#BUT!! I had to get this out of my head before the brain worms ate it

[skyafied]

These Demopet cosmetics make me so mentally ill it’s INSANE

These are all workshop cosmetics!! Go vote for them I need them all in-game yesterday!!!!

MacGuinness

Bonnie

Lil' Nessie

[dixons-sunshine]

Cravings | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Daryl Dixon wouldn’t consider himself a picky man. It was the end of the world. Good food was extremely hard to come by. You ate what you could and you didn’t refuse, or else you’d go to bed hungry. There was no in-between, and Daryl understood that more than most.

However, as Daryl watched you reach into the jar of pickles to eat the green vegetable with the homemade ice cream Carol had somehow managed to make for you, he was beginning to realize that there were some lines regarding food he straight up refused to cross.

“Ain’t no way the ice cream tastes good with them pickles,” Daryl voiced after a few minutes of simply observing you devour the odd food combination you had been craving for days at that point in time. “Ain’t no way in hell.”

You looked up from the book you were reading while relaxing in bed, your hand stilling its motion of rubbing your baby bump, your eyes locking with Daryl’s cerulean-coloured ones. You nearly snorted at the expression on his face. Never before had you seen him as grossed out quite like in that moment. “Don’t blame me for this. It’s what your kid wants, apparently.”

“S’disgustin’,” Daryl told you, a shudder rolling down his spine at the mere thought of what the odd food combination could possibly taste like.

“Says the guy that literally once ate a worm,” you reminded him with a playful smile. “And dog meat, if I remember correctly, which you absolutely devoured.”

“That was different. We were on the road and didn’t have nothin’ else to eat. We didn’t have a choice,” he retorted. “‘Sides, s’not like I paired the meat with cake or somethin’. I ate it as is, so it wasn’t nearly as disgustin’ as this.”

“Sure, whatever you say, Babe,” you laughed and popped another pickle into your mouth.

Daryl grimaced when you added a spoonful of ice cream to your mouth without even swallowing the pickle. When you simply sent him a smile, he chuckled and shook his head. “Ain’t gon’ argue with ya ‘cause I know there ain’t no point and I’d rather not piss ya off.”

You giggled at him. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” You looked down at the pickle jar and frowned when you saw that it was empty. You looked up at your partner and gave him your best puppy dog eyes. “Could you get me some more, please?”

Daryl chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah. Jus’ give me a minute. Need to do somethin’ real quick.” Daryl leaned forward and lowered his head to your bump, pressing a soft, tender kiss to it. “Yer makin’ yer mama real crazy, lil’ one. Messin’ with her brain, makin’ her believe that she’s got somethin’ delicious goin’ on here. M’beggin’ ya to make her stop. She’s killin’ me with these weird cravings’a hers.”

You laughed and gently pushed him away, eliciting a small, fond chuckle from the archer. “My brain’s just fine, thank you. Now I believe I was promised more pickles.” You grabbed your empty bowl and held it up for him. “And possibly more ice cream?”

Daryl shook his head with a smile and took the bowl, getting up from the bed. “Yer lucky m’so damn fond’a ya, woman,” he mused while heading towards the door.

“I love you,” you laughed and picked up your book again, getting comfortable against the pillows.

“Yeah, I love ya, too.”

[n0tamused]

dottore having to dispose of a faulty clone (maybe bc they were threatening reader) and then handfeeding reader parts of it like cannibalism as a metaphor for love…. do we see the vision or is this a little too 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 💔💔

A/n: pookie you're all good, thank you for feeding my brain worms with this idea I'm sending you smooches. I do hope I executed this well. I had a lot in my head that I wanted to write for this but I didn't want this to turn into a word scramble so here's this. Enjoy <3

Content: Dottore x GN reader, dark content(?), a bit yandere, implied unhealthy relationship, implied cannibalism, cannibalism as a metaphor for love, idk what else to tag as I never posted something like this so if anything else needs tagging feel free to lemme know

Words: 735

Several candles lined the polished oak table, its surface smooth and almost sticky, the light rippling over the dark lines of the carvings on top like little light bugs chasing one another. The golden hues danced over the plates as well, but the dim light scarcely allowed for a good look at the dishes.

The fork extending forward to your lips was the only thing that held your attention long enough to be observed, taken in fully, lips closing around the bit of meat and vegetables. The juice and oil fills your mouth, sinking past your teeth and around your gums, the taste is rich yet stale all at once. You couldn’t comment on it, you didn't know what to say about it. Not with the Doctor sitting at your side and being the one to feed you so, so gently.

It's hard to remember when was the last time he looked so gentle, kind even, perhaps when he was lighting up the candles with such care, as if his own breath would blow the flames into a blaze, allowing you to see your plate in full.

The meat was well done, seasoned to your liking, and something told you it was Dottore’s own hand who prepared it, gave it his all to make it so perfect for consumption. Parts of him were laced through every sensation, every smell and every bite. Your own plate is set before him and he's cutting all your bites, spearing pieces of meat and salad onto the fork before feeding it to you, making sure you ate well.

The dull ache in your arms is brought back into memory as you languidly chew on a bite, and your fingers absentmindedly touch over your sleeves over where the bruises lay, feeling the ache grow.

“Do they still hurt you?” His voice called out amidst smoky smells and brown fog, calling you to the present. “Have you gotten any rest at all, my dear?” He added, his head tilting in your direction, his bird-like mask not allowing you for a glimpse of his ruby eyes, but from underneath you can see glimpses of the scars peeking through, teasing your eyes. For some reason he chose to wear it here, now, only puzzling you further. 

“No.. no.. they're fine… I’ll get some rest later tonight, sir..” you reply as you swallow and watch how he grimaced at the title, and you nearly cough from how big this bite was, but you would have taken a bigger bite had Dottore allowed you to feast yourself. Perhaps not, but you told yourself you would. Be it the rich taste or some other factor, you yearned to take up each bone from the meat and lick it clean, sucking out the marrow from within and letting it melt into your guts.

Would he be satisfied then?

Would you be?

The candles flicker. He's still looking at you

“Are you still afraid? I've already told you so, and explained it many times. You have nothing to fear here. This was just an error in the system which will not ever happen again.. and you shouldn't have been around to witness it, anyhow..”. You have to wonder how he can say all this with so little fear. Then again, the clone was his creation. He knew it inside and out, every crevice and every wire.

“I understand.. it's just that.. I'd rather not face the others now..not after that..” 

Truth be told, having him around was also slightly unnerving, as he wore nearly an identical face as the one that harmed you. They were the same, but also not. He was gentle, but he was not.

The one that hurt you was long disposed of and would never harm you again, but Dottore was once the one that hurt you, and now he has poured himself out before you, all for your pleasure and the sweet poison of safety and love.

He hopes to convey it to you through each meticulously put bite, every sip he graces your lips with. He had cut himself open for you and would do so again, just as he hurt you through that error. It came as easy as drinking and breathing. 

“That’s understandable. I assure you are safe, and however dark the night may get - I'll be there with you… But for now, you must eat, not fear. Open wide..”

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[robbyrobinson]

Two Roommates At the Edge of the Universe (Potential Book of Bill Spoilers)

Belos: Of all the heathenistic, pagan gods to be saddled with for eternity, it has to be... you.

Bill Cipher: (quadruples) Well, well, well, well... aren't you a sight for sore "eye." My old business partner, Philip Wittebane... or is it Belos? It's been ages... how has your whole "witch hunting" gone?

Belos: I have nothing to say to you, demon.

Bill Cipher: Oh, well look at you. You look like some slop that escaped from the pigpen! Looks like that kid you made a deal with did a number on you. Serves you right for calling off our deal.

Belos: Our plans did not align. After all, I would never help you raze the Earth. You are the Devil himself.

Bill Cipher: (chuckles) Thanks, but I can't accept that compliment since I was actually kicked out of H - E double hockey sticks. Do not tell me that you are still playing that "evil for a good cause" bullshit.

Belos: I should not conform to the temptations of sin by talking to you, Cipher. My quest was nothing but righteous. Witches defile everything they come across. But my plan failed. All I could remember before my consciousness faded was seeing a huge, celestial frilled lizard... something more ancient than the Boiling Isles... and it told me I could live once more.

Bill Cipher: Blah, blah, blah. The difference between you and me is that I can admit that everything I had done throughout the trillion years of my life were nothing more than for funsies. I wiped out planets; I ate gods for breakfast. I drove millions to madness and watched their brains melt and seep through their ears and staining the ground. I have done more than you can ever hope to! I've slaughtered hundreds because my credit card was declined. I am the god of madness and chaos. All of this I have done before you crawled out of your mommy's hoo-ha! I have lived one-billion lifetimes more than you can attest to you one lifespan, 3 dimensional, Sloppy Joe meat puppet!

Belos: Oh? Well, to be fair, I never destroyed my home.

Bill Cipher: (stops ranting) I don't know what you're talking about.

Belos: You wanted to impress your race but they were wiped out in one tragic event wasn't it?

Bill Cipher: (grasps the side of his head) No, no. I remember that day well. A monster destroyed my world! I am a victim... how dare you bring up my past?

Belos: So now you're mad. No wonder you are still here. You can't take responsibility for anything.

Bill Cipher: (he turns red and gets increasingly angry, but he calms down) Well, tell me... how is that brother of yours? I seem to recall his name...

Belos: Don't you dare...

Bill Cipher: Caleb? Oh, yes, I remember it now. I remember that day as if it were yesterday. Your brother met a nice little witch lady, but you entered the Demon Realm thinking that he was bewitched... but you saw that he not only married her, but she was pregnant.

Belos: (grapples with his temples) Silence... no more.

Bill Cipher: (conjures up a knife) Oh, does my eye deceive me? Here's the knife that you killed your brother with.

Belos: Shut up!

Bill Cipher: HA HA HA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! You should have seen the look on his face! He was so devastated that his own brother stabbed him when he was protecting his wife!

Belos: She - He! I was trying to save his soul! He chose his own fate. He stabbed me in the back. After all those years being witch hunters, he allowed himself to be tempted by the wiles of that harlot!

Bill Cipher: (cheeky) Ah, does widdle Belos miss his brutha? Does he want some milky? Or someone to tell him bed stowies? HA HAHAHA HA HA HA!! Face it, old man, you are just like me. All you ever cared about was being the hero who would save mankind from the forces of evil.

Belos: Grrr.... I am not evil.

Bill Cipher: Well... The Axolotl sent you here to be "rehabilitated." If you're lucky, you can reincarnate into some worm that eats shit for a living.

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event v2024

"It's my birthday and I'll write what I want to \o/"

Gift Details ♥ Reader Style: cisfem (request was afab, but I don't feel like I really did that vibe justice, so I've adjusted the label accordingly.) Character: Silvers Rayleigh Vibe: NSFW Consensual AU: Canon -- I am so sorry this is NOT canon au, forgive me. Prompt: Only One Bed Gift Giver: @kazieai

Summary: There's only one room, and it's your first time meeting one Silvers Rayleigh.

Content Notes: age gap, accidental edging, fantasizing about an older man, letting him help you orgasm. This would have more but it was already 2k words and I had to STOP.

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

You looked over at the older gentlemen standing by you at the reception desk of the hotel. He was older, easily twice your age, you were sure, but he looked comfortable in the suit. Long silver hair, and a well-trimmed goatee. If you had to guess, you imagined he owned a business or two.

“Does the room have a sofa?” You question, and the desk clerk taps some keys.

“Yes ma’am.” She replies. “A single king and couch. I’m afraid it doesn’t appear to be a pull-out couch.”

“That’s fine.” You assure her, looking back toward the gentlemen. There was an amused look on his face, and you were certain he already knew what you were going to propose. “You seem an honorable sort, and neither of us have any other option anyway. As the shorter of the two, I’ll take the couch, if you’re amenable?”

“When you put it that way, young lady, it would be rude of me to disagree.” He says in an easy voice. “As I am receiving the greatest comfort, I insist on paying for the room.”

Nothing about his demeanor or offer leaves you concerned. If he’s a beast in sheep’s clothing he wears them well enough that there’d be no saving you anyway.

“Very well, but in that case I’d like to treat you to dinner, if you haven’t yet eaten?”

“The restaurant is open until 11,” the desk clerk interjects. “You have plenty of time to leave your things in the room before getting a table.”

“Seems that settles things then.” He takes his card from the clerk and extends a hand to you. “Silvers Rayleigh.”

You take the offered hand and give it a firm shake, giving him your name as well.

After taking your things up to the room, and sure enough the couch wasn’t the pull out style with a spare bed hidden under the cushions, you both head back down to the restaurant. The food was good, and the atmosphere was comfortable. Soft music played in the background and you were able to converse while you ate.

Rayleigh was an excellent conversationalist. You talked about your respective jobs, what brought you to this city at the same time. Two different conventions it seemed, which would explain why the hotels were filled to the brim. You weren’t wrong about him either, while he insisted he was retired, Rayleigh was the owner of several businesses, most of which he had passed down to others.

Mentor and adviser were the only jobs he did anymore, but he did enjoy the conventions to keep an eye on any up and coming talents. The simple pleasures of a simple man, as he said. Though you doubted there was anything simple about him at all.

You’d stayed at the restaurant until it was nearly ready to close, losing track of time in the comfort of conversation. Returning to the room, you traded off rights to the bathroom while getting ready for bed. The front desk had delivered a few spare blankets and pillows, with a small note about their appreciation regarding your kindness during the check-in process.

This meant your rest on the couch was going to be even more comfortable than you had anticipated.

As you were showering, however, the comfort of the couch wasn’t what was on your mind. It was his face you could see, his voice that was worming its way into your brain while you stood naked in the water, separated by a single door. The shower itself was only encased in glass, even as it steamed up from use there was nothing to really separate you.

You wondered at all the things he could do.

If his fingers were as smooth as his voice. If that tongue could dance against your skin with the same eloquence that it had with words. What could he do to you, with all that experience and knowledge? He joked about being far too old to indulge in all he enjoyed in life, but he’d come out of the shower with his wet hair on his shoulders, and little more than a t-shirt and boxers on.

What you could see was solid. Age was there, certainly, but there was strength and grace beneath his skin.

Shame flushed your skin, but your fingers wandered over your skin as you let your imagination run wild. He was intoxicating, and it wasn’t like you were going to try and seduce him once you got out of the shower. This was between you, your fingers, and maybe the shower head. No one was going to need the shower once you were done with it, so it was certainly okay to risk running it out of hot water.

