#and i love aunt may in every iteration

[wayward-wren]

The Tobey Maguire Spider-Man movies are a lot of fun except for pretty much every scene MJ is in

[kitcat992]

│Identity Saga │Narrative Discourse (The Parker's)

One More Day? No Way Home?

Oh, you mean Anti-Aunt May content. Nah bro, we don't do that here. We love, support, and thrive off May Parker's involvement in Peter's life, and we celebrate her presence with an abundance of inclusion in this series.

Prior to the MCU, my absolute favorite version of May Parker came from — you guessed it — the ultimate comics. To this day I've gotta say, Marisa Tomei's version in the MCU is the closest adaption we've gotten of that iteration, and very quickly became my new favorite. In my eyes, she's the perfect mash up of "responsible legal guardian" and "big sister" while still feeling like the aunt she is. She and Peter are the tried and true Found Family, and I've had such a blast writing them in the Identity Saga.

We aren't over yet, but here's some of my favorite highlights in the journey so far.

Identity Theft │ Chapter 18: Homecoming

Tony hadn’t moved in hours.

Moving took energy, something he was severely lacking.

He simply sat, catatonic. Motionless.

Time passed, first by the minutes and then by hours, but he didn’t bother checking a clock or asking FRIDAY.

He didn’t care.

He needed nothing but solitude, to be alone. At this point, it was a must. Once he found it, he clung to it, letting the strange silence echo each pounding beat of his migraine.

Exhaustion coursed through his every muscle, weighing him down. His eyelids were heavy, and he held his face in his hands, hunched over in the chair that took his weight.

The crash from adrenaline was powerful, a vicious anchor that nearly took him under. Had it not been for the fear, Tony would have surrendered. Fear kept him going, fear of the unknown, fear of the uncertain outcome. It was like poison, infecting him, festering in his mind.

Tony didn’t know when he got in touch with Happy or how long it had been after they arrived back at the compound. All he knew was that the phone call was short, sweet and to the point.

Get the kid’s aunt. Bring her here. Quickly.

That was the last time he spoke. It was the last thing he did, possibly hours passing as he sat and waited.

And waited.

For what, he wasn’t too sure.

It was nothing short of a miracle that he staved away another panic attack. The very thought of that woman saying goodbye to her nephew made his chest constrict under the crushing pressure of an ocean he had escaped from. But it was a possibility, a real one, and it was one he couldn’t bear to entertain.

If anyone deserved a proper goodbye, it was her. He owed her a goodbye. He owed her a lot of things, none money could buy for him but this...this at least was within his control.

Right now, Tony needed to do what was in his control.

It was quiet, for the most part. He was spent, emotionally and physically drained, unable to do anything but sit still in a chair outside of the compounds medical wing.

The area was interesting, if he had to choose a word to describe it. It was more a waiting room than anything else; TV’s hanging on the wall that he hadn’t turned on, magazines shelved in a short rack at the corner beside a potted plant. It was an area of the compound they almost never utilized. They had no reason to.

If a team member were ever injured, they typically gathered in the lounge. It was their spot, their go-to for them and only them.

This was created more for formalities, for other staff, other departments. Not for Tony Stark.

For a long time, it was quiet. No one dared to bother him, not the team, not security, not Rogers. So when Tony heard what seemed to be an argument taking place down the hallway, it quickly caught his attention.

“Mrs. Parker, please wait —”

“I’ve waited an hour in that damn car. I’m not—”

“It was an forty minutes. I broke speed limits getting us here. If you just hold on, I need to get you a badge and —”

Tony stumbled out of the chair, heavily leaning against the armrest to straighten his back, his muscles throbbing at the sudden movement. He looked down the hallway just as May came storming through, her purse swinging violently by her hip.

Happy followed closely behind.

“Mrs. Parker —”

“Happy.” May spun around to face him, a stern finger pointing in his face. “Cram it.”

Tony tensed. What little energy he had left began to boil into anxiety, his breath hitching while watching the two approach him.

Vivid memories of Miriam Sharpe flashed before his eyes, a reminder of a mother who lost her son, a child who lost their life — all because of him.

It was history repeating itself.

May was going to lose it, and she had every right to. She could slap him, punch him, kick him, spend all her loathing on dragging him down until he was nothing. Because that’s what he was — nothing. He let this happen to her nephew, to Peter. He deserved whatever came his way.

Happy sprinted to keep up with her, already slightly out of breath. “Tony, I tried getting her to —”

Tony held his hand up, stopping him from saying anything else.

“May, I...” his voice broke from disuse, his throat red hot and tender. “Listen, I —”

She narrowed her eyes, and her feet stomped up to him. “Where is he?”

“He’s here,” Tony reassured. “He’s in surgery. They’ve — he’s — he’s been in surgery. May, I’m —ofph!”

Tony let out a nearly inaudible gasp, the sound gruff and husky.

May leapt forward, grabbing him tightly in an embrace that stole his breath.

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft, shaking with a strength he was envious of. Yet any sense of composure she tried to retain was washed away in the blink of an eye as she splintered under the force of her tears. "Thank you, thank you, oh god, thank you.”

Her cries were heavy, wails that were smothered in his chest. Tony stood still, his arms dangling at his side, unable to comprehend the moment.

May repeated the same words, the same gratitude until she couldn’t anymore. Her words became messy, incoherent sobs.

He looked up at Happy, who only shrugged and gave the saddest, smallest smile he had ever seen. Tony decided to ignore the tears were glossing in the man’s eyes, reflecting from the overhead lights. If he acknowledged that, he’d crumble himself.

“He’s all I have. He’s all I have left,” May cried, heavy and ugly sobs leaking onto his shirt. “Thank you...thank you, thank you...you brought him back, you brought him home, you saved him— thank you.”

Tony's arm twitched. For a moment he considered wrapping it around her, only deciding against it when he felt the tremble that shook against his hip.

When May pulled away, both her hands gripped his face, forcing him to look directly at her as she asked, “Are you okay?”

The question made Tony's head stutter still.

“Tony, are you okay?” she impossibly repeated.

Tony tried to look away, look anywhere that wasn’t at May, but her grip was strong and he felt uncomfortable that his bloodshot, puffy eyes were so openly exposed to her. Not even in his rawest moments did he let Pepper see him so broken, so demoralized.

“I...”

The words died on his tongue. He was confident he had heard her wrong. She wasn’t asking how he was — she couldn’t be asking that. He was the cause behind this. He was the one who put her under the impression that she’d have to bury her boy with no closure to grieve with. Why would she care about him?

And yet here she was, pulling his face back to her, soft brown eyes locking with his.

“God, I can’t even imagine. Everything you’ve done — Happy told me you’ve been at this for days. This must have been hell for you.” May crinkled her nose, patting his cheek softly. “You should shower, you smell like rotten fish.”

Tony blinked, looking over at Happy and back at May, unsure if he had finally gone mad and began hallucinating.

“I’m...I’m sorry, what’s going on here?” The words tumbled out of his mouth. “Why are you not yelling at me?”

It was the least eloquent question he could ask, so blunt that any other day Tony would berate himself for failing at the basics of being more articulate.

May didn’t seem to mind. Her expression softened and she let go of his face. One hand reached under her glasses to dry her cheeks while the other moved to grip his shoulder tightly.

“I’ve done my fair share of yelling at you, more than I’m proud of. But anger won’t help either one of us right now. You’ve dealt with a lot —”

“You don’t know that,” Tony interrupted, cut and cold.

May’s frown lingered. “I might not be your biggest fan, Tony. But I’m also not your enemy here. And if you freak out, then I’m going to freak out, and that’s...that’s the last thing any of us need right now.”

Tony found it hard to look at her. He stared over her shoulder at the pale blue walls, occasional sparing a glance at Happy, too tired to argue and too tired to reflect. She was hanging on by a thread and quite frankly, so was he.

But if he was made of iron, May Parker was made of steel. Easily, hands down, there was no doubting it. It had become very obvious to him where Peter got a lot of his strength from.

He flicked his thumb over his nose, sniffing hard. “Happy will get you where you need to be.”

Tony was beyond his comfort zone of vulnerability in front of her and luckily for him, she was eager to leave. May looked over her shoulder and at Happy, who nodded while pointing straight ahead. There was no hesitation to follow the direction she was told to go.

Identity Theft │ Chapter 20: Family Ties

The cynical side of May wanted to do nothing more than disregard the conversation she had with Pepper, chalking it up to false pleasantries she’d be lucky to receive again. Even after Happy returned to show her Peter’s private bedroom at the compound, and even after she took in the enormous amount of effort Stark clearly put into the living space for her boy, she refused to let herself believe it was anything more than basic courtesy.

So when she returned to Peter’s hospital room and found a gift basket awaiting her, she couldn’t help but be surprised.

And it wasn’t just because Captain America was the one there to give it to her.

“Mrs. Parker,” he greeted. “Pepper personally wanted to make sure you got this tonight.”

“Oh.” May reached out to take it from him. “Thanks.”

It wasn’t until she had it in her hands that May realized how comically large the woven wooden basket actually was. Held against Captain’s America’s chest, it barely looked to be the size of her purse, his admirably large physique easily downplaying its size.

She barely managed to get it across the room, setting it down on the bay window ledge with a muffled grunt. While she would wait to open it, many items laying on top caught her attention. Most were the basics; toiletries, essentials, food and water bottles of brands she never recognized and was sure she could never afford. Deeper inside she caught sight of unexpected items; blankets, a bottle of wine — was that a Starkpad?

“That’s one thing Pep and Tony have in common.” His voice caught her attention. May turned to look at him as he casually shrugged. “They both like to go all out on certain things.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” May huffed, pointing to the basket with a quirked eyebrow. “How much do you think I could sell this all for?”

Steve grinned, the whites of his teeth shining brightly from the overhead fluorescent lights. “Please, use it. You need to take care of yourself too, Mrs. Parker.”

“It’s May,” she corrected. “Please, if one more person calls me ‘Mrs. Parker’ I might actually start to feel my age.”

As she settled into the over-sized upholstered armchair at Peter’s bedside — ‘Stark really does go all out here’ — across from her, Steve chuckled and leaned his hip against the footrest of the hospital bed.

“Fair enough. It’s good to see you again, May.” He gestured to the open chair across from her. “Would you mind if I sit with you and Peter for a while? I might become...a little tied up here soon. I would like to...”

Though his words trailed off, she understood his intention.

“Of course. But we can never tell him you were here. At least not while he was like...” May motioned to the bed with a somber expression. “...this.”

Steve slowly sat down, his gaze softening. “Why’s that?”

For a moment, May looked dumbfounded. She swiveled her gaze between Peter and Steve, ultimately settling on the latter with high arched eyebrows.

“He’s a teenager. This right here — it’s the be all and end all to embarrassment. He’ll be mortified.” She slouched wearily in the chair, managing a faint smile along the way. “I can hear him already. ‘May, god! I can’t believe you let Captain America see me in nothing but a hospital gown. Ugh, god, blergh, eck, hashtag why didn’t you just let me die’.”

Her voice was absurdly exaggerated, and though Steve seemed to be slightly confused and extremely horrified, May carelessly waved him off.

“Kids have gotten more dramatic these days,” she explained. “Don’t think I understand it. I swear it’s like they have own language.”

Steve nodded, chuckling. “Sounds about right. Me and an old friend of mine were similar back in the day. Our parents couldn’t seem to keep up with the lingo.”

May found herself curling up further in the chair, to the point where she was hugging her knees close to her chest.

“Then I guess there’s no turning back for me. I find myself using Urban Dictionary way more then I’ve ever wanted to.” A beat passed, and she didn’t need to look at Steve to see his lack of understanding. “Don’t look it up. I’ll save you the horrors, just come to me if you need anything translated, got it mister?”

He laughed, his smile so amiable and natural that May was sure it could melt even the hardest of hearts. She liked him better in person, his compassion much more authentic, more substantial than the old war posters and videos she watched growing up.

“Duly noted.” Steve’s laugh faded away, and he looked towards Peter affectionately. His expression was soft, strong, but it was impossible not to notice the crack forming underneath the surface.

It was different from the night he arrived at her home to break the news of Peter’s then-assumed-death.

It was a glimmer of remorse, reflecting vividly in his eyes.

It reminded her of Happy, of Clint, of Tony — so many people she had come to find out would give their lives to defend this boy. She thought she had been alone in protecting Peter, her sole responsibility, her burden to carry. Come to find out she was terribly wrong about that.

“You know, I have to say...Peter reminds me a lot of that friend.” Steve looked up, forcing a smile that held more sadness than anything else. “Looking out for the little guy? It’s a very noble thing to do. You should be proud of him.”

She was, but it never hurt to hear it again.

May’s hand reached out for Peter’s, a swarm of butterflies rolling in her stomach from the sheer amount of maternal pride. Sure, this wasn’t the life she ever expected to live, not after taking Peter in and not even after losing Ben. It wasn’t her normal, and she wasn’t efficient at letting others help, that much was clear.

But hearing about how much Peter had changed, how he was flawlessly growing into such a heroic man behind her expectations — May started to believe she could manage some change as well. It was hard, change always was, but having others around to help would make a little easier.

She cleared her throat a few times. “That friend of yours...he make it out okay?”

Steve didn’t answer right away. Instead, he dropped his head, slowly crossing his arms over his chest in deep thought. The topic seemed to be troublesome for him, and she almost apologized for bringing up what was clearly a sore subject.

“He’s getting there,” Steve finally answered, right before she could say anything. “And so will Peter. Consider this nothing more than a bump in the road.”

May nodded, her thumb absentmindedly caressing around the clear tape sticking to Peter’s skin.

Suddenly, it didn’t seem so threatening — it was just tape, she remembered. It was just tape keeping IV’s in place, of which were simply there to make Peter better. The monitors weren’t as scary anymore, the beeping a pleasant reminder that he was alive, that his heart was beating in a similar rhythm as theirs.

‘It’s all just a bump in the road’, she told herself.

She could handle that.

“You know, speaking of bump in the road.” Steve awkwardly cleared his throat. “Pete here told us he’s working on getting his driver’s license?”

May practically choked on her snort. “Yeah, and I promise to give plenty of heads up when that happens. Whenever Peter Parker hits the streets, you will be rightfully notified to stay on the sidewalks.”

Steve’s laughter guided her into a gentle state of relaxation, one she let saturate her every nerve. Somehow along the way, he encouraged May to tell him what was later dubbed as the ‘Whole Foods parking lot disaster’, a story she was sure Peter would straight up murder her for repeating.

She could still hear his defense ring in her ears. “May, c'mon, you are such a drama queen. I didn’t hit seven shopping carts. It was six and a half, everyone knows the tiny carts don’t count as full carts.”

She lost count of time after that, the sun that had been beaming in through the bay window now nothing but dazzling stars across the compound’s acres of land. Her time wasn’t spent listening, rather telling, her stories reminiscent of an easier time in their lives.

Steve sat and took it all in, smiling and laughing along the way.

It didn’t take long for May to realize there was something different about him, a unique trait that made him stand out from the others. While it seemed everyone wanted to tell her a story about Peter, Steve wanted to hear what she had to say. It was as if he wanted to get to know Peter better, treating him more than just some kid who had gotten in over his head or someone he felt responsible for having gotten hurt.

May had a feeling that after all was said and done, Peter wasn’t going anywhere in these people’s lives. It was funny in retrospect; she had been worried he was a nuisance to them all. Yet they couldn’t seem happier to have him around.

She had just finished telling Steve about Peter’s ninth birthday party — “I swear if we had the money, he would have been both Iron Man and Captain America. But those costumes are expensive, and he had to pick between the two. If it’s any consolation, I remember the Iron Man costume being significantly cheaper.” — when Tony came strolling through the room’s automatic doors.

“Rogers,” he curtly greeted. “Treating the woman well, I hope.”

Identity Theft │ Chapter 21: Sins of the Father

“It’s okay, Pete. You can let go.”

In and out. It was all he knew — the voices would come in and out, his mind would go in and out, and he wasn’t even sure where he would go when it happened. He felt detached, muddled, a wandering soul with no terrain to land on.

“You’re safe now. It’s okay to let go.”

He clung to those words. For the longest time, it was all he had to hold onto. For the longest time, he floated between the then and now, unsure of what was a dream and what was real.

When his mind finally re-connected with his body, it happened all at once. It felt like a crashing meteor plummeting to the earth, hard and fast, and the lack of control smothered him.

Peter felt trapped.

Not under a building, not to a wall, but trapped within a body he couldn’t move or function. Every breath he involuntary breathed sent agony radiating down his core to his every muscle, each inhale causing a scorched inundation of red pain to simmer in his stomach.

Peter moaned. He could feel it taper off in his chest, the keening never forceful enough to part from his lips. One after another they came, a string of groggy sounds loud in his own ears.

Distantly, he remembered when he first got his spider powers. After the mutation took place, after he was violently ill and swore up and down that he would die, he proceeded to spend two very long days locked up in his room. He jammed his earbuds tightly into his ears though no music played; he was just desperate to block out the noise, adding a pillow over his head and wishing — praying — that the world would go quiet.

Before he learned how to control his heightened senses, they controlled him. And it was hell.

This was like that. Only five hundred times worse.

Beeping, whirring, dripping, hissing — the sounds, the smells, the sights — it was all a constant presence. Each beep felt like a screw drilled into his head, the smell of chemicals burned his nose and he couldn’t open his eyes without the lights stabbing into his retinas. He felt as if he could taste the colors in the room, each and every one making him overwhelmingly sick.

He had once told Mr. Stark that his senses were dialed to eleven. This had to be eleven hundred. It wouldn’t stop, it wouldn’t go away.

Peter felt helpless to it all.

“You’re safe now.” The words were his only lifeline. He clung to them, tighter than ever.

Peter jerked awake, or at least jolted in the bed, unsure if he had ever fallen asleep in the first place. His back jostled off the bed and — shit that hurt — the uncomfortable feeling of something up his nose began to bother him. It left a tickle in his nostril that made him want to sneeze.

His hands lazily reached up for it, sloppily attempting to yank on the intrusive tube.

“Don’t touch that, kid.” An exhausted voice slithered into his ears. It was familiar. Safe. “Trust me, you don’t want to pull it out. Been there, done that. It’s not all that fun.”

A painful groan rumbled in his chest, constricted, restricted. His hand reached for his face and callous fingers gripped his, the rough skin coarse against his own. He focused on the feeling. It was better than the persistent fire that lanced up and down his body, shock-waves controlling his every twitch.

The pain came and went in waves, in tides, some moments more pronounced than others. Things were moving. He felt dizzy, like he was floating, spinning around on a fast-moving Tilt-A-Whirl. A sheet of sweat sat on his body, feeling both hot and cold at the same time. The smells were raw, too clean and they set fire into his nostrils, or at least the one open nostril he had. The invading object sliding into his other made him want to throw up every time he dry swallowed.

God, just make it stop.

Memories came back to him in chunks. He was wet at one point. Drowning. Or was that a dream? His dreams blurred together with reality, forming a nightmare he couldn’t escape from. He was never sure if he cried in those dreams or in real life.

"...'m here, sweetie, it’s okay.” He heard May’s reassurance over the piercing machinery around him, soft around his ear. “Cry all you need to, I’m right here.”

Her voice came with a nervous energy, the type of worry that made him anxious. His intuition told him that her being upset was a bad thing, that she shouldn’t be so worried about him. But he wasn’t sure what he could do to fix that.

So he drifted. It was easier that way.

Time passed in scattered moments and Peter wasn’t sure how long each separated from the other. There was a lethargic feeling in his bones, a film behind his eyelids that told him he had been sleeping for a long time, that things weren’t happening all at once. It was the only grounding thing he could feel. Everything else happened in splintered stages.

He went to swallow and the dryness caused him to cough, no saliva resting in his mouth for him to work with. Without warning, the pain he had been feeling flared up to anew. The pounding in his ears went in sync with each beat of his heart, sometimes a steady flutter, other times a frantic throbbing.

“....hh, shh, it’s okay, honey. It’s okay. Here.” Something cold rested on his tongue. At contact he sunk into the mattress of the bed, unaware of how good the wetness felt in his mouth. “There you go, baby. You’re okay.”

His vision came in fragmented pictures, too bright to make out details. The lights burned the shadows out and it felt like his eyes were lagging, like the damaged computer monitor with broken pixels that he once found from the dumpster. He’d make out one thing, one image and it’d freeze on a frame, surrounded by a blistering white light.

It was usually faces.

May. Doctor Banner. Many other people he didn’t know.

Mr. Stark.

“Easy Petey, easy.”

It was always pain that drew him back into awareness. The next time he moved, he let out of a guttural cry. The callous hand found his again, gripping it, tethering him to reality. Though the contact on his skin hurt, causing nerves to scream at the slightest pressure on bruises and broken bones, it also brought comfort.

“You’re safe, Underoo’s. No one’s going to hurt you, not on my watch.”

The voice penetrated any fear he had pullulating inside.

Identity Theft │ Chapter 22: Sweet Sixteen

“I didn’t know he had a knack for photography,” Tony softly stated. “I’ve seen him take photos with his phone but...never anything like this.”

“That’s because he stopped when Ben died.”

Tony froze, his finger mid-swipe when he heard May speak. Almost immediately, his stomach dropped.

“Oh,” he managed.

It was one thing to see photos of Peter and his mother; after all, Tony knew first-hand everything that had happened with the kid’s parents.

Ben, though, was always a subject Peter never wanted to talk about. 

Being that Tony could relate, he never pushed it.

It had always been clear Peter and his uncle were close, even more clear that the wound was still fresh.

But suddenly, looking through the old Instagram photos was less enticing, each holding a story of a much happier boy, one who held more sunshine to offer the world.

“I don’t think he wanted to touch the camera again. Too many memories,” May explained, suddenly hugging herself tightly. “Plus, you know...the whole Spider-Man thing.”

“Right.” Tony cleared his throat, placing the tablet down to sit in his lap. “Maybe we can, uh...we can work on that. I’ve been thinking... it might help if I take a step back. Get him to focus less on the superhero-ing gig and all.”

