#3K WORDS. MAN.

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

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For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

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This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

You Truly Are A Merchant of Death.

Warning ⚠️; mention of human sacrifice, mention of the future end of the world, blood, grief. 🔞

Pairing; Tony Stark/ Cult!Leader!Male!Reader

Summary; You were an enigma, a mystery that Tony never really understood. That was made your charm. That was what made him fall and allow you to pull him in the dark.

Note; How the hell did I write that Mastodon??? I think that is the longest story I have written until now. I think I am like around 3k words if not more but that is because I love Tony ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~

The coldness was infiltrating the armour and Tony could feel his fingers and toes going numb. His body shivered, trying to keep him warm to no avail. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move. He was stuck in his amour waiting to die.

No one had come for him and Tony doubted anyone would.

That was until he heard his armour cracking as someone tore it open. Tony blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden light when his mask was taken off before his eyes fell on you. Leaning above him, he could see the sparkle of joy in your eyes behind your own mask. Your gloved hand rested on his cheek for a second before you spoke to him.

- “Who did that to you, Tony?”

Your voice was soft, gentle like always but there was an edge to it like you are trying to hide your anger. He tried to talk, to tell you everything, but Tony only managed to cough, his throat way too dry. You hushed him like a scared child, fingers brushing off the blood on his lips.

- “Okay, don’t talk right now. I’ll get you out of that thing in no time, and will speak when you are better.”

Tony wanted to ask you how you were going to free him but never had the chance to open his mouth. With your bare hands, you ripped apart his amour, being so careful around his ark reactor. Once he was free, Tony sat, panting while you petted his back telling him to breathe deeply.

His eyes stared at what was left of his armour and noticed it had corroded as if you had used acid. No, not acid, Tony corrected himself mentally, but magic. How could he forget that you could use fucking magic, something he didn't understand, to do even more weird shit.

Tony had so many questions, among which why were you here? You were his enemy, a villain that he had tried so many times to stop and failed to. You had no reason to help him. But here you were, taking off your ceremonial robe to put it on him. Tony couldn't hold back the sigh of relief when he felt the warmth from your robe enveloping him.

You helped Tony to stand up and he leaned against you, feeling frail. Which wasn't a surprise when he had passed the night in the cold and was probably suffering from hypothermia. Yet, Tony felt his body turn to ice when his eyes landed on the dozen of silhouettes standing around the two of you. They were wrapped in the same kind of ceremonial robes masks, but of a different colour than yours.

Your followers.

The members of your murderous cult.

Tony tensed as he felt your arm wrapping around his waist as you kept him close to you. Your body radiated heat, more than any human should be able to. You looked at him and Tony felt all his fear and worry disappear. He was safe. Which was a weird thought since you had murdered more than a hundred people. Sacrifices for those things you called your Gods.

- “Come on. Let us bring you home, Tony. You went through enough for now, you need to rest so you can tell me all that happened.”

Your velvet voice was hypnotic and Tony found himself nodding before he followed you. Your followers began humming something he couldn't understand as all around you things began to transform. The walls melted and the ground cracked. Slowly, everything transformed and before he knew it, you two stood in his lab.

You helped him sit down before going to grab him a bottle of water. Without thinking about it, he took it from your hands and drank it almost all while you sat by his side. It was the first time you two weren't fighting and Tony didn't know what to think about it. He was supposed to stop you and make sure you couldn't kill more people, but instead here he was, being cared for by you.

Tony groaned when he saw you summon the first aid kit. You patched him up, without a word but your eyes spoke for you. He could see sadness and anger flashing in your eyes. After what felt like an eternity, you were the first to spoke.

- “Tony. What happened?” You asked with a honeyed voice. “Who did that to you?”

- “Roger.” He croaked, his eyes staring at the floor as he felt tears building in his eyes. “It was Roger and Barnes.”

And just like that, he told you everything. From the botched mission in Sokovia to the murder of the Wankada’s king to the Accord, without forgetting the tensions in the team. Tony closed his fists as he recalled Steve’s betrayal and the battle that cost Rhodney his legs. He chocked telling you about the video of the Winter Soldier murdering his parents and then his battle against Steve and Bucky.

He told you how Steve hit him in the chest with the shield and then abandoned him.

You sat next to him, hand gently caressing his back as you listened to his story. You squeezed his shoulder when he finished his story.

- “I am sorry, Tony. Very sorry about your parents, they didn't deserve such an end. You were right to be angry at Steve for hiding it from you.”

Tony could only nod, chasing the tears from his eyes with the sleeves of your robe. It smelled like you with a touch of blood and sea. A bit fishy too.

- “Anyway, how did you find me? Why do you care?” He asked, blunter than he intended, but you only chuckled.

- “The hows aren't a mystery, I simply used magic to localize you. And how couldn't I care? We are friends after all.”

This time it was Tony who laughed. Friends? Friends? He had tried so many times to catch you and even fought you, severing your limbs and hurting you, yet you called him your friend?

He looked at you only to see honesty in your eyes. Gods, you were serious.

He snorted and looked away, wondering how in hell did you managed to see him as a friend after everything. You were sicker than he thought.

- “So what now? You expect me to stop trying to conter your plan of world destruction and just stand watching while you butcher and sacrifice people?” Tony asked, sarcastic, making you chuckle.

- “No matter how hard you try, you cannot stop me Tony. You could throw me in a bottomless pit and the end will still come. The fate of our world was written a long time ago and there is nothing we can do to stop it from happening. If it isn't me who will free Them, then it will be someone else.” Your voice was sweet as you finished cleaning his cheek. “But fear not. You’ll be long dead when it happens. The stars won't align for a few more centuries.”

Tony sighed as he felt a cold shiver run down his spine. Your words sounded like a dead sentence, like there really wasn't anything to be done and that opposing you was useless. So many death. None that could be avenged.

- “I don't expect you to stop, Tony. I know you won't, but I wish you would pour your energy into something more rewarding.” You added when he didn't answer you. “You have the greatest brain I ever met and you put much of yourself into everything you create. You could do so much more if you didn't focus on me.”

Again, you were right. You knew him more than he thought.

Sighing, Tony shook his head, feeling anger rise in his heart.

- “Yeah, and what did it get me? Ultron was a terrible mistake that took too many lives and even destroyed a whole city. The Sokovia Accord? It tore the team apart and got me a fucking shield in the chest!” Tony snapped and threw the empty bottle of water against the wall. He felt tears fill his eyes. “Whatever I do, whatever I make it only leads to destruction.”

- “You truly are a merchant of Death, Tony.”

Your words were like a slap in the face and Tony fought back a sob. No matter what he did, he would always be stuck with that title right? Burying his face in his hands, he ignored yours squeezing his shoulder.

- “Don't be sad, my friend. Some of us are cursed with a terrible fate, it is not your fault.”

- “Shut up. Just fucking shut up! You are not helping.” Tony hissed, fingers digging in his scalp.

And you did. You fell quiet but stayed close and Tony knew it because he felt your eyes on him. He tried to fight it, but failed as tears rolled down his cheeks. He was an idiot. A moron who destroyed everything he touched and always disappointed his friends. He couldn't forget what Barton had told him, couldn't forget Roger choosing his parents’ murderer over him. After everything, he had been thrown away like a dirty tissue.

He sobbed as he felt your arms wrapping around him. His first reflex was to try and push you away but instead melted in your embrace. The warmth of your body sank into his, chasing away the coldness from the hypothermia and your smell was familiar, like stepping on his balcony facing the sea. Except you also smelled like fresh blood.

Tony tensed slightly when he felt one of your hands on his as you slowly forced him to let go of his hair. Then, you passed your finger through them, massaging his sore scalp.

- “Don't hurt yourself, Tony. You don't deserve this, you didn't do anything wrong.” You whispered, making Tony scoff.

- “Everything I do is wrong. I’m a walking disaster.” He hissed, looking away as you held him closer against your chest.

- “That is false and we both know it.”

Tony didn't reply. Instead, he rolled his eyes before closing them, resting his cheek against your chest. He sighed when he felt your chin on top of his head, but decided to allow it. It has been so long since he was held like that and since he felt like someone actually cared for him. Which was weird coming from a psychopathic murderer like you.

But Tony couldn't deny that you never hurt him. No matter how much he wounded you, severing your limbs and tearing you apart with his beams, you never used your magic against him. You would talk, tease him about your immortality and then disappear with your goons and sacrifices. Sometimes you would take the beating while talking about your beliefs and Gods, not caring that Tony had his hand right through your stomach.

You truly were an enigma, a mystery that Tony didn't truly understand and a part of him didn't want to.

After what felt like an eternity, you gently nudged him, forcing him up. Tony didn't have the strength to fight you, so he simply followed as you led him up. He sighed as you pushed him into the bathroom and he understood immediately; that he had to shower.