After a few minutes you realized that all you were doing was frustrating yourself. Fantasizing normally worked, but your brain kept insisting you needed him, not the stupid shower head with its water pressure that wasn’t quite enough.

Sighing and trying to let it go, you finished up, dried off, and pulled on a baggy shirt that you had packed specifically for nightwear and a pair of cotton underwear. Nothing fancy, after all, you hadn’t planned on being in the same room with anyone else. Certainly not a hot silver fox like Mr. Silvers out there.

You were surprised to see him awake, reading a book in bed. “Sorry, I hope the water running didn’t keep you up.”

“Not even a little.” He assures you with a smile. “If the light bothers you, I can turn it off.”

“Oh, no. I’ll be fine, ah - thank you.” You notice the couch has been made into as much of a bed as possible and Rayleigh smiles.

“Thank you, young lady, for trusting me and treating me to such a delicious meal earlier.”

Your smile feels a little guilty, the nervous chuckle escaping you as you nod. You couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t going to sound like an offer of the more intimate kind, so you wish him a good night as you get comfortable in your little neatly made cocoon.

The light was not the problem.

The problem was that every time you closed your eyes you could see him, and practically feel him. Your mind was cruel and perverse, at least right now. You were getting irritated that you didn’t have enough self-control to stop thinking about someone you barely knew long enough to go to bed.

Oh, he wasn’t single, but he had an open relationship with his wife. He showed you pictures, she was beautiful as he was handsome, and there were always two or three other people in the pictures with them. There was nothing sexual, but these people weren’t ashamed of smooching in the middle of selfies.

What would those lips -

No, dammit, you had places to be tomorrow you had to sleep.

If you came you’d sleep.

…

The shower hadn’t been enough, but tucked under the blankets maybe. If you were quiet. You didn’t have to move much, you were all wound up already. If it wouldn’t give you away entirely you’d just go into the bathroom.

But he was reading, and the little bed lamp wasn’t strong. The blankets were dark. If he asks tomorrow you could just say you can be restless when you sleep. You’d never see him again, so what did it matter.

Resolve set, you slipped your hand under the band of your underpants as carefully as you could and began to move your fingers. You were soaked and it was hard to get any real friction going, but you needed to either succeed, or at least wear yourself out trying.

Unfortunately, your arm was tired, you weren’t, and you were no where near relief. Farther from it, honestly, as you’d done little more than edge yourself into frustration. The small sob that leaves you is louder than you’d like and after a second of being completely still your stomach knots.

“Trouble sleeping?” He asks quietly. Quietly enough that if you were just making sounds in your sleep he wouldn’t accidentally wake you, but you know. You already know. He knows. He’s known.

The man’s observant. You figured that out from the beginning. He probably knew what you’d been doing in the shower the smooth bastard. There was no other choice, not really, he wasn’t truly leaving you with one.

“�� Yeah.” You admit quietly.

You hear the book close. “Anything I can do to help?”

His tone. His damn tone. It’s so sure, so soft, so inviting, and there’s not an ounce of allure in it. He’s not trying to seduce you, he’s giving you the most neutral option to come to him he can provide. Considering he’d been - intentionally or not - seducing you all damn evening.

“I… wouldn’t want to impose.” There’s frustration in your voice. Not aimed at him, just at your situation.

“It’s hardly imposing if I’ve offered.” He counters and you practically whimper.

“Then… yes, please.” You say after a moment’s consideration. “I need to sleep, and if you’re offering to help, I would like to accept.”

There’s a shift in his tone, and you can picture the smile on his face, despite having your back to him right now. “Then, please, come to bed, young lady.”

You flinch a little, removing your fingers from your clit before moving the blankets aside. Getting up you step over to the bed, but you can’t quite bring yourself to look him in the eye. You can feel blood rushing through you and you have to wonder just how much he knows.

He moves the blankets aside. “Come, sit in my lap.” His words feeling commanding, but not absolute. He’s guiding you, giving you permission, but not forcing you.

You swallow, nerves making your stomach flop, and you get into the bed. The idea of looking into his eyes is a little too much, so you sit with your back to his chest, resting your thighs against his.

“Lean back,” he says it softly, warm hands on your arms, guiding you carefully backward until you’re settled against his chest. You’re a little surprised that there’s nothing pushing against your ass, and also a little extra frustrated that he’s not nearly as hot and bothered as you are.

His hands move down your arm, and his fingers slip over yours. You know he feels the slick on your fingers, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m just going to guide you.” He explains, moving your hands with his. He has you pull your shirt up, until the bottom hem is by your lips. “Open,” he says, and you do. He has you tuck the cloth into your mouth before bringing your hand down to your breast.

He slips your other hand, the one already slick and wet, under the band of your underwear. You moan as he guides your fingers against your clit, legs shivering against his thighs. He moves your hands, keeping your movements and pace steady, changing the pressure and movements as he whispers into your ear.

“Not too fast.”

“Pinch a little more, there you go.”

“Not there yet, move your fingers deeper. Just like that.”

“Those sounds you make are divine, young lady.”

“There we go. Listen to you, you’re so close.”

Your body begins to tense as you squirm against him. “Rah-Rayleigh,” you gasp, voice barely muffled by the fabric of the shirt, his fingers moving yours steadily, not letting your building pleasure hasten the pace. “Please, please, I’m almost…” You roll your hips, your body on fire and desperately needy. “Please!”

He makes you twist your nipple more harshly than before, and presses your fingers against your clit with more fervor. Hot lips against your neck nip at your skin and everything brings you to climax, biting down on your shirt as you tense and moan.

He keeps you moving for another minute, slowly helping you ride out your high.

“All better?” He prompts and you make a soft sound.

“M’sorry,” you mutter, brain and body hazy from the sweet release after so much accidental edging.

“For what?”

“Been… thinking of you… for hours.” You admit, your voice a dream-filled sigh.

“Oh.” He muses, fingers slipping from yours and pressing against your skin directly. “Then please, young lady, tell me what you desire, and I promise to do my best to exceed your thoughts of me.”

[ironspiderfics]

tick tock

by @iron--spider for @savvysass

~

And Peter stares at him, watching the panic seep into his shoulders.

 “Why did you come to me first?” Ned stammers. “Me, I mean, I can’t do anything—I mean, I can say it sucks, and that doesn’t help—”

 Peter leans back against Ned’s pillows, clearing his throat. He’s going for nonchalance. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned it at all. 

 But sometimes there’s something that’s nagging at him and he knows logically it’s nagging at him because it’s important, but he downplays that nag because he thinks he’s being paranoid or he thinks he can handle it. Maybe it’s both of those things at the same time. 

 But he mentioned his problem anyway, because of course he did, and Ned has been standing frozen in front of him since, like he got struck by lightning.

 “It’s fine,” Peter says, his voice going a little high, but not enough to give him away. He clears his throat again. Nonchalance. “Do you have any of the tamales still?”

 Ned’s brows furrow, like he’s primed and ready for an argument. “You are the only—the only person in the known universe who climbs through my bedroom window and tells me he’s been poisoned and then says it’s fine and asks for tamales.”

 “You know I like them so much,” Peter says, shrugging at him. “That’s why we got so many, and I already ate the ones I had stashed—”

 “Peter!” Ned yells, drawing out the word like a wiggling worm. “Poisoned?”

 “It’s fine,” Peter shrugs again, and he swallows hard, and he mostly believes that. His head hurts, but that’s normal after a fight. Rattling his brain around.

 It’s all normal. It’s fine. 

 The room isn’t shimmering at the corners. No way.

 “Peter.”

 He keys back in. “That guy…is a weirdo,” Peter laughs, and Ned takes two steps closer to him, still poised, eyes still wide under a stern, furrowed brow. 

 He analyzes him, like he’s looking for something Peter’s hiding. “All of the dudes you fight are?” he says. Asks. It’s a statement phrased like a question. “Which one was it? You could be referring to any of them?”

 “The guy who thinks he’s a snake,” Peter says. He winces. “No. A scorpion.”

 “Worse,” Ned says. “And what exactly did he say? Did you know you’re bleeding?” He’s getting worked up, and his cheek spasms a little bit. “You’re trying to be too casual I don’t trust you right now you’re doing that thing where you’re under—you’re under—I’m gonna tell Tony I’m gonna tell May and MJ—”

 “Ned!” Peter yells, scrambling off the bed and reaching him before he grabs his phone from the desk. He holds onto his arms, and Ned is still looking at him like he’s grown another head. “It’s fine. I swear. I was just…telling you…the events, I was close to your house and I thought I’d tell you the events of my, uh, night, my patrol—how was your night, did you get to that episode of Survivor where—”

 “What exactly did this guy say to you?” Ned asks, slowly. “Like, in words. His words.”

 Peter swallows hard. “Well, uh, we were fighting, and he—he ‘poisoned’ me, right?” He uses air quotes.

 Ned glares at him.

 “And he said we were gonna play a game—”

 “Bad—”

 “And he said, uh, if I couldn’t find the antidote in three days that I’d, uh. Die.”

 Die. DIE. It lands like an anvil.

 Ned gives him a piercing look.

 “That’s everything he said? Those were the words—that’s it? No clues no map no—three days—three days is nothing—that’s not—that’s not even four days—when does it start does it start at like midnight or the second you—”

 Peter clears his throat again. He needs to refocus. 

 He feels like the walls are moving—no. Not happening. He’s fine.

 He shakes his head. He wishes he hadn’t mentioned it at all, but here he is. “Ned, that—I mean, this is normal.”

 Ned scoffs. “Norm—”

 “This is just something that happens. Spider-Man gig. He’s—this is part of the rapport.”

 “Rappo—Peter what if you start dying? What if you can’t find him? What if you find him and he won’t give you the antidote? What then? What if there is no antidote? There isn’t enough time—”

 “There’s probably not even a poison,” Peter says, shrugging again. Brushing it off. Being normal. Managing the situation.

 Ned pauses for a second. Then his eyes bulge. “Probably?”

 Peter gets this shit all the time. Every day, it’s some guy in a weirdo costume telling him they’re gonna kill him or he’s gonna drown tomorrow at noon or they’re gonna take his powers away or they’re gonna launch him into the sun, and none of those things have ever happened. And this guy, this Scorpion has threatened to poison him dozens of times—it’s his deal, it’s his thing, since he showed up a few months after the world ended, and he’s never good at it. He said he was gonna poison Harlem’s water supply and that didn’t happen, despite days of monitoring. He said he’d poisoned the mayor’s family and that they’d die in five days and they’re currently vacationing in Kokomo. He’s even said he’d poisoned Peter before and that his skin was gonna fall off and that never happened. 

 Tony has always told him to take threats seriously from everyone that threatens him, even if they sound stupid. But when it winds up being a lie or a fluke, over and over—

 The only thing that’s worrying him is that this guy did get him with his stupid stinger this time. 

 He had a better costume, one that didn’t look like it came from the November discount at Spirit Halloween. And it was a knockdown dragout fight, because he was threatening to poison this bank manager to steal his codes, blah blah, bad guy shit, but then he got Peter in the shoulder with his stinger and he seemed surprised that he got him and that’s when he said what he said and he did what he does best: disappear. Peter can usually find these guys, and he actually got a few of them and their gangs locked up. But this asshole falls off the grid really easily, and doesn’t leave much behind. Peter doesn’t even know his real name.

 And Peter’s shoulder is pulsing. But only a little bit.

 So he’s just—he’s not concerned. Maybe slightly. But not really.

 He’s just got a headache. He feels fine.

 He’s fine.

 He manages to convince Ned that he doesn’t need to tell anybody, and they bandage up the things that need bandaging, including the spot where Scorpion got him, which is only a little green and angry, not nearly as bad as Peter was imagining. Ned huffs and puffs at it, but he doesn’t try to restart the argument. And then they share tamales and Peter goes home.

 “You okay?” May asks him, when he kisses her cheek before bed.

 “Yep,” Peter says, smiling, and nodding at her, because he is. 

 He feels fine. He texted MJ that he was fine, even though that seemed to make her suspicious, but she’s always suspicious of him even though they’re together now. She’s paranoid.

 The ceiling is absolutely not slowly lowering. It’s just the light being weird that’s it nothing more than that—

 May gives him a look, similar to the look Ned gave him earlier. “You sure?” she pushes. “Look a little…peaky.”

 He shakes his head. 

 Only a little dizzy. 

 Three days…

 “I’m fine. I just had seven tamales. I’m fine.”

 ~

 “Boss,” Friday says, pulling Tony out of a dream. “You have an incoming call from Ned Leeds.”

 Tony groans, and opens his eyes. 

 It’s Saturday. 

 Ten in the morning.

 He glances to the side. Pepper is already gone, and he’s gotta check the calendar for the where-to, and he clears his throat and rubs his eyes.

 A call from Ned usually means trouble.

 He closes his eyes, and grapples for his earpiece on the bedside table, and Friday indicates for his heart rate with a polite little trill. He ignores it, and tries not to jump to conclusions about Peter or the call, and he taps on the earpiece and answers.

 “—no, it’s okay. No, I don’t need anymore, Lola, I’m full—”

 “Nedjamin?” 

 “Mr. Stark?” Ned nearly yells. “Is that you?”

 “Well, this is my number,” Tony says, rubbing his face. “As you know, or you wouldn’t be calling—”

 “Sorry, I—I’m always shocked that you actually answer. Like even your personal lines must have somebody to like screen calls for you—”

 “You’re on the list,” Tony says, and he can hear Ned’s little gasp—the same little gasp he always gasps when Tony says that. “What’s the problem, where’s the fire? What’s Pete done now?”

 “Listen,” Ned says, and suddenly he’s whispering. “I don’t know when to take him seriously. But last night he showed up here and he was being all nonchalant and shifty about some scorpion bad guy poisoning him and telling him they were playing a game and that he had three days to find the antidote or he’d die.”

 Tony’s eyes snap open.

 “He was just saying it was fine and he was probably not even poisoned and like he was a little beat up but not more than normal, you know, his normal amount of—either way, he’s not taking it seriously and he’s not telling you and three days is not a lot of time—like, it’s not even four days—”

 “Mmkay,” Tony says, sitting up, feeling like someone’s lit a fire under his ass. “Okay. I’m gonna go get him. I’m gonna handle it.” He stands up, knees creaking, and worry is already coursing through his veins.