“Take a step back?” May raised her eyebrows and quickly shook her head. “Uh, that’s not the agreement we had with this, mister.”

Tony looked studiously through the pages of photos down on the screen below him, pretending they interested him when in reality, he simply struggled to find the right response to say.

“I know," was the best he could start with. "But he needs to be a kid again, May. He needs to go back to this stuff, not...galloping around with self-sacrificing suicidal idiots like us.” Tony licked his lips, looking up at her with a dry smirk. “The idiot part applying to them, obviously. The self-sacrificing suicidal part me.”

May couldn’t find it in her to smile at his weak attempt at humor. She gripped her cardigan tighter around herself, sitting up taller in the plush armchair.

“I don’t disagree that he needs to prioritize, Tony. Pick and choose his battles, for sure, get a little better at following curfew, take a few weekends off. But we both know you’ll never be able to rid him entirely of this." May cocked an eyebrow at his insistent need to not look at her. "I’ve spent the better part of this year learning to accept that — you wanted me to accept that. So where’s this all coming from?”

Tony looked down to his lap, barely lifting the Starkpad high enough for her to see over the guardrails of the hospital bed.

“This,” he dryly replied. “He was safer doing this kind of stuff. We’re not going to be the reason—...I’m not going to be the reason he doesn’t get to see his college days. Besides, he’s... he's a teenager. He’ll get over it.”

Tony brushed off the subject with a nonchalance that could only be obtained from having had the conversation multiple times before. Rhodey, Pepper, now May — the latter of which currently stared at him as if he had grown four heads and started speaking a foreign language.

She raised one eyebrow high in the air and squinted her other eye, all while slowly letting go of the tight hold on her cardigan.

“Okay..." May slowly started. “Then can I ask why the sudden change of heart? Why stop him now and not before?”

Tony kept his head bowed, and his eyes focused on the tablet, easily deflecting with a flat-toned statement of, “It’s for the best, May.”

“Mgmmghh...” Peter moaned, his head lolling against the pillows.

While May all but shot up from her chair, Tony kept his head bowed low, lifting only his eyes to make sure everything was okay. Even that proved to be a punch in his gut. They both had very, unfortunately, become accustomed to the occasional abrupt groans and whimpers from Peter.

Still, the timing seemed to mock him, like the kid was listening in on the conversation himself.

“Shhh, shh, you’re okay sweetheart. It’s okay,” May reassured, her voice a low whisper as she brushed Peter’s hair away from his forehead. “Try and go back to sleep, baby. Shh, just sleep.”

It was truly a miracle that Tony bit his tongue and didn’t snap at her. Listening as Peter choked a cry against the cotton of his pillow, seeing as the kid grimaced so hard the oxygen mask resting against his face practically fell down — how the hell was he supposed to ‘just sleep’ like this?

Tony settled on shaking his head, returning his focus on the tablet. It was easier that way; keep his mouth shut and there wouldn’t be a problem.

As he did, May readjusted to a more comfortable position in her chair, all the while keeping one hand on Peter’s forearm.

“You know, losing Ben was hard on him.” May was quiet when she spoke up. Tony almost didn’t hear her, needing to look up and confirm that she did indeed say something. “It changed him, it took something from him.”

She gently caressed Peter’s arm, small circles to avoid the tubes and catheters, and Tony waited patiently for her to continue. He couldn’t help but notice that she seemed to have aged ten years since this whole ordeal started, the lines around her mouth more profound, the bags under her eyes darker.

“But I have to admit, ever since you came into his life — really came into his life, ‘ice cream after his finals’ sort of thing...”

May gave him a look, one that saw past his front and made him vastly uncomfortable.

Tony made a mental note to chastise Happy’s big mouth at a later date.

“He’s been more like himself again. There’s a side to him that’s returned, something I haven’t seen since Ben passed. It’s been nice.”

And then she said what Tony would have paid millions of dollars not to hear.

“He’s been happy with you around.”

Identity Theft │ Chapter 23: Bridge Over Troubled Water

Happy swiped his employee badge to gain access to the compound, the chirp chirp that followed unlocking the door.

“After you,” he insisted, holding it open for May.

She gave him a sloppy salute. “Why thank you, good sir.”

It was early morning by the time they both arrived back at the compound. The sun was rising over the large facility, and the light mocked them in unflattering ways, highlighting the dark bags sitting under their eyes.

May couldn’t be blamed for the entirety of their late-night outing; though she easily spent longer than anticipated digging through Peter’s belongings for what she needed, the drive alone was a couple hours round trip and the spontaneous stop to Happy’s favorite diner only added to their time.

She didn’t mind. It was nice finally seeing something besides the same four walls.

“Are you sure you don’t want to hit up the cafeteria before going back to the infirmary?” Happy asked, as if reading her thoughts. He pointed his thumb behind his back, the two of them already starting to go their separate directions. “If you get there early enough before the SHIELD trainees ran-sack the place, you can get the bagels while they're still fresh out of the oven. ”

“Happy.” May shook her head with a laugh. “I’m good, really. I think I just want to curl up in a chair and take a nice, long nap.”

Happy shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll save you one, just in case.”

His wink didn’t go unnoticed. May chuckled, pulling up the strap of her purse as she walked away.

“And they said chivalry was dead.”

It had been a long enough week that, despite how large the facility was, she now knew the way to areas like the cafeteria and, of course, Peter’s personal quarters. Still, her feet took the same path she had memorized back to the med-bay.

May didn’t have any need to go elsewhere; at least, that’s what she figured at the time.

Happy was half-way down the hall when he spun around, raising his voice to get her attention. “Hey, you wanted all that stuff in Peter’s room with you, right?”

May met his gaze. “Everything but the box,” she called out.

“Well, yeah, of course,” Happy said, remembering the conversation they had over hot coffee and greasy diner food. “I’ll take care of that tomorrow. Good?”

May nodded. “Good. Thanks, Happy.”

She hated leaving his company, but she wasn’t lying when she said that she wanted to sleep — sleep for hours, days if she could. Right now, she’d be grateful for just a nap.

A normal sleep schedule didn’t mean anything anymore, not with Peter here, not as long as he was injured and recovering. Sleeping while the sun rose over the horizon was a mere act of survival, unusual for most but now a necessity for her.

Nurses quietly greeted her as she walked the halls of the infirmary and May waved back, only failing to greet a few when she took the time to throw her hair up into a sloppy bun. She couldn’t remember the last time she had washed it.

The effort was forgotten when she turned the corner that led to Peter’s room, her hands dropping from behind her head and her long, brown hair falling back down with neglect.

She came to a sudden halt, frowning as she looked ahead with a cocked head and perplexed expression.

“Huh.”

May froze at the entryway, not even close enough for the automatic doors to slide open. The glass panels gave a clear sight to what laid inside, or, well — who laid inside.

While it had become normal to see Peter resting, asleep in the hospital bed within the room, seeing Tony lay side-by-side with him, her nephew using the billionaire as his own personal pillow — well, that was...more uncommon.

God, her life had gotten to be so bizarre.

It wasn’t long until she began to chuckle, her shoulders jostling up and shaking down the strap of her purse until she needed to fetch it from the crook of her elbow.

“Alright then,” she murmured to no one in particular.

She realized that after nearly a week in the compound, she’d finally be utilizing space outside of the infirmary. It was a good thing Happy had showed her Peter’s quarters after all.

Maybe it was for the best, she supposed. And not necessarily just for her.

May smiled, pulling out her cell phone and snapping a quick picture of the scene ahead of her. It was a close enough distance that, reviewing the impromptu photo, she could see Peter sleeping soundly against Tony’s chest as the older man used the crown of her nephew’s head for cushion.

It took two taps on her touchscreen to create a text message with the image attached, clicking the recipient she wanted to send it to from her contact list.

The message written was simple.

With the pad of her thumb she hit send, turning around to leave and let the two rest without any interruptions. Walking back through the hallways, she found that there was surprisingly less weight on her shoulders than when she first arrived.

Maybe she would stop and get a bagel after all.

Identity Theft │ Chapter 24: Grounds For Improvement

Tony flashed a hint of a smile, making for the exit and only stopping before the doors would open for him. He spun on his heels with a finger pointed squarely at Peter.

“Rest up, Parker — is that clear? I expect a full recitement of Pi next time I see you.”

The automatic doors slid open with another airy hum. Tony disappeared somewhere out in the hallway, his departure taking with him the ringing of his cell phone. Only his shadow was visible as he stopped somewhere a few feet away, having whipped out his phone to handle business like the busy man Peter knew he was.

Peter looked away from that shadow and back to May with knitted brows. “I...I don’t think I can —”

“He’s joking.” May ran her fingers through his hair with a shake her head. “And no, he’s not very funny. I’m telling you kiddo, the past week with that man has been—”

“Week!?” Peter’s shout fell out of his mouth as a croak, his eyes widening to impressive saucers. “Week? It’s — it’s been a week?”

“Hey hey, calm down,” May stressed, keeping her fingers in his hair and continuing to brush through the curls with slow, soft motions. “A few days, okay? Five, I think. But don’t go freaking out on me. You know I freak out when you freak out.”

Peter could see May had resorted to what she did best — mitigating. Her sloppy bun, over-sized cardigan, and puffy, swollen eyes told him a different story, though.

She had been freaking out, and he hadn’t even been around to witness it.

Even worse — he was the cause of it.

“Sorry. Sorry, sorry, I just...” Peter swallowed thickly, goosebumps fleeing up and down his arm. His hands bunched tightly in the sheets below him. “It’s been...been that long? I...I…”

Peter went to adjust himself again and was crudely reminded that his body did not want to be moved right now. He winced, trying his best to breathe past the pain, despite breathing being the very thing causing the pain.

“I’m so, so sorry, May,” he managed, hands fumbling to adjust the nasal cannula strapped around his face. There was a sudden need to feel the coolness entering his lungs, to believe he was breathing — to believe he was alive.

“Hey, whoa,” May interjected, calm and persuasive. “Why you apologizing?”

Peter bit his lower lip, hesitant to respond.

He always knew two things growing up — Uncle Ben stayed calm, always cool as a cucumber while Aunt May was tough as nails; a strong woman inside and out. He knew that for her to be crying, it had to come with the conjunction of something major.

Losing family. Losing a loved one.

He may not fully remember what happened to him, but Peter knew one thing for certain — an upset May was a bad thing.

“I can’t believe I...that I put you through so much. I put you through this. I — I let this happen, and I promised I’d be careful as Spider-Man and I wasn’t, I messed up — and now you —”

“Okay, take a breath there, bug boy.” May moved her hands to his shoulders, holding her grip firm. “It’s okay, this was way out of your control. I’m not mad. I’m just —”

She interrupted her own words to lean in and kiss him on the cheek, making an audible ‘mhpf!’ sound with it. “I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

Peter kept his head low, staring at the sheets rather than looking at May. Her words of reassurance meant little. Not with her appearance, not with how rattled she looked.

He hadn’t seen her look so rough around the edges since Ben passed.

Peter shifted uneasily, the need to sleep suddenly replaced with an overwhelming desire to hide away. To curl in a ball and let himself mope — cry — for days, weeks, months.

And yet he couldn’t even curl in a ball right if he wanted to. His own body was incapable of even shifting to the side, not without a blinding pain reminding him that he was hurt — that he almost died.

As irrational as the thought was, Peter found himself angry at that. At having that option taken away from him, at having limited movement to his own body. It was foolish, it made no sense — it wasn’t like him to think this way. This wasn’t like him at all.

‘Yeah, well, it’s not like you to get kidnapped and nearly killed either, Parker.' Peter pressed the heels of his hands firmly against his eyes, desperate to keep the burning, unshed tears at bay. 'Way to go on that one.’

God, he really screwed up this time. This was on a whole other playing field from the incident at Times Square, from letting Mysterio steal the chameleon helmet. This was embarrassingly huge — way beyond the Ferry.

Peter had no clue how he was going to prove himself again after this.

“Peter?” May watched him carefully, squeezing her grip. “Talk to me, you’re scaring me.”

He hadn't realized he'd zoned out, again, until May clenched his shoulder with colored nails that dug through the oversized hospital gown he wore. It had begun to slip down the front of his chest, and Peter went to adjust the gown, only to stop halfway there and shake his head with growing frustration.

“I’m just...really upset that I made you worry.” Peter hated hearing his voice waver with weakness, with wet with tears he hadn’t let loose. “I don’t like it when you’re upset.”

If his voice had grown any more quiet, the beeping of machines attached to him would've swallowed the words whole.

May heard, nonetheless. Peter had a feeling she would've heard regardless.

“I’m not upset, sweetie, But I think you are.” May couldn’t have been any softer, her tone delicate — reassuring. Everything Peter didn't realize he desperately needed. “What’s going on? Talk to me, it’s just you and me. Lay it out.”

Peter opened his mouth to respond — insist he was fine, that he was okay.

That there was nothing for May to worry about, that she didn't need to stress out over him.

That he was fine.

Instead, a harsh cry got caught in his throat, strangling his words on their escape.

May sighed. “Oh, honey —”

“I’m f-f-ine,” Peter insisted, his hands flying to his face and covering himself from view. “I’m fin—”

He wished he hadn’t tried to respond in the first place. Like a rubber band pulled back too tight, he found himself snapping — breaking. His cries were loud, smothered only by the palms of his hands.

“I’m s-sorry!” Peter sobbed, as loud as his voice would let him — yet his words muffled in the skin of his own hands. “I’m-sorry-sor —!”

He latched onto May’s voice as she brought him close to her chest, her familiar and old cardigan a grounding feeling against his skin.

“Shh, shh, honey it’s okay,” May cajoled, as if she had been prepared for the moment all along. “It’s okay. Let it out, you're okay."

Identity Theft │ Chapter 26: Building Blocks

“Ms. Parker,” Tony called out.

May shot her head up at the sound, removing one of the two hands she had gripping the gurney’s railings to wave him over.

At first unsure about getting any closer to the scene, Tony managed to wiggle his way through the crowd and stand at the top of the bed where Peter laid. He watched the kid’s hazy brown eyes drift back and forth like a loose ping-pong ball, eyeing the busy activity around with him both wonderment and confusion.

“...wha’s goin’ on?” Peter asked, his voice thick and mildly incoherent.

Tony smirked, following the moving gurney down the hall while May patted her nephew’s arm.

“They already gave him something to help relax him. He’s just a bit confused,” May whispered his way before she turned back to Peter. “You’re fine honey, we’re getting that super uncomfortable metal out of your leg, remember?”

Peter sluggishly blinked. “...’s my leg better?”

“Not quite, tough guy,” May chuckled, rubbing his arm with reassurance. “But Tony has something that’s way more comfortable for you, remember?”

Peter eyed May curiously. “He does?”

She nodded, giving him an encouraging thumbs up.

Peter lazily smiled, the grin all teeth. “...mr. ‘tark ‘s the best.”

May failed at suppressing her laugh, one that Tony hadn’t realized was because of him. It wasn’t until he noticed that his jaw was hanging loose and his openly exposed eyes had widened comically that he moved quickly to recover, looking away to where she couldn’t see him.

Still, May smiled in his direction.

“Yeah,” she softly agreed, walking along the gurney with her eyes set on Tony. “Yeah, he is.”

Tony ducked his head low, realizing that Peter was so out of it he didn’t even know who was standing near the top his head. He stayed quiet as they wheeled the gurney down the halls, only stopping as they came to the double doors that led down into the operating rooms.

May gave his arm one more supportive squeeze before calling out, “I’ll be there when you wake up sweetie, okay?”

Both were almost positive Peter didn’t hear her as they wheeled him away, the gurney eventually disappearing behind automatic doors that slid shut with an air hum.

Tony and May stood side-by-side as they watched through clear-glass doors.

“Helen says that after this he'll have another week in recovery, a few sessions in P.T and then he’ll be good to go.” Tony spared her a glance. “Back in your trustworthy hands once again.”

“Damn,” May cursed with a snap of her fingers. “And here I was getting used to not having to cook every night.”

Tony managed to stifle his laugh and disguise it under a poorly received cough. “You cook every night?”

“Ya know,” May went on to say, folding both her arms over her chest. “It’s amazing how you can follow a recipe to the tee and it still turns out bad.”

Tony kept his walnut date loaf comments to himself, deciding that no matter how carefree the conversation, there was no safety in joking about a woman’s cooking.

Pepper Potts lesson number fifty-six.

“So what's the deal, Tony Stark?” May asked, her tone more easy-going than he had heard in days, her hip playfully swinging into his. “We doing this or not?”

Tony frowned and blinked. “Huh?”

May arched an amused eyebrow, turning on her heels to casually and slowly walk away. Tony matched her pace, no hurry to leave and no other place to be.

"You pawning him back off to me or are we going to manage some poorly structured semblance of support in his life?” May’s question came with a quiet smile.

Tony shrugged, hands reaching deep into his pant pockets. “Be honest May, do you really want me in his life? After all that's happen?”

They walked down the hall together, one slow step after another. And though Tony appreciated her thoughtfulness and persistence — the drawings she gave him still sitting in his workshop as a harsh reminder to keep his pestering anxiety at bay — he couldn’t help but remain a skeptic.

It was in his nature, his blood. Even now, after all they had gone through, it was still easier to run away than stay.

Thankfully there were people like May nearby to put a stop to that. She hummed loudly, with exaggerated consideration.

“I don't know, you could be useful,” she drawled out, blithely. “Besides, I think he listens to you more than he listens to me.”

This time, Tony did laugh. “If that’s the case than I'm deeply disturbed by how little he listens to you.”

“Yeah, well, you know how it is.” May sighed, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “I honestly think it's just a woman thing. Even when Ben was around, he always listened to him more. I think he just needs that fatherly figure in his life, you know?”

Tony stopped suddenly and May cracked a smile, staring down at her shoes.

“God, you are not subtle, are you?” His smile bled out the bite in his words and May finally looked at him, losing her composure just as she thought she would.

“Tell you what,” she managed around the chuckling. “I’ll make an agreement with you.”

Tony bit his lower lip somewhat comically. “Mhmm, I’m not allowed to make those without Pepper around to pre-approve.”

May gave a half-roll of her eyes.

“You keep him protected, the best that you can — unforeseen circumstances aside, and I have no problems letting him continue...whatever this is.” May pointed a finger in the air. “On one condition.”

Tony arched his eyebrow expectantly, waiting for her to finish.

The finger she held up changed directions, gesturing emphatically towards his chest. “You are responsible for buying his backpacks from this point forward.”

Tony was momentarily stunned.

“That's...it?”

She gave a curt nod. “That's it.”

For a moment, he was at a loss for words. All things considered, her request was on the very bottom of things he’d consider unreasonable. Here he was ready and willing to get the kid a full ride through college — who was he kidding, he was still planning to do that, MIT or not. And all she wanted was a few school supplies?

Consider him getting off easy.

“Okay then,” he finally answered, hand extended out to her. “Shake on it, Mrs. Parker?”

She unwrapped her arms from around her waist, giving him a firm handshake that he accepted, patting the cusp of her elbow in return. Not even a few seconds later and they resumed their leisurely walk down the corridor.

Identity Theft │ Chapter 27: Growing Pains

“You going to put that down anytime soon?”

Peter peered over his phone to look at May. He blinked twice, not realizing how dry his eyes had become, stars dancing in his vision from the sun blasting through the window ahead.

Slowly he could make out May’s figure, bent over and stuffing items into her purse.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly apologized. “There’s so much I have to catch up on!”

“Uh-huh,” May hummed, swinging her purse over her shoulder. “I’m sure the nerd clique is just bustling with activity.”

Peter gaped, feigning melodramatic offense. “Hey!”

“Put it down soon, mister.” May wagged a finger at him. “You’re here to rest.”

“I am resting!” Peter defended, gesturing to the bed he laid in and the blankets covering him. He hadn’t even moved from the curled up position on his good side — the painful lesson of not messing with his right side one he wouldn’t forget anytime soon — practically wrapped like a burrito in the softest blankest he’d ever had granted the pleasure of using.

“Don’t get smart with me, tough guy,” May jokingly threatened, a lighthearted laugh in her tone. “Or I’ll take that phone with me on my way out to work.”

The smell of coffee hit his nostrils before the doors to the infirmary room even slid open. Peter was a hairsbreadth away from letting May know that Mr. Stark was arriving when — woosh — the man already strolling into the room.

Damn, his senses really weren’t up to par lately.

“Mhmm, smells like teenage discipline in here,” Tony greeted, handing May one of the two styrofoam cups he had in his hands. “One for the road. What’s going on with the pip-squeak?”

“Thank you,” she replied easily, as if it was a common experience to have a billionaire hand her coffee — which for all Peter knew had become the norm for her, what with a missing week in his life having gone by. She nodded her head over in Peter’s direction. “Gave him his phone back this morning. He hasn’t put it down since.”

Peter frowned, head jerking back at offense to May’s tattle-telling.

Tony crossed the room, taking a sip of his coffee as he passed by Peter’s bed. Or at least that’s what Peter assumed, half his face being pleasantly smooshed into his pillows.

“Listen to Aunt Hottie, kid. Or I’ll take the phone away myself,” he warned.

“Pssh,” Peter muttered, eyes locked on the screen of his device. “No you won’t.”

A large hand dipped into his frame of vision, snatching the phone right out of his grip.

Peter gawked, staring at his fingers that gripped only air. He looked up, seeing Tony walking away with the device and pocketing it into his blazer.

Did that just…? He spared a glance to May, who seemed equally humored, doing a poor job at hiding her laugh behind a clearly fake cough.

“Oh, damn.” Peter sat up straighter in bed, smiling ear-to-ear. “It gotta be like that?"

Tony snorted humorlessly, smacking the side of Peter’s leg lightly with the back of his hand.

Peter watched him head for the recliner chair nearby with a blank expression, worried for a moment that he may have said something wrong. Normally Mr. Stark was quick to engage in witty banter with him, always one to throw it back faster than he received it. This time though, he kept any wisecracks to himself, wordlessly opening the laptop he kept in the room and filling the silence with clickclickclicks of the mouse and keyboard.

