#because peter and miles are lonely. peter has no one because he doesn’t remember any of them the only people he remembers are the +

[milimeters-morales]

thinking of my silly little au and how loneliness affects you long term and how that loneliness isn’t always obvious or intentional and how the cycle continues and they’re still lonely

[prydon]

22, 23, 24? :0

did 24 here so i'll just do 22 and 23!

22. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

this depends a lot on the fic. most of the time i do it while writing. in rare cases (looking at you, "the idea of growing old" and "man hands on misery to man") i actually chose the title first, because the song or poem that i got it from is what inspired the fic to begin with.

i like my titles to be relatively short, easy to remember, and directly related to the fic in a not overly obtuse way (which is nothing against long obtuse titles, it's just not my preference). i.e: father of mine, which is not intentionally pulled from anything, i just wanted a snappy title with the word "father" in it because the fic is primarily about nureyev's relationship to his surrogate father and therefore it's easy to remember.

i do lyrics and lines of poetry a lot of the time, but recently i've trended towards titles which just represent the story and don't have a particular source, or are pulled from lines in the fic.

23. Is writing the beginning, middle or end of the story easiest? Hardest?

i would say the beginning is the easiest and end is the hardest. middle goes either way depending on the scene. but god, endings are a bitch. not even the finale in general--i can do those. but making the very last few lines stick and feel like a worthy conclusion, especially to a very long fic, is a nightmare.

now i'm actually curious though, so i'm gonna look up the final lines of a few of my fics and stick em under the cut just to see what they look like and if they still hit out of context.... spoilers for friendly fire, constellations, homesick, and father of mine ahead.

friendly fire:

Somewhere a thousand miles away, a group of identical men in black suits are sitting in a gloomy conference room. They’re talking in rapid, monotone voices as they concoct a plan to deal with a certain employee who has been deemed no longer useful—but that plan has one fatal flaw. They still believe Peter Nureyev is alone.

constellations:

Abba sits down beside him and sends him a smile. “Welcome home, boychik.”

homesick:

The light from the yellow sun shines down on them, less familiar than the sunlight Vespa had grown up with, but still warm. Waves crash against the shore below, and for one breathless moment, she’s filled with intense gratitude for the life she’s currently living and the people she’s living it with.

father of mine:

Grief is a long, lonely road, and no amount of recognition of Mag’s abuse will make walking it any easier. But he has a family who knows him by name, and a lady who loves him and will hold him through it all.  He’s always going to miss his father, but he doesn’t need him anymore.

[radiosandrecordings]

Crossposting my @summer-in-the-archives-event fic here too. [AO3] [Accompanying beautiful art]

He’d never get used to the rolling fields of quiet.

Miles behind and miles to go, not that he could see any of it through the thick blanket of fog that clung to his ankles, and his wrists, and his eyes. Miles to go before I sleep…

It was hard to describe the rain that fell, because even ‘fell’ felt like too active a descriptor. It didn’t pour, it didn’t ‘beat down’, it didn’t pelt, because those all required a sense of agency that the landscape just felt too apathetic to muster. It simply existed, and just happened to be moving downwards by coincidence.

Jon wasn’t sure if he knew or Knew that it seeped into his clothes, coating his skin, but he couldn’t even feel the droplets landing, even pinpricks of touch creating too much of a sensation for this place. He briefly wondered that, if he still had need for his glasses, would the rain even make the effort to trickle down and cloud the lenses.

The last Lonely domain he’d passed through, he’d never seen the avatar that lorded over it. He didn’t have any real interest in finding out, not like the personal vendettas that lead him to seeking out Jude, or Jared. Because with Peter dead he wasn’t left with any Lonely avatars left to chase, save the vague notions of the Lukas extended family. He was simply going to keep his head down and keep trudging, hopefully emerging through the thick banks of mist before he lost his mind to the monotony. If there was ever something to make you miss muffled cries from beneath the earth…

“Why are you here?”

The sound was accusatory, and may as well have been a shotgun in the silence. The damped chill was nothing in comparison to the ice that shot up his spine. The voice had no clear origin, no figures even silhouetted in shadow against the overgrown grass, but it came in close, delivered on the gentle, numbing breeze. Despite this, though, never in a thousand domains could he forget the sound of it. Of course it was his. Of course. Of course. “Martin?”

“No! ”

The voice sounded… Angry. But hurt, like it flinched away from the word. Like something that had been left to sit in the dark too long, that recoiled back from a stinging source of light.

“... I’m going to assume no one has called you that in a long time.” He tried to keep his voice light, as much as the stifling atmosphere would allow it.

“No one is anything here. It’s easier that way. If you’re somebody, you can be hurt. If you have too much personality, too many little facets and cracks, things start to snag and catch on it, and it drags you down to where things ache. But if you’re nothing, then they don’t have anything to cling onto. You can just slip away unharmed.” The voice sounded like it was moving, curling around him and moving from ear to ear, forward and back as it droned on in that echoing monotone that Jon had hoped he would never hear again, and at the same time, had longed to.

“And what about the good things?”

“There isn’t anything good, not anymore. You saw to that.”

Jon snorted. “Low blow, but fair.” He hesitated for a moment, trying to summon the words.

He’d had time, after he left the Lonely, to consider his actions. Regret pooled like acid in his stomach at the memory, and somehow it hurt more than ending the world. He wouldn’t say it was more important. He knew whatever he felt, and moreso, knew that one human life, was not paramount to the suffering of every creature great and small, but it felt more tangible. When he walked through the hellscapes, they were dreamlike, hazy, information in such clarity but to an extreme where it still felt nonsensical to perceive it as reality. He knew the fundamental truths that surrounded him but it still felt hard to accept them even as he lived them.

Yet despite having lived without it for eight months prior, the space beside him that failed to solidify into Martin still stung with his absence. And Jon regretted it every not-day he spent walking the hellscape, both in knowing he doomed a good man to suffering, or worse, revelry, in this new world, and in the far more personal, and far more selfish, part of him that missed him so goddamn much.

“But- But Martin, I think I made a mistake.”

“Obviously.”

“Not- Not that. I mean, when we were in the Lonely. The- The first time. With Peter Lukas.” The silence droned on, and Jon took that as his cue to continue. “Do you remember what I said? That maybe you were safer here? And that’s… That’s why I let you stay. I didn’t push you to, to leave with me because I thought you wanted to be here, that you’d be safer here than you’d be with me. But I don’t think that was entirely true.”

“I am safe here.”

“Maybe so. It doesn’t mean it’s better though, does it. Martin, I saw those people, in the last Lonely domain. I know it’s different, they were victims and you’re… You’re an avatar, here, you’re feeding off of all of this, but I promise you they were not happy. They were so alone and it didn’t protect them, it just made it worse. Think about it, the logic of this world. There are threats out there of unimaginable horror, and yet they were still assigned here, it’s their worst nightmare. And you were assigned here too. You’re all suffering, just in different ways, but all calculated to be your personal worst.”

“The Martin Blackwood you thought you knew doesn’t exist anymore. He had to be filed down, too many breaks and tears in him that grew and grew, any time someone raised a harsh word. The best way for him to be protected, is for him to go away entirely. You cannot hurt something that doesn’t exist.”

“Are you sure about that? Because you just said ‘I’.”

“What? ” That anger reemerged again, and as staunched as it was it was beautiful, a return to form amongst the dull monotone, reminiscent of the few times Jon had been privileged enough to witness a truly pissed off Martin Blackwood.

Jon found himself grinning. “You said ‘I am safe here’. Emphasis on the ‘I’. Ergo, you still have some form of identity left, and thus I would wager that the part of you left is Martin. Unless I’ve wandered across some other avatar of the Lonely who sounds like him, of course.”

“You’re always so fucking smug, you know that?”

The voice is coming from behind him. Actually, physically, presently behind him and Jon spins around so fast he’s almost dizzy.

And as much as it made his heart soar, and much as he was glad to finally, finally , see him again when he’d thought he never would, Martin looked… Bad.

His skin had darkened, mottled and blotchy with large swathes of a bruise-like blue or sickly green cropping up across his face and neck, or the parts of his forearms visible where his cable knit sleeves rolled back. It was like frostbite from the cold, or some disturbing onset of trench-foot from the damp, corpselike and unsettling. What was worse, though, were the parts that simply ceased. His hair didn’t even reach the tips, simply fading out into a grey static that merged with the mist, and it consumed his eyes whole, tear tracks streaking down his face in patterns of fuzzy, crackling grey that snapped and popped in the silence, far too reminiscent of a tape.

The sight made Jon’s heart clench like a fist, the combination of relief and horror, and in that moment he understood Jane Prentiss more completely than he ever had before. It would’ve felt like a rude comparison to consciously make, the person he cared for most equated to a pulped and writhing mass that churned out creatures that made your skin crawl before tearing into it. But he knew what she had seen in it, that call towards the thing that fascinated you, despite the turning it causes in your stomach.

Despite this, however, Jon steeled himself. This was rapidly becoming a battle, and he couldn’t afford the cost of emotions. He had to keep Martin, well… Martin. Draw out the emotion. In short, be a bit of a bastard. So instead, he cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you liked that about me?”

He could see Martin’s fists clench, the colour of his extremities dyed black from frostbite. The irritation was still clear as he started into “Fucking hell J-” but they both appeared taken aback as he dissolved into a choking, hacking cough.

It took everything in him for Jon to tamp down the need to surge forward, put a hand on his back and ask if he was okay. It was a strangely mundane thing; the man was made out of static and fog and despite seeming to have an on-and-off-again relationship with his corporeal form, this was the first recognisably human thing to adversely affect him. Why, though? What had Martin done to trigger- Oh. Oh .

“That- That priest from the statement… 0113005? Father Burroughs. He couldn’t say the name of god. Anything related to it, really. And you… You couldn’t say my…”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Martin spat. “You’re not a god or thee god, whatever your new eye magic might imply. It’s just…” He let out a breath that turned into a grumble. While his eyes had always been cloudy, he was now refusing to meet Jon’s gaze.

Regardless, it still drew a breathy laugh out of him. “No, I’m not that far gone into my own self importance yet. But… It’s about the connection, isn’t it?” Something in the conversation had changed, it’s tone or it’s flow, that felt contradicting. Tension coiling up to spring, or they’re barrelling towards a culmination, but at the same time, Jon felt like the wind had been kicked right out of him. He lowered himself to the ground, slowly, settling among the grass and trying to ignore the unpleasant dampness under him. Hey, he could feel the damp again. That was something.

“That’s more flattering, actually, I would say… The Lonely, it thinks if you acknowledge me directly, that would loosen it’s hold on you.” Jon huffed out a breath. “You know I listened to all the tapes. What was it that Daisy said to you, when I was on the run? ‘People say you two are close’? Well, the Lonely appears to agree.” He took a minute before adding, “I would, as well. And, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was too… Too in my own head, before, to admit it. Too much of a coward to do it before that, even. But you need to know I love you. And I know that you… Cared for me, at least? Even if I stuck my head in the sand to ignore it. But the Lonely seems to think you do, still. So will you please come back to me? I know it’s not- I know it won’t be much better, travelling through the domains, but it’s all I can offer and it has to be better than this. I can’t promise anything kind will be waiting for us in London, but you’d be yourself again, and I can’t… Martin, I can’t lose you again. To leave here, again, without you, I’d be losing you. Please.”

“No.”

There wasn’t even a delay to his response, stating it in monotone the second Jon had finished speaking. It felt like ice, lancing through his heart.

“Martin. Martin, please -”

“I said no. I thought you would’ve learned by now; I’m not exactly amenable when you come crawling to me with half baked plans of escape. Because you don’t love me, you love the idea of me. You are quite literally the only free man left in the world and you’re lonely . So you’re looking for a familiar face. Kind Martin, caring Martin, always there with tea and taking your side in every argument. Defending you to Tim when you’d just as soon slag him off behind his back, or on tape. Pretty appealing when everyone else is trying to kill you. At least he treated you like a god before this even started.”

Each sentence felt like another dagger to the chest, and it took him a moment to compose himself, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. Eventually, though, Jon spoke. “That’s not true, though. I- Martin I can’t apologise enough that that’s what it’s felt like, for you. But I need you to know, that isn’t true. A-At the start, maybe, I can’t deny I was stupid and spiteful, but you didn’t deserve any of it. And after that… I didn’t do a one-eighty and decide you were a doormat. I liked you because you were secretly enough of a prick as well. Any time you’d pull me out for lunch when I dragged my heels, or argued back when I said something shitty, that was… It felt like I was seeing the real you. The one you didn’t want to let people think of you as, but the one you were, because despite wanting to appear like the picture of innocence, you are a bitch, Martin Blackwood. And that’s my favourite thing about you. Maybe time is sweetening my memory, slightly, but I truly don’t believe there’s rose coloured glasses here. If we walk out of here, I’m not under any sort of illusion that it’ll be a honeymoon. We will doubtless find something to argue over, if not several, but I want that. I want you at my side to, to disagree and point out all my blind spots. We’re both stubborn bastards but I’m stupidly fallible, and I need you to keep me balanced. I don’t want a yes-man, I want you, Martin, and I’m asking for that knowing full well what it entails.”

When the words stopped flowing, he found himself gasping for breath, sobs building in his chest and threatening to spill over. But Martin was standing closer.

“That’s- I don’t- Fuck.” As Jon looked up, wiping at his own eyes, he could see fog starting to trickle from Martin’s mouth, coming in short bursts as his nostrils flared and chest rose and fell noticeably for the first time that Jon had seen since he stepped foot onto the moors. This caused a conflict of emotion in Jon, because while it seemed to be another step towards humanity, Martin letting the Lonely fall to the wayside in favour of reclaiming himself, it also looked far too close to a panic attack to be something worth celebrating.

“I don’t understand,” he finally settled on, voice cracking on the words. He slowly let himself sink to the ground opposite Jon, knees pulled up to his chest. “I left you. Time and again I left you. I left you to work with Lukas, and I left you when you tried to get me to run away, and I left you when I stayed on the beach.” His palms were pressed into his eyes, mist seeping from between his knuckles as he dragged them across his face, though Jon couldn’t be sure if he was attempting to wipe the fog away, or if he was stalling while he faltered, trying to summon the words. Both, maybe. Jon took the silence from him.

“You didn’t really choose that, though. You didn’t feel like you even had a choice. So Martin if… If you’re worried that I think badly of you for that, I don’t. Martin, I’ve done so many terrible things, so to- No, no, actually I don’t mean it like that. I don’t mean that you’re a good person, compared with me. I think you’re a good person full stop. And I just want you to be able to see that. I know the Lonely is quite literally clouding your judgement right now but… Please, just, just make me a deal?”

Martin’s palms were resting on his chin now, cupping his cheeks and curving around his neck. He nodded once, wearily, for Jon to continue.

Jon drew in a breath “I think I’m in some sort of… Bubble. Like a miniature domain, when I’m travelling. I think, if you agree to come with me, even for a little bit, that might dissolve some of the Lonely’s more adverse effects. Make it easier to think, to, to be yourself without its influence. If that is what happens, and you want to return… I’ll bring you back. But please, just… Try? For me?”

Martin sighed, hands dropping from his face. “...Fine.”

“You- Really?”

“Yes. I… Look, J-” Martin bit back another coughing fit. “Look. I am… There is a lot of me right now that wants to leave. The fog is… It’s in my head, figuratively, probably even literally, but… I remember something Basira said. When she got back, from, from The Unknowing . Melanie wanted to know how she got out, when the other three… When you, and Daisy, and Tim, didn’t. She said she reasoned her way out. So I’m going to listen to reason for a minute, as much as it’s paining me.”

Despite those final words, Jon felt his face crack into a smile. “That’s… Yes, you’re right. Well that’s… That’s a very reasonable connection to make.”

And for the first time in a long time, Martin smiled.

“Uhm, so how does this work then?” He eventually said, hand coming up again to scratch the back of his neck in an old nervous habit Jon could not be more happy to see.

“Well”, Jon said, taking a moment to brush sodden grass from his trousers as he got to his feet, “I would say, based on the dream logic that everything here seems to run on here, it should be rather simple.” He held out a hand to tug Martin up after him.

Martin took it.

It was almost cliché, how the Lonely fell away from him. It only took a few seconds, all in all, for the bruising to fade, receding their colourful splotches until his skin lay clear again. His frostbitten fingers healing themselves, sewing broken skin back together and returning to a healthy colour. His face, too, was returning to its original pallor, the change creeping up his neck and across his cheeks and leaving rich brown in its wake. Dark eyes stared down at Jon from behind long lashes, blinking away the last of the fog. He was beautiful.

“Hi,” Jon managed to choke out.

“Hi,” Martin said, and pulled him into his arms.

Jon just let himself be held in the pressure of the embrace for a moment, before bringing a hand up to card his fingers through Martin’s hair. While it had solidified into soft curls, the colour had stayed the same, bleaching it white under his fingertips. He wasn’t sure if Martin had noticed or not, but that was a conversation for another time. They were both a little preoccupied for the moment.

“How do you feel?” Jon eventually said, words pressed into the side of Martin’s neck.

“Uhm. Strange?” Martin eventually settled on. “It’s… I can remember what my thought process was, what the Lonely was pushing me to believe, but it’s like… It’s like the camera panned out, and now I can see it all clearly, and it looks… It looks stupid. Thank you, Jon. For coming to get me.”

“Of course,” Jon whispered, “Of course.”

Another moment passed before Martin spoke up again. “...Did you mean what you said, though? Or was that… Was that just to try and get me to leave? I- I won’t be angry, if it was, that- that’s very clever, I just want to know.”

Jon furrowed his brow. “Which part do you mean?”

Martin let out an agitated sigh. “You- You know which one I mean, Jon. The- The part where that you said that you…”

“That I love you?” Jon said, picking up where Martin trailed off.

Martin’s face flushed, and just the sight of colour spreading across it made Jon’s heart soar, let alone the implications of why . “Of course I did. I- I’m sorry that you would think I would lie about that, even for something like this. No, Martin, I love you. So very much. And I know you might not feel that way anymore, in which case I am very much embarrassing myself here, but I know that you did at one stage so I hope it won’t make things too awkward between us.” “I do, Jon.”

“What?”

“I do. Still feel that way. I love you too, of course I do. My hero.”

It was Jon’s turn to feel his face flush, pleasant warmth bubbling to the surface. “Oh,” was all he managed to stutter out.

“Can I- Jon do you mind if I…” Martin trailed off again, and Jon began to think this might be a recurring theme between them. He’d make it work. He was pretty good at reading Martin, and the eyeline pointed directly at his lips made intentions quite clear.

“Is- Would just the cheek be okay?” He replied. It didn’t really feel like the time for a full run down on where boundaries lay, but he figured it was a start.

“More than,” Martin said, leaning down to press his lips softly against Jon’s cheek. He lingered for a few seconds, skin largely healed but still chapped from the cold, and it was one of the most beautiful things Jon had ever felt. He slipped one hand into Martin’s, and he felt their fingers twine together.

Martin leaned back, clearly trying to calm his grin into something more close-lipped and calm. “Where to now then?”

“Uhm. Forward, really, is just how I’ve been going. There isn’t any real sense of geography to it, we’ll just…. Get there when we get there.”

“Right. Because nothing can be simple these days.”

Jon missed this. He missed him. But he didn’t have to miss him anymore, did he? He was right there.

He squeezed his hand once, and started leading the way.

[lemonpeter]

STARKER, By Peter B. Parker

Chapter 1: Fix-it

So @preciouspeterbparker and I have been working on this fic and we are SO excited to finally share this with everyone!! It started as a WandaVision-fueled concept and turned into a whole ass fic. We’re absolutely obsessed and we hope you guys love it as much as we’re loving writing it!! I hope everyone enjoys💕

Summary: After Peter’s identity has been compromised, he runs to the only place he can think of, as memory-filled it may be. He may be alone, but the loneliness was something he’d worked on becoming accustomed to. And it was something he could fix, given the right technology.

Lucky him, that tech fit right in the palm of his hand.

Warnings: Peter is 17, set directly after FFH, canon death mention, canon divergence, inappropriate use of Stark tech

Ao3 link

————

Peter’s eyes were wide as he crouched on top of the lamp post and stared at the screen, stunned. This couldn’t be happening. Not here, not now.

It had to have been an illusion. It wasn’t real. Right?

His brain was racing, thoughts moving too quickly to keep up with what was going on.

His name was said. His real name. The name ‘Peter Parker’ didn’t just belong to a nobody anymore.

It belonged to Spider-Man.

Which meant it belonged to the public. The public who blindly believed that he was a murderer.

His body moved before he could think about what he was doing, swinging over the crowds that stared at him in shock. He ignored the sound of MJ calling his name from below, desperate to get away. And it would be better for her if she wasn’t associated with him. She’d be safe if people didn’t know.

People yelled, their voices coupled with the sounds of the city pushing him towards overstimulation. They were angry, throwing things in an attempt to knock him down. But nothing got high enough. He stayed well above everyone, breathing heavily. He felt like he was going to pass out.

His eyes flitted around, glancing at all the buildings around him, all the possible routes, without really focusing on any of them. Where was he going? He couldn’t go home; there was no way he could face May. It was guaranteed that she’d seen the clip already and he didn’t want her to be super worried about him. He couldn’t do that to her. Not when things had finally started looking up for her, not when she finally seemed truly happy again.

Ned’s house wasn’t an option either. His best friend’s parents had a shaky opinion of Spider-Man last time he’d heard and he didn’t want his entire friendship to fall apart there.

He definitely couldn’t involve Michelle in this. They had pretty much moved on from their ill-fated attempt at romance that ended when she couldn’t deal with the nightmares he still had, but he wasn’t over it enough for that to be a viable option.

His brain screamed one name but his heart ached over the mere thought. He could only imagine one way for this to be okay, for him to ever feel truly okay again. It wasn’t even a possibility anymore and he knew it. But that didn’t make the pain any less excruciating.

No matter how much he wanted it to happen, Tony couldn’t save him from this.

The reality tugged at his heart and stole the breath from his lungs. He had to pause on top of a building, perched on the ledge so he could easily take off again if he needed to.

It had been almost nine months since the man had died. Since he’d saved everyone else and sacrificed himself. But it still hurt Peter like the wound was fresh.

He knew that the move had to be made. Someone had to do it.

But god, he wished he had been the one to take the fall. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t regret not getting the gauntlet from Mr. Stark before he snapped.

Maybe his motives were purely selfish. Because any time he considered the idea, it wasn’t for the good of everyone else.

He just didn’t like living in a world without Tony Stark.

Peter heard someone opening the door that led to the rooftop and he bolted again, not needing to be caught. But he still needed to figure out his destination.

Then it clicked. A real possibility. Even though he’d have to do more than swing to get there.

The compound upstate.

It was almost completely in ruins when he’d last seen it, destroyed by Thanos and his army. And it wasn’t likely it was too much better since the person funding it….

Well, he couldn’t be in charge of the upkeep anymore. Peter didn’t even like thinking about that part of it.

But he’d be able to hide there for a while, at least. Completely unbothered. There weren’t too many people that knew about the exact location or how to get there. So he’d be safe while everything cooled down.

He could use some time alone anyways.

In order to get there, he’d need to drive. But he didn’t exactly have access to a car. And it was highly unlikely he’d be able to get an Uber while everyone thought he was a murderer.

There was one person he knew he could trust. Although Peter wasn’t sure he wanted to pull him into everything.

But he really did need a ride. He had to get out of the city. There was no other option.

“Karen? Can you call Happy for me?”

“Of course, Peter.”

There was a dialing noise for a few seconds before the call picked up.

“Peter? Where are you?” Happy was as harsh as ever as soon as he picked up.

Peter swallowed down the lump in his throat. “I need a favor. Please, I need a ride to get out of town. I can’t deal with all of this. Please.” His voice cracked pitifully on the last word.

A moment of silence before a heavy sigh crackled through the speakers in his mask, the sharp sound making him wince. “May wants you to come home. She’s kind of freaking out here, she just saw the news.”

Peter chewed his lip, his eyes dropping to the crowds in the street below. They were all watching him, phones trained on his every move. The feeling of their eyes on him made his skin crawl. “I can’t. Tell her I’m sorry, but I can’t go home. Not right now. Not yet.”

Happy didn’t say anything for a minute, but Peter could hear May’s frantic plea in the background. He felt horrible. But he couldn’t go back. Nearly everyone in the whole city was against him. He couldn’t deal with that. And he didn’t want May to have to figure everything out for him.

Finally the other man spoke again. “I can’t help you. It’s not that I don’t understand, it’s the principle. I’m not helping you run away.”

“I’m not-“

“You are. It doesn’t matter the circumstance. You’re running away. And I’m not going to be a part of it. Just come home, Peter,” Happy told him, his voice gentler then the young man had ever heard it.

“Karen, end call.” In a brief moment of anger, Peter hung up. He knew Happy and May were right. But he just couldn’t go home. He was already sick of being leered at and the broadcast had just gone live. It would only get worse.

And he still didn’t have a ride.

A heavy sigh left him, the sound accurately conveying his sheer exhaustion.

The directions to the compound were something he knew well, he’d probably be able to instruct someone there in his sleep. That wasn’t the issue. It was just so far and without a ride it would take forever.

Maybe a run would do him good. A very, very long run.

***

He’d made an extremely brief stop before leaving the city, buying a set of civilian clothes (even though that didn’t matter, where he was going), a small backpack to hold everything, and enough food for approximately two weeks. It wasn’t the most nutritious stuff, but it was something he could survive on until he felt safe enough to go back home.

After that, it took a few hours for him to finally reach the compound site, but at least he hadn’t been spotted. Most of his escape had been through woods, so despite the fact that he was now an extremely recognizable face, no one saw him. Or tried to come after him, at least.