 “He’s gonna be mad at me for telling you but it’s for his own good,” Ned says. “Three days is not a lot of time, like—to handle something like this—even if it’s fake I mean—”

 “Even if it’s fake, you did the right thing,” Tony says, grabbing a gray shirt and some sweatpants. “Always better to check it out.” He sucks in a big breath, trying to focus. “Friday. Get me a lead on Peter.”

 ~

 And it’s never Tony’s favorite, when Peter isn’t where he’s supposed to be. 

 And Tony can’t exactly say the kid is supposed to be somewhere in particular—it’s the summer time, he’s been dealt a raw hand with all the end of the world bullshit, and he’s a good kid despite Spider-Man —and not that Spider-Man makes him bad, exactly the opposite, but it…sends waves of danger into his life on a daily basis that Tony wishes he could wash away a lot better than he does. 

 So when Tony can’t find Peter at home, he tries not to—go off the deep end. 

 It’s probably fine. Peter’s had a lot of close calls that weren’t close calls at all—the type of dickheads he encounters lie a lot, to try and puff themselves up, but Tony worries that’s made the kid complacent. He himself brushes things off far too often, and he’ll wind up kidnapped or thrown in a ditch or lost on an island because he didn’t take something seriously.

 Three days

 When did that timeclock start

 Ned was right to be concerned—

 “It’s fine,” he breathes, driving around in New York’s torture tactic they call traffic, “it’s fine—it’s fine—”

 He thinks of a ticking clock, thinks of three days and how that’s not a lot of time and how many times Ned repeated that, thinks that this guy could very easily be telling the truth and it could be a slow-acting poison that doesn’t even kill Pete until the last possible second, and it’s not even a week, it’s three days, and it’s less than that now because Peter decided not to call him immediately, decided to terrorize Ned instead, and tick tock, goes the clock, and Tony hasn’t even seen him yet—

 “Friday,” Tony says, his voice strung-out with anxiety, “are you—”

 “Boss, I was about to cut in,” Friday says, “Spider-Man is three blocks away in an apartment that does not belong to him. He broke in and he is in distress.”

 Tony sucks in a breath, his eye twitching. “An apartment—dist—am I going in the right direction—”

 “Yes,” Friday says, sounding too goddamn calm, even for an AI, and she trills again, for his heart rate. “I will let you know where to park.”

 ~

 Tony is incapable of relaxing. It isn’t the time to relax. Nobody’s telling him to but he always feels like people are telling him to, he’s heard it so many times in his life.

 The only saving grace in this situation is that the goddamn owner of the apartment isn’t home, and Peter is too savvy to let the alarm go off to alert anybody, and Tony doesn’t know why the hell he’s here why here why now does he know these people did something happen here and of course he doesn’t know why he hasn’t seen him he hasn’t gotten to talk to him yet—

 And he can picture it now—SPIDER-MAN CHOOSES A LIFE OF CRIME, MORE AT 11—

 “Kid,” Tony breathes, and he tries not to touch anything as he slinks inside the open door like an accomplice to a robbery, “kid—”

 “TONY!” 

 Peter screams his name, booming and loud, louder than he’s ever sounded before. And Tony hears him before he sees him, and he staggers back and shuts the door when he hits it, and he clutches at his chest and Friday trills twice for his heart rate, a little more urgently.

 And Peter is standing there in the middle of this plush, eggshell-white Central Park view.

 And he doesn’t look good.

 He’s pale as a sheet, his eyes bloodshot, and it looks like there’s throw-up on the front of his suit. His hair’s a mess, and his breathing is hard and wheezy.

 “Don’t move,” Peter says. “Just stay right there. Stay on—on that spot right there that spot is uncompromised.”

 Tony stares at him. “Uncomp—Pete, we gotta go, we can’t—we don’t know this apartment, we weren’t invited here.”

 “How do you know?” Peter asks, looking at him incredulously.

 “Well, were you?” Tony asks, mouth agape, feeling like the stupidest person in the world.

 “This place was pulsing,” Peter says, too fast, all manic. “It was ready for liftoff, okay? That’s why I’m here but now there’s a problem. There’s a problem with the floor and it burned me three times. They say fool you once, uh fool you twice but three times, so… the whole apartment is a problem. The whole thing, I could see it from the outside and it might have fallen so…I had to go up. Here. Up here.”

 This isn’t good. This isn’t good. Tony stares at him and he can feel the very very not good hanging all over the room in tendrils. “Kid, you’re not making any sense at all, okay? Can you—can you just…slow down a little bit and—”

 “It’s too windy,” Peter says, shaking his head. He looks at him, sort of—looks through him, and then he focuses on him again. “Okay. Break. Team, uh—Tony. We can’t fix it now. We just need to abort, okay, just—spider, uh—spiderweb on out of here—you need to—listen, we can jump off the roof. That might be the right—the right, uh—”

 “Okay,” Tony says, more concerned with every new word that leaves his mouth. “Okay, Pete, I’m gonna come over there—”

 “No no no don’t move!” Peter yells, his hands outstretched in Tony’s direction. 

 “What?” Tony shouts, his heart slamming in his ears. “Peter.” 

 Peter stares down at Tony’s feet. “It’s gonna get you. It’s going to—it’s gonna start eating you like it’s been eating me.”

 And Tony knew, when Peter started talking, but in that moment he really knows, like a ding ding ding game show buzzer. It sinks in his gut.

 This is the poison’s fault. 

 And he’s stupid he’s so stupid, and suddenly it’s blindingly real and not at all a false alarm, it’s the ticking time clock in his head that he’d been tamping down on the way over here. It’s ticking, sand is running down, and it’s a race now. 

 A race to save him. 

 Too short. Not even a race. A fucking thousand yard hurdle.

 Will he really die if they can’t—can Tony figure this out on his own—who the hell does he have to call who should he get—they’ve never been able to track down this scorpion asshole before and why is this gonna be any different—

 He’s wasting time—

 Focus, for him—

 “Pete—”

 “It’s like acid like a river of acid it’s everywhere,” Peter says. “You’re gonna. Just. We have to like, leapfrog—maybe I can carry you on my back—”

 “Look, it’s gone,” Tony says, gesturing to the ground. “Not there, gone. Just floor.”

 Peter narrows his eyes. “No, it’s still there—Tony Tony Tony—”

 And he’s freaking out because Tony is walking towards him now, through—whatever LSD trip awfulness he’s imagining, and he’s gasping and gripping his hair and he reaches out and tugs him towards him when he’s close enough.

 “Okay, I don’t know how you did that,” Peter says, and his eyes are wild and a little glazed. “Did it get you? It’s green. It got me, it’s some sort of—acid, acid—you’re not even in the suit, you’re—”

 “Pete,” Tony says again, getting more desperate—and he holds Peter by the shoulders—

 “My legs are burning, this stuff, this is stuff—it’s everywhere—are you okay?” Peter asks, breathing hard. “It—you walked right through it—we’re in trouble, we’re—”

 “You’re hallucinating,” Tony says, trying to hold his gaze. “You got poisoned, and you tried to brush it off, and it’s here to kick your ass.” Too harsh, but it’s out already. 

 He doesn’t mention anything about three days. He doesn’t mention anything about death.

 Peter’s eyes cut to the side. “No, it’s, uh—it’s real. The apartment was—and now there’s—green acid, like an entire—like it’s an ocean of green acid in here and probably outside too and it’s consuming—and it’s in here it’s like—when water comes in during a hurricane—not that I’ve ever been in—but May had that one unlucky vacation in Florida—”

 “Listen,” Tony says, because he can hear the tick tock in his head. He has to get him to focus. “Listen, do you trust me? Pete, can you—”

 Peter stares at him. “I think the green acid ate Ned,” he whispers, tearing up.

 Tony heaves a sigh. Tick tock. “Buddy, close your eyes, and hold my hand, okay? Hold my hand, hold onto my shoulder with your other hand, and close your eyes. I have a way out.”

 Peter’s eyes only go wider. “You have a way out but I can’t see it?” he whispers.

 “That’s right,” Tony says, swallowing hard. “Just…trust me, okay, just—let’s go, we gotta get out of here.”

 Peter stares at him for what feels like an age, and tick tock tick tock, and then he grabs Tony’s hand and latches onto his shoulder and closes his eyes. 

 “Okay,” Tony says, squeezing his hand a couple times as he maneuvers towards the front door. “Okay, we are—skimming over the, uh, the surface—we are walking on water—”

 “Acid—”

 “Acid, but it’s fine—”

 ~

 He has Peter keep his eyes closed until they’re out of the building, and his heart is hammering in his ears. 

 Friday trills. Tony ignores. 

 Peter isn’t wearing his mask and he’s got the rest of the suit on and there are people around and goddamnit. Tony holds onto him and ushers him into the car and hopes he isn’t drawing too much attention.

 Peter sits like he’s frozen solid, and Tony runs red lights.

 Tick. Tock. 

 Peter grits his teeth. He’s antsy. “Are you not concerned about the roof being gone?” he asks, his voice wavering. “Because those things are…they’re all over the car, the things with the antenna and the beady eyes and the little stingers—”

 “Peter,” Tony says, swerving around a slow driver in front of him, “I don’t know whether to play into this and pretend but I guess—I’m—kid, you have been poisoned by that dickhead, that scorpion guy. He poisoned you, and he—he put—” a time limit on it and you’re gonna die if I don’t fucking find his ass or synthesize a cure—

 And you didn’t tell me you should have told me but I’m not gonna give you shit for it right now while you’re actively dying—

 “Who?” Peter nearly yells, and he reaches up and bangs on the roof. “Tony, Tony, it’s phasing in and out now—does that mean—are we gonna quantum leap—like that show—”

 “Pete, it’s not,” Tony says, reaching over and grabbing his arm and trying to keep his eye on the road. “None of these things are happening that you think—Peter—”

 “I think there’s one on your—far shoulder,” Peter says, holding onto Tony’s arm. “A big one, he looks—he’s got plans, Tony—”

 Tony has to pull to a stop at the next red light, and he sighs and holds onto Peter’s arm. “Kid, can you hear me? Can the logical part of your brain break through the fog and hear what I’m saying?” His voice wavers with the worry that’s trying to rise to the surface. 

 Peter just holds onto his arm and stares at him. His eyes are bulging out of his head and he’s clinging onto Tony’s arm like it’s his last lifetime. There’s sweat gathering on his forehead and in his hair and he looks like he’s getting paler.

 Somebody honks behind them and Tony sighs, putting on the gas, still holding onto Peter’s arm. 

 “Tony,” Peter breathes. “I think one of them just climbed inside your ear.”

 ~

 Tony puts on an actual timeclock when they get back to the new facility, and he calls Ned to get the right timing on it. Currently, he’s got two days, five hours, and fifty-three minutes.

 “What is it?” May asks, over Tony’s shoulder. “Do you know what it is yet?”

 Tony shakes his head. He’s still going over Peter’s bloodwork, and Helen is doing the same in her lab. He can see the tests she’s running on the screen, and they’re both cross-referencing with every known poison and every run-in any of them have had with something like this. It isn’t often that Tony gets poisoned, with his suit of choice. He wishes Peter would wear the goddamn iron spider more often. 

 He wishes he could keep this shit from ever happening in the first place, to any of his team and his friends but to Peter especially, but what is he gonna do? He can’t swing around in a steel box, or in a bubble, like that movie—

 Tony rests his elbows on the table and rubs his eyes. He feels that pressure all over him, like he always does when Peter is in danger, but this one is different. He doesn’t think he’s been—on a time clock, with Peter’s death at the end of it.

 Peter’s death, last breath, eyes going glassy—

 No, no—

 It sends chills down the back of Tony’s neck, it makes him feel like he’s gonna throw up—

 Tick tock—

 It was bad enough the first time and that wasn’t even a proper death—this would be, this could be bloody and gasping and—

 “How’s he doing?” Tony asks, spinning his chair around and looking at May. He tries to keep the horrors out of his eyes.

 “Um, not great,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “It seems to be just—getting worse. He still thinks there’s water rising in the room and that he’s trapped and he still thinks the ‘acid’ earlier burned up his legs, but you know that—”

 “Nothing there,” Tony says, clawing at his own throat a little bit, anxiety choking him. 

 He cracks his jaw and blows out a breath and glances up into Peter’s room. The kid is still pacing, and he’s in there with MJ and Ned, talking close to their faces, all wild-eyed and gesturing, pulling his IV pole around. He already sweat through his shirt and he’s hardly retaining any fluids. None of the trial antidotes they’ve got lying around have worked. None of the preventative measures have prevented shit. Peter’s been rambling about someone having cloned the Avengers years ago, and how the floor keeps rumbling because there’s going to be an earthquake in the building. He keeps lifting MJ up and putting her on the bed because he thinks there’s a monitor lizard trying to eat her. 

 And the original wound on his shoulder is full of pus and bruised, black in some spots. They’re trying to treat that too, even though Peter barely recognizes Helen and her team when they come into his room. He always squares up, like he needs to fight them.

 “This isn’t a fair game,” May says, with venom, watching Peter. She wipes her eyes and looks at Tony again, like it’s too hard to keep focusing on the problem. “But I guess we can’t expect fairness from people who want to…hurt others.”

 “I’m gonna fix it,” Tony croaks, because he’s getting teary-eyed now, too, and he turns around and faces the computer and sets up the new ingredient trials. He’s still got a bunch he needs to test, it’s fine, they’re out there looking for this asshole in teams, it’s fine, he wishes he was out there looking too and that’s not fine, and if Peter was right about the clones Tony would leave his clone here and he’d be out there searching and they’d swap—

 “I’m gonna fix it,” he says again, eyes cutting over to the time clock.

 It’s not enough time it’s not enough time it’s not it’s—

 ~

 Peter is—

 The world floats and—

 Of course it floats, and no, it’s not floating, it’s gravity, stupid, and—

 He’s walking down the hallway one minute MINUTE HEY LISTEN YOU’RE and he’s dragging something along with him one minute and HE SAID THREE DAYS STOP LETTING IT TAKE and then the next his arm is bloody and he leans against the wall and he falls into the next room because there are no more walls and—

 He braces his hand on the tile and the tile crunches into wet sand and his hand presses into it an imprint hand and footprint Hollywood Humphrey Bogart and Ben saying he had big hands for a tiny guy huh

 And then there’s the monitor lizard again. Hissing and rampaging towards him.