Peter looked away, slowly but surely adjusting himself in bed so that he was sitting up. First and foremost, he gave himself a pat on the back for not crying like a baby in front of Mr. Stark when he moved, because damn that still hurt. Moving still equaled pain. Noted.

As Tony typed away on his laptop, Peter convinced himself that he had to be busy — he had stuff to do. He was Tony Stark. He really needed to stop taking everything so personally. 

“Alright sweetie,” May cut through his running-rampant thoughts. “I’ll be back later tonight. Behave.”

“Yeah,” Peter snorted, rolling his eyes. “Cause there’s so much trouble I can get into here.”

She stopped on her way to the doors, shooting him a glare that had him sinking against the cushions of his bed. “Mouth. Watch it.”

Tony let out a noticeable chuckle from his position across the room.

May shot him the same glare, an added finger wagging toward him thrown in the mix. “Don’t even, I think he gets some of it from you.”

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 1: Prologue

“Hey, May!?” Peter shouted — already in a sitting position on his bed, phone discarded at his hip.

Within a few seconds, May had popped her head in-between the door, shouting back,

“Hey, Peter!?”

“Whoa.” Peter cringed, one hand rubbing tenderly and dramatically at his ear. “Loud much?”

May cocked her head to the side, the smile in her eyes giving away her faux serious posture.

“I’m literally in the kitchen,” she sassed back, one hand smugly resting against her hip while a dishtowel dangled in the other. “You didn’t need to yell for me.”

“Right, right.” Peter nodded too many times for his own good, following up with, “Hey, do we have any tools to fix the bathroom sink? I can hear it dripping from my bedroom.”

May gave an incredulous laugh. “Of all the things those super-duper ears pick up on and that’s what’s bothering you right now? Didn’t you once mention that the Johnson's in 3.B play M.A.S.H about —”

“Five hundred times a day and yes, someone needs to introduce them to something new!” Peter gestured to the wall of his bedroom, arm extended fully. “Of all the amazing things Netflix and Hulu have to offer and they insist on playing those reruns day in and day out. It’s driving me insane.”

“You can’t beat the classics,” May said, grinning at his over-the-top theatrics, eye-roll included. “And regarding the sink, just fix it yourself. You know...”

She gestured her hands in a twisting motion — like she was tightening a pipe.

“Yeah..” Peter drawled out, inwardly cringing, “last time I did I...sorta broke the kitchen sink?”

May froze and her eyes squinted with realization. “So that’s how that happened.”

Sitting on his bed, Peter smiled sheepishly, somehow managing to make himself seem two times smaller than his physique actually allowed him to be.

“I’ll call the landlord," May wagged the dishtowel in his direction, "see what he can do.”

Peter's nod was enough acknowledgment for them both. May turned on her heels to leave, barely two steps out the door when she spun back around, the kitchen towel waving at the movement.

“Hey — last day of summer vacation. Any big plans?”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t think so. Mr. Stark’s road trip was enough, ya know?”

His eyes drifted to his phone, laying by his hip, face down across the ruffled blankets and sheets of his twin bed. The last stream of text messages from Ned stood out fresh in his mind.

“But there is this party —”

“You should go!”

Peter shot his head back to her with wide eyes and an expression so wild May nearly doubled over laughing. He couldn’t help it, beyond confused — practically bewildered at her uncanny encouragement to attend some random teenage party. Which, now that he thought about it, was a common experience before knowing about Spider-Man.

Things definitely changed after Homecoming though, even tenfold after his whole ‘death fake-out' four months ago. Some days he was still surprised she let him on the trip with Mr. Stark, though he was sure some smooth-talking was likely had before a yes was even given.

“I feel like you have an alternative motive here,” he managed to squeak out. “You know, Ned’s mom is taking him out for dinner —”

May threw the dishtowel at him. “Well I’m not Ned’s mother and you know I can’t stand that woman so why would you compare me to her?”

Peter laughed, catching the dirty rag before it could land on his face. He tossed it right back at her. “I’m just saying. Feeling a bit kicked out here.”

May softened, leaning against his door frame with a warm smile. Her demeanor seemed to change all at once, her shoulders dropping, her fingers fidgeting with the seams of the dishtowel.

Peter hated when she looked at him that way, her face conveying a sort of sympathy for all he had been through. It only reminded him that she’d been through so much herself, more than she needed to with him dragging her along for this crazy superhero ride.

At the same time, he didn’t know what he’d do without her.

“Seriously, go have some fun,” May stressed, lighthearted with encouragement. “You had a rough spring, you deserve to end the summer with a bang. Hey, I’ll even drive you there.”

Peter picked up his cell phone, tossing it between both hands as he stared ahead at nothing. If he was completely honest with May, he didn’t have much of a desire to go. Ned wouldn’t be there, he still got odd feelings when he was around MJ, and it was Flash’s party — which just meant all sorts of yucky things.

But the suitcase on the floor was still open with clothes needing to be put away.

“Actually...” Peter felt a grin pulling at his lips. “I might be able to catch a ride.”

May gave him a corny thumbs up and Peter stopped tossing his phone like a ping-pong ball.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 9: Gray Area

“Something tells me this brunch isn’t going to be all curfew talk,” she said, only briefly looking away once realizing a couple seated at the table nearby were gawking at them both.

Beneath his sunglasses, Tony rolled his eyes. The momentary distraction didn’t last long, the waiter of whom he had slipped a few hundred dollars quickly addressing the situation and saving them any headache. It had become as routine as his monthly brunches with May.

In fact, he was pretty sure that he had paid for the new shoes the waiter was wearing. Interesting choice in what to spend the extraneous tip money on. Tony would have gone for a savings or stock, but that was neither here nor there and —

He sighed, running his hand through his goatee. His mind always wandered when avoiding problems he didn’t want to deal with.

“Has Peter talked to you at all since Sunday?” Tony abruptly asked, looking at his water and pessimistically wishing it was something slightly stronger. Sobriety and him were still an ongoing tango most days.

May paused at the question, looking away with thoughtful consideration. Ultimately, she shook her head.

“I’m lucky to see him grab a frozen waffle on the way out of the door,” she chuckled slightly. “Still frozen. Boy rolls right out of bed, doesn’t give himself any time to throw something in the toaster. It’s truly amazing how he’s not all skin and bones.”

Despite her attempt at lightening the mood, Tony’s somber expression didn’t change. He continued to graze his fingers through the prickle hair of his goatee, his sunglasses unable to hide his far-off stare.

May frowned, her eyebrows dipping with concern. “What happened?”

The persistent tapping of his Louis Vuitton dress shoes filled the pause between them. The same dress shoes the waiter wore, walking by to fill his glass of water on the table. Tony squinted one eye, distantly wondering if it was a flattery thing or if the college-aged boy just wanted to buy the most expensive item he could get his hands on.

Distraction. Right.

Tony cleared his throat a few times, briefly considering taking a sip of his drink before deciding to just rip off the band-aid.

“We got into an argument,” he grudgingly admitted.

May’s demeanor softened almost immediately. She waved him off with a half-hearted smile.

“I told you not to let him eat whatever he wants. He gets irritable and gassy and —”

“He had a panic attack.”

May’s face dropped.

“What?” her words were practically spoken in a breath, confusion speaking volumes.

Tony sighed, shrugging with such force that his sunglasses slipped a little further down his nose. He didn’t reach to move them up.

“He’s...expectantly denying it now.” Tony scratched at his cheek, focusing on the sights from within the cafe as opposed to where May was seated. Somehow, it was easier to watch barista’s inside fumble with making a late. “But he did. Have one.”

It was the most he could manage without feeling uncomfortable, or more uncomfortable than what he already felt. Despite having a good four monthly ‘Co-parenting Catch-ups’ under their belt, Tony had yet to encounter a time where he and May needed to discuss something beyond surface level.

Grades, curfews, not to mention pushing her to allow him responsibility for the cost of school tuition and the likes that came with it — their conversations had yet to reach a level quite this deep.

He looked down at his glass of water. Sobriety be damned, he officially regretted not getting a cocktail himself.

May appeared to have trouble letting the information sink in, her face twisting and contorting without ever settling on one specific emotion or the other.

“Are you sure —”

“Yeah,” Tony interrupted, straightening in his chair with faux pose. “I’m kinda the expert. Know one to call one, and all.”

May sat on the news. Though she seemed surprisingly less startled than Tony had expected to be, her moment of reflection hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“That’s strange.” She raised her glass to her lips, the action of her swallowing visible, followed by another mouthful done only to buy herself time. “He hasn’t mentioned that at all.”

Tony nodded. “Not surprised. I want to say he’s embarrassed — hell, I know he’s embarrassed. Stormed out on me, started ignoring my texts, won’t even give Happy much time of day. And you know something’s up when Happy’s questioning why the kid isn’t nagging him.”

It was going on four days, and as of five minutes ago, there was only one text message conversation between them. This was the same kid who spammed Tony’s phone with ridiculous questions and memes at all times of the day.

Now, radio silence.

The entire incident still seemed to boggle Tony’s mind. He wanted to think that it wasn’t like Peter to behave that way, that something had gotten into him recently to provoke such an outburst. But the further he looked back, the more he realized the signs were building up.

The kid was pissed a few weekends back when he'd been grounded.

And the panic attack — well, he had been waiting for that since the moment they rescued the kid from drowning waters.

“What was it about?”

Tony looked up, caught off guard. “Huh?”

May crossed her legs, making sure not to bump into the small metal table between them.

“The fight,” she specified.

Tony pointed a finger her way. “Argument —”

“I know you, Stark,” May said, the smile on her lips breaking any tension from her words. “It was a fight. Deets, now.”

Tony audibly groaned, rubbing at his forehead with his index finger and thumb, his eyes tightly pinched shut.

“Oh god, you talk like one of them.” He gestured his hand out to nothing in particular. “Is this contagious? Will I be next? Should I forewarn Pepper — oh God, don’t tell me I’ll pass it onto her. I cannot have a forty-three-year-old woman representing the company who talks like some Gen Z tween. Our stocks will tank.”

Tony cracked one eye open, not the least bit surprised to see May staring him down, the brown strands of hair that had fallen in front of her face somehow making her seem more intimidating. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Pepper was giving her lessons on the side.

Not fair. As if his fiancée wasn’t difficult enough to handle on her own.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 10: Something Wicked This Way Comes

Without another thought, Peter stood up from the couch. “Am I grounded?”

“What?” May blinked, and then blinked again. “I — I don’t know —”

“I want to go to my room,” Peter quickly interrupted, his voice growing flat. “Can I please go to my room?”

May stared at him for the longest time, as if searching for something that he knew she wouldn’t find. Maybe she was looking for a reason for his attitude, in which case he had no answer to give her. Perhaps it was a resolution to their bickering, which he knew wouldn’t come anytime soon.

And from the looks of it, she knew it wasn’t happening either.

Ultimately she caved, waving her hand down the hall while the other reached for her discarded cell phone.

“Okay, fine. I need to call Tony anyway.”

Peter’s knees buckled.

“What? Wait, no, why?” he panicked, almost diving for her cell phone before quickly realizing how incredibly stupid that would have been. “May, don’t tell Mr. Stark about this, please. I’ll – I’ll stay home this weekend, you can ground me, whatever you want. Please, just leave him out of this.”

May held tightly onto her phone, stunned at Peter’s outburst, at how red his cheeks had grown in a second’s time.

“Why? Peter, he wants to be involved —”

“Him being involved is exactly what caused this!” Peter’s throat started to burn, growing hoarse with each word that cracked and broke in pitch. He suddenly felt lightheaded, dizziness nearly stealing his balance. “People keep thinking he’s my dad — even you’re treating him like he’s my dad! He’s Mr. Stark, he doesn’t need to know about this! It wasn’t even a fight, it was nothing, really! I’ll go to detention, I’ll do what I have to do, it’s fine — just don’t tell him about this!”

May sat quietly during Peter’s explosion, patient as she waited for him to finish. Only once the detonation of his frustration began to clear away, only when he finally took a moment to let his chest heave in the air he so desperately needed, did she finally speak up.

“You know, he’s worried about you.”

Her calm did nothing to off-put his agitation.

“Yeah, because he’s freaking out over everything I do lately!” Peter could feel his arms begin to tremble as his anger boiled over, unearthed from his gut, quick to temper. “You can’t tell him about this, he’s just going to flip out —”

“He thinks you’re acting strange.” May was the one to interrupt this time, steadier than he expected her to be. “And I’m inclined to agree.”

“Mr. Stark doesn’t know what’s going on,” Peter stressed each word, dragged on each syllable. “May, please —”

“If he doesn’t know what’s going on,” May folded her arms across her chest, “then tell me.”

Peter spun around, unable to face his aunt anymore, worried that the tremble in his hands would lead to a hole in the drywall straight ahead of him.

“Nothing is going on, I’m fine —!”

“Cut the bullshit!”

Everything in Peter froze. His breath halted in his chest, his mouth ran dry. And as quickly as May stood up from the couch, she stormed over towards him, her heels dangerously forceful against the floor.

“I know you’re not sleeping. I know you’re not eating,” May’s voice was cold, steely. “I know that you passed out last weekend at the compound. That’s not fine!”

Peter blinked rapidly; whether it was to urge unshed tears back in their place or digest what May had said, he didn’t know.

He didn’t know what to say.

He vaguely realized May was staring at him, hugging herself tightly. Yet the corners of his vision were growing dim again, shadows invading the room. A darkening gray veiled his eyesight in a way that didn’t feel right, didn’t feel normal.

“Talk to me, Peter,” she begged him, a shuddering breath conveying a fierce concern that consumed her. “If what happened back...if it’s bothering you —”

Peter jolted away from May before her touch could reach him.

“It’s not!” His shout was sudden, grating, like a needle digging underneath his skin. “Why are you saying that? Why does everyone insist on bringing that up?! It’s not bothering me, I don’t care, and I don’t want to talk about it!”

If May had anything to say, Peter didn’t give her the time to respond. He stormed past her, each step he took pounding with the anger that flooded through his core, practically shaking the walls and picture frames where they were hung.

“I don’t need to talk about it! It happened, and it’s over. Why is nobody else just happy that it’s...over!?”

Peter stopped halfway to his room, suddenly grabbing hysterically at the roots of his hair, pulling so hard May could see his knuckles grow white — even from where she stood down the hall.

“And why is the bathroom sink STILL LEAKING!?”

Peter’s scream was only drowned out by the slamming of his bedroom door.

The wood near the hinges cracked and splintered.

It left an echo that swept through the apartment.

May stayed standing in the living room, unmoving, aghast to the moment that just occurred.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 13: Into The Abyss

Buzzzz.

Buzzbuzzzzz.

Buzzbuzzzbuzzz.

Buzz.

Buzzbuzzbuzzz —

“...wha the…?” Peter scrunched his face into something tight, rolling onto his side with a groan louder than the noisy streets of Queens that could be heard through his bedroom walls.

With one hand and both eyes closed, he blindly reached out to stop the persistent vibrating clattering against his dresser. It was annoying, going off every second, buzzing like a bee on steroids. Not to mention the sheer volume of how loud it was, piercing through his eardrums like a hot, scolding knife. His head ached something fierce, pounding ruthlessly from his hairline down into his neck.

It was official. He slept like shit last night.

Finally grabbing hold of his phone, Peter pressed his thumb hard on the mute button before he clumsily brought it into bed with him. In the process, his arm knocked down two plastic water bottles, a small desk fan that ran on high, and an old hard disk drive he found the other week in the dumpsters by Brooklyn.

There was no attempt made to clean up the clutter.

Peter flopped onto his back, wincing as even his bedsprings squeaked and rattled. The pull of sleep was tempting; he didn’t want to even open his eyes. An all-consuming urge to forget the day and call it a loss was every bit as overwhelming and enticing as it could get.

Buzzbuzzzzz —

“Oh my — ugh!”

So much for that.

One balled fist rubbed harshly at his eyes, wiping eye crust away until he saw dancing flares where there should only be darkness. A moment later and Peter peaked an eyelid open, testing the waters before doing the same on the other side.

His room was barely lit, dim, and shadowy without the use of artificial lamps. The soft glow of a fading sun was the only light seeping through his bedroom window.

It was still sunrise? Peter furrowed his brows. He didn’t remember going to sleep til late, long after Happy dropped him off and way past midnight. Sure, it wasn’t like he expected a good night’s rest, certainly not after what happened yesterday —

The thought stirred a sharp cramp in his stomach, his skin growing hot with a flush of sweat. The memory came bombarding back to him like a broken dam releasing floodwaters.

Yesterday.

Shit.

Peter shook the thought off. Still. Surely he should’ve gotten more than a couple of hours of sleep, regardless of what happened.

As his eyes came into focus, so did the yellow sticky note taped to the upper bunk of his bed, directly in his eye-line. Peter didn’t even bother reaching for it, reading it exactly where it had been placed.

"Sleep. You earned a day of laziness.

Pizza money on the counter. Working a double at the shelter tonight.

Please don’t beat yourself up. I know you’re upset.

We’ll talk later.

Promise.

Love love love LOVE you,

May."

Peter scanned the note, and then again, reading it until his groggy mind could comprehend what he was seeing and the words made sense.

Not a second later, and he tore it off from the bunk, crumbling it into a crinkled, messy ball.

Promise. Peter huffed, slowly sitting up on his bed until his back hit the wall with a thud. What good anyone’s promises did these days.

He leaned his head back until it pressed flush against the drywall, gently, careful not to aggravate his already pre-imploding skull. One wrong move and he was afraid the bomb rattling near his brain would explode. Both hands pushed back his hair, greasy at the roots and in major need of a shower.

None of this would have happened if May had just kept her promise. Peter set his jaw; this was exactly why he didn’t want Mr. Stark to know about the fight with Flash, about every single detail in his life. It always caused trouble, it always blew up into something way bigger than it needed to be.

And now...

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 16: Web of Lies and Deceit

“Talk to me. Please.” May begged, her voice cracking at the edges. “It’s just you and me here, no one else. It stays between us, it...it…”

The words froze Peter for a moment — brain, mouth, all the way down to his fidgeting fingers that locked up, bent at crude angles. His eyes crept over to May, lips still moving, still speaking.

“I need to know, Peter,” she finished with a shaking breath. “I mean it. Just you and me.”

Peter blinked. He stared at May, straight on, his gaze turning cold and steely. A razor-deep spike tore straight into him, without warning, with no caution.

If it was anger he felt, it was incapacitating; crushing any deliberate and clear thought he once had. All consuming, beyond the control of his unsteady, decrepit attempts at suppression.

“If I tell you anything, you’re just going to tell Mr. Stark.” His words sounded painful, and jarring – as he if were forcing them out of a throat that just refused to corporate.

May seemed taken aback. “Peter, I’m not —”

“You’ve been doing it all year!”

The shout tumbled out of his mouth, hitting the walls at full force — and May, who’s eyes had grown wider than the glasses on her face.

“Every time — every time we talk, you go and tell Mr. Stark. Every time!” Peter’s tongue dripped with disdain, his spine taunt with indignance. “I can’t tell him anything myself because you’ve already told him! I get bad grades, he knows. I get in a fight, he knows! I swear if I stay up too late he knows that too! Ever since that stuff happened months ago, it’s like you two don’t trust me to do anything anymore! You two are constantly looking over my shoulder like at any moment I’ll be snatched up, like — like I won’t be able to do anything about it and I can — I can protect myself, I can!”

Peter swallowed thickly, his throat raw, chafed. Feeling as if he had ripped apart his vocal cords with a yell that was foreign to his own ears. The outburst hit like an erupting volcano, destructive, devastating everything in its path.

His heart hammered against his ribs, his chest heaving desperately. Urgently sucking in a breath he’d wasted in a moment that made him dizzy, abruptly too light on his feet.

May stared at him, stunned and stuttering.

“I — I know that sweetie…” she tried, suddenly quiet, timid. “I — we never meant to make you feel like you were —”

“See? It’s we,” Peter croaked, stomping forward, barely noticing May instinctively take a few steps back. “You have to include him in everything, even when he’s not here!”

She shook her head, the crease between her forehead deepening. “Peter, what is your problem with Tony all of a sudden?”

“Nothing!” The crack in his voice did little to help his case. “My problem is you constantly involving him with everything in my life! I don’t need him to know everything, I don’t need him for everything — I did just fine before him!”

May opened her mouth to respond, but faltered. Her lips clamped shut a moment later, her eyes wildly looking Peter up and down, the grip on her cardigan growing so tight that her knuckles were turning pale.

“I thought...we thought you wanted that. I thought —”

“Not like this!” Peter’s shout thundered across the living room, and this time, he did notice May backing away from him. Somehow, it only added to his outrage, fuel to the firing pit of anger that simmered hot in his veins.

May shook her head, viciously, her expression growing stern.

“You can’t just pick the good things for people to hear, Peter,” she insisted. “If you want Tony in your life, he has to hear about the bad stuff too. That’s just how it works.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Peter firmly, coldly, insisted. “Not if you don’t tell him! Not if —”

“That’s not how it works —”

“Will you just let me talk!?”

A breath of air stuttered in Peter’s chest, oxygen suddenly too hard to come by. The feeling seemed to be reciprocal; May stilled, frozen in the wake of his outburst.

Peter swore, just for a moment — a fleeting second that passed by too quickly — that his vision went dark and his ears grew deaf. The brutal rage seeping through his very being coursed on like a rampage, dismantling him in ways that should have otherwise frightened him no different than before.

But the anger felt good. It felt better than the fear, better than the panic. He held onto it, unknowingly, clinging to the renewed energy it provided.

The breath caught in his chest escaped through gritted teeth. Peter set his jaw tight.

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice began to sound rough, abused. It almost didn’t sound like him, laced with so much untapped emotion that he was losing track of what there was to be angry about. “If I tell you, you’ll go running back to tell him. And then he’ll be on my case, and so will you, and no one will actually listen to what I have to say so what’s the point!?”

The only response to his yell was the dog barking across the hall.

Weeks of resentment had snowballed too big, built up a boil that had split over the pot and drenched the floor. Peter couldn’t help raising his voice, he didn’t care that his shouting had disturbed the neighbors and their pet.