The sun had set, only the barest bit of orange still hanging above the horizon as he walked up to the damaged building. At least it wasn’t quite as bad as he’d remembered.

It was completely destroyed in some places, while others were just crumbling. It seemed like someone had tried to fix bits and pieces, but eventually just gave up. No longer was it the beautiful campus that Tony created. But it would do for what he needed.

Peter headed to one of the more intact areas, breathing heavily as he finally was able to relax. No more running to try and get to his destination as fast as possible. He was there and he could finally calm down.

No one else was within miles of the place. He was safe.

But it was so lonely. That was par for the course, though, he supposed. He’d been feeling lonely for a while now, despite the best attempts of those around him.

He decided to settle down in one of the old training rooms. It was probably one of only spaces still mostly together. The roof hadn’t been displaced at all, the walls only had the slightest bit of charring. The space was huge, but a lot of it was taken up by pieces of furniture and equipment. At least it didn’t feel extremely empty.

He sat on the ground, eyes slipping shut as he leaned his head against the wall. It was almost nice to be able to just sit and not be worried about being caught.

Almost.

The silence screamed at him, amplifying his anxious thoughts and nearly suffocating him.

Having someone to talk to would have been nice. But who was he supposed to talk to? He still felt bad about hanging up on Happy, so he wasn’t a choice and neither was May. Ned would probably make things worse, despite just wanting to help, so he couldn’t do that either. Thinking about MJ just made him feel guilty, so she was off limits too.

No, if he was honest with himself, there was only one person he really wanted to talk to.

The thought took him by surprise all over again, grief clenching around his heart like a vice grip.

Tony would know what to do. He’d be able to easily get Peter out of the insane situation, fixing everything all up again and making it all right. He’d gotten himself out of plenty of messes, why would this be different?

For just a moment, Peter smiled to himself as he imagined how Mr. Stark would have handled everything. None of it would have felt so grave. There would have been a joke or two made before he worked his magic and made Peter safe again. It would have been over and forgotten about before dinner.

Then reality sunk in again, as it always did.

Tony wasn’t there to help. He couldn’t be. Wouldn’t be ever again.

Peter didn’t like thinking about the fact that he was gone, but if he didn’t tell himself that it was true, that it had really happened, then he’d get hope again and fall apart. He didn’t have the luxury of falling apart when everything was already such a mess.

As a distraction, he began sorting through the backpack he’d gotten, taking out every item and looking it over. Then he got to the front pocket and remembered the last thing he had tucked inside.

Since getting them back, Peter didn’t go anywhere without the EDITH glasses. He’d made the mistake of giving them to someone else before, a mistake he was clearly going to keep paying for. He couldn’t let anyone else get a hold of them again.

He slowly pulled them out, holding onto them for a moment and looking at them. His last gift from Tony. An extremely powerful gift that probably should have been given to someone else. But they weren’t. They were his, for better or worse.

Their full capabilities hadn’t really been something he’d thought about. He didn’t know much of anything about them, really. He knew they had an AI that had absolutely no chill and could control drones, but that was about it.

Peter hadn’t considered what the drones could actually do. The projections that Beck created had been intense and so real, it was hard to believe that he held the power to such a thing in his hands.

If entire beings and monsters could be created, what else could they do?

A sudden thought appeared, prodding at the grieving part of his brain. What were the limits of the projections? How much could they create?

How real could the illusions get?

Letting himself fantasize about possibilities was dangerous and he knew it. But just messing around with the technology wouldn’t be so bad, right? He was just going to familiarize himself with it some more. See what it was capable of.

For the night, however, he needed to sleep. It had been an exhausting day and his eyelids were heavy. The floor wasn’t the most comfortable place ever, but it would do for the first night.

He was asleep within minutes of laying down, dreams of bringing Tony back comforting him. Fantasy was dangerous, no matter how he tried to excuse it.

But maybe it didn’t have to stay just a fantasy.

***

Peter slowly slid the glasses on, breathing shakily. His stomach was churning anxiously. He was still reeling from yesterday’s events and what they meant for him.

But at least now he had an idea, something to focus on, to keep him from getting trapped in a downward spiral.

“Hello, Peter,” EDITH greeted, voice soothing as always.

“Hey, um-“ he raked a hand through his hair. What was he doing? He didn’t have a plan. He had no idea what to ask, or how to ask it without sounding crazy.

EDITH, as intuitive as they came, seemed to sense his pause. “What do you need help with today, Peter?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Swallowed down the lump in his throat. “So...you know how Be- how Mysterio used the drones?” It was probably awful phrasing given everything that had happened. But it was his only frame of reference for the tech’s use first-hand.“Can I do that? The...the pictures and all. Projections.”

“Yes, Peter. You have access to each of those systems. Would you like to call them here?”

He sucked in a harsh breath. That was something. Maybe… “I...yeah. Please.” He knew the vast majority of the drones had been destroyed in the battle on the bridge. But he was sure that, in true Tony Stark fashion, there were more out there somewhere. Mr. Stark was nothing if not prepared.

Peter knew that the drones could create projections, illusions, elaborate scenes that were impossible to tell from reality. But he didn’t just want to see. He wanted to feel, too.

“EDITH? Can you run me through the programming you run on? Basics, advanced, everything in between.” He certainly had the time to go over it all.

“Of course, Peter.”

He had all the time in the world to figure things out, as far as he was concerned. And once he understood how the tech worked, he could bring his questionable plan to life. Piece of cake.

***

As requested, EDITH filled him in on everything. Her own coding and controls, as well as the tech she was based on, BARF (the name never failed to force a hint of a smile to his lips). He had a pretty good understanding of how it worked, especially after watching a video of the presentation Tony gave at MIT.

BARF allowed the wearer of the glasses to access their hippocampus and project their memories. Though Tony always maintained that the tech was intended to be therapeutic and assist in healing from past traumatic events, Beck had obviously allowed for the projection of whatever the wearer desired.

In this case, if it worked correctly, whatever Peter desired.

Since he wanted to be able to actually feel the illusion, he’d have to alter the programming to interact with other parts of his brain. Namely the parietal lobe, which was responsible for tactile sensory information.

Shouldn’t be too hard.

***

Peter slipped the glasses on again. “Hi, EDITH,” he started, biting his lip. Was he really going to do this?

“Hello, Peter. What can I help you with?”

“Run program: STARKER.” He’d slipped some of his own programming into her code in order to do what he wanted. No turning back now. He closed his eyes and prayed to whoever was listening that it worked.

It had to work.

He thought of the only place he wanted to be right now. The place where he’d always felt at home.

When he opened his eyes again, he watched as pixels began to overtake the room, going from the ground up as everything fell into place around him. In a passing thought, he noted that it was similar to watching the smooth ooze of the nanobots that made up his Iron Spider suit. Then suddenly he wasn’t in a bare, badly destroyed training room. He was in Tony’s penthouse at the tower.

And he wasn’t the only one. The sight of his own illusion startled him, left him feeling disoriented. Illusion-Peter blinked at him blankly since he wasn’t thinking of anything in particular for him to do. It was...unsettling, looking at himself. Could he-

Closing his eyes again, Peter swallowed. He thought of his illusion, seeing things from his point of view-

When he opened his eyes again, he could no longer see himself. Much better. Now he was still able to see, feel, and interact with everything in the illusion without having to watch it play out like a movie, the way Tony had in that video. It was just like real life.

He looked at his surroundings again.

The window-wall in front of him looked out over the city, and the sun was shining brightly. To his left was a bar, and the elevator was to the right, sandwiched between two staircases, one of which went up and the other down. Peter’s eyes were wide as he slowly turned around, trying to take it all in. The amount of detail was incredible. He hadn’t realized how much of this place he remembered. The little conversation pit was there, complete with the semi-circle couch and the fireplace he’d seen in a photo spread years earlier. Everything screamed Tony, from the decor to the coffee and whiskey scented air.

But despite the astonishing realism, it still felt so empty. The space felt wrong. Incomplete.

There was definitely something missing. Or someone.

Peter chewed his lip, closing his eyes as he focused. Nervous energy was churning in his stomach. “Come on, EDITH,” he mumbled. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. This was it, the make it or break it moment. “Do your thing.”

Everything was silent for a moment and Peter was worried that it hadn’t worked. His heart skipped a beat, thudding painfully in his chest. Maybe all the work he had put in meant nothing since it hadn’t originally been part of the program.

But slowly the pixels started again, building a figure up seemingly out of nowhere until it formed a full person.

The only person he wanted to see right now.

Tony blinked, a bit disoriented before he glanced over and saw Peter. He shot his signature cocky half-smile towards the young man. “Hey, kid. What did I miss?”

Peter let out a choked sound, a mix between a sob and a borderline-hysterical laugh. “Tony,” he rasped.

And suddenly everything felt okay again.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Do You Tree What I Tree?

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: T Word Count: 8730

For @justmattycakes​! Happy holidays!!! Massive thanks to @spiderman-homecomeme for organizing this Spideychelle Secret Santa!

Summary: Home from their various colleges for winter break, MJ and her friends make a day out of going to cut down their own Christmas trees. Being alone in the woods—just her, Peter, and an axe—seems like the perfect opportunity to admit that her feelings for her friend have changed.

“Wine and cider!” Peter announces, jabbing a finger at the car window as they pass a rustic-looking roadside sign.

MJ smirks to herself. His touch will probably leave a smudge on the glass, which Flash will painstakingly wipe clean later. She likes Flash much more now than she did in high school—they all do—but she likes to build up a little vindictiveness towards him in advance, for when he inevitably says or does something douchey.

“Whine inside her, is that what you’d do if you could actually get a girlfriend?” Flash asks immediately. Sweet justification for MJ, though she rolls her eyes.

Flash is driving, but Betty trusts his skill enough to smack his arm from the passenger seat, then turn to smile back at Peter.

“That sounds nice. We should definitely stop on the way back.”

“Yeah,” Ned pipes up. “Maybe they’ll have a fireplace too, where we can thaw our fingers.”

“Babe, I won’t let your fingers get cold.”

“Aw, babe,” he croons, reaching over his girlfriend’s shoulder where she sits in front of him to tangle their fingers together.

“Back to your intense lack of dateability,” Flash persists. MJ swears his original asshole persona comes out so much more whenever he slides behind the wheel of his dad’s Cadillac Escalade. “Are you having a lonely winter, Parker? With only your cold lab bench to keep you warm?”

Next to MJ, Peter sighs and mutters, “Same old Flash.” She thinks he says it only to himself, but he darts a look at her and they share a smile.

“Well, I don’t have your L.A. weather,” he allows, artfully changing topic.

Flash will talk for an hour straight about the numerous perks of attending UCLA, including the constant sunshine, the short-shorts, and the absence of his current listeners. The last they all recognize to be a blatant lie, but they like him enough to let him get away with it. MJ has a special sympathy for Flash in those moments; she’s still growing from the girl she was when they were all at Midtown together, when she found it so much easier to edge away from other people or, when she did interact, to speak defensively, insultingly, and with liberal use of the middle finger. Her communication skills have flourished with not being able to see these people in person every day. She’s actually amazed with how she’s clung to them, certain she’d failed to develop the kind of solid relationships people were supposed to form in high school and that she’d just stagger forward through her fine art degree (PoliSci minor) with a wild hope of connecting to other humans through the doodles that she’s developed into graceful sketches, from sketches to oil paintings with sweep and verve.

The five of them are in their second year at their respective centres of learning now and it feels really nice to gather after living by too-brief text exchanges, missed calls, and videocalls that somebody’s roommate inevitably arrives home in the middle of, loud and invasive. When MJ’s speaking to Ned or Flash, they can push through. They have the boisterousness and, in Ned’s case, natural good nature, to conduct two separate conversations at the same time. Betty prefers to hang up and try at a better time, when they can speak uninterrupted. Peter’s different from all of the above. MJ always sees how he blushes, as though he’s being caught talking to her. It makes her flush in return. There’s no reason for them not to be as close as either of them are with any of the others, but conversations with him make her feel different. Without meaning to, their voices lower and they wander away from whatever topic they start with; on some nights, into the most intimate tracks of their inner lives. She gets why he feels caught to be interrupted because it’s disorienting for her too, being dragged back to the larger world, hearing a voice other than his in her ear. She likes traditional phone calls with him the best because she can lie in bed with her phone pressed to her ear and he doesn’t have to know.

“Are we almost there?” Ned says when Flash pauses in his rhapsodizing of Venice Beach.

MJ, sitting in the middle of the backseat, watches her friend unlock her phone and check the map.

“Yes. Under two miles to go.”

“And we’re super sure about this place?” Ned checks.

“Mhmm. A friend of a friend in my French workshop went last year and got the most spectacular Fraser fir,” Betty assures him. “I saw it at her Christmas party. That’s the one you couldn’t go to because you got the flu, remember?”

“Ugh,” he agrees.

“We passed a tree farm awhile ago,” Peter ventures. “That wasn’t it?”

“Betty told me the owners of that farm own this lot too. It’s cheaper to get your tree here because they don’t tend the lot in the same way,” MJ informs him. She likes the look on his face when he listens. She likes the feel of his leg bumping against hers as they traverse the uneven gravel sideroad.

“Yeah, I think I’ll be making up the cost difference paying for a paint job. I can hear the stone chips!” Flash complains. As if he’s ever paid for so much as a tank of gas.

“It’s an adventure, moron,” she says.

“I wasn’t prepared for stone chips.”

“I told you everything in an email last week, when we were planning this,” Betty calmly reminds him. “We should all be prepared.”

It isn’t visible to her right now, but MJ knows her friend has a shiny, compact saw at her feet, tucked into a neat black case, looking bizarrely like a tennis racket. Her own axe is trapped beneath Peter’s shoe so it doesn’t slide forward under Flash’s seat and slice the soles off his shoes. It’s quite sharp. She made sure.

“Listen,” Flash demands, “I’m the transport. Someone else can take care of the less significant details.”

“That is so fucking dumb,” Peter mumbles.

“What?”

“I said, I hope your feet don’t go numb,” he says more loudly. MJ turns her head, like she’s trying to follow the gentle backwards sweep of falling snow with her eyes when she’s really trying to hide her smile from Flash’s suspicious gaze in the rear-view mirror. “Did you wear waterproof boots and warm socks?”

“Of course. About to make winter my bitch.”

Betty twists to catch MJ’s eye.

“You wanna take this one?”

“Go for it.”

While Betty educates Flash on why that is not an acceptable thing for him to say—not with two of his female friends in the car, or ever—MJ drums her fingers on her knees. Her mittens are piled in her lap for now; despite her natural inclination to insult Flash’s ride, it heats up nicely. Plus, she’s tucked between Peter and Ned. She glances to her right to check on the latter and finds him huffing a warm breath on the window. He traces his finger through the resulting condensation, drawing a heart and writing ‘B+N’ in the middle. MJ glances at Peter and he’s already looking at her.

“So, tree?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I’ve been told to keep it under six feet. A measuring tape and a ladder might’ve been helpful, but there wouldn’t have been anyplace to put the ladder once we got the trees on the roof of this thing.” She smacks the SUV’s ceiling and Flash goes, “HEY!”

“You can just choose a taller one,” Peter suggests, “and then cut it shorter.”

“I feel bad about the waste though. It’s a living thing.”

“I can help you with that.”

“Oh yeah?” MJ’s genuinely curious. She knows May prioritizes Hanukkah customs to keep Peter’s connection to both his ethnoreligious traditions and his lost love ones strong, so she doesn’t know how a Christmas tree fits into that.

“Right before you guys picked me up, May had an idea. She thought it might be nice just to get some pine branches for, like, generic winter decorating and to make the apartment smell good.”

“That’s a really good idea.”

“Yeah. I was gonna grab scraps from where other trees had been cut down, but I can get them off whatever tree you pick instead. Or you can. You have the axe.”

“I’ll give you a turn with it if you help me drag my tree back to the car,” MJ bargains with a smile.

“I can definitely help.”

Of course he can. He could probably carry a dozen trees if he felt like it. Over his head. With all the roots and clumps of frozen earth still attached. But the thought of him hauling the tree back with her rather than for her is something she appreciates. As she nods, she gets the fluttery feeling she’s been experiencing more and more whenever he’s called her this term. Their calls have gotten longer. A younger version of herself would be amazed at the way she can now talk for hours without noticing the time slipping past. And it never feels wasted. Actually, when they aren’t talking, MJ misses Peter. She can’t completely put it into words and so she hasn’t. What she’s done, besides continue to answer every time he calls, is offer him a chance to swing the axe she brought. Romantically, there’s room for improvement.

Their overlapping winter breaks are going to end in another week and she’s scared the calls, as treasured as they’ve become to her, won’t be enough.

“There!” Betty cries. She flings her arm across the dash to point.

“That’s the woods,” Flash says, brushing her off.

“No, that’s the driveway! You’re going to pass it!”

The jarring, inelegant jerk of the wheel as he takes Betty’s directions at the last moment tips Ned into MJ and MJ into Peter. They all groan in discomfort, but Flash seems supremely pleased with himself as he straightens the tires. Off the gravel, their passage between the trees is muffled by the packed snow on the laneway other cars have driven over. There’s a dusting on top as today’s thin flurry continues to fall. As she sits up straight following Flash’s terrible Baby Driver impression, MJ feels Peter’s hand on her back, through her coat, and her face gets hot. Unable to meet his eyes in thanks, she leans towards Ned instead and the two of them stare out at the picturesque scene where low drifts spill over the ground and every pine, spruce, and fir—all dusted in white—looks like the perfect Christmas tree.

“Hats on,” Betty instructs as Flash pulls to a stop next to a pickup truck with a tarp already laid out in its bed, awaiting a tree. “Shoelace check. Gloves and mitts secure.”

“You sound like you’re prepping us to jump out of an airplane,” Flash laughs.

He swings his door open while Betty’s trying to get back into her winterwear checklist with the rest of them, letting in a gust of cold air that disturbs the warmth MJ’s hoarded as well as Betty’s good temper. She reaches across the center console and shoves Flash with both hands, pushing him straight out of the vehicle with a “WHOA!”

Betty’s nonchalant as she flips her mirror down and adjusts the positioning of her pompom hat before stepping out of the SUV herself. Peter and Ned pile out, laughing, and MJ climbs out Peter’s side. Flash is next to the car, brushing himself off.

“I’m going to get sick,” he pouts.

“Say cheese!” Ned encourages, snapping a picture as Betty runs into shot to pose next to her victim, cupping his face between her gloved hands.

“Maybe this’ll make him change his mind about the cider place,” MJ notes to Peter hopefully.

“I feel like we’d be stopping there no matter what,” he muses. “It was either making Flash fear hypothermia or Betty sneaking back to the car first and tampering with his brake line or something.”

“So, which way looks good, babe?” Ned asks his girlfriend.

As she told them, this lot isn’t the manicured family attraction the last place was. There aren’t any employees standing around—easily spotted even as they drove past the tree farm down the road in their orange crossing-guard-style vests—or a map marking which areas are which type of tree. There’s just sort of a main track that’s been tramped down by passing feet leading between trees. It’s easy to see for a ways, but beyond that, the forest grows denser. MJ knows Betty did her homework and can identify tree varieties, and she doesn’t actually care which type she gets. She’s here for the experience, and for the idiot next to her who gives her a thrill every time the nylon sleeves of their winter coats rush against each other.

“Hmm,” Betty says, and strides forward through the narrow entrance. From there, things fan out. She taps her bow saw, now loose, against the side of her leg. “Well, what would everyone like to do?”

“I’m going wherever you are,” Ned vows. She shoots him a soft smile.

“Me too,” Flash decides. “You’ll get us in and out of here fast so we can get warm. Not like Parker, who’ll probably get lost in the first five minutes.”

“What?” Peter asks, insulted. “Will not.”

“Oh yeah? How’s your sense of direction without that robot lady in your head?”

“Karen is not a robot lady, she’s an AI.”

“Same diff.”

“It is not. A robot lady is like what they have on The Jetsons.”

“Whatever. Point is, without your GPS, I don’t trust you.”

“Well,” Peter counters, “we can just look at our phones.”

“Already tried that,” Flash informs him. “I don’t get a signal out here.”

Regardless, the rest of them check.

“That’s alright,” Betty persists, trying to be chipper to maintain group morale, MJ’s sure. “It’s daylight, the snow’s not coming down hard, and nobody’s going off alone. Now, Flash, Ned, and I are going that way.” She points, then glances from MJ to Peter. “Do you guys want to stick with us, or…?”

MJ opens her mouth and looks to Peter, shuffling beside her and doing some sort of best-friend telepathy with Ned, based on the stupid, scrunched up looks on their faces. Is he going to say something? He’ll probably want to stay with Ned. It’ll be weird if she speaks up for both of them. But if she doesn’t, when are they going to talk, just the two of them? Since they’ve all been back in the city, everything’s been done in a group—buying presents for friends and relatives, going skating, getting hot chocolate, attending Flash’s ugly holiday t-shirt party (L.A.-themed, so no sweaters allowed). The woods though. The woods are quiet and friendly and private. Snow muffles sound, fresh air and cold wake her up and fill her lungs until they burn with everything she’d say to Peter if she just had this opportunity. No Ned and Betty hanging back to offer encouraging looks, no Flash to ruin everything with a terribly timed innuendo. MJ just needs Peter. Just her and Peter. Please, dork, she thinks, don’t say Ned.

The words come from her.

“I think Peter and I’ll go that way,” she declares, nodding sharply in a direction that isn’t Betty’s.

“Yeah,” Peter adds.

Oh, thank god, MJ thinks.

“He’s gonna get you lost,” Flash warns. He’s already stamping his feet like he’s freezing to death on the spot, though the cold isn’t that bad with the tree cover. “Then he’ll go nuts in the woods.”

“I have an axe,” MJ reminds him flatly. She glances at Peter. “Bring it.”

Peter snorts a laugh.

“No one will be re-enacting anything that remotely resembles The Shining,” Betty instructs. “Meet back here in, how long, do you think?”

“Depends,” Flash says. “How long should we wait before declaring those two missing and sending out a search party, of which I will not be a member, but will be happy to direct from the comfort of the Escalade with a hot drink in my hand and my feet against the heating vent.”

“Dude, don’t do that,” Ned pleads. “You’ll make the whole car smell like your feet.”

“My ride, my rules.”

“Should we just…?” Peter asks MJ. She nods.

“Let’s go.”

“Ok, um, an hour!” Betty decides.

Peter gives her a thumbs up and the two of them follow the path as it diverges, then cut away again, wading through ankle-deep snow where no other tree-hunter has walked today. The sound of Flash goading the other two fades. MJ stops for a minute and turns to watch them march into the trees. She takes a deep breath in and out.

“You good?” Peter asks.

“Yeah.” She hefts the axe onto her shoulder to look more lumberjack-esque (and so she doesn’t slice it into her calf as she walks). “Come on.”

Despite promises to share, she refuses to surrender the tool any sooner than she must. Soon enough, she’s huffing, face passing through damp clouds of her own breath and chilling her flushed cheeks and frozen nose. Balancing her temperature out here is a tricky thing; as long as they keep moving, as they are, she stays warm, but with Peter crunching along in the snow beside her, she’s too warm. MJ bites her mitt between her teeth and unzips her coat a little to let the brisk air circulate around the back of her sweaty neck.

“You’re not gonna catch cold?” Peter asks solicitously.

She shakes her head.

“Ok,” he says, “but it’d be just like you to get sick and say nothing about it while Flash complains all the way home that he is sick when nothing’s wrong with him.”

“The only thing he’s suffering through is his body’s natural rejection of us. He spent too many years thinking he was better than we are just to end up right here, hacking down Christmas trees together.”

“Probably caroling,” Peter guesses.

“Probably. He claims his favourite holiday song is the instrumental version of ‘Carol of the Bells,’ but that has to be a lie.”

“My money’s on something super cheesy.”

“Mine too,” MJ agrees with a grin.

Gradually, she slows, taking in the pine trees around them. Her guesstimation is that some of these go up to ten or twelve feet, but there are shorter options tucked in between. Younger, or those that maybe didn’t get as much light as they grew. She wipes the back of her mittened hand across her forehead, pushing her slipping fleece headband back where it’s been sliding forward.

“So,” she asks, “any of this look good to you?”

She lowers her gaze to find Peter hastily averting his from her face.

“That one?” he says, pointing to a tree at random.

“Peter, that one’s longer than Flash’s SUV.”

“Oh. Right. Um, ok…”

Focusing now, she watches his upturned face and the serious expression that sinks into it, the way snow’s been sinking into her hair. Maybe Betty was right about wearing a hat, though Betty’s hair is also significantly flatter than hers and thus more conducive to hat-wearing. Well, it’ll be fine. They aren’t stranded or anything and the snow’s not getting to them as much as it was when they had to walk across the clearing to reach this stand of trees. They’re sheltered here. As MJ hoped, it’s quiet.

Instead of asking Peter how much of his remaining holiday he’d like to spend with her, or how he feels when she forces him to hang up the phone first (he must notice), or why, exactly, he was so quick to agree to go off into the woods with her when he could just as easily have insisted they all stay together, she criticizes the first tree he takes genuine interest in.

“Crooked.”

“Too dense.”

“Too sparse.”

“Weird empty area.”

“I swear to god, something moved in there, Peter. I do not want a fucking National Lampoon Christmas, ok? My mom will freak out if I bring a live squirrel into our home.”

He’s laughing at her when they finally spot one that looks pretty good: shorter but not squat, full but with soft, long needles rather than nasty ones bent on treating them both to non-consensual acupuncture if they stand too close. It doesn’t look sickly or as though it’s currently inhabited by birds or rodents.