 “Stop,” Peter says, pointing at him. “She’s not here she’s—”

 Then he’s in bed again. And there’s Tony. And there’s a big fire flames in the corner licking at the wallpaper and it's hot on Peter’s face and trying to singe Tony’s hair. It’s so hot it’s blue. It’s so hot it’s burning Peter’s eyes out of his head.

 “This is the third time,” Tony says, and his voice is echoes, inside one of those water tubes, water spouts? Itsy bitsy spider? “No more getting up and roaming the halls, Pete, please, okay? Jesus, and stop taking out your—”

 The fire gets really big before Peter can even say anything about it and it explodes in a big fireball and tries to consume the entire room, and Peter grabs Tony and tries to cover his head and hide his own face at the same time and—

 “Buddy, buddy, relax, relax—”

 But Peter can barely hear him above the explosions and it’s hot it’s burning it’s all over—

 He groans, screwing his eyes shut, and how’s he supposed to fight fire? “It’s burning it’s—we have to get out we have to—”

 “Nothing’s burning, it’s in your head, it’s in your head,” Tony says, and he’s ruffling Peter’s hair, a gentle feeling amongst all this big and bad and fire, and he’s squeezing Peter’s shoulder and then water—water is trickling out of the walls. Peter can see it over Tony’s shoulder. 

 “It’s in your head, okay?” Tony says, softly, and when he pulls back he phases a bit. In and out. On top of himself like a copy. Like a bad copy like when Peter used the copier at May’s work for his NYC transit project and it spit it out all inky and Peter covers his eyes with his hand. 

 “We can’t stop it,” he breathes, breathes, is he breathing still—

 “Lemme try this one,” Tony says, and he’s still gentle, voice calm waves. “This should help, okay? We’re trying the natural steroid with the anti-toxin—it should—it should work—if the tests—if I know anything at all—”

 And the room changes again.

 Tony isn’t there and the room is smaller, the walls are trying to. Trash compactor. Rectangular and square and there are windows and they move and they morph and he can see the green acid is still outside and it’s rising out there, and that means people are dying, that means—it burned Peter and he’s—he’s who he is, with them they’d be burning—burning alive—

 “It should have worked,” Tony’s voice, but he’s not in here. Is he in the walls? Are they squashing him? “It should have, goddamnit—”

 “It’s close, everything improved there for about twenty—”

 “He was practically catatonic and now he’s worse again—has Sam updated you yet, Helen, because I think he’s afraid to tell me he hasn’t found anything—I gotta fucking get out there—Happy’s out there driving around and Pepper is too and I’m fucking useless—”

 “TICK TOCK,” a voice says.

 A bad voice. Sounds like a stereotypical New Jersey background actor but this one Peter knows, and then he spins around on the spot and all the windows go and then the room shrinks and it shrinks fast fast fast fast too fast a not-fun funhouse and he can’t even try to stop it and he throws his arms out but the walls crush him into something small—

 “FUN GAME, HUH, SPIDER? CLOCK IS TICKING DOWN. THEN I WIN.”

 Peter is running—

 —but there’s nothing, there’s nothing it’s blackness and echoes and nothing anywhere, except when he steps on something it zaps him, like a taser, and it makes him tremble and his face sags and the aftershocks run through him and he feels off course, and he tries to run in the opposite direction but what’s the opposite direction in a void and he’s zapped again, and he tries to go—a couple steps back and—it’s so dark he can’t see and when he tries to yell nothing comes out, nothing, and he grabs at his own throat and tries to pull his voice out and—

 A full body zap and he collapses, seizing—

 In the room again.

 In the bed.

 Handcuffed, to the bed. Soft straps, around his wrists and his ankles, connecting to the bars of the bed.

 “How the hell did he even get in that room?”

 “God, I don’t know—how does he get anywhere—”

 Tony and May are on either side of him, and the acid is in the room again. They’re sitting on the bed so they’re out of the way of it but it’s rising, and Peter swallows hard, peering down at it.

 “I can get out of these,” Peter says, and he tries to concentrate and break them, and it’s usually so easy, it’s usually very easy, and he breathes hard, watching the acid break and splash against the wall. It eats away at it. “Tony, May, why would you—”

 “You keep getting up and hurting yourself,” May says, and she sniffles, and she—her face is in darkness. He can’t see her face. “You don’t have much time and you keep—”

 “May—”

 Tony’s voice, but he can’t see his face either, they’re both, they’re—their faces, they don’t have faces they don’t have faces no eyes nose mouth nothing nothing—

 He closes his eyes and keeps rattling the handcuffs. Why aren’t they breaking? Why aren’t they?

 “You’re weak right now,” Tony says, and Peter squeezes his eyes shut because he can’t—he can’t look he can’t—

 ~

 “We didn’t wanna do it, Peter,” Tony says, feeling shame, watching him thrash around. 

 And if this was normal, he’d try to convince him to stay still, to stop getting up and breaking into storage rooms and labs and they’d take them off, but he’s—he’s barely in there. Barely lodged in his own head. The hallucinations are too strong and they barely have a day left. They haven’t found Scorpion and they haven’t figured it out themselves—

 And is Peter going to die like this? Wasting away, handcuffed to the medbay bed by two of the people who love him most?

 He’ll uncuff him if he’s dying and what kind of thing is that to fucking say what kind of thing is that to even think to even fathom—

 A wave of horror goes through Tony’s entire body and he reaches for the right cuff—

 “Tony, he’ll be out in five seconds flat,” May says.

 “Not if we’re in here—”

 “We were in here before and he got past us—”

 “Please, Tony,” Peter says, and he’s still trying to break them, and he just might, if he keeps trying. Not all of his strength is gone. Not yet. 

 Peter’s eyes are teary and pleading, and he looks so pale, so tired. “Please, the acid is—it’s rising and if I’m cuffed here I’ll—you guys can get out but if you leave me cuffed here it’ll—it’ll burn it’ll kill me—”

 Tony feels insane. He can’t take this. He leans forward, holding Peter’s shoulder with one hand and cupping his face with the other. “Listen,” he says, and Peter is looking at him, but that hasn’t meant much, since this started. “Listen. There’s no acid. You’ve been poisoned, and you’re dying, Pete, you’re dying. We’re trying to help but we—we…” His voice gets caught again and he shakes his head, but Peter is still looking at him. 

 He doesn’t wanna say that out loud he doesn’t want to acknowledge it because it can’t be true it can’t—

 “It was Scorpion,” May says, and she’s rubbing Peter’s left arm up and down. “If you know, anywhere inside you, baby, if you know where he might be—anything, any possibility—”

 “May, you gotta let me go,” Peter says, and he shakes them both off, thrashing harder. “The acid, the acid, I’m gonna drown—I gotta—”

 Tony gets up, turning around and covering his face with his hand. He can’t stand it. He can’t fucking stand it. He’s shaking and he feels like he’s gonna pass out.

 “Peter, baby, please,” May whispers.

 “May, please let me go,” Peter pleads. “Please, please, the acid—”

 “I’m gonna go fly around,” Tony says, dizzy and sick, the time ticking away in his head. “I’m gonna go—search for myself.”

 “Tony,” May calls, but he doesn’t look back.

 ~

 The acid is licking at the edges of the bed now, splashing up onto Peter’s legs and burning him. Peter sobs and grits his teeth and keeps trying, keeps trying, thrashing and wearing rug burns onto his wrists and ankles and maybe this wasn’t Tony, maybe this was the clone, and the acid is rising up and rising up and Peter tries to hold his arms up as much as he can and the windows are back and swapping around on the walls like bad Tetris and he’s about to yell out for May when—

 Scorpion. Big Scorpion. In the corner of the room.

 Laughing at him.

 And the acid seems to cling to him when he moves. Like a neon sign.

 ~

 And after six hours of looking all over God’s green earth, after watching Peter’s time dwindle to just under a day, May calls to tell Tony that Peter is gone.

 “Gone?” Tony screams, nearly crashing into One Vanderbilt.

 “Not dead,” she says, and the crying doesn’t help. “But gone, he—broke out of the cuffs when I went to get him something to eat. He was really bad off, it was getting—so bad, and I left and I wasn’t gone for long and he just—now we can’t—everyone is looking, everything is activated—”

 “Friday,” Tony stammers, and she confirms by throwing it all up on the screen.

 May gasps and tries to keep talking. “He—doesn’t have a suit, we didn’t—see him take one, and there’s not—no tracking, but we’re—”

 “I’ll find him,” Tony breathes, changing his trajectory.

 ~

 And it feels like another lie.

 He couldn’t come up with an antidote. He couldn’t find Scorpion. He couldn’t even make Peter comfortable, couldn’t soothe him, couldn’t counteract anything, and worse yet the last thing he did before he left was handcuff Peter to the bed, a severe breach of trust no matter what the hell’s going on, and he shouldn’t have done it, he shouldn’t have, he should have just kept chasing him down, bringing him back, but he was going into other rooms and electrocuting himself on old machines, for God’s sake—

 And Tony searches and searches and he doesn’t even register the time until the clock runs out.

 The clock runs out.

 It runs out, all zeroes, and Tony is in the air in Queens and everyone else is scattered and the time runs out. The three days, they ran together like watercolor, like broken glass in the trash bin, and it’s over and it’s done and he’s—he’s—

 He’s not in front of them, so they don’t know. 

 Tony gets a few calls, but he ignores them, setting his jaw and trying not to cry.

 He can’t be dead he can’t be he can’t be—

 They’d send messages if they’d found Peter, if they’d—

 Tony keeps searching. He can’t breathe but he keeps searching.

 “Friday, take that shit off the screen,” Tony rasps, trying to see through his tears.

 The zeroes disappear.

 ~

 And Peter doesn’t come home.

 Tony doesn’t like the phrase ‘presumed dead’, and yet, somehow, the news starts splashing it across their headlines about seven hours after the time clock runs out. 

 SPIDER-MAN PRESUMED DEAD, and it’s everywhere, on all the networks, to the point where reporters start showing up at Stark facilities, including their new home base. And Tony doesn’t understand why, or what the fuck happened, and he hasn’t eaten and he hasn’t gone back and he hasn’t stopped looking, so what the hell do they know that he doesn’t?

 “Nothing,” Rhodey says, on the phone. “They don’t know anything, Pepper and I interrogated Don at CNN and he just got a tip, a bunch of them did, but they don’t know anything for real.”

 “They don’t have any actual information?”

 “Just a story,” Rhodey says. “No sightings, no anything, I don’t know why they’re taking it seriously. Pepper is with May, she’s—not dealing with any of this well, and I know you’re not either, so you need to—you should come home, just for a little bit, okay? Just to eat, just to see us, and then—”

 “No, I gotta keep looking,” Tony says, continuing his scans and sweeps of the street. He’s sure Iron Man’s presence in the sky isn’t doing them any favors in terms of the story. 

 And what is he looking for? A dead body? A miracle?

 “Tony.”

 “Rhodey, I gotta keep—I gotta keep looking.”

 ~

 And he does, and he doesn’t find anything. He essentially starts going door to door and he doesn’t fucking find anything. He shakes Electro out of his cave and he doesn’t know shit, he finds that rat gang of assholes and they don’t know anything either. 

 And Tony comes home after a day and a half and nearly passes out. From not eating, from exhaustion, from grief, from too many zeroes and too much silence. That headline. Failure.

 The ghost of Peter’s face—

 You need to come to terms—

 No. No.

 He sits in a dark room with half a bagel and he can’t face May. He can’t face MJ or Ned or his own wife or anybody that loves Spider-Man.

 He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t do anything, at all. He was completely and utterly fucking useless. No wonder Peter didn’t come to him.

 Where is his body gonna be? Who’s gonna find it? What will he be wearing in his casket? The kid doesn’t like suits. 

 Tony covers his face with his hands. His breath comes out in tremors.

 ~

 And Tony feels like he’s hallucinating now. Everything moves in stop-motion. 

 “Come sleep,” Pepper says, kissing his forehead. “Just for a little while.”

 He says something back to her. He doesn’t know what it is, and she gives him that look, like she pities him, like she wishes she could take it all away. But she kisses him again and leaves, and he’s alone, terrified he might see May around the corner.

 He drifts, lost in his own pain and failure, and the memories and Peter’s chit-chat and everything he’ll never get to say again, and Tony’s just about to leave to suit up again when he gets the alert.

 “Boss, Peter Parker is at door B5 on the second level.” 

 Everything comes to a screeching halt. It catches up with itself. 

 Tony leaps to his feet, and Friday trills for his heart rate. It seems like the world is thrown off its axis for a second—or it’s reset back on it—

 Tony reaches for something that isn’t there, trying to steady, trying to—

 Peter. Peter. Peter at the door?

 Not dead. Not dead. What the fuck is going on?

 “Peter?” he breathes, already moving, not of his own accord. “Friday, it’s—are you—are you sure—”

 “Peter Parker, B5.”

 And Tony races there. Doesn’t think. Races through the empty hallways and nearly busts his ass on the stairwell. And when he reaches the door he can hear someone trying to scan in, and failing, more than one time, and he feels like an alarm would have already gone off if Friday didn’t know who it was.

 “Friday, let him in—”

 And the door opens just as Tony grabs the handle, and Peter stumbles inside.

 Tony catches him when his legs give out, and Peter laughs a little bit, holding onto Tony’s arms. 

 He laughs. A laugh.

 “Hey, hey,” Tony stutters, and he kicks the door closed and gets a hold of Peter around the waist. “Jesus, Jesus Christ—sitting or standing? I can do either one. Expert at either one.”

 Alive alive he’s here—

 “Uh, standing,” Peter says, gripping Tony’s arm and his shoulder. “Geeze, sorry. Still…wobbly.” He finally looks up at him—his eyes are so much brighter, and he’s gotten some of his color back.

 Alive. Alive, not dead. Alive, solid, real.

 How? How?

 “What the hell happened?” Tony breathes. He glances around, panic rising in his throat, and he feels dizzy. “No, you know what, I choose sitting, I forgot there was a couch here—c’mere, c’mere bud, easy, easy—”

 Peter snorts. “Okay yeah—good idea, uh—”

 “Tell me what happened,” Tony says, moving them over there, sitting down. He keeps an arm around him, and brushes his hair back from his forehead so he can see his face better. 