After you got him clean clothes and left the bathroom, Tony took his shower. He stayed longer than necessary under the warm jet, trying to forget everything that had happened but couldn't. The damn video kept replaying in his mind with such accuracy that he threw up a few times, bile burning his throat. Yet you never intruded on his privacy.

When he left the bathroom, he found you had pulled a chair to face the door. You sat with your legs crossed reading one of Tony’s books about engineering. Behind your mask, he could see your curious eyes moving with each word you read and the joy in them. You were enjoying the book and didn't knew how to feel seeing you so… human.

After a few seconds, you raised your head and Tony threw your ceremonial dress at you. It landed on your head and you laughed, thanking him before putting it back on. He ignored you and went to his bedroom, guessing where you wanted him to go next. His wounds burned as he had taken off the bandages, yet didn't want to go through making them again.

He was surprised when you didn't follow him as Tony had expected you would make sure he was resting. Getting under the cover, he sighed realizing you really weren't going to intrude in his private place. He didn't notice when he fell asleep, but Tony hadn't had such a restful sleep in a long time.

He woke up hearing a soft knock on his door. Blinking, Tony sat on his bed and frowned as silence filled the room. There was no light as night had fallen. Through his window, he could see the moon. Large and round, it was almost hypnotic. He shivered has the knock repeated and coughed as he tried to speak. After a few seconds, he managed to call you in.

You entered, your ceremonial robe dancing around your feet as you walked in the moonlight. Like a cat, your eyes reflected it and for a second Tony thought he was facing a predator.

You sat on his bed and rested your hand on his forehead. Tony slapped your hand away, only making you chuckle softly as you were amused by his childish behaviour.

- “I am happy that you rested, Tony. You look already better, even tho those bruises seem painful.” You said, voice gentle and low, as if you thought speaking louder would give him a headache.

You would be right. His whole body was sore as if he had been hit by a train. Groaning, Tony passes a hand on his face, wondering what you wanted, and why you woke him up. As if you could read his thoughts, you laughed before offering him your hand.

- “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

In the dark of the room, Tony stared at your hand, weighing the good and bad of following you. For all he knew you could lead him to his dead. Maybe you had decided he would be the perfect sacrifice tonight. Maybe you planned on devouring his corpse after stabbing him in your unholy altar of debauchery.

Yet, Tony thought, nothing you would do could be more painful than what he had experimented on lately. With a sigh, he took your hand in his. He almost shivered when you squeezed his hand as you got up, waiting for him to do the same.

Tony wondered if he had lost his mind. He followed you as you led him across his house and then outside. Barefoot, Tony shivered as he felt the cold damp sand against the soles of his feet. The sound of the waves crashing had something calming and eerie at the same time.

You stopped close to the water, close enough for the tide to tickle his toes. Your thumb gently strokes his hand, making small circles before you let him go, entering the sea silently. Tony can do nothing but stare at you. Under the moonlight, your ceremonial robes seemed to glow slightly. The broderies at least. They formed strange designs, some alien to him and others weirdly familiar as if they were memories from a dream he had since long forgotten.

He watched as you pulled out a round piece of golden metal from your sleeve. You murmured something, like chanting, but so low Tony couldn't understand anything, then dropped the piece of metal. The sea swallowed it up and a soft light began to glow from the water. A pulse of energy disturbed the waves and water while a soft buzzing sound rose like a bee flying around his head.

- “Fear not, Tony. I won't let anything happen to you, you are safe by my side.” You said and Tony almost wanted to believe you, even tho he didn't know what you were protecting him from.

In the distance, Tony saw a small boat rocking with the waves. There were flickering lights coming from it and Tony recognized them as coming from lanterns or torches. He opened his mouth, ready to ask some questions, but before he could chants broke the silence. They were loud and made the air vibrate. Turning his attention to you, he watched as you moved your hand. A maelstrom began to form, becoming bigger and bigger until a tunnel formed.

- “I am not bringing you in for the choir, Tony, but for something way more exciting.” You said, offering your hand once more in an invitation to follow you.

For a second, Tony hesitated and almost stepped back, but his feet moved against his will and he grabbed your hand. The sea was cold and he felt the water soak the bottom of his pants. Normally it would bother him, but right now he didn't care. His eyes stared in awe as the tunnel closed between them while the current made them move like a treadmill. They move without walking.

Around them, Tony can see the fish swimming. For a quarter of a second, he even spots a great white shark killing its prey. He is so fascinated by everything that Tony doesn't even realize that time and space fold around them. Before he can understand what is going on, the tunnel comes to an end as everything turn black.

The water took a gloomy greenish tint and seemed to even glow slightly as if a few glowsticks had been thrown in it. Stepping out, Tony realized you had taken him into some kind of cave. But it is not really a cave as he looks up and sees the night sky. No, not a cave at all, more a crater. The moon is hung above them, enormous, so big Tony thought it was about to crash on Earth. The strangest thing was that some stars seemed to be black and yet shined brighter than Northern Star.

- “Where are we?” Tony asked, his voice wavering as he walked around, not looking where he was going occupied he was staring at the weird stars. “I’ve never seen stars like those. How are they black and shining? That doesn't make any sense.”

- “There are things in this world that don't make sense, Tony, and which would make you go mad if you tried to understand them. As for where we are, we are still on Earth. I just took you home.” You replied to him, walking by his side and looking up too. “What you are seeing are the stars of Carcosa.”

- “Carcosa…”

The name rolled on Tony’s tongue, but he couldn't pronounce it right. He heard you clearly yet his tongue refused to cooperate. He frowned as it almost felt familiar. Yes, Tony had heard that name before, he was sure.

- “Along the shore the cloud waves break, the twin suns sink behind the lake, the shadows lengthen in Carcosa. Strange is the night where black stars rise, and strange moons circle through the skies but stranger still is lost Carcosa. Songs that the Hyades shall sing, where flap the tatters of the King, must die unheard in Dim Carcosa. Song of my soul, my voice is dead; die thou, unsung, as tears unshed shall dry and die in Lost Carcosa.” You sang before turning your attention to him and Tony plunged his eyes into yours. “Cassilda’s song describes it pretty well in a beautiful poem. You might have heard it from The King in Yellow, a play from around 1895.”

- “Maybe… I don't know, but the name is familiar.”

Without another word, Tony began exploring the place. There are desks and bookshelves filled with books and scrolls and even school boards covered in a language Tony doesn't understand. It's primitive and yet complex.

Something else caught his attention.

An altar of black-greenish stone covered in offerings of incense and meat surrounding an idol. The thing was made of a green stone and looked terrifying. It had the appearance of a mix between an octopus, a dragon and a parody of a human. Sitting on a throne of the same colour, the creature seemed to be looking directly at him with its many eyes.

- “Cthulhu, Priest of the Great Old Ones, he who sleeps in R’lyeh dreaming, waiting to be free once more.” You said as you walked up to the altar, fingers brushing the idol almost lovingly.

Tony approached as well, his gaze drifting to the mural behind the altar. The gravure represented aquatic creatures as massive as the whales they hunted. They looked oh-so human and yet so far from one. The gravure had the same style as the idol and seemed almost as old.

- “Those… those are the things you are worshipping, aren't they?” Tony asked, feeling sick. How could such abominations exist? How could they be real?

- “Indeed. This mural represents the Deep Ones, inhabitants of the bottom of the seas and oceans and servants of Dagon.” You explained pointing at the creatures. “Sometimes they pass a deal with mortals. In exchange for gold, they get to reproduce with humans. When they reach maturity those offspring then join them underwater where they live and serve Dagon.”

Tony didn't know if he was supposed to be horrified or impressed that people were ready to fuck those things for gold. How far were people ready to go for money and riches? Even he would never stoop so low, not even to save the world.

As if you had read his mind you laughed and shook your head before signalling him to follow you. Again, Tony did. Why? He didn't know, but something, like a little voice in his head, was telling him to just do it. You showed him around, presenting more idols and gravures, even books and scriptures.

Tony’s curiosity and scientific mind won over his disgust and mistrust as he listened to you speak about your cult and its history. You had the books and scrolls to show as proof and Tony felt overwhelmed when you mentioned that your Great Old Ones were extraterrests. Memories of New York flooded his mind and Tony felt dread fill his head. He barely calmed when you rested your hand on his shoulder. Tony grabbed your wrist, holding so tight he knew he was going to leave marks on your skin.

- “Everything is fine Tony. They aren't the same kind and you have nothing to fear from my Gods. They cannot hurt you and I promised you to keep you safe, didn't I?”

But Tony couldn't answer. His lungs refused to work, preventing him from breathing and his heart was racing so fast in his chest that Tony thought he could feel every single piece of shrapnel around it. Gasping for air, Tony fell to his knees, tears threatening to escape his eyes. When you wrapped your arms around his trembling body, Tony grabbed you for dear life. A gasp and whine escaped him when he finally could breathe again.

