I thought I finally escaped him.

When I walked out of Walmart and discovered the the fedora freak was waiting for me in the shadows.

He started following me again. I hoped someone would notice, but it was nighttime and the parking lot wasn’t well lit. I tried walking faster, but he kept up with me the entire time no matter how fast I went. When I got to my car I was fumbling for my keys. I futilely hoped that I could get in my car before he reached me. Unfortunately I was too late, and my blood ran cold as I heard those dreaded words.

“H-hey there m’lady.”

I could already imagine him tipping his fedora. I turned around, and was greeted with hot Cheeto breath coming from his thick chapped lips. He stood uncomfortably close to me.

“What’s a l-lovely chick like you d-doing alone on a night like this?”

“Please leave me alone.” I said futilely.

“W-what’s wrong? Can’t handle all this hotness m’la-“

Before he could finish his sentence he retched before stumbling backwards. The fat on his body churned and slowly made its way towards his mouth. His screams pierced the night sky and caused many people to turn their heads and gaze in terror. His agony lasted for minutes on end. People gathered around. Some tried to help while others called for an ambulance and police.

His cries reached a crescendo before being cut off as thousands of small fedoras erupted from his mouth. Some flew into the night sky while others crept into the darkness. As the last of the juvenile fedoras left his body, all that was left was a severely distended sack of skin draped over a skeleton and some loosely attached organs.

Medical help arrived shortly after along with police. The nice guy was pronounced dead. Officers questioned me, but they heavily doubted that I could have done anything to him that resulted in his current state.

I didn’t sleep well that night.

Months went on and news outlets were flooded with more and more cases just like the one I witnessed. A fedora was even captured by scientists and was tested on. What they found out from their experiments shocked everyone.

The fedoras weren’t actually fedoras. They were parasitoid flatworms that camouflaged themselves as fedoras in hopes of being worn by potential hosts, in this case nice guys, and then grew thousands of fleshy tendrils throughout the host body. The host was then partially eaten from the inside and filled with the fedora worm’s offspring who continued eating the host until they expired. If they couldn’t be pick up by a potential host in time then they’d just hunt down a nice guy to infect on their own.

And nice guys weren’t the only group being hunted by previously undiscovered species. All over the world incidents like the “nice guy massacre” were happening.

Nazis were being similarly parisitized by giant relatives of Diplozoon paradoxum who fused during mating and resembled swastikas on clothing.

Billionaires and millionaires were being eaten alive by a new family of cockroaches that resembled coins.

Rapist and sex traffickers were killed and eaten by penis worms.

Racist were straight up hunted and mauled by a subspecies of black bear.

Tyrants and dictators had the most unusual case, as they were all hunted down by a small late surviving genus of Tyrannosaur. There’s even a video on the internet of one of the feathered freaks sneaking up on Kim Jong-un and killing him.

The list could go on and on, but it seemed like all these new species coming out of the woodworks were specifically targeting the worst humanity had to offer. And whenever one of these groups took precautions or tried to protect themselves, the creatures just evolved new strategies and adaptations until the groups went “extinct”. And then most of the creatures disappeared in the wild, although some are still kept in zoos.

Obviously this new biological justice system was eating holes in many governments around the world, but as newer and much more genuinely kind people came in and filled the holes, people stopped complaining.

Now, years later, the world is peaceful. There’s no wars. Nobody is discriminated against. Everyone has equal rights. Climate change is now something that everyone is working to prevent. Humanitarian efforts are now underway to bring third world countries up to first world health standards, and with no strings attached either.

Oddly enough, the last of the groups to go extinct was nice guys. I guess nice guys really did finish last.

———————————————————————

This is my submission for @bogleech’s Creepypasta Cookoff this year.

#my writing #bogleech #creepypasta #writing #creepypasta cookoff 2019 #creepypasta cookoff

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no-goddamn-cilantro · 6 years ago

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I've got you, Kid

Or, five times in which Tony Stark has his kid's back, and one time where his kid has him.

*One*

"Hey Penis! Penis Parker! Going to your pretend internship tonight?" Peter heaves a long, slow sigh, hitching the straps of his backpack up a little more comfortably onto his shoulders and attempts to ignore the irritating bully, increasing his pace to the exit. Alas, if nothing else can be said about Flash Thompson, it's that he's persistent.

"I bet it's just an excuse for you to hide that you don't have any friends besides that weird Ned kid." The boy in question takes this opportunity to rise to the bait and while Peter appreciates the continued staunch support of his best friend, on days like today he's nothing short of exhausted. Patrol went way past curfew and he just knew Mr. Stark was going to have something to say about it.

"Peter's internship is real! You're just jealous he gets to spend time with The Avengers." Peter could actually hear the capital letters on the Avengers and he felt a tension headache begin in one temple. Before Flash could continue berating him for the internship, Peter escapes out the door and makes a beeline for where Happy is normally waiting for him. Instead of the SUV with staid coloring, a familiar orange Lamborghini sits with the genius owner of it casually leaning against the passenger door. A single eyebrow ticks up as he meets Peter's eye.

"What's up kid? You ready for the conference this weekend?" One blink, then two. No, Peter isn't hallucinating. Mr. Stark is really here to pick him up from school. In front of God and Flash and everybody and oh my God Mr. Stark is here. Peter's grin lit up his whole face and he bounded over to the car in four long strides.

"Mr. Stark! Yeah, I-I think I've got everything," a little breathless, Peter continues to grin at his mentor, a thousand words jockeying for space in his brain and exactly zero getting air time. Mr. Stark pushes off from the side of the car and saunters around to the driver's side, leaving Peter to scramble to get in and shut the door.

Once they're on the road headed to the compound, Peter breaks the companionable silence.

"Hey Mr. Stark?"

"what's up Underoos?"

Slight hesitation, then a very quiet, "How did you know?"

With a deliberately casual handwave and shrug, the genius billionaire gives a breezy, "That guy in the chair of yours- Ted? Ed? Bread?- is pretty protective of you. I notice these things." Peter's face blooms with a mortified blush and buries his face in his hands. Chuckling, his mentor reaches over with one hand and runs his fingers through the teen's hair, disguising the gentility with a playful ruffle.

"Hey. I've got you, kid. I wish you'd talked to me about this stuff before, but you know I've always got you."

The warm glow in Peter's chest kept him warm all weekend.

*Two*

"-and son, I need you to come along in wave two with Widow and Falcon and work on webbing 'em up while they fall. Let's try to minimize property damage if we can, but civilian safety come first." Peter zoned back in just in time to hear his part, giving the Captain a jaunty wave in acknowledgement before shooting a web to the nearest building, waiting for the orange and green... Giant frogs? Giant frogs, ranging in size from an oven to a Buick, crawled out of the wormhole between two buildings and began attempting to... What was that?

"Uh... Mr. Captain America sir? Are they eating the road? And the cars?"

Over the comms comes the somehow both angry and delighted voice of Hawkeye. "You're goddamn right they're eating cars and road! They just ate a Camaro right underneath me and the asphalt underneath it. That was beautiful!"

"Do we need another talk about language, Barton?" Tony's snark was never going to get old to Peter- he snickered and began shooting webs, lifting the oversized frogs and sticking them to the sides of buildings nearby-

-only for them to begin eating through the buildings they're webbed to. "Heckin darn it!" Thinking quickly (and ignoring the suspiciously Tony-sounding laughter in his earpiece), he shot a web and snagged the underside of one of the alien's jaws, flicking his wrist just so and managing to wrap the strand of web around the- frog? Not-frog? Whatever's- mouth, effectively cutting off the wanton destruction of innocent vehicles and roads. Giving a whoop of triumph, Peter went to work on each of them that he could find, swinging between buildings and city blocks to cover as much ground as he could.