 Disbelief. He can barely breathe he can barely think—

 Peter shakes his head, closes his eyes, sags into Tony’s side. “Um—it’s still like, a mess, in my head, but I think like—I don’t know, I saw Scorpion, in the hallucination, and I—the acid, that I thought was there, it like—it pointed to him. And when I broke out of the handcuffs—”

 “I’m so sorry,” Tony says, his face burning. “I’m so sorry.”

 “No—I—listen, I get it, it’s okay—but the acid, it kept—even when he disappeared, the acid was neon and made like a trail and I—found him. I don’t know. I don’t know why it worked. Maybe something like a signature in the poison he made and my brain and him—I don’t know.”

 He really looks at Tony, and Tony can see he’s bloody at the corner of his mouth, and he’s got a black eye. 

 Tony’s heart lurches. “Are you okay?” he asks, tipping Peter’s chin towards him, and Peter nods. “You got the—”

 “I got it,” Peter breathes, nodding slowly. “Antidote. He actually seemed impressed—”

 “Where is he now?” Tony says, blinking, feeling displaced. 

 “I left without a suit, so—I—he was in this warehouse. They’re always in a warehouse. I just piled as much shit on top of him as I could without killing him. He was knocked out, it was—hard but it’s—he should still be there.”

 Tony nods. He’s gotta get somebody on that. 

 He’s shaking with the emotion of it all, and he stares at him, tries to believe it, tries to live in it. He’s here. He’s here. 

 Tony deflates a little bit, and he leans forward and presses his forehead to Peter’s, closing his eyes. “Jesus, Pete, I thought you were dead.”

 “Me too,” Peter says, laughing a little bit. He pats Tony’s knee. “Can’t get rid of me that easy though, so—don’t, uh—sorry, my brain is still mushy peas.”

 “It’s okay, it’s—we gotta tell May, she’s been half insane—”

 And like clockwork, Tony hears her coming down the stairs. 

 “Tony,” she’s yelling, and Tony peels away from Peter to look. “Tony, I heard—Friday sent a notification—”

 She sees Peter, stuttering in her tracks briefly, her hands coming up to cover her mouth. But then she’s running again, at full speed, and Tony helps Peter stand up.

 “Hey May,” Peter breathes, and she rushes at him, wrapping him up in her arms. 

 “Oh, my baby,” she says, clutching at him. “My baby, Peter, you’re alive. You’re alive, thank God, thank God.”

 “Yeah,” Peter says, rubbing her back, looking a little unsteady on his feet. “The news, uh—I told you they get it wrong a lot.”

 “Come on,” Tony says, patting Peter’s shoulders. “Let’s—let’s go get you checked out.”

 ~

 Happy goes to pick up MJ and Ned. Pepper deals with the news and the police. Rhodey heads out with Sam to get Scorpion and put him away for good.

 And Tony and May watch while Helen checks Peter out. His levels are all getting back to normal, for real this time. His body is recovering, and the hallucinations are gone. Peter still has the “antidote bottle” that asshole gave him, and Helen takes it to test, to make sure they’ll have everything covered for next time. 

 Next time. There better not be a next time. Tony’s heart can’t take it.

 “He did it all himself,” Tony says, when he and May are heading back into the room where Peter is. “I didn’t help at all—actually, I hindered. I actively hindered.”

 “You kept him safe, and he felt safe, even if he didn’t really know it,” May says. “He feels comfort in us, even if we can’t—fix it, every time.”

 Tony blows out a breath.

 “And I know you want to be able to fix it,” she says, as they reach the door. “But you wanted him to be better than you, didn’t you? You said that to him once?”

 He freezes. It hits him like a pile of bricks, but all she does is smile. She opens the door and they walk inside and Peter is already getting out of bed.

 “No more acid?” May asks, glancing back at Tony.

 “No more acid,” Peter says. He crosses his arms over his chest, and shakes his head. “I barely remember any of it. Just sort of like—flashes of a very bad movie.”

 “Yeah,” Tony croaks, emerging from his shock. “You broke into Beyoncé’s apartment.”

 Both Peter and May whip their heads up to look at him.

 “Beyoncé?” they both nearly yell, in unison, and Tony snorts.

 “No,” he says. “I don’t know.” He feels hazy still, and he swallows hard, trying to focus. “C’mere, I need a—real hug, real quick.”

 “You mean not quick at all?” Peter asks, smiling at him with that bright, familiar smile that was lost the past couple days.

 Could have been counted down to being lost forever.

 Tony hugs him, squeezes his eyes shut, and doesn’t think about that. He rubs Peter’s shoulder and sways them both a bit, and doesn’t think about that. There’s no more ticking in his head, and Peter’s…Peter’s back. 

 “Maybe it was Beyoncé’s apartment,” Tony says, before the emotions overwhelm him, cradling Peter’s head. “It’s not out of the question. We’re gonna have to find out.”

 “Yeah, we’re gonna have to—resolve that before the Beyhive finds me,” Peter says, still hugging him. “They’ll figure out my identity immediately.”

 Tony pulls back, shaking his head at him. “I don’t know what a Beyhive is.”

 “Don’t cross them, that’s what I’m saying,” Peter says. “And the other thing I’m saying is, I’m extremely hungry, and I might…I might die, if we don’t resolve that sooner rather than later.” He raises his eyebrows. “Tick tock.”

 He’s trying to be cute and funny, to make them feel better, like things are getting back to normal after another round of hell courtesy of Spider-Man’s enemies. But Tony and May look at each other with a different kind of understanding of that phrase now.

 “Okay,” Tony says, wrapping his arm around Peter’s shoulders, while May gently takes his elbow. “That, I can help with.”

[dabbles-in-drabbles]

Soulmates

My "Appreci-May-tion" for BG3 XD I completely skipped over the fact that it was for other people's Tav's. I already started writing and couldn't stop XD

Pairing: Astarion/Tav

Tav: Andan, Paladin (Oath of Vengeance

Andan stared into the fire of the camp, content as the rest of their group milled about. They were so close to Baldur’s gate, merely a day away. Spirits and nerves were high. Wyll and Gale were cooking, Shadowheart and Astarion giving unhelpful advice with some gossiping on the side. Karlach and Lae’zel were sharpening their weapons. The tiefling was multitasking, getting some horn polish ready off  to the side for both her and Wyll.

The paladin smiled, things were content. Eventually, her eyes met Astarion’s, the vampire shooting her a wink.

Red… a sharp smile, soft eyes. Joyful in the light. Her burrows furrowed slightly, where have I heard that before? Her gaze turned back towards her book, looking but not reading. Her mind began to wander back to her youth, the thoughts finding a familiarity to what had once been spoken to her.

-

Andan stared at the paper, brow furrowed and lips pursed. What if..?

“Andan, dear child… I can hear your brain working from here. What are your thoughts?”

The half-elf glanced up at her mentor, Hilor. The older elf stared at her, an almost fatherly curiosity in his golden eyes.

“So… you know how you know how people will die?”

He raised a brow at her, flipping a page in his book, “What of it, dear one.”

“If you can tell how they die… can you tell when their life would begin? Like… love?”

“A Soulmate?”

Her ears perked up, whipping around towards him, “Yes! Can you?”

Hilor barked out a laugh, “What makes you think that, Andan?”

“Well… I don’t know. It was merely a thought.”

He let out a low chuckle, closing his book before he set it off to the side. His private writing room was lit dimly with candles, gold crowned bookshelves lining the far wall from floor to ceiling with hundreds of books. He stood from his plush seat near the fireplace, making his way over to his mentee. The old elf kneeled down with great effort in front of her, the young half-elf sitting in his desk chair.

Andan blinked at him, cocking her head to the side, “Hilor?”

“Hush, dear child.”

She clamped her mouth shut, waiting as patiently as she could. She always had to wait long when he told her to be quiet. Whether he was testing her patience or was truly thinking was still a mystery to her.

It felt like hours before he spoke again.

“I see… red. A sharp smile, soft eyes. Darkness, the light… joy. Two-… oh. How interesting.”

Hilor said nothing else, standing and returning to his book in his plush chair.

Andan sat there, blinking, “Is- is that it? Red? Sharp smile, soft eyes? Dark, light, joy? What was there ‘two’ of?”

He sat there, smiling softly at the young twenty-five year-old half-elf. There was joy in his eyes, yet also a great sadness.

“Hilooor! Please!” Andan jumped from the seat, sliding in front of him to grasp at his knees like a child would to a parent, “What was the rest!”

“Were you not penning a letter to request Selunite archery lessons, ni leshere?”

She pouted, glaring up at him, “Yes… but I’ll get the answer out of you, yet Iar adan.”

Hilor merely smiled, patting her hand gently before resuming his reading. 

-

Andan’s mind returned to the present, ears flicking to the sound of a deliberate step to her unblinded side. It was Astarion, a hand raised in a gesture of peace.

“Are you alright, love? Has the tadpole eaten the rest of your little brain away?”

She rolled her eyes, setting her book aside, “I ate two tadpoles, Astarion. How many did you eat again?”

He glared at her, a sharp grin coming to his face, “Careful, love… would hate to have the rest of our worm stash in your bedroll. Would truly be a waste of that lovely little brain of yours.”

She barked out a laugh, letting him settle in next to her. They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the rest of the camp bustle about before she began to speak.

“Do you believe in soulmates, Astarion?”

He paused, glancing over at her, “No, why do you ask? Do… you believe in them, Dani?”

“I see… red. A sharp smile, soft eyes. Darkness, the light… joy. Two-… oh. How interesting.”

A smile threatened to cross across her cracked lips, but she managed to hold it back. Instead, she let her shoulders shrug.

“No reason other than curiosity. It was something I liked to ask Hilor about when I was younger and I wanted your thoughts.”

He turned towards her fully now, “Oh? Did he tell you anything, or- Wh- Dani! Andan where are you- woman! Hold on!”

Before he had even finished his sentence, she stood. Her well-muscled legs leading her towards the fire.

“Andan!”

“I’m going to eat dinner before Karlach eats it all! I have some Githyanki blood in my tent if you’re interested!” She grinned back over at him, watching him puff up like a hissing cat.

“You absolutely terrible woman! You didn’t let me finish my question!”

Andan let her grin spread, watching his irritation spread. She could have let him finish, but it was so much fun to ruffle him up like this.

Once she grabbed her plate of food, she turned towards her vampire love. He was angrily sipping on his goblet of blood next to Shadowheart, nit-picking the half-elf on the black roots starting to show in the cleric’s white hair.

“Salen aestar!”

Astarion glanced at her, raising an annoyed brow at her.

“To answer your question, my dear. What Hilor told me is one of the reasons I like the color red so much.”

His own red eyes widened, blinking at her. His eyes had widened in surprise. They were… soft.

Soft, red eyes. A smile that was normally so sharp, was lax in surprise.

She took a few steps over, landing a kiss on his cheek before she went to join the two other front-line fighters. Astarion took a few seconds of stunned silence before he began to sputter again. Andan took her seat gracefully between Karlach and Lae’zel, listening to their conversation as her beloved vampire began to vent to white-haired cleric.

A grin graced her lips as she watched him out of the corner of her eye.

Yes, Astarion. I do believe in soulmates.

Previous | Next

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern Au) - Error 404 Brain Not Found: Bonus Scene - Part 8

"I dare you to lick that!"

"I dare you to eat that!"

Those two phrases had been spoken off and on as Geralt and Jaskier travelled on the Path, looking for contracts.

Geralt had pulled into a gas station to refuel and take a p*ss break.

"I dare you to lick the toilet seat." Geralt said as he washed his hands.

Jaskier's head snapped towards him, incredulous. "Lick a gas staton toilet seat? I wouldn't even lick the toilet seat at home!"

"Ok, then I dare you to lick the urinal instead,"

Jaskier paled. "No! No, I'll lick the seat..." He went into the stall, Geralt following to confirm he actually did it. Jaskier faced the toilet seat.

It sat before him, stained, dingy, yellowed and cracked with age, and probably teeming with germs and diseases. And it probably hadn't been cleaned properly...ever.

"If I catch some godsd*mned horrible disease and die, it'll be on your head!"

"Hmm!"

*offended gasp* "What do you mean I've put my mouth on dirtier things?"

"Hm!"

"Yeah? Well, at least I knew where those things had been...er... At least I knew they were...knew I was the only one....er...."

"Fine. I see your point."

Jaskier crouched close to the commode and hesitated, staring at the filthy seat. The filthy seat with p*ss stains so thick, they looked like butter, and sh*t residue that would require a grinder and bleach to remove.

And oh, gods, was that gummy stuff what he thought it was???

He thought about backing out right then, but shoved the thought away. Julian Alfred Pankratz did not pull out back out!

Jaskier said a brief prayer, then closed his eyes and licked the toilet seat.

Geralt snapped a picutre with his phone. For documentation purpose. Yeah. It absolutely wasn't so he could send it to his brothers.

Jaskier immediately spat and splashed water from the sink faucet on his tongue, then rushed to Roach to disinfect his mouth with a little whiskey while Geralt went to fill up the gas tank.

The gas station attendand looked out the window a few minutes after the Witcher had paid and gone back outside, and saw him on his hands and knees next to his van.

Was he ill? Did he drop something?

No. As the attendant watched, confused as h*ll, the Witcher leaned down and licked an oil stain while his companion laughed. Then he got up, they both got in the van, and they drove away. Well, that was going to be a fun story to tell.

Geralt stopped in the next town for lunch. He sat at the table, looking over the restaraunt menu while he waited for his drink. He gripped the underside of the table with one hand to help pull himself closer, and put his hand in someone's chewing gum.

"I dare you to chew that!" Jaskier said, as Geralt went to pick the gum off his fingers with a paper napkin. Geralt made a face. He didn't really want to chew someone else's gum, but he didn't want the undesired consequence of getting kicked in the nads for turning down a dare. He was a Witcher, so he was immune to most diseases anyway, which worked out in his favor. A little A.B.C. gum wasn't going to kill him.

So Geralt chewed the pre-masticated gum.

"What does it taste like?" Jaskier whispered out of morbid curiosity.

"Hmm. Spearmint. Cigarettes..." Geralt rumbled as he chewed, "Cheese, or something sweet. I can't really place it. Oh, wait. Bad kidneys. Probably from diabeetes."