It felt good to let it out. Like scratching an itch, like water that was too hot against sore skin.

It felt wrongfully good.

“Peter…” May slowly started, cautious to keep distance between them. “If I tell Tony anything, trust me — it’s for your own good. I swear, sweetie, I…” her voice grew quiet, close to impossible to hear. “I swear on...on Ben’s life. It’s only to help you.”

If the sound of his uncle’s name didn’t break him, the look on May’s face did.

Peter flinched, though he failed to realize it in the moment. He blinked, once and then again, realizing his eyes were suddenly burning with the fire he’d felt surging through his veins.

A chill swept over him.

Suddenly, he was tired.

Really, really tired.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Peter found himself muttering, unable to look anywhere but the top corner of the apartment, far away from his aunt and the tears that glossed over her eyes. Right alongside his own.

He didn’t want to fight anymore.

He didn’t want to have to lie anymore.

He just…

Peter rubbed two tightly closed fists against his eyes, pushing against his face until it hurt. He just wanted to forget any of this happened — go to sleep and figure it out tomorrow.

“Please, Peter…” May breathed deeply, frustrated and yet somehow something more. “Talk to me. Say something, anything — please.”

It was impossible to ignore the wetness that coated May’s plea, the raw sorrow that filled an otherwise cold and tense living room.

Peter scrubbed harder at his face, the fabric of his hoodie scraping into his skin.

He needed help, right?

Could May help?

Or wait, no...someone else was helping him. He didn’t need anyone else’s help.

Right?

He was confused. It was too hard to think, he was suddenly too tired to make sense of it all. Peter couldn’t remember what was what, exhaustion making it impossible to do anything but push his legs forward, his body absentmindedly heading right towards his bedroom.

“I’ve got nothing to tell you,” he mumbled, struggling to keep his knees from buckling as he dragged his feet across the hallway. “I’m fine. Really.”

He barely got halfway there before May spun towards him.

“Hey!” she shouted, sniffing hard past the tears, folding her arms tightly over her chest. “I’m not done talking to you, mister!”

Peter spun around, throwing his arms in the air. “Yeah? Well, I’m done, okay?”

There was no more heat to his voice, no more anger in his tone. The fury that lit him ablaze had quickly been smothered, extinguished to nothing but soot and smog.

Peter turned back around, his hand already on the doorknob to his bedroom when May spoke again.

“Peter!”

He went to respond — he wanted to say something, he really did. A crippling yell was on the tip of his tongue, his throat already constricted with a shout that burned in his belly.

But something clenched deep in his stomach, and his head fell til his chin touched his chest, swaying tremendously with vertigo that threatened his balance. Energy had all been but sucked away from every inch of his body.

Peter stayed quiet, stayed in place. Never once tried to search for his voice, never tried to turn and face his aunt. His back stayed facing her, even as her quiet sniffs made it abundantly clear that she was long past holding in her tears.

“The super came by this morning,” May managed to say, clearing her throat with a wet sound before speaking again. “He fixed that leaking pipe. The one that had been bothering you so much.”

Peter’s grip on the doorknob tightened as his eyes closed, and for a moment that felt like five lifetimes, he didn’t move.

Without warning, a wave of everything came crashing down on him. The guilt was paralyzing, and he let himself feel it — feel everything he was doing wrong, had done wrong — all of it.

It wasn’t right. No matter how right it felt, it wasn’t right.

That needed to change. With or without help.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 22: Welcome to Wakanda

Tony sighed, moving his hand off Peter’s knee and resting it on his own.

“While we’re on this little honesty escapade...I didn’t just pull the security footage from your school after the attack on your principal. I had access to it from the get-go.” Tony let his chest expand before he returned his attention to Peter. “Last year, after your whole...Vulture incident, I tied FRIDAY into the cameras on your campus. Last headache either of us need is anything Spider-Man related being tied back to some high-school in Midtown. This way, I’d have first-dibs on the footage, and I’d be able to safely tuck it away before your guidance counselor could lecture you on your questionable after-school activities.”

Peter frowned. Not mad, surprisingly, especially considering how angry he’d been at Mr. Stark’s apparent ‘spying’ as of late. It was more taken aback than anything else.

“Oh. O-okay,” he articulately managed. His fingers began to fidget with the seams of his sweatshirt. It didn’t feel like spying. It felt more like the Baby Monitor Protocol, than anything else. Annoying, but somehow helpful. “That’s...yeah, that’s – that’s fine. That’s...thanks. Thanks, that helps me. I think.”

Tony scoffed.

“Oh trust me, it does. For the love of God, you need to stop jumping out five-story-windows at your school. You’re bound to give some middle-aged calculus teacher a heart attack. And learn to tuck the suit inside the backpack if you insist on carrying it around with you.” Tony dryly said, before his voice softened. So much so that he almost sounded sad. “But the camera access is also how I found out about your fight with the Flash kid.”

Just like that, Peter’ face fell flat.

His heart didn’t stop — it couldn’t have, not according to the monitors stuck to his chest.

“...what?”

 But it sure as hell felt like it did. 

His back stood up straighter than a stiff board.

That meant —

“It wasn’t May,” Tony admitted. “She didn’t break her promise to you. She didn’t tell me anything. Actually, she called me that night and chewed me a new asshole for invading your privacy. Which I yielded to. I’ve said it once before, I’ll take a hit to my pride and say it again. I overstepped my boundaries. You don’t need me watching over your back —”

“May didn’t tell you?” 

Peter’s ears were ringing. He wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised to find out someone had set off a grenade in the Quinjet. Especially one that exploded right into his face. 

Because he didn’t catch a single word Tony said after the initial confession. 

He didn’t hear anything past ‘it wasn’t May.’

Tony gave a curt nod, but all Peter saw were his lips moving. 

“She didn’t say a word.” 

Peter visibly gulped.

It wasn’t May.

All he could hear was ringing.

“I know I’ve been overbearing. Rhodey’s always telling me I go one extreme or the other.” Tony kept talking. Peter didn’t register any of it. “Hell, here I am telling you to stick to the gray area but I can’t do it myself. Walking hypocrisy, thou be my name. I’m just trying to do right by you. I worry about you, kid, and —”

“Where’s my phone?”

The abrupt question — demand? Tony furrowed his brows. It came so suddenly, without warning, that he almost gave himself whiplash looking towards Peter.

“What?” Tony cocked his head to the side. “Come again?”

Any color that had managed to liven Peter’s skin quickly drained away, his complexion growing as pale as the white clouds outside the jet. It was unsettling how fast his cheeks grew ashen. A corpses gray. 

Tony noticed. 

He immediately didn’t like what he saw.

“Where’s my phone?” Peter asked again. He hastily — frantically — struggled to sit up on the cot, failing more times than not. “I need to call May.  Right now. I need to — Mr. Stark, I need my phone. Now.”

Peter swung his legs over the edge of the bed with force, planting them on the ground with a thud that startled Bruce. He briefly glanced at Tony, the look not returned. 

No, Tony was far too busy eyeing Peter up and down. Wondering where the hell this burst of energy was when they needed it back at the compound. It would’ve been far more useful on their escape route to the hanger bay, that was for certain. 

“Pete, it’s…” Tony’s frown deepened and he sighed, offering Peter the most apologetic look he could scrounger up. “I can’t do that, bud.”

“Why not?” Peter went to stand up. He didn’t get very far.

Tony quirked an eyebrow.

“Because I’m pretty sure May would rather you wait than deal with the roaming charges that come with a phone call across the Atlantic ocean.” He inched over on the cot, nearing closer to where Peter sat. One hand outward as if to catch the kid from falling flat on his face. “Listen, you don’t need to worry about this right now. I spoke with her not long ago. She’s —”

“I need to speak with her.” Peter turned to Tony and glared, beads of sweat beginning to glisten across his skin. The temperature in the jet hadn’t changed. Tony would’ve been the first to know. “Do you, or do you not have my phone?”

Both hands gripping the nearest monitor, Bruce stared at Tony, his thumb mid-push on a button that remained untouched. 

Tony barely gave him a courtesy glance. 

They were both thinking the same thing. Neither were in a hurry to acknowledge it.

“Yes, but —”

“I need it.” Peter wasn’t asking, and the look on his face wasn’t the cranky, pouty type of look Tony normally saw when he wanted something. It was a scowl. A heated, fervent glare. “Please. I need to talk to her. Where are you keeping it? Where are you hiding it? Where —?” 

“Whoa, whoa, okay, take a breath there, kiddo.” Tony went to lay a hand on Peter’s knee. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Peter threw that hand back. “Hey! It’s okay. I’m not hiding your phone. It’s somewhere safe, you have my word. You also have my word that I already talked to May. She’s in the loop. She’s not upset, she’s —”

“You don’t know that!” Peter’s shout quaked his body, and damn near the foundation of the jet. “You don’t know her like I do! You don’t — you don’t understand, Mr. Stark. You don’t know what happened, you don’t — you have to give me my phone. You have to let me call her.”

Bruce was definitely staring at them now, and Tony had no doubt the others upfront were as well. Surely questioning what the hell was going on.

They weren’t alone.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 33: Comes Great Responsibility

Peter ran the back of his hand across his face, smearing away her wet mark with his knuckles as his smile slowly, but steadily, began to drop a bit.

“I, uhm…” he cleared his throat, timidly, looking into the kitchen if only to avoid looking at his aunt. “I also met with Principal Morita. After school.”

May raised both her eyebrows.

“Oh?” The dishtowel began to slip down her shoulder and she reached for it, putting it back in place.

Peter delayed on any immediate response; the pot on the stove made gurgling noises that filled the place of any words he would’ve said. The sauce inside splashed in little bits, and he watched as it splattered the lid that covered the top, keeping the contents inside where it all belonged.

“He’s doing a lot better,” Peter finally settled on saying, a nod following suit. And he kept nodding, the bounce of his head speaking more to his nerves than anything else.

He never tore his eyes away from the stove, not even as he spoke.

May smiled at him, all the same time.

“That’s so great,” she said — genuinely, relief coating her tone. She leaned forward on the sofa, pressing her balled fist into Peter’s knee to get his attention. “How’d it feel? Talking to him?”

Even with May tapping him back to reality, Peter took a second before looking away from the kitchen. The burners still blazed with a reddish-orange color, and the pot still splashed sauce inside where it simmered to a boil, but it didn’t require anyone’s immediate attention. May was ‘babysitting dinner’ as she’d always call it. Keeping an eye on it while it cooked for itself.

Peter looked to his lap before looking back up at May.

“I...I still feel bad. About what happened,” he admitted. The nodding stopped, and instead he cleared his throat to get the next words out. “But, you know...staying guilty doesn’t fix things. I’m going to do better. Next time. This time? Present time. Not to say that in the future I won’t — either way. I’m going to do —”

“I know you are, tough guy,” May seamlessly interrupted him, opening her balled fist to lay her hand down on Peter’s knee, squeezing the jean material and the flesh beneath it. “You’re a good kid. Your mistakes don’t change that.”

Peter craned his head around, looking to his hip where the smelly-goat-cloth-covered-item sat on the couch. He went to pick it up, only to simply hold it in his hand.

It weight absolutely nothing to Peter, but lifting it was suddenly an impossible task. So he stared at it instead.

“I know I’ve said it like, sixteen thousand times so far...but...I’m really sorry,” Peter began, so quiet that the neighbors dog almost overtook his voice — shrill barking came from across the hall and easily leaked into their apartment. “For treating you that way. For scaring you.”

The neighbors Maltese was definitely louder than that last part.

Nonetheless, Peter was pretty sure May heard him. The expression on her face confirmed as much when he finally forced himself to look back at her.

He also had to force himself to ease the grip he had on the cloth-wrapped-item. He didn’t care how many backpack straps he ripped in two, there was no way he’d forgive himself if he broke this.

Peter threw his head back around, looking at it one last time.

“I wanted to give this to you when we first got back, but...I got…” Peter trailed off, a frown pulling harshly at his face. He shook it off. “I dunno. I got stuck in my head overthinking it, or something. Mr. Stark’s always telling me not to do that.”

Biting the bullet, Peter grabbed the object and twisted around on the couch, practically shoving it right at May.

“Here.”

He did shove it right at May — she startled back, the item so close that it nearly rammed right into her stomach. Luckily, she reached out for it before any harm could be done; taking the rectangle sized plank from Peter with cautious speed.

“What is this?” she asked, both curious and confused all in one go.

Peter sucked in his lips to the point where they disappeared somewhere inside his mouth.

May took that as ‘find out for yourself.’

The cloth that encased the item was heavier than both the material of her shirt and Peter’s combined. It was tied off with a thin, braided rope; frayed from top to bottom, tied in an unfamiliar bow that May easily pulled apart.

“Oh my gosh,” May breathed out, uncovering the item one fold at a time, until the cloth was completely unwrapped and she was able to lift the item off her lap. “Peter, this is beautiful.”

The little light still remaining from outside shined in through the living room windows, casting off the canvas that May held in the air. She turned it over in her hands to get a complete look, viewing it from front and back.

The portrait caught the sunset and reflected colors that both May and Peter swore they’d never seen before.

“Wakanda?” May turned to face him, her one hand pressing against her chest as the other kept the item in the air. “You got this in Wakanda?”

Peter gave a tight-lipped smile and a brisk nod. At the same time, May ran her fingers across the length of the portrait — the wooden canvas was smooth and sanded, and chiseled in many places that were embedded with twine. It was art that used only natures material for its paint. Hand crafted, with a design that would catch anyone’s eye.

May kept her gaze locked on it, even as Peter spoke.

“Before we left, they let me tour the city — well, I kinda begged to see the city, and Mr. Stark wasn’t cool with it at first but Shuri tagged along and King T’Challa even spent time with us and — anyway, there was this super small jewelry shop in their marketplace, ran by this woman and her daughter — I can’t remember their names but they were so friendly.” The only reason Peter paused was to take in a breath of air. “Everyone there was so nice, May, it was so cool, you would’ve loved it.”

As Peter rambled, May briefly gave him her attention — with her eyebrow arched, and a tug pulling at her lips.

“Anyway,” Peter caught on. So much for promising to slow down when he talked. “I saw this and told them, you know, it was really pretty. And they told me it had this meaning behind it — that-that all the details mean something.”

Nervously, Peter scooted closer to May on the sofa. What little distance between them no longer existed as Peter pointed to the bottom of the portrait — a slack of wood that had been polished and fashioned into something more.

“The, uh — the twine part, here, it represents roots.” Peter’s finger slid from the bottom towards the center. “And the disconnect in the middle, right there, its about — uhm, it’s-it’s about loss. And the way that this separate piece here comes in,” his finger followed the path he spoke of, “and wraps around the broken twine, it, uhm...its about how...another person, uh, comes in and...and takes-takes over the role that was left behind.”

As quickly as Peter scooted close to May, he pulled himself away — just a bounce backward on the cushion, enough space so they could both breathe fresh air, free of the residual goat fur that was permanently embedded in the material of the cloth.

His fingers, suddenly idle without a task to keep him occupied, clasped together as he closed his hands and squeezed tight.

“The mother and daughter who owned the shop, they were…” Peter stuttered over his words, in all the ways he usually did when nervous — just never when he was around May. “Uhm, the-the daughter was adopted. By her aunt. Her mother...her biological mother...passed away when she was a kid.” Peter cleared his throat, more than once. “Actually, her, uh – her aunt wasn’t even her aunt as in like, her mother’s sister. She was, uhm...married into it.” Peter forced a laugh — a very forced, and very nervous laugh. “We had a lot in common, we talked a lot — I can’t believe I don’t remember her name. Like, of all things to have in common —”

“Peter,” May gently interrupted.

With a sheepish smile, Peter looked back down at the portrait in May’s lap, some of the frayed rope having fallen to the ground — he’d remember to pick those up before either of them vacuumed over it and it resulted in another broken vacuum.

“I uhm, I don’t know if I’ve…”

Peter felt his voice give out. He tried clearing his throat, but it did nothing the second time around.

As May continued to study the piece of art, he fell quiet.

The strings of twine, looped in through chiseled sections of real wood from real trees of Wakanda, stood out to Peter — in both literal sense of how the art was forged, and how the story of its origin reflected back in the craft.

He wanted to look at May when he spoke. Yet the heat on his cheeks was too much to look anywhere but at the art, and her hands gripping it.

“I don’t know...if I’ve ever, actually...if I’ve ever actually told you this, May, but…” Peter couldn’t keep his foot from tapping on the floor. His socks beat against the carpet in a frantic, nervous pattern. “Thank you, for...for being that mom...to me.”

A hand laid firmly down on his knee, the same one bouncing hard enough to shake his whole leg off his body. Peter snapped his head over to May, no later than the moment her hand touched down.

“I promise I’m going to do better,” he swore, talking right over anything she had planned to say. May’s mouth closed shut, but her hand stayed on his leg. “I swear, this won’t happen again. I’ll do better — I’ll be better. I promise.”

May reached forward immediately, wrapping one arm firmly around his back and pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Peter…” she let out, so close to his ear that she had to move away and let his head rest in the tuck of her neck. One hand carded into his hair and stayed there. “You are so good. You are so good, here and now — you’re a good kid, Peter.”

Pulling him away, May laid both her hands down against each shoulder of his, her smile as wet as her eyes had quickly become.

“And your Ben would be so proud of you,” she had to whisper, but not by intent. Her words choked and she smiled the sound away.

Peter did her a favor and smiled in return. He didn’t need to argue her solace — he allowed her reassurance to be as contagious as her enthusiasm. Allowing her words of encouragement to spread towards him, even if he didn’t have all it took to believe in them that very moment.

He’d allow himself to believe it, slowly, as time went on. Day by day, sometimes second by second.

He’d get there.

With everyone’s help, Peter had no doubt he’d get there.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 2: R.S.V.P

Happy didn't even get a chance to open the lid of the cardboard pizza box before Peter whipped around on the couch, so fast it was a feat he didn't tip over the back of the sofa along the way.

“Angelo's? Heck no!” Peter couldn't have shot to attention any faster had he actually been shot, his voice easily reaching over the movie and Ned's obnoxiously loud cheese slurping. “Everyone knows the best pizza place in Queens is —”

As quickly as Peter had started to talk, words suddenly failed him.

He blinked twice to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

And then a third time, just to be sure.

“Hey, Hap...” Peter slowly drawled out, his eyebrow so high up his forehead it might as well have reached the apartment above them. “Since when did you need Nascar gear to drive a Rolls Royce?”

If it had just been the leather jacket, Peter may not have questioned it at all. The gloves, however, were a tip-off, and the helmet on the kitchen ledge — well, that was as odd things could get. The longer Peter stared at it and he began to wonder how Happy's head even fit into that helmet — sleek and stylish, full-faced and definitely not something he could picture the Forehead of Security, as Mr. Stark so elegantly nicknamed him, wearing around town.

Happy had already started to take off his thick and heavy-looking leather gloves when he went to answer.

“Happy's going through a mid-life crisis,” May beat him to it — still paying attention only to the screen of her laptop, even when Happy threw her a look normally reserved for the teenagers sitting across the apartment.

“I am not going through a — ”

“Oh my god!” Ned’s exclamation easily tore through any defense Happy may have conjured up. No different than Peter, he flipped over the couch at a speed that did nearly tip him over the back of the sofa. It was only with Peter's help that he regained balance, all the while excitedly asking, “Did you get a motorcycle, Mr. Hogan?”

Peter quickly shot his head towards Ned, and just as quickly back to Happy. The expression on the man’s face said it all, and if that didn't, the look of exasperation on May's certainly did.

“Not just any motorcycle,” Happy went on to answer regardless, the gleam in his eyes making him seem nearly as giddy as both the kids. “A Harley Cruiser, the best low rider on the market right now. Brand spankin’ new, too — custom-designed paint job, one of a kind.”

Ned squealed, easily out-doing Happy’s excitement.

“Dude, seriously?” Peter wasn't far behind them both — his grin grew large enough to see his back molars, and he was already jumping over the back of the sofa to hustle into the kitchen — literally jumping over the back, yet making sure his feet landed gracefully and without so much a thud to upset the downstairs neighbors. “You got a bike? That’s so cool!”

Taking off her glasses with one hand, May looked away from her laptop and craned her head up at Happy.

“Tell them what you originally wanted.”

A beat of silence fell over the kitchen. The movie kept playing in the background, even as Peter stumbled into the kitchen — the bottoms of his worn out but still very pink Hello Kitty pajama pants nearly tripped him up twice.

He looked at Happy, expectedly, the building curiosity in his eyes somehow louder than all the nonstop ramblings he could have for hours on end.

Happy tried making his shrug as casual as possible. “Technically I was looking for a sports bike, something more like a crotch rocket —”

“No, it was a crotch rocket,” May couldn’t help but interrupt, her words saturated with easy laughter as she leaned back into the kitchen nook. Folding both arms across her chest, and lifting her chin up high, she caught Happy’s gaze with a smirk. “And tell them why you couldn’t get one.”

At this point, even Ned had turned away from the TV, though he stayed put on the sofa as he picked for another slice of pizza to consume — reaching into the box blindly, not daring to tear his focus away from the conversation taking place.

Happy looked to Peter and back to May, and then back at Peter, before finally answering,

“It…it hurt my back.”

May scoffed and went right back to her laptop, already typing away before Happy could even consider gathering his defenses.

“Just a little, nothing major,” he eventually managed, turning away from Peter and right towards May — wagging a finger as if it bettered his case. “And you know, I still think I may have slept wrong the night before, I could’ve probably just gotten that Suzuki 650 —”

“So anyway,” May shot her head up and looked right at Peter, “Happy’s going through a mid-life crisis.”

Peter was already halfway across the apartment before she'd even finished talking.

“Is it out there? Right now?” Yanking up the blinds, Peter practically stuffed his face against the window, pressing his nose so hard against the glass it left puff marks with each breath he took. “The bike? Is it here?”

Happy rolled his eyes so dramatically, it was remarkable they didn't get stuck at the back of his skull. “No, I walked here — what do you think, kid?”

