#Dunno if she does or doesn't. I toss it back and forth a lot. Her phrasing makes me think she does. The quotes around 'cause' makes me thin

[schoolbusgraveyard]

its gonna take a LONG while until we'll maybe get a ep that explains how the paper cranes became a thing but bow do you think jasmine became a part of it? was she recruited/forced/joined voluntarily?

I think it was a mix of circumstance and convenience for her, if I'm honest? For some odd reason I've always interpreted her as not really growing up the most financially stable, and if she has a skill that they can use--and she can get food/housing/something else out of it--then, well, why not? Especially if she actually does believe in "the cause", even a tiny bit.

[rumble-aint-a-rumble-without-me]

Sylvia lore. So much angst. I'm so sorry.

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎☆⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

Sylvia does not wear a prom dress. It's glorified lingerie if anything, a short little dress found in the back of her closet; a relic of simpler times. Her revenge dress, as Dally always called it.

A thin cardigan tossed around her shoulders, a single silver button clasped in the middle across her brassiere.

Too-tall-heels that hurt her feet, and a single little purse held in both hands.

She tries a smile and a pathetic little twirl. Bleached, burned curls fall against her shoulders when she slows, carefully reaching to her eyes but smudging her makeup anyway.

Tim thinks she looks like a filly. Can't keep still, eyes moving back and forth too much. He tries to calm her, through the haze of cigarette smoke curling between them.

“Don't you have a dance to be at?”

“I can't believe we used to fit on that bed.”

The mattress sags. Sylvia pries open her clutch, hastily pulling out a small flask. It's done in a few gulps, rim stained red, and shoved back into her momma’s white clutch before she speaks again.

“I graduated today.”

“I know, I watched. Had to leave after your turn though—, business.”

She nods. “I wouldn't wanna stay the whole time either. Kinda had to though, bein’ in the middle ‘n’ all.” She scoffs. “Sylvia Jackson.”

Curls crumple when she lays her head on his shoulder. Neither move for a while. It's a warm evening, June of 1966. Tim tries not to get ash on her dress and Sylvia tries not to cry.

“I wish you didn't drop out. We could've done it together—, graduatin’. Hell, you coulda been my prom date… don't think they’ll let me drag you ‘long this time.”

Tim exhales, a careful arm around her frail shoulders. His chest rumbles when he speaks; sounding gruffer than he meant to.

“Do you even wanna go to this dance, doll?”

“I wanna get out, Tim.”

Out of Tulsa. Hell, maybe out of the fucking state. He can't blame her— he can barely get a word of common sense in before she’s off on a tangent, tounge that used to cut boys like him to ribbons in their youth.

They're not kids anymore.

“We could leave tonight, while everyone’s busy with the party. Wouldn't even have to tell anyone—, well, we could leave a note for the kids ‘n’ one for Buck. Hell, we could just bring Curls ‘n’ Ang with us—,”

Something in his chest tightens when he lays a scarred hand on her knee. “I can't leave, Sylv. You know that.”

“I know that,” she chuckles through quick tears spilling over her bottom lashes. “I was just-, just thinkin’. I've been doin’ a lot of that these days.”

Thinking of what she’ll do now. She was never an A+ student, college or anything after was out of the question. Not to mention the financial aspect of it all.

Thinking of that gymnasium. The walls done up in streamers, fruit punch and class cupcakes to be enjoyed by all.

She thinks of the Prom Court. King and Queen was no contest; who a better candidate than some dead Soc and his mourning girlfriend?

Sylvia wishes bitterly in her mind for them to move on as she imagines Sherri Valance dressed to the nines, twirling delicately with that plastic crown held to her chest, a match if tiara placed atop her bombshell hairdo.

She thinks of the warm black earth in front of his headstone. It's his birthday carved there. It's his name staring back at her. It doesn't seem real; it never does. She still thinks there’d been some kind of mistake. Some other hood torn apart by bullets under harsh street lamps that brutal night in August.