"That sucks for him." Jaskier said, not even questioning Geralt's analysis. It was a Witcher Thing.

"Her."

"You can stop now."

*smug hmmm.*

Later that day, Jaskier almost ate an earthworm Geralt found under a rock as they wandered through the woods, looking for nekkers.

Almost, because he ended up spitting it out after trying to be funny and suck it up like a spaghetti noodle. Geralt had doubled over laughing as Jaskier gagged on the worm. Jaskier's face had twisted up, and he'd made this humorus gargling noise before spitting the worm out.

Jaskier dared Geralt to lick a sticky substance off the side of a tree. It was probably sap. It was difficult tell. It wasn't particularly sap-colored, and didn't have that resin smell.

Geralt couldn't sense anything toxic about it, so he leaned in and licked the stream of goo. Hm. That was an odd flavor. It tasted kind of like...goat and something musky...

Geralt gagged and grabbed his canteene. He desperately started rinsing his mouth.

"What?" Jaskier asked, hovering between concern and confusion. Geralt babbled something about dryads and satyrs f***ing as he spat and gargled frantically. "That's not sap!" he screamed in lowercase.

Jaskier gasped, then ugly laughed, "You-you licked satyr nut!"

"Do you mind?" the tree grumbled in Elder, in a crabby tone, "I'm kind of worn out and would like to sleep!"

"You licked satyr nut off a treeussy!" Jaskier said to Geralt out of the corner of his mouth before addressing the dryad. Geralt elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

"A thousand appologies! We didn't mean to disturb you," Jaskier paused to bow slightly before continuing, "My friend and I were just passing through, and we will be on our way now."

The tree grumbled and shook its branches in a shooing motion at them.

They quickly left.

Geralt spat periodically as they walked in silence, a vaguely haunted look on his face.

"Dare Truce?" Jaskier offered.

"Dare Truce."

[o-kaythislooksbad]

ailesswhumptober day 30: poison / delirium / "you're not making sense"

chapter 2 / 3 of we should get our act together | rated t, no archive warnings apply

english, it turns out, is venom's seventh language. it's the only one eddie is fluent in - his spanish is passable, his mandarin is laughable - but the symbiote has decided to flood eddie's brain with their native language in the hope that he learns through osmosis.

eddie does not, ending up instead with a headache so severe that he dry-heaves over the sink for half an hour before passing out on the couch. 

he drifts in and out of nightmarish sleep, and by the time he finally feels well enough to stand up and find food, it's all he can think about. food, water, then back to sleep. 

eddie slams the cupboard doors open, anxiously searching for his bowl. 

there are at least five of these dishes in the sink.

eddie jumps, bumping his head against one of the doors. "dammit, venom! how can you sneak up on me like that?" the symbiote doesn't reply, and eddie sighs as he continues his hunt. "where is it?" he mutters.

you seem distressed. your heart rate has elevated significantly.

"yeah, 'cause i'm certain i put my bowl here and now it's gone!"

there's a small silence, then: are you referring to the blue one?

"venom," eddie's voice shifts to the low tone he uses on informants when they don't hold up their end of a deal. "what did you do with it?"

i put it into the garbage bin last ni-

"what?!"

if you would allow me to explain...

"oh, you'd better have a good explanation, or i'm turning the stereo up until the neighbor gets pissed and turns his stereo up." 

it'll piss off the rest of the tenants as well, but eddie doesn't care. the blue bowl had been his since he was a toddler, moving with him wherever he went; he ate cereal out of it when he didn't know how to cook, then burnt macaroni and cheese when he was still learning. it held his loose change and keys in his dorm, then paperclips and erasers on his desk at the bugle. eddie even let mister belvedere eat from it on the occasions when his usual bowl was in the wash. 

his head hurts and he just wants a snack and a nap and to be rid of the ever-present, invasive thing that has wormed into his life and declared it to be theirs. 

the bowl was damaged. it had to be discarded.

"you're not making sense, parasite," eddie says through gritted teeth. "you know damn well that it's still usable, and plenty of other crap here definitely belongs in the bin but you left them here." he gestures to the small pile of takeaway cartons beside the microwave, the socks with more holes than fabric underneath the couch. "why did you do that?"

hot tears spill from eddie's eyes, but he's too tired and worn out to wipe them away.  

no, eddie. you are not making sense. your tears serve no purpose. it was only a piece of plastic.

he leaves the cupboards open as he drags his feet back to the living room and falls onto the couch. edward, if you can't sit at the table and use your words, you're going to bed without supper, his father's stern voice echoes through his head. stop crying, edward, before i give you something to cry about.

oh, venom attempts a whisper. oh, eddie. i did not know it was so important to you.

"no shit." eddie laughs humorlessly. "with all your poking and prodding, i figured you'd already seen this."

along with all the other crap, eddie adds silently. i can't keep anything secret from you.

i understand that you want your privacy -

eddie scoffs, because what he wants is no longer relevant. - but i only want what is best for you. that bowl did not seem like a safe utensil.

eddie scratches at his wrist, the one where venom has left their mark. it doesn't belong there.

why are you doing that? venom bristles. 

"you said… you said the bowl went in the bin 'cause it was broken." his voice is small and timid, yet it's too big for how he feels. "you didn't want it, and you don't want me."

venom wraps themself around his hands, preventing eddie from digging his nails any deeper into his skin. 

"leggo," eddie whispers, trying to shake venom off of him. "don't touch me."

something in his voice must register to the symbiote as genuine hurt and fear, and they quickly release him.

i am so sorry, eddie. it was not my intention to upset you. 

"but you did. just go 'way."

[autistictaylorhebert]

if ur still doing power gens from triggers or vice versa:

a cape who has the ability to make people perceive them as totally normal and unobtrusive. It gets harder the more diverged from the norm the cape’s appearance/behavior is, but works on an unlimited amount of people. The cape can’t just walk up to people and stab them, but they can steal stuff, collect secrets, and do stealth pretty well

A cape with the ability to turn into a giant worm (unrecognizable from their civvie form) and eat whatever with no consequences, including things that would be harmful to normal people, like uranium and asbestos. However, the more toxic or inedible the substance, the longer it takes for them to become human again and the larger they grow.

a trigger where someone was pushed into a position of authority they couldn’t handle and slowly ground themselves down trying to do everything. They made a couple bad decisions and now those bad decisions are barreling headfirst at them ready to destroy everything they’ve built and there’s nothing they can do. If it helps they deal with those through isolation, face building as scary, and paranoia

a trigger wherein someone had all their dirty laundry aired in front of people who they were trying to keep it from (and genuinely cared about to some degree) and the buildup was watching these people grow increasingly violent in the solutions to their (admittedly very dire) problems and are now worried that they’re going to be the next problem on the list

whoahg thats a few...

First prompt: that's a kind of broad/general stranger power? My head-canon for these kinds of brain affecting invisibility powers is that the triggeree felt ignored/unseen (social master-ish pressure), before experiencing a stranger trigger where they needed to be unseen. So they were treated as normal and unobtrusive by everyone around them (to the point where it was awful+they felt like they were drowning) and then they experienced a trigger where they got picked out of a crowd in the worst way. This might be a random attack like Aisha, or it might be something like a bank robbery where one of the criminals picks them out for being "disrespectful" (when they were trying not to do anything unobtrusive or "diverged from the norm").

Second prompt: Changer power with a worm/caterpillar form and a focus on food? It feels similar to Brie from Pale, so some kind of eating disorder like Pica feels somewhat likely? Or it could be a mix of Anorexia and Pica. Maybe they're also obsessed with an idea of finally blooming after their problems are over, and that's what leads to the caterpillar imagery?

They grew up below the poverty line and malnourished, and as a young adult are convinced that they're always on the verge of being fat+overweight. It comes in waves where they get anxious, then self-isolate and "diet", then become hospitalised due to the Pica and being underweight, before slowly coming back to work (leading to the concept of the cool-down before they leave the changer state, based on what they ate). The trigger itself could come when they return to work at their office, and a co-worker (not knowing about their issues) remarks on their weight, validating all of their problems at once.

Third prompt: A Tinker that fits the "mad scientist" weaverdice category? So maybe they can build drones, cameras, and tinkertech architecture (if not buildings then stuff like secret doors, traps, etc), but they need to pay extra close attention to everything they build and "micromanage" it in a constant juggling act, or risk their gear blowing up or attacking themself or their allies.

Fourth prompt: Stranger? Circus's hammer-space power is apparently a stranger power, and I like the idea that if you just wanted to hide something instead of your whole self, then you'd get something similar. The "these people are gonna be violent with me" angle could also lead to a blaster power, as it's a threat from a "distance", in a sense.

So, they get the ability to store a large-ish number of objects in a pocket dimension, and can then remove those objects peacefully, or blast them out with added high velocity. They can also add velocity/direction the the blasted objects after they're fired, allowing for curving or "homing" attacks.

[paperforpen]

About Elsa in ROTBTFD Hogwarts AUs

So I got dragged back to my old Jelsa fixation and that's just a slippery slope back into the ROTBTFD fandom. This is not a Jelsa post tho, just Elsa. Now of course, I ended up reading and rereading a lot of old fics—it is inevitable. We take what scraps we can get. But somewhere along the way, a thought wormed into my brain and just wouldn't leave until I threw it out somewhere.

People (that are still, somehow?) in this fandom know that Hogwarts AUs are just part of its history. It was the perfect place to put these characters together and explore dynamics and all that. I loved it and ate it up as a teen and still have a soft spot for the AU (JKR aside).

It's probably obvious to anyone who scrolls through my blog that I also have a soft spot for Elsa. And this is where things got derailed for me. Because Elsa in Frozen 1 was all about suppressing her powers out of fear. Doesn't that sound kinda familiar?

Let's say we stick somewhat to the Frozen canon before the crossover characters all start going to Hogwarts at age 11. Ignore the whole royalty thing tho because that would mean her parents might have contact with the wizarding world, and I'm not gonna go poking at the weird relationship of wizards and muggle politics rn.

So Elsa is essentially a muggleborn witch with an inexplicable penchant for winter. We know other forms and practices of magic exist, maybe she's just one of those outside of our usual perception of magic. Her parents are aware of magic because of the whole Enchanted Forest thing, and they also somehow found these helpful rock trolls after Anna's head incident, but this is still something they've never seen before. And we know they didn't handle it well.

The few Obscurials we got in HP canon were both... not really known? Wizard detection systems are nothing if not inconsistent, so I don't know how much they would have needed to hide Elsa for the magical world to not have found her. But it's very possible that she would not have gotten help.

Great lengths are taken to isolate her until she can control the magic. She's taught to conceal it. And in turn she internalizes that she's dangerous, learns to fear the magic and herself.

Would Elsa not develop an Obscurus under those conditions?

She could've reached her breaking point, lost control, and even died before ever getting her Hogwarts letter or she would've been slowly getting poisoned if the parasite had gone past the point of no return.

What threw me even more for a loop is that apparently, at its earliest stages, an Obscurial could be cured if given enough LOVE and a sense of belonging because it stems from feelings of alienation.

Doesn't that oddly parallel the plot of the first Frozen movie??

In conclusion, a (mostly) canon-compliant Elsa in a ROTBTFD Hogwarts AU would be an Obscurial who A) would not even BE in Hogwarts because she's not Alive, B) is in Hogwarts, somehow still early enough (thanks to Anna still knocking outside her door probably) to get proper HELP and community, or C) is slowly dying and would possibly not make it to the end of the story—

There is so much emotional (angst) potential here! I haven't even gone into how Obscurials are prone to destructive magical outbursts when triggered by their mental/emotional states. (Sounds like Elsa!) And there's more possibilities I haven't even thought about.

Now if you're still here, wow, thanks for stopping by to read this crazy essay. Have a cookie! 🍪

[lamentingocean]

the winner is mongrang x reader. But a big twist to it.

___________________

MONGRANG X READER.

____________________

you were a pretty girl. grown into an age of when provinces and masters were under the hands of you. it sickened you to the point of when being under the hands of a master had you become a true realist. your mother.

Your village. control is one thing to use in such displeasure and dangerous acts. but the echoing screams of enslaved people that didn't fall under the rule. were tortured and taken into executions. but you didn't want to be controlled since we supposedly humans with an immune system controlling us. us as humanoid meat covering our soul like an apple with worms inside of it. you batted your chinese fan to let the air swoosh to your makeup embedded face.

ignoring the time, going out at night to see two opposites argue with each other. but these two opposites had a different power to them. one was crazy and mentally unwell. and one used and took women into his room to have a great time fucking their pussy for free.

That was mongrang.

your face turned disgusted by the mere presence of his face inside your head. like a VHS tape you broke before but still continuously played the footage. he was a red flag.

had the beauty of women give him motivation and happiness enough to satisfy his needs. but he had an enemy that isn't like that at all. and it kinda fascinated you about these two beings.

Jaha lee.

He is an extremely insane but handsome young man who rules a clan. doing usurpation upon the previous leader. they were both hot, but your taste for men is halfway ruined by booze-drinking older men.

Without respect and with a disgusting stench to them. Reaching to get a hot beauty to benefit their lives. but it doesn't work that way.

you ordered pho and sat down with your hanfu kissing the wood of the benches. you looked around the town in your vision. Booze, wine, beautiful men with evil in them, and women that rests their naked body onto many men. a fabric of DNA shared too much.

the bowl of broth and noodles went across your nose. standing you down. trying not to eat it unprofessional. It's ridiculous to be proper for the public eye.

Eat like a pig? Get judged and get called piggy.

eat proper? You are such a true lady.

you scoffed. reaching to your chopsticks to the pool of broth in the bowl. gender is such a stupid hassle to come across. Why do I need to pay attention to how I eat, and why do i need to do it just for the nonexistent stares of humanity's issues and problems? confusion struck your mind when you ate it properly.

you saw a man with long light chocolate colored hair sit across from you. the stares of the women when directly at you, like you interrupted their need to fangirl at the beauty of a man. Even the girl right next to him shot you a stare of such disrespect and thoughts of "why is she sitting with this bitch?"

he tried talking to you. with his beautiful eyes attempted to struck your heart. it's like a video game. It was blue. and it was pretty. but also multiple questions had to wash over your brain.

"what is he doing here?"

'Did he see me when he fought with that jaha guy?"