- “That's it Tony, deep breathe. Do not stop breathing my dearest, you got it. I am right here, you are not alone and you are safe.” You whispered in his ear, gently rocking him and trying to help calm his panicked state.

Your hands on his body burned his skin through his clothes, but Tony didn't care. It had been so long since someone had held him like that and it felt just right. Your body fitted his just perfectly like the missing piece of a puzzle. Closing his eyes, Tony focused on you and your voice.

After what felt like an eternity, Tony finally calmed down. He felt so tired, his body empty of any form of strength or energy. He could fall asleep in your arms if he was given the chance, which was strange because he didn't fully trust you with his life. Even tho you were the only one who never hurt him.

- “If you feel the need to rest, do so Tony. I will carry you back home and lay you to bed.” Your breath tickled his ear and Tony shook his head, not wanting to embrace Morpheus. “Hush now, I won't abandon you my dearest. I will be only a whisper away from you and who knows? Maybe you shall have good dreams tonight.”

Tony rolled his eyes when you called him your dearest. What a flirt you could be some time.

After that, you took him home with the same trick you used earlier, but this time you held him against your chest. Your hand rested on Tony’s hip and he swore it was burning his skin through the pants of his pyjama. The walk back to his place was quiet, but the good kind. Tony didn't feel uncomfortable or anxious, but fine and relaxed.

As he went to bed, he watched you put some books on his desk for him to read later. It was strange how in your place you seemed as if you belonged in his room. Tony quickly chased the thought away as you turned toward him.

- “If there is anything I can do for you, just ask me, Tony. I will happily help you in any way I can.”

Tony looked down, away, almost ashamed of what he wanted to ask. The video of his parents’ murder and his fight against Roger kept replaying in his mind. He couldn't forgive Steve for lying and keeping such information a secret or for choosing a murderer over him. Especially after everything they went through and what Tony did for him.

- “I want Roger… I… I want you to find him and Barnes and bring them back to me.” Tony said, closing his eyes and turning his head away.

Silence fell between the two of you as you took in his request. For a moment, Tony feared you would refuse to help, but then he heard your footsteps then felt your hand on his shoulder.

- “If this is what you truly want, then I will. Rest my friend, I will contact you once I get my hand on them.”

Tony opened his eyes the second you moved your hand away, but you were already gone. He was alone in his room.

The night passed, then days which soon turned into weeks. Tony had no news from you and he didn't dare call or even whisper your name. He regretted asking for Roger and Barnes, not knowing what you were going to do to the two men. You weren't the kind type after all. Well, except with him.

Tony also took the time to read the books you gave him. They were theologic and historical about your cult and its beliefs. Tony was surprised at just how old it was, not expecting it to be as old as the Mesopotamian era. But here it was.

He also had to deal with Ross. Tony didn't want to expose you, to tell the world about your existence and that you stood by his side. It was selfish of him and for once Tony didn't care or feel bad. He didn't even care that Pepper wasn't around anymore, too focused he was on thinking about you.

But Ross bothered him day and night, so Tony finally admitted being in contact with you. Explaining to Ross what you were and your capacities wasn't an easy task and convincing the man that you were on his side was even harder. Yer he managed it. Someone like you was a dream come true for Ross surely.

Then he had the most surprising visitor, someone he never thought he would see again; Doctor Stephen Strange. Unlike before, Strange has changed his tuxedo for weird clothes that reminded Tony of yours. The second Tony laid eyes on Strange, he had a bad feeling.

- “Stark, we need to talk.” Strange had said with such a serious voice that Tony thought he had committed a war crime… again.

- “What do you want, Strange? Money? You clearly must be desperate to come to me wearing that. I pity the poor clown you stole it from!” Tony had replied, unable to content his sarcasm.

He didn't expect anyone to come find him as he admired the sea. Ever since that night, Tony couldn't see the sea or ocean the same. How could it when now he knew what swam deep under the surface?

- “Your friend, that's why I need to talk with you before you do something stupid again. Do you even know what he is? What he plans to do?” Strange asked, voice harsh almost angry as he stepped in front of Tony.

They've just started talking, but Tony already wants to punch the man in the face. Who does Strange think he is to come to his place and talk to him like that? He did nothing wrong. It's not his fault he can't stop you.

- “Yes I know who he is, I know what he can do and what he plans to do. What do you want me to do about it? I literally can not kill him or even cut his limbs, I know I've tried in the past.” Tony snapped, walking away and turning his back to Strange, who kept following him.

- “If you know all that already, then how can you stand there and let it happen? How can you be friends with such a monster?” Strange asked, raising his voice as his anger exploded on Tony.

That was enough for Tony to snap. Before he thought about it, Tony turned on his heels and the next second his fist collided with Strange’s jaw, knocking the former surgeon to the ground. They both groaned in pain and Tony held his hand, massaging his bruised knuckles.

- “Son of a bitch! You know nothing, nothing, about the fucking shit I've been through and why I do what I do! And who the fuck care? It's not like people expect me to do anything else than fuck up and blow shit up! Right?” Tony snapped, kicking a rock with his shoe and sending it flying away. “I just make mistakes and get people killed all the time! That's why they call me the damn Marchant of Death, right? So yeah, I ain't doing shit because it will among to nothing!”

Panting, heart racing in his chest, Tony stared at Strange as the man sat, spitting blood on the floor. God, Tony thought, he really hit the man harder than he wanted. Not that he had wanted to punch him! Yet, Tony didn't regret it.

- “Now, leave me the fuck alone and go back where you come from. I owe you nothing, Strange.” Tony spat before quickly going back to his home.

What wasn't his surprise when he found a letter resting on a tuxedo in his bedroom. It was written by you, an invitation to join you for a surprise. After so long, Tony knew what it was; you had gotten your hand on Steve and Barnes as you had promised. For a second, Tony stared at the letter and the clothes, wondering if he should join you. Why not? He had nothing left to lose and Steve wasn't his friend anymore, the veteran had made it clear.

After changing his clothes, Tony put on his armour and went to the dress you gave him.

The address him at a church facing the ocean. Made out of stone, it seemed to be centuries old and yet still stood proudly. As he landed and approached the doors, the bells began to ring above him as if announcing his arrival. With a deep breath, Tony opened the double doors.

The first thing he saw was you, maskless and standing proudly behind the altar. You opened your arms in an invitation for him to approach, which he did. Every banc inside the church was filled with your followers. All of them had taken off their masks and hoods, some looked at you while others had their head bowed and prayed in a language Tony didn't understand.

Then he saw them.

Steve, Barnes, Natasha and Clint were kneeling, tied with what looked like slimy tentacles and looked beaten up and starving. Roger had lost the spark in his eyes while Barnes had his eyes turned so far away, that Tony wondered if he was still sane.

- “Our most important guest had finally arrived! Welcome, Tony. As promised, I have found your former friends and your parents’ murderer for you.” You said, voice echoing in the church.

His former teammates raised their heads, staring at him in confusion and surprise. Especially Steve who looked both hurt and betrayed. Bastard. After everything, he dares act as if it was Tony who had stabbed him in the back?

Swallowing his anger, he ignored the rest of his former team and turned his attention to you. You circled around the altar and walked up to him, arms still open as if you were going to hug him. Which, thankfully, you didn't. No. You just rested your hands on his shoulders and squeezed them gently.

- “I am happy you joined us, Tony. It wouldn't have been the same without you my friend.”

- “I asked for Barnes and Roger, not Clint and Natasha. What do you want to do with them?” Tony asked without looking at them.

- “Tony, you know him?” Steve’s voice was weak and harsh as if you had him swallow a galleon of sand. “Why…”

- “I haven't decided yet, but after all the pain they caused you? I will find the perfect punishment.” You said as you both ignored Steve.

Your words filled Tony with warmth as he sighed softly. It was still so strange to him that you cared so much about him after everything. You were doing more for him than anyone else ever did, being ready to hurt his former friends just because they hurt him. They were the true heroes, he was just a mistake and yet you choose to stand by his side.

Tony looked at Steve, feeling only anger and betrayal. Gone were his softness toward Captain America, replaced by hate and disgust.

- “My father was your friend, he believed in you and knew you were alive. He tried so hard to find you and how do you thank him? By siding with his murderer. You are disgusting.” Tony spat, voice filled with more venom than he wanted.

- “Tony, you don't understand…” Steve tried to talk, but Tony shook his head, stopping him.

- “I don't care. I don't give a fuck if he was brainwashed, used against his will. He still did it. Why does he is forgiven when none of you ever forgave me even when the same happened to me?”

There were no answers. Of course. What did he expect? They never cared, only saw him as a mistake and a liability, wasn't worth their forgiveness.