Dally could always out run the pigs. Always.

Dally never left her for this long.

Never.

“I dunno what to do.”

“You're gonna go to your prom, Sylvia. ‘N’ you're gonna be the best lookin’ girl there.” He tucks hair behind her ear, wipes the pad of his thumb under her eye where mascara had begun to run. “You're gonna call me in the mornin’, alright? We’ll go for coffee. Like old times.”

”I’ll call you tomorrow,” she parrots shaikily. Tim nods, Sylvia smiles. “I should get goin’… I don’t wanna miss my prom.”

“Go get ‘em, cowgirl,” Tim calls. He can hear her heels click against the floor the whole way through the hall and down the stairs, all the way to the front door. It slams back into place as quickly as it was thrown open. He stands. Just enough to watch his oldest friend teeter down the sidewalk in her too-tall-heels.

Sylvia will miss her prom. She’ll empty her change into the hand of the bus driver, taking her ticket and watching Tulsa pass by. The sun dips below rooftops, and she’ll make her way into a seedy little bar on the other end of greaser territory. She’ll meet a boy there; her age, another relic from years ago. William— Billy, as he always preferred, Dawson.

He’ll buy her a drink, she’ll repay him with a dance or two. He’ll buy as many drinks as it takes to keep her happy, clinging to his arms as she slides out of her heels and against his chest. She’ll thank him for the fun, planting a quick, deep kiss against his lips.

When he invites her to his car, she’ll follow.

His hair is brown rather than white-blonde. His eyes, every other colour than that pale, lifeless, blue. But tonight, he smells of tobacco and night. Her nails dig into his leather jacket just right, and the way he holds her.

So tightly, so warm, so possessively.

In a way so sickeningly familiar, Sylvia can only push herself closer against his bare chest the next morning, her sorry excuse of a prom dress pushed well past her thighs.

Tim will understand, she tells herself as she settles into his grip. Tim always understands.

i knew where we were going, i knew, and you still had me sucked into the story and gasping when she met up with billy. that’s the sign of a wonderful storyteller-

[ambivalent-anarchy]

Empire State Of Mind

Masterlist

Gender: Female

Pairing: Peter Parker x stark!reader

Warning: None

Summary- (FLUFF)(CRACK)the story of how Peter Parker got over his fear of heights (I was inspired by one of Peter's lines in the Spiderman ps4 game)

A/N: Okay this is me getting back to fics because apparently the only way I can actually get inspiration to write is if I'm procrastinating sooooooo since school has started I guess there will be lots of that lol

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

When Peter told Ned about his fear of heights, he completely freaked out.

"You can't be afraid of heights. You're Spiderman!," he whisper-shouted at their lunch table. "How can Spiderman be afraid of heights?!"

Peter shrugged. "I dunno, maybe I'll just have to get over it eventually."

"But if the spider gave you strength, perfect eyesight, and all those other awesome things. How could it not give you the ability to not be afraid of heights?!," Ned asked, utterly confused. "I mean, spiders aren't afraid of heights."

"Yeah Ned, I know. But-"

"And if spiders aren't afraid of heights then when the spider bit you, you should've picked up that trait too, right?"

"Ned-"

"-Maybe you just got a really lame spider. Maybe the spider that bit you was afraid of heights and he was a spider outcast and-"

"Ned!"

When Peter told MJ about his fear of heights, she immediately mentally prepared herself for his funeral.

"How is Spiderman afraid of heights?"

Pete groaned. "I don't know..."

"I knew it," she sighed. "You're gonna die."

"Wait, what?"

"You can't be out there saving the city while being afraid of heights. That doesn't mix," she explained matter-of-factly. "You're gonna die."

"I'll get over it, MJ. I just have to keep trying."

She shook her head. "Whatever you say, loser. But when you die, the only thing I'll be saying at your funeral is 'I told ya so'."

When Peter told Harry about his fear of heights, he teased him about it relentlessly.