"Men are such rats. Why is trying to talk to me?"

his deep voice cleared it all like clouds.

"I believe I met you 2 months ago. I thought you were pretty. But I don't know why you decided to avoid me."

you chewed the meat from the meal.

"Get to the point. why are you talking to me?"

"I wanted to take you on a walk. to try and get to know you better.. despite your hatred for men."

"You... want to take me out?? You answer in a tone of rejection. he seemed kind, but inside of all, that kindness is a red flag.

"ahaha. I didn't mean to upset you. but come here. I need to tell you something."

"You have already done. now. leave my sight. I need to go home anyway. " That sentence hit him hard like a knife. since he really wanted to talk to you after his fight with jaha. but so mysterious to disappear right after their destructive fight.

the pervert demon reaching for a hand of such mystery.

"Wait." he grabbed your hand. right when he did. you scoffed in disgust. thinking about how many many men tried to get with pretty women. and then try so hard to reach for their pretty plum lips.

"let me go."

"Please talk to me. if you don't want to. Then I respect your answer. but please??"

the whispers and stares were directly to you again. like you split a drink or spilled pho all over your hanfu. it was judgemental and sour. but you had to suck it up and act accordingly to the most beautiful man in this town.

"Fine. fine."

He then grabbed your entire body and flew away in so much speed. It was so surprising. a pervert with such power. and a pervert that shit his man to a man with insanity on his toes. ahh. such misfortune. it was the lake he washed himself with.

the shit particles in this beautiful river. way to mess up beauty in nature.

"Did you bring me here to flirt with me like you insufferable men always do during your lives or to make me your girlfriend?"

"it's not like that at all. those women I hung out with back there is only using me for reputation and money... sick of it."

"very surprised of one person that sticks their cock inside women."

"Do you want me to be honest or not?" his entire personality changed. like he got revamped. always having motivation towards women, but it's much different from you than before.

"be honest."

"Your beauty caught me off gaurd when I was fighting that maniac. it wasn't like usual when i saw women in general. you actually had a unique personality when I saw you. all I'm saying is that. I don't know much about you. But I want to know more about you."

"tch typical." You turned your head from the face of what he's saying is genuine. but it actually made you feel something from that. you only had spoken to him in such a rude attitude. even when he spoke to you back then. so. Maybe give a chance?

"I dealt with men from all across China. when I traveled through our land. from the shanxxi province to the Shanghai province. It's not that different anymore coming from you. so please...I don't need to deal with one more."

"You are actually the woman that I was in need to speak with. you are the woman that I wanted to know more about. it was a urge at the point. but now that I have finally got you , this is what I get in return?" his words flinched you a bit. the more he spilled what he felt. the more you felt that feeling waiting to be leaked out.

"I'm sorry, mongrang. But I don't know how to feel.. I feel like you are the same as all the other men. and I'm afraid. I'm afraid that every man that I date with cheat on me or betray me with a girl that I don't even know. I don't want to suffer through that.."

he leaned on the railing to his hair, morfing like little brown webs. a shade of pink starts to come closer to color your face with it.

"I can understand you. many of us...I guess we either don't know our boundaries or don't respect them. I'm so sorry you don't want to suffer through that. many of the women back there is a bunch of whores anyway. but... you are so different from them. that's why I chose to talk to you. but in hiding since girls like to start drama." his expression turned dim and genuine. his blue eyes looked to the nightsky. seeing a good amount of stars.

"..maybe in the future. we can't see the sky like this anymore. The stars disappear and form into nothing but a black sky."

".....ahh fuck it. mongrang."

"Hm?"

you went so close to his face. with pink marking your face so much that your skin wasn't adapting.

"I don't know if I can rub off this feeling. but it's been bothering me ever since we got here. look. I don't know if you are one of them. or a red flag. but if I date you. Then you better not have many other chicks taking the DNA off your lips."

"So, are you saying you like me?"

"I don't know, but if I do, then maybe that's why my body moved on its own to yours."

"You are a peculiar woman with a lot of mystery behind you. and I love it."

your lips turned intimate, and his felt soft. tasting every ounce of his mouth and every bit of flavor of the pervert demon. he rubbed his hands to your waist, pulling you closer into the kiss. and even deeper as it seems.

"Ah..ehm. yeah. I don't know how to explain myself in terms of love."

" It's fine.. I loved it."

(My hands hurt ghfnfnfn)

[childotkw]

First, let me apologize for the size of this monster ask. Sorry.

The POTC fic ate my brain. I can think of nothing else now. Just... the sheer possibilities, ya know?

With Tia Dalma, I always thought Jack, though fond and always respectful, was mindful to maintain a certain distance between them, careful to not pay any offence. With fem!Jack though I see their relationship being much, much closer. Close as sisters perhaps? Or even a mother-daughter relationship (where is Jack's mother in this AU? Still a mumified head being carried around in Teage's pocket?). How does she react to Jack's deal with Davy Jones? Is she mad that her former lover is once again trying to chain a woman to his side? Or does she laugh, because the man has clearly not learned his lesson?

And Davy Jones himself is a whole other can of worms. Does he look at this bright, wild young woman, clearly favored by Calypso, and wants to claim her as the best addition to his crew in decades or simply as a way to get vengeance on the goddess? Or worse, does he look at her and think of a child that never was, a bittersweet what-if that could have been if only Calypso had waited for him on land all those centuries ago...

As for Barbossa, I want to see this man have Regrets (TM). I want him, cursed and desperate, to see Jack alive and well after abandoning her on an island and feel... things. Outrage, anger, disbelief. Amusement. Immense relief. Want him, back and alive again, to long for that short, fond, teasing 'Hector' instead of the cold, indifferent 'Barbossa' that greets him everytime. Does he lie awake at night, a part of him, no matter how small, yearning for that time when he sailed the Black Pearl under the banner of the Captain Jack Sparrow?

And Becket and Salazar! I have no words for these two, everything about their relationships with Jack fascinate me.

In the movies, the tension was THICK between Jack and Becket. I always thought those two had Real Respect for each other in the beginning. Jack who thought he had found a Actual Good Man to work under. Becket who thought he had found someone who, with a little time and polishing, could stand just behind him at the top of the world, the closest to an equal a man like him could get (tolerate?). Which really, only makes the betrayal from both sides even worse. Jack, who finds out the man he thought was good was actually even worse than the scoundrels he grew up with ("People aren’t cargo, mate"). And Becket, who finds out his little protégé, whom he had such high hopes for, actually has morals and a free will that don’t (and never will) align with his plans/worldview.

I wonder, with this fem!Jack au, were there rumours of Jack being the future Lady Becket? I wonder, later, after all's said and done, when Jack is tied to a burning ship with Becket looking on in the distance, is there a ring somewhere on Jack? On Becket?

And even later, when whispers of the Black Pearl start cropping up in the docks and inside darkned pubs, along with her Captain, does Becket have to sit down (with anger? Relief?) or does he stand and stares out the window of his office, towards the wide open sea and tries to imagine where his wayward (friend, enemy, lover? His, certainly) pirate is and how he might get her back, this time permanently

... did this just turn into a Davy Jones and Calypso ver. 2.0??

As for Salazar, I loved the idea of him from the get go. After we got the backstory of his and Jack's first (and last) meeting I was gone for this spanish ghost. The chase, the obsession. The way this encounter marked and changed both of them, one literally died and had to spend decades waiting in purgatory for a chance at revenge while the other spends this same amount of time forever know by the name coined by El Matador del Mar, the Spaniard's little bird who flew away...

Does Jack being female in this AU change anything for Salazar? In the minutes before being tricked and killed, did he think of her less as a pirate and more like a young woman led astray, perhaps even forced into this life? Does he think of himself as a savior for Jack (lol)?

Also. I'm all for a threesome happening between Jack, Elizabeth and Will. I think they deserve a threesome.

No don't apologise - this is great!! I'm glad I'm not the only one who's excited for this one 🤣 I'm going to break this up so I can keep my replies on track!

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

For Tia Dalma and Jack - that respect and wariness is definitely still a core component of their relationship! But you're right in that they'll be a lot closer in this AU than in canon. While it might not quite be a full mother-daughter dynamic, there will be maternal aspects to how Tia Dalma treats Jack. Jack's mum is still technically alive for most of the story, even if Jack doesn't see or talk to her. Once the movie timelines come through, that's probably when I'd say Jack's mother died.

But Tia Dalma is uber pissed when she sees Jack for the first time after her deal with Jones. She goes quiet and wrathful, staring at the unseen mark on Jack's soul - the brand that shows her debt to Jones for anyone with the talents to see. And Tia Dalma mourns Jack long before she dies because even with all her power, not even she can break a soul-deep deal.

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

As for Davy Jones - it's six of one, half a dozen of the other. He genuinely wants Jack's skills on his ship, and knows she's unparalleled as a helmsman. But he also is a petty, bitter man, and knowing that Calypso thinks Jack as hers also plays into his decision. It's very 'you like this thing so I'm going to take it from you' mentality. (Though I am intrigued at the potential and completely fucked up implication of Jack-as-a-stand-in-daughter. I'd need to think on that!)

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

And oh do I have plans for Barbossa! He definitely ends up having something maybe like regret!

One of the things I rambled about in discord was wanting the Black Pearl crew to suffer some consequences for mutinying against Jack. After all, Jack is a Pirate Lord, and though it isn't widely known, the daughter of the Keeper of the Code. She is a good captain, respected, and generally well-liked, and mutiny is serious fucking business for pirates. A lot of people are angry at Barbossa for what he did, and in those ten years after the mutiny against Jack, the Black Pearl crew were considered persona non grata. They weren't really welcome at any pirate stronghold, and a lot of the older generation were chomping at the bit to avenge Jack.

The only reason no one did anything was because Jack, essentially, spread the word that if anyone was going to kill Barbossa, it was her. And they respected that.

And because Barbossa and his crew were scorned by most of the other pirates in the Caribbean, they didn't exactly know that Jack survived and was gunning for them.

So, the first time Jack and Barbossa see each other, his shock is genuine - as is the strange rush of adrenaline he gets because Jack's presence is still electrifying and keeps him on his toes. It's his irritation at her calling him 'Barbossa' catches him off guard, and it takes him a minute to remember that Jack was the last person to call him Hector - because he crew would never be that familiar with him - and he hates the part of him that mourns that. He had liked Jack during the brief time they had sailed together, found her engaging and brilliant, but his ambition had always been stronger than any affection he might hold for other people, and so this was where they ended up.

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

And Beckett. Oh, Beckett...you're absolutely right in that the tension between them was *chef's kiss*

Even without the deleted scene, you could tell that those two had history the second Jack stepped in the room. And I think, for me, the most telling aspect that these two knew each other and knew each other well was that Jack didn't even try to be a fool in front of Beckett. Yeah, sure, there was some joking and posturing - but it was so half-hearted in comparison to other interactions Jack has.

Jack's masks were stripped back when speak to Beckett, and I find that fascinating. So, in this AU, there will definitely be a hell of a lot of implications between them.

There's respect, naturally, and an acknowledgement that they're intellectual equals. Beckett doesn't underestimate Jack (as even Barbossa and Will and Elizabeth are still prone to do despite knowing Jack's track record), and Jack doesn't insult Beckett by pretending to be something she's not.

But there's also that very acute bitterness and betrayal between them. Because Beckett tried to turn Jack into something she wasn't, tried to get her to compromise on her morals, and he burned her ship; and Jack broke Beckett's belief that he'd finally found someone who could understand and accept every facet of his being.

There's disappointment as well - that their partnership didn't work out. Because they had liked each other, and admired each other, and though they never progressed beyond a 'professional' relationship, Beckett knows that if he were to marry a woman it would have been Jack.

And that sense of ownership Beckett has over Jack is incredibly dangerous - because in his eyes if he can't be the one holding Jack's leash, than no one could. Jack was too big a threat to remain free, so she had to die.

It's all very poignant. Behold:

And Jack knew what men typically wanted from her. They saw the wildness in her dark eyes and the tangles of her hair and the freedom in her blood and it made them itch. It made them want a taste of it for themselves - or drove them mad enough to want to take it from her.

Put her in a cage and clip her wings and to crow as if they had tamed the sea itself.

But Beckett was different. He didn’t want to tame her. He was too clever to think he could. That anyone could chain her for long.

No.

Cutler Beckett wanted to break her, if only so he could put the pieces back together in the way he wanted.

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

For Salazar, I don't think I'd change it much from canon. I don't think Jack being female would change his perspective much. He'd still be enraged at being beaten as he was by this slip of a pirate girl. The obsession would remain, the impact they had on each other would remain - Jack as the ultimate 'prey-that-got-away', and Salazar being the one that completely redirected Jack's path in life, propelling her into captain-hood and giving her her name.

Either way, they haunt each other.

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

And for the ship - there might be elements of Jack/Elizabeth/Will, but it's not gonna be a prominent thing, unfortunately. I already have a main pairing in mind for Jack for this one 😂

(And no, it's not Norrington.)

[eunchancorner]

Ok this might be a bit out of the ordinary, but bear with me pls. Ler Bob and Lee Kevin. Hear me out! The candy teases and methods Bob could use

‘You taste sweeter than candy’ while nibbling

I guess this could take place where Bob isn’t a murderous cannibal?(This popped in my head and I found it cute I’m sorry)

Feel free to take this as a request if you want. If not, have a good day :D

BIG BRAIN- Oki oki so yea I saw this AU floating around where Bob is more like an uncle or babysitter to Skid and Pump so let’s just say this is that. And he’s also friends with Kevin (and, ofc, Streber) bc yes

Ler Bob, Lee Kevin (Also a bit of Ler Streber and Lee Bob)

Warning: A lot of cussing lmao

Word count: 1092

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Kevin stood from the couch with a slight groan as he heard a knock at the door, leaving the movie he had been watching playing in the background. He walked over to the door of his small apartment, opening it and being scooped into a big, warm hug before he knew what was happening.

Of course, it didn’t take much for him to understand. Him, Bob and Streber had been planning a movie night for some time now and tonight was the fateful night. The movies Kevin had been watching were far less realistic horror movies to help him prepare himself (he seemed to be the only one in this damn town who struggled with watching horror movies) and Streber had gone out to get more candy, knowing how much it’d be appreciated. Kevin would have been working but thankfully he had a day off today, so Streber had gone to the grocery store and wouldn’t be back for a while. And, of course, Bob had offered to make dinner for the night, stopping by the grocery store himself and picking up some steak on the way to Kevin’s place.