He was about to jump on Steve when you squeezed his shoulders again, catching his attention. Your benevolent eyes were filled with compassion as you stared at him and Tony felt like he was about to cry. Why did he find a friend in a fanatic murderer?

He looked away as you touched his cheek before you turned your attention on his former teammates.

- “Shame on all of you for the hell you put your friend through. You who used him like a puppet, like something not alive, see what you did to a man who only tried to do good. Did he make mistakes? Yes. Yet where you can find the strength to forgive a brainwashed assassin, you cannot do the same for a friend.”

- “Tony, what are you doing? Why…” Natasha tried to speak, but the tentacle wrapped around her moved to her mouth, gagging her.

- “Tony, you gotta stop this madness!” Clint snapped as he tried to untie himself only for the tentacle to constrict tighter and tighter around him.

Tony could only remember Clint’s last words, how he was a backstabber. He didn't feel anything toward Clint. Nothing. In fact, as he looked at all of them, he realized he had stopped caring. They meant nothing to him anymore. He was just tired.

- “Why? After all, that all I can do right? Stabbing people in the back once they trust me.” Tony said coldly tilting his head as you cupped it in your hands.

They all looked at him, their face twisted with shock and surprise. All, except Barnes. The man was crying silently, eyes staring absently at the ground.

- “I am… sorry.” Barnes said, voice croaking as he had difficulties talking. “I am so sorry. I never meant to do any of this, but please, take your anger on me, not them. They have nothing to do with us, not even Steve. He is just trying to protect me like I use to do with him.”

Tony didn't know what to say and just looked while Steve argued with Barnes, refusing to abandon him. It filled Tony with pure rage. Why wasn't he worth such love and loyalty too? Why was he always abandoned?

- “Really, what do you have planned for them? Are you going to sacrifice them to your Gods?” Tony asked, ignoring Barnes.

- “My, yes! They would make a great sacrife I think.” You said, letting go of his face.

Tony sighed and shook his head, for once not agreeing. He could accept any other kind of punishment, but death? No. For Barnes, death would be mercy.

- “No. Don't kill them, it wouldn't be a punishment. They are veterans and assassins, they are expecting it.” Tony whispered his eyes on them.

- “What would you have me do then?” You asked softly, taking his hand in yours and kissing his fingers. “Whatever you want, I will do my dearest.”

- “Make them read that cursed book of yours. You have it, don't you? The Necronomicon.”

You fell silent, gently squeezing his hand in yours as his fingers were still against your lips. He felt you sighing before you nodded your head.

- “As you wish, but you must know, Tony, that their mind won't survive it. They will go mad and won't ever go back to normal. That book isn't a toy and even I read it with causion.”

- “I know. That is what I want, that is what they deserve. Except Barnes. Let him watch, let him live with his guilt since his mind had already been destroyed.”

Tony turned his head to look at you. He felt tired, and empty and even revenge wasn't making him feel better, but looking at you did. There was so much understanding in your eyes as if you knew his pain. You had accepted him even with all his flaws and errors, calling him your friend and dearest when he had hurt you horribly. You had forgiven him without him giving any kind of excuses.

You were all he had ever wanted, except for the cult and sacrifice thing, but Tony could look the other way. After all, he too had blood on his hands and he knew that with you, whatever the future held, he was going to be fine. You would keep him safe and sound no matter what.

He didn't care about his former friends pleading. No. The only thing that mattered was the taste of your lips on his as he abandoned everything, choosing you as his future.

[jubmato]

i love that stupid little turtleneck he wore for all of 2 seconds on screen 💛💛💛

[unicornpopcorn14]

My inability to remember including Chuuya's hat in every fic I write is becoming a problem nkfsjbf

[00fairylights00]

bitches become obsessed with a new fictional man, claim they will write fanfiction about him but never post it and then promptly lie.

It's me, I'm bitches.

[tojiscrack]

OMG OMGOKGOKGOGMGKGKGKGMGMGMMGMG MY BRAIN IS SO POWERFUL forst of how are you my munchkin i hope ur doing amazing and that all is well for you LOVE YOU LOTS

So yk that one song thats popular ish (maybe you've heard it maybe you haven't) its the CHERRY BLOSSOM ICE TEA CHERRY BLOSSOM ICE TEA song. ANYWAYS is that not y/n and megumi with their lil barista jobs?!?? CMONN SEE MY VISION ...Ill link it..



HELP I’VE SEEN THIS SONG ON TIKTOK 😭

i’m asking you liars to give me a BREAK, i’m smiling so hard and still haven’t recovered from the malakai-y/n-megumi-triangle-gay debate yet 😭 like CHILL, one at a time pls 😭 (nah i’m jk this is fun send in moreeeeee 😡)

it’s crack, which is so them. it’s a grumpy dude and a sunshine girl, also them. everything is them, i see the vision, except for the fact that megumi would somehow materialise in front of me and throw me up my chimney if i confirmed this as liar, liar canon 💀

[antigonenikk]

instead of smoking out of a pipe modern au eugene has modded his vape pen over the course of his senior year to such an insane degree that no one else at school can figure out how it hasnt given him lead poisoning yet. he exclusively vapes mint-chocolate chip flavor and judges you immediately if you use an ELFBAR. meanwhile modern au snafu exclusively smokes menthol parliaments and laces all of his joints with PCP.

[szollibisz]

been thinking about this a loooot recently (even if my "writing style" annoys the shit out of me now) but yeahw.. my little guy my favourite doomed gay.....

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

An fix on the average day in the office as a private eye for Spider Noir?

First of all, it's been over three months. I am so so sorry. BUT I hope my 5k oneshot that greatly spiralled away from your og prompt makes up for it haha :)

TW for a bit of body horror, VERY brief mentions of period-typical racism and also some brief Spider God-related ickiness

Light Up Your Insides (Not Today)

The little bell at the door chimed and Peter looked up from his lunch to see a woman entering. She was maybe middle-aged, had brown skin, dark hair and a look of deep worry on her face.

Peter sat up straighter behind his desk pushed his glasses back up his nose.

"Are you--Peter Parker?" the woman asked.

Peter nodded. "That's me. Please take a seat. How can I help you?"

The woman breathed out in relief, but the worry didn't ease up yet. With only a moment's hesitation, she sat down on the chair opposite of him, but she didn't lean back.

"Mr Parker, I need your help. They say you're a good dick, and..."

She trailed off, but Peter could imagine the rest.

"My daughter, she's gone missing. The police wouldn't help me, and the--others I've asked said they were too busy, there's more important--"

Peter nodded. The woman didn't look like she could pay well, which would put others in his profession off. The coppers didn't really care, ever. And it likely wasn't helping that she was African American, either. The woman herself still looked like she was preparing for rejection--but luckily for her, Peter wasn't known for turning anyone away.

"Please tell me more about this case, Mrs...?"

"Johnson."

"Johnson. Do you want a tea? Coffee?"

Mrs Johnson shook her head. "No, thank you."

That was just as well. Peter wasn't sure if he even had tea around and he still wasn't a huge fan of sharing his coffee--not that she needed to know that.

Peter took up a pencil and a sheet of paper. "Then please tell me of your troubles, Mrs Johnson."

Mrs Johnson took in a deep, shaky breath. "It's--my daughter. Flora. She--she doesn't usually run off, she's never done it before, but--it's been two days..."

Against Peter's best attempts, he'd never quite been able to shake the images from that lab back on Ellis Island, even though it had been years. The apple had settled a lot, since then; the criminals weren't as bad anymore, not every last person with any kind of authority was corrupt and the Spider wasn't needed even nearly as much as back then. But he still couldn't help that very first thought when he heard of a black girl gone missing. New York was anything but safe, not really, especially for coloured people.

Peter did his best to keep his calm demeanour, if only because the last thing Mrs Johnson needed was even more stress. "Please tell me what exactly happened in as much detail as possible."

Mrs Johnson took another shaky breath, and Peter did his best to write along.

They had been on their way home along Lexington Avenue when Mrs Johnson had first lost sight of her daughter. First she thought Flora had simply seen something interesting and would return in a minute. But that hadn't happened.

Mrs Johnson had spent about half an hour searching the entire area before returning home in the hopes that maybe Flora had gone there on her own--to no avail. A few hours after Flora's disappearance, she had contacted the police, only to be turned away.

It had been a day by now, her husband and neighbours all aiding in her search, and Mrs Johnson had gone to the last place she had heard of for proper help: in other news, Peter.

Peter had seen lots of gruesome things in his life, and while very few of those involved children, they were the first thing to come to his mind. Especially Ellis Island. It had been a decade, by now, but...

Still, he put on his most serious yet calming expression.

"Lexington Avenue?" he asked.

Mrs Johnson nodded and sniffled. Peter handed her a tissue, but she waved him off and pulled out her own.

"I'll begin the search immediately. I will contact you if I have any more questions or when I find Flora."