“So young,” MJ does note, assessing its size in comparison to a taller tree a yard away. “Oh well.” She raises the axe and adjusts her grip.

Peter goes scrambling backwards, almost slipping, then tries to pretend he was only calmly moving out of the way, that he is not afraid of the radius of her swing. When he starts babbling about how quickly his body could probably heal from an axe wound (though, with all the crazy shit he gets up to, that’s actually not something he’s experienced yet), she finally laughs at him.

“Relax,” she says. “You can just hold the branches up at the bottom while I chop through the trunk.”

Fearless—and even more determined to prove it now that she’s given Peter a scare—MJ drops to the snow and wriggles under the tree, as close as she thinks she should be while still being able to swing the axe. Peter’s hand makes her jump. She whips her head around, nearly getting a clump of needles in the eye, but he’s only skimming her coat by accident as he gathers the lowest branches away from her. As she asked. Right, he’s not touching her on purpose and he’s not even doing the not-touching activity on purpose but because she told him to. He’s trying to help. Frustrating.

She props herself up on her elbow and takes an awkward whack at the tree. The blade sinks into the bark like it’s supposed to, but it’s still somehow surprising to feel the give. MJ takes a few more tentative swings and the axe sinks deeper, requiring some force to yank it out again. She grunts and hears Peter crouch down behind her.

“Is it going ok? Can I do anything?”

“Umm, maybe be prepared to pull the top of the tree in the other direction so it doesn’t fall on my head. I think I’m almost halfway.”

“Yes, please don’t make it fall on your head,” he requests.

“It won’t as long as you do your job,” she promises gruffly, hewing in once more.

“Do you think this would be easier with a saw?” Peter’s voice is higher now, coming from the other side of the tree. Though the branches fell when he changed position, she can feel them only resting lightly on her as he holds the top of the tree away. Probably standing on his toes.

“Don’t say anything against my axe.”

“I’m not! I was just thinking out loud!”

“A saw,” MJ informs him with another swing, “is not as badass.”

“Good point.”

But is he just agreeing because the tree’s starting to topple and the final swings to break through it take her blade closer to his shins as he dances out of the way? Maybe.

She clambers out and, with the tree now on an angle, is able to chop from an upright position, down on a diagonal until she buries her axe in the snow, then yanks it free.

“Oh, you can lay it down,” MJ tells Peter when she realizes he’s standing there with his arms full of tree, face hidden as he keeps his head pulled back from the branches.

He does so gently and then they stand there in triumph. MJ hurls her axe into the ground.

“Would you quit that?” Peter requests, jumpy.

She grins.

“Sorry. Just really feeling this.”

“I can tell.”

They took their time making their selection and can do one of two things next: either trim the branches for Peter to take home to May right here or drag the tree back to Flash’s SUV and perform the necessary amputations there. They do neither. MJ shrugs her shoulders and flexes her fingers inside her mittens, exorcising the tension of gripping the axe’s handle. She turns, glancing casually around, but really looking for something invisible—a reason to stay. A rational delay before rejoining the others.

“Hold still,” Peter says, as she’s looking back the way they came. The way she thinks they came. They stomped around this area, circling every tree, for a while, so the footprints are a little confused.

“What? If you try to tell me there’s a squirrel in my hair, I’m not going to believe you.”

He smiles softly.

“No squirrel, just snow.”

She stares at her friend warily as he approaches, then sweeps snow from her headband. That’s when she realizes one side of her coat is soaked from lying on the ground. It can’t get through though, it’s just the outer layer. Still, Peter walks a complete circle around her, wiping snow away.

“There,” he says.

MJ sighs.

“Peter…”

“Yeah?”

His face is so open as he looks at her, flakes flying around and between them. Her heart squeezes almost painfully because there have been so many days of not seeing his face without the assistance of a screen. Now that he’s here, it’s too much.

“Umm… how many branches do you think May wants?”

MJ crouches and puts her back to him, feigning being deep in concentration over the fresh Christmas corpse splayed out in the snow. She feels like a detective at a crime scene. Peter exhales heavily behind her, then drops to her level.

“More is probably better, right? She’ll probably take some in to work or try to give them to the neighbours anyway.”

“True.” They both reach for the axe. “Go ahead,” MJ says, quickly withdrawing her hand.

Peter shaves off what he thinks May might like—plus at least an armload more—in quick slices and snips.

“Jeeze, this thing is sharp.”

“I know,” she says proudly.

“I want one. For the suit, I mean. You think that could work?”

“Well, you already have a bunch of less probable-sounding features, so why not a spider with an axe made of webs?”

“Ned’s gonna be so excited when I tell him.”

“I’m excited,” she says, maybe a little too forcefully. It’s not a competition. She doesn’t think he’s already forgotten about her. There’s just some kind of glitch in her brain-to-mouth connection that no Spidey tech could possibly fix.

“I think we’re ahead of schedule,” Peter tells her.

He pulls out his phone to check the time while MJ cleaves into the fallen tree’s trunk, cutting it down to a size more suited to transport and her family’s apartment.

“We could do this in two trips,” he presses. “Take the tree and come back for the branches? Or vice versa?”

“I think we can manage it in one.”

She glances at him and he looks mildly frantic.

“Or two,” MJ amends. “Two would be better.”

Are they finally going to talk? That has to be the reason for Peter stretching this out, doesn’t it? But he moves quickly to grip the lowest branches of the tree, down where MJ severed it, and she grabs those on the opposite side of the trunk. After a jerk to get it going, they slide the tree smoothly over the snow, leaving a fine trail of needles. It occurs to her, as they walk, that she was worried about this part on the way in here, that the tree might pick up dirt from where others have walked, but the ground looks fresh and sparkling in the sun. That’s not familiar.

“Peter? Are we going the right way?”

“What? Yeah. Aren’t we? We have to be. Because the sun was…”

He gestures very unconvincingly overhead and her heart plummets in her chest. For once, not because she’s scared of saying something about her feelings for him and hearing they aren’t reciprocated, but because what Peter’s not saying directly is that they might be lost. And the worst part of that scenario is Flash being right. No, no, no, Peter will not make Flash right, not today.

“It’s been snowing,” she reviews. Stupid and obvious, but facts are soothing to her. “How much do you think it’s snowed? Not that much, right? It can’t have. We must’ve just started walking the wrong way.”

“Definitely. Ok, let’s turn around.”

So, they swing the tree with them and strike out in the opposite direction, not going very quickly as they navigate the trees. They pass the stump they lately created and MJ plucks her axe from the snow on the way past. It just makes her feel better, having it.

Unfortunately, this way isn’t correct either.

“Alright,” she says slowly. “What the fuck.”

“Let’s leave the tree for a minute.”

They set it down. She realizes she’s sweating.

“How could we be lost? How could you be lost?”

“There aren’t exactly landmarks,” Peter says. “It’s just… trees.”

“Maybe we should’ve gone to a place with signposts and neat little rows.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

He wanders over to her, watching her with careful eyes.

“I wasn’t this cold when I called today an adventure.”

“Maybe you should zip your coat back up.”

But she’s too warm and uncomfortable to do that just to challenge how he’s calling her bluff.

“Are you scared?” he asks. “You don’t need to be scared. I think we did a lot of circling. We didn’t walk too far in any one direction. I could climb a tree and look around?”

“Climb a tree? One of these trees? The ones covered in snow with the thin branches and the spiky needles?”

“Hey,” Peter jokes, hitting her arm with his elbow, “you’re supposed to be cheering me on.”

“I…” She closes her mouth. He frowns.

“Is something wrong?”

“We’re lost and Flash is going to gloat.”

“Besides that.”

“You’re trying really hard to get us out of here.” That should be a compliment, a commendation, but it sounds accusing as it leaves her mouth. MJ feels on-edge, heart beating all wrong.

“…Should I not be?”

God, she’s being strange. She can feel herself being strange. Everything’s aligning to buy her more time and she’s panicking trying to work out what to do with it. The snow is falling softly all around and she’s auditioning to play the most awkward protagonist in the history of Hallmark holiday movies.

“Are you looking forward to going back?” MJ asks abruptly.

“To the car?”

“To school. In January.”

“Umm, kinda? I mean, it’s going well. But you know that, we talked about this stuff the other day when you and Ned were over at May’s.”

“Yeah.” She’s thinking, staring down at her cut tree, debating how to mention that there’s one thing they didn’t talk about, that she couldn’t bring up, because she felt strange about doing it with Ned there. She goes to continue, unsure of her phrasing, but ready to push onward, when Peter answers, looking thoughtfully up at the pale-grey snow clouds.

“It’s really nice to be home, but I also don’t like living in the past.”

He glances at her to see what she thinks. She’s noticed that he does that a lot, when they’re on a video call. Sometimes, she teases him about it—the way he makes certain assertions sound like questions because he wants her input, values her opinion, thinks of her as wiser than him (she is) though he’s the genius playing around at the upper end of the grading curve in all of his classes.

“Sorry, what were you gonna say?” he asks, spotting the unfinished thought in her expression, how she holds her eyebrows a little too tightly together.

MJ shakes her head.

“It’s nice to have you home.” As Peter’s beginning to smile, swaying slightly towards her, she rambles on, “It’s nice to have everyone home. I mean, I could go longer between having to see Flash in person, but what can you do, right? It’s worth it to have Ned home. And Betty. And you.”

She swallows.

“There!” he shouts, pointing past her. She squints.

“What is it?”

“Our tracks.”

Trusting his superior eyesight, MJ troops after him. Sure enough, their deep treads from earlier are still faintly present—now gentle indents as the snowfall works to even everything out again.

“But we don’t have to hurry back,” Peter says. She avoids his eyes.

“Except we probably do, now that we’ve wasted time being lost.”

“We were never actually lost.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself so you can sleep at night, Spider-Man. Help me with the tree.”

He does, then hightails it back to collect May’s branches once MJ’s in the clearing with only the little trail left between her and the makeshift parking lot. She pulls her bounty along and through the gap, suddenly back with the rest of her friends.

“Did you manage to lose Parker out there?” Flash asks immediately. “Nice. Up top.”

She rolls her eyes instead of meeting his hand in a high five.

“He just had to go back for something,” MJ explains, expressly for the benefit of Ned and Betty.

“What’d he do, drop some of you guys’ sexual tension in the woods?”

Flushing with the sting in the air and self-consciousness, she walks past Flash. Just close enough to drag the tree over his feet and make him start whining about getting dirt on his blindingly-white designer snow boots. When his complaints cut off, she knows she’s in trouble. It’s like the sudden silence in a horror movie that you just know means nothing good.

“Never mind,” Flash says loudly. “Sexual tension present and accounted for.”

MJ whirls around to see Peter’s arrived and is staring at her with a pleading look on his face. Or he was, until Flash’s words sunk in. Surely, Peter’s fast enough to snatch his keys, toss them to Betty, and have them all climb into the SUV and wheel outta here, leaving Flash behind? But during the holidays? She’d feel bad. He’s lucky.

“Can we just get the trees loaded?” Peter asks, moving to help MJ pull hers closer to demonstrate that it’s not so much a question for Flash as a demand for him to shut the hell up. Flash probably doesn’t understand. He’d need tact for that.

“Fine. And not a scratch on the Escalade,” Flash commands.

He opens the trunk to reveal a set of carefully folded tarps; they’re too ratty to actually belong to him, so MJ’s betting that they’re Betty’s or Ned’s. Those two went on a big, romantic camping trip together right after high school graduation, so these could be remnants. The first tarp crinkles in Peter’s hands as he pulls it out and unfolds it. Beneath the second—removed by Ned—there’s a Burberry blanket protecting the SUV from the tarps. Honestly. Momentarily forgetting about their awkward moment in the forest, MJ catches Peter’s eye and nods at the blanket. The two of them start laughing and soon, Betty and Ned have spotted them and are laughing too. Flash is perplexed, which, as always, is when he gets grouchy and defensive.

“Can we pick up the pace, people?” he requests. “I need a hot drink and an even hotter fire. I can barely feel my fingers.”

“Wait.” MJ frowns and pauses in assisting Peter with dragging the longest tarp onto the roof of the SUV. “I have a tree, Ned and Betty each have trees… Flash, where’s your tree?”

She turns her head and notices Ned just cutting off a gesture of slicing a hand across his throat to insist on her not finishing that question. Betty sighs and explains.

“Flash’s service came back while we were out there.”

“Dude,” Peter huffs, stretching to reach and finish tugging the tarp into place, “you had service? You could’ve texted us to see if we were, I don’t know, lost.”

“This should come as no surprise to you, Parker,” Flash says snootily, “but I had other priorities.”

“Oh yeah?” MJ questions suspiciously.

“He went online and bought an artificial tree,” Betty says with a roll of her eyes.

“Sacrilege.”

“More like brilliance,” Flash corrects. “It has snow-encrusted branches, pre-strung lights, and the thing isn’t gonna die in a week, so it’s better for the environment.”

“Isn’t it plastic?” MJ checks in a slow voice, waiting for him to catch on.

“Yeah.”

“Then the process used to produce it created harmful emissions and when you find it next year and decide to throw it out because you’re no longer ‘feelin’ it’ or whatever excuse you have, it’ll go straight in the trash and from there to one of the many, many local and international landfills that house our city’s waste.”

“You’re pretty judgy for a girl who just fucking murdered a tree.”

“I did my research,” MJ counters easily. “This is a sustainably managed forest. They maintain the trees, protect new growth and transplant saplings every spring to ensure the health of not only the cash crop, but the forest as a whole. Pre-light that, dickhead.”

Feeling flustered, she goes to give Betty and Ned a hand with positioning their tree on the roof. MJ stands on the ledge offered by the open trunk and stabilizes the tree while the others guide it into position.

“Tension,” she hears Flash diagnose under his breath. He’s smart enough to not meet her eye when she glares down at him.

They encounter a small problem while loading the second tree: both Betty and Ned have selected especially full specimens. Side by side, they take up the entire roof, and MJ’s tree is still on the ground with Peter’s mountain of branches, waiting to be slung onboard.

“I don’t think it’ll fit,” Ned says after jumping into the air twice to take a look at the available space (none).

“Neither do I,” she agrees. “Guess it’s going in the trunk.”

“In the trunk?” Flash is there in a, well, flash. He slipped into the driver’s seat, ostensibly to doublecheck their route home, but really to start his seat-warmer and turn the Christmas radio station back on. His distress is juxtaposed against a jazzy rendition of ‘Winter Wonderland.’

“Yeah. There’s nowhere else.”

“Guys, please. Are you trying to get back at me for the sexual tension comment? It’s forgotten. I lied. No tension here. Cut the act and tell me that thing’s going on the roof with the others.”

“While ‘that thing’ is a capitalist nexus, it’s also a precious symbol of everything I love about Christmas,” MJ says firmly, “and it’s going in the trunk of this SUV.”

“Guys?” Flash glances at the other three, but nobody sides with him.

“Don’t worry, Flash,” Betty says kindly. “We won’t use the second tarp to go on top of the roof trees, we’ll line the trunk with it instead. There won’t be any needles, I promise.”

That is definitely not a promise she can make, and MJ’s sure her friend is aware, but she’s taking a shortcut to winning this standoff and MJ admires that. The placating seems to wash over Flash like the spirit of Christmas over Scrooge McDuck. Suddenly, he’s smiling.

“Yeah. We can do that. Of course. But.” Oh no. The smile’s warping. Flash is about to be an asshole again, MJ can see it coming fast on the horizon. “The tree’s going to take up more space than just the trunk.”

MJ peers into the SUV. Shit. He’s probably right.

“Oh,” says Betty, not getting the issue, “well, we can fold the seats down, right? The tree isn’t that tall. Come on, guys, we’ve had real problems. This is nothing!”

She beams at them and Ned wraps an arm around her, hugging her to his side.

“We’ll lose a seat in the back,” MJ says.

She’s profoundly annoyed by the satisfaction on Flash’s face as she’s the one to say the words, point out the obvious. Isn’t she always? It feels like her role in this friend group and she never minds that, never has until this very situation and its inevitable conclusion.

“Somebody’s gotta sit on somebody else’s lap,” Flash singsongs. “And it’s not me because I’m the driver!”

The other four look at each other.

“Betty,” Ned begins, “you and I could…”

“But she needs to be in the front to navigate,” Flash irritatingly points out, “and before you say it, you shouldn’t double up in the front. It’s not safe.”

Maybe they can back over him when they steal his ride and drive out of here, MJ theorizes. She sighs. Loudly. Vexedly.

“I’ll sit on Peter.”

She proceeds to make eye contact with none of them, just fishes a sloppy coil of rope out of the back and works with Betty to feed it over the trees and through the windows. Some cold air will blow into the SUV, but that won’t matter so much to her, she guesses, since she’ll have the benefit of Peter’s body heat. Who needs a seat-warmer when you can have an actual human lap? Ugh, no, not funny, but she tried to consider it in a way that doesn’t make her want to volunteer to sit in the trunk with her tree.

Finally, they lift her tree and Peter’s branches inside, position them, and shut the trunk. Flash is whistling ‘Carol of the Bells’ as he practically skips to the driver’s seat. Betty, far more compassionate, gives MJ a reassuring look before she gets in. Then Peter climbs into the back, taking the middle seat, and glances at her, lingering in the snow. She groans to herself and folds into the car as Ned gives her an encouraging pat on the back.

Maneuvering is awkward. Peter cranes his neck back like his whole body is leaning to make room for her, but it’s not possible—he’s already pressed back against the seat. She sits. He rustles beneath and behind her. Before she can panic and insist on walking home, Ned gets in and slams the door closed (Flash complains).

“Uh,” Peter starts, “do you wanna shift forward so I can buckle my—”

“Absolutely not. If we’re sharing a seat, we’re sharing a seatbelt. I don’t want to end this excursion by flying through the windshield when Flash swerves the car off the road because he sees a snowdrift that looks like a butt or something.”

“Hey! I’m an excellent driver,” he complains, starting the car.

“I could just, like, hold onto you?” Peter offers.

MJ’s heartbeat rockets. She presses the top of her head to the ceiling to ground herself.

“No. We’re using the seatbelt.”

Peter stretches it away from the seat and holds it for her to grab; she passes it back for him to fasten. The second it clicks into place, Flash throws the SUV into reverse and hits the gas. Peter must move his head away from behind hers because MJ’s genuinely surprised not to feel his nose break against the back of her skull.

“Excellent driver, huh?” she questions flatly.

“There was ice.”

“Sure there was.”

Flash winks at her in the rear-view mirror and instead of siding with her, MJ catches Ned chuckling.

“I’m sorry, but it’s funny. You guys look ridiculous seatbelted together,” he says.

But she doesn’t feel so much ridiculous as confused and on alert, swaying with Flash’s accelerations and decelerations (thankfully minor compared to how he started off). Every time, Peter’s hands jump to grab her: shoulders, waist, legs. Once, he grabs her hands and even though she still has her mittens on, dripping melting snow onto the seat on one side and the tree branch she’s clutching on the other, it’s startling.

“Sit still,” Peter tells her when she jerks out of his hold.

“You sit still.”

He laughs.

“I can’t go anywhere—you’re sitting on me.”

“Then try having less bony legs,” she suggests, though they both know the nerd has more muscle mass in one of his legs than the rest of the SUV’s occupants have in their entire bodies combined.

“Right up here!” Betty directs. “We have to pay.”

MJ sags gratefully into Peter, relaxed for the first moment of the short drive from the lot to the tree farm. She tenses up again when they pull in and Betty offers to be the one to hop out and pay for their trees. There is no reprieve from Peter’s lap. She hands over her cash to her friend with a sigh and listens while the trees are removed from the roof, shaken by a machine to rid them of loose needles, and replaced for transport home. When the trunk opens and the tree farm guy slides MJ’s little tree free, she shivers at the cold air blowing in.

“Take off your mitts and put your hands by the vent,” Peter suggests.

MJ looks around and sees that the only vent she can reach is the one their feet are bracketing, down by the floor. She fights the grip of the seatbelt to bend forward. Ah. Hot air on her freezing fingers, plus, she’s out of the draft coming through the open trunk.

“This is better. Thanks, dork.”

She glances back and spots the stricken look on her friend’s face as he watches her, still seated on his lap, but now bent over. MJ sits swiftly upright.

“I’m actually not that cold,” she says, spine rigid beneath her coat and her sweaters.

Peter sighs and, while Ned’s looking out the window to watch her tree get vibrated and wrapped, tentatively offers MJ his hands. If Ned notices that they’re holding hands when the SUV is completely repacked and they’re on their way to the place with the wine and cider, he doesn’t say a word about it. It’s shared body heat. It’s a survival tactic. That’s what MJ tells herself as she finds her and Peter’s fingers moving gently from a perfunctory clasp to intertwining.

They stay that way until Flash pulls off the road at the cider spot, which turns out to be an apple orchard. Well, more than just the orchard; there’s a whole barn here, but fancy, with a designated lot and possibly a restaurant inside.

“This is so cute!” Betty says.

MJ concentrates on shaking her hands out of Peter’s before Flash puts the SUV in park and turns around to see them.

The two of them are the last out of the car and she’s stiff with the silence, listening to their friends laugh and gripe about the cold (Flash) as they wait with Ned’s door open. Before MJ can push through her thoughts and fears to say anything, Peter’s arm comes around her. Her eyes widen. …And he unbuckles the seatbelt. Probably just because she was taking too long. She slips over into Ned’s vacant seat and is about to scramble out when Peter catches her hand. MJ turns.

“Will you tell them we’ll meet them inside?” he requests.

Heart hammering, she relays the message, then looks on as Ned and Betty hustle Flash through the doors before can make another of his unwelcome comments or otherwise interfere.

“I think we really need to talk,” Peter says, after MJ pulls the door closed to preserve what little heat is left in the vehicle.

“We talk all the time,” she argues. She thinks, Yes, please talk to me.

“About a lot of stuff. You know, most stuff.” He wedges his fingers under the edge of his hat to run them nervously through his hair.

“That’s a generalization, but a fair one.”

“But, you know, lately, I’ve been, uh, wishing that we could talk about…”

“…even more stuff?” MJ guesses, hopes.

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

“You know, our schools aren’t that far apart,” he says, like it’s the first time he’s realizing this.

She smiles wryly.

“I’m aware. That’s why I came out for Thanksgiving first year when you couldn’t make it back to Queens. Even if we did eat take-out shrimp Pad Thai instead of homecooked turkey.”

“And,” Peter adds, “it’s why I showed up at your dorm to help you study for that midterm you were stressing about in October.”

“And why I picked up when you called me every night,” MJ says, quieter. He smiles softly.

“I was talking about the distance.”

Summoning her courage, she looks him right in the eye and lets her still-uncovered hand sneak back over his.

“What distance?”

“You’re my best friend,” Peter starts. “You and Ned.” MJ frowns. Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit, she’s misjudged this, seriously misjudged this.

“Oh. Well. Great. Cool.”

“No, MJ!” he says quickly, noticing the look on her face. He flips his hand under hers so their palms meet. “I’m definitely in love with you, I just mean… Well, oops, I guess I said it.”

She’s pretty impressed with her own control over her facial features—maintaining a slightly-happier-than-neutral expression—when half of her brain is setting off fireworks that seem to be landing and fizzing around on the other half. He’s in love with her. Definitely.

“For as fast as your mind works, your mouth always manages to get ahead of it,” she observes.

Peter’s expression goes from tortured and fumbling to sharp and decisive.

“That’s good advice.”

“What? That wasn’t advi—”

He darts forward and kisses her, hand emphatically clutching hers. There’s a humorous smack when their mouths separate.

“Oh my god,” Peter says, “I forgot to ask if it was ok to do that.”

MJ smirks.

“My only complaint is that you beat me to it when I’ve been trying to figure out how to do that all day.”

“I did wonder,” he admits with a small smile.

“And you couldn’t have helped me out?” she asks, exasperated.

“A big part of being friends with you is knowing you rarely need help. You’re good, like, ninety percent of the time.”

“What do you do the other ten percent?”

Peter shrugs.

“Kiss you and ask if you have plans for New Year’s? By the way, do you have plans for New Year’s?”

He tries to adopt a casual expression but now that MJ thinks about it, she can’t recall the last time her friend looked at her with anything like mild interest. He can’t pull it off anymore, if he ever could. Apparently, she wasn’t always watching that well, because she clearly didn’t know everything.

Peter loves her. He loves her.

“I have a feeling I’ll probably be available,” she tells him. “I have a bad habit of trying to be where you are.”

“I love that about you.”

MJ kisses him quickly, then shoves him away, nearly into the pine tree resting on his other side. Whoops. It’s just that she can feel how easy it would be to get caught up in this moment, and they’re still in the back of Flash’s SUV. People are waiting for them. She takes a deep breath and gives Peter a searching look.

“If we walk in there like this—” She shakes their clasped hands. “—what do I say?”

“Tell them your hands were cold.”

“I… I don’t want to hide it, I just…”

“I know. It’s ok. It’s new.”

“Yeah.”

Peter nods sympathetically. He’s her friend first; he’s not going to push her to speak before she’s ready. (He probably knows he couldn’t if he wanted to.)

She hauls the door open and they stride through the snowy parking lot together. The sun’s already struggling to come out and flakes whip high into the air, catching in the light. They step inside the building to see brightness streaming through the windows, their trio of friends crowded around a table. Flash seems to be making Ned sprinkle cinnamon into his hot apple cider while he films it—presumably to post for the enjoyment of the Flash Mob. (That’s still going. He has a shocking number of followers.) Betty turns and her gaze slips down to their joined hands. She smiles.

MJ has the excuse ready. When Flash and Ned glance over, she’s prepared to tell them her hands were cold.

She opens her mouth.

“Peter’s my boyfriend now.”