Bob had apparently decided to hug him before saying a single word, which was pretty typical for him. After the hug, he set Kevin back on his feet, a grocery bag dangling from his hand that no doubt contained their dinner for the night.

“Kevin, nice to see you again. Where’s your lil’ boyfriend?” he asked, his height allowing him to easily see over his friend and into the otherwise empty apartment.

“He’s out buying candy for us, since we figured with you around, we’d probably need more,” Kevin explained, stepping aside so Bob could come in.

“Aw, c’mon, I don’t eat that much candy!”

“Last year you ate me, Streber’s AND your candy!”

“Can ya blame me? You two weren’t gonna finish it anyway,” he argued as he put the steak in the fridge, before he sat down on the couch, Kevin sitting beside him. He snorted a little at the movie he had put on.

“Is this really what you’re watchin?” he asked, smirking a bit at the small blush he saw rising on his friend’s cheeks.

“Listen, horror movies aren’t my thing, so I’m trying to mentally prepare myself.”

“For what? Shitty CGI and the most fake-lookin props? Trust me, you’re gonna wanna try some real horror movies to steel yourself. This ain’t gonna cut it,” he told him, poking the much shorter man in the forehead. Kevin swatted his hand away, growling slightly.

“If I can’t prepare myself with bad horror movies, how am I gonna prepare at all?” he countered, both nervous and a little fed-up.

“What, you can’t take a little horror? Poor Kevin, are you gonna scream at a little monster?~” Bob teased his tiny (in comparison) friend, making him huff.

“No but… grrr, you’re such an ass,” he complained, attempting (without much success) to shove at the far taller man. Of course, a false offended gasp was the first sign to Kevin that he had fucked up.

“Did you just try to shove me?”

“W-waitwaitwait, Bob, I-I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out!” Kevin panicked, a small smile worming onto his face as he backed into the corner of his couch, already well aware of what his friend had in mind.

“One chance.”

Ok Kevin, don’t fuck this up. DON’T tell him he’s an ass AGAIN out loud. Don’t do it, don’t do it!

“You’re an ass.”

GODDAMMIT.

“Ohohoho, you just fucked up,” Bob stated as though Kevin didn’t already know, grabbing his arm and yanking him closer, pinning him to his chest before using his free hand to claw at his ribs, making the much smaller squeal.

“NAAHAHAHOHOHOHO BOHOHOB! LEHEMME GOHOHO! LEMME GO!” the small ravenette kicked and cackled, pounding his free hand into the chest that entrapped him on one side. He almost hated the way the warmth of his friend’s sweater made him wanna just melt and take it. But at the same time, it tickled so badly and he couldn’t help the instinct to squirm and kick.

“Aw, poor lil candy kid, can’t even take a few tickles?~” the much bigger ravenette teased softly, delighting in the flustered squeal Kevin let out. “Streber must love doin this~”

“SHUHUHUHUT!” said ‘candy kid’ demanded, slamming his hand into Bob’s stomach a little harder than he should have, enough to get him to stop with an “Oof!”

As it slowly loaded into Kevin’s mind what just happened, he looked up at his friend.

Oh fuck.

“Alright that’s fucken IT!”

Before he knew what was happening, the world was moving fast around him and suddenly he was staring at the ceiling, his shirt pulled up past his belly and a certain huge friend playfully nibbling at the exposed tum. He squealed and kicked and pushed at his friend’s head, cackles once again flowing from his lips at just how much it tickled, and Bob’s slight little beard and stupidly fluffy hair only made his situation worse!

“BAHAHAHAB! AHAHA I’M SAHAHAHAREEHEHEHEHE!! PLEHEHEHEASE!” he begged fruitlessly.

“Mmmm” Bob rumbled against his belly, making him squeal brightly yet again, “I might not need that candy, you’re even sweeter~”

“PLEHEHEHEASE!! IHIT TIHIHICKLES SOHOHO BAHAHAD!!”

“Promise to stop callin me an ass and then hurtin me?”

“YEHEHEHES! I PROHOHOHOMIHIHISE!!”

“You sure?~”

“BOHOHOHOHOB!!”

“Fine, fine,” the taller finally let up, laying the smol candy store worker on the couch and getting up to make dinner. Kevin tried his best to regain composure, wiping away tears of mirth, trying to quiet his giggles and will away blush, and letting the tingles in his belly subside. Only a few seconds after Bob left, he heard the door open and that familiar voice.

“Baby, I’m hooome! I got pl- uhh… Did Bob do this?” Streber asked as he saw what had become of his poor, ticklish boyfriend, who nodded tiredly.

“Of course he did. Stay here, guard this, I’ll be back in a few seconds!” he instructed him as he handed him the candy and kissed his forehead before he went into the kitchen.

“Bob! What have I told you about tickling my boyfriend!?” a falsely enraged yell came from the kitchen, one that definitely belonged to Kevin’s dear lover.

“What- wait- S-Streber, I’m cookin STREBER NOHOHO!!” Of course, Kev was never gonna warn Bob of exactly how much revenge he was gonna get. That was for him and him alone to find out.

Though it was fun to listen to.

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Ah, beautiful bois. Also dw about Kevin, they ended up watching action comedies.

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

A quick lumity proposal fic! It’s been rotating in my brain ever since I was caught in a deluge of adorable art of them on Valentine’s Day

Long as Luz had known him, Hooty had always toed a very fine line between being sweet and creepy. This time, Luz wanted very, very badly to think he was being sweet— but she couldn’t deny she was more than a little unsettled.

When she’d asked him to re-create the Tunnel of Love, she’d been prepared to offer photos from her old phone as a reference, or even to draw it for him. But he had brushed her off, barring the door to the basement and assuring her it would be perfect, despite her protests. 

The thing was: it was. Hooty had recreated the Tunnel down to the last detail from memory. The same flowers and insects lined the walls. The same animatronics waved the same banners. Either he had a very good recollection or he’d swallowed everything in the basement waiting to regurgitate it for this moment.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Amity. “I thought this would be romantic, but it’s actually kind of horrifying?”

Amity giggled. “No, no, I love it. I’m glad I get to see it in its full glory without you trying to set it all on fire.”

Luz groaned good-naturedly. “Let it never be said that I was not the height of class.”

An array of Hooty cherubs launched a volley of arrows from the ceiling, the scrolls attached to the arrows reading legends like Amity- U R a Q-T! Luz felt a brief pang of regret that she hadn’t thought to write the question on one of the scrolls. But then, that was another idea that walked too fine a line between cute and disturbing. 

The Hooty swan came to a stop at the end of the Tunnel, where a table lit with candles stood at the end of the dock. Amity let go of Luz’s hand to clasp hers together joyfully. “I can’t believe you did all this!” 

“Hooty was a big help.” Luz leapt out of the boat and helped Amity down, escorting her to the table. It bore an array of human and Boiling Isles delicacies that Raine and Camila had been hard at work on all day: griffin egg skillets, baked sweet potatoes, and fairy pies (minus the live ingredients). Amity sat down with a flourish and the two began piling food onto their plates, Amity squinting at the potatoes.

“Isn’t this, like, cannibalism?”

Luz laughed, taking an enormous bite. “In this instance, my taste buds win over my morality.”

Amity laughed, too, and eagerly dug in. The food was delicious— but Luz began to feel like she’d swallowed a transport worm along with her first few bites, the thing furling and unfurling and wiggling through her stomach. But then, Amity didn’t seem totally at ease, either. She ate rapidly, but the pallor of her skin suggested it was less about the food and more about having something to do with her hands.

When her plate was clear— which took about three minutes— she sat back and kept her eyes on her plate. “So. Was there… any reason you went through all this trouble?”

That was a perfect opening, and Luz had a feeling Amity had done it on purpose. She opened her mouth to begin her speech, the one she’d rehearsed in her head and in the mirror and to Vee and Hunter until she was sure it was perfect. But she took one breath, and then another, and couldn’t do it. That worm had crawled up into her throat and nested there, and no words were getting out. 

“I got a deal on my book!”

At least, not the right ones.

Amity looked up, her face slumping for a split second before a smile took it over. “What?! Luz!”

“Yeah!” Her excitement was contagious, and Luz felt herself smiling, too, the worm making its way back down to her intestines where it belonged. “With this huge publishing company in the human realm, and with a publisher in the demon realm who’s not going to turn me into a tiny cube if I don’t meet my deadline for the sequel!”

Amity clapped her hands, her smile growing even bigger. That had been a particular worry for both of them when Luz had started submitting query letters. “The human realm and the demon realm! You’re going to be the next Mildred Featherwhyle!”

“I know!” Luz bounced a couple of times in her chair, then took another, steadying breath. She had meant to share the news with Amity tonight— but it wasn’t the point of the evening, wasn’t the most important thing she had to say. She tried to get back on track.

“If it does well, it means I’ll be able to get my own place— maybe two small places, one in Gravesfield and one on the Isles. And… and that got me thinking…” suddenly she was gasping for air. Come on, Luz! Get it together! She loves you, she’s not going to reject you, you just need to say it—

“Will you marry me?” Amity blurted.

Luz let out all her air in a single gasp, and the two stared at each other across the table. A faint blush painted Amity’s cheeks, but she didn’t look away. 

Luz started to laugh, and she reached into her pocket to reveal a ring, a shining opal woven in vines of gold. “Oh, no, I was so ready.”

Amity’s eyes widened, filling with tears as soon as she caught sight of the ring— but at the familiar words, she started to laugh, too. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You can say it.”

“Okay.” Luz took one final, deep breath and crossed to Amity’s side of the table, bending to one knee in front of her, the last part of the speech she’d planned finally sliding easily from her mouth. “Our lives are so crazy, and we can never say for sure what the future holds. But I can’t imagine my future without you in it. Amity Blight, will you marry me?”

“Yes!” Amity shrieked, throwing herself into Luz’s arms with so much force that they both toppled backwards, skidding to the end of the dock. Realizing how close they were to the water, they scrambled backwards, then slumped against each other, limbs tangled together. 

Smiling so hard her cheeks were aching, Luz slid the ring onto Amity’s finger. Amity ran her finger over it, and Luz looked up to see tears streaming down her cheeks. She blinked, and her own eyes welled.

Amity lifted her hands and placed them on either side of Luz’s face, pulling her in for a kiss, and Luz brought one of her hands on top of Amity’s, warmth rushing through her at the feeling of the ring on her finger as she pulled Amity closer, that warmth filling every piece of her until they broke apart.

“Crikey,” they said at the same time, then burst into laughter.

[thegempage]

uh so. context. two of my bg3 characters are kyria, a drow monk who was raised on the surface, and melody in the spores, a half-drow bard raised in the underdark. melody in the spores is a durge (i'm still in act 1, no spoilers) and. idk. i mentioned to a friend a while back that these two would have interesting conversation over drinks so this is that. also, kyria's added one (1) extra worm to her brain but doesn't want to do any more, and melody in the spores thinks the dream guardian can get fucked so she hasn't added any, and kyria has a hag eye while eventually melody in the spores is gonna get the volo one

The silence is... tangible, but not rough.

Melody In The Spores sits across from you, staring at her teacup as if she's unsure what to do with it. Your teacups look small in her hands, not quite comically so but in the way it feels to put on a shirt and know that you'll only get another use or two from it before you have to pass it on. You cradle your own to feel the heat crawl through your fingers, warming up joints that did their best to survive mountain air. It's not cool enough to drink, yet. Something behind Melody In The Spores's eyes makes you consider that her confusion is, in fact, genuinely about the tea. Perhaps no one has been kind enough to make her tea like this; many bards, you've heard, tend to spend far more of their time among inebriation than contemplation.

"To put aside circumstances," you say, breaking the silence because she did not seem able to, "it is nice to meet you, Melody In The Spores."

She coughs, the polite way to cover up spiderwebs of thought in the throat. Her voice rumbles deep in her chest, a sturdy foundation for the way she turns her head, fiddles with her fingers, scratches her beard, "Pleasure's all mine, Kyria. Putting aside," and she gestures to her head.

You decline to comment the twin your hitchhiker ate, but you nod in agreement with the general sentiment.

"I've heard you're quite famous, in your home world," you muse, pretending not to notice how she flinches when your foggy eye meets her blue one. You've both had to make choices to survive.

Her chuckle is scrawled across damp parchment. "So have I. Can't imagine fame holds up particularly well when you disappear for..." Her eyebrows knit together. "Time be damned. Fame is fickle."

The tea is cool enough to drink. You partake, and she waits for you to finish your first sip. "Time has certainly lost much meaning. Not that it meant much in the first place, really."

"To you more than me, I'd imagine."

It takes a moment before you remember -- half-drow. The human parts of her face hide in what you have to believe is the supernatural, and the supernatural clings to elven blood in the most benign of times.

"Maybe I ask you a question, Melody In The Spores?"

"Besides that one, I imagine."

You snort in a manner than you'd consider undignified, if you still cared about such things. "Yes, besides that one. You grew up in the Underdark, didn't you?"

Her "I did," is far away.

You pause, take a breath. "What... what was it like?"

You were expecting the confusion in her eyes. What you did not expect was the pain, the missing pieces, the way she looks down at her drink in shame. "I-I..." She takes a long sip of her drink, draining most of the teacup, and you refill it without a word. "I don't... remember."

You know you look crestfallen. You try, desperately, not to show it, but it is too late. You take a long drink of your own. "That makes two of us," is what you try to say, but some of it doesn't quite make it out of your mouth. You think she understands.

Melody In The Spores taps her foot on the ground, a rhythm to a dance song you don't think she can tell you the name of. "But there's... I've heard, from rumors... I want to go down there. I have to know."

Know where she came from. Know if her mother is alright. Know why she's lost so much.

You understand.

"We'll have to share experiences."

The silence is rough, this time.

"Have you --" She stops, reconsiders. "What do you think of Shadowheart?"

"I think she's in over her head."

"In?"

"All of it. What do you think of Karlach?"

"Quite the treasure, really. She loves twice as hot as she burns."

"She does. It's not so bad."

You pour yourself another cup.

"We could be sisters, I think," you say. "In another life."

"...I think I'd like that. Another life without worms and world endings and..."

"And blood on our hands."

"And blood on our hands."