Mrs Johnson nodded and swallowed. Then she set her jaw and stood up. "Thank you, Mr Parker."

"Don't thank me yet," Peter said with the slightest hint of a smile, despite the growing worry curling in his chest, and walked her to the door.

He only returned to get his coat and notepad before following right after--he had no time to lose.

-----

Lexington Avenue was bustling at this time of day. Peter looked around.

He was standing in the exact same place Mrs Johnson had described when she had noticed Flora missing.

There were no visible signs, of course not. How might a child go missing, though, and why?

Children were curious. She could have easily wandered off and gotten lost. And then what?

Peter should probably give the closest police station a visit before anything else. But since he was here, he might as well question some of the people who might have seen anything. Shop owners, the people at Pete's Tavern just a bit down the road--it was worth a shot, at least.

The shops all turned out to be failures. Peter pushed open the door to the bar--one last stop before he paid the coppers a visit.

There weren't many people inside at this time of day, but Peter could hear a few hushed conversations. Two men were at the bar, one sitting on a stool, the other wiping a glass down. They went silent the moment Peter entered, eyeing him closely.

Peter knew whom to ask first of all.

"Excuse me," Peter said, striding over to them with the most confidence he could put into his steps, stopping just a bit closer to them than would have been polite. "Where you here yesterday, too?"

"Why are you asking?" the man sitting at the bar demanded.

"Yeah," the man behind it said.

"I'm looking for a girl. About this tall, nine, African American, you seen her?"

The men exchanged a look. It was only for a second, but Peter saw it anyways.

"No," the sitting man said.

"Maybe," the bartender said.

Interesting. Most interesting.

Peter kept his face straight and stared at them.

Finally, the bartender sighed and extended his hand. "Pete Baines. I own the place."

Peter shook it. "Peter Parker."

Pete Baines grinned widely, his stance opening visibly, while the other man grumbled into his drink and half turned away.

"Ah, another Pete! Well then, perhaps I can help you. What did you want again?"

Either Pete Baines was very fond of people sharing his name, or he was a very good actor and dangerous, and be it only because he knew something he didn't want to tell.

Peter returned the smile, albeit slightly strained. "A black girl. Nine years, curly hair, yesterday around noon."

Pete Baines scratched his head. "Well, no, doesn't really ring a bell. Does it, Will?"

Will made a sound akin to a negative, without ever turning.

"Are you sure?" Peter needled. "Her mother was sure she'd seen her wander around here. Can I have a look around at least?"

Will snarled another incomprehensible thing. Pete Baines made it a show of thinking. "Well, no. We don't really get little girls here, now do we, Will? No, I'd have noticed. Sure I'll show a fellow Pete around though, eh?"

Wonderful. Now Peter just had to watch out which parts Pete Baines tried to keep him away from and go there.

Unfortunately, Pete Baines didn't try to keep Peter away from anywhere. Peter was allowed to freely sniff around the entire bar room, including behind the bar. He listened closely to his steps, but even with his enhanced hearing, nothing sounded hollow. They went to the backrooms, too. Will looked promisingly critical at this, but... nothing.

Nothing.

Peter firmly set his jaw and tried not to let his irritation show, even as the back office and several storage rooms turned out to be entirely clean, at least as far as Peter could tell. And he had gotten good at recognising these kinds of things.

And then. And then. Finally.

It was just a broom closet. It was cramped, but not as dusty as Peter would have expected. And, most importantly, Pete Baines moved into the way. It was the first room he entered before Peter, and he put himself right in front of a crate.

Wonderful. Now, should Peter let him know that he knew...?

Who was he kidding. He didn't have any time to dawdle. He needed to find Flora.

"Let me see that," he demanded.

Pete Baines furrowed his brows, but his smile didn't waver. "Yes, of course. Why?"

Peter ignored him and knelt down besides the crate. The lid was brandished with an odd symbol; Peter had the feeling that he'd seen it before somewhere.

The crate itself was empty, save for a thick layer of dust inside.

Dammit.

Dammit.

Peter breathed out slowly and quietly. Then he pulled out his camera and took a picture--just in case. It would take a while to develop these photos, but he could check the library for anything with that symbol later.

Then again, he didn't have time. In the case of missing people--especially children--he couldn't wait for even one second.

"Well, thank you," Peter said and straightened his coat.

Pete Baines sent him another smile, but it was thinner than before. "I hope you find what you're looking for, pally."

Peter just nodded. He strode right past Pete Baines and back outside; a goodbye was probably overrated by now.

Pete Baines said nothing. But when Peter passed through the actual bar again, Will glared at him well until he was gone--and apparently it was even enough to set off Peter's spider sense.

-----

Peter headed for the library next. Developing the film would take too long--longer than he was willing to wait, anyways. He had been too late too often. Way too often. Not this time, not again.

Once at the library, he... had a problem. Where to start looking?

He found a librarian and a pencil to sketch the symbol to the best of his abilities.

"This might have been an old sigil," she told him and led him down the rows of shelves. "If you find it, I'd love to hear--where did you come across it, anyway?"

Peter shrugged. "Just an old crate in a pub somewhere." He took the proffered book. "Thank you."

Then he found a quiet corner to read the brick of a book that was this lexicon of old gods and hoped that it wouldn't be a huge waste of time.

The book was old. And bulky. Even flipping through every page quickly, only glancing at the sigils, he was making very little progress. Of course, some sigils were close to his drawing and he couldn't rule them out, so he also had to properly read four greatly varying articles and copy the most important details into his notebook.

There was a child missing. He should be doing something, something--

Peter flipped another page and this was it.

This was the sigil from that crate.

Florecae. Goddess of flowers, growth and health.

He had heard that name before. He knew he'd heard that name before. But where...?

Of course. Of course. He was a damn twit. He could have known that where sigils and Gods were involved, the Legion of Darkness was his best bet.

And the chances were good that they still had their base in that building down at the docks...

Maybe it was time for Peter to get out the suit once again. Lack of time certainly called for more drastic measures like that.

If he was lucky (and hadn't entirely unlearned how to swing), he might even make it into his suit and to the docks within half an hour.

-----

The Legion of Darkness was, for lack of a better description, a joke.

Peter had run into them before, years ago, when the Spider was still needed. They were neither a lot of people, nor very threatening. Their intentions had always been on par with the name, though--and whether they did or did not succeed in raising an ancient God was irrelevant with a child's life in danger.

The rhythm of swinging past the buildings still came easy to Peter, even though he had changed a lot. He'd become a private dick, and gotten a cat, and let the Spider disappear, and even the Spider God left him alone most of the time. Even the nightmares had gotten fewer.

And yet, the moment that mask hid his face and his coat billowed in the wind as he rushed past the highest of buildings, so far above the street, it was as if all these years of living a relatively normal life didn't matter anymore. His movements were as fluid as back then, despite the age difference. His joints bent too far from one swing to the next, and the apple's smell was unusually sharp. This high up, hardly anything could harm him.

He was the Spider, and if anyone dared to touch that little girl, they were going to regret it.

Along with a slightly saltier, tangy scent in the air, the docks came into view. Peter returned to the solid rooftops, running and jumping too easily and too far for a human.

One of these buildings now must have been the one. No, this one. He was standing on it.

He set his hands down and crawled down the side of the building, but from the looks of it, none of the windows were open. Well, that was... not ideal.

Peter looked at the window below him. The room behind it was dark and seemingly empty. Ah, well, he already knew his spider-sense was still sharp.

He drew his arm back and smashed the glass. Without hesitation, he swung inside right after the shards and crouched down inside the room.

It was empty, as expected, but otherwise, too, entirely bare. No furniture, no proper floor, not even a single proper lamp.

That didn't matter. He was here to find out where the girl was being kept.

The door of the room stood open. The hallway past it was equally deserted and dark. The closer he came to said door, the stronger his spider-sense prickled in the back of his neck. There was no imminent, immediate danger, but something here was very, very wrong.

Peter laid one hand onto the handle of his gun and scanned the hallway in both directions, before turning left. His steps were silent, but his breath sounded louder for it.

He couldn't risk being noticed, not before he got what he came for.

All the rooms setting off from the hallway appeared silent even to Peter's enhanced senses. Had the Legion relocated...? No, they still had their name written on the front door, in fresh paint. (Peter honestly wasn't sure what they were trying to achieve with that, but he wasn't complaining. If it wasn't a trap--but he'd notice in time. Hopefully.)

Okay. He was still on the top floor. He'd check out the floors below and then search more thoroughly--that was probably the fastest option.

Peter had barely reached the first landing when he heard a commotion.

"No, no! I don't want to!" a girl shrieked.

"But Flora is such a pretty name. You'd be just perfect--"

Peter had no intentions of finding out who was talking or what the girl was perfect for. He jumped to the ceiling, where people wouldn't aim first of all when drilling and crawled after those voices. He didn't like not having his guns in hand, but he couldn't risk shooting before locating Flora.