[kpopcotton]

The Lonely Count ~ Huang Renjun

a/n ~ Happy Halloween! I’m so happy to finally get this out since I’ve been working on it all month!

• Genre: supernatural, high school au, strangers to friends, slight romance, fluff, angst if you squint

• Warning(s): very brief mentions of (fake) blood, it’s overall very toned down

• Reader Gender: gender-neutral

• Word Count: 6.2k

==≎==

   “No.”

   “Are you serious?!” Haechan cries out, his hands reaching across the table to give you a good shake as he speaks. “Come on! It’ll be so much fun! Besides, everyone else wants to and I already told them you were coming so, by law, that means you have to. Plus! Jaemin said he was excited to see you since you haven’t been hanging out with us recently.”

   The mere mention of his friends makes you want to crawl into a hole to hide. You blankly stare at Haechan’s overdramatic pout as he tries to guilt-trip you, his simple act makes you want to go even less. There was no way you were going to spend Halloween night with a bunch of severely good-looking people. Good-looking people meant attention, and attention meant you would be the designated person that people would come to ask for the boys’ numbers. 

   You could imagine it now, the random, crowded Halloween party they were probably planning on attending, and them leaving you alone to find a wall to sit against while they went out and mingled. You already felt like a clown just thinking about it. Maybe I should dress up as one, show my true colors. You remember Haechan’s friends mentioning being introverts that one time you had to take a personality quiz in Health class freshman year, but you find that hard to believe.

   Sometimes, it still amazes you how you’ve stayed friends with Haechan, in all his bubbly, social, annoying glory. “Tell them my mom grounded me,” you mumble, trying to show just how uninterested you are.

   “But that’s a lie! Your mom-”

   “Exactly.” You snap with your gaze fierce. Haechan’s previously open mouth clamps shut, fixing an awkward silence between you two in the booth of the diner.

   You angrily opt for stuffing your face with the fries from your basket instead of talking to him. Your eyes drift to the window as you chew them. Haechan watches you, his foot slowly sliding across the floor to poke at your ankle, his way of getting you to calm down and forgive him for prodding. It has the opposite effect, however, your foot shooting out to give his shin a good kick as you glare at him again. He yelps quite loudly and the waitress who was on her way to ask you if you wanted refills, flinches, turning around to pretend to help a coworker behind the counter.

   Haechan’s face flushes a pale red as he brings his leg up to rub at his shin. “That hurt, you know,” he whines, his bottom lip trembling pitifully.

   “Good.”

   His sad expression disappears in an instant, his face now pressed into clear frustration as he drops his leg back down. “Okay, seriously, what is up with you? If it were any other time, you’d be all over hanging out.”

   “Exactly. I would say yes to hanging out if it was with literally anyone else.” You stressed, sipping your drink. Haechan looks to be at his wit’s end with you.

   “What do you even mean?”

   “What I mean is, I don’t like your friends, Donghyuck. I mean, yes, they may be nice to me, and yes, it is cool that they want to include me in plans, but do you ever stop to think that I don’t enjoy hanging out with them? Or that I’m not a fan of the things you guys like to do? Or that maybe, when I’m with them, it’s like I’m not even there at all?” For once in his life, Haechan is speechless, staring at you with wide eyes as if all of this was surprising to him. And, maybe it was.

   “Y/N, I-”

   “I’m not finished.” You hold up a finger to his lips. “Listen, I get that you don’t want to leave me out of the loop or whatever, but parties and hanging out in bigger groups is not my thing. I’d rather it just be us, like when we were kids, where we ran around town past curfew on Halloween stealing candy bowls so we could get fat for winter. Hell, I’d even be down to explore those “haunted woods” we were always scared of because of that story Johnny told us when we were in first grade.”

   “Did I hear that right? Exploring the haunted woods? I knew you’d come up with an amazing idea for our get together, Y/N!” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. The Na Jaemin graciously plops himself down next to you in the booth with a basket of chicken tenders and fries. Haechan’s other friends, Mark and Jeno, squish Haechan into the wall on the other side of the booth. Jaemin’s smile was almost too bright, his eyes full of childish wonder as he glanced between you and your best friend. “That’s what this is right? A planning sesh? I love those, you know!”

   You ignore Jaemin, your eyes currently stabbing holes into Haechan, but the little coward is too embarrassed to even look at you. He doesn’t remain silent, however, choosing to be civil and answer Jaemin’s question. “Y-Yeah, we were planning what we wanted to do with you guys Halloween night.”

   “Oh goodie,” Jaemin claps excitedly, “Count me in then, guys!”

==≎==

   You were dreading Halloween by the time it came around. You had planned on avoiding them, maybe sneaking out to hang out with the dynamic duo, Jisung and Chenle, from your first-hour Psychology class. But, all hopes were dashed when your mom happily invited all four boys into the house when Haechan knocked. They were already dressed for the occasion; Haechan as an angel, Jeno and Jaemin cosplaying the spies from Spy vs. Spy, and Mark as… himself?

   He must have noticed your questioning glance because he was quick to explain, “I’m dressed as Peter Parker.” He pulls his backpack around to show you the mask conveniently hanging out.

   “He was too embarrassed to wear the suit,” Haechan announces, making you involuntarily let out a chuckle. Your mom coos while patting the latter’s shoulder and Mark’s ears burn bright red.

   “It’s skin-tight dude!”

   “And?”

   Before you could say anything in response, Jaemin was dragging you up the stairs to the bathroom, his arm full of costume things. He was talking a mile a minute about how he found the perfect costume for you and how he was so excited to help you get ready. He sat you on the toilet and quickly drew out the costume bag. 

   “Ta-dah!” His smile is, once again, blinding. You scan the packaging.

   “S-Sexy vampire?” You splutter, almost choking on your spit.

   “Yes! And, I can’t wait to see you in it!” He shoves the bag into your hands before turning around and covering his eyes. “Hurry up! Get changed! We don’t have all night!”

   You slowly get changed into the costume; which is a pair of black slacks, a classic frilly white top with bloodstains that has a very lowcut neckline and a deep v-cut through the back, and a black cheap cape. You stand awkwardly in your costume, it fits a bit tight, as you look at your bright pink face in the mirror. Jaemin spins around excitedly to face you when he hears you stop moving, letting out a sharp gasp.

   “Oh. My. Gosh! You look amazing!” He squeals, clapping with all his might. “Now let’s get you some makeup!”

   You’ve been pushed back onto the toilet in the blink of an eye, Jaemin settling himself between your legs. He can’t stop mumbling about how cute you are and how perfect the costume is. You notice movement in the corner of your eye and see Haechan trying to sneak into the bathroom. You glare at him and Jaemin turns away from dabbing fake blood onto your lip to see.

   “Haechan, look! Aren’t they so hot?”

   Haechan suddenly flushes, pausing halfway through the door to scan your costume. You notice his eyes linger on your exposed collarbones and you tug the thin cape to hide them. “Yeah,” He nods after his once over, reaching up to flick at the plastic golden halo on his head. “I mean, they don’t look half as good as me, but I’ll-” He cuts himself off with a scream when you stand up to go after him.

   Jaemin laughs, his hands quickly grasping your hips to keep you in front of him. “Woah, tiger. Calm down, you can beat him up when I’m done!”

==≎==

   You knew you were radiating the most awkward energy as you came down the stairs in your getup. Your tongue is mindlessly playing with the fake fangs Jaemin had stuck to your canines with tacky-putty, they feel foreign whenever you close your mouth. Your mom, upon seeing your costume, rushes up to gush about it, her fingers pinching your pale dusted face before she begs you all to pose for pictures. Your face feels hot under your makeup and you wonder if it showed through the stuff Jaemin caked onto it. She quickly runs to get her phone, giving Jeno and Mark a chance to compliment your look. You thank them almost silently.

   She won’t stop talking when she comes back, reminiscing about the days when you were all young, fragile, and small. She doesn’t miss the chance to poke at you for being a particularly weak kid, to which you fume over. Haechan tries to add onto it but you stomp your boot on his foot, shutting him up instantly.

   As she takes a few photos, the boys having fun with their poses while you try to join, she then starts to mention that this will be the last time you all go trick or treating before college. A pebble of guilt forms in your stomach when she says this, you weren’t expecting the boys to lie to her about what you were going to do tonight. You start to drift into thought when Mark, who’s standing next to you, loudly stumbles to mention he’s already in college, and that he’s taking engineering classes at the tech college in the next town over. Your mom seems embarrassed to have assumed he was younger, but she brushes it off by saying he should take care of everyone tonight as he is an adult. Haechan pouts at your mom when she says this, saying that the rest of you are technically adults since you’re all 18, and she laughs and pats his cheek which turns red at the contact.

   “Alright, kids, have fun! Stay safe! And don’t be out too late, I don’t want Y/N to wake me up in the middle of the night getting home.” The boys all reply with some version of, “yes ma’am” and start down the sidewalk toward the edge of town where the haunted woods start. 

   Mark and Haechan lead the pack, walking side by side and cracking jokes to the duo behind them. You, on the other hand, silently take up the rear alone. You already feel out of place. It doesn’t help when a group of pretty girls call out to Jeno and you have to follow as they all take a detour to talk to them. Haechan is quick to brag about your plans to explore the haunted woods, one of the girls gasping and indulging him. She’s dressed in a bright red jumpsuit, a headband with matching demon horns protruding from her hair. How ironic. 

   As usual, the girls are all over the four boys, none of them even sparing a glance at you. Typical. Sometimes you wish you had the confidence Haechan possessed to strike up a conversation with them, maybe then they would notice you. It sucked, but you knew it would happen, even when Jaemin said no one would dare ignore a “sexy vampire such as yourself”.

   Soon enough, Mark decides that it’s time to go and they have to pull Haechan away from the demon girl he was flirting with. Again, you all fall into the formation at the start of your journey. Your mood is completely sour, and you contemplate sneaking off. You knew Jisung and Chenle were probably out and about trick or treating, and they had invited you when you said you were forced into plans you didn’t want to partake in. You had told them it was up in the air, and that you might ditch. Jisung said he would save some candy for you and Chenle said he’d buy you a candied apple. You suddenly have a craving for a candied apple. You bet yourself ten dollars that you would have a better time with the two younger boys than with Haechan and his buddies.

   As soon as you turn to make a run for it, Jaemin shouts out, startling you. “We’ve made it! Guys, guys, are you ready for this? The scare of our lives awaits us!” He enthusiastically claps. “Y/N? Y/N! Come take a picture of me in front of the trees!”

   Seriously? “Coming,” You grumble, walking past everyone to wear Jaemin stands, making sure to check your shoulder into Haechan’s.

   You awkwardly take Jaemin’s phone from him after he opens the camera app. His smile is so strikingly perfect, you have a hard time focusing. He skips over to just in front of the tree-line and poses. You follow and take a couple of pictures before holding out his phone to him. “No, no wait. Take a couple more over here. Please, please, please!” You hesitate, trying and failing to hide your disgust when he gets down on his knees to beg. The boys behind you laugh at the scene, mumbling some things back and forth before laughing harder. An odd feeling clenches your heart when you wonder if Haechan was laughing at you, or making fun of you. “I’ll love you forever! Y/N, please, it’s for my Instagram!”

   At that, you shove the phone into his face, causing him to let out a squeak. “Have your boyfriends do it or something,” You then push past the kneeling boy and make your way into the woods. You just want to get this over with.

   The boys grow silent, looking at each other in confusion as you disappear into the thick underbrush. Haechan panics when he realizes just how thick it is, he can’t see you at all through the trees. He quickly apologizes to Jaemin before running after you. Mark and Jeno help Jaemin off the ground before following as well. 

   Once they step through the spot you had, awe overtakes them. The area, despite having a mass of vines and bushes surrounding it, is fairly open and you can see ahead for what looks like miles. It was dark, a lot darker than it was on the sidewalk with the full moon. The trees were all thin, devoid of branches until their very top where their canopies spread and weave together to block out the sky. It was eerily silent and it seems the sounds of life couldn’t penetrate the veil that bordered the entire wood. 

   Haechan could see you already a little ways ahead, looking around with an expression he would have thought cute if it weren’t for the way you had been acting all night.  He stumbles on his way up to you, reaching you much slower than he expected being as you didn’t seem that far in the first place. The three boys behind him let him go, opting to explore the wood together and away from the conflict they knew was about to happen.

   “Y/N, what was that?” Haechan questions you once he’s close enough, his voice low and demanding like you had done something wrong. He tugs on your cape and it irks you.

   “What was what, Donghyuck?” You growl, stepping up so you’re chest to chest with him, a challenge. “You better lay off, alright. I’m not doing this with you. And, in the haunted woods of all places.”

   His angered expression fades instantly as he gawks at you. He isn’t stupid, he understands something has made you upset with him if your use of his real name again was anything to go by, but he isn’t smart enough to figure out why. Before he could ask what pissed you off, Jeno’s voice slices through the silence from up ahead. You both turn to see him pointing to an old, victorian style house in the distance with a smirk. A small feeling of dread pricks at your lungs, deflating them and making you suck in a shaky breath. You forget the argument with Haechan in favor of observing the house.

   The house is large and looks very expensive, most definitely a grand mansion in its prime. The tallest tower’s roofing extends through the canopy and lets in a minuscule amount of moonlight which shines upon the face of the house, glinting off of the second-floor windows. The exterior could use some work, it looks like it hasn’t been properly maintained in years. The roof is missing some shingles, the wooden siding was splintered, and there were cobwebs on the front porch and in the eves of the roof. Surprisingly, even with the signs of age, everything was intact, like it was preserved by the woods itself. How you didn’t notice it before was unnerving to you.

   The five of you gather around the front steps. Upon closer look, it seems like some has been maintaining the house. There’s a potted plant next to the door that looks freshly trimmed and watered, and the garden surrounding the porch is beautifully filled with thriving flowers you were sure weren’t native. You wondered how they bloomed with such minimal light. As the boys discuss a plan of action, you almost curse when you see a faint light floating around inside the house. You pretend you never saw anything, taking it as your imagination playing tricks on you, in hopes to slow your suddenly racing heartbeat.

   “So, we explore it?” Haechan asks, however, it doesn’t seem like it was meant as a question as he’s already on his way to walk up the stairs before Mark’s hand shoots out and yanks him back by the collar.

   “I don’t think so, dude,” Mark quickly responds, his head shaking so fast you worry he’ll give himself whiplash. “Do you want to be killed or something?”

   “Yeah, it doesn’t seem like a good idea,” Jaemin pouts, his voice whiny. “We might get arrested for trespassing or something.”

   Jeno laughs, “Come on, are you guys scar-”

   “Let’s do it.” You suddenly speak up, your voice surprising yourself. You had no clue what compelled you to say that, but it seemed like something inside of the house was telling you to come in.

   “What?” All four boys seem dumbfounded. You don’t get why they’re so startled of you agreeing when they were the ones who suggested it in the first place.

   “Okay, Y/N, you are officially insane!” Jaemin shrieks, his thoughts seem to be racing before he gasps. “Are you possessed? Is that why you’ve been acting so weird tonight?”

   “I haven’t been acting weird,” You defend, already halfway up the stairs before you turn back to speak again. “You four just don’t know me. Now, we came here to get scared, didn’t we? So are you guys coming or not?”

   Jeno nods almost instantly, his expression stoic but you could see faint sympathy in his eyes as he joins you in climbing the old stairs. They didn’t creak under your combined weight, despite looking like they’d cave in if one too many people were on them at once, which surprised you. Haechan was next to follow, whining about the not so subtle dig you had directed at him. Jaemin hesitated before scurrying up the steps to cling to Jeno’s arm, muttering something about Jeno being the one to protect the group if something were to attack you. Mark was last, begrudgingly trudging up the steps with heavy feet, claiming that if things went south, he would leave everyone in a heartbeat.

   You rolled your eyes before turning to the grand main entry. It was a black wooden door, beautiful down to the very last detail, with a shining metal knocker in the shape of a boar with a nose ring. You gently run your fingers over the boar’s head before wrapping them around the nose ring to knock, the metal biting your hand with numbness.

   “Oh, please don’t Y/N, we-”

   Knock, knock, knock.

   “Ah, seriously, you’re going to get us murdered!”

   “Relaxed, Nana, it’s just an abandoned house. We’ll be okay.” Jeno laughed, watching the latter dig his nails into his bicep with a sweet eye smile.

   “Yeah, I’m just being polite,” You turn back to glance at him and the door opens behind you with a swooshing gust of wind. It’s almost strong enough to knock you off your feet, but you only stumble as Mark reaches out to help stable you. Your styled hair is now messed up and you notice Jaemin’s disappointment under the raging fear. All of their eyes are fixed on the door behind you. “What?” You ask, glancing at Mark. “Is there something behind me?”

   “No. Thank goodness. I didn’t want to have to save you,” Haechan walks up next to you, his chest puffing up as he tries to look tough while peering into the dark house. You resist smacking him upside the head for his comment. “It looks empty.”

   “Just like we thought,” Jeno adds, his words meant to comfort the group, but you could tell it was mostly directed at Jaemin who was shaking in his boots. Jeno gently fixes the spy cap on Jaemin’s head before his own.

   “So, we go in?” Haechan asks, again pretending he didn’t just ask a question as he starts to walk through the crack in the door. Mark, again, yanks him back by the collar, to which the former whines about choking.

   “Would you stop doing things all willy nilly?” Mark stresses, fixing the wrinkles he had caused in Haechan’s button-down. Haechan shrugs and Mark sighs, using his foot to open the door the rest of the way.  The darkness fades instantly when the lanterns flicker to life inside the house. “Okay, now let’s go.”

   You all walk inside with you in the front for once, the door closing behind Jeno and Jaemin but you aren’t sure who closed it. There’s an ambient sound of the fire crackling softly from the lanterns. The inside of the house is a stark contrast to the exterior. It’s well maintained and neat down to the very last speck of dust, almost like a museum. The room you had all walked into was the foyer, a thin room almost like a long rectangle with stairs stretching up the right wall toward a landing with three doors. You notice everything is severely outdated, the carpet red with gold floral accents and the walls half dark wood paneling and half faded floral wallpaper. There’s a dark wood table just to the left of you between two dark archways, it holds a priceless porcelain vase filled with stunningly preserved roses and you can smell their faint aroma from where you stand. To your right, just before the stairs is another archway leading into the right side of the house, and next to it is a coat rack which holds a small, but expensive, fur coat.

   “Woah, this place is-”

   “Stunning,” You breathe, your feet taking you down the hall as if you were floating and Mark’s hand narrowly misses your cape. Your eyes trail along every detail. Surprisingly, Jaemin is right behind you, leaving the rest of the boys at the door. You both reach the farthest arch on the left side, practically hand in hand, and you step through it first. The lights in this room flickering to life as well, revealing a lavish living space.

   You and Jaemin both gasp. Floor to ceiling bookshelves line two walls, a marble fireplace between a couple on one wall. There’s dark wood flooring in here but the couches and chairs are the same patterns as the carpet in the foyer. There’s a bearskin rug between the three couches and an antique coffee table sits on top of it. The shelves have collectibles too, dispersed between thousands of books. One of them, you note, is a Moomin figurine which is out of place in the traditional home.

   You glance back at the fireplace, suddenly regarding a large portrait above it, your feet gluing themselves to your spot on the floor. The person in the portrait is beautiful, much like the house. His eyes seem to pierce your very soul as you stare into them, and his expression is that of arrogance and power. He’s dressed in black gothic clothing but he has a stark white choker with a deep red-ruby. His hair is black, pulled out of his eyes but it brushes against his forehead in a few stray strands. You felt you could stare at him for hours, he was that handsome.

   “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Haechan chuckles into your ear, snapping you out of your daze as you flinch away from him. Your fist comes out to punch him in the shoulder before you can even process it. He yelps, catching the other boys’ attention from their spot examining the books.

   “What’s wrong?” Mark asks, still on edge as his eyes scan Haechan frantically.

   “Nothing, nothing,” Haechan grunts softly, rubbing his shoulder while he points to the piece of art. “Just making fun of Y/N for falling in love with a painting.”

   “I wasn’t falling in love!” You protest, your cheeks flaring with heat.

   “Okay, then what were you doing? Admiring the art?” Haechan asks, a little quirk to his lips. “Or that guy’s face?”

   You reach out to hit him again and he flinches, running away from you to hide behind Jeno, his tongue poking out to mock you. You get ready to chase him, but you decide against it, not wanting to accidentally knock something expensive over.

   “Oh, Y/N, I don’t blame you,” Jaemin gasps, his hands cupping his cheeks before one hand lowers to fan himself. You look over at him. “He’s so pretty!”

   “Hey,” Jeno suddenly speaks up with a pout.

==≎==

   You all spend the next hour exploring the bottom floor of the house. Jaemin follows you around to take pictures of anything he thought looked cool which was mostly you in your vampire costume doing casual things around the house. “Your vibes, Y/N! You suit this house so well!”

   You didn’t pay him any attention, focusing on finding out who that boy in the painting was. You snoop through the bookshelves in the living room while the others mess around in the kitchen. Jaemin got bored of you ignoring his pose ideas and left to join the others. You found a black and white picture of a toddler in a suit, a bit blurry as it seemed the toddler would not stop moving, but it was definitely him. You barely noticed your fingers starting to trace the boy’s features, quickly withdrawing upon realization, a sharp heat scorching the apples of your cheeks as you walk around and see what other pictures you can find.

   You found another of the boy, a bit older than the last picture, in the front garden you and the boys had gathered in. He was sweetly observing the flowers and a few specks that were most likely bees, and even in the poor quality, you could see the precious smile he wore. Your lips slowly curve into a smile the longer you stare at the photo. You were viciously torn from your daze when a loud shatter rang through the house, loud yelling following after and alerting you.

   “Haechan you idiot!” Mark. He sounded like he was on the verge of bawling his eyes out and, when you find them in the foyer, it looks like he is. The priceless vase that once stood on the table, lay on the floor in absolute ruin. There were shards of porcelain everywhere.

   “What have you done! We’re going to be cursed!” Jaemin wails, his face in his hands.

   “Guys, guys, relax. Just watch out for the pieces.” Jeno’s hands stuck out between the group of boys as a means of mediation.

   Before anyone could speak again, Haechan’s mouth already open to defend himself, the sound of a door opening upstairs alerts everyone. Dread fills everyone’s faces, yours included. Mark is the first to move, snatching Haechan’s collar and bolting for the door as fast as he can, pushing Jeno out of his way in his haste to get out. Haechan’s voice is pitchy as he cries out in fear. Jeno is right behind them, his arms tightly around Jaemin as he hauls him out, both of them muttering to each other what you can assume are comforting words. You try to leave as well, but a voice calls out to you, accompanied by the door slamming shut in front of you. Instantly, you hear faint banging and yelling from the other side of the door, but it seems you have other things to focus on.

   “Who are you?” The voice is soft and would seem timid if it weren’t for the forceful undertone. You slowly turn to face the person addressing you, your jaw almost dropping in sheer awe.

   It was the boy from the painting, standing at the top of the staircase in all his glory. He was even prettier in person, even with the flecks of paint on his cheeks and the casual clothing he sports. He has a pair of spectacles low on his nose that you can’t help but find adorable, he squints at you over the top of them. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all directions as if he was tugging at it restlessly. You notice cute little Moomin slippers on his feet as well.

   “Hello? I asked you a question. Who are you?” He calls, his arms crossing and his pretty bottom lip quickly sticking out in a pout.

   You gulped down the spit that had collected in your mouth. Was everyone in this town drop-dead gorgeous? “I-I’m Y/N.”

   “Y/N?” He tests your name on his tongue, looking thoughtful as he cautiously steps down a few stairs. He gives you a once over, his eyes resting on your exposed collarbones and neck, where Jaemin had created fake puncture wounds, before they met yours again. “I’m Renjun. Now, I don’t usually get visitors. Ever. So, what are you doing in my house? Besides breaking expensive stuff and looking like an overly sexualized version of my friend YangYang? It’s a little rude, you know, we don’t look like that or dress like that, actually.”

   You felt yourself become tense. Great, not only has he trapped me in his house to probably kill me, he’s mocking my costume which isn’t even mine! He said it - wait a minute, “W-We?”

   His lips part in surprise, like he wasn’t supposed to have let that slip. You quickly take notice of a pair of little fangs protruding from under his top lip. Your face quickly flushes, your fading makeup doing little to hide it. He lets out a shy chuckle. “Well, yes, I-I’m a vampire. Do humans not think we’re real anymore?”

   You’re speechless, your mouth opening and closing uselessly like a fish out of water. You can’t decide if you are afraid or in awe. You feel faint, the words almost not processing completely.

   “I-I’m sorry to have dropped that bomb on you, but could we get back to the task at hand? Your friends kind of, you know, broke my favorite vase and ran.” His hand slowly stretches out to point at the collection of shards on his carpet. You shake your head to come back to Earth.

   “Oh right, I am so, so sorry, Renjun.” His name feels funny coming out of your mouth and you feel like you don’t have the right to call him by his name. However, it seems you using his name softens something up in him and he looks away from you shyly. 

   “I guess you’ll have to pay me in some way,” He suddenly says, his eyes finding yours again. You deflate, you knew something like this was going to happen, maybe not getting stuck in a vampire’s house, but you knew you would have to pay for your friends’ stupid actions tonight in some way. It happened when they all forgot their wallets when you went out for McDonald’s at three in the morning and it was happening again, but this time you wondered if you would be paying with your life instead of spare change. “That vase was priceless.”

   You close your eyes, waiting for him to finally attack you. “I understand,” You whisper.