Then one of the largest Asphoads (as Peter had secretly named them in the privacy of his own mind) opened its mouth at exactly the wrong time and caught his web directly on the tongue. Immediately it have a hard jerk of its head, stronger than he'd expected, and pulled him off course. The frantic release of the now-being-eaten web and attempt at sending out a web to the next building didn't arrest his fall in the slightest and before he could do more than panic-flail, a metal arm wrapped around his chest and brought his fall to a very sudden halt. As he was lowered the last few meters to the ground, Tony's amused voice sounded in his ear.

"I've got you kid. What would you do without me?"

"Get squished by a rolled up newspaper?"

A bark of laughter and he landed gently on his feet. The Asphoads appeared to have no interest in eating him now that he was on the ground, but he still went out of his way to finish webbing up the original target.

Later, back at the compound, Barton and Sam put on a dramatic reenactment of the fall for Rhodey, complete with Peter's doe eyes and a tearful, "Thank you so much for saving the day Mr. Stark! You're the best dad a nerd could ask for!"

Well, Peter didn't exactly disagree. So it all worked out.

*Three*

His kid was gone. His kid was gone. Ash between his fingers, along with almost everyone else that was on this godforsaken rock. He was vaguely aware of a high-pitched, keening noise, before abruptly realizing it was him. He was making that sound, and he couldn't seem to stop until the violent, racking sobs began to rip through him and he bent to push his forehead into the (ash ash ash Peter's ash) dirt beneath him.

In between the sobs he berated himself.

"I've got you," he said

"Liar!" he accused

"Not enough," he knew

"Bring him back!" he demanded

"Oh God, Peter..."

The name sat like the ashes (all that was left of his boy oh my God my boy my kid gone gone gone) on his tongue, terribly heavy and burning.

He clawed at the ground, as if he could dig through the ashes and dust and, like a phoenix, Peter would rise reborn. All he did was dirty his hands and seem to tear something inside the stab wound he abruptly remembered.

Exhausted, he picked up his head and looked dully up at the blue woman that was watching him fall to pieces without so much as a hint of pity. Somehow, this steeled him against his breakdown and he stood, meeting her eye.

"Nebula, right?"

A nod, her gaze unwavering.

"What's next?"

Her voice is rough, the only sign of any emotion from the cyborg.

"We find him. We kill him. We get our families back."

Tony nods.

"We need help. Get us to Earth and we'll have it."

Without a word she turns and stalks towards the Guardians' ship. He follows, after about ten steps realizing that it isn't dust in his eyes, but his vision blacking out. As he hits the ground, he hears Nebula turn and come back, lifting him and carrying him to the ship. She's still eerily silent, but that just leaves room for Tony's last thought before he succumbs to the darkness taking over his sight and his mind.

I've got you, kid. I'm bringing you home. I promise.

*Four*

Tony and Peter are sitting in his workshop, doing what they do best- tinkering. He's letting the kid go nuts with one of his older gauntlets while he works on a new arm for DUM-E. It's peaceful, and he's quietly enjoying the light chatter from the kid as he discusses his latest Spanish test and Mr. Stark, it isn't fair that we have a test every week, it unfairly skews our grade!

He hasn't actually turned and looked at the kid in a few hours, engrossed as he is with this wiring that just isn't working for whatever reason. But the chatter is soothing, a balm to his soul that is deeply weary.

... why is his soul so deeply weary?

... what's going on in the outside world?

What time is it? Shouldn't Peter be tired? Hungry?

Tony shrugs it off and continues for a few more hours, blissful in the unanswered questions. He notices a bit of (ash) dirt smudged on his hand and for some reason (oh God my boy) it's really bugging him all of a sudden.

"Hey Pete, will you pass me a clean cloth from the bucket under your workbench?"

"Mister... Stark...?"

His hands begin to shake.

"Peter. Buddy. Cloth please."

"Mr. Stark, I don't feel so good."

His heart pounds in his chest and he turns around.

And he's not in his workshop anymore. It's Titan, and there's Peter. Bruised, battered, and scared. Looking to him. Reaching for him.

He runs and catches his boy in his arms, lowering him to the ground just as he crumbles to ash.

"Peter! No, Peter... I've got you. I had you... God I'm so fucking sorry... Petey..."

With that mournful cry he jerks awake, met with the darkness of the dead ship he shares with Nebula.

I've got you kid. I'm bringing you back. Just hold on a little longer, wherever you are.

Sick from his injury and exhausted, Tony sleeps.

*Five*

It's over. It's finally over.

Thanos is gone, back where it all began for him.

Back on Titan.

The gauntlet weighs heavy on Tony's arm, not just physical weight but the weight of purpose. The weight of promise.

He breathes deep. Lets it out slowly. Focuses on his exact desires. Personally and as an Avenger. Another breath.

Then. Tony Stark Snaps.

A serene pool stretching into infinity around a tiny Pagoda is before him. In it, stands Soul. Wearing Peter's face, but most definitely Not Peter.

"What did it cost?"

Tony stares at Not Peter.

"Everything."

Burning pain.

Exhaustion.

Then, brightness and relief.

The Infinity Gauntlet, and Tony's entire left arm, fall to the ground, burnt and mangled far beyond repair. Where the stones rested are burnt husks.

Tony doesn't care.

Standing where he fell, looking confused but unharmed, is Peter. His kid, his boy. Whole and healthy. Vaguely aware of the return of the other Fallen, but deeply apathetic to it, he rushes to Peter, wrapping him in a tight hug with his remaining arm. Peter, confused and afraid ("Mr. Stark what happened to your arm?!") but utterly trusting, hugs him back just as tightly, burying his face in Tony's chest.

The genius rests his face in the chocolate curls, whispering fondly.

"I've got you kid. I've finally got you and I'm taking you home."

*And One*

A scream rips through the once-silent hallway, waking up three people simultaneously.

Rhodey sits up, sighing and reaching for his braces again.

Steve rolls out of bed, going to stand watch outside the door with the screaming.

And Peter takes off in a mad dash towards the sound. Even though it's a nightly occurrence, it never stops the spike of terror drilled into his spine hearing Tony scream his name like that.

As with previous nights, Peter and Steve exchange nods before Peter walks through the door, hurrying to the bed where Tony is tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. Another scream escapes his throat, ending with a plaintive whine and rattling sob. Peter sits next to him on the bed, pulling the blankets and sheets off of his mentor and reaching to wake him.

The teen speaks loudly over the sobs, firm as he tries to bring his mentor back from his own personal hell.

"Mr. Stark I'm right here. You saved me from Titan. We're back on Earth. Mr. Stark, I'm right here!"

Finally, dark eyes open and lock on to Peter who opens his arms to the anticipated and much-needed hug. He still jumps a bit at the cold metal of Tony's prosthetic arm, but quickly melts into the embrace, rubbing the genius' back until the shaking stops.

Into the dark, Peter finally summons the courage to say what he's been thinking in the weeks since they returned.

"Mr. Stark, you don't have to try to be so strong anymore. You did it, you saved us. You saved me. Now let us save you. I've got you, Mr. Stark."

Peter pretends to not feel the wet heat of tears in his hair. He adds one last, soft whisper as he pretends to not feel his own tears.

"I love you Mr. Stark. We'll get through this together."