"Come on," the adult voice coaxed, possibly a woman. "Be a good little girl and--"

The door wasn't locked, so Peter threw it open and fired his webs by instinct alone.

A split-second later, he could properly make out the scene: the room had been two rooms, the wall between them crudely brought down. Right in the middle, someone had drawn Florecae's sigil with white paint and in the centre of said sigil--

"Let go of me!" Flora cried out, tears spilling down her face, her kinky hair in wild disarray.

A woman stood half bent over her. She had greenish-white skin, bright hair and--

A sharp pang shot through Peter's skull and he dropped down onto the floor. He could still feel the bullet zipping past him but he turned mid-fall and threw webbing right back. Yelling started up and more guns were being fired.

Peter had to end this, fast, before Flora got hit by a stray bullet. It was too easy to get back into the flow of evading bullets based on instinct alone. It was maybe ten goons, likely members of the Legion of Darkness. Their aim hadn't gotten all that much better. Duck, run, jump--and with a kick to the jaw, the goon crumpled to the ground. Jump, run along the ceiling, shoot--another one down for the count. The energy of the fight was cursing through Peter's limbs, heightening his senses and the smell of gun powder. It had been a while since he'd been able to let loose, let his spidery side take over and ruthlessly beat a bunch of brunos to pulp, and it almost felt good. They were done for quickly.

Peter dropped back onto even ground and turned towards Flora and the woman.

Both were watching him. Flora was still crying, hugging herself.

The woman tilted her head. A smile, too wide for a human mouth, with too many needle-sharp teeth, greeted Peter. Her eyes were bright blue like the sky on an exceptionally clear day and sparkling almost as warmly as the sun. She had too many of them.

"See?" the woman asked with a voice that wasn't very loud anymore at all, but piercing right through Peter's head. "This is a totem. Does it look sad to you?"

Peter grit his teeth. The voice wasn't just piercing, it was literally inside his head--she hadn't spoken on a physical plane. And the woman wasn't even anything close to a woman. Not a human altered by queer magic--no, she was Florecae herself.

Don't listen to her, Peter tried to say, but his voice wouldn't carry, no sound crossing his lips. He couldn't move. He looked down, only to see colourful, blooming vines creeping up his legs. Why hadn't his spider-sense warned him? How hadn't he noticed--

Focus. He needed to focus.

Flora, listen to me. Your mother asked me to search for you. I'll get you out of here, I promise, just don't listen to her. Whatever she wants you to do, don't.

Peter's words stayed silent, but Flora suddenly looked up, directly at him, as if she'd heard him anyways.

"Don't bother," Florecae said, her eyes blazing until her features were unrecognisable beyond the light. It made his eyes water to look at her any longer. Was she getting stronger...?

The light travelled from her face down her torso, illuminating more and more of the room in what might have been sunlight, hadn't it been so damn bright. Florecae's feet lifted from the ground, thick vines and varieties of flowers spreading from where she had stood.

"You are too late, Spider," Florecae exclaimed and her voice came from everywhere around and echoed inside Peter's skull painfully. His entire body was on fire, whether because of her presence or his own spider-sense going nuts, he couldn't tell. "She will be my totem, my sacrifice to walk this plane once more. Surrender now, or be destroyed."

Peter crouched down and began to undo his laces, his coat falling just right to hide it from sight--though a goddess might see regardless. Who knew? His direct personal experience with gods was limited, and Florecae was nothing like the fever dream of getting his powers. They weren't very alike, neither in manner nor appearance. Regardless, Peter wouldn't let anyone else become a God's totem; nobody deserved to go through that hell, least of all a child.

He made eye-contact with the girl. "Run!" he yelled, and the feeling of his words rippling across a surreal, godly plane of existence instead of his physical world made him want to throw up.

Flora's eyes were wide with panic as she shook her head frantically. "If I leave the circle, I'll die!" she yelled back between sobs.

Was this really...?

Peter looked at the ground more closely. He had come inside the sigil without even noticing, and the flowers and plants were restricted to exactly that sigil. Florecae wasn't able to properly touch their physical world, not yet, not without a totem. That meant she could still be stopped. If Peter could just get Flora outside of that sigil without killing her...

A thousand glass shards were piercing through Peter's brain and he could hardly contain a scream as his vision went white. Fire raced down his limbs, more glass shards lining his lung with every half-aborted breath. He could feel his teeth shifting in his mouth, could feel the fangs he had sanded down years ago grow back, lined with venom. His head pulsated. Peter's fingers curled into claws.

When he opened his eyes, they weren't his own anymore. They weren't his human eyes at all, but eight eyes that weren't tangible on this plane, lent by the very thing that still let him wake up screaming regularly. The Spider God's terrifying presence pressed down on Peter's frail, human body, both from inside and out. It would tear him apart--and stitch him back together, mercilessly.

The God's eyes could see Florecae. They could see the blinding silhouette of the physical world and her true, mind-tearing form wherever it was that Gods resided. Peter's entire being ached to recoil, hide away in a dark corner, get away before the mere sight could burn him to ashes. His eyes were watering and his mask clung to his face like a second skin, and still the Spider God's presence tore through his organs. Some of the sigil glowed even around the Goddess's true form.

Flora didn't.

Peter gasped for a breath that wouldn't come and the Spider God's presence left him as suddenly as it had come.

He leapt forwards. His boots were still held firmly in place by vines and the like, but they slipped off his feet and he sprinted towards the Goddess, towards Flora. Flora opened her mouth to a silent scream and Peter reached her, reached for her torso and pressed her against his own body as he continued to run.

Flora was small and light. She clung to Peter's arm as he adjusted her in his arms to hold her properly.

A mind-splitting screech echoed through his ears until he thought his skull would dissolve into nothingness. One more leap and they would be outside of that huge sigil--but the air seemed to thicken, slowing Peter's movements, dragging them back in.

No. He wouldn't let it. He wouldn't let anything happen to the girl, he wouldn't let Florecae win, not this time, not ever.

Peter's free hand shot out and the web attached to the wall of the room. He yanked, and they were sent flying from that choke-hold.

Air flooded Peter's lungs. Flora was still held in his arms, head buried against his neck, sobbing, alive.

He didn't have any time to waste.

"Hold on tight," he muttered as he skidded into the hallway. From behind, he could hear the sound of shattering glass. Peter ran back up the stairs where he'd come from. Somewhere below he could hear yelling, quick steps, but they were just too far away to be a danger. He found the room he had entered through and crawled right back out, into the grey-ish, natural daylight of New York City.

One roof further, Peter dared to stop. He set Flora down carefully. She looked up at him with red eyes. She didn't seem to have any bruises or other external injuries, but he'd have to check again later. For now, he still had to make sure Florecae wouldn't come after them.

"Wait here," he told Flora, even as everything inside him protested that he couldn't leave her alone, not even for a second.

Thankfully, he didn't have to move far to see that whatever had happened in there had had... consequences. He and Flora hadn't left a second too early.

The second floor from the top was on fire. The flames were licking higher and higher, and Peter could hear faint screams from inside.

Good.

He knew the only people inside had to be willing members of the Legion of Darkness. They had kidnapped a child. They got what was coming for them. Whether they got out or burned to death--it was none of Peter's business.

He turned back to Flora. She was sniffling and hugging herself, but she was no longer actively crying.

"Who are you?" she asked very, very quietly.

Peter heard her perfectly well. He crouched down to meet her eye to eye. "They called me the Spider," he said.

"The Spider hasn't been seen for years, mum says."

He nodded. "That's because it hasn't been needed that much. Listen, Flora. I'll bring you back home, like I promised, but I need you to keep a secret. Can you do that?"

She swallowed, but nodded.

Peter hesitated. "Where I'll bring you first... I usually don't want anyone to know who I am. You can't ever tell anyone."

"I won't," she said, louder this time, apparently intrigued by such a well-kept mystery.

"Okay. I'll get you to my office the fastest way I can. Do you think you can hold on to me while I swing?"

Flora smiled, barely, and very carefully, but it was probably as close to enthusiasm as she could get after being kidnapped and almost becoming a totem. Peter had her climb onto his back and hold on tightly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, which wasn't great for him but at least secure for her. Carefully, he crawled a little along the side of the building they were on, but Flora held on tight, and he could deal with her weight--it was barely anything.

Peter swung back home slower than usual. But the child on his back thoroughly seemed to enjoy herself, shrieking as the wind rushed past them.

"We're so high!" she yelled right into Peter's ear at some point, and she still sounded a little scared, but most of all... she sounded excited.

She would recover. She would be able to go back to her life, eventually.

Peter ended it all in a back alley close to his office. He set his feet back on the ground and pulled off his mask, suddenly awfully aware that he had left his boots behind. They had been good boots. Really good boots. And damn expensive, too. Well, after that fire...