Peter braced himself. "And before you say it, yeah I know: 'How is Spiderman afraid of heights?'. Ha. Ha. Funny."

Harry tossed a pretzel into his mouth. "That's pretty pitiful, Pete," he snickered.

"Yeah I know-"

"-You're supposed to be the 'Amazing' Spiderman, not the 'I-can-only-save-you-if-we're-under-fifty-feet' Spiderman."

"You know what? I'm just going to stop telling people," Peter mumbled, hiding his face into his hands.

"C'mon, I'm just messing with you, bro," Harry teased. "But seriously, how can Spiderman be afraid of heights? That's like Ironman being afraid of iron!"

Peter stared. "...it's really not though."

"Whatever." Harry reached over to ruffle Peter's hair with his hand. "Just come to the penthouse tonight and I'll throw you off the roof. Bam. Fear conquered."

"..."

When Peter told you about it, you did the natural Stark thing to do, and helped him out...after teasing him of course.

"How the fuck are you Spiderman and you're afraid of heights? How does that even work?," you laughed.

"Ugh, not you too [Y/N]," he groaned.

"Why're you scared if you've got your webs?," she interjected again. "As long as you remember those, you can't fall."

"That doesn't really help."

"Wait, so you save all those people in tall buildings while you're so scared of heights? Wow. You're even more awesome now."

Peter shrugged it off. "I guess when the moment comes to save people, I kind of have to push the fear aside, y'know?"

"Aaaand why are you even telling me this? What, you want me to fix you or something?" You laughed again, slapping the table. "I'm good with robots, Pete. I'm not a wizard."

Peter shuffled in his seat. "Well I-i was kind of hoping that... maybe you could h-help me?"

You raised an eyebrow. "And how would I do that?," you asked, giggling a bit. "Push you off avengers tower?," you teased.

"A-actually I was hoping for the Empire State Building..."

You paused. "...wait, what?"

Peter nodded in response.

"Pete..I was only kidding... Like really, are you being foreal?!"

He smiled, patting his hands on his lap nervously. "Will you?"

"You're going to fall off the Empire State Building to get over your fear of heights?," you asked.

He nodded uncertainly. "Yep."

"...And you want me to push you off said building?"

"Yeah pretty much," he confirmed.

You stared in disbelief for a moment before checking your watch. "The things I'll do for your dumbass," you sighed. "Alright. Meet me at the top of the Empire State at four. But if you die...I will not be held responsible.

--------

Peter crawled cautiously along the side of the Empire State Building, being sure to never look down.

'You're not that high, Pete. You're not,' he told himself. 'You're only like twelve....t-twelve....hun....'

"Twelve h-h-hundred fucking feet off the fucking ground oh my goshhh!," he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as he continued up the building. "Oh my God, please let me live."

He crawled with his eyes closed until he couldn't feel the thick glass wall anymore. Peter jumped over the railing of the 103 floor observation deck and finally placed his feet on solid ground.

"Wow, Spiderman. You're literally shaking," he heard your voice laugh.

Peter looked at you, wide-eyed as you sat on top of the railing, legs pointed outward, facing the city. "How are you not terrified right now?!"

You shrugged. "I literally take the iron suit for a joy-ride like every week. Heights don't bother me. Now, are we doing this or not?"

"J-just.. gimme a second," he mumbled. "You can do this, Peter. You can do this," he pep-talked himself. "You got this."

You remained sitting on the railing and swinging your legs, trying to give Peter some space to get himself together.

After what felt like about ten mintues, you looked over at him. "You okay over there, Pete?"

Peter took a deep breath and gave a small nod before peeking over the side of the building, which he quickly realized was more than just a big mistake on his part. "F-fuck no!" He quickly stepped back until he was the furthest he could be from the edge. "It's too high! I-i can't do this!"

You groaned. "C'mon, Pete. Wasn't this your idea anyway?"