#irondad angst #irondad and spiderson #irondad #iron man #spiderson #five plus one #tony stark #peter parker #why did i write this #why did you do this to me #why did i do that to myself

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agent-yolk-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Friends Like You and Us - Venom!Reader - Ch. 5

Successfully (hopefully) queued at the stroke of midnight to bring you the latest chapter of some spider shenanigans. Fresh off the back of AO3!

In this episode: The gang throws spaghetti at the wall until something sticks, Noir enjoys playing with the remote, you have a breakdown for five minutes, and your aunt really needs to get her shit together for important business trips.

I also made a master list! Anyone new who wants to start or the veterans who want to revisit that one part in that one chapter!

AO3 Version | Masterlist

”Welcome to the first, and hopefully only, Spider-Persons conference. First off, I would like to thank (First Name) for hosting us and fixing up drinks with what they had to work with. Our main objective tonight: get everyone back to their proper universes before we don’t feel so good anymore…” Ham eccentrically led the charge of the brainstorm session. He managed to clap the lights off and pulled down a projector screen out of nowhere, the screen flashing crude images of the four of you finding a potential solution with lines and circles everywhere. It almost looked like what football coaches had to look at. Staring down on all of you squeezed on the couch he added, ”...any ideas?” Before clapping the lights back on, shooting the screen back from where it came.

Not risking what damage you might’ve inflicted on your phone, you pursued what you were looking for on your laptop while being squished to the side of the couch. It’s loading speeds left something to be desired, but it’s still functional and you can’t complain. Venom does about the heat, but that’s out of your control.

Over the horizon of your screen, you could see Peni, seated in the middle, pulling a projection of your New York out of nowhere and zoomed in on your current location. You weren’t really paying attention to what she was saying as she played around with the map. You were internally arguing with your backseat navigator on where you say the post last, only to find out the mods did indeed removed it from the search bar. Now you’re left in a predicament.

Try finding news archives.

Oh...Oh yea...No wonder I keep you around.

Where was he when you had to take the SATs?

He was right. Spider-Man’s death was the national news! There were so many news choppers around that it almost risked the two of you being forced apart by sound alone. Because of that, as well as the risk of you getting caught, you didn’t feel it was safe enough to investigate it yourself. Thanks to the media, you didn’t have to do the heavy lifting.

“You thinking it could be Osbird?” You heard Ham ask.

“Osbird? Ain’t it supposed to be Osborn?” Noir questioned.

“(First Name)!” Peni calls to you. “Does the Green Goblin exist in this universe?”

Didn’t he...

Died with Spider-Man.

“...Exist

. I think he got killed in the same explosion.” You mentally high fives your companion for being a database for most things super. Good thing your universes are very similar.

Still, that doesn’t help your allies as your enhanced ears heard Ham cursing under his breath.

To alleviate some of the pain you added, “...If it helps, I think he was working for this guy named Wilson Fisk.”

“Kingpin…” Everyone else said at the same time. “What in the Sam hell is he scheming?” Noir grimly added. Glancing at the Wikipedia page for him, apparently he has more money than god. Of course he would be living in NYC. That’s where all the corrupt billionaires live!

You wouldn't happen to know him, right?

Never met him.

Well, there goes your first potential lead. The first news article that pops up is Fisk sending his condolences to the aunt of Spider-Man, May Parker, as well as his wife Mary Jane. He released a sympathetic statement relating what it’s like to lose someone close. A jump to his Wiki states that he had a wife and son that were killed during a high-speed car crash. There were rumors for a while about the wife being the one in the speeding car, but all whispers were quickly squashed before the sun could rise the next day. Money really is an effective superpower these days.

Another article tells you that he’s been heavily involved in Alchemax, a business he acquired a few years ago. His main advisor and the one who looks after the company while he’s away is Doctor Olivia Octavius, a woman with the frizziest hair ever. You vaguely recall watching a documentary she was the main star in during your science class, but you didn’t really absorb what she was saying.

Your fingers rubbed your eyes to relieve some strain. It felt like listening to Hannah yapping non-stop about any villain Spider-man even looked at during lunch. Ever since this whole series of wacky events dragged you into this mess, you have just the right about of knowledge on at least the most popular, infamous really, supervillains.

“Welcome back to Inside Edition-” The new voice almost triggered your fight or flight responses if you didn’t look up and see that the television was on playing tonight’s Inside Edition. Wait, you didn’t turn it on. Looking to your left, you realized it was the only other person left on the couch with you and, thus, the closest one to the table with the remotes.

Squinting at Noir with tired eyes, you asked, “What are you doing?”

The monochrome detective was fixated on gripping the device in various locations. “Interesting...it doesn’t have wires, and yet it calls the huge black mirror to awake. It doesn’t run on steam or heat, not to mention it’s so tiny.” Surely they had batteries back then, right?

“Yea. That’s what remotes are.” You commented. “They were made so we don’t have to get up every time to change the channel. You can even change the volume to hear better...the long ones with the plus and minus on it.”

“And please do.” Ham waved his hand to get both of your attention. “I think something important is coming up.” You didn’t even have to question him as the television had the collapsed remnants of Spider-Man’s final stand being narrated by a blonde woman you can’t piece the name of.

“While the world still mourns the loss of Spider-Man, many are still trying to pick up the pieces of his final moments to paint a picture. Tonight, Insider Edition has gained exclusive footage from one of the first helicopters on sight of the explosion. What you’re about to see is graphic and may upset some viewers. Take a look-”

The camera switched to a shaky camera arriving on the scene. For a few seconds, you could see the East River and the Williamsburg Bridge that connects Manhattan and Brooklyn before it forces the viewers to focus on a trail of smoke coming from a crater.

“What used to be one of Wilson Fisk’s many investments is now up in smoke. There��s no word yet if there are any other casualties in the explosion. It is rumored that this building was used to hold scientific research and experimentations in the medical field. We tried contacting Fisk for a comment, but he has yet to respond.”

It cuts to another angle, and you could see a blur hiding away something red and blue. The original cameraman holding it let out a gasp and said something expletive. “We censored this for the viewers at home, but it was here that the camera crew noticed the body of Peter Parker, better known as Spider-Man, unmoving-”

The feeling in your stomach only got worse as the newsreel goes on. You felt upset to point of nausea. You wanted to tear your eyes away from all this sad news but at the same time, you don’t. You were there when the news broke out, you were at his funeral hiding behind one of the church’s spirals as his widow encouraged others wearing his mask that they too can be a hero. You could still remember the bile burning your throat that night, muttering ‘what-ifs’ to yourself as if you were the cause of his death.

You’ve only paid attention to him because he was your solstice to your new powers, but he’s now gone, leaving the two of you in the dark. You should be over this, but for some reason, you’re not.

“I-We’re going to bed. Goodnight.” With a slam of your laptop, you didn’t give them time to react before you slammed the door to your room shut and placing your desk chair under the knob as a security measure. You needed to be alone right now.

If it wasn’t for your companion supporting your body, you would’ve slammed your head on the bed frame. You were that much of a wreck that Venom had to assume control to get you safely on the bed.

“Talk to me, (First Name).” He rarely calls you by your name.

“I-I…” You got distracted with the tears streaming down your face. “I’m scared. It...It’s all coming crashing down on m-me now.” You grabbed the nearest pillow and stuffed your face in it. While anyone else couldn’t comprehend the muffled wailing through the pillow, Venom could hear you perfectly. “I don’t wanna do this! I never did!” After sobbing in silence for what could’ve been minutes, you let go of it to hug your knees. “Last month I thought about pursuing a career in journalism. How can I do that now? Now that I have a bugged alien in my system tearing me apart with him! Explain that to me, Venom!” You’re trying so hard not to alarm your compatriots outside your door, but you’re too exhausted emotionally at this point to properly check yourself at this point.