Completely unfazed by the sarcasm, Peter whipped around and pushed off the window — already five leaps across the apartment in the time it took to take a single breath.

“Can you show me how to ride it?”

It was hard to say if it was Peter's animated enthusiasm that caught May’s attention, or his rapid reappearance into the living room — both did the trick well, and May shot her head up at a speed that should've given her whiplash.

“What?” She tugged forcefully at her ear. “Say that again?”

Peter threw both his arms out wide.

“I’m a quick learner!” he insisted, realizing that his justification was a bit on the weak side as he went to yank up the waistband of his Hello Kitty pajama pants. Scrambling for a better defense, he practically jogged to the kitchen table to break the distance between them. “And what's the harm? I have my license now and everything!”

May brought down the screen of her laptop with a hearty chuckle. “You need a whole different license for that, bug boy.”

Though Peter's face noticeably dropped, he kept pushing on.

“Okay, but like, really, what's the harm?” Peter looked to Happy, as if hoping the man would join his side — only to find him busy with the different boxes of pizza laid out on the kitchen table. As he decided between pepperoni or supreme for his choice of dinner, Peter turned back to his aunt. “What if I need to know how to ride a bike? What if, one day, I need that information, May?”

May looked completely unpersuaded. “You can YouTube it.”

Peter's face dropped even more, and he pointed a finger at the man decked out in leather. “Happy can teach me now!”

“Tony Stark himself could barely teach you how to drive a car,” May reminded him, her head tilting so far to the side that her earlobe pressed up against her shoulder. “You just barely passed that driving test.”

Peter swung his finger from Happy right over to May. “But I passed.”

May met his smugness with her own. “Seven shopping carts, Peter.”

“Six and a half!” Peter argued, immediately. The small smirk that bled through his bite put a brief pause between them before he eventually clarified, “The small ones don’t count as a full cart.”

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 3: Something Old

“Is he losing things again?”

The voice came at a distance to Peter, but that was mostly because he’d stuck his head behind the file cabinet to see if anything happened to wind up back there.

When he looked back around, Happy was already inside the office, both hands stuffed casually inside his pant pockets.

“Of course he is,” May answered easily, watching with a straight face as Peter began looking through the bookcase pressed up against the wall. When he started pulling out books, going so far to open them up to see if anything were between the pages, she simply rolled her eyes.

“Not very responsible sounding,” Happy’s answer was just as simple, earning a honest chuckle from May — and a clap of her hands that followed suit.

“Alright Peter,” she said, clapping two times in total, “you’ve torn apart my office enough as it is. Happy’s here — go, get out, you don’t have time for this.”

“Give me a minute!” Peter shoved a handful of books back into the bookcase, standing on his tippy-toes to see the shelf that hung above it. “Just a minute — I’ll find it, I just need to…”

No sooner than Peter trailed off did he twist around, grabbing the cup of pens and pencils from May’s desk and dumping the contents out completely. When that gave him nothing, he went looking inside her box of tissues next.

Happy noticeably arched an eyebrow at the scene up ahead. Though he kept his comment to himself, he had to shake his head to look away — more than once, at that — but eventually, he turned to face May, all the while pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

“You know you’ve got a truck driver outside yelling something about limes…?” he drifted off, sounding confused at what he said.

May finally let out the sigh she’d been working so hard to hold back.

“Time,” she corrected him, rubbing forcibly at her temple. “He’s not yelling about limes, he’s yelling about time — he has an accent, and I told the guys they needed to bust their butt unloading that truck!” May marched forward towards her desk only to change her mind last minute, spinning around and already making it halfway out of her office. “I don’t have time for this — I really gotta get going to this parent-teacher conference before I’m late.” May threw her one arm in Peter’s direction while the other reached for her purse sitting on a nearby chair. “Peter! You also don’t have time for this —”

“I know, I know, I’m going!” Peter dropped the tissue box with a large sigh, going to scratch at his scalp with his eyes tightly clenched shut — racking his brain a mile a minute as he mused out loud, “I swear I left them around here somewhere…”

Happy just barely resisted a snort.

“Well, that sounds familiar,” he dryly mumbled instead — not quiet enough that May didn’t hear, but not loud enough that Peter could start a defense on how he was totally responsible with his belongings and definitely didn’t lose his backpack once a week.

Even if Peter had started that defense, it would’ve been negligible — there was no way of making himself appear responsible as he hurriedly made his way to the fake fig tree in the corner of the office, bending low so he could start digging through pebbles and rocks that filled the pot.

May shook her head as she swung her purse over her shoulder, giving Peter that look all the way out of the office — stopping short of the entryway where Happy stood.

“I gotta go,” she told Happy, suddenly grinning ear-to-ear with a positivity as fake as the plant that Peter was now tearing apart. “Hey, maybe I can find some reliable help on my way to the school since Dylan never wants to show up for his shifts on time.”

Happy met May’s false enthusiasm with his own genuine seriousness. “You should really fire that guy, you know.”

May looked like she wanted to say something witty, only to stop a second short of a snappy retort.

“Later,” she decided to say in lieu of anything else, laying a relaxed hand against Happy’s arm. “Right now I gotta make sure the school isn’t going to nail me for truancy with how many absences this kid’s ranked up this year.” May patted that same arm before lifting herself slightly high on her tippy-toes to reach him. “Be safe. Don’t have too much fun.”

The peck on the lips they both shared happened to come at the exact same time Peter stopped digging through the pebbles and rocks — and the expression that followed as he turned to look at them contorted his face into something he wasn’t sure his muscles were capable of.

“That’s…never not gunna be weird,” he flatly mumbled — a handful of pebbles still clutched in his fist, and the fake tree offering no success to his search.

Though she wasn’t looking at him, Peter could see May roll her eyes.

“Lock the door on your way out, Peter,” May said as she took her exit — Happy elected to turn away entirely, finding the situation as weird as Peter had. He cleared his throat multiple times as she left the office, with her holler heard down the hallway. “And I meant what I said about grounding you! Until graduation, mister!”

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Michael in the Mainstream - Spider-Man: No Way Home

I’ve basically grown up with Spider-Man. I watched the original Raimi films with my dad, I saw both of the Webb films and did not particularly care for them, and I’ve seen Spidey’s appearances in the MCU. No matter the ups and downs, though, there is one thing that has always stayed true: Spider-Man is my favorite hero, and all of the actors have always done a fine job at breathing life into him. Tobey Maguire had that awkward dorkiness to his Peter that made him endearing, and Andrew Garfield had that playful “never shuts up” energy while in the suit. Holland is a bit of a mix of both and does a solid job himself. The point is, I love Spider-Man, and even at his Amazing Spider-Man 2-est I can still find something to love.

No Way Home is a film all about that love. This film embraces every bit of the Spider-Man lore so far, every single movie across three separate takes on the character, and brings it all together into the ultimate, amazing, spectacular experience that is one of the most ambitious crossover events of all time. This is a film that honors Spider-Man’s legacy, paints him an interesting future, and manages to fix so many of the problems with every other iteration of Spider-Man in film that it’s mind-boggling. Be warned, there’s mild spoilers in this review because it is impossible to talk about this film without them... but it is stuff I’m sure you can easily guess anyway. Still, fair warning!

This is definitely Tom Holland’s best performance yet. He gets to be awkward, charming, a hero bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders, a young man haunted by terrible traumas that he has to shoulder as he grapples with doing the right thing… In this film, more than any of his other outings, he feels like Spider-Man for the first time. And with the way this movie ends, that may be the point. These first three MCU films come off as a prolonged origin story for the Peter we all know and love, and in this movie Holland shows us that he can be that Peter and not just a Tony Stark fanboy.

The supporting cast is also fantastic here, though there are a few weak spots. Obviously Ned is not one of them, as he continues to be as great as he’s always been, and MJ continues being a great character as she was in Far From Home. Doctor Strange also isn’t the issue, and he easily could have been if he was allowed to be a mentor to Peter; however, the film uses him sparingly, mostly to set up the plot, provide some conflict in the middle, and then help resolve it, leaving the mentoring to go to a couple other characters who work much better as guides for Peter’s development. Surprisingly Aunt May is not either; she’s sort of been relegated to minor roles in all her appearances where her sex appeal is played up and Marisa Tomei doesn’t really get to show off her skills. Here, she gets a bit of an expanded role and basically sets Peter on the right path for the plot a few times, acting as a bit of an emotional core and guide until a shocking moment at the midpoint. It’s pretty impressive even if she still isn’t the strongest character. There’s also a really nice cameo from a certain blind lawyer who manages to completely clear Peter of criminal charges in regards to Mysterio’s death, which manages to be a highlight of the film despite being incredibly brief.

The weak spots here really are Happy and, shockingly, J. Jonah Jameson. Happy is just absolutely sidelined throughout the film and is hugely ineffective; by the end his life is effectively ruined and he didn’t really get to help at all, which really sucks. Good ol’ JJJ is played with gusto by J.K. Simmons as always, the man’s definitely still got it, but he’s a bit of a flat antagonistic character who seemingly just exists to kick Spidey while he’s down, with none of the emotional depth the Raimi iteration of the character had. I don’t think it’s bad per se, but I hope they expand on him in the future.

Now onto the villains! Spider-Man movies in the past have always struggled with juggling multiple villains, so there was obviously a fear that would happen here when there are five villains showing up. Thankfully, the movie knows which villain is the main threat and gives each one something. It sort of helps that the villains, while an antagonizing force in the story, are sort of side effects of the main problem of the plot (which is the bungled spell), and they come across more as a cherry on top. At any rate, each of them gets some great moments to shine: Doc Ock gets the bridge scene that was shown in the trailers, Electro gets a fight when he first appears which has Sandman helping stop him, and Lizard… Well, Lizard honestly gets the short end of the stick, but he does get some cool moments in the final battle. There is a problem where some of these guys feel a little underutilized, particularly Lizard and Sandman. This mostly comes from restrictions due to COVID, with Rhys Ifans and Thomas Haden Church only able to reprise via voice acting and so not getting the same physical presence as the others, but Sandman still manages to feel pretty in line with his persona at the end of Spider-Man 3 while Lizard gets to be mildly funny by going from his more tragic and complex nature in his film to a cartoonish lizard man with a posh British accent who seems overly enthusiastic about turning everyone into lizards. This is the closest we’ll probably ever get to seeing the Marvel villain Sauron adapted, so I’ll take it.

Electro and Doc Ock manage to get a bit more spotlight, and it’s great seeing Ock go through a turn and become an ally, because Alfred Molina is such a charming man and Otto in Spider-Man 2 was a good guy at heart anyway. It’s very deserved and satisfying here. Electro, meanwhile, gets to be an actual fun character here, with all the dopiness of his debut gone and replaced with some snarky cynicism courtesy of Jamie Foxx. They actaully make fun of the electric eel thing multiple times, and when the big final battle rolls around Electro gets to be the massive threat and the fun antagonist he deserved to be. It’s really great seeing  Foxx in a truly great Spider-Man movie for once. Hell, it’s great to see everyone! Alfred Molina, Church, Ifans, all of them put in good work here. But there is one villain I’ve neglected to mention, mostly because he’s the most important of all, and the true big bad of the film: The Green Goblin.

Gobby is, as in the comics and the Raimi film, Spider-Man’s most evil and deadly foe, and no man could possibly put in a better turn as Osborn than Willem Dafoe. Dafoe manages to pull off the terrified old man grappling with an evil split personality that is Norman and the terrifying, cackling madman that is the Goblin just as well as he did back in Raimi’s first Spider-Man movie all those years ago, and honestly? He may actually be better. You see, it seems that they listened to Weird Al’s “Ode to a Superhero” and agreed with the line about how dumb the Goblin mask is and how “He’s scarier without it on,” because Dafoe gets to put his absolutely insane facial acting to work here when he shifts into Goblin mode. And yes, Dafoe is utterly terrifying without the mask, no doubt about it. He was always great, but now he truly gets to shine like never before, and cements himself as perhaps the greatest villain in the MCU with his actions here.

And now, time to talk about the worst-kept secret in Marvel history: Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield reprising their roles as their respective takes on Peter Parker. It’s actually amazing, but their appearances don’t overtake the film and outshine Holland, but they actually manage to complement him very well, acting as mentors and surrogate brothers to help teach him what it truly means to be a Spider-Man. Equally amazing is how they get a substantial amount of screentime, appearing as major players in the third act and sticking around until almost the very end. I don’t think I need to say that Tobey’s still got it; he’s just as endearingly awkward as ever before, as if he just stepped out of the Raimi films and into this one, and they actually managed to up his snark a bit. What I would like to highlight is how Andrew Garfield finally gets to prove he might be the very best Peter ever with how adorably dorky and self-loathing he is. This man really shows he has the true essence of Peter down pat, and I can’t believe it, but I actually want to see an Amazing Spider-Man 3 with him in it. He deserves it, like I always knew he did. Man just needed the right script and the right plot to shine, and boy does he ever get to here.

The plot does hinge on some stupidity on the part of Peter and Strange, but honestly there’s nothing too egregiously awful. It moves at a pretty solid pace, maybe a bit fast in the beginning but it soon finds its groove and keeps moving along steadily right until the end. The action manages to be really varied and creative, with all sorts of fun Spidey antics, and the characters never act overwhelmingly stupid or out-of-character. Yes, it all does end up feeling like a massive fix fix that addresses the problems of every single film Spider-Man and works to rectify them, but if you’re a fan of these films and these characters, who cares? Are you going to complain Holland’s finally free of his Stark connections and gets to really be Spider-Man? Are you upset Garfield gets to redeem himself? Are you mad that Tobey gets to be snarky and worked things out with MJ?

This movie is honestly just a dream come true. I always joked that I wanted the MCU to adapt One More Day, because if they could adapt Civil War and make it suck less surely they could do the same with Spider-Man’s worst story ever. And this movie really is essentially that, but more than that this is what One More Day could have and should have been: A massive change to Spidey’s status quo that brings him back to basics in a good way. MCU!Peter is in a spot where he can truly grow and embrace the Spider-Man mantle, and it has me very excited for the future. This is probably my favorite Spider-Man movie ever, and if you’ve grown up with Spider-Man like I have it might end up being yours too. This is definitely one of the few Marvel movies to break away from superhero fatigue as of late, so if you just want a really great superhero movie this is it. I’m not holding my breath that we’ll ever get a superhero spectacle on this level again, but at least I feel a bit safe in saying that Spidey’s looking forward to some great adventures going forward.

Fingers crossed they try and do the Clone Saga next!

[dangermousie]

CFC 169

1. Auntie Li is terrified by how terrible XQC looks - unfocused eyes that look as if he were crying, misbuttoned clothes etc. And yes, some of it is because of the progression of his illness (the lack of focus in the eyes) but a lot of it is not, it’s because he’s too distraught and he feels too much - think of him post the club, which was horrific in every way and, objectively, should have been much worse for XQC emotionally than the recent chapters - revenge rape for the express purpose of breaking him versus someone finding out about him and HY and also having to break HY’s heart. XQC pulled himself together in such a way that even tho he ended up in the hospital, nobody thought he was totally wrecked; he didn’t cry (and in fact thought he is denied such relief) and just kept moving. And I think it’s because he was still solid frozen at the time, so self-dehumanized that he could keep going with minimum fuss (except for when his body physically shut down on him hence hospital or his subconscious let out his trauma in nightmares) but now he cannot - he cannot but cry, he cannot but be so distraught he didn’t neaten himself - because he thawed, he was thawed by He Yu and it’s good and it’s healing to feel and to allow yourself to feel but also that means that one of the things you can feel is horrific pain. No wonder he’s trying to refreeze and pushing HY away and all that - allowing himself to live may be more painful in the short run (and he doesn’t allow himself to think he may have a long run.) Not sure if I am making sense, I am sleep deprived and emotionally compromised but - short version is I find it so fascinating that XQC is more wrecked by breaking up with HY than the club.

2. Aunt Li hugging XQC as he says “I want to go home” - my heart! And he really means the past, doesn’t he? The past before his parents’ death and he never can.

3. Great, now Aunt Li thinks XQC got mistreated by some dude and candidate n1 is He Yu. DREAAAD. But also Meatbun is a genius because HY did rape XQC back 100 chapters ago and he deserved punishment and revenge and opprobrium which he never got for it and Meatbun never gave it to him only to start doling it out now, after he has changed and grown and repented and after XQC himself loves him and when in the current instance HY is the wronged party and Auntie Li’s guess is both so right and so wrong at the same time (and not just because she thinks HY dumped and used XQC as opposed to...) And so he will get punished when he doesn’t deserve it because he did not get punished when he did, and this will, of course, cause maximum pain. In a way, it reminds me of Mo Ran 1.0 and 2.0 receiving karmic punishment for what Taxian Jun inflicted on Chu Wanning - everything gets repaid - the blood cross, the public humiliation, the core removal, hell even noncon (because it’s clear in the censer scene that Mo Ran does not want it, he wants to stop, but his body is not his own and he can’t), and a lot of it gets repaid with interest but it is both utterly right and utterly wrong because it is done by people not wronged by Mo Ran and/or who this iteration of Mo Ran has not wronged (they are all in splinter universe) and to a person who is so thoroughly good. (Meatbun is so good at this kind of bitter irony, kind of like supreme ruler Taxian Jun who enslaved Chu Wanning and the world as well actually being more of a slave and puppet than the least of his servants, not even being allowed the freedom of knowing he’s enslaved or of his memories or hell, even deprived of the ability to die.)

4. HY spending the night sitting on the curb by XQC’s house, looking like a kicked puppy and Auntie Lee sees and smashes vegetables on his head. You know what occurs to me? XQC has a lot of people who love him and want to protect him but HY has nobody. Nobody is ever gonna throw vegetables at XQC for wronging HY, nobody is gonna give a damn.

5. Auntie Li is saying she’s gonna drag him to the cops if he persists and HY knows she misunderstood but does not defend himself because he did do what she accuses him of, only months ago, and yesterday he stopped but what if he didn’t blah blah he has no self esteem and is so depressed and just - I don’t want him to be hurt, I take all my earlier curses of him from 100 chapters ago back. PLS! I didn’t mean it!

This chapter was as cheerful as a root canal.

[swashbucklery]

Any advice or tips you'd give to first time fic writers?

Omg anon I have been waiting forEVER for someone to want my advice on writing fanfiction, absolutely. So please enjoy so much more than you asked for: Grouchy Aunt J’s Guide To Writing Fanfiction.

1. Write the thing you want to write. Not the thing your friend thinks is a good idea, not the thing optimized for fandom size and ~reach, just - you know that idea the one you think about in the shower? The one that you just think is real neat and makes you happy? That’s the one you start with.

1a. There is a good chance that nobody will read it, but that’s not the point? The point is that it makes you happy.

1b. Write it the way you like, and edit it when you feel like it’s done, and post it when you’re ready to post.

1c. It’s ok if it’s horny. Not everyone has to write fic for noble reasons.

2. Your first fic will not be your magnum opus and that’s okay. Writing fic is about growth and it’s iterative.

2a. Do not save that first fic and edit it to within an inch of it’s life because YOU’RE different, YOUR first fic is going to be the new Canterbury Tales of fanfiction.

2b. Seriously, just come to terms with it, your first fic might be bad and that’s actually fine. Post it anyway.

2b-1. Every single writer whose work you really love posted a first fanfiction, and in hindsight, it was bad. We all have to start somewhere.

2c. Its ok if your first fic is short. You might have an idea that would be GREAT as a 100,000 word epic novel and if you can write that as your first thing, good for you! If you’re finding that overwhelming, write a slice of it. Pick one scene that really grabs you, that you’re super excited to write. Does that scene stand alone? Are you sick of writing? PERFECT IT’S A FANFICTION, YOU’RE DONE.

2d. Seriously. A lot of the things I write now are 5K+, but when I first started out back in The Livejournal Times most of my works were 1-2K, and it was a Big Stretch if I broke 5K. I have been writing fanfiction regularly since 2008 so just like - chill. Let yourself have room to grow.

(so much more than you asked for, under the cut)

3. Don’t worry about comments or kudos or ratios or any of that shit. Just - don’t. Don’t do math, don’t research how to fucking SEO your fic, just - don’t. You’ll give yourself anxiety and it’ll stifle your energy. Fandom is fickle and fic popularity is weird and there are stories on AO3 that have a million kudos that absolutely deserve it, and stories that have a million kudos that may surprise you, because they’re not what you personally would give a million kudos to. Kudos are not an objective measure of quality and if you internalize it that they do, you’ll never get it out of your head. Let it go.

4. Start working on your next fic. Now that you know you can get your words out on paper and finish a story, focus on finessing a little bit. Notice the ways that your favourite writers phrase things, or words that you like to describe ~sexy anatomy. Notice this in fic and notice this in books, notice it everywhere.

4a. Put like, 10% of what you notice into this fic. You are developing your voice and your style, and that takes writing lots of stories to get it really comfortable. You may find that your voice stays the same through fandoms, or that you have to redevelop it every time you start writing for something new. Both are fine; the point here is to learn the process that works for you.

4b. Do you have ideas for like, twelve stories at once? Incredible! Make a little document where you keep outlines and ideas. In the olden times people called these “plot bunnies.” No, I don’t know why, either.

5. Make a writing friend. This can be a friend that you swap writing samples with, or share wips with. This might be a friend that you get to actually beta-read your work before you post it to check for errors and give feedback. This can also be a friend who you just scream AU ideas at, sometimes you need to text someone about unlacing bodices at 4pm on a Wednesday because it’s ~for your art.

5a. How do you make a writing friend? Find someone whose work you like, who you get along with on other levels - maybe you’re the same age, or share a few fandoms in common. Message them POLITELY and say that you like their work! Or write a long comment talking about things you like about their latest fic! Start a conversation with as many fic writers as you can, ask for consent before you share work or ask for beta-reading help, but develop a community.

5b. Support your writing friend. You are artists and the goal of this is mutual solidarity. Cheerlead each other. Encourage each other to figure out strategies for finding writing time. Read each other’s fics the second they get posted and leave long, elaborate comments. Even if you’re stalled on your own fic, supporting your friend’s fic makes them happy, and they’ll be there to celebrate with you when you finish your own work even if the rest of fandom doesn’t appreciate it.