"Your hair is really fluffy," Flora said suddenly, still holding on tightly.

She was alright. She was alive. She was safe. That was worth a pair of boots.

Once back inside his office, Peter deposited Flora on his office chair behind the desk, which she immediately began exploring, and rang Mrs Johnson. The only response to his news was a choked sob and and the end of said call, but he had hadn't expected much else.

"You mum will be here in a moment," Peter said. "Remember, I'm just your friendly neighbourhood dick. Don't got no powers, just a good nose for conspiracies."

Flora nodded seriously. "The Spider found me and brought me here. And left."

Peter made himself smile a little. He was tired and sore. He hadn't been in a fight that bad in quite a while, and the Spider God's sudden appearance hadn't helped things.

"She said you're a totem," Flora said suddenly. "Does that mean someone gave you to a God?"

Peter couldn't help a small grimace. "It was... no, not really. A spider bit me, a venomous one. But instead of dying--"

He didn't want to think about it, all the vivid details that wouldn't ever stop haunting him as long as he lived.

"What's it like? Who's your god?"

Peter began sifting through some old papers, if only to have his hands moving. "The Spider God gave me my powers, but it also... well, it's... I've been able to help people. But it's not nice. If you can help it, stay far away from gods."

"No, I definitely want to see more of them now," Flora drawled in a surprising burst of sarcasm.

Peter chuckled. "Let me just get you some city juice and then we make sure you're not hurt, okay?"

Flora hesitated. "Don't leave."

"I won't."

-----

Mrs Johnson didn't even bother with knocking, and Peter couldn't fault her for it. She immediately rushed towards Flora and scooped her up into a tight hug. Flora buried her face in her mother's chest.

Mrs Johnson looked up again after a moment; only her eyes were a little shiny. She tried to smile at Peter. "How can I ever--"

"It's quite alright," Peter cut her off, "as long as you and your daughter are safe." He looked at them. "I don't need money, either," he decided on a whim. He could get by well enough already.

"If you ever need anything, Mr Parker, if it's within my power..."

He nodded. "The most you can do is stay safe, Mrs Johnson. Please."

She inclined her head. "You are a good man. Thank you."

Peter almost wanted to scoff, but he made himself smile instead.

"The Spider saved me!" Flora exclaimed suddenly, just as Mrs Johnson turned to leave.

"Oh? Did he?"

"Uh-huh. He wasn't so scary." The girl nodded and looked over her mother's shoulder right at Peter.

He winked and put a finger against his lips.

She almost giggled and returned the motion.

The girl was safe now.

But Peter would go out this night again, despite his tiredness, and hunt down whatever was left of the Legion of Darkness.

He may have gotten a little inactive, but whoever messed with children would still have to answer to him.

----------

I hope you enjoyed, even though some parts may have been a bit rushed! I did get it out within the same year you asked lmao. Thanks for the prompt, anon. I sincerely hope you see and enjoy this.

[sunboki]

me re-reading the kissing scene in record player lover for the fifth time bc i’m obsessed i-

[deerabigailhobbs]

It's 2am and I'm working on the second chapter for my Adamgail siblings fic because I can't sleep :')

[shibaraki]

when it comes to writing it’s good to think of your brain like a muscle. but keeping that line of thinking I wanted to say that as writers we have different skills and that’s okay. so you may be good at short sprints. others do long. some even do marathons!!!!! whether you write 500 words or 5k words or over 20k words it is still valuable, it’s your work and it is time well spent

[obwjam]

Same anon that asked for fandoms here! (first time asking for anything here goes)

Prompt 15. “Shh, don’t wake them, god knows they need their sleep."

With Jamie and Roy from Ted Lasso? (Just incase I had to specify LOL) nws if you don't wanna do it tho! <3

"Shh, don’t wake them, god knows they need their sleep."

excellent first ask. like, truly impeccable choice. this one was PERFECT

from this post

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

"Shh, don’t wake them, god knows they need their sleep."

Roy looked incredulously at Jamie, who was sitting comfortably in Roy’s office with you in his hand. “Did you seriously just fucking say that to me?”

“‘Ey! Did you not ‘ear me? I said quiet.”

Roy grunted, but ultimately didn’t say anything, because that little prick was right. You did need your sleep.

See, your life was turned upside down a few months ago when you were discovered in the vast AFC Richmond complex. Even though the place was crawling with giants, it was so unbelievably huge that it was actually the perfect place for you to be. Everyone was so busy with their daily tasks that nobody had the time to scan the floors for tiny people.

And it would have stayed that way, too, until the club brought in an eccentric new player that noticed right away that something was off. Before you could even blink, you had been lifted into the air and put on display for a room full of bulky, imposing athletes. 

Jamie, who hated Zava with every fiber of his being and relished any opportunity to make him look like an ass, immediately came to your defense, silently vowing to protect you from him. Roy saw right through the whole thing and inserted himself into the relationship, because he sure as hell didn’t trust Jamie to take care of a four-inch-tall being.

So, you were stuck with them.

“I know why you’re doing this,” Roy grumbled. Jamie looked at him expectantly.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that, then?”

“Because you want them to like you more than Zava.”

Jamie made a face and fake laughed. “You’re joking, mate. As if they need my help hating Zava. Don’t you see how terrified they are of him? He fuckin’, plucked them up off the ground,” he bent down and pretended to pick something up, mockingly going through the motions, “and dangled them around like some sort of – some kind of – I don’t know exactly what, but it wasn’t good.”

“Hm.” Roy was mad that Jamie had a point. He too was pretty pissed when he saw Zava waving you around around that day. “So what’s the fucking catch, then?”

“What catch?”

“Why are you doing this,” Roy asked, more forcefully this time. “‘Cause I know it’s not out of the goodness of your little twat heart.”

“What, I can’t just do somethin’ nice for someone I barely know without there bein’ some kind of reason?”

Roy looked at him like he had five heads. “Yeah!”

You awoke to the sound of an argument – not uncommon from spending all your time with them. You sat up in a daze, waiting for Jamie to notice that he had indeed cut your nap short, but he was too in the zone. Fighting with Roy did that to him.

You rubbed your eyes and took your time regaining consciousness after a very restful sleep. Somehow, your existence was still a secret to the owner of the club, so during matches, you watched on TV until Roy or Jamie came back to take you home with them. 

You would often stay up through the night. You found the act of sleeping post-Zava incident too difficult to do for more than an hour or so at a time. Every time you shut your eyes, your head rushed as if you were being lifted off the ground again with no warning. It was like the curious face of Zava was painted onto the backs of your eyelids, with hundreds of thousands of eyes behind him. You always woke up with a feeling of dread.

Which is why you decided to go on the team’s most recent road trip, finally taking Jamie up on his offer to tag along. You needed a distraction, but didn’t realize that it would be a frantic game of staying hidden from cameras, awkwardly being in hotel rooms and participating in sickening bus rides, so by the time you were back to the safety of Richmond, you were positively wiped – so much so that your usual night terrors weren’t present. 

That is, until you were rudely awakened.

“Stop being such a prick, you little prick.”

“You’re the one who started yellin�� at meh out of nowhere!”

“Not nowhere! You fucking told me not to wake them up, which I already fucking knew– oh my god,” Roy grumbled, looking down at your groggy form. “They’re fucking awake.”

“Right, mate, you woke ‘em up,” Jamie shot back.

“Me?! I didn’t fucking–”

“–Okay, okay!” you cut in, mustering all of your energy to raise your voice. That seemed to stop them for the moment. It never ceased to amaze you that the mere sound of your voice could get two giants to shut up. “What…” you signed as you pushed yourself up, “what are we arguing about this time?”

“Jamie’s being a little prick.”

“Am not!”

“You always think he’s being a little prick,” you pointed out with a small smile.

Roy shrugged. “What’s your point?”

“You should go back to sleep,” Jamie said, an unusual amount of concern in his voice. “You didn’t sleep at all on the bus.”

“Don’t fucking listen to him,” Roy replied. “You’re an intelligent, strong person who is fully capable of making their own fucking decisions.”

“Woah, woah, okay,” you said, holding your hands up. You gestured toward Roy’s desk, and Jamie gently deposited you down on the surface. Like they did every time, the two giants hunched down so they wouldn’t loom so large. “What’s actually going on?”

Jamie and Roy turned to each other, silently acknowledging that they couldn’t bullshit you.

“We were, uh, just–”

“We were talking about you,” Roy admitted. That certainly caught you off guard.

“Me? Why?”

“Old shithead here wanted to know why I, uh, saved you from Zava.”

“Shut it, you little twat, you didn’t save them.”

“Did too! I…” Jamie trailed off when he caught your expression, eyebrows raised and arms crossed. “Sorry.”

You always chuckled at the way his sorries were more like sorrehs. “Roy, I know you’re always mad, but… why are you mad about this, specifically?”