You could feel Venom’s tendrils wiping away your tears. His inky forehead bumps into yours like a cat. “(First Name), look at us. Breathe.” His voice rumbles something comforting in your chest. You couldn’t help but close your eyes and breathe alongside him. “That’s it…”

The room was quiet except for your synced breathing and the occasional sniffling. More minutes have passed and already you feel better than earlier.

“I...I’m sorry, Vee.” You whispered. “Everything just...happened, all at once. You, the other Spiders...I think this is what they call ‘imposter syndrome’ kicking in, I dunno.” Forcing out a laugh to ease the tension, you continued. “I just...felt out of place, having to put wool over our eyes to believe we’re sheep too. I hope we don’t have to suffer any longer. If everything works out, I don’t think anyone would have a clue about you...about us.”

Your symbiote friend curled himself around the pillow you were still latching onto. While it doesn’t feel like a genuine embrace, it’s the best thing you can work with.

“Do...Do you think tomorrow will be a better day?” You whisper.

“...I don’t know.” You’re not surprised at that answer. “We’re in a deep bond, we can’t lie to you even if we tried.”

“Do...Do you think it’ll affect whenever we find a way back to your home? The whole bonding thing?”

“...”

“...Vee?” You remembered him explaining about bonding briefly, when you had nightmares from his previous hosts. Symbiotes don’t really exist in this universe, so there’s no real documentation or even a tabloid piece about it.

“It's hard to say for certain. At this rate, we might die if this ’Kingpin’ lead gives us nothing to work on.”

”Yeah...That’s true.” You agreed, letting out a deep sigh. “But he has influence all over the place. He could hide anything if he waves enough money under someone’s nose.”

“Then we’ll eat them. Simple as that.” Venmo’s enthusiasm made you chuckle a bit.

“Well try not to eat their hands if there’s a fingerprint lock.”

“No promises. Now sleep.”

“Yeah yeah…” You snuggled deeper into your hugging pillow. “Night, Vee. Tomorrow’s gonna be better, I hope.”

“Goodnight, (First Name).” With that, you closed your eyes. If you went to sleep any later, you would’ve caught a conversation of two certain spiders from outside and something about a goober.

Outside of your room, the others were fixated on what came on after seeing the remnants of the explosion.

“Social media is blowing up over this mystery figure seen all across Manhattan. Blink and you’ll miss it, but it looks like there’s already someone taking the shape of Spider-Man!” It was a set of shaky pictures and so-called ‘tweets’ of people freaking out.

“On person tweeted quote, “Some nightmare version of Spider-Man just passed my window, i think that’s my sleep paralysis demon #fml.” Another reported saying quote, “I think I saw it ate the local drug dealer whole. gross. to think i had to witness vore at four in the morning. stay classy, nyc.””

“Our sources at PDNY say that this mysterious person, if it even is a person, is not believed to be involved in Spider-Man’s death. However, they are a person of interest in multiple disappearance cases involving convicted felons that have been released from prison ranging from drug dealers to serial killers.”

“PDNY reminds everyone that if they see something, say something.”

The trio looked at each other, an unspoken question is trying to be answered. Ham was the only one who looked at the door where you entered for the night before passing air through his lips.

“Pfft, there’s no way.” He says to Peni and Noir. “I mean, what are the chances? They’re too nice and they’re housing us. If they were harboring a murderous symbiote, they would’ve told by now...right? Right?”

A surprise pair of glitching and convulsions woke you up earlier that day. Not wanting to feel sick by getting up immediately, you just lied there and drifted up for two hours or so before a series of knocks jolted your sleep away.

“Rise and shine, kid!” Noir yelled.

“We got a mission!” Peni added enthusiastically. A mission? This early? A glance on your phone, however, says it’s almost 10 in the morning. So much for going to school.

You pushed your upper body off the bed with a groan. Venom pushes himself back under your body and into your ‘pajamas’.

“Mmmf...it’s too early for hero stuff..” You grumble, wiping off any remnants of sleep. “Don’t heroes have...unions, or whatever?” Was among the other incoherent grumbles as you washed up and got ready for the day.

Finishing your wakeup routine in the bathroom, you were immediately greeted with your three inter-dimensional companions bustling around as much as they can in such a small apartment. SP//dr’s hanging out on the fire escape ladder, but his visor is lighting up inside so you can barely make out Peni hard at work with something. Noir’s holding the remote, continuously surfing channels and not really stopping at all even at the channels that play classic black and white film. Ham is...stacking a tower from whatever he can find on the fridge. You pray he didn’t see the unopened package of black forest ham you know that’s in there.

Of course, Ham was the first one to notice you staring at him. “What? I’m a growing pig.” Before you could even answer that, he slides the leaning tower of breakfast into his mouth in a single bite. You couldn’t help but be impressed yet slightly jealous.

The mech’s visor slides open and out pops out Peni. “Good morning! Sorry we didn’t wake you up earlier, but the phone rang.” She explains.

“Did you...answer it?” You asked with an eyebrow popped up.

“Well…” She looks down, pushing her pointer fingers together like she’s hiding something she broke. “We tried, buuut...we couldn’t figure out how to actually answer it.”

You looked over at the home phone. It wasn’t anything special, just a wireless phone that you had to press a button in order to answer an incoming call. “...You don’t have cordless phones in your home universe?”

“Everything’s at my fingertips, so I don’t need one at home.” Was her defense.

“Mine has a sleek new design that looks like a candlestick.” Noir turned his head to add in.

You looked over at Ham. “And what’s your excuse?”

“...In my defense, we have cans with a string between them. Reception’s a hit or miss these days.” You shouldn’t be surprised at his answer, but it still doesn’t stop the double facepalm you gave yourself. Peering back to the phone, you noticed that there’s a blinking light indicating someone left a voice message. As you walked over to play it, part of you prayed it wasn’t the school asking for your unexcused whereabouts.

“You have, one, new message.” Don’t be school, don’t be school... “Hi, sweetie! It’s your aunt!” Oh, thank god. “I hope you’re doing okay on your own, but I need your help with something. I...accidentally forgot to send out a file on my work computer, and I need it for an important meeting tomorrow. Would you be a dear and head over to my office? There should be like multiple post-it notes with the file name as a reminder for me to send it.” Mary laughed as her own forgetfulness. “Your visitor pass should still be working, so use that to get in. I’m sure the guards will enjoy seeing your lovely face again. Try not to stumble onto Alchemax’s floor this time. Call back soon, love you~”

“End of message. To delete the message…”

You look back over at the trio sheepishly. “Oh, yea...forgot my aunt works in a pharmaceutical building that neighbors an Alchemax branch...Hahaaa, that’s soo weird…Now what?”

You could hear Venom sighing inside your head. Funny how things seem to go together right when you need it.

#spiderverse #spidersona #x reader #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse & reader #spiderman into the spiderverse x reader #spiderverse x reader #venom x reader #venom & reader #venom symbiote x reader #venom symbiote & reader #venom/reader #venom symbiote/reader #reader insert #my writing #friends like you and us

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intothestarkerverse · 6 years ago

Text

The Time of Our Lives (Part Two)

Based on a prompt from @geekymarvel

Peter is tasked with an important mission that requires him to go back in time. Finding himself at a gala for Stark industries in the 1990's, he comes face to face with a young and incorrigible Tony Stark who considers Peter's attempts to deny his advances a challenge. Now, dogged by a horny young CEO who won't take no for an answer, Peter's task has become much more difficult....