   “W-Wait,” Renjun’s soft voice sounds panicked and you furrow your brow in confusion before opening your eyes again. He seems to have an epiphany. “Ah! I’m so sorry! I’m not going to hurt you! Oh gosh, did you think I was going to kill you or something? Drink your blood?” You nod slowly, even more confused. “Oh, Y/N, I’m not like that! I don’t drink straight from humans, that’s gross.”

   “What are you going to do to me then?” You ask.

   “D-Do to you?” Renjun stammers, his cheeks turning a pale blue hue, and his eyes growing to the size of dinner plates. You nod again, watching him start to frantically wave his hands. “Nothing! I won’t even lay a hand on you! I was just gonna ask you to keep me company!” 

   “Keep you company?”

   “I just - I haven’t left my house in like... years. And, YangYang actually moved to Germany so I haven’t seen him in a while and I’ve just been,” He hesitates, the conflict behind his eyes evident. “I’ve just been really lonely.”

   You feel like you’ve been hit with a brick to the chest, the air leaving your lungs and turning into pain, feeling for the boy in front of you. Even with friends, you know exactly how he feels. It hurts you to know that the first social interaction he’s had with anyone in a while has been you and your friends breaking into his house.

   “Oh, Renjun,” Your arms reach out to pull the boy into an embrace before you can even process it. The way you say his name makes him shudder despite not being able to feel cold. You pull away suddenly when you realize, both of you growing shy. “Wait, are you sure you want to be friends with someone who broke into your house? And someone who’s friends with an idiot who smashed your favorite vase?”

   “Absolutely, I would like that more than anything” He mumbles, finding it in himself to gently take your hands. “You are really lovely -- s-so far, at least. And, I want you to introduce me to this idiot friend of yours, I want to give him a piece of my mind.”

   You both share a laugh after that, and you hug him once more without even telling yourself to. “Then I would love to keep you company.”

   “Th-Thank you.”

==≎==

   “Y/N!” Before you could even close the door behind yourself, Haechan’s arms were suffocating you in one of the tightest hugs you had ever received from him. His face quickly buries into your shoulder and you feel the sticky wetness of his snot and tears on your bare skin. You forgo disgust in lieu of comforting your friend who seems to be more shaken up about the situation than you. You gently pet his hair while he nuzzles against you, rambling through his sobbing. “I’m so sorry! I swear, we tried to open the door, we really did! It was locked!”

   You try to talk, but he hugs you tighter with the rest of the boys quickly following suit, only a puff of air passing through your lips. “We thought we had killed you!” Jaemin cries, his head taking up your other shoulder from behind. You can’t exactly tell whose arm is whose around you. The hug lasts a little longer, Haechan and Jaemin mumbling and sniveling against your neck, and even with the obvious bodily fluids you can feel spreading around, warmth spreads through you at the notion that they care.

   “Was there a demon in there?” Mark asks with a trembling voice, backing away from the group hug with his eyes boring into yours as if to make sure your soul was still intact. He seems to scare himself looking back inside through the windows.

   “Nothing hurt you, right?” Jeno’s hands reach over the two boys still squeezing the life out of you to cup your cheeks and turn your head side to side.

   “I’m fine! I’m fine!” You rasp, “I just… can’t breathe.”

   Instantly, Jaemin and Haechan let you go, apologizing to you and choosing to coddle each other instead. The boys let out a collective sigh of relief. You let a small smile spread across your face before it drops. “Wait, I just realized something!” You gasp, the boys growing tense.

   “What? What? What is it?” Jaemin asks, leaving Haechan to hold both of your hands between his. His eyes worriedly scan your face.

   “You guys grabbed each other and just left me!”

   “Uh oh,” Haechan whispers, knowing your tone all too well. “Run!”

   Instantly the boys take off, much like they did inside the house, however, this time they are laughing. You race down the stairs after them before your body stops and turns you around to look at the second-floor windows. You can faintly see Renjun smiling brightly at you through the moon’s glare, he raises his hand and yours does too. He waves, but your hand doesn’t. Mind control. “Cool,” You whisper under your breath and he laughs from inside the house. You smile and wave back before Haechan calls from the tree line and you run to catch up.

I guess I owe myself ten dollars.

[bibliocratic]

TMA jonmartin fics

Organising these, mostly so I can keep track to be honest. All some flavour of jonmartin, predominantly fluff or angst. cws in original tags. 

Updated as of June 2020

If you'd like to send any prompts, feel free!  All of these are also bundled together on A03.

Martin tries to rescue Jon from Elias, post-160

JONAH MAGNUS Oh, but, look. Look at him, Martin. Isn’t my Archive magnificent?

MARTIN [whispered, almost fearful] Yes.

Martin feels the pull of the Lonely. Jon draws a bath.

“Come on,” Jon says, enfolding their hands together.  His voice is kind, and that’s never died, no matter how the world bricked it up and starved it of sunlight. Jon’s kind to his bones, and it wells up from the deep down of him.

Jon pulls the way, and Martin follows behind.

Even after Jon stops being the Archivist, they aren’t safe. (parent!AU)

“I would like to propose an idea,” Martin says. Softer now. More tired. “and I-I want you to hear me out.”

“OK.”

“Whatever it is.”

“You’re not exactly inspiring confidence.”

Martin gives him a Look.

“OK,” Jon says, rubbing his thumb over Martin’s knuckles. “OK, I promise. Whatever it is, I-I’ll at least listen.”

Martin's nightmares never quite leave him

Martin feels the question form there, at the centre, the tentative journey it traverses before he hears 'Can I…. I mean, do you want to…?’

The question isn’t fully born before he’s heaving great waves of sobs into the chest he’s pillowed on. Like clockwork, the arms come round, always an inch too tight a grip, and somehow that makes this easier to bear.

Things were always going to catch up with them eventually

He’s a light sleeper, and they knew he would be. Didn’t want him to wake too soon, to be denied a proper welcome. Jon shifts and stretches and burrows as he slips dazedly into consciousness, nestling tighter against the body next to him still fast-asleep before the thick weight of sleep is dropped and he jolt up, a punched out breath of shock escaping them.

And finally they are witnessed. They watch his expressions free-fall from understanding to despair.

Local Man cheats at card games, Local Avatar is smitten

Martin likes playing, not necessarily competitively, but where he does excel is in cheating. Jon catches him swapping out a three for a queen out of the corner of his eye – well, Martin wants him to catch him – and his smile is wide and shocked and gleeful in his own way –you cheat! How could you?!

soulmate-identifying marks, or: fuck yeah tattoos

“The Archivist?” Peter Lukas asks. His voice isn’t mocking. Martin isn’t sure what it it.

He hates the tone of it.

“Do you want something?” Martin responds curtly. Frosty. Tugging his sleeves back down pointedly. Peter’s expression is ever so proud.

Something is wrong. Martin just can't put his finger on it.

“Sorry,” Jon says, without sounding sorry in the slightest, almost cheeky. He bestows another kiss that is not a kiss to Martin’s neck, scraping a little with his teeth.

“Sleep,” Martin repeats, groggy but firm, and traps the soft, unblemished skin of Jon’s hands in his own.

Martin has certain standards

Jon feels a wide smile begin on his face (still so rare, still hard-won, but Martin teases them out of him with the smallest things these days).

“You hipster!” he says with delight, secretly pleased he’s found something he can tease Martin about. “Have you thrown out my teabags just to make a point?”

Jon wakes up and finds Martin gone

– Something is absent from us. –

Jon opens his blinking, feeble human eyes. Feels around with his finger tips, feels the cool sheet next to him, the unoccupied imprint on the pillow.

Martin is not next to him.

Jon strikes a bargain to save Martin

Martin is blinking away the sediment build-up of unshed tears and they roll down his face, shrivelling in the strict grip of the cold.

“I thought,” he says thinly, “I thought I was going to die alone.”

“You aren’t going to die,” Jon bites out, and it only has the ghost of a furious intensity but the sentiment soaks in it. He feels the Loneliness recede, with a slowness that’s impartially mocking. “You aren’t going to die. I won’t let you.”

Martin showing normal, genuine human anger, feat. Blackwood Snr.

“Right,” comes the short response. “I am – you know I am trying here.”

Martin’s voice goes low and flat and judgemental.

“And how long until you lose interest this time?”

MLM solidarity front, or: Tim and Martin go drinking

“I mean – I – I’d like to. If you – if you still want.”

Tim grins, and his cocksure manner is on display like a theatre curtain lifted. He stands up, doing a stupid little bow like he’s trying to make Martin laugh.

“t'would be my honour to lead you astray, Master Blackwood.”

Back-and-forth early morning teasing

“It’s a bit late to tell me you’re a dog person,” Jon chides instead. “I’m afraid I might have to call this whole thing off, if that’s the case.”

Martin looks up at him with his face squashed into his ‘you are not, and have never been funny, Jonathan’ face.

Martin hides an injury. Jon is freaking out in his own way.

He can taste grit and dirt in his mouth and there’s a stinging dampness on his upper lip. He blinks, coming to terms slowly, and it’s then that he realises, just from a brief glance, that Jon is absolutely fuming.

Jon is getting better at expressing what he wants

Jon reaches out, and like setting fingers to the board of a violin, delicately fits his hand against Martin’s. Like he’s memorised exactly the places where they go, the coves and shorelines where their islands can align.

Martin’s grip has never been as careful. His fingers engulf Jon’s smaller size, cushioning them in a sturdy grip.

How to proposal to your boyfriend during an apocalypse, and definitely how not to.

Jon tries to write vows.

Domesticity and  going on holiday, post Watcher's Crown

“Jon!” Martin is shouting with his head shoved in the under-stairs closet. “You got your raincoat?”

“I won’t need it,” comes the low response from the kitchen.

“The weather said it might rain.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jon replies, only half listening really, with a willfully misplaced confidence in the weather.

“I’ll pack it anyway,” Martin calls back, kicking something else with his foot that sounds like the hoover. “In case.”

Jon does not react well to ending the world. Martin puts together the pieces.

Under the watch of that terrible sky, Jon crumples like something demolished.

Martin catches him. He always will, he remembers thinking.

In the Lonely, Jon hugs Martin (set mid-159)

Jon’s arms go around him, and there is nothing tentative, soft-shoed, there is no awkward displacement holding him slightly at a distance. Jon’s arms go around him, and he – his body unfolds against Martin’s. There is much too much of him, a surge of all-at-once motion and Martin feels like splintering.

Martin's not the only one susceptible to the Lonely

He hears the wash of mile-distant waves, as though behind the shelves to the front of the shop, and thinks not here, not here.

He tries to shake his head loose of the fog beginning to bind it like cobwebbing wisps. But the world has such terrors in it, and the Archive keeps record of them all. And that’s what Jon is, in the end.

The day-to-day ramifications of being a record of ceaseless terror

In the dark, under the covers, the sound is the shift of grave soil, of pressing earth, but it is also Martin, ensconced in warm empty dreams, Jon trying to breath through his nose and not wake him up, and it can be all of these things at once.

Supportive Martin and the Eye-based horror his boyfriend sometimes turns into.

“Stop.”

The rats stop. So does Martin. The scream bubbles un-made and unvoiced in his chest and he can’t blink the blood out of his eyes. He can’t see Jon, but he doesn’t expect to. It’s not Jon that’s here with them any more.

'I'll stay right here, ok?”

“The ambulance will be here s – ” Martin starts, trying to be gentle, but Jon tightens his grip ever so kindly, shakes his head.

“I don’t think I’ll be waiting around for that,” he says, and it’s almost light-hearted in the face of what they both know is now inevitable.

Patron swap, Lonely!Jon, Beholding!Martin

It is a surprise to no one that upon taking over the Institute, Peter Lukas turns his hand at trying to steer Jonathan Sims to the Lonely.

In the days after the end of the world, Jon finds Martin a gift

“Woss, what’s wrong?” Martin starts, but Jon’s pressing something into his hands firmly, so self-satisfied, joyous and smug with a mysterious success, and he feels his own grin start to blossom in kind, wanting to take part in the same delight. “What is it?”

sleep doesn't look pleasant, spoilers for 161

Martin won’t wake up. Eyes clenched closed, breathing laboured, and for a long while, Jon’s world gets quieter as his own immediate louder fear rises like gall in his throat. He tries compelling him even.

Jon doesn’t know that this will happen every time Martin dreams.

Jon is admitted to hospital. Martin frets.

Jon nearly died today, his brain keeps reminding him. You nearly lost him, you nearly weren’t fast enough.

Trans!Jon, Trans!Martin, intimate rituals

Jon’s hair is getting long.

Morning rituals, Jon admiring the view.

But he much prefers this slow and lazy unwinding of a day because he gets to study Martin. He puts his elbows on the wooden table off to the side of their pokey kitchen, and enjoys watching an artless, intimate one-man performance just for him, as he acclimatises to the day.

Scottish honeymoon, soft get-together

Martin wonders why Jon didn’t go upstairs. Take the bed. The cottage is an old crofter’s place, two small and utilitarian bedrooms where they discarded their meagre belongings on arrival.

Martin looks at the tea. Feels the scarf under his head, the heavy coats weighing him down.

Thinks he might know why.

Monster!Jon, AU S5

“What the fuck are you?” she says. She does not lower her weapon. The guard to her left has raised her own.

All of its eyes blink out of rhythm as its unseen mouth moves with that croaking, piteous whisper. “He’s, he’s human, he’s hurt and he needs – he’ll die, please.” The man it is carrying looks human. Painted with dirt and filth, the slick of insects broken over his skin. His breathing is starting to rattle.

Tim is mildly cursed, S1 shenanigans 

Whoever is closest, but usually Sasha, will give a sarcastic cheer. To which Tim – cradling his injury,  glowering with a fire-starter expression at whatever file or paper or fragment dealt the blow – will reply: “Piss off, right, it’s not funny, I’m cursed. This is a curse.”

OG Archive crew sad hours

There could have been a day, when they’d all just talked.

Martin struggles to readjust to the world, post 159

Some days though, when the tempest around has dropped from squalling, Martin feels brave enough to look over at Jon.

Jon and Martin’s post-s5 wish list

“Martin?”

“Hmm?”

“After all this, after we’ve – what do you want to do? If we manage to – ”

“When we manage to.”

“Fine, when all this goes back to the way it was, what do you want to do?”

Safehouse drabble

Jon doesn’t sleep but this rest is as close to peace as this world allows him. 

AU S3, Breekon and Hope take Martin, not Jon.

Tim always thought Martin was reliable. Unshakeable.

That he was always going to be there.

Martin’s daemon is a spider. People have mixed feelings about this.

“Aron,” Martin says slowly. He keeps his hands folded on his lap but his fingers twitch to reach out. “This is – we’ve settled, haven’t we?”

Aron can’t nod. His form can’t allow for such an expression. But he brings his legs in closer, pebbles up and won’t look at Martin, and that’s answer enough.

Aspec Martin Week - Daemon!AU

Martin has always liked watching Emer. The flash of gossamer-white wings circling Jon’s head or sat on his wrist like an overly-extravagant watch while he read statements.

“Stop looking,” he used to hiss at the moving lump under his shirt, poking many orb-like eyes over his collar to stare even when Martin stopped. “It’s rude.”

Aspec Martin Week - Martin’s first Pride

Restored from their dramatic hangovers, Monday comes. Martin arrives huffing and delayed from the Tube to see Tim’s stuck his flag so it stands battered and proud over the lid of his laptop. Sasha’s made her small desk teddy bear hold hers. And it’s the memory of the day, the sun and the heat and the wild dizzying lack of expectations of it all, that gives him the courage to bring the flags he carefully preserved in on Tuesday, to put them jutting out of the mug on his desk that holds his stationery.

Honestly, he doesn’t expect anyone to comment on them. It’s not like anyone else comes down to their offices anyway.

Aspec Martin Week - Martin comes out (with help)

You surge against his lips again so he can’t see your nerves, you stupid, unfounded, calcifying anxieties, the barriers you keep putting up yourself because you are so terrified of being happy.

“Maybe… not tonight?” you mumble into your shared air. If he pushed, if he asked again, you would. He dragged you from the shoreline, out of the fog, this is the least you can give him. You’d lie on your back, or you’d cover him with your shape, and you’d try so hard to make him happy so he wouldn’t notice you not sharing the same. “’m a bit tired.”

Tricky, is what you are. Perjurious. Prevaricating. Two-faced.

Martin is a massive fan of Jon’s multitude of eyes

“I just want to see,” Martin mimics petulance and Jon huffs a smirk.

“They are my eyeballs,” he responds primly, putting down a dry mug and picking up a plate to towel off.

“What’s the point of having horror-bestowed physical improvements if you don’t show them off?”

Martin worries about being a father

That’s not – ” Martin says, stops. Pulls his hands away from his face, his eyes puffy.

He takes Jon’s hand, still perched on his knee, laces their fingers together. Over the baby monitor, Jon can hear the soft untroubled in-and-out of their son breathing.

“I sounded like my dad,” Martin confesses finally. Fat tears well up and stagger down his tear-prickled cheeks. “I sounded exactly like him.”

Martin and Jon get wine drunk 

Jon sticks out his tongue. Martin tries to poke it with his finger, and Jon reels back with another one of those wine-laden expressions, earnest and open as a window.

“I want to know everything about you,” he says, struggling with finding the opening at the top of the pack, before  he pauses, dutifully following up with a no-less sincere and concessionary: “But not if you don’t want to.”

There’s nothing sexier than open and honest communication (post-166)

“I fucking hate the Buried,” Jon says into Martin’s shoulder.

“It sucks,” Martin agrees. “You er – you have any more poetry this time?”

Martin feels Jon’s ‘no’ like an earth tremor over his breastbone.

“Worms,” comes the reply muffled shapeless into his coat.

“Like…normal worms?”

“People worms.”

“Rrright. Less fun then.”

Martin has some thoughts about the Web

Martin does not think about spiders. 

(Except he does.) 

Did you feel, Jon had proposed delicately, like she was influencing your mind at all? 

Jon’s world has no certainties. No maps, boundaries, no promises that can remain unquestioned. 

Martin has the edges of his world now. He has to be able to trust in them. 

Jon gets hurt and doesn’t tell Martin

Jon burns when Martin puts a hand to his forehead, and he won’t wake, not for Martin’s calls and shakes, not for anything. When Martin goes to check, the wound on his leg has rooted from ankle to thigh, festering rot-black branches of something sludgy and swollen and varicose tracing the same lines as his veins.

The Corruption wars with Beholding upon the battleground of its Archive, and there is nothing Martin can do.

Martin still struggles with his mental health

It was easier, Martin thinks sometimes, when he could blame it on the Lonely.

Episode 170 could have gone so many different ways

This is your house, we whisper to him.

You have always been here alone, we promise.

We recite to our beloved that he has never been loved, and our winds, our walls, our winding mists tell him so often that eventually he believes us.

[creativitycache]

Is Martin going to be mentioned again in ToT? Or is that little snippet in the buried going to be all Jon remembers?

Below is Spoilers, including details breakdown of the story’s meta. Bewarned! This is long & convoluted as all get out. It basically can be summed up like this:

Martin and other future people (not just events) have actually been mentioned more than that, and to answer your question right off of the bat, yes Jon will continue to remember.

As I was originally answering this, it kind of spiraled out of control as I dove into a detailed breakdown of some things so I decided to just go for the whole hog and put everything down here in one place. I’ve got a similar breakdown in another document, but that’s really just for keeping tabs on how many days have passed and not the meta analysis.

TL;DR on meta: Jon is leveling up at a ridiculous speed, but he already was high level to start out with so he’s really just lagging behind his adult self. The more he feeds the more he grows. In the Eyepocalypse, we’ve heard Jon lament that trying to access his powers within his body is like trying to “drink the ocean through a straw”, and it’s only gotten more difficult as his body has shrunk.

Another note on timing: in the original story, Jon had gained multiple marks in back to back horrible days. In my own small way, the pacing of these later chapters is repayment for Jon’s hell week.

Entity Touched events will be in bold. Jon’s powers being activated will be italicized. Remembering a specific person/statement/future event will be noted with (parenthesis). Please note that while I will put a specific name in the parenthesis Jon often does not consciously remember the name nor the full scope of the event/person/statement. I will keep a running total of how many days since the last notable entity touched event at the top.

Ch 1

Jon goes through the Spiral’s Doors. His body merges, and he fluctuates between seeing and Seeing. Eventually, his eyes settle upon Watching constantly. He struggles to remember Section 31 (Daisy and Basira “they were both strangers and enemies and friends“). He Knows Detective Davies exact schedule, and the train schedule. He attempts to Feed via Compelling, unsuccessfully. He Sees Detective Davies schedule change. He Senses stories nearby.

Ch 2

Day 3 post-emerging:

After reading a Story: he Knows the difference between true and fake statements, as well as Mr. Magnus’s true name and that he stole the name Elias. He can See farther than what his eyes should be able to, and is able to Watch Elias. He Compels Elias but does not stay long enough to feed off his answers. He remembers (Barnabas Bennett). He remembers (the feeling of his own rib.) He remembers (going into the Lonely to save someone). When pressed, he remembers (the Unknowing exploding into fire) and losing “them” (his Assistants). This causes him to vomit and creates a void within him that must be filled.

Ch 3

Day 3 post-emerging, less than one hour after reading a Story:

Jon summons tape recorders to listen to stories. He listens to dozens of Stories at the same time. Jon remembers (the layout of the Institute). Jon gives a Statement.

Ch 4

Day 3 post-emerging, hours after consuming dozens of Stories:

Jon remembers (the Dark Sun, and Looking directly at the Entities). Jon remembers (Michael stabbing him for Compelling).

Ch 5

One day after consuming dozens of Stories:

Jon reads a bedtime Story. This reveals to Elias that Jon is able to comprehend all languages.

Ch 6

Jon consumes multiple Stories per day, far exceeding the normal Archivist rate of consumption. He remembers (Elias unable to See him in Orsinov’s Circus) He is unable to lie. He walks through the Archivist nightmares and the nightmares of the Eyepocalpyse, but these future events are unable to be perceived by Elias. During these nightmares, he remembers (being hurt by several “monsters”.)

Post this chapter, assume Jon has read at least one bedtime Story and multiple Stories throughout the day for months.

Ch 7

Jon now Knows all answers to fact-based questions his teachers ask. He begins drawing Eyes that have some will of their own- refusing to be paired. Jon now speaks directly to the Eye. It is confirmed his eyes have now physically changed to be reminiscent of other Avatars of the Eye- ie Elias. Jon Sees all marks left on people by the Entities. He remembers (how the Entities make Avatars), (Simon Fairchild) and (that he did something very bad unwillingly). He can sense when Elias is trying to See into his head.

Ch 8

Jon Feeds off of Emma, and forces her to Know her victim’s pain. Everyone is unable to move or interrupt him. He forces the web of the Mother of Puppets to be Shown. He remembers (where the tunnels are and what they do).

Ch 9

One day after Feeding off of Emma

Jon grows bigger. Jon Knows the (true nature of the Entities, and their effects on the world) and tries to articulate them. His explanation is different than Gertrude’s. He remembers (Tim’s jokes, Martin’s love of fuzzy tarantulas, the fight with Peter, and Michael-as-the-Distortion’s Statement, being friends with his Assistants and that things went wrong when his Assistants were no longer his friends). He thinks, but is not sure, he remembers who the man in the tunnels is (Lietner) and that he can track him down. He can See everyone’s marks and make them visible to others. When attempting to consciously access Knowledge of Michael’s future, he faints and blood comes out of his nose.

Jon consumes a Story. Jon remembers (how to Quit). Jon fights with the Eye’s geas against speaking of escape and wins.

Jon remembers (the Eyepocalypse) and Knows why he can survive on only old stories and statements from Avatars. Reaching for this knowledge is even more difficult than just Michael’s future, and causes him to black out for a significant amount of time with a severe memory wipe. Despite this memory wipe, he remembers (Gertrude does not treat her Assistants well, and the location of Fiona & Joshua Gillespie’s statement).

Ch 10

Jon Knows how to get to the Coffin purely thanks to the Eye, and realizes the Knowledge is external because his sense of direction was previously so poor. He is now able to consciously communicate directly in a back and forth conversation with the Eye, although the Eye is currently only Answering Jon’s Questions and Jon is giving his opinion. Being near the Coffin causes Jon to remember (he was in the Coffin for 3 days).

Being in the Coffin causes Jon to remember (that he got stuck with someone else last time, that he had an anchor, and that it might be M-m-mar- ), then he gets out in a day and a half. This is half the time of the first round, despite Fiona being deeper in than Daisy had been.

Jon Feeds off of John the Buried Avatar.

Ch 11

Day 1 post-Coffin & Feeding off of John

Jon feeds off of Dr. Girard the pediatrician.

Jon still comprehends all languages, but now he can articulate something is strange despite still not realizing he’s not hearing English. Jon grows after feeding. Jon Knows when Fiona is in trouble. His eyesight is noticeably excellent. Jon remembers (Gertrude’s war against the rituals is “stupid”, and that Jonah stole Elias’s body and why. He remembers statements about Agnes, and how Agnes and Gertrude are bound, and what various members of the Cult of the Lightless Flame look like. He also remembers going out for Martin’s birthday and eating ice cream, which is how he knows where the nearest ice cream parlor is.)

This is the last time Jon takes out the crayon drawing of the Eye.

Ch 12

Day 2 post-Coffin & Feeding off of John, Day 1 post Feeding off of Dr. Girard

Jon remembers (you should never hold an Avatar of the Desolation barehanded, and that the tunnels go for miles and miles, and that Smirke realized his architectural theories were wrong.)

Jon Knows he loves tea but hasn’t found one that tastes right. (He’s thinking of Martin’s tea, but he doesn’t realize it.) It’s also revealed that Jon is crying alone sometimes in his room when he thinks no one will notice, but he doesn’t Remember why. When asked, he remembers (he was Made and not Born), and Knows that the Eyepocalypse/”his destiny” is preventable, but he had to lay down before remembering/realizing any further.