5c. Resist the urge to get sucked into the world of putting pressure on yourself to write a certain way, or comparing yourself to/competing with your writing friend. Be wary of writing communities where this is the culture. A good fic that you’ve finished is better than the perfect fic that you never write.

6. Resist the urge to put yourself down. I know you’re new and there are other writers that feel established and it’s so tempting to put a disclaimer like ohhh i suck at this be gentle: don’t.

6a. Remember, you’re writing for yourself. If you’re your own target audience, why are you telling yourself (and the rest of your audience) that you suck before they’ve even read your work?

6b. Seriously, you’re sitting there and you’re like no Grouchy Aunt J I’m special, I know I suck so it’s OK to say that. Just - stop it. You’re a good writer but ultimately no amount of me saying that is going to make you believe it if you don’t believe it. Find something you like in your work and be proud of it, even if you know you’re still growing and improving.

7. Did you write another fic yet? Great! I’m so proud of you! Now, write another. Try to make this one better than the last one you wrote, but if it’s not or if you’re happy just playing around with the characters and not pushing yourself to improve, that’s fine! Write the fic that feeds your soul.

8. It’s okay if you don’t write every day. It’s okay if you write every day but you only write a hundred words. Everyone has a different approach to fic that works for their brain and their lifestyle, and none of them are more or less right. The important thing is to find the one that works best for you, and then do it. Is that writing at 2am in your underpants? Great. Is it writing at 6am before work? Also great. Do you write best in a big chunk of time on weekends, or a little bit every day? Both are perfect!

9. Make writing fun. This ties into 8 and also 5c, re: finishing fic. The best way to make writing fun is to write something that you’re truly excited about. If you love love LOVE a ship, even if it’s an obscure rarepair that only 10 people read, you’re going to have an easier time finishing that fic than one about a big ship that will get lots of views but isn’t as close to your heart.

9b. There are going to be parts of stories that are hard to write and this is not the same thing as the above. Some people struggle with dialogue, or sex scenes, or fight scenes, or whatever. Not every minute of your writing has to be nonstop laughs. But if you find that writing is making you anxious or you’re avoiding it, try a different tactic. Maybe you can cut out that sex scene that you’re having trouble finishing. Maybe reworking your current story to add in a different ship or change the AU setting is more interesting to you right now. There is no rule that you have to finish every fic that you start. Sometimes scrapping things or reworking them so that you can keep going is the right thing.

10. There are no fanfiction police. Do whatever you want. Have fun. Ignore drama. Fanfiction is beautiful made up nonsense art and the point of it is to tell stories that make your heart sing. Do the thing and enjoy it.

[themosleyreview]

The Mosley Review: Spider-Man: No Way Home

First and foremost, I DO NOT SPOIL anything in my reviews! If I do, it is the most mild of spoilers. They're so mild, even the flaks of pepper in the sauce have no kick. That being said, I will only talk about things that have been confirmed in the trailers. If that is still a spoiler for you, then you have been warned. I have really enjoyed almost all the live Spider-Man films that have come along ever since 2001. There are a few that have not been a success, but for the most part they have been great. With this iteration of the titular character, we have gotten a rare opportunity to grow with him in a new and unpredictable way that has been absolutely spectacular. From his introduction in Captain America: Civil War to now has been an excellent exercise in starting small and making the character development come first and the action second. This film features the most action I've ever seen in this characters' live action history and it all felt natural and wasn't too busy. Aside from all of that, the story itself moves at a very brisk pace and I liked that. Its truly the end of the second act and the beginning of the third act where the story truly takes center stage and reveals the heart of the film. I really can't say too much, but I will say that out of the 3 MCU films, this one is was the best.

Tom Holland truly delivers a great performance as Spider-Man, but he did his best work as Peter Parker in this film. He is given a chance for Peter to grow up and he does in the best way and I loved every second of it. He learns many great life lessons and the one that is the most important in a powerful scene. The balance of being Peter and Spider-Man is a tight rope that many have walked and they have fallen on either one of the two sides, but Tom has become the first to perfectly flesh out both aspects of the character into a complete and quintessential version of the character. Zendaya returns as his girlfriend MJ and she gets some great moments to shine amongst the chaos. Jacob Batalon also returns as Ned and he was hilarious in a number of moments. Together they all continue to have that great chemistry that introduced in Homecoming and it is the best in this film. Benedict Cumberbatch was excellent yet again as Dr. Stephen Strange and I liked the fact that he was fascinated and also annoyed most of the film once Peter's plan fell apart in the spell casting. He's on clean up duty and their battle was visually stunning and exciting. J.K. Simmons continues to be the perfect adaption of J. Jonah Jameson that ever existed. Jon Favreau returns as Happy Hogan and he was just as jolly as you'd expect him to be, even though he's only in a handful of scenes. Maris Tomei dazzles once again as Aunt May and I loved that she got the most to do in this film. She delivers on her comedic timing in a particular scene and powerful scene that features all the life lessons for Peter in another.

Alfred Molina returns as the Dr. Otto Octavius from Sam Raimi's Spider-Man 2 and he was absolutely fantastic. He didn't skip a beat in delivering the characters downright hatred for Spider-Man and I loved that they kept him consistent with the voices he hears from his mechanical arms. Thomas Haden Church also returns as Flint Marko/ Sandman from Raimi's third film and he was fun to see. Jamie Foxx returns as Max Dillion / Electro from Marc Webb's Amazing Spider-Man 2 and I liked him, but he was very one note. Even though the characters intentions are made clear early on, you don't believe him for a second. Willem Dafoe reprises his iconic role as Norman Osborn / Green Goblin and he stole the film. He was more charismatic, brutal, creepy and unpredictable. He was the ticking time bomb that you never knew when it was about to go off and when he does, he shows why he will always be Spider-Man's number 1 arch nemesis.

The score by franchise composer Michael Giacchino was out of this world. He perfectly mixes the styles of Spider-Man and Doctor Strange in their chase sequence so well and how even musically they're battling for dominance. Giacchino brings back pieces of score from the Raimi and Webb films in a elegant way and it was awesome to hear. There are even gothic horror elements that he accents the Goblin scenes with and it made those scenes even more tense. There are also others that make an epic return and a cameo that re-legitimizes a section of Marvel that in my eyes never stopped being apart of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. I know in my review of Far From Home I stated that it was the best Spider-Man film, well I’m correcting myself now. This is by far the best live action Spider-Man film and the most complete ending to a trilogy this comic book hero deserved. It has the heart, darkness, character growth and visually layered storytelling I've ever seen in a Spider-Man film. Don't let this film be spoiled by others. This is a MUST SEE and a love letter to all the Spidey fans out there. Do stick around for both end credit scenes because they're both spectacular. Let me know what you thought of the film or my review in the comments below. Thanks for reading!

[leahquark]

How to escape from a time loop

How to escape from a time loop

Prevent the causing event

Alright, so you’re stuck in a time loop. But maybe you know what caused it. Hey, if the causing event keeps happening, it’s obvious. Let’s say at the end of every day, you die. Easy peasy, just don’t die one day and you’ll escape the loop. Easier said than done, sure. Especially if the loop is short, or the event is out of your control (yea, 10 minutes really feels unfair to convince your aunt Sally on the other side of the country not to knock over her Egyptian flower vase). But hey, you get unlimited tries at this. Plus, a time loop means your money and resources reset, so feel free to go nuts and waste them. Just, don’t do anything you might regret if the loop suddenly breaks. Of course, after enough repeats, I doubt there’ll be much left in this category. If the loop happens when you go to sleep, then don’t go to sleep. Heck, chase the sun around the world if you have to. Rage against the dying of the light.

2. 

Make amends for the causing event

Okay, so maybe the event that caused the time loop only happened once. And maybe it happened on the day before the loop, or in the first iteration only. Well then, you can still make amends for it, hit the edit undo. Don’t believe me? The statistical probability that YOU would be the first person stuck in a time loop is so ridiculously close to zero. If you’re in a time loop now, that means others were probably in a time loop too, and maybe got in and got out the same way. And they kinda had to get out, in order for time to progress and trap you in your time loop today. So go track down that evil time witch and apologize to her, or find a scientist who can study the alien blood you’re covered in. Tell them to keep notes, then at the end of the time loop memorize them and regurgitate them back at the start of the next loop. Remember, you’re the only one who can retain information / make progress at the end of each loop. Only you can look out for yourself, but maybe medical science has an answer.

3.

Prevent and make amends for everything that could possibly be the causing event

Okay, so maybe you don’t know why you’re trapped in a time loop. Alright, then try this. Go through a list of everything you did the day before the loop, and during the first iteration of the loop. Focus on things you said, places you went, objects you saw, things you thought about. It’s important to do this before the time loops repeat so many times you forget what happened the first time around. One of those things, something as minor as not hanging out with a friend, could have been the causing factor… at least according to movies and TV. In reality, it’s probably as likely the time loop was caused by a passing black hole, or a scientist at the large hadron collider. But hey, if it’s something not related to your personal life and daily activities, then you’re kinda screwed. So just completely change your daily routine, do things you’d never think to do, break that habit that you do on every iteration of the timeline, and hope that the loop was just some catharsis for your morning coffee addiction. Now is the time to fix any regrets you may have, to make amends, to become a better person. 

4.

Binge watch time related tv

Also read some sci fi. Of course, if you’re reading this, you’re probably on track already, and getting into the more obscure sections. That’s good, a lot of those mainstream sci fi movies are more meant to make you feel good than actually discuss the repercussions of time loops. But hey, you never know, maybe you’ll get some inspiration for something. Heck, a lot of escaping from time loops is getting the right inspiration. So yea, take a break, and binge those bad tv shows. You’ve got all the time in the world to do what you love… assuming you love sci fi television as much as I do. Heck, I won’t judge if you just want to use the time loop to binge all day, enjoy yourself! (You are trapped in a serious science anomaly we don’t fully understand after all) Just, make sure you eventually take a television break if the time loop doesn’t show any sign of fixing. 

5.

Find a guide

Alright, so basic fact of logic, there’s only one person on the planet who knows the absolute most about time loops, and chances are it’s not you. At least, it wasn’t you when you got stuck. For all you know, that person walking down the street next to you knows more than you. Heck, maybe they were trapped in a time loop too. So go ahead and ask. What’s the worst that could happen? No seriously, what’s the worst that could happen? You’re trapped in a time loop, any social awkwardness you display will be forgotten by the next loop. Go up and talk to random people, find that person who knows a ton about sci fi. My DMs are always open, and I’m sure you can find some people in a sci fi discord server. Want a real kicker? Spend one loop learning all you can about a person, just talking to them friendly and nice. Then next time loop start the conversation with an announcement that you’re in a time loop, and prove it by reciting those same facts you learned about the person in the last loop. Get to know someone, make some new friends, or just reach out for help (its so hard to escape alone). 

6.

Convince the government

That trick I mentioned, in point 5… that’ll probably work for the government too. Imagine calling up the president of the United States on his personal cell phone, telling him you’re in a time loop, and backing it up with a whole host of personal facts. What they won’t see, is the hundred or so timelines you spend going from convincing the police, to the FBI, to the governor, to your local senators, etc, etc. At every step of the way, wasting one or two timelines to learn all their personal info, then regurgitating it to them in the third timeline as proof you really are looping. It’s exhausting. All to convince some bureaucrats and some scientists to look into it. Let’s hope they really do have aliens in area 51, or this will be a massive waste of time. But hey, time is something you’ve got too much of anyway. The effort may be exhausting, but you can’t give in, you need some professional backup on your team, and no matter how much you repeat yourself, its worth the effort.

7.

Number those timelines

Alright, so at this point, try anything. But you need a way to stop yourself from trying the same thing twice. And you need a way of prompting the people you are with to stop saying the same old ideas. If you wake up on the same day every morning, and ask the people around you to help you escape a time loop, then they’re going to be repeating a lot of their responses. But in my experience, people reply, think, and remember differently based on the prompts they’re given, and maybe those different prompts will jog your brain, and the brains of the people you’re around, into thinking of something new. One way to do it is get a dictionary, or some other book with a wide variety of words, and each day refer to the next word in the book as that day's prompt. Do something completely random, completely insane, but make sure it started with you and your time loop guides reading and thinking about the prompt. So you’re probably going out to go touch an aardvark then. Come back when you’ve ridden a Zambonni and I’ll know things are really desperate. Point is, keeping trying new things, and enjoy them while you’re at it. 

8.

Keep trying

Alright, it’s not really like you’ve got much of a choice here. Going about your day, or repeating the same day twice, or acting and pretending like you’re not really in a time loop, are all ways of experimenting with something new (though, frankly I think these will just lead to frustration). Heck, maybe instead of acting crazy, what you really needed was to act normal. Maybe it’s a sentient creature keeping you trapped in the loop, and it’ll sense when you’ve given up hope and then release you from the loop. Maybe. Really doubt that though. Technically, it’s impossible to give up. But hang in there. Keep yourself, and your joy. You get to live. You get to experience something no one else has felt. You can learn a hundred new skills, and master them all, and live frivolously every day. You get to meet every person on earth, and study them all in a single day. You are technically immortal. There is nothing you have to do, no responsibilities. There’s nothing new on television to keep you glued to the screen, and no point putting any of your dreams off until tomorrow. You’re trapped in time, but in a way free. Free of consequences except the ones you choose for yourself. So choose to be happy, choose to live. Choose to value this day with your friends and family, even if they won’t value or remember them. Maybe plan one million for escaping the time loop is to go down to a nice sunny beach and just relax. In a strange way, that’s got just as much chance of working as anything else. And it’ll make your eternity here a lot more bearable than moping around your house all depressed like.

9.

Don’t die

I have no idea what the religious implications are of being trapped in a time loop. And the thing with most time loops, at least the ones I’ve seen on tv, is that death doesn’t let you escape the loop. And frankly that’s a good thing, because death is something worse. I’m not going to go into this too much, though if you really are trapped in a time loop I’m sure these few words are tantalizingly short. (If you need more, there are plenty of resources out there) But no time loop has ever been solved by dying. Even if it did resolve, your eternal purgatory would probably end up taking the form of a time loop. But don’t worry, I can give you my personal assurances that you’re alive right now. And that’s good. Because life is a beautiful thing, even when the day repeats. You know, especially then. After all these dark and gritty escape the time loop stories, of tormented characters driven mad because nothing they do matters, can’t we have one where someone is happy to be in a time loop? We all die, eventually that is. Whether you’re trapped in a time loop or not. But not all of us live. Not all of us truly live. Maybe being trapped in a time loop will help you live truly. I mean, if you really think about it, in several thousand years, is anyone even going to remember you? Remember your accomplishments? You may as well have lived for a day. If you want to escape the time loop so what you do matters again, maybe it’s time to face the reality that what you do… may not have mattered. And that’s okay. Life is about the living. Living every day, day by day, and making the most of it. We don’t always get to control the hand that life gives us. Maybe we know someone with Alzheimer's, whose memories fade at the end of each day, and makes it seem like we’re living that moment over and over. Maybe they don’t even remember who you are. Maybe, to them, you’re a stranger, who met them today, and knows so many things about them. Is it happy when someone laughs, if they won’t remember it later? Did it really happen? Yes it did. Yes it is happy. 

10. 

You can’t escape / why did you listen to me, I’ve never been trapped in a time loop

Life is a beautiful thing, time is a beautiful thing. It’s beautiful because it doesn’t loop. I can understand the anger, that bitter rage people can have, trapped and unable to reach out, repeating the same day over and over. Unable to move on. Unable to break free. And sometimes they do break free. Sometimes, silly movies and tv shows, that avoidance of the causing incident, or the help of scientists and their research, are enough to fix even the most terrible of fates. But sometimes they can’t, and we can go on, suffering forever. I’ve never been trapped in a time loop (I thought I was once, in fact, all my friends thought I was too, and they all tried to help me out of it. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t, right?), and if any of the people around me have, they've been hiding it exceptionally well. They’ve worked today, for the hope of relaxing tomorrow. They’ve made progress, with the thought that their accomplishments matter, and their adventures can wait. That’s the mindset a lot of us go through life with. But maybe, just maybe, life can’t wait until tomorrow. Maybe it takes getting trapped in a time loop to realize. When your hard work doesn’t pay off, and you can’t think of what evil thing has landed you where you are, when the universe deals you a bad hand, maybe that’s when you realize what’s important. Waking up, every day, with people you care about, ready to live life for today. Maybe tomorrow won’t come. Maybe it never will. Maybe you have to live, live every moment of your life, today. Or, maybe, just maybe, tomorrow is right around the corner. And when you tell those people around you that you love them, maybe this time they’ll remember. But what the hell do I know? I’ve never been trapped in a time loop. I’m just a person, one of billions on planet Earth, living life. 

[bloodbending]

-do NOT read if u haven’t seen spider-man nwh yet-

(sorry i forgot how to do a read more on mobile)

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people going insane for spiderman like listen… i rlly did enjoy it for what it is. a blockbuster marvel film. it hit every mark in that regard! and i’m biased bc i’ve loved spiderman since the first movie came out in theaters… but the emotional climax of the movie lowkey didn’t hit at all. this iteration of aunt may was the weakest. we barely got her backstory, we had no uncle ben (even tho they tried really hard to shoehorn that in there) and the “spiderman moment” they were trying to give peter didn’t hit the same way it did with andrew or toby’s version. i was sitting there like… ok…. who gave a fuck about this aunt may anyway 😭

obv this is my opinion and i understand if it resonated with you. from my POV, toby’s uncle ben was the strongest because his decision to get revenge on the wrestling asshole led to the chain of events that not only got uncle ben killed, but to the defining moment that influenced his entire life and credos. versus tom’s… like yes bringing 56 villains into his condo was the stupidest shit ever conceived and indirectly caused may’s death, but that choice was so obviously dumb it was actually expected something would go wrong the whole time so when she got murked it was almost funny how predictable it was

so i didn’t dislike NWH but people campaigning for BEST PICTURE???? mannnn give other movies a chance (Power of the Dog, Passing, The Hand of God were among my favs this year)

[spideymichelle]

What’s the 616fication of michelle jones watson?

it's me (and a lot of others) advocating for our MJ to be more like her comic counterpart. because while michelle jones watson is a variant of mary jane watson from the comics (world 616) and the official version of MJ in the MCU ... i want more of her in every aspect in the series whether it's actual screentime to having a backstory and not just a side character and love interest in peter's life

like MJ is literally the most important woman in the spiderverse mythos next to aunt may and she has such a rich character history that the mcu clearly hasn't taken advantage of like zendaya would absolutely kill a comic accurate MJ so what the fuck is up with that

i just want see more of her, i want them to subvert her character even but overall just give her character the respect she deserves because the potential that michelle jones watson carries is almost criminally underused

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also i truly believe every iteration of mj will end up being famous (it's her true calling i'm sorry like whether she is actress/dancer/model and business woman in the comics, to a reporter in the games to a supposed future scientist in mcu ... she is gonna be famous)

[weirdasshoroscopes]

The signs as Spiderman quotes

Aries: With great power comes great responsibility

Taurus: bring it on, big boy

Gemini: New York pizza is just ok. It’s fine.

Leo: Eat my ass, Doc Ock

Virgo: Disney got their dirty little mouse hands on me and the first thing they did was make me a billionaire’s pet project because they couldn’t stand the idea of an actually poor kid being a superhero, so now I solve my problems by calling private jets to come pick me up.

Libra: ok, boomer

Scorpio: Every iteration of this franchise makes Aunt May a little younger and gives her a few more love interests. Spiderman reboot #246 will straight up be a high school harem anime staring Aunt May.

Sagittarius: If you can’t handle me at my worst, that’s fine. I can’t handle it either.

Capricorn: Eat my ass, JJ Jameson. I don't care that your son was an astronaut or whatever.

Aquarius: No MJ, the web shooters aren't part of my powers, I made them. For like, the aesthetic.

Pisces: Brake up the banks

Cancer: Uncle Ben said one cool thing to me ever. Everything else he ever said was actually kinda racist.

[llendrinall]

What if the golden trio + Draco magically get sucked into a universe where Riddle was killed before the potters were. And they grow up from babes to adulthood not remembering anything until they suddenly get their memories when each reach the age of 21 and ohh imagine how hard itd be on each's parents cuz they dont know whats wrong and all. Then bam Ron shows up engaged to a muggleborn he never spoke to in school and Harry and Draco are spotted on a date in a muggle zoo. The Malfoy's flip and so do the Potters.

It'd be a lovely story of healing, connecting and love and honesty I think they deserve it after the shit they went through.

The memories come to them in dreams. At first it’s just a strange, upsetting, dream that has a bit more consistency than dreams usually have and that lingers through the day while dreams fade away before you get out of bed. By the third night they have almost all the memories back, each dream slotting nicely with the previous one. Harry is understandably freaked out. He makes a quick trip to Godric’s Hollow to go hug his parents and then spends a lot of time looking at the one family photo they have in the living room, the one in which Harry and Dudley were seven. He stares at Petunia’s smile and wonders whatever happened to give him such horrible ideas about his aunt.

He and Ron are friends, living together as they went through the Auror training and now in their first year working as Aurors. Harry talks to Ron because he can’t shake that horrible feeling of dread; all the things he could lose or maybe all the things he has lost. That’s when they realize they have the same freaking memories, the same dreams, down to the nasty details like Ron leaving during the horcrux hunt or Harry being kind of a jerk about Ginny.

Ron, being Ron, is blessed with an eminently practical and down to earth sense of life. The dreams are strange and it would be very interesting to learn how come they got the same dream-memories, if something happened to their other selves and why are they suddenly remembering now. All those are very good and valid questions that someone should investigate. For now, Ron is going to find Hermione Granger and do whatever it takes to make her fall in love with him so he can marry her.