(STORY CONTAINS ENDGAME SPOILERS)

Read on AO3

Be careful what you wish for. It was a cliched adage that old people were always quoting as if they were the first ones to think of such a priceless nugget of wisdom. Never before in Peter’s life had he been granted such an acute understanding of just how wise it was.

How many times in the last several years had he wished for something just like this? He’d pined for Tony Stark from the solitude of his own bedroom since his very early teens when his hero worship for Iron Man had been swallowed by a budding sexuality it had taken him years to completely accept and understand.

Just once he had wished and hoped and dreamed that Mr. Stark would see him as something other than a child, but he also knew how ridiculous that desire was. He was a stupid kid who could barely talk to the man without stumbling over his words. He made huge, dangerous blunders. Mr. Stark was never going to feel about Peter the way Peter felt about him and he had accepted the one-sided nature of his love for the man a long, long time ago.

And now…Tony’s words were burned across his brain. He could hear his voice echoing those not-so-innocent terms of endearment. His skin felt hot where Tony had touched him as if imprints of his hands were scorched onto the skin. More than anything in the world, Peter wanted to turn around and indulge in whatever filthy things he knew this younger version of his mentor probably had in mind. He wanted to bask in the knowledge that his attraction to Tony Stark was, in fact, not one-sided at all. In another world, another time, Tony could have been all his…and that realization was as tempting as it was terrifying.

Sometimes being a responsible super-hero really fucking sucked.

Or…didn’t suck…that was really the problem.

What might have been was literally going to haunt him for the rest of his life, and all Peter Parker could do was accept it and attempt to fulfill his mission. If he’d known that this was the ‘great responsibility’ Ben had been talking about, he might have taken a hard pass. A very hard pass.

The mission.

He needed to focus on the mission, not his own dangerously neglected libido.

The incinerator.

He needed to find the incinerator.

Probably in the basement with some kind of exhaust on the roof. His best bet at this point was just to dive down a hatch like in A New Hope and try to make the best of it, but finding a hatch to dive down wasn’t going to be easy. Security wasn’t as tight as it should be on the upper floors, everything seemed to be confined to the lower levels where the guests were…at least, that’s what Mr. Stark had implied in the dream. If Peter could swipe a security badge and get upstairs without being seen, at least half the battle would be won.

“Excuse me, could you tell me where the security office is?” Peter put on his most innocent and boyish smile as he looked up hopefully at the security guard stationed by the wall where he was attempting to be at one with the artwork and plants on the edge of the foyer. He looked oddly familiar, but Peter couldn’t quite place why. He was very thin, very young, and not very experienced in his job if his body language was any indication. The somewhat familiar guard’s gaze shifted from the room to the boy in front of him and he frowned.

“Why do you need to know that, kid?”

“Always asking the important questions, a trait I like in my personal security. What’s your name again?” An unwelcome voice sounded from behind Peter.

“Hogan, Sir.”

Woah, Happy! His initial surprise over the guard’s identity was eclipsed as Peter felt the fine hairs at the nape of his neck stand on end at the unexpected and unwelcome sound of Tony Stark’s voice. What good was a Spidey Sense if it didn’t tell you that someone was sneaking up on you? Except that the only danger that Tony Stark posed was to Peter’s virginity. Peter sighed and turned around to give the other man a scowl. “For your information, I found a wallet outside and I wanted to turn it in to security so the owner could get it back.”

Tony raised his eyebrows at this, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants in a leisurely stance. “Aren’t you the boy scout? All right, sweetheart, I know everyone at this party. Why don’t you give me the wallet and I’ll see that it gets back to its owner. No bothering with security. Cut out the middle man.”

Peter could actually feel the color drain from his face as his mind searched for some way out of this mess. Frantically, he patted the pockets of his jacket and pants. He really didn’t have to try to look mortified or embarrassed, he was already there. “I…It was…I think…I don’t…I lost it.”

“You lost the lost wallet that you found outside…you’re not very responsible are you, Beautiful?”

Peter’s scowl only deepened. If he only knew how damn responsible Peter was the guy’s head would explode. Young Tony Stark was ridiculously hot to a degree that left Peter feeling lightheaded with want…but he was also kind of a jerk and that made Peter want to push him down a flight of stairs.

Peter noticed that Tony’s tuxedo jacket was unbuttoned, the flaps held back by his arms, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his pants. The teen couldn’t help but look. He was only human and this was the man he’d lusted after since adolescence and he did look positively godlike in a tuxedo. It was only when his gaze had fallen to Tony’s pants that he saw something fortuitous. And no, it wasn’t the obvious bulge of an impressively erect penis. Although he’d have to be blind not to see that. Peter was no idiot, it was precisely why Tony was standing in that position. The man had absolutely no shame and Peter both hated him and loved him for it. Oh no, the thing that had him smiling and his heart hammering out an insanely fast staccato beat in his chest was the sight of a security badge hanging nearby that impressively large bulge of fabric.

A glance back at Tony’s face revealed that he thought Peter’s reaction was all due to his impressive manhood and it was all Peter could do not to wipe the smile right off his face with the truth. He didn’t, though, because telling the man he wanted to steal his security badge was probably going to make actually stealing it much harder than it was already going to be. So he bit the inside of his cheek and felt the color rush back to his face in a brilliant red flush across his cheeks and the tips of his ears at the realization that Tony thought Peter had been staring (and smiling) at his junk for a good sixty seconds.

“How long are you going to pretend that you’re not as into me as I’m into you, Peter? The evidence is as clear as the crotch of your pants. Don’t get me wrong, I’m loving this thing we have going. Cat and mouse game, it’s sexy as hell…but I’ve got to say a few words to the shareholders in a little while and I want to know if I need to go rub one out so I don’t give them an eye full or if you’re actually going to give in with enough time for us to really have a good time tonight.”

Was it possible for his blush to get even darker? Yes. Yes, it was. Peter ducked his head and tried to position his hands over the front of his pants as if only becoming aware of his own predicament when Tony had the audacity to point it out. His mind had been so focused on other things that he had been able to relegate his physical desires to some distant part of his reptile brain. Now that Tony had called attention to it, Peter was suddenly aware of just how uncomfortably hard he was. “You are the literal worst, Tony Stark.” His voice came out in an awkward hiss of exasperation as he looked for somewhere, anywhere to hide away and deal with personal matters without involving the billionaire playboy.

He spotted a bathroom a few yards away and began a less than subtle crab-walk in that direction. Tony’s laughter followed him, as did the man himself, striding with that same cocky self confidence and exhibitionism.

“I hate you.” Why wouldn’t Tony just leave him alone? What was worse, perhaps, was that the security guard was now also following them after a gesture from Tony. There were people looking, because honestly who wouldn’t look at the spectacle they were probably making of themselves? “I hate you so much, Tony Stark.”

“I can work with that. There’s such a thin demarcation between the really passionate emotions, Peter. Hatred and love are nearly interchangeable…as is lust.”

“I’m not lusting after you!” Lie.

“Keep telling yourself that, Kid, maybe you can make it true.”

Finally, the bathroom door was within arm’s reach, he burst through, attempting to whirl around and slam the door in Tony’s face, but the guard was just too fast. Happy blocked the move with an arm, and Peter was forced to either retreat or use enough force to break Happy’s arm. He retreated. Tony’s gaze swept the room, noticing a man standing in front of the urinal to their left. “You. Out. Now.”