Roy leaned forward ever so slightly, which used to scare the living daylights out of you, but now you found it endearing. “Because he wants you to like him more than Zava.” Roy paused. “Because he fucking hates Zava.”

Just the mere mention of Zava was enough to send your mind into a mini spiral. The two footballers noticed your expression change from tired to anxious, suddenly eyeing them as if they had morphed into completely different people. You blinked hard to get yourself back to reality. “Well, I fucking hate Zava too, you know. Asshole kind of ruined my entire life.”

“See? I told you,” Jamie bragged.

“But that’s what you were arguing about? How much I like Zava?”

“No!” Roy said a little too loudly. His expression softened when you flinched. “Sorry. No, Jamie just got upset when I–.”

“He thinks there’s a catch,” Jamie stated. “Like I have some sort of alterior motive.”

“Ulterior,” Roy grumbled. “It’s ulterior motive.”

“Whatever!”

“Guys!” you shouted, once again shutting them up. “So… it sounds like you woke me up for absolutely no reason, then.”

“Well, not no reason–”

“–he questioned me character, I had no choice but to defend myself–”

“–if this little prick was doing anything that could hurt you, I wouldn’t let that fucking happen–”

“–I’m a changed man, you know–”

“–oh, don’t start with that fucking bull… shit.” Roy looked like a kid caught stealing from a candy shop when he saw your disapproving expression. Jamie, too. 

“Sorry,” they said in unison.

“Look, I just…” you let out a big yawn. “This weekend was hard. I didn’t much like all the traveling, and I was glad to be back home. You guys have done so much for me, I… I don’t like it when you argue.”

Roy and Jamie exchanged upset glances. They hadn’t stopped to think that their constant bickering could take a toll on you.

“Truthfully… these last three months have been the most anxiety-inducing, wild and scary months of my entire life. I mean, you guys will never understand how it feels to be looked down upon or loomed over by dozens of giants all at once, being talked about like I’m not even there… picked up like I’m not even a person…”

“Is that why you don’t sleep?” Jamie abruptly asked. He recoiled when you gave him a look that was almost… scared. “I–I’ve noticed for a while. When I get up at four in the morning for training… you’re usually awake, too.”

After a moment, you nodded meekly, as if you were in trouble.

“Do you think about Zava? Every night?”

You laughed in pity to yourself. “Not just every night. I think about it every fucking moment of my life.”

Roy was practically overflowing with anger, which was an impressive feat, given the way he normally is. “I swear to fucking god, when I see that fucking asshole in the locker room tomorrow, I’m going to tie his dick up to a string and drag him down the fucking motorway until it fucking falls off.”

Your smirk turned into an all-out laugh when Jamie gave him a look of borderline disgust. “I’d do all that myself if I could, I think.”

It was all making sense to Roy now – why Jamie had asked him to be quiet around you in the first place. Truthfully, he didn’t have an eye for these things. He didn’t tend to notice your reactions, your tendencies or your routines when his full attention wasn’t on you. He was abrasive, loud and imposing, and he never really stopped to think that you could be so terrified of that from him specifically. 

Jamie, though, noticed these things more than Roy would ever suspect. This new, team-oriented, down-to-earth Jamie Tartt was much more kind and caring than Roy gave him credit for. He was good with you. He knew what you needed, what might set you off. He was softer and quieter around you. And he sure as hell noticed the little things you did when you didn’t know he was looking at you.

“Do you think about it… even when you’re with us? Even when you’re in me hand?”

You mulled on that for a moment. “No, not always. Sometimes, though…” you looked up, eyes meeting Jamie’s, and under the harsh fluorescent lights, you swear he looked like he was about to cry. You cleared your throat. “You– you have to understand, I had never even been seen by a human before that. This is all so new to me, I...”

Jamie looked ashamed, realizing quickly that you picked up on his guilt. “All the arguin’ gets to you sometimes, don’t it?”

You gave him another embarrassed nod. “Feels a lot like when you first… when you were all talking over each other, and Ted came out to see what was going on, and he – and he saw me… and he just, he started asking me all these questions, like it was my fault I was found, and I didn’t know what to do or say or where to look. I thought… I thought I was going to die. Like Zava would drop me and nobody would save me, or you would all pass me around until I got squished to death.”

“Jesus,” Roy mumbled. “That’s a bit morbid, innit?”

You shrugged. “Pretty standard borrower fare, I’d say.”

“So…” Jamie began, resting his elbows on his knees and cupping his chin with his palms. “What you’re saying… is that you’d be better off not even knowin’ us.”

You tilted your head ever so slightly. He sounded genuinely upset by that.

“Yeah, I mean, I wish I had never been seen at all. But at this point, if I just… disappeared, you would all worry about me. Wonder where I went, maybe even go look for me. But… but who knows who I’d be found by next. Plus,” you said with a small smirk, “getting to eat every single day is something I don’t think I want to give up now.”

“What, you didn’t eat every day before this?” Roy asked cautiously.

You hung your head. “There’s a lot of stuff I haven’t told you.”

“...Maybe you should start,” Jamie said sheepishly. “Tellin’ us stuff, I mean.” He threw his arms out when Roy gave him a questioning look. ‘Ow else are we supposed to know what they’re feeling?”

“Hmph.” Roy stole a glance at you. He hoped it wasn’t obvious, but every time he looked at you, he was in awe that something like you even existed. He didn’t let himself think about it too much, since it scared the shit out of him, but he sometimes wondered if he could ever survive the way you did. Probably not.

“You really give a shit about the way they feel?” Roy asked. Jamie just nodded, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Yeah, alright then.”

“How about, for every day we don’t argue, you tell us somethin’ you haven’t told us before,” Jamie said, an air of mischief to his voice. “That’s fair, right?”

“Hmm.” You plopped down, stretching your legs out and letting out another big yawn. Roy and Jamie gave each other the alright, that was fucking adorable look they often shared.

The more you pondered over what he said, the more your heart swelled. The guys often forgot that you had observed them for years before they discovered you, so you knew more about them than they knew about themselves. But hearing Jamie express just how much he cared about you out loud gave it validity and realness, so it wasn’t just a passive thought in your mind. Jamie wanted you to like him so badly that it pissed off Roy... who was fiercely protective over you. That was adorable.

“Alright, Tartt, you got yourself a deal,” you said with a grin. 

“Go on, then,” Roy goaded. “A deal isn’t a deal unless you shake on it.”

Jamie rolled his eyes but obliged, sticking his index finger a few inches in front of your face. You reluctantly grabbed the tip of his finger with both of your hands, face flushing red at how much amusement Roy was getting from this. After a few hearty jostles, you were practically dizzy.

“Not funny,” you grumbled playfully, pushing Jamie’s finger away with all your might. You laughed as he pretended to fall over backwards from your sheer strength. “I’m exhausted, remember?”

It was Jamie’s turn to stretch. “Right, and I’ve got training in… three hours.”

Roy grumbled in that unintelligible, ambiguous way that only Roy could. You gave him a quizzical look, but Jamie already had a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You… don’t… need to… do training tomorrow,” Roy said, like the words had been tortured out of him.

Jamie’s grin stayed present. “Are you sure, coach? ‘Cause I played like shit this weekend.”

“Yeah, you fucking did, you little prick.”

“Really, I don’t mind–”

“Go home, Tartt!” Roy yelled, jumping up from his chair. “Get some fucking sleep, damn it! And take them with you too!” He pointed stiffly at you, which caused you to burst out into laughter.

Jamie shrugged playfully. “Whatever you say, coach.” You happily hopped into his open palm when he placed it next to you, smiling hard at the way Roy snapped from muted delight to anger like a rubber band.

“Try to keep your little twat mouth shut tomorrow,” he warned Jamie. “I want to hear what they have to say.”

“Sure, coach.”

“Well.” Roy stood in the doorframe awkwardly, stiff as a board, not knowing what to do or say or who to look at before finally settling on you. “Goodnight.”

You smiled and gave him a small wave. “Night, Roy.” 

“Goodnight, Roy!” Jamie called out as Roy walked away.

“Fuck you!”

Jamie grinned. “Never gets old.” He lifted you up a bit. “Ready to go home, love?”

Home. Home was AFC Richmond, home was Jamie’s nightstand, home was… well, it was wherever the two of them wanted to bring you. And you quite liked that.

“Yep,” you said, leaning back against the curve of his fingers. You let out a content sigh. “Let’s go home.”

[daz4i]

as soon as i learn how to write and commit to projects and tell stories at length and finish literally anything it's over for you (i will write this damn angel/demon au.)

[kameyyy]

You ever wrote a 3k word long rant ?? On the same day you struggled to write only a hundred words for your wip ?? No ?? Just me ??

[baeshijima]

ik i keep talking abt this haitham fic but idc it makes me go insane and im making it everyones problem