He remembered the (statement about Agnes’s childhood, and the Distortion’s Avatars, despite the fact the Distortion would not merge like that until post-ritual, and that Gertrude liked to blow things up/use fire to disrupt rituals.)

The Eye now is giving Jon specific suggestions, ie origami frogs, when he Asked for ideas.

Ch 13

Day 3 post-Coffin & Feeding off of John, Day 2 post Feeding off of Dr. Girard

When asked, he knows there’s no such thing as time where the Eye is, but vomits from trying to Know something directly about where the Fears currently are. Jon remains nauseous but does not faint, have blood loss, or memory loss. Then, when a Story is read to him from Van Closen, he remembers (the contents of a different statement entirely- Fanshaw’s letter.) He struggles to grasp something else the Eye is telling him.

Ch 14

Day 4 post-Coffin & Feeding off of John, Day 3 post Feeding off of Dr. Girard.

Jon remembers (being a manager.) Elias and Fiona do not realize Jon is using terms no one has used around him before- nor do they recognize like Michael did earlier that Jon’s specific grasp of corporate language is far outside the normal range of what children usually have picked up.

Fiona, newly awakened, uses her powers on Jon. He then, when in close proximity to her, is reminded of what information he hadn’t been able to grasp earlier (ie, Eric and Gerry).

Jon enters a battlefield surrounded by Entity-touched deathtraps being sprung. He remembers (wandering untouched in the Eyepocalypse, Mary binding herself to the book.)

Ch 15

Day 4 post-Coffin & Feeding off of John, Day 3 post Feeding off of Dr. Girard.

Jon (remembers “interrupting drinks” and that they always taste better when in a mug- ie, Martin’s tea. He remembers the Dark was “for babies”.)

When awoken, he is able to articulate that he did remember Gerry and Eric.

Jon summons Eric. The Archive speaks. Jon Knows how to edit the Book as Mary Keay did in the original timeline, and does so.

[ironstarker]

Notes: The desire to do a Kill Bill inspired Starker fic has been in my head for as long as I can remember. It’s one of my favorite movies, so here’s a little thing that I wrote. I’d like to expand on it and make it a proper fic, but since I haven’t put out any content in a while, I thought I’d give a little teaser. I’m leaving it untitled for now, because Kill Tony doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.

Warning(s): Incest (Implied), Underage, A/B/O Dynamics, MPreg _______________________________________________________________________

Once upon a time, there was a little boy. A little boy with wide, brown eyes. He liked to watch his Papa play with samurai swords, how his body would flow like water and the blade with it. The boy would sit on his mat and watch, hands on his knees, which were tucked under his body, his feet bare and toes wiggling with unspent energy. He would sit for what felt like hours watching his father cut through air, the sword whistling as he did. His Papa called it practice.

“For what, Papa?” the boy asked one day, milk dribbling down his chin.

His Papa had smiled, eyes crinkling around the edges. He dabbed at his son’s chin with a napkin, the press of it light and tender. “Someday, you’ll understand.”

Someday came sooner than he realized, and when it did, it was his beloved Papa at the end of his blade. ____________

It was a respectable little chapel out in the Nevada desert. A tiny place surrounded by barren dirt and a horizon that stretched for miles. Peter didn’t have any reason to believe that they weren’t safe. He sat in one of the pews, next to his husband-to-be, a hand resting against the swell of his stomach. The baby inside of him moved, and he smiled. Quentin turned his head to look at him and met his eyes. The alpha laughed and leaned in to kiss the boy’s cheek, whispering to him how he was so excited that in twenty-four hours’ time, they’d be getting married.

“So am I.”

And relieved. Peter was relieved. Once he was married and mated to Quentin, he could put the ordeal with his Papa behind him. He could put the mating mark on his gland behind him. It would be erased with this new alpha’s teeth, and his daughter would never know the murderous bastard that her father was. Quentin was a nice man. He lived nearby, worked at a local bar that didn’t see too many customers aside from locals and the odd person or two passing through. Everything about Goodsprings was just that — good, down to its name. The locals were kind and ready to lend a helping hand. They didn’t get too many male omegas in these parts, so Peter was beloved by all.

It was a welcome change, given the life he’d led up until this point.

“Now, when it comes time for you to kiss the bride, Quentin — you be real nice, y’hear? Don’t go stickin’ your tongue down his throat in front of everybody.”

The alpha laughed, his entire face lighting up with it. His cheeks turned a little pink and Peter smiled, leaning into the man. He reached out and fiddled with Quentin’s collar, where his tie was loose and draped around his neck. Quentin’s hand came up and settled over his, giving his fingers a squeeze. The man’s hands were soft, much softer than his Papa’s, and gave way to a gentleness that his Papa would never have understood. It was one of the first things that he’d noticed about Quentin.

Behind them, MJ and Ned were snickering to each other, muttering things that Peter couldn’t hear. The omega was having a tough time keeping a straight face. “We’ll try not to put on a show,” he promised, and he looked over his shoulder to wink at them. A little off to the side, May was watching him. She sighed and shook her head, but there was a warm smile on her face.

May had all but adopted him the minute he’d tried to make a home in Goodsprings. He came into town three months pregnant, tear tracks running down his face and his bags too big for him to carry through the Nevada heat. She’d insisted he come inside the Pioneer Saloon, an old restaurant she owned. To Peter, it looked like an old barn. When he stepped foot inside, it felt like a barn — no air conditioning, just giant ceiling fans sweeping dust all over the place. But she sat him at the bar and fixed him up a burger and fries that were so good he didn’t give a damn about its appearance. It was his Papa who cared about those sorts of things.

Now, for his wedding rehearsal, she sat behind him. She would be the only one on his side of the chapel, which was why he’d asked if they could let everyone sit together. Peter tried not to call attention to the fact that he was so alone. He made up a good front. That he was a kid escaping an abusive relationship, that his alpha had abused him and knocked him up, left him abandoned. Not long after that, he’d bumped into Quentin at the diner. Quentin was a local. He owned a ranch a little ways north of Goodsprings, but made frequent trips into town.

May said the frequency increased since Peter had shown his face.

“Are you sure you don’t have anyone you could bring with you, Peter?” The reverend’s question wasn’t meant to be unkind, but his smile faded. “It’d be good to have somebody come for you. You know, as a sign of faith before God. You don’t have any family?”

Peter’s spine straightened, “No — I mean, I’ve got May. She’s all the family I need, until…” He looked down at his belly and smiled. Despite the circumstances of her creation, he loved his peanut. She was so precious to him, had been since the moment that stick turned blue at the worst time of his life.

“We’ll make sure he isn’t lonely,” May piped up, her tone a little disgruntled and defensive.

It went without saying that the reverend didn’t approve for one reason or another. “I’m going to get some air, baby.” Peter kissed Quentin’s cheek, and the alpha got to his feet to make it easier for Peter to step around his legs. His bump always got in the way now.

As he began to walk towards the door to the chapel, which was open (another place with no central air that couldn’t stand the Nevada heat), Peter could almost hear the sounds of his Papa’s bamboo flute. He smiled as he looked down at his belly, rubbing it fondly. If there was one thing he did miss about the alpha, it was that flute. How many times had he fallen asleep to its sound? It was like a whisper on the wind. But as the wind blew and dust danced over his sandaled feet, it brought with it a warm, musky scent. Something metallic that wanted to be blood but wasn’t quite there yet.

It was his Papa’s scent. He’d know it anywhere.

Peter stopped in his tracks, the air sucked right from his lungs. His fingers went to the pendant he wore around his neck, a silver charm of a puppy with ruby red eyes. Thinking that maybe he was fooling himself, Peter found the urge to carry on. He took a step, and yet another, until he was outside the doors of the chapel.

As soon as he was outside, his Papa’s scent deepened. The sound of the flute was louder out here, and he didn’t have to look to his left to know he’d see the man sitting there in the rickety old bench outside the chapel. Peter’s mouth felt dry, like he’d swallowed sand. He turned his head because, no matter what he told himself (it varied most of the time, but often involved a mantra of, “I don’t need him. I don’t want him. He’s ruined my life. He’ll ruin my baby’s life.”), he missed his Papa. What was the harm in seeing him one last time?

The alpha was sitting there, flute in hand, playing a note. Peter’s heart thrummed in his chest as he took in the sight of the man. It had been months, that was all, but he thought he saw a few more grey hairs on his Papa’s head. The man’s goatee was perfectly groomed, as always. He looked immaculate in his suit, and stuck out like a sore thumb in this tiny town. Tom Ford didn’t belong in the desert.

His Papa’s note cut off, and he raised his head to meet Peter’s eyes. “Ciao, cucciolo.”

[barnesandco]

Nikah: October

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Slight language, mild angst. 

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart​​ ‘s writing challenge. Only two more chapters left! Thank you for commenting and reblogging on the previous chapter - I’m sorry I haven’t been able to respond to it all yet. It’s been a busy Monday, but I’ll get around to it. I hope you enjoy the rest!

It's quiet, all acoustics numbed by the blanket of snow that surrounds them, untarnished for miles on end with the exception of the bunker they're observing. Bucky and Peter lay on their stomachs, the former's fingers adjusting his rifle, and the latter fiddling with his mask, twisting and turning it between nimble fingers. The gigantic block of cement that will soon house their targets is a sitting duck below the hillside they are situated on. 

Bucky can see the hazy outline of the quinjet cloaked by the invisibility shield above the bunker, where Sam and Clint hover like eagles awaiting the rabbits they are to prey on. Wanda and Vision are on the adjacent hill-top, camouflaged to the best of their ability. No red coats or blue skies today, amidst the white world and gray sky. 

Whoever is orchestrating an arms deal in Greenland of all places, is bearing the brunt of all of Bucky's curses. They've been hunting this particularly nasty international gang for months, and the finish line is now in sight. Can't come quickly enough for Bucky, as the snow is more a sheet of rock under his body. 

Still not as stony as Peter's attitude, however. The teenager has hardly spoken a word to him since they left the Compound, clearly disgruntled and wearing it on his face like the special white suit crafted specifically for snowy climates. From his peripherals, Bucky can see that he's giving him a displeased side-eye, but the moment he turns to look at him fully, Peter shifts his eyes forward. Wordlessly proclaims innocence.

"What's the matter?' Bucky asks, caught between frustration and concern, turning off the mic in his communications device. Peter shakes his head, brown curls somehow bouncing, the only live thing left in miles of desolation, aside from the coniferous bushes they're using as cover. "Listen, kid. I don't know what I did but I want to fix it if it's makin' you-"

"I can't believe you split up," Peter says suddenly, his downcast gaze indicating that it isn't disbelief he's struggling with, it's agitation. 

"This was the plan, Peter. I vouch for her as her husband so she gets her permanent residence, and then we separate." He ignored the fact that they know full well that the plan was to divorce, not separate in the quiet of the night, like burglars in the dark. However, when the time came, she had pointed out - and rightly so - that divorce would paint a bad picture of both of them. The media has yet to discover that their marriage has ended, because legally speaking, it has not. 

"That was before you two caught feelings," Peter grumbles against the fist he's pressing to his chin. Bucky's eyes widen, eyebrows rising to meet the hem of his hat. He composes himself.

"Son, I hate to say it, but there weren't any feelings. She never-"

"Never what, Mr. Barnes? Liked you? Loved you? And they say us kids don't know how to communicate in real life." The last comment is delivered under his breath, passive-aggressive, soul-burning anger and irritation radiating like waves of heat from him. Sighing heavily, Bucky navigates the battlefield that feels more dangerous than the one he's laying on. 

"Peter, I'm sorry, but me and her were never meant to be. Life is like that, y'know," He says, distant, eyes focusing on the crosshairs of his scope. Life is like that - throws your hope out the window and forces you to live with the feeble remains you have left. All he has left is a broken heart and cold feet, but hell, that could be the names of his memoir, for all his heartache and cowardice.

"And you think that this is what you were meant to be? You're lonely and she's miserable, and you both act like it never happened. Like everything never happened." Peter rants, whisper-yelling at him as he shifts to sit up on the snow that's now a good way into melting below them, creating Bucky and Peter shaped indentations in the hillside. Like a fish, Bucky's mouth opens and closes for a response, no words. 

"I know you think I'm too young to understand any of this, but I know that losing people you love hurts. And you know as well as I do that life is too short to stay away from those people. So yeah, confessing that you need her is hard, but it can't be as hard as living without her." 

---

Bucky gets home bruised from the barrel of an intergalactic weapon and craving pakoray and chai, but has no energy for anything other than the bathtub. He's using the bath bombs she bought for him because he was reluctant to pamper himself in any way. The lavender scent envelopes him but he misses her jasmine perfume, the scent of her lemon-tinged shampoo, the hint of raspberry from her lip-balm if he got close enough. 

It's a damn shame that he'll die without tasting her lips. Without feeling the skin on her hip against his lips the way his hand has so many times in the past few months, her palm on his chest, his arm, when they wake up. Rarely entangled, but perennially connected.

It takes a grand total of fifteen minutes in the warm, purple water for Bucky to suspect he's losing his mind, his delicate, butter-fingers grasp on a reality already so fragile. A reality that balances like a car on the edge of a cliff in one of those action movies. The kind that only takes a pigeon to land on the hood before everything goes tumbling down. This is, in part, due to the ineffable silence.

He used to appreciate it, letting his eardrums rest after years of hearing fists meet Steve's face, the cracks of gunshots in the blood-infused trenches of the War, Hydra's orders barked angrily at him. Silence was a blanket of peace, but it's now waging a war against him. Wrestling with his mind to suffocate his sanity. So he does what he always must do ground himself - he thinks of her. Of the best way he remembers having his silence broken.

Her taste in music is... eclectic, to say the least. Bucky learns this upon returning deon a post-nightmare walk he insisted on taking alone to find his wife planting seeds in windows boxes at two in the morning. 

The cotton shalwaar kameez she's adopted as her night suit dances in the wind to the ending notes of Laung Lachi. That in itself wouldn't be unusual, if the next track on the playlist wasn't a fifties jazz song. The one after that, a Latin hit. Shakira, Bucky guesses. Eleven minutes and three genres later, he makes his presence known.

"Doll?" He calls, walking onto the balcony. She gives a soil-stained wave. "I thought you said you couldn't garden?" He asks, taking in her work. Three out of five boxes have been filled with soil, and she's tenderly brushing soil over the seeds in the second box. 

"Did I?"

"You were quite clear about it, darlin'. My thumb's as green as Trump's environmental policies, I think you said," He teases gently. She opens her mouth to rebut as the beginning notes to Summertime start up, and his feet itch with the will to join Ella's voice in dancing to the melody. He decides to skip the words - he knows he doesn't have the right ones right now - and holds out his hand, palm up, interrupting her explanation.

"I can't dance, Bucky."

"I'm pretty damn sure I've forgotten how to, too. Let's learn together?" 

She makes to wipe her hand on a nearby cloth but he takes it before she can. Grasps it in his own gently, places her other on his shoulder and his own on her waist. The balcony is black, dark, the scent of earth and her shower gel driving away the top-note of his nightmares as they sway, still a fair distance apart, but hearts growing closer.

Dancing on the balcony now feels like nothing more than a ghost of a dream, coming back to haunt him like a wicked lover. Bucky recalls her moonlit face, her star shine eyes, and thinks: Peter's too smart for his own good.

Taglist: @suz-123​ @mermaidxatxheart​ @buckyreaderrecs​ @shield-agent78​ @corneliabarnes​ @readerandcinephileingeneral​ @stevieboyharrington​ @notsomellowmushroom​ @veganfangirl5​ @mood-pancakes​ @lbuck121​ @starnight-charmer​ @redhairedfeistynerd​ @geeksareunique​ @samingtonwilson​ @alyxkbrl​ @bucky-smiles​

[send-me-your-hcs]

Forever Ch22

Collab fic with @ceratonia-siliqua (check their blog next week for the next chapter!)

Read on ao3

Warnings: Unhealthy/codependent relationship, possessive behavior, dark themes, check ao3 for additional warnings.

Bucky knew that, eventually, mouthing off to Pierce was going to come back and bite him in the ass.

He was still a little surprised by how long it took, though. Bucky left for his next mission two days after he and Peter went dancing, and only needed nine days this time around to cross another four names off HYDRA’s list. When he returned home, he resolutely decided a break was in order, and despite Pierce’s consternation spent the next three weeks holed up with Peter in their home.

It was too hard being away from him. Bucky couldn’t stand the aching pit howling inside his chest whenever he and Peter were separated. He only felt like a human being when his boy was at his side. After all his years of military service, being captured and tortured during the war, returning to a life of more death and violence and then spending a decade in a high-security prison…Bucky didn’t often feel like anything more than a machine designed to cause human suffering.

But with Peter – with Peter, Bucky was someone else. He was human. He was a vessel of pleasure and love, reborn by the blinding light of Peter’s smile whenever the boy looked at him. When those doe eyes fixed on him, honey-warm and glowing with affection, Bucky didn’t feel like a monster or a machine of death. For the first time that he could remember, he felt like who he truly was: Peter’s soulmate.

To walk away from all that and drive across the country, killing fearful men who had incurred HYDRA’s wrath…it was harder than Bucky ever thought it would be. The killing never used to bother him. They were criminals, they were scum, they were grown men who played the game and lost. It never weighed on his conscience until Peter came along. It wasn’t that Bucky pitied his targets – far from that – but he felt like the person he was becoming in Peter’s virtuous presence diminished and cracked a little more every time he left for one of Pierce’s missions.

Which was why he mouthed off at the end of those three weeks, when Pierce called him at the ass crack of dawn and demanded to know when he would be leaving next.

Bucky stumbled out of bed, trying not to wake Peter as he tiptoed down the stairs to his office. He shut the door quietly and growled, “It’s too early for this shit.”

“On the contrary, Soldier, this is well overdue. You have been slacking. I want you to deploy. Today.”

Bucky gritted his teeth and paced in front of his desk. Pierce’s tone had entirely lost all semblance of patience that it once held. “I’ve cut your list in half since I was released, Pierce. What more do you want from me?”

“I want you to do what you were paid to do. That list was only the first of many. There are several more names to be added to it, and you are behind schedule. I thought I made my expectations very clear to you when I released you, Soldier. I want it done.”

“I can’t exactly pack my car up and leave on a six week hunt to go chase all these rats down. I have to take care of it little by little, otherwise it’ll be too hard to explain.”

Pierce laughed without sounding amused in the slightest. “Why on earth are you bothering to explain anything? I’ve supplied you with everything you need. A man three times Peter’s size would need a stick of dynamite to get out of that basement. Throw the boy in and be done with it. I’ll send someone once a day to feed him while you’re gone.”

The phone creaked under the pressure of Bucky’s metal hand. “You expect me to leave him with one of your goons?”

“James,” Pierce said, like Bucky was the stupid one. “The door has a slot for food at the bottom, and you’d be the only one with the key to open it fully. For heaven’s sake, they’re not even going to see the boy. Stop making this very simple matter more complicated than it needs to be. Lock the boy up and finish your job.”

“I can’t lock him up,” Bucky said, realizing distantly that he’d never shown Pierce as much emotion as he was in this very moment. “I can’t do that to him. I can’t. He’d never forgive me.”

Pierce sighed, a long-suffering sound, like a parent who’d been saddled with an unruly toddler for too many hours. “Then you’d best get your story straight, Soldier, because the next time I call you, it won’t be to ask.” His voice dropped several octaves, the clearest threat Bucky had ever heard. “Do you understand.”

A short, emotionless, “Yes,” was all Bucky could muster up.

“Good.” The threat slipped from Pierce’s tone, just like that. Ever the two-faced politician able to flip on a dime. “Honestly, you give that boy even more freedom than we give you, it’s absurd. Especially after the little stunt he pulled when your old pal Steve came knocking.”

For a moment, Bucky’s heart stopped in his chest. “You…”

“ – Know about that? Don’t be stupid. Of course I do. Do you think anyone gets within a mile of my enforcer’s front door without my knowledge?”

He supposed it made sense, but Bucky was still stunned by the revelation. He always suspected Pierce was spying on them, tapped into every line, spying through every lens, but until now, he hadn’t thought much about it beyond a haughty, enjoy the show, you sick fuck.

Hearing Pierce actually comment on what he’d seen during said spying drastically changed Bucky’s feelings on the matter. “You have no right – ”

“That’s an odd way of saying thank you. Who do you think has kept your little friend so busy these last several weeks, hmm? Not to mention Tony Stark himself, who, by the way, has gone from an arrogant little son of a bitch to a completely insufferable one ever since you ran off with his little princess.”

Bucky’s head felt like it was spinning on its axis. “What?”

“You let Steve Rogers walk out of your home after catching you with a billionaire’s missing son,” Pierce said, slowly, enunciating every word. “I consider that a bit of a liability, so I took it upon myself to monitor the situation in case Rogers gets any bright ideas. The city commissioned him to do some work – a ridiculously large job that will keep him preoccupied for months – while I’ve been personally feeding Stark false leads and information to keep him too busy to answer any phone calls from guilty-conscience-riddled loose-ends.”

He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t even know if he could, given how tightly his throat had closed up. “…Thanks.”

“You are given far more freedom than any other member of my staff, thanks to your track record,” Pierce said. “If you take advantage of that privilege, you will lose it. Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Then we’re done,” Pierce said, and added before hanging up: “Today, Soldier.”

The phone clicked, the call disconnected, and left Bucky standing silently in his office. His head was reeling. What the fuck was he going to say to Peter? He supposed he could tell the half-truth – his boss called suddenly, it’s a disaster job, he’ll be gone for a long time, maybe even a month – but would Peter buy it? Would he be upset, or worse, unwilling to stay here by himself for that long?

What if he…

Bucky shook his head, dispelling the evil notion before it could take root in his brain. No. He would not let Pierce manipulate him like that. Not when it came to Peter.

Defeated, Bucky sunk into his desk chair, cradling his head in his hands, desperately trying to think of what to say.

—

Peter wasn’t thrilled, unsurprisingly, but he was understanding. He kept his head down, trying to hide how sad he was as he helped Bucky pack and load the car.

“You still haven’t fixed the trunk yet,” he said, not accusingly, merely commenting on it as he was forced to put one of Bucky’s bags in the backseat. “Do you want me to take a look at it? I’m pretty good with machines and stuff. I could probably figure out what’s jamming it.”

“Maybe when I get back, baby,” Bucky said, putting his overnight bag in the passenger seat and shutting the door, then rounding the car to the other side so he could pull the boy into his arms. “I’m sorry about this.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said, lying, but Bucky loved him for it. “It’s work, I understand. This just shows your boss how good of an employee you are. Maybe you’ll get a promotion or a raise or something.”

Bucky huffed a laugh against the boy’s curls. “Yeah. Maybe.” He pulled back to tilt the boy’s chin up, cupping his cheeks. “You sure you’re not gonna be too lonely without me?”

“I’m lonely just thinking about it,” Peter said, barely louder than a whisper. Bucky’s heart broke in his chest. “But you have to go. I know you wouldn’t be if you didn’t have to. It sucks, but we just have to live with it.”

“I love you,” Bucky said, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re my everything, Peter Stark. One day I won’t ever have to leave your side again, I promise you that.”

“Deal,” Peter said, smiling, and kissed him. “Maybe we could…I don’t know, maybe we could get a dog or something, so it doesn’t feel as bad when you have to leave for a long time.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows at him. “Do you want a dog?”

Peter looked away, blushing. “I mean. We have all this space, this huge yard, even that big fenced-in dog run out back…we could have a dog.”

“We could, if you wanted one, baby.” He took Peter’s hands, lifted them to his mouth, kissed the backs of his palms. He held Peter’s hand in his own and guided him away from the car, around the side of the house, where the chain-link fence of the dog run started.

A thought struck him, insidious and hateful. The dog run was large – meant for big dogs, multiple big dogs. The fence was twelve feet high and forty feet long, wide enough to let something large run around in the fresh air, exercising in full containment.

It twisted his stomach in a knot. The basement was big, but didn’t have much room to run. This, on the other hand, would be plenty of room for someone to run around, stretch out their cramped, aching legs.

Especially someone as small as…

Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat and choked him, silencing the thought before it could fully manifest. He clutched Peter’s hand tightly and asked, “Do you think you could climb out of that thing?”

“Um,” Peter said, giving him a weird look, before surveying the height of the fence. His face set adorably in a look of deep concentration for a moment, then he decided, “Yeah, probably. I mean, it’s chain-link, so it wouldn’t be that hard to climb, I don’t think?”

“Hmm.” Bucky looked from Peter to the dog run and back, smirking playfully. “Do you think you could climb out before I could catch you?”

Peter’s eyes widened. He laughed, “Babe, there’s no way a dog could climb out of that thing! Even if it jumped that high, how would it get over the top?”

“Indulge me,” he said, opening the door to the pen and ushering Peter in. “I bet I can catch you before you make it over the top.”

Giggling, Peter walked to the other end of the run, shaking his head. “You just want an excuse to chase me around.”

“Now that I’m guilty of.”

Peter’s eyes shone, even as he backed away until he was almost at the other side. “What happens if you catch me?”

Bucky thought it over, his face expressionless. Why was he doing this? Why did he want to know how fast Peter could climb out of here? It was never, ever going to be useful knowledge. It wasn’t practical. He already knew the boy was fast, probably even faster than him, if they were talking pure speed. He didn’t need to know just how fast. He didn’t need to.

But the thought nagged, incessant. He had to know. He didn’t know why, but he did. He had to know, if he was at one end of the dog run and Peter was at the other, could Peter climb out before Bucky caught him?