Mumbling apologies, the man was still trying to tuck himself back into his pants as he stumbled hurriedly out the door and left Tony, Peter, and Happy alone.

“Why don’t you make sure we’re not interrupted, Happy? Peter and I need a little alone time.”

Peter gulped audibly as the security guard left the two of them alone. Tony would never hurt him. Even this jerky Tony, but Peter honestly didn’t know how strong his self control was going to be if things between them got more physical. He was a seventeen year old boy. He had so many hormones raging through his system right now that it was a testament to his willpower that he had withstood temptation this long.

Peter could actually smell Tony’s cologne he was now standing so close, and he was startled to realize that Tony hadn’t changed brands in almost thirty years. They said scent was closely tied to memory, and Peter had to agree that smelling that familiar aroma was reminding him that the man in front of him was every bit Anthony Edward Stark. A much less heroic version,to be sure, but Tony just the same.

The distance between them became even shorter as the other man stepped forward, the fingers of his right hand hovering dangerously close to Peter’s hip. The teen could practically feel the magnetic pull of them even through the thin layer of air that still separated them. Peter looked up at him, noting that Tony was drawing closer and closer. He could smell the alcohol on Tony’s breath when he spoke again, the whisper passing over the skin of his face like a caress and making him shiver. “All kidding aside, Peter Parker, I’m not here to force you into anything. If I’m reading the signs wrong…if you don’t want to kiss me every bit as badly as I want you to, you can go. If I’m right though, the only question is…what’s holding you back?”

Peter could do nothing but watch him lean in closer, saw the way his lips were parted, the darkness of his eyes, the hitch in his breathing. He hesitated, a thousand things conflicting in peter’s head and tying his thoughts into knots. Tony’s lips were only inches away. Everything he’d wanted for himself but been denied because of time and society and his own nerves and it was all right there for the taking. He just had to…

Peter rose a little on his toes, his own eyes locked on Tony’s mouth. A small growl erupted from the other man’s throat and Peter hesitated, drawing back again to look at him through thick lashes before he just gave in and did something supremely selfish.

Peter could practically feel the other man’s surprise. If he had been expecting a tender, close-lipped kiss that he could entice into something less innocent and more demanding, than he had every right to be surprised. Peter practically devoured him, lips parted and tongue demanding entry into Tony’s mouth almost before the man had time to register the kiss. Peter’s hands quickly found purchase at the back of his neck, digging into his scalp and using a surprising amount of force to keep his head in just the right position for those hungry kisses to continue. Peter felt the man growl against his mouth again, grabbing Peter by the ass and lifting him enough for Peter to wrap his legs around the other man’s waist and lock them into place. Peter thought Tony cursed at the feeling of the erection now pressed against his abs, but the word lost all articulation under the kisses that Peter was want to give up. Tony turned them both around, hoisting Peter a little higher to rest him against the sink and gain a little leverage. Finally, Peter had to pull back a little, gasping for air to fill his lungs, his hands leaving Tony’s head and instead finding their way to Tony’s pants.

Tony had turned his own attentions to Peter’s throat, making the teen moan softly at the wetness of his tongue, the friction of his teeth, and the sucking of his mouth that was going to leave purple bruises all up and down the pale and previously untouched skin of his neck. “I’m taking you home with me tonight.” Tony pulled back to look at him, hand coming up to cup the side of Peter’s face. He was laughing as he spoke, breathless and smiling and the look on his face made Peter want to cry. He’d never seen the man look so carefree and happy and he’d been responsible for that. Him. “I’m taking you back to my place as soon as I put on the show for the shareholders. I can’t possibly do all of the things I want to do to you in this bathroom…and I certainly can’t savor you the way I want to.”

Peter’s fingers continued to caress the fabric of his pants, but he nodded at the plans. He really didn’t trust himself to speak. He didn’t even know if he could at the moment.

Tony had just returned to his lips, had only just begun to pull Peter’s shirt out of the cummerbund that held it when there was a nervous knock at the door.

“Mr. Stark, they’re calling for you to say a few words, Sir.”

“Fuck!” Tony nipped at Peter’s lip in consternation as he pulled back, drawing a little surprised squeal from the teenager who sucked his now bleeding lower lip into his mouth as he glanced between the CEO and the bathroom door. “Stall them.”

“Uh, Mr. Stark, I already did…everyone…is waiting.”

“Fuck!” Tony backed up a few steps looking behind Peter into the mirror and attempting to straighten himself up. It wasn’t going to be hard for anyone to know what he was doing in the bathroom. Even buttoning the tuxedo jacket over his pants wasn’t really hiding everything from view. The more astute party-goers were going to get an eye-full of their CEO. He didn’t know why, but Peter felt particularly pleased with that.

“Go ahead…I can just…I can wait here. The…the sooner you do that speech, the sooner we get to leave.”

Tony’s gaze raked over him before he nodded. “You’re right. I’ll make it short. I can think of a hundred things I’d rather be doing with my night than talking to those stiffs…and you feature heavily in all hundred of them.”

Peter was still blushing as Tony pushed out the bathroom door and vanished from view. The teenager remained where he was, still panting and sore from the kisses. But after he could hear the distant sound of Tony speaking into a microphone filtering through the bathroom door, he lifted his hand from his side and shook the security badge free that he’d palmed during the make-out session.

God, he wanted to go home with Tony tonight and lose his virginity a hundred different ways to the man he’d loved with all his heart, but duty called. Hopping down from the sink, he splashed a little cold water onto his face and surveyed his swollen lips in the mirror. “Come on, Spider-Man. The universe needs you. We gotta do this.”

Sliding out of the bathroom door, he was pleased to see that Happy had not been left to guard him. It appeared Tony was now safely assured of his victorious conquest. A part of Peter was particularly happy about getting the best of him, even if Tony’s balls weren’t the only ones that were going to be blue tonight.

—

Tony was not even thinking about his speech. He’d practiced it a few dozen times for Obie until the man was content that it sounded earnest enough. He could practically give it on autopilot, which was exactly what he was doing now. His mind, instead, was on the pretty little thing in the men’s room. Not only was he a sight to behold, but his fire and sass made Tony hungry with desire. Such a tantalizing package of innocence and beauty and hunger and fire. He wanted to explore every aspect of that multifaceted little diamond in the rough, and he had every intention of doing that until the wee hours of the morning…right up until he unbuttoned his jacket and realized that something was wrong.

“Okay, look, you’ve heard all of this before and I’ve had a little too much to drink, so let’s just enjoy the rest of the party and you can pretend like I gave you guys the song and dance you all expect, okay? Perfect.” He raced off the temporary stage two steps at a time, grabbing the arm of the security guard he’d commandeered to guard his bathroom escapade and steered him away from the foyer down an access hallway. “That little minx stole my ID.” He hissed the words at Hogan. What was it everyone called him? Happy. Yes, Happy. They burst into the security office and Tony gestured at the wall of television screens in front of them. “Find him. I want to know where he is and what he’s doing with my card. Now.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Happy set to work calling up a quick, interchanging circuit of the cameras that watched nearly ever inch of the building. It took several seconds, but soon he was pointing at one towards the middle. “There, Sir, the executive elevator.”

“My executive elevator.” He spoke through clenched teeth as he leaned forward to get a better view. The kid was nervous. He could see him fidgeting as the elevator made a swift ascent to the executive offices on the upper floors. If he’d wanted to see the offices, all he’d had to do was ask. Tony would have been only too happy to bend him over his desk and fuck him into next week. This whole spy routine, it was only succeeding in pissing Tony off. He didn’t know who the kid was or who he worked for, but he had every intention of finding out.