It turns out that Hermione has been getting the same dreams, the same memories, and when Harry and Ron – those two classmates she was friendly with but not super close to – come knocking on her door, she cries and she doesn’t know if it sadness for what they lost of joy to have them back. Ron once again shows his superior sense by grabbing her hand and saying that yes, this might be a super duper weird spell, and yes Hermione is right to suspect it and want to know why and where it came from, and yes, there may be some dark forces playing around; but none of that changes the fact that he loves her and even if the memories proved to be fake he will still love her because she has the courage and smarts to suspect the meaning of these memories and basically what Ron is trying to say is that he loves all iterations of Hermione. Sorry, but she is stuck with him.

They get married that same day, with Harry acting as a witness. Then they go tell their respective families. The Grangers take it surprisingly well and don’t even threaten Ron with dismemberment if he ever hurts Hermione. Instead, they ask him to do right by her. Ron, who might be going a bit mad, makes a vow of devotion and loyalty with his actual knee on the floor and the Grangers love it. They named their only daughter Hermione, of course they love it when an actual chivalric hero comes into their living room.

The Weasleys are a different thing. They know enough about magic to be suspicious of the sudden memories. Mrs Weasleys gives Hermione the stink eye because, to be honest, this sounds a lot like a love-potion. It’s only because Harry is there with the same memories and no wish to marry Hermione that Mrs Weasley doesn’t call the Wizarding Patrol immediately. Also, the twins and Ginny dislike Hermione. The twins slightly less so because they only had to suffer her as Prefect for a year, but for Ginny it was three long years of Hermione barring her from hexing and/or beating people. It was very frustrating and she blames Hermione for every pimple she got during that time. If Ginny had been allowed to hex Parkinson or Malfoy of freaking Finch-Fletchley every time they were their annoying selves, Ginny would have been much calmer and mellower and her skin would have reflected it.

So the Weasleys are not happy but there isn’t much they can do about it other than keep a close look on Hermione and wait for Ron to see reason.

It is a very busy weekend to say the least. On Monday Harry has vertigo because the week seems awfully empty (disarming a blood hex and capturing its creator, ppft, what is that for someone who remembers fighting Voldemort?). Harry would rather have his hours full so he won’t be overwhelmed by his thoughts. There is so much death in the memories! His parents, Sirius, Remus, Peter, even Regulus who is profoundly weird and very snobbish but James insists on inviting him to events and he keeps coming despite how uncomfortable he looks. They are all dead in Harry’s memories.

There is also Malfoy, who is even more of a jerk in the memories and who grew up to become an actual Death Eater like his father, someone who almost killed Dumbledore and who, when the time came, saved Harry’s life with a lie.

On Thursday the Auror office receives a call of dark activity in Minaford Park, which is where Draco Malfoy is living these days. Harry takes the assignment and makes quick work of the boggart and the ghoul that somehow were trapped under the stairs and were screaming at each other. As excuses go, it’s not too bad. Harry is certain that Draco could have done it himself, but it is messy enough that it seems believable that he would prefer someone else to fix it for him.

Draco offers Harry tea, which he accepts. There is a very odd tension in the air. Draco is down to his shirt sleeves and has shadows under his eyes and when he looks at Harry… It can’t be said that he looks at him funny. Draco was his usual snobbish self while he watched Harry getting rid of the creatures. But there is something in his eyes when Harry takes a seat and accepts the tea cup. Something almost like sorrow.

No, not sorrow.

Compassion.

“Look, Potter”, Draco says. “I am too old to start having prophetic dreams, but this affects you directly. You figure out if someone is playing with a timer-turner or what, here it goes.” And he tells Harry everything.

As one could expect, Minaford Park has a very beautiful garden. Draco and Harry spend hours after lunch walking through it. Ah, yes, Harry stayed for lunch. Draco insisted. He still had things to tell Harry and he was growing hungry.

They meet again on Saturday, ostensibly so Harry can tell Draco what he and Hermione had learned. Ron says he doesn’t give a damn where the memories came from. He only cares what he can do with them and so far he seems to be doing pretty well, having married Hermione and encouraged Bill to ask Fleur Delacour out. Hermione and Harry are a bit more worried, but Harry will admit the research effort goes 30-70% in Hermione’s favour.

Talking with Draco is good. He seems to share the same dread as Harry. Draco confesses that he is not happy with his conduct, or rather the conduct of the Draco that could be. He talks a lot about the fear and nausea at having the Dark Lord in his house, the smell of despair that took over the manor, the mad glint in his aunt Bellatrix’s eyes. Since Draco talks about his aunt, about seeing her mad and cruel and talking proudly about torturing the Longbottoms, Harry feels that he can talk about his own aunt Petunia and Draco will understand. Lily and Petunia don’t have the closest relationship, but to think that she could treat Harry like that…

The Sunday visit to the zoo isn’t a date. As soon as Hermione learns that Draco also has the memories she assigns work pairs and tasks. She sends Harry and Draco to check the reptiles in case they see something like Nagini in there. Both of them have the most memories of her. They should be able to recognize the snake.

Nagini is there and she is surprisingly cognizant for a snake which makes them suspect that she might be a horcrux. The discovery leaves them cold, a new kind of vertigo opening before them. They didn’t live through it, they are only memories, but the exhaustion of the war feels real and they don’t want to go through anything similar again.

Draco asks to go see the penguins and it might seem silly and contradictory, but watching them helps a lot to keep the chill from Nagini away. Neither can tell who initiated, but while in there they begin to hold hands. They go to see the butterflies next, which are in the next pavilion, and suddenly everything in the world looks much better. They don’t kiss when they part, but the way they look at each other is worth at least three kisses.

On Monday Harry receives a short message from Remus that simply says he has sequestered the Prophet’s copy but he doesn’t know how long he can keep Harry’s parents from seeing the news. Harry takes the morning off work and goes to Godric’s Hollow immediately so they can learn about Draco from him rather than the salacious gossip column.

James simply says, “MALFOY? You… MALFOY!?”.

He seems upset. Then he freezes and for the next ten minutes James says nothing. He doesn’t move. He is just there, in the kitchen, one hand in the air and the other holding a cup of tea that is growing cold.

“Harry, dear, I want you to come to dinner today.” Lily says. She has a worried frown but is otherwise unperturbed. “And tell us everything about those memories. Even the bad bits. This is important. It can be dangerous.”

“Yes! Dinner!” James screams, suddenly unfreezing. “Bring him to dinner. Tonight.”

“What?”

“No, you are right. It might be too formal, too soon. Quidditch, then. Does he like Quidditch? He must. I remember you complaining about him while you were in school.”

“He… likes Quidditch, yes.” Harry says hesitantly because even now he is not sure if his dad is talking about Draco.

“Perfect. We shall go see a Quidditch match, the three of us.”

“James.” Lily warns.

“Does anybody in this house know when the next Quidditch match is?” James cries over his wife’s warning that he is doing it again, just like with Sirius.

“Saturday.” Remus says.

“That’s too late! When is Sirius back?”

“Wednesday.” Answers Remus and despite his transformation exhaustion he nimbly steps away from Lily’s strike with the newspaper. Usually Remus would spend his transformation at home, but since Sirius had to go on a trip he came to James and Lily’s so he would have company, which led to the fortunate circumstance of being able to take the newspaper and delay the news.  

“Honestly, Remus.” Chides Lily.

“I’m not encouraging him! You can’t call answering his questions encouragement!”

“It is decided, then.” James announces from the chair. He has climbed a chair and is speaking from atop. “Friday, you bring young Malfoy home. We will play Quidditch and some board games and have dinner in the yard. Sirius shall bring Regulus so Malfoy is not the only Slytherin.”

“James, listen to me…” Lily tries with little faith that James would listen to anyone.

That same morning, at eleven, Lucius Malfoy receives a howler from James Potter composed of thirty-two seconds of mad laughter, which means that James must had listened to Lily at some point or most likely that she was able to take his wand.

It couldn’t be said that James Potter was happy to hear that his beloved son was dating a snobbish Slytherin prick, no, but as soon as he realized that Lucius Malfoy would be equally unenthused about it, it had awaken James’s unhinged tendency towards confrontation with the established power and forced adoption of families’ black sheep. He had done it to Sirius, he had done it to Remus, he had done it to Peter (even if it failed catastrophically) and he was doing it to Regulus now. He had even befriended Severus Snape. Oh! Snape! He should invite Snape too. That way they could make teams of four.  He would come if Lily asked him to.

And afterwards they explore those memories, and Lily looks worried and so does Snape. Regulus goes very quiet for a while but then he gives his opinion of what has happened and it’s the most words anyone has heard him speak but the multiverse theory makes a lot of sense.  

The Weasleys warm up to Hermione eventually. They can’t tell why, exactly, other that Ron is beaming these days. Also, every time she comes to the Burrow she brings a gift to Arthur. It is a very obvious ploy to make them like her but it works because she sees the gift through and answers all of Arthur’s questions no matter how long it takes. The twins took notes when she gave her physics lecture. It was most informative. They created two prank artefacts out of it.

They find the few horcruxes Voldemort managed to make. Peter, who had a falling out with the Potters years ago, resurfaces and tries to steal a horcrux and bring back the Dark Lord out of spite. According to Regulus some people are dedicated to bring their own destruction and you can’t do anything about it.  Barty Crouch Jr. also tries to bring Voldemort back, but by then Lucius Malfoy has been adopted by James even though he is a powerful adult man with his own family. It makes no sense. If anything, Lucius should be the one informally adopting people and grooming them under his wing to be his devoted friends and allies. But Lucius had become James’, just like Severus warned him it would happen, so he puts a stop to that Barty Crouch nonsense pretty quickly and to any other former Death Eaters with ideas. Lucius might not like the Potters but he likes the idea of Voldemort taking over his house even less, and whatever else his happening, it makes Draco happy, so.

What little of Voldemort remained alive, it is now dead.

The four of them, they have the shadows and regrets of two lives, the fear and pain of two wars, but the happiness afterwards… Oh, it is worth it, it is very, very worth it. It is the happiness of two lives, tenfold.  

[desiree-harding-fic]

On Loving one Taako Taaco

ReJEANcy again! Taako is away on business. Lup and Kravitz attend a party as new in laws. The people who can boast to be loved by Taako form an exclusive club. AKA: Lup and Kravitz are best friends and I will never not use the fact that Kravitz and Taako fell in love without Lup around in canon to my advantage because it has me feeling Some Kinda Way.

As always, thanks to @fandomsnstuff for you know... everything?

This felt longer when I wrote it but oh well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Enjoy!

ReJEANcy can be found Here and Here.

*~*~*~*~*

The evening came to its close, and with it, Kravitz and Lup retired with all due gallantry and ceremony, making their excuses and saying their goodbyes, until their coach was pulled around the front of the manor house drive, and Kravitz himself held out his hand to help Lup step up into the carriage.

She could not help but notice that the other guests began filtering out as well at their departure, and with it came the errant wondering - whether all in the county followed Kravitz’s lead in everything. She supposed they would, as he owned the majority of it. As the coach pulled away, beginning the long journey back to Astral, her thoughts strayed to the many introductions of the evening, to Kravitz’s neighbors, his friends.

Never had she been treated with such respect and deference in company. It was intimidating, in a way, to stand by Kravitz’s side; he could not stand in a room without one immediately taking notice of his excellent manner and breeding. He inspired a certain self-consciousness in company, it was clear, though he seemed at all times to combat it with a practiced grace. What a ridiculous thing money was, she thought, to inspire such feeling in a crowd. That simply because Kravitz’s wealth was so vast, he was treated as a great man. 

And by extension, she as a very great woman. And there lay the contradiction to her first inclination. That as intimidating as it was to stand on Kravitz’s arm, there was a power to it. That the difference between the treatment of Miss Lup Taaco, and Kravitz’s sister-in-law Miss Taaco was tangible.

It was another thing about him, she thought, perhaps the thing that most swayed her to liking him;  that beyond the other facets of his character, one thing had stood out: he had, from the moment they first met, treated Lup not as a lower-class member of the gentry, a supposed gentleman’s daughter with no fortune to her name. No, he had always acted, from the moment he was introduced to her, as though Lup was every bit his equal in rank, class, circumstance, breeding, and all. And in company, his example was always followed, for who would dare offend Lord Kravitz of Davenshire? 

She wondered if Taako had felt this way when Kravitz was courting him. There was something intoxicating about standing on Kravitz’s arm, being so well treated and highly thought of. It was no wonder he had been taken with the man in so short a time.

“You are contemplative,” Kravitz said, from where he sat opposite her. He was leaned back against the wall of the carriage, one leg bent on the seat, all relaxation now that they were unobserved. “What are you thinking of?”

He looked warm from the evening’s wine. Lup felt much the same: warm, loose, a bit tired from drink and company. It led her, perhaps, to speak more earnestly than she was used to.

“That you treat me better than I deserve, in their eyes,” she replied. His head cocked to the side, slow, brow furrowing inquisitively. “You behave in company as though I am your equal,” she explained,  “when women of my status are not even  allowed into the rooms in which you are treated as an honored guest. You have married Taako; I may be his sister, but my circumstances are unchanged. I am not accustomed to being treated as equal to someone of such rank as yourself.”

The man looked amused, a smirk on his lips.

“Taako would have me believe you are not my equal at all; rather he would tell me that you are my better. I believe he has said as much more than once.”

Lup laughed, quiet.

“He would say it.” She could not help but smile. Taako was better to her than she deserved.

“He thinks more highly of you than of any person living or dead,” Kravitz said, and Lup was taken, once again, by how… lucky she was.

“I am fortunate it is so,” she replied, her voice falling quiet. Kravitz looked at her fondly, and Lup thought how much more handsome he seemed here, quiet and relaxed and content in a comfortable space all his own. In company he was like a marble, fixed and perfected. He was much the same at the Estate when he was working, in order that those who worked under his name could follow a strong, confident example. She much preferred the softer iteration of him here, with life flowing through him, and so obviously. She thought that this must have been what Taako saw in him when he consented to marry him.

“My brother does not love easily,” she said, the words abruptly coming up from somewhere deep, secret, and true inside of her, spilling from her lips quickly and unexpectedly, lingering in the still air. She must’ve been inspired to say them by the drink, or by the intimate darkness of the swaying carriage, but now that she had said them, she felt at once as though there was a weight on her chest that, if not removed at once, would surely kill her. She tore her eyes from Kravitz, gazed toward the window at the blackness of the country night. 

“If I knew him any measure less than I do,” she confessed, “if anything had driven us from one another as children… I might believe that he had no heart at all.”

She looked back to Kravitz. His brow was furrowed once more, and he appeared fixed on her every word.

“It is quite the opposite you know,” she said. “It took me so long to understand, when we were younger. But he is not without feeling; rather… he feels so much, when he allows himself, that he can hardly stand it. He is so capable of love that he feels the need to conceal his heart behind wit and artifice, behind distant manners. It is how he survives this world; if everything were to touch him, as it touches us, he would drown from the force of it.”

Lup could not continue for the lump in her throat. She had always been the only one, save Auntie, who could understand the warmth under Taako’s iron exterior, the softness that he hid away for fear that it would one day be his destruction. Lup was the only one in the world who knew Taako enough to understand that to be loved by him was the greatest privilege man could bestow, so great, sometimes, that it was almost painful to know. Lup was the only one who understood the responsibility implied in being one of Taako’s beloved.

And then there was Kravitz.

“I apologize,” she said, around her tightened throat. “I am sure these are not revelations to you. But I must confess I was… taken off guard, upon my arrival to Davenshire, by how much he has come to care for you.” And suddenly it was vital that Kravitz understand, in no uncertain terms, how great his responsibility was too, alongside hers.

“Against all odds, you have captured my brother’s heart,” she said, looking at Kravitz, beautiful Kravitz, and she felt she would cry any moment. She spoke with as much gravity as she would muster, the wine in her blood loosening her tongue to an honesty she rarely felt confident enough to employ.

“You must be very careful with it.”

Kravitz looked warily at her, sympathy deep in his eyes. But with it, something more, something she could not yet identify. 

“I intend to be,” he hedged, and Lup shook her head, closing her eyes, and then looking at him imploringly, leaning forward in her seat. 

“You do not understand me. He will love you like no one alive can. I do not say it lightly. It is… to be loved by my brother, actively, is like nothing else. But betray the trust he places in you for a moment, Kravitz, and it will destroy him. It will break him so that he dares not allow himself to love again, and if there is one thing I will not see, it is my brother, shut off from this world and heartless.

“He weathered the death of our Aunt last year,” she said, “She was one of two people I could say definitively that Taako cared for. I am the other. You are the third I have seen him open himself to in the way that he has in my lifetime.” She swallowed thickly, thinking of Taako’s frightened, joyful expression the first moment he confessed to Lup that he loved Kravitz. Lup had never seen anything akin to it in the world.

“You must understand,” she said, “that you carry his heart in your hands now. He has made himself defenseless for you, and there is nothing in existence he fears more than that. There is no bravery he can summon greater than that which allows him to trust. It has never been simple for him. If he loves you, Kravitz, and he does, it is, whether you know it or not, the result of contemplation deeper and more labored than you can possibly have known when you asked him for his hand.

“I am his sister. He has always trusted me, in our own way. But he has chosen to place his trust in you, quite against his nature, and your responsibility is greater for it.” She blinked the tears from her eyes. To think Taako had only been absent a few days, and she missed him so terribly already. She did not understand how she had lasted in London without him, without being on the receiving side of that deep, overwhelming affection - without seeing him errantly in the hall or across a crowded room, and remembering, every moment, that she would do anything in the world for him.

Kravitz was gazing at her with wide eyes, half frightened, but immensely serious nonetheless, and Lup thought, of all people she had ever met, he seemed the one to hear her words and take them to heart more deeply than any.

“It is precarious ground upon which we stand, you and I,” she said, wryly. “Those who love him as we do.” She chuckled wetly. “But he is the best of us, is he not?”

“He is worth every trial,” Kravitz said then, conviction imbued in every aspect of his voice, and a wave of relief and affection swept over Lup so suddenly that she could hardly breathe. That Kravitz, with one sentence, had made it clear that he knew not only the weight of bearing Taako’s love, but also that he had come, independently, to the conclusion that he would bear it willingly, was a greater gift to her heart than any she could have received from her brother-in-law in all her life. The relief that there was someone in Taako’s life who understood him so that if she was made to leave him, he would be held in safe and loving hands was enough to finally bring the tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. And the kinship that had been lurking in the back of her mind; the sense that Kravitz knew her in an unspeakable way, simply for how much he was able to see the value of her brother, grew in her suddenly and fiercely until it was all consuming.

She smiled at Kravitz.

“Then you are worthy of  him,” she said. And she let her head rest against the carriage wall, and her eyes to slide shut.

*~*~*~*~*

[youngbugandtonystank]

I really hate it when fans write May as an abusive friend to tony, they let her call him names, hit him and punch him and this is not it, fam. May would never be abusive!! That is not who May is! Where did they get the idea she would do that to him?

This is because everyone thinks she hates him and she doesn’t lmao only because she said she wasn’t a fan of Tony because she saw Peter was under a lot of pressure (Marisa even mentioned that May only said that because she didn’t know about the whole Spider-Man thing, she said May thought Tony was giving Peter a lot of work in the secret ‘internship’).

Because Peter himself asked Tony to keep his identity a secret, they think Tony crossed a line and that May would never allow Peter to do the Spider-Man thing just like Tony does. Reality smacked those people in the face because Marisa Tomei was actually the one who said she didn’t want to be a helicopter parent when it came to Peter’s superhero life. She very much approves of that lifestyle. She even wants Peter to drop out of school: 

“Obviously, the end of the last movie was sort of this shock moment where May walks in so now she knows Peter’s Spider Man, and another idea that was partly championed by Marisa herself was that we wanted to have a new take on her anyway, so what’s that like now that she knows? We didn’t want to just show somebody waiting by the police scanner or worried about him all night.” - executive producer Eric Carroll.

‘She’s not worried about him at all — in fact, now she wants him to drop out of school and be the face of the Red Cross and help give donations for all these worthy charities and stuff.’ - executive producer Eric Carroll.

Marisa even joked about May going out with Tony, and she sees May as the ‘cool fun’ aunt:

“And maybe she puts on his costume, maybe that happens, maybe she goes out with Tony Stark for a little while. I don’t know, there’s a lot of things that could happen.”

“We’ll see. Hopefully the fans will love this new iteration and we’ll do more. Anyway, I think Aunt May should get her own spin-off. Something should go on with Tony Stark, and those two should get into their own capers.”

“She’s got to be sure he’s still having fun in the midst of all his studies. Even though he’s so capable and has so much potential as a student and as a protege of Stark Industries. But he also has got to get out there and have a party.”

So, as shockingly as this may be, May is actually the laid-back parent in the relationship and Tony is the worried helicopter dad. 

Actually, Marisa doesn’t even want people to see her as a ‘mother’ figure:

The real reason Marisa Tomei regrets playing Spider-Man's Aunt May

Because she’s tired of playing those, she wants everyone to see her as Peter’s cool aunt or big sister figure. She was horrified when she found out Aunt May in the comics is usually an old lady, she doesn’t want that:

“Well, I only got to be old very recently,” she chuckles. “The industry has decided I’m an aunt-type now. I’m like, is this the way it gets broken to me? I think that it would be wonderful to have her involved a lot more in active things and not only dropping him off at school or picking him up or being at home.” - Marisa Tomei.

Some people just hate Tony. That is clear as water lmao because they don’t have a problem with the media calling Happy ‘a better version of Uncle Ben’ but if you tell them that you think Tony is a good father-figure, world war 7 starts immediately. Or the fact that many called Tony irresponsible for letting Peter risk his life every day as Spider-Man (is a comic book character, what were they expecting?) when May is 100% ok with it. 

This ‘the male did everything wrong’ so we must let the woman ‘hit or punch or insult’ him is getting old. They’re both great influences for Peter. 

[jukeboxomens]

Go Tonight

by Dashicra1 who is @ineffableomenshusbands on tumblr. It’s based on a muscial theatre song

angst and fluff

-

When his ever-faithful alarm inevitably woke him at 7:30 a.m., Aziraphale had almost convinced himself that the events of the previous night had been nothing but a horrible dream. However, Crowley’s voice still rang in his ears (though he was hard-pressed to think of a time when it didn’t), and the remnants of the cheap wine they’d shared soured his tongue. If only it had been a dream, he thought. Aziraphale eased himself slowly upright and made one last, valiant attempt to keep the memories from surfacing. He failed.