“Well, we’re in a dog run,” Bucky said, grinning to try and ease the tension in his own chest. “So if I catch you, I’m going to fuck you like a dog.”

Peter’s face went tomato-red, soothing the torrent coursing through him. Bucky smiled lecherously at the boy’s shocked, aroused face, looking like he’d had his delicate sensibilities trampled on. A turbulent exhale left his lips, not-so-subtly shifting his weight on his legs as Bucky’s words went straight to his dick.

“I don’t see how that’s a win for only you,” Peter said, almost too quiet for Bucky to hear at this distance. “That’s what I was going to ask for if I won, too.”

Bucky laughed. He gestured for Peter to turn around and said, “Then you’d better get climbing.”

Peter turned, backing up a few feet so he could take a running start. “You’d better not start running as soon as my back is turned!”

That was exactly what Bucky did.

The moment Peter was moving, so was Bucky. He sprinted across the dog run as fast as his legs could go, knowing that, horribly, if this was real, the adrenaline would have him going even faster.

But the same would be true for Peter, who, despite being a faster runner than Bucky, only made it eight feet up the fence before Bucky was slamming into it. Peter yelped and giggled as Bucky caught his ankle, gasping when Bucky leapt up the fence with him and wrenched him off with an arm around his waist.

Bucky bracketed Peter’s body as he slid them down the fence, but the moment his feet touched ground, he wrestled the laughing, flushed boy to the ground and flipped him onto his stomach. Peter shouted and kicked, yelled, “Okay, you win, you win!” but everything was fuzzy at the edges, his vision, his hearing, his sense of touch, like his system had been overloaded.

He didn’t realize he was growling until Peter moaned wetly into the mud as he tore the boy’s clothes off. Peter jerked as he was laid bare, whimpering when Bucky forcefully spread his legs and hiked his hips into the air.

“W-wait, Bucky, do you have lube?” Peter asked, breathless from the tight position and being manhandled.

Bucky blanketed the boy’s entire body and bit his shoulder, hard. Peter yelped again and thrashed underneath him, but his cock was hard as a rock when Bucky lazily thumbed over it with his flesh hand. “Do dogs get lubed when they get mounted and fucked?”

“Oh God.”

The whine Peter made was one of both pain and pleasure as Bucky humped into him. His cock was wet enough for the both of them – not to mention, Peter’s hole was still slightly loose and glistening from their lovemaking this morning. It took a little force to plunge the head in, but once it was, the rest of his shaft was sucked right in to his boy’s waiting, welcoming body.

Peter made a long, shuddering sound as he was mounted. Bucky sat up on his knees, metal hand tight around the back of the boy’s neck, keeping his face pinned into the mud. Peter was trying to push away from the ground with both hands, but Bucky didn’t let him – Peter knew his safeword. Bucky trusted him to use it, if he really needed to.

And judging by how hard and loud the boy was moaning, he couldn’t be hating it that much. His little cock was bouncing and slapping against his belly with every thrust, and that was more than enough for Bucky. He gripped Peter tight by the hip with his free hand and bore down on him with his full weight, fucking him like he truly was trying to impale him on his cock.

The choked-out, pitiful noises Peter was making sent Bucky over the edge, blowing his load inside of Peter without stopping the brutal pace of his thrusts. He wrapped his right hand around Peter’s dick and jerked it hard and fast until Peter spilled all over the ground, shouting at the top of his lungs in a broken, slutty voice that sounded suspiciously like Bucky’s own name.

Panting, exhausted, Bucky sat back on his ass and brought Peter with him, cradling him in his lap. The boy was filthy – mud painted his entire front, his chest, his face, his hair. He was breathing hard, eyes closed, mouth panting, his skin still cherry-red and flushed beautifully.

Bucky kissed him, not caring one bit for the mud that stuck to his lips, and carried the boy inside for a hot bath.

—

Peter still had a towel draped over his head, utterly nude except for one of Bucky’s huge T-shirts hanging off him like a dress. He was sulky and pouty about Bucky leaving as they said their goodbyes in the mudroom, until he suddenly perked up and said, “Oh shit, wait a minute!”

He reached up and grabbed the letter he had pinned there – the one Bucky had purposefully forgotten, the last time he left for a mission, and held it out to Bucky. Tony Stark’s name and address stared up at him on the dusty white paper of the envelope. “Can’t forget this again. You’re still okay with mailing it for me, right?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Bucky said, kissing the boy deeply as he took and pocketed the letter. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

Smiling, Peter sighed into the kiss and happily accepted Bucky’s tongue when it prodded against his lips. Bucky pulled away before his cock could get any more interested in the activity, crushed Peter against him in a hug and said, “I’m going to miss you so fucking badly.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Peter said. He sounded so heartbroken, Bucky wanted to cry. “Please come back soon.”

“I will, baby,” he said, kissing him again. “I love you. I’ll come back to you as soon as I can.”

He had every intention of keeping that promise. If luck was on his side, maybe, just maybe, this mission wouldn’t take a full month or more. Maybe he could wrap everything up in three weeks and make it home before the isolation became too much for Peter. He had to try. He’d never been a religious man, but God, was he praying for some luck now.

The only stop he made was ten minutes down the road, when he pulled over, took the letter from his pocket, and set it ablaze with his lighter. He watched the ashes scatter in the slight breeze and mentally begged Peter’s forgiveness, before crawling back inside his car, shutting the door, and driving away.

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

Okay! It’s related to addiction, hope it doesn’t bother you: Tony Stark is out from rehab, trying to start his life from zero after losing almost everything bc of his addiction. He had been in rehab for quite a long time, so going back to society is being kinda difficult. He can feel the stigma people have of him and so Tony feels lonely, until he meets Peter, a healthy kind man. Tony is afraid of falling for him and f*ck everything up as he has done before.

Spend My Days Locked In A Haze

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M)  Word Count: 4.5k Notes: So, this one has been sitting in the box for a little while because I wanted to approach it with educated respect. I did a lot of research. A lot. I hope this is what you were looking for, nonnie! Thanks for dropping the prompt my way <3 Warnings: Description of drug use (Tony struggles with a cocaine addiction), mentions of ADD, and therapy.  Summary: 

Tony’s brain doesn’t shut off and he struggles to manage it - so, he doesn’t. Instead, he develops a habit that is not the best for his body or his mind. A discovery during rehab helps a little, but the ultimate cure for restlessness is the adorable Peter Parker and food tours around the city.  

do the thing - send in all the prompts.

It started out small, like most things that have the ability to magnify always do.

After getting back from the desert, Tony couldn’t get his brain to turn off. Not only did he have a foreign object in his chest, he endured months of living in a cave with very little to eat and the inevitable happenstance of death clinging to his back like a needy child. Aside from the suit plans he wanted to refine and make into a working suit that could function with his now upgrading arc reactor, Tony didn’t have much of anything else going on.

It all got a little worse when he figured out that Obadiah was the one behind his kidnapping and hoped-for death. It stung a little, to be one of the smartest people in the world and miss something that after looking back, should have been seen from a mile away. How could a man that thought he ruled the world ever give up the throne without a fight? It didn’t make any sense to forget that Tony was one of the best fighters out there – but, he’d forgive the man his mistake when he got to see him behind bars.

The need to finish the suit became pinnacle and with that, long nights and even longer gaps of time between sleeping and letting his body rest. His mind didn’t ever seem to get tired, however – it ran on a loop for hours on end. Whenever he thought he might get to a stopping point, the next thought came flying across the forefront of his mind. It was great for his work, but not so great for his body and mental health.

After the 20th reminder from Jarvis about being awake for 80 hours straight, Tony forced himself from the lab and into the confines of his bedroom. It made his heart race, just thinking about sleep – yet, the second his head hit the pillow, he was out. His body’s need and the inability to shut it off pulled him under. The racing of his mind, however, did not go down with him.

Less than 4 hours later, Tony jumped awake, his entire body covered in sweat. He woke up patting at his chest, uselessly making sure he wasn’t connected to a car battery that with just one misfire, could take his life. Before he could contemplate getting back to sleep, his mind moved on to the adjustments he needed to make to the suit – the idea of rest was now gone for at least another 80 hours.

It got to be a little much – after the final interaction with Obie, Tony lost a little bit of steam. It was one thing, to go and go for hours on end when there was something to go for. Yet, it was something completely different, to be both restless and completely overwhelmed with a brain that didn’t want to power down. Sleep didn’t come and when it did, it was broken and interrupted by nightmares that drove him back to the lab or the kitchen or anywhere else other than the big empty bed that wanted to suck him in and keep him in the dark.

He remembered a brief stint in college when he was younger and going through the exact same thing. Tony knew that Bishop wasn’t dealing drugs anymore, but there were many people throughout the city that were. It didn’t take but a few well-placed calls to secure an in-person delivery of the China White that could at least take away the need to sleep. When his brain wanted to run a million miles a minute, who was he to deny it?

The first few bumps lasted him for a long time – his tolerance for the stuff was nowhere near what it’d been in his younger years. He wasn’t sure how the arc reactor effected the processing of it, either. Every time he leaned over to do a line, he might be one step closer to blowing his heart up. In a way, the risk seemed like the most appealing part of the whole thing. Living on the edge at least gave him something to live for.

Between upgrades for the Iron Man suit and the transition from weapons manufacturer to clean and sustainable energy, Tony didn’t have time to slow down, especially when it came to sleep – that took up too many brain bytes and didn’t contribute to the madness he continued to pump out month after month. As the days passed, Tony found himself getting more entrenched in the need for the drug that kept him both wired and level – it felt good to go and go and go without having to stop. Stopping was for the weak.

Despite the cavalier attitude, Tony started to notice some physical symptoms of the upper being in his system all the time. Since introduction of the arc reactor, Tony didn’t feel much in terms of his heart or the cardiorespiratory process that went down between the heart and the lungs. The higher his doses, however, the more uncomfortable his pulse became – the throbbing in his veins seemingly thicker and thicker as the days went by.

Of course, when the shit hit the fan, Tony was making one of his rare public appearances. It meant a lot to him to change the company’s perspective, but not a lot to the people actually affiliated with Stark Industries. After the business with Obadiah, it seemed pertinent to keep himself under the radar – which was well in good because he wasn’t in any condition to be in front of people. Yet, Pepper talked him into the barest of glimpses at the next press conference.

That particular day, Tony attempted to sleep the night before and felt a little strung out from the experience. It was weird – to be so aversive to sleep. In an attempt to wash his mind from the dreams that plagued him, Tony snorted an extra line before leaving his penthouse and getting into the swing of being a businessman again. It seemed like, especially since coming back to reality, that persona didn’t fit him – rules and restrictions and propriety weren’t really his thing; he was about to make that incredibly apparent.

Though he didn’t have any talking expectations, Pepper wanted him up front in the limelight – which was nice for about two seconds. Then, the sweating started; the brightness of the lights brought every bit of moisture within him to the surface. And when that happened, his heart rate picked up – how it got any higher than it already was, Tony didn’t know. Reaching up to loosen his tie, Tony shuffled from one foot to the other over and over again; he hoped the restless movement would cure the general weightless feeling that did not feel glorious like the high usually did.

Hitting the ground was not expected and try as he might, he couldn’t push off from Happy to get away long enough to do it in the relative peace of an empty hallway, not in front of cameras and many, many people that were watching the live broadcast. He was still conscious when Happy ran over to him, his big hands grabbing Tony’s arms tightly. They made eye contact before he finally slipped away, the horrified look on his face just seconds before forever engrained in his mind.

----

The worst part of overdosing didn’t come from the progressive removal of Tony from the board, or the headlines that spoke of the scandal – no, the worst part came when Pepper dropped him off in front of an in-patient rehab clinic. The intense amount of the drug in his system had him seizing and coding out a couple of times on his way to the hospital, followed by several days off waking up with excruciating pain everywhere, chills, a fever, nausea – all of the fun things that came from detoxing from a chronically used drug.

When he’d been cognizant enough to actually have a conversation, Pepper told him about the board’s decision to remove him from his position – he shakily signed the papers that would make her the acting CEO. She told him that pending a stint in rehab, they’d reconsider – but they both knew that was total bull shit. Getting out of rehab meant coming back to a haunted penthouse and no company in sight. Despite that, Tony agreed; he was only 45 – dying was the last thing he wanted for himself.

It was grueling to begin with – Tony was still on the edge of his detox and felt more irate than ever before. His chest ached from whatever happened to his heart during the course of seizing and having severe palpitations. To top everything off, his mind was still running on overdrive and there wasn’t a bit of relief in sight – they wouldn’t even let him exercise yet, his heart wasn’t ready for it.

About a week into his stay, Tony started attending the group and individual therapy sessions. He didn’t like to talk to people when he felt normal, so small attempts to open up were made during his group time – it took him 3 weeks of sessions before he even felt comfortable enough to introduce himself; everyone knew Tony Stark – but nobody really “knew” him.

The individual sessions were a totally different bag, however – the small female therapist sat in a big chair behind her desk, the width of it dwarfing her even more than her stature already did. If he had any ground to stand on, he’d laugh at the irony of it. Tony didn’t, though – the rock bottom he was laying on at the moment felt worse than the desert, and he’d been there against his will.

She looked at him a lot – Dr. Martin’s eyes were hazel and a little on the beady side – every time her eyes moved, Tony could feel her scrutinizing him. They didn’t talk for 2 solid sessions; the quiet would have been much more appreciated if she didn’t keep running her eyes over him, but beggars really couldn’t be choosers.

It was clear during his 3rd session that he wasn’t going to get away with keeping his mouth shut. Her posture was different when he walked in and her usual file was nowhere to be found. Sitting down, Tony took in a deep breath to prepare himself – it felt like a sweet kind of torture, waiting for the questions to come his way.

“I’ve spent the past couple of weeks trying to connect your file to you and I can’t – so I thought coming right to the source would be a good place to start. Can you tell me a little bit about yourself? Your likes, interests, habits – “

Instead of balking at her, Tony settled back in the chair, his hands knitting behind his head – the position meant to give off ease. “Uh – what don’t you know from the papers? I like to build things with my hands and solve puzzles that other people can’t. I’m interested in not dying because of the habit that I have. I want my brain to shut off for a while, which is what led to the shitty habit to begin with.” Scratching his head, he shrugged, the words more than he’d said to anyone in years.

Dr. Martin tilted her head, her eyes a little brighter than just a moment before. The inquisitive part of her on the scent of something. “You want your brain to shut off. Can you elaborate on that?”

Looking at her, Tony quirked a brow – he’d never been asked to describe the chaos in his head before. It took him a minute to categorize his thoughts, the multitude of details that needed to be included sorting themselves out. “It’s like having a million files open at one time. I get to the end of one train of thought and immediately hop to another. Or I’ll be right in the middle of one and be on the opposite side of the room the very next second. There’s no focus. I fixate on my work and the things I like – everything else, it’s a restless toss-up.”

Tony recognized the light bulb going off in her head when it happened – there were more than enough eureka moments in his lifetime to know exactly what that looked like. Getting up, Dr. Martin went over to her stack of files and dug around until she found Tony’s. “It says that you have a long history with restlessness and an inability to sleep. There’s obviously some traumatic origin to some of the most recent feelings, but have you always experienced things like that?”

In the end, Tony went through a long line of tests to determine whether ADD contributed to all of the issues he experienced outside of the drugs. He met with Dr. Martin and told her his long history of times just like the most recent one – times of long stretches without sleep because a project consumed him, and then even longer times of disorientation because he couldn’t connect to anything. Tony didn’t know what a diagnosis would bring him, other than more stigma, but the prospect of an answer wasn’t the worst thing to be offered, either.

Upon being diagnosed, a certain sort of feeling washed over him. Not contentment, but something that might be like it. On top of the drug counseling and group sessions, Tony had a couple more therapist added to his repertoire. Instead of going through the 90-day program, Tony stuck around and did 180-days instead. Before he left, he wanted to make sure that he could put both feet on the ground and stand up on his own. There were too many ways to get access to the thing that could very easily be his downfall – having self-assurance felt absolutely necessary.

The nerves about the situation manifested in the fact that he’d have way too much time on his hands when he got back into his real life. Without SI, there weren’t a lot of things going on for him. Idle hands were never a good thing for him before – the necessity for a distraction allowed him to fixate and neglect any semblance of a routine. If he could just keep his shit together, maybe the bits of his life could be fit back together.

Happy picked him up with a soft smile on his face at the end of Tony’s stay. He brought the Audi and got out of the driver’s side when he saw Tony walking toward him. When he didn’t hop back in, Tony shot him a grateful smile and sunk into the custom seat he installed himself. The purr of the car during the drive was enough to drown out his anxiety and stop any sort of conversation from happening. One thing Tony always appreciated about Happy was the fact that he didn’t push. Tony needed to be around people that didn’t push.

Parking in the garage, Tony pulled the keys from the car and turned towards Happy – the only person who stuck with him through the 6 months he’d been taking care of himself. “Thanks, Hap. You being here today was really important to me,” Tony said, his eyes flitting from side to side to avoid having to see the look on Happy’s face. He learned that being honest was the best policy, but it didn’t stop it from feeling a little weird. Talking about his feelings wasn’t the easiest thing in the world.

“Glad you’re back, Tony. It’s been too quiet around here.”

----

The process of getting back into society was harder than he figured it would be. Though he went away for a while, the world did not forget the tragic picture of him passed out on the ground, the later news of his overdose painting the picture more fully and discoloring how the public saw him even more. As he predicted, the SI board didn’t have any intention of letting him come back any time soon – the idea that his company stood in the hands of someone else for an undetermined amount of time made him want to punch something; but it was his own fault, the consequences were his to deal with.

In place of working, Tony developed a routine throughout the day that took up his time and allowed him to stay organized and far away from the listless feeling that could so easily take him over. Every morning, he got up at 8 to eat a breakfast that he cooked himself. It took a couple of weeks to master the art of making eggs, but he managed, regardless. After breakfast, he hit the gym in his building and ran out his troubles on the treadmill until he couldn’t feel his legs anymore.

In desperation during his first few days at home, Tony asked Jarvis for good food places around the city to try – ever since, he’d been slowly going down the list. Some of the places were upscale and took lots of money to have a high quality cup of coffee, and some were mom and pop places that cooked love into every bite. In all of his years of being in the city, Tony hadn’t thought to explore the local eateries and highly regretted it – there were so many things he missed out on.

During his food trips, Tony got to see different parts of the city – some that he didn’t know existed before walking through them. One particular adventure led him to a part of Brooklyn that looked newer, despite the older neighborhoods surrounding it. Jarvis told him about a brunch place that was rumored to make the best waffles. The walk there was interesting and filled with many mural covered walls that were incredible. Stopping to take pictures of a couple of them, Tony walked right into the line for Snooze without really meaning to.

The toe of his foot hit the back of the man’s shoe in front of him in his haste to stop before barreling into him completely. Sucking in a breath, Tony let himself be grateful for his fast reflexes before he looked up to apologize to the person he almost took out. Brown eyes that met his were filled with amusement and focused solely on him. “I’m so sorry. I saw a Storm Trooper mural a block over and got caught up looking at the picture I took of it,” Tony babbled. “I got here before I realized.”

A soft smile also belonged to the man with eyes that carried a shine to them, the man’s teeth white and adding to the intensity of his grin. “That’s okay. I stopped and looked at that mural for a bit, too. If you go down a couple of blocks, there’s a Boba Fett one.” The man looked over his shoulder to make sure the line wasn’t moving before turning towards Tony completely. “Are you a big Star Wars fan?”

By the time they got up to the door, Tony found out that the man, who he came to know as Peter, worked as a freelance CPA and jogged around the neighborhood not far from here. He followed the smells to Snooze, his trip there totally unplanned, unlike Tony’s. They talked about the newest trilogy additions to the Skywalker story and decided that Ben Skywalker shouldn’t have died after all. The hostess looked at the two of them and didn’t think to ask if they were together or separate, she simply led them to a small table. And neither man stopped her.

One brunched turned into coffee on the Upper East Side, and then Chicago style pizza in Queens. Peter seemed to enjoy the different food adventures that they went on – the man jumping on every chance that he could to join Tony. Many times, their meet ups to get food turned into walks around the closest park or trips through museums and art galleries. In his life, Peter was the only person that didn’t judge him. He didn’t have the knowledge to do so, but something told him Peter probably wouldn’t, regardless.

In spending all of that time together, Tony inevitably started finding himself falling for the charismatic Peter Parker who talked with his mouth full and could put away an entire pizza all by himself. Tony came to know that Peter was left-handed and enjoyed ketchup on his hamburgers but not mustard. CPAs that made their own business hours got to work whenever they wanted and on off days, they played squash and read to kids at the Brooklyn Public Library. For every bad quality that Tony had, Peter countered it with something so positive, it became more obvious that he was way too good for him.

Baggage like his was hard for him to carry – he couldn’t imagine placing that on someone else’s shoulders, especially someone as good and kind as Peter Parker.

A desperate attempt to save Peter and his goodness from the inevitable way that Tony fucked everything up, he took a couple of steps back from their friendship. Instead of meeting Peter almost every day, he limited himself to once a week and tried to keep it as friendly as possible. A hard feat, it seemed, after 3 weeks of Peter looking at him curiously. More than anything, Tony wanted to run his hand across Peter’s cheek to flatten out the slight frown, but he held back – one touch would send him down a rabbit hole he more than likely shouldn’t explore.

Their latest get together felt a little strained, Tony could feel it from the second he walked up. Peter wasn’t nearly as friendly as usual and left before Tony could even suggest walking to the ice cream place he scoped out on his way to the restaurant. He tried not to feel disappointed – his attempts to create some distance between them were working. The sucky feelings that came along with them, however – they were not.

The very next day, Tony was surprised by the sound of his elevator opening a little after 7PM. There were only 3 people that knew the access code to his elevator and 2 of them were currently out of town getting ready for the Stark Expo. Thinking about that made his skin prickle, so he pushed the thought aside and made it over to the doors. He knew Peter would be there, but the sight of him standing in the foyer of his house hit a little different. The last time he was here, they were excitedly heading out to try Cronuts & Co – smiles on their faces.

Now, Peter looked at him with a mix of hurt and confusion. Tony matched him – after their time together last night, he was surprised that Peter wanted anything to do with him at all.

“Sorry to just show up, Tony. I just – what happened? I need to know. Things were going great. Then an alien overtook you and you left the building. I’m – scared. If nothing else, you’re my friend and the 180 is a little concerning.” The admittance caused the man to stop talking, the red on his cheeks spreading quickly, the color going all the way down his neck and probably further. “Did I do something? I’m sorry if I did – just please, tell me what’s going on.”

Tony took a step back, every word hitting him square in the chest. So wrapped up in his own shit, he didn’t even see the panicked look in Peter’s eyes – the one that was staring back at him so heavily now. Pulling in a deep breath, Tony bucked up, a new sort of determination settling within him. “There’s a lot that you don’t know. Too much for the foyer of my apartment. Come in, I’ll get you a drink.”

Five minutes of reprieve Tony got while he poured them a couple of small shots of bourbon felt like enough time to collect himself. Disclosing the most intimate details of his situation wasn’t how he figured he’d spend the night, but it seemed right – to finally get the pressure off his chest. Tony slugged his drink back, then took a seat on the couch next to Peter.

“I’m sure you know the basics about me. I think the picture of me fainting at that press conference is a meme,” Tony uttered, an uncomfortable chuckle leaving his lips. “I got a little lost after I got back from the desert. I have a thing – where I fixate and get restless and have trouble focusing and after I got things squared away with Obadiah Stane, I just sort of lost the way completely. I fucked up a perfectly good opportunity to make the company my own, Pete. I fucked up so much in my life and the last thing – the absolute last fucking thing I want to do is fuck anything up with you – especially you, Pete.”

He watched Peter suck back the booze in his glass – the bob of the Adam’s apple in his throat almost distracting enough to ignore the anxiety rolling through him. Long fingers pressed the glass into the coffee table, then those very same fingers were grabbing his hand. “You don’t owe me your past, Tony. I knew who you were when I met you. I liked the way you looked so lost the first time we met. You have a great personality and a kind of thirst for life that I’m really excited about.” His fingers tangled with Tony’s, the man using his leverage to pull him closer. “I don’t care how you got here, Tony.”

It was a little overwhelming, hearing Peter speak so candidly. Almost everyone else in his life wrote him off – how a random person could have such faith in him blew him away. There wasn’t a lot of sense in it, but in his journey over the last year, Tony realized most things didn’t.

A soft hand on his face brought him out of his thoughts, the smile Tony came to adore present on Peter’s face when he looked up. “How about we just take it a step at a time? Might be good for the both of us,” Peter suggested, his thumb running over Tony’s cheek as he spoke.

Leaning in, Tony let his lips press against Peter’s lightly, the ghost of a kiss enough for the moment. He gave Peter’s hand a squeeze and gulped in a breath, a genuine smile slipping across his face.

“Sounds okay to me, Pete.”

[aleksanderrs]

introducing ; 𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒌𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒏 .

( herman tømmeraas , cismale , he/him , aquarius , 21 ) i just spotted aleksander ‘ aleks ’ thorsen at the beach today . don’t you know them ? they live down by the rocks and usually hang out with the stoners and outcasts cliques . from what i’ve heard , they can be impulsive , but they’re also honest . i always think of them when i hear hell is where i dreamt of u & woke up alone - blackbear and tend to associate them with bruises and scratches decorating pale white skin , a backpack filled with narcotics , flicking off the cops on the freeway with a smirk on your face .

note that this is a pretty triggering intro ! i’ve tried to put a tw before any bullet that mentions something triggering , but i may have missed something . if you do read this intro , read it with caution please , as i wouldn’t want to trigger anyone ! 

tws : foster care system , violence , injuries , drug and alcohol abuse , shooting resulting in death , suicidal thoughts 

stats

full name : aleksander carter thorsen peters

nicknames : everyone calls him aleks , like …. everyone . some people call him sander and he’s fine with this one too , but usually just aleks tbh

gender : cis male

height :  5 ′ 10

age : 21

birthday : february 5 , 2000

zodiac : aquarius sun , aquarius moon , scorpio ascendant

right handed or left handed : right handed

eye color : hazel , shooting more towards green , but shifts colors with the lighting 

hair color : naturally very light brown , nearing more towards dark blonde , but he always dyes it a super dark shade of dark brown or even black . you’ll never catch him with that light ass hair of his tbh lmfao

piercings and tattoos : he has a septum piercing he hides by flipping it upwards whenever he feels like it tbh , literally a fuck ton of tattoos ! he has a pretty decent stick and poke on his left ankle he did himself when he was like sixteen that says ‘ aurora ’ ( twin sisters’ name ) , he has one that reads  ‘ murphy , 1961-2021 ′ on his inner right bicep ( will get into that later in his intro ) , he has these fingers tattoos on his left hand ,  this tattoo on his inner left bicep , ‘ livet er nå ’ on his left wrist ( which means life is now in norwegian ) , a little pitbull face tattoo to honor an old dog he loved so much named pawly , ‘ 2000 ′ ( year he was born ) in the middle of his left arm , ‘ oasis ’ diagonally on his right arm right above his wrist ( fave band there guys ! ) , an aquarius symbol on his right ring finger , honestly a bunch of random ass small aesthetic tattoos ? probably a little alien , a mini drum set tattoo , a random small thunder tattoo ? probably the word ‘ fuck ’ somewhere like .... idiot who gets a lot of random tattoos idk what to say , literally is probably a centimeter away from losing his shit and impulsively getting a face tattoo he really doesn’t give a fuck anymore tbh KJVNDVJFV

languages spoken : english , norwegian , basic spanish , but wants to learn it fluently 

sexuality : bisexual / biromantic 

place of birth : long beach , california

hometown : literally everywhere , no permanent hometown tbh

last four songs listened to : faint by linkin park , supersonic by oasis , mama by my chemical romance , torture me by red hot chili peppers 

character inspo : a mix of chris miles and james cook from skins u.k , lip gallagher and mickey milkovich from shameless u.s , callie adams foster from the fosters , eli ‘ hawk ’ moskowitz from cobra kai ( season 2 hawk ) 

backstory

so aleksander , or aleks as he prefers to be called , was born six minutes after his twin sister aurora , to two norwegian parents ( julie and anders ) , both twins being the first american born in their family . his father was a no show from the start , and his mother was something else . him and aurora endured their mother’s heavy drug abuse , living in a crappy environment with an actual crackhead , until she was deemed unfit to take care of them and they were taken from her by child protective services when they were seven , instantly thrown into foster care . his mother didn’t care enough to ever even get them back , signing away her parental rights , and choosing drugs over her own two children . aleks hasn’t seen her since , and has no desire to ever see her again at all 

as a kid , he was pretty soft . he didn’t like mean people and was fairly sensitive and highly emotional , two things that you literally cannot be if you’re a foster kid , which , unfortunately for aleks , was exactly what he was . basically exactly how you could picture a foster child’s life really . him and aurora managed to stay together for three years until they were separated from each other at ten years old

i guess you could say this is when things changed drastically for him . he assumed they might get reunited eventually but it never happened . he would cry himself to sleep every night because of how lonely he felt and he actually had no friends at all . if anything , the kids at his home would constantly make fun of him for being so sensitive and crying so easily . he was completely on his own , and really sad

he came to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t really survive if he continued letting his emotions get the better of him . by the time he was twelve , he altered his personality drastically and changed altogether . what really happened is that he let his anger and resentment get the better of him

he just became super fed up with how fucked up the system is , and how literally no one wanted to adopt a kid his age ? the lack of sympathy from his fellow foster ‘ siblings ’ , and a mixture of everything going on around him , he kind of gave up and turned into this version of himself that took shit from no one . he never stayed in a foster home for more than nine months regardless of whether he behaved or not because something always seemed to come up for some reason ? this of course , gave him no real stability . 

he got thrown into a foster care family , the johnson’s , when he was fourteen , and for a while , it seemed like a pretty top notch foster home , definitely the best one he’s been in by far . i say for a while because shit went down hill pretty fast , literally in less than five months . aleks had an unlikely friendship with the foster parents’ son , kyle . kyle was four years older than him ( eighteen ) but it seemed to work at first since they shared the same room , until one day , they get into a pretty heated argument at school ( kyle is a senior , aleks is a freshman ) . to this day , aleks genuinely doesn’t even remember what the argument was even about , but this was the argument that flipped his life upside down more than it had already been flipped 

! violence and injury tw for the next four bullets , read with caution or skip ahead if it will trigger you ! they’re outside getting into it , petty ass verbal argument tbh , when kyle strikes him right in the face . doesn’t really end there though because this grown ass eighteen year old man dead ass starts beating his ass . actual understatement , like , beating his ass like he’s getting paid for it type shit . he can hear people around them screaming out ‘ fight fight fight ! ’ but it’s really , really not a fight though ? like it’s just this eighteen year old beating the living shit out of a fourteen year old kid , a literal fucking child

eventually when it’s over , kyle threatens him . tells him that if he says anything at all , he’s going to make sure he gets sent to a group home or frame him for something he didn’t do to get him sent to juvie . aleks is seriously just laying on the floor , holding back the urge to cry , injured as hell , wondering where the fuck that came from . it was just so random ? he really thought he was friends with this guy and he just gets his ass beat over an actual fifth grade argument . he’s been picked on before , even shoved or had sour fights with people before , sure , but he’s never in his damn existence been beaten like that before . super low point in his life because it’s the first time he genuinely got his ass handed to him and then some , but definitely not the lowest point 

when he gets back to his foster home , he tells his foster parents he was jumped . makes up this entire story from the crack of his ass . it actually makes him physically and emotionally sick to sleep in the same room as kyle , but he tells himself it is what it is . he doesn’t rest that entire night . the next day though , he waits until kyle is sound asleep to get up from his bed beside him and hover over at him , watching him snore soundly . a million and one thoughts run through this kids head , but it’s mostly just hurt , anger , disgust , and this sick need to get back at him . it’s this fight in his head , one voice telling him to let it go while the other voice screams at him to fuck him up . aleks momentarily decides on taking the higher road , knowing it could get him into huge trouble if he lays a hand on kyle , but that decision to take the higher road vanishes when he looks up above the fuckers bed and see’s the mirror that hangs on top . he stares at his reflection , spotting his bruises , the swollen bits of his face , the scrapes and cuts , how fucked up he looks , and he acts completely on impulse , his anger getting the better of him . aleks grabs kyle’s soccer trophy from on top of his bed stand , lifts it up above his head , and smacks him right across the face with it . this obviously wakes up kyle instantly , but aleks has the upper hand , since kyle is laying on his bed , half asleep , and without a weapon . aleks starts fucking him up with the thing , you can hear kyle’s screaming loud and clear , and it’s not long before kyle’s parents come rushing inside , obviously pulling aleks right off him , and well , you can kind of see where this is headed 

moral of the story , aleks is considered a high risk foster child with that little stunt he pulled . his first actual offense , but it still gets him sent to juvie for three days , and that’s really just because the judge is being nice considering his situation ... i don’t even think i need to describe what juvie was like because like we see movies y’all we know JKFNDJF . he broke kyle’s nose , scratched his cornea , and left him with multiple injuries . kyle’s claims don’t help his story either . he tells everyone that aleks is psycho , that he’s wrong in the head , has some serious anger issues and ‘ attacked him out of nowhere when he was just trying to help him ’ , makes him out to be the biggest bad guy in the book , conveniently leaving out the part where he fucks him up with his fists at school . with the squeaky clean record kyle has , no one really cares for aleks’ side of the story at all , especially since he claimed his injuries were from getting jumped . from that point forward , he knows for a fact he’s never getting adopted , and , as sad as this may sound , he doesn’t even care anymore ! end of violence and injury tw !

actually hurting someone the way he did kind of ignited something inside him he didn’t even know was there . of course after a certain age , he grew a much tougher shell and stopped crying about everything , stopped being so damn sensitive , but he’s never laid his hands on anyone before until he met kyle . he wasn’t proud of what he did , it made him feel like shit inside , dirty in a way , and it didn’t give him any sense of accomplishment or bring him any joy , but .... it kind of awakened him to all these different ideas , a different mentality , gave him a feeling of power and superiority he’s never felt before . at that point on , he began thinking ‘ every man to himself ’ , very much katherine pierce from the vampire diaries mind . he does what he does to survive and he doesn’t care who he has to knock down . no one ever cared for him , he stopped caring for people  –  that’s that .  

it took everything ( like dead ass everything ) , to convince the judge not to put aleks in a group home . he was , thankfully , placed in another foster home , but with much higher restrictions than his last . it was school and back , the doors were locked at 9 pm , bedroom doors included , windows sealed shut .... just bad , but it beat being in juvie , so again , he told himself ‘ it is what is it ’

began acting the fuck out . new home , new school , he became the bad kid your parents warned you about , begged you not to hang out with . skipping class , a nasty smoking habit , talking back to the teachers  –  he actually stopped giving a fuck , and his behavior just worsened as time went on . despite his own birth mother being a drug addict , he did the same shit . he turned to drugs , alcohol , and violence , mostly . hanging with the wrong crowd , slick ass mouth , not afraid to punch someone , on some illegal shit , but , he became very street smart and learned to keep his shit ‘ low key ’ as he called it , really .... just not getting caught . he was barely barely passing school , just enough so his ( current ) foster parents wouldn’t bug him about shit . eventually moved to another home without as many restrictions and decent living , really , really just tried to keep a low profile all while doing hood rat shit on the low #hannahmontanawho?

! drug abuse and drug mentions tw for the next three bullets ! he really , really began to rely heavily on drugs and alcohol . started off with weed , but escalated from there . adderall , xanax , oxy , coke , mdma , even ketamine ... really any drug you can think of , all tried by the time he was sixteen . his top three favorites quickly became coke , ketamine , and obviously weed . aleks thinks he has the whole situation under control , swears he’s become a master of deceit , but it’s only really a matter of time before shit catches up to you , right ? 

he’s sixteen when him and a couple of his friends decide to drive to santa monica just for the fuck of it . they swear they’ll get him back in time , all with the idea to get really fucked up by the beach and go on an adventure . only problem is they get too fucked up and attract too much attention up to the point of getting caught . four teens running in different directions from the cops , high as fuck .... lovely tbh 🥴

again , you can kind of see where this is headed .... him and another guy were the unlucky ones , of course . aleks gets caught with only a joint on him , but tests positive for a bunch of drugs . it’s already his second offense too . he gets four days in juvie this time , drug counseling once he’s out . the only problem is no one really knows where he’s going to get placed after this , though he’s pretty sure it’ll be some high restriction group home , but very surprisingly , he’s wrong ! end of drug abuse and drug mentions tw !

the day he gets released from juvie is the day he meets a man named murphy peters , or my favorite person ever ( what aleks will soon come to think of him ) . murphy isn’t really too sure about taking him in until he gets told ‘ well if you don’t take him i guess i can just send him to a group home ’ . they just look at each other at that moment , aleks’ eyes filled with unshed tears , beat up and tired , and murphy turns back to the guy and legit says ‘ nah , don’t even bother . just a few weeks , right ? ’ 

he’s super shut down emotionally when arriving at his place . murphy is a single foster parent with an old , really friendly pitbull named pawly for company , no other foster kids in his apartment . being tossed around so much , aleks assumes it’ll only be a matter of time before he fucks up and gets sent somewhere else . that’s how it always seems to go down anyways , and he did only say a few weeks after all 

but things take an unexpected turn for the better on the second day he’s there . three in the morning , he’s awake but the lights are turned off , pitch dark . he randomly hears murphy open the door and pretends to be asleep . a part of aleks feels like this might get dark very fast . after all , he lives alone . he’s a single foster parent , and aleks has lived through enough in the system to know how fucked up it is . the last thing he’s really expecting is for murphy to shake him roughly like ‘ wake up kid , wake up , i know you not really sleepin’ ! ’ so he kind of just sits up and turns on the light like um .... it’s like three am , and murphy is pacing back and forth around his room like ‘ aight , i figured it out , kid ! ’ and aleks is just like haha yeah cool ..... again , it’s three am

strangely enough , murphy starts telling him his life story , through and through and aleks can’t help but think how this old man he met two days ago figured all this shit out . it makes him angry that he’s apparently so transparent ( he’s really not , murphy is just next level ) . truth be told , he wants to swing at murphy , and he knows it’ll get him into deep shit , but he does it anyways . imagine his shock when this old man blocks his punch and manages to slam dunk him back onto his bed . he’s just like what the fuck aren’t you like eighty KVBFDJ

moral of the story is they get into an argument and aleks eventually tells him that the reason he’s so angry is because he ‘ can’t beat up everyone he hates , you included ’ ( half true , but definitely not the only reason he’s so pissed at the world ) , even more random when murphy is like ‘ i’m gonna teach you some healthy ways to let out that anger , be ready at ten am , kid ! ’ and aleks really thinks he’s making fun of him so he’s like ‘ yeah , okay .... fuck you old man ! ’ as murphy makes his way out

but ... he’s not talking shit ! ten am on the dot and he’s getting dragged to what he thinks is a gym , but it’s actually a dojo . he thinks murphy is talking out his ass when he tells him he’s going to teach him karate , and enroll him in boxing classes for the summer . he’s just wondering how this old solitary man is gonna even teach him good karate to begin with , but he soon learns that the old saying don’t judge a book by it’s cover is pretty much murphy to a t

he is right though . he starts boxing and karate and it does help him a lot ! he realizes how much doing these things gets his mind off everything . even though he’s basically ‘ fighting ’ it brings him a strange sense of peace , and surprisingly ? discipline too . he knows this whole thing is temporary but it still changes his mindset a lot . he mostly begins to focus on physical activity and becoming the best at what he’s doing rather than his old bad habits like drugs and alcohol , stealing , any type of petty crimes he used to commit . at the time he didn’t want to admit it , but murphy was definitely right . this was for sure helping him take out all the anger he has inside , all without doing things that could get him arrested

and him and murphy start to really bond too . they both like the same bands , they’re both aquarius’ , similar tastes in tv shows and movies , they both have nearly the same sense of humor , murphy was even a foster kid like him who out grew the system , but again , aleks really tries to not get attached because he knows he’s just being nice , but he really really starts to fuck with murphy . deep down in his head he’s like ‘ i kind of wish he was my dad ’ .... making me emo and shit smh

when school comes around , beginning of his junior year , he manages to convince everyone to let him drop out and get his ged . school really just isn’t for him and it never has been , being in a place with a bunch of other teens for like eight hours for five days a week gives him anxiety , just drains his social battery completely . he does drop out , but he’s pushed so roughly by murphy to get his ged , he manages to pass the test by late november , basically graduating over an entire year ahead of his actual class

and life seems to get better from there ! murphy eventually tells him he wants to make this a permanent thing . aleks gets so happy he actually bursts into tears 🥺

the entire process takes a lot longer than necessary though , especially with his record . in the beginning , they can’t find his actual birth certificate . his actual birth father , for some reason , refuses to sign away his parental rights at first ( aleks is like bro i literally hate you .... sign the fucking papers ) . kind of starts to seem like the whole universe is against him . every time the coast looks clear and it seems like they can go through with the adoption process , something happens and delays the entire thing . it actually takes him over a year until he finally gets legally adopted by murphy , when he’s seventeen . actually the happiest day of his life

things only seem to get even better from then on out . he gets his driver’s license , his tattoo artist license in california when he’s nineteen , starts working at an actual shop in venice beach when he’s almost twenty . he’s not the best at first , but not terrible . eventually , he becomes really really good though . he basically paints , listens to music and does a mixture of boxing and karate during his free time . he tattoos and pierces people for income , starts saving up because he really wants to drive down to mexico one day , with murphy in his rv . actually the road trip of his dreams !

but , remember when i said it kind of seems like the universe is against him ? 🥴

it’s february first of this year , four days before his twenty first birthday , and nine days before murphy’s , when him and murphy get into a fight . aleks can’t even recall what the fight was about , but he gets so angry , he takes murphy’s rv and drives to god knows where . he gets really drunk one night and starts doing a bunch of dumb shit , but his dumbest idea has to be stealing a backpack full of diamonds from these two guys . gets chased by them for a moment , but manages to get away , all while being told ‘ you’re gonna regret that shit so hard bro ! ’ . in his defense , he had no idea the backpack was filled with diamonds , he just liked the way it looked because it was a kipling ? he liked the little monkey keychain ? imagine his surprise when he opens the thing and see’s probably at least half a million dollars in diamonds . he’s just like wow that’s crazy .... i’m gonna drive back home right fucking now . four , almost five years of sobriety .... thrown down the toilet when he gets drunk , but he tells himself it was just a single slip up . that he’ll do better 

he gets back home february sixth , the day after his birthday . spends his actual twenty first birthday passed out and hungover , asleep on the bed inside the rv . he tries walking past murphy as he’s outside wiping down his car , hoping he can just pass by him without being questioned , but of course he’s wrong . another fight in aleks’ eyes , but it’s really just murphy bitching and questioning him because he cares about him , because he’s obviously concerned that he’s been gone for the past five days , phone off and everything . it starts escalating until aleks eventually screams at him and tells him that he needs to ‘ stop pretending like he actually cares about him when all he feels towards him is pity ’ which , kind of just shows that he never really got over his trust issues and general trauma from being in the system . and there’s just a moment of silence before murphy is like ‘ i don’t know when you’re thick headed ass is gonna realize i’d take a bullet for you if it came down to it ’ and of course , aleks doesn’t believe him ! now fast forward to another half second of arguing until murphy’s words are actually put into action

! guns / shooting resulting in death and panic attack tw , please skip past this bullet if this triggers you ! they’re outside when a white van drives by , he can clearly hear an angry familiar voice shout ‘ i told you you were gonna regret this ! ’ , a gun pulling out from the window crack , and he gets so nervous he just freezes on the spot . he knows exactly who it is  –  it’s the guy he stole the backpack from like , two days ago . aleks knows what he’s going to do , but he can’t seem to move . he really thinks he’s going to die , until this man literally steps right in front of him , and , just like he stated not even a whole minute ago , actually takes a bullet for him . gets shot right in the chest , and by that time , all the neighbors are outside , calling the police . the area is too heated , so the van drives off quickly after missing the shot , no license plate or anything so it’ll be harder to identify who it was . you can imagine how traumatic this moment is for aleks , and the saddest part ? he really thinks murphy will somehow magically make it , like it’ll be some type of miracle all over the news and such  –  but he’s wrong . murphy bleeds out right in front of him , aleks doing everything in his power to try and stop his bleeding , but there’s really nothing else that can be done . the last two things murphy tells aleks is to ‘ please take care of all the clown paintings around the house ’ and ‘ never lose them , don’t let anyone take them , keep them no matter what ’ and he’s pretty much gone before he can tell aleks why . he gets so so nervous , he doesn’t know what it was at the time , but he starts having an actual panic attack . all his neighbors coming up to him like ‘ oh my god kid , are you okay ? ’ and trying to help the whole situation like ‘ help is coming right now ’ but it’s kind of like aleks can’t hear a word they’re saying ? like his heart is just beating so fast and he’s suddenly sweating so much and he can barely breathe . it’s like his body is there , but his soul , his mind ? gone , panicking , hyperventilating . everything from then on seems like a blur . getting told murphy’s dead in the hospital , which he definitely already knows . the police statement he gives , half there , half not . that day , it’s like a part of him vanished . he really was not the same ever since ! end of guns / shooting resulting in death and panic attack tw end !

he panics , hardcore . the first thing he does when he gets home is instantly take all his clothes , murphy’s computer , and general important things into the rv . he doesn’t know why murphy is so fixated on the clown paintings , but of course he grabs all twenty of them , he puts those in the rv as well , connects murphy’s car to the rv , and just starts to drive , far away from venice beach . like half a million dollars in diamonds inside a backpack on top of the passengers seat , too traumatized to stay in murphy’s apartment . he just starts to drive , with the intention of going to mexico , but then his dumb ass realizes he doesn’t have his passport on him . he keeps driving until he reaches san diego , and that’s the story of how he ends up in sunhollow

he genuinely doesn’t know what to do from that point on . he pawns the diamonds and purchases an rv site and gas /electric for nearly three years , so he doesn’t have to worry about about rent for a while . yes , he’s really just living in his damn rv because he doesn’t know what else to do and he terrified . he ends up in the rocks , the rougher part of sunhollow . for the first few days , he’s petrified , super afraid the guys who ended murphy are going to find him . thankfully , that doesn’t happen , but he’s still paranoid about it

he actually cries like a baby during murphy’s birthday on february tenth . if he was still here , he would be turning sixty . imagine how awful he feels , that his actual real last conversation with him was an argument .... he hates himself tbh 

from that point on , all the progress he’s made gets flushed down the drain . the only positive thing about the whole thing is that he manages to get a job in this new city in half moon ink as a tattoo artist and piercer , with his prior experience . besides that , it’s all shit . he’s living in an rv , he doesn’t know what he’s doing or where he’s going with his life , he’s scared , and the worst part of all ? he starts abusing drugs and alcohol again , heavy this time . all his sobriety and hard work all these years ? completely gone

aleks really said ‘ fuck self love , we’re doing all the drugs ’ after murphy died . he’s just super not okay about it because he knows he’s gone because of him , because he couldn’t keep his damn sticky fingers to himself . he’s basically spiraling super hard now , and he knows wherever murphy is that he’s not happy with what he’s doing , but he can’t seem to stop . it’s like once he started using again , there was no going back

so he keeps doing hoodrat shit tbh ! his dumb ass ends up getting caught with resins of cocaine in a bag , on february twelve , literally on his birthday month . the offense wasn’t that bad because it was just coke residue , but it’s still basically a felony , and with his past record , he gets actual prison time . he was going to be in prison for a whole two months , originally three , but he got off lucky . however , with good behavior and community hours , he ends up in there for only a month , got out recently on march fifteenth . he’s doing community hours and getting drug tested by his p.o , he’s under house arrest too . he can be out between six am to six pm , but if he’s not right back in his trailer by six pm on the dot , well .... i think you can figure out what happens

he’s barely getting by really , known around town as trailer trash for obvious reasons , literally currently wearing a fucking ankle monitor . i don’t really think he cares about anything anymore ? like he’s just so done with it all . he didn’t even flinch when he got caught , didn’t try to run and willingly gave in ( which helped with his case but ) , like , that’s how done he is . genuinely didn’t care that he was going to actual prison . he just does not care . he’s barely living , one day at a time

i’m gonna end his backstory here , below are some headcanons !

headcanons

! drug abuse , suicidal and death thoughts tw ! this is kind of sad , but he’s reached a point in his life where he doesn’t really care if he lives or dies . in fact , he spends a lot of his time thinking about how he’s going to die , when , if it’ll be painful or not .... really really depressive and dark suicidal thoughts . the only thing is that despite everything he’s gone through , aleks doesn’t have it in him to actually commit suicide . he thinks about it constantly , thinks about getting run over by a car or drowning or shooting a damn bullet through his head , literally any type of death , but he would actually never pull through with it . he wants it to happen , but he doesn’t have it in him . this is a reason why he abuses drugs so much at this point . of course he likes the high , but in the back of his mind , he’s really really hoping he’ll take so much , it’ll kill him . that way if he dies , it won’t look intentional , just like your typical overdose . like , his heavy drug usage is literally a cry for help . he really doesn’t care if he takes it too far , he actually wants to take it too far always , but he never seems to overdose . he’s mixed a bunch of stuff before , but it just doesn’t happen ? in a way he feels he’s cursed , because he can’t even overdose and die properly . again , his idea of the universe being completely against him ! end of drug abuse , suicidal and death thoughts tw ! 

he actually .... doesn’t have a smart phone ! no bullshit , has some crap flip phone and a government phone he uses to speak to his p.o , that’s it . the only smart type of technology he really has is murphy’s 2018 mac book pro and a smart tv he has set in his rv . he rarely gets close to anyone , but on the rare occasion that he does , if they ask for his number , no bullshit , he gives them the number from pizza hut , has it memorized and all . you have to be really , really special for him to give you his number . the only people who really have his number are customers ( people he tattoos , and does piercings for ) like , that’s literally it . isn’t part of the gc ( the ic chat on discord ) , doesn’t have an instagram , twitter or any type of social media , actually old school as fuck , which is wild , considering he was born in 2000 

he has a fuck ton of cds ! literally no one has cds anymore but he has so so so many . oasis , red hot chili peppers , my chemical romance , sleeping with sirens , arctic monkeys , yes , asking alexandria , the list goes on .... so many cds because this is really all he does in his rv . play a cd and start painting or sketching some tattoo ideas . he loves music a lot and considers it an escape , even though he doesn’t have a musical bone in his body and doesn’t play any type of instrument , but he just loves music so much , literally always listens to music no matter what he’s doing . his favorite band is oasis , murphy put him on that band . they’re favorite song was supersonic and they would listen to it together on repeat forever while driving , jamming to other oasis songs on the road as well . aleks listened to supersonic on repeat on the ride from venice beach to san diego . he cried the entire way . 

he’s like ..... a kleptomaniac for real . he’ll walk into a clothing store with a large hoodie on , grab twenty different shirts , go into the dressing room , put on ten of those twenty shirts , slide his oversized hoodie on top , and