“What the fuck is he…” Tony frowned as the kid rolled up his sleeve and began to mess with something on his wrist. A moment later and Tony was viewing the impossible. Something appeared to pour from the watch housing, coalescing up his arms and around his body to form a hard exoskeleton. An armor. It was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. If he’d enjoyed the way the kid’s tuxedo hung, he had a whole new appreciation for the boy’s physique now. As the elevator ground to a stop, the kid exited, looking around as if he expected to be stopped by a guard, but there were no guards. Lots of cameras. But the guards were all downstairs.

Was he tiptoeing? It looked like he was tiptoeing down the corridor to Tony’s own office. Tony expected him to go for the computers or the desk, perhaps the hard files, any number of things. Instead, the kid was walking along the walls looking for something. He appeared to find it when he pulled out a hatch that led to the incinerator in the basement. Turning away from the hatch, he shot something from his wrist onto one of the built in book cases on the far wall, tested the tensile strength, and then jumped through the hatch, disappearing once more from view.

“Come on, Happy.” He waved the man to follow him as he headed back towards the elevators.

“Where are we going, Sir?”

“Basement. We’re going to catch our little intruder and find out what the hell he’s doing here and who sent him.”

#starker

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overlyobsessedgaygal · 6 years ago

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Protective

Fandom: Spider-Man: Homecoming

Description: different characters being protective over Peter. Request other characters you want to see.

Michelle

"Hey Penis!" Flash called out from the other end of the hallway. Peter just groaned. There was no point in trying to outrun Flash, they had the same first hour. Before Flash could reach him however the boy was yanked and shoved against a locker. Mj looked completely emotionless as she held Flash against the lockers like he had done to Peter so many times.

"Thompson if you ever call Peter Penis again then I will personally cut yours off." Her voice held sincerity and a cold edge. Anyone who heard could tell that Mj was dead serious. And nobody messed with her when she got like that. Flash wasn't an exception. Peter smiled as she began reading her book again and starting walking over. She sent a small smirk and a wink at Peter as she walked past.

Ned

Ned wasn't physically intimidating at all but he was amazing at being the guy in the chair. He was also amazing at hacking and noticing every small detail there was. The video went up at one in the morning, the part where it showed Peter's face under the mask was exactly one minute and fifty seven seconds into the video.

Ned got the notification of a new Spiderman post at one twelve and the loudest ring tone he had woke him up. He had set it up to get any alerts for any media of spiderman as soon as they were detected by his special program.

As the clock hit one sixteen exactly the video had dissapeared and any evidence of it was gone. The link instead sent back to a spiderman cosplayer with some really cool stunt techniques. Ned was satisfied that his best friend was safe and his job was complete.

Loki

Loki was not fond of Midgardians and often made it clear how much he wanted them all to die. All of them except for that damn little spider boy.

He had planned to never let his care for the selfless boy show but when he showed up in the compound with blood pouring out of his mouth and nose and eyes the panic couldn't be hidden.

His magic was restricted by a band of technology that Stark and the young princess of Wakanda had created. The poison wasn't of Earth and everyone knew it. Nobody knew how to help Peter as he tried to stop the pained whimpers.

"Take the band off." Loki said urgently. Stark snapped at him, telling him to shut up and that now wasn't the time. "Take it off Stark!" Loki said and slammed the billionaire against the wall. Suddenly with a loud pop the band snapped off. Loki looked thankfully to Shuri who just looked scared and concerned.

"Don't hurt him!" Stark ordered. T'challa held him back from stopping Loki. Loki slowly knelt down beside the boy and let his magic run through his body. Peter sighed in relief as the pain stopped.

Delmar and Murph

When Peter comes into the shop his sandwich is always waiting for him, sometimes on really bad days there will be a free scoop of ice cream. Delmar knows Peter, he's been a regular customer since his aunt brought him in at nine years old.

Delmar can read both the Parkers like the back of his hand so when Peter comes in with an especially bad bruise and a slight limp anger fills the man. He had seen Peter after being bullied, he had seen him break down in tears, but this was beyond what the older man could stand. He didn't understand why anyone would hurt such a good kid.

Peter ate in today, claiming May had the late shift. Delmar knew better but wouldn't question it. "Thanks Mr. Delmar." Peter said softly, his voice scratchy. Delmar sighed and set Peter's sandwich down in front of him. Murph hoped off his spot on the counter to hop into the young boy's lap. "Hey Murph." Peter laughed as he cuddled the cat to his chest.

Delmar quickly put a huge bowl of ice cream and a cup of ice water on Peter's table. "On the house." He stated and walked away before the selfless kid could protest.

#spiderman: homecoming #spiderman: hoco #spider man #spiderman #peter parker #kaytikittyfanfics

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pup-play245 · 6 years ago

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Some people can identify a defining moment in their childhood - an incident that brings an idea to mind which is then indelibly fixed in the psyche. For Gelding - an adopted alias for the American internet guru to all wanna-be eunuchs - that moment came when he was 12 years old and thrown against an older boy in a packed bus. "Do that again and I'll crush 'em," said the older boy, grabbing his genitals. The pain was as piercing as the pleasure. And so began a lifetime's quest to be castrated.

In the UK, self-motivated castration mainly exists only in the most extreme S&M scene, while in America those aspiring to be castrated comprise a burgeoning and divergent tribe made up of both gay and straight men. Men who want to be castrated fit no stereotype, have no common neuroses or childhood experience. Some are androgynous types (thin and underdeveloped) who want to remain in a prepubescent, asexual phase, others are eroto-phobes who don't like to feel driven by their libidos and want to become surgically tranquillised. Some want to be feminised, a few - known as nullos or smoothies - want to become nullified by having their penis removed along with their testicles.

In Gelding's experience a quarter of those who get castrated continue to regulate their libidos with testosterone, which allows them to have full sex. But what compulsion drives grown men to be castrated in the first place? According to Gelding, for most men the desire to be castrated stems from puberty but does not develop into a fixation for at least 10 years.

This was certainly his experience. Now in his early 50s, he has been without his testicles for six years and is keen to point out that he has no desire to be feminised. Growing up in rural New York State, he knew he was gay from childhood, but it was only in his mid-20s, while working for the military in a top security position, that he discovered the gay S&M scene and a world where castration was honoured rather than abhorred.

One of his first boyfriends was a cutter - a man who worked in the netherworld of the gay S&M scene, cutting off men's testicles, consensually and safely. By 1991 Gelding's testicles had become an unbearable affront to him. The idea of cutting aroused him sexually, but more than that, there was an aching need to be rid of something that had begun to take a stranglehold of his life.

At first he tried to cut off the offending items himself by using rubber bands as a tourniquet and drenching his balls in ice water. But after an hour he ran out of adrenaline and went into clinical shock. In hospital a horrified A&E surgeon castigated him for trying to remove healthy tissue. Three years later he went to a cutter in California and got rid of them safely and efficiently. "I've never felt more myself, more complete or happy," he says, unemotionally.

In order to receive the testosterone that he requires to keep him functioning as a man (he has occasional erectile problems but can still ejaculate) he has devised a cover story which makes him eligible for medical treatment. The story is posted up on the web and tells how he lost his balls against his will in a gay S&M episode which went horribly wrong. "My cover story also means that if someone finds out I'm castrated they view me as a victim, or a brave stalwart rather than a deviant or psychotic person," he explains. As well as resurrecting the libido, testosterone prevents osteoporosis and reduces the flab that castration causes to the hips and breasts. (On the down side, it also increases the risk of prostate cancer.)