We can go off together, Crowley had said, and the words could not have been more beautiful. It has to be now, angel. Please, Aziraphale, say you’ll go.

He’d slumped, fully dressed, onto his bed after Crowley’d left him, unable to hear, think, understand anything except those words. Sleep had claimed him sometime in the wee hours of the morning, when he had already exhausted every other avoidance tactic in his considerable arsenal and didn’t mind the distraction one bit. Now, he minded. While he’d been asleep, the steady refrain of Crowley’s urging had cemented itself into his mind. Nightmares, they were, over and over again, turning the most beautiful words he’d ever heard into a weapon, every iteration reaffirming the one horrible truth he’d been trying to avoid.

Aziraphale had refused. Again and again, he’d refused.

He fumbled with the alarm, still blaring from its place on the table beside him, and cursed it for its punctuality, for its ability to measure the passage of time, when all Aziraphale wanted was for time to stop, just for a moment, just long enough for him to collect his thoughts. When the thing had at last been silenced, Aziraphale found he regretted the quiet even more.

 “She’s finally done it, angel. Called up that idiot cousin of mine--you know the one, Hastur, in Dunbarton. Says it’d serve me right, that all those hicks out in the country’ll teach me not to be myself.”

Crowley lounged across Bentley’s roof, insouciant as ever despite the tremor in their voice. (Bentley was their love, their noble steed, their fiery chariot, named for a long-dead family dog and equally as loyal. They’d saved up to buy it from the old man on Wickersham Street when they turned 15 and spent the next two years fixing it up. From the moment they’d gotten their license, which was almost a year ago now, they’d never let the thing out of their sight.)

 They took a sloppy swig from the cheap bottle of red they’d probably snagged from the corner store down the street and passed it down to Aziraphale where he sat on the bonnet. He hesitated for a moment, staring accusingly down at the likely-stolen four-pound wine. Ultimately, he decided that Crowley had the right idea in getting sloshed after all.

 “What do you intend to do?” Aziraphale heard himself ask, as if this were some ordinary Friday night conversation, as if Crowley’s black-lined eyes weren’t wet behind their glasses.

 “Well, I’m not going to bloody Dunbarton if I can help it,” Crowley drawled, smirking down at Aziraphale in the way that they had before starting a food fight at Aziraphale’s twelfth birthday party, before hiding a frog in Gabriel’s locker, before proposing something wild and cunning and mischievous that would leave the town grumbling for weeks and Aziraphale just a bit more in love with them than before. Aziraphale felt the telltale shimmering feeling in his gut and told his gut to go stuff itself. (Not literally, of course, though Aziraphale was feeling a tad peckish, now that he thought of it.)

 “Could you possibly ask your aunt to change her mind? You may still be able to convince her. Perhaps she would listen to reason--”

 Crowley laughed. Oh, what a sound that was. Even after nearly fifteen years of knowing each other, Aziraphale could never get used to it.

 “I’m being quite serious, Crowley. If she would only hear what you have to say--”

 “The woman called me a--what was it she said? A ‘waste of human flesh.’ I think she’s made her position clear, angel.”

 Aziraphale flinched. He tried to disguise it in a well-placed sip of wine, but he was sure that Crowley had seen.

read the rest on ao3!

[ramblingguy54]

The Phantom & The Sorceress: Lena Shines Once Again

Let me first start off by saying. DuckTales it’s so freaking good to have ya back!

Okay with that said, Phantom & The Sorceress episode is another damn great Lena episode that continues to showcase why she’s such an endearing character, much like Della Duck. DuckTales has continually knocked it outta the park with each episode focusing on Lena’s inner demons trying not to define herself exactly as Magica’s heartless nature. Which we get to see once again on full display here when Lena has to reluctantly ask for her help, once the Phantom Blot rears his ugly head trying to take away all magic with an “Infinity Gauntlet” of his own making trying to become a second coming of Thanos. Lena has been such an amazing new addition to this reboot’s iteration. You can tell, as clear as the blue freaking sky, that so much heart and effort has gone into exploring the heavy details of what makes Lena, well, such a deeply relatable individual. You want to see Lena become a stronger person, who won’t repeat the same awful mistakes as her heartless parent and what better way to do that, than with them teaming up to confront an old foe from Magica’s wrong doings?

I was ecstatic to hear about Lena teaming up with Magica because it’s always an interesting treat to see a protagonist make some temporary truce with their extreme moral opposite when done right, of course. I’ve seen it in Teen Titans when Robin teamed up with Slade to stop Raven’s demonic father from destroying all life in the universe, which was a lot of cool character introspective for both what makes their characters so similar, yet so alienating as well. This situation is no different, as Lena has to grit her teeth against every snide abusive remark her so called aunt throws her away to try deterring the kid to no avail, since Lena isn’t having any of that freaking garbage after Nightmare On Killmotor Hill’s story in Season 2. Although, Lena does have a new challenge to face that stirs up those old feelings of self resentment showcased in this season’s theme of legacy and how that ties into one’s own self-worth when looking at their respective lineage and oh boy there’s a lot to unpack.

One day I grew tired of the many gifts villagers’ offered to keep me from destroying their village, so I destroyed their village.

Okay, that line of narration for this origin exposition is befitting of Magica’s deliciously evil nature. Fucking love that stuff. Can I just say I adored Phantom Blot’s backstory being a by product of Magica’s reign of terror in this iteration of his characterization? It not only adds weight to the Phantom Blot’s personality, but contributes a serious fuel to Lena’s emotional turmoil of her inescapable connection to magic that she has to better cope with. Lena may have more confidence in herself after Season 2′s dramatic shenanigans, but it still doesn’t take away from that painful reality that she feels like a prisoner to the very essence of magic quite literally & figuratively, too. Seeing Magica spell out how her actions of destroying the Blot’s village and loved ones years ago had a long term consequences in the creation of Phantom’s hatred for magic ties in perfectly to Lena’s disgust, where it no doubt drudged up the good ole self esteem issues. Like Lena stated in the episode, “Our magic isn’t a legacy! It’s a curse!”, that has caused a lot of unending pain and misery. Phantom Blot is just one of many victims Magica scarred for life, where that seriously bugs Lena to still be connected to that as a legacy she’s saddled with, but the very thing keeping her alive in the grand scheme of things, too. That provides a layer of serious tension because all Phantom Blot has to do is suck away that magic from the amulet and Lena will disappear along with that. There’s a lot riding on the line that can’t be ignored. 

Being angry might work for Magica, but you’re not her. You’re good!

If Lena fails, she dies. If they don’t defeat the Phantom Blot, Scrooge and the kids are trapped in another dimension, leaving FOWL to steal Duckburg on a silver platter with few to defend their home. Thankfully, there’s always Webby to help keep Lena’s insecurities in check with a nice dose of emotional support. They really wanna build up how important of a character Webby is as the extreme optimist for this season, by further reinforcing how much Lena has succeeded thanks to Webby lending her a helping hand in opening up to have that courage in facing down her dark past that continues to bother her at every turn. Real talk, I seriously hope Lena will be the one to help lift Webby up outta her low breaking point when whatever stuff Beakly is hiding from her tests the kid’s trust in others. Having Lena give Webby the emotional pep talk would be quite poetic when that time comes in the distant future of this season. Lena has come such a very long way from who she used to be in Season 1. She was out for herself at first trying to get away from Magica’s cold blooded nature. However, once she met Webby the rest was history that made Lena determined to gain her freedom not outta a selfish reason anymore, but one to feel truly alive and happy. To feel the loving warmth of affection she never received before.

Lena’s smile says it all about how unashamed she is to allow Webby to be this sentimental toward her about a touchy topic for herself. Sure, she playfully shrugs off Webby when she’s throwing out suggestion after suggestion about stuff regarding positive uses for magic and all that, but it’s not outta some form of negativity taking hold of her again, like in the JAW$ episode, aka calling her a sentimental fool. Lena is laughing it off agreeing with her friend as naturally any form of motivational socializing should be handled when she says, “Okay, Webby. I got it. Thanks!”, that’s heartwarming and adorable in showcasing Lena’s growth. All of it comes to a head in Lena’s magical beam struggle against Phantom Blot’s absorbing gauntlet, where we get a culmination of every pivotal moment that’s made Lena into who she is now, whether you’re looking at Magica’s abuse or how Webby helped her to realize that stuff didn’t define her, but how she chose to act on all those bottled up feelings. This episode pulled another Friendship Hates Magic when Lena was starting to disappear all over again from Blot’s gauntlet and I could feel that adrenaline kicking in at that point seeing Phantom Blot almost succeed. Lena came close to letting Magica manipulate her all over again at that lowest point, but those emotional callback’s from Webby & Violet’s bonding spell reminded her all too well immediately that she isn’t a slave to the name, De Spell, anymore. It’s clear that Lena is getting ever closer to reaching that apex of character development, given the awesome looking design change that now fully reflects her more happier outlook on life ever since meeting Webby and her sister from a couple of misters’, Violet.

Love how her eyes are now blue and not dark anymore, which can arguably be seen as symbolism for overcoming depression with those dark eyes she once had. Pessimism can transform into the most powerful form of compassion for others, as seen with Lena’s blue magical signature now that isn’t dark purple anymore, like her aunt’s. Also on a side note, while I would’ve loved to have seen Magica be without her full powers a little longer to provide for more interesting scenarios in showing her cunning and calculating nature, this gives us more intense scenarios in their own right for Lena clashing with Magica again in Season 3′s future because there’s no way we’ve seen the last of these two going at it. Now that they’re both at their fully realized power, you can bet shit’s going to be hitting the fan when it does happen between these magical beings of opposing sides. The possibilities are endless with that notion in mind.

The Phantom & The Sorceress continues to enforce why Lena is easily one of the most complex characters in DuckTales (2017). Each emotional hurdle she’s overcome is completely earned in her growth to be a better and protective friend to her real family. Whatever the future holds in store for Lena’s character, you can know that I’ll be there rooting for her development every step of the way. 

This was an excellent return to form. 

I’ve missed you DuckTales. Welcome back.

[nerianasims]

Billboard #1s 1985

Under the cut.

Foreigner -- "I Want To Know What Love Is" -- February 2, 1985

One of the quintessential 80s power ballads. It's actually kind of interesting if you think about it enough. He's not in love yet, but he's gotten sick of not being in love, so he's asking someone he's in the pre-love stage with to show him. Though he's had "heartache and pain" before, and doesn't know if he can face it again. It's not consistent. I feel like it's a missed opportunity, but oh well. It's good enough for what it is.

Wham! -- "Careless Whisper" -- February 16, 1985

Oh my god I love the saxophone in this. The music throughout the song is so incredibly sexy. And this is the kind of song George Michael's voice was made for. He's totally capable of sounding both hot and in agony at the same time. I actually adore a whole lot of cheating songs -- mostly, though not exclusively, the tormented kind. Drama! Love! Sex! Angst! Gorgeous.

REO Speedwagon -- "Can't Fight This Feeling" -- March 9, 1985

<3. He keeps singing "r"s like a pirate, but he doesn't go as hard on the other consonants, so I'm good with it. Lyrically, this song sounds like it might be two songs mashed together. "What started out as friendship has grown stronger" or "my life has been such a whirlwind since I saw you." Well which is it? Except I've had that happen. I love this song.

Phil Collins -- "One More Night" -- March 30, 1985

This is a depressing heartbreak song without the saving grace of any of Phil Collins' neat drum stuff. Blah.

We Are the World -- April 13, 1985

Whoo boy. I was 8 when this came out. Obviously I loved it. All the kids loved it. Now, though... I'm sorry, but it's bad. Really bad. Many others have gone deeply into why it's bad. I feel acutely embarrassed listening to it, so I'm just running away from it as fast as possible. (Remember all those celebrities singing "Imagine" in their mansions in 2020? I blame this song for that.)

Madonna -- "Crazy For You" -- May 11, 1985

This is one of Madonna's most straightforward love songs. Maybe the most, period. This or "Cherish," and this is a better song. It's lovely. Like Olivia Newton-John, Madonna can act a song. (Unlike in most movies she's been in.) But what I'm thinking about now is learning in this article that her label wouldn't let Madonna release "Into the Groove" as a single. That song was huge. It was played on the radio all the time. If it had been released as a single, or maybe if Billboard had tracked songs then like it does today, it would have been a massive smash, definitely #1. "Into the Groove" is also the best song of her very early career. "Crazy for You" is good, but not nearly as special.

Simple Minds -- "Don't You Forget About Me" -- May 18, 1985

As I am "Gen X", I am supposed to deeply connect with The Breakfast Club. I was 8 years old when it came out. My life as a teenager was nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, like that movie. I didn't recognize any of the "types." I liked the movie when I saw it in college, mostly, but the whole sexual harassment turns into a relationship deal was not seen as cool any longer. The "jocks vs. nerds" thing also felt very dated. The school in the movie was bigger and richer than mine, but it's a fantasy.

Anyway, though I don't feel much about the movie, its breakout song was really good. It does speak to a real fear both in graduating high school and during young adult relationships. I haven't forgotten the people I knew in high school, as far as I know, but obviously they don't have the same importance to me any longer. I'm Facebook friends with a lot of them. And very much not with a couple who were the most important then, because we grew apart -- or blasted apart. One of the nicest girls I knew in high school thinks there's a war on Christmas. Another keeps trying to get me to join her MLM. One of my best friends became my first boyfriend, and I don't regret that, but it was also a semi-disaster. And others... we just have nothing to say to each other any longer.

So, Breakfast Club: I don't connect with at all. "Don't You Forget About Me": Speaks to something very real and timeless.

Wham! -- "Everything She Wants" -- May 25, 1985

What a dick. Songs in which the narrator is a colossal jerk are perfectly fine, of course, but this one gets under my skin. He's whining about his wife getting pregnant when she's dissatisfied with their life and that they're broke. As if it's something she chose to do to him. She's stuck creating a whole other person with her blood and flesh, and he thinks it's all and entirely about him. I really hate it.

Tears for Fears -- "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" -- June 8, 1985

I can't hear this song without thinking of this Baldur's Gate fan trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jdd06d2nids. Speaking of which, I am incredibly excited for Baldur's Gate 3. I've been reading the early access reviews on Steam, and anything anyone is saying that's negative is stuff I don't gaf about (except bugs), whereas the positive stuff, I care about deeply. I hope it's got some of the feeling of that trailer. Um, right, Tears for Fears.

Honestly, though, it works best as a Baldur's Gate theme song. I don't think everybody actually wants to rule the world. It sounds good though. And pretty different from other stuff around it. But I like Lorde's cover better, and not just because it fits so wonderfully with all sorts of fantasy stories.

I usually play a paladin or paladin-type the first time in fantasy RPGs, but I'm thinking bard this time.

Bryan Adams -- "Heaven" -- June 22, 1985

He's been with this woman since they were young, and while they've broken up and gone through rough patches, now they're together forever and they're "in heaven." Bryan Adams knew exactly how to write a song that would become a hit. I used to not mind it at all, but it also means nothing to me. The chorus is catchy as hell though. So catchy that I ended up waking up with it in my head and it would not leave for hours and hours, so now I resent this song.

Phil Collins -- "Sussudio" -- July 6, 1985

I refuse to believe anyone ever told Phil Collins he was too young. He was born middle-aged. Anyway, the narrator isn't supposed to be him, so it's fine, but it's still kinda funny. He's got a crush on someone who doesn't even know his name, but "she's all I need all of my life." Um. The music is repetitive, the drums aren't as interesting as Phil Collins at his best, and I don't like the lyrics. I don't hate it, but I don't like it either.

Duran Duran -- "View to a Kill" -- July 13, 1985

I'm not sure I've ever heard this song before. It's about as good a song as the Bond movie they wrote it for was as a movie. In other words, it's bad. I'm not even sure there's a melody. Just a mess. "Ordinary World" would have made a far better Bond theme, but of course that was the 90s, when Duran Duran decided to try to make sense both lyrically and musically.

Paul Young -- "Every Time You Go Away" -- July 27, 1985

I like the high keyboard notes in this. They're sort of haunting. The rest of the song is musically pretty good, too. Lyrically though, it's only passable. This woman keeps leaving him every time "the leading man" shows up, so I guess he's the backup. Why does he keep waiting for her anyway? There's no hint in the song. I'm kind of embarrassed for him.

Tears for Fears -- "Shout" -- August 3, 1985

I think "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" is a better song than this one when done by Lorde. But I think "Shout" is a better song than Tears for Fears' original iteration of "Everybody Wants to Rule the World." The chorus seems clear enough. But the verses are not. "They gave you life/ And in return you gave them hell" makes sense in isolation, but then there's a bunch of stuff that doesn't go with it. Like "I'd really love to break your heart" -- wtf? But the music is really good. 

Huey Lewis and the News -- "The Power of Love" -- August 24, 1985

This was the big song for Back to the Future, and it meshed beautifully with the movie, but it doesn't need that association to be a great song. "Don't need money, don't take fame/ Don't need no credit card to ride this train/ It's strong and it's sudden, it can be cruel sometimes/ But it might just save your life." Yep. It's sort of Motown, sort of rock, and I love it. (Also: "Stronger and harder than a bad girl's dream." Heh.)

John Parr -- "St. Elmo's Fire" -- August 24, 1985

Of all the John Hughes movies I have not seen and do not plan to see, St. Elmo's Fire sure is one of them. The song is about a disabled man who inspired people by rolling himself cross-country in his wheelchair for charity, which has absolutely nothing to do with the movie. I'm disabled, and I just... okay look, what he did was admirable. But we shouldn't have to be inspirations to be counted as worthwhile, and I've been told I should die because I can't produce for capitalism, so you know. I've got some personal issues with this and I'm gonna move along.

Dire Straits -- "Money for Nothing" -- September 21, 1985

This is not Dire Straits' best song, but it's an awfully fun one. I watched the video tons when I was a kid. (That sound is Tipper Gore falling to the floor in a dead faint.) The music is great rock. And the lyrics are very true-to-life. You can either sanitize people or present them as they are honestly, and I know which I prefer.

Ready for the World -- "Oh Sheila" -- October 12, 1985

The band's from Michigan. The English accent at the beginning of the song is fake. That's a good preview for the song, which sounds like a 3rd-rate Prince knockoff at best. Blech.

a-ha -- "Take On Me" -- October 19, 1985

The video totally ripped off one of my aunts. Somehow or other, they saw into the little comic she drew for me about someone going into a land of drawings to rescue someone else in a romantic adventure, years before 1985. Anyway, this song is great musically, massively synthesizer heavy without sounding artificial. Though I can only understand maybe a third of the lyrics as he sings them. I've always understood "It's no better to be safe than sorry" though. Yep, at least when it comes to romance, which is what they're singing about here.

Whitney Houston -- "Saving All My Love for You" -- October 26, 1985

It's not better to be safe than sorry, but that doesn't mean it's good to be an absolute idiot in matters of romance either. Nor is it good to be a colossal jerk. That's what the narrator is here -- the "you" she's singing to is married. And he won't leave his wife and children, though he used to say he would. The lyrics seem to say that's she's accepted the situation, but the way Houston sings it, I think the narrator's trying to get him to leave his wife -- and children -- for her still. This makes sense, as it puts some kind of passion and sense of story into the song, which without Houston's singing would not be there. The narrator certainly never acknowledges that what she's doing is wrong in the slightest iota. This song could be done in a way that works. But it's a completely sincere ballad. So, no. I despise the narrator, I despise the man she's singing to more, and the whole thing leaves me feeling gross.

Stevie Wonder -- "Part Time Lover" -- November 2, 1985

No one's thinking anyone's gonna leave anyone in this one. It's about cheating, and the thrill of it, but then at the end, he's found out his wife's cheating on him too. "I guess that two can play the game/ Of part-time lovers." This kind of funk groove is one way you make a song like this. It makes the whole thing sexy and fun, and the lyrics also work even beyond that ending, because they acknowledge it's wrong.

Jon Hammer -- "Miami Vice Theme" -- November 9, 1985

My parents didn't watch Miami Vice. And then I never felt like watching it in re-runs when I got older. I don't recognize this song. It's an energetic instrumental, but there's so much going on, I keep trying to figure out if there's a main musical idea anywhere. Nope. Just lots and lots of synth. Headache-inducing.

Starship -- "We Built This City" -- November 16, 1985

Blech. This song sounds both unfinished and overproduced somehow. The chorus seems designed to be catchy with absolute ruthlessness by people who didn't really care, and no one involved even seems to want to bother to fake it.

Phil Collins & Marilyn Martin -- "Separate Lives" -- November 30, 1985

This is supposed to be heart-wrenchingly sad. Well, it does tank my dopamine, but that's not what a good sad song does. A good sad song makes you feel better. This one makes me need to turn on something high-energy after about 30 seconds, before I sink into bleakness. It's aggressively boring.

Mr. Mister -- "Broken Wings" -- December 7, 1985

This was one of the first songs I recorded from the radio. On my pink tape deck/radio that was a sort of a mini boom box. I've always had my own tape player since I can remember, but that was a definite upgrade from the Sesame Street one. I was 9 then, so getting more seriously into music and developing my own taste intentionally, rather than simply absorbing what was happening around me.

Anyway, the song. It's about a relationship in trouble, and he wants to stay with her. To me it sounds like she has been so seriously hurt (and not by him), that she can't trust anyone, and he's laying himself on the line for her. That has spoken to me deeply ever since I first heard the song as a child. Moving on to the music: While the lyrics are repetitive, the music is not, which is what makes the song so good. It's a beautiful song.

Lionel Richie -- "Say You, Say Me" -- December 21, 1985

I look forward to Lionel Richie no longer being on the charts. This song was on the soundtrack of some movie I've never heard of. I wish I'd never heard of the song. Totally artificial glop.

BEST OF 1985: "Don't You Forget About Me" by Simple Minds  WORST OF 1985: "We Built This City" by Starship