"Actually it was sort of Harry's!," he stammered. "...[Y/N]..I-i really don't think I can do this."

You ran towards him, cupping his face with your hands. "Hey, hey... relax. You're gonna be okay. You hear me?"

Slowly, he began to nod. "...O-okay," he sighed and took the time to prepare himself again. "I think I'm ready."

You backed away a bit. "You sure?"

"..no."

"Look," you said. "Y'know, you don't have to do this if you really don't want to."

"No," Peter declared, squeezing his eyes shut, his hands turning to fists. "No, I said I'm going to do it today. So I have to do it today. I have to."

"Well then let's do it."

"But I can't!," he whined.

You groaned. 'If this dork doesn't make up his mind.'

Then it hit you.

"I guess when the moment comes to save people, I kind of have to push the fear aside, y'know?"

He'd told you the answer to his problems without even knowing.

"Got it," you whispered.

Turning around quickly, you climbed back over the railing separating the standing area from the edge of the building with a mischievous smile.

Once comfortable, you started to rock, swinging your legs back and forth. "Golly gee, Peter. I sure hope I don't fall!," you yelled dramatically in the perfect 'woe-is-me' fashion.

Confused, he looked up from where he was frozen in place. "[Y/N], what?"

You continued to speak dramatically and robotically. "Oh it would be such a shame if maybe I were to..." You gestured a person falling with your hand until it finally reached the end. "Splat!"

"[Y/N], c'mon. Stop."

"And I suppose if I were to happen to be plummeting to my death-" you looked over at him with wide eyes. "-The only person capable of saving me would be the AMAZING Spiderman!"

"[Y/N]. I'm not kidding around. Seriously, this is dumb."

"Gee wilikers! I guess my life is in your hands now Spidey!," you smirked before throwing yourself off the edge of the Empire State Building.

"[Y/N]! What the fuck!"

"Whooooooooooooo!," you yelled as you fell, confident that he would catch you.

Rolling his eyes and cursing under his breath, Peter immediately threw caution to the wind as he jumped over the fence. The only thing on his mind was catching you.

'You idiotic bitch of a girl that I love...'

Gathering his crazy surroundings, he looked around until he finally saw you. And there you were, free falling and whooping like you were on a rollercoaster and not actually almost dying.

'Okay, Pete,' he thought. 'Save her or Mr. Stark will literally kill you..Plus your girlfriend will be dead... yeah definitely that too.'

"[Y/N]!," he yelled.

"Any time now, Peter!," you shrieked once you felt you'd been falling for a bit too long. "C'mon, I know you can do it so how about you FUCKING DO IT!"

Finally catching up with you a bit, he shot a web out to pull you towards him, and then shot another on the building.

You gasped when you felt something yank you upwards. Immediately after you were scooped up by a blur of red and blue.

"I've got you, [Y/N]," he gasped out, one arm holding you while the other was busy holding the two of you up with the webbing. "I've got you."

You held onto him tightly and let out a laugh of relief. "I knew you would," you giggled. "That was awesome."

He began to laugh too. "Oh my gosh, you crazy little adrenaline junky!"

You smirked in response, looking around at where you were now "Sooo.. we're hanging off the Empire State Building..what now?"

Peter looked around too. "Uhh-" he smirked. "-wanna go for a swing?"

"That's just the adrenaline talking, Petey," you informed. "But I mean, I'm down if you are. You're not still scared?"

"Oh I'm terrified," he laughed before leaning in for a quick, messy kiss. He stared at you with nothing but love in his heart. "But I'll be fine as long as I've got you."

The next time Peter found himself swinging through the air, the last thing on his mind was how high he was going.

@spideyyeet, @soft-petey, @hey-its-grey, @allegra-writes, @chaoticpete, @underoosjae, @allegra-soleil, @sovereignparker, @lost-space-ranger, @kelieah, @spidey-reids-2003, @spidey-boy-89, @thesherlockianavenger, @crappy-unicorn