A self-confessed mother hen, Gelding has for four years been dispensing advice on his website to men who want, or think they want, to be castrated. In that time he's had 5,000 enquiries from both gay and straight men, all believing that their obsession is unique. Consultant psychiatrist Dr Russell Reid, of Hillingdon Hospital in west London, identifies castration fixation as "highly disturbed behaviour, in mainly gay men, whose self-hatred is directed towards their genitals".

Gelding's response to this interpretation is equivocal. "Yes, it's true that no normal person would do that, but then given that homosexuality has always been called a sickness, what's normal?" Reid's experience of this tender topic is predominantly with transsexuals (some of whom even castrate themselves) as well as with men who are hypersexed. "These men are led by their erect penises and some are driven to offend. Being castrated can be a huge release because they become pre-pubital, and sex is no longer an overwhelming preoccupation."

He finds the origins of the fixation perplexing but speculates that it might be a case of the fear of castration turned on its head to become a uncontrollable craving.

But eunuchs are nothing new. For 4,000 years they have represented some of the most marginalised and most honoured in society. In ancient India, eunuchs advised princes and guarded their harems, and the Biblical Daniel was a eunuch who rose to become prime minister of Babylon and later Persia. More recently there have been the Italian castrati of the 19th century - boys who sacrificed their manhood for the sake of singing careers in the opera houses of Europe. Today there are the cross-dressing Hijras in India and religious extremists such as members of the Russian Skoptsy sect who see the testicles as an organ of weakness. The medical profession understands this "syndrome" only in relation to transgender reassignment surgery or as part of body dysmorphia (a syndrome in which people become fixated with having a limb amputated). But Gelding disregards the connection with the body modification scene, believing the desire to be castrated is far more complex.

Nor can he relate to the transgendered, "some of whom get castrated just to get on to a gender reassignment programme". He is also reluctant to help those whose desire to be castrated hinges on the ritual of cutting: "Because if that's the overriding issue then most of these people are into fantasy and role play and don't have a true fixation." When castration is a true fixation, Gelding believes it is vital that surgeons treat the problem in a much more educated fashion. "There isn't a doctor in the world informed in this area, because nothing will justify to a physician the removal of healthy tissue."

There are several doctors in the US who will surgically remove testicles, but seldom before getting their patients to sign a consent form saying it is for gender reassignment. Dr Felix Spector, who advertises castration on his business card, has become something of a celebrity in the murky world of eunochdom, having performed his first castration in 1957. But the vast majority are amateur cutters, subject to prosecution for practising medicine without a licence, and desperately sought after on the net by men in urgent need.

Although these cutters offer a necessary service (reducing the instance of self-castration), for the most part they too find the act of cutting erotic. Talking about doing a DIY castration, one cutter described the "lovely crunching sound" a Burdizzo (a castration device) makes "like biting into fresh celery". Burdizzos, elastators and other animal castration devices can all be purchased on the net. The internet has become a sanctuary to these would-be eunuchs. There are numerous websites providing information, and chat lines link men from all over the world who share this compulsion.

When Gelding was delivering himself into the hands of the cutter there were no such support services and perhaps that's why it wasn't until he was in his 40s that he finally did what he had always wanted to do. Since then, he says, he has found some kind of inner peace, but at a price. He would have preferred to have been one of those who rationalised their way out of it, something he encourages all his correspondents to do. He considers those who manage it to be the lucky ones.

The others must join him among one of the most disenfranchised of groups. Men who are ridiculed, despised and misunderstood by a society which will never be able to make any sense of why they feel incomplete with their testicles and yet complete without them.

Hidden Love: Modern Day Eunuchs is on Channel 4 next Tuesday at 10pm

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Readers’ support powers The Guardian, giving our reporting impact and safeguarding our essential editorial independence. This means the responsibility of protecting independent journalism is shared, enabling us all to feel empowered to bring about real change in the world. Your support gives Guardian journalists the time, space and freedom to report with tenacity and rigor, to shed light where others won’t. It emboldens us to challenge authority and question the status quo. And by keeping all of our journalism free and open to all, we can foster inclusivity, diversity, make space for debate, inspire conversation – so more people, across the world, have access to accurate information with integrity at its heart. Every contribution we receive from readers like you, big or small, enables us to keep working as we do.

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iwritebadthings · 3 years ago

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100 More Things Will Smith Could've Slapped but didn't

Should you slap anyone? Probably not I guess. If someone was about to kill you and your family and a slap could stop it I’m guessing someone would say yas sis. Don’t slap people but also lets discuss who Will Smith could’ve slapped for various reasons because this topic needs to be revived like Jesus.

Tickmaster for selling tickets to American Express card owners but you don’t have that

Scalpers who are stealing the ticket you deserve

The incredibly sexy person who looked at you for five seconds and then said nothing to you and went on with their day

The old men behind the NFL

All the books Jared Kushner’s read for middle east peace

The tall person sitting in front of you at the movie theater

The parent who is letting their child ruin the store isle

People who liter on the beach

People who liter in your home with their skin cells

The barber after cutting your hair too short

The meteor that missed earth

Someone random at the Oscars

Roger Stones ugly Richard Nixon Tattoo

Richard Nixon's dead body

Creepy Photographers

Maggie Haberman's book

Chuck Todd for every Republican that they let lie

Clearance Thomas's ethics

Movies that run over two hours

People somehow park in three spaces

Nintendo making it hard to play their old games

Steam sales not going even cheaper

Bob Woodward because what other secrets could be coming to a new book

CBS using Mick Mulvaney as a contributor

Sand that has been in your shoe since last year

Fireworks

Nazi Furries

Babylon Bee so they can forget to use the one trans “joke” they have

Ben Sharpies good podcast reviews

Dave Rubin for lying about canceling Disney Plus over Gina Carano

The people who can’t decide if Pluto is a planet or not

Ice that I slipped on

People who miss the toilet with their piss and don’t clean it up

internet bandwidth caps caps

AT&T for funding One America News

The snake that spoke to Eve

Eve for listening to the snake

God for putting the snake there that he knew Eve would talk too

Adam because everyone else was slapped

Twinks

Power Bottoms

People who say they write poetry on twitter

BBQ Meat

Josh Barro for writing slurs about BBQ

Star Wars Prequals

Tom Nicholas being inarticulate about the n word in Pulp Fiction

Centrist

Avocados that went bad the minute you bought them

The Warhammer figure you just stepped on

The Supreme Court

The woman selling breast milk outside your gym

Twitter for banning you for saying Ron Desantis should trip and hurt his penis

Your racist uncle

Pizza hut for making you have diarrhea

The person who decided you needed to hear an AD for the Hulu for the Kardashians

Movie Reboots

Billionaires

Joe Manchin

Joe Manchin’s coal

Journalists that said Trump was Presidential

Sisyphus

Vincent van Gogh after he cut his ear off

Museum art

The stove

Wild Fires

Tom Hardy for being straight and Venom

Ken Klippenstein for making fun of Elon Musk our King

Time’s Person of the Year for making Elon Musk the person of the year

Random twitter users who post nazi anime memes

CNN for inviting cats on their show to complain about drinking so much milk

Madison Cawthorn for not dropping the names for who would be at these orgies

Christopher F. Rufo for starting a war on teachers

People who listen to Christopher F. Rufo

Homophobic parents

that hot jock who bullied you in high school and is now a hot chad at your gym with a six figure job and a stare worth a book and Netflix series

Facebook emails about likes and pokes and whatever bullshit you don’t want to know about

Bill Cosby

Bill Clinton

Creepy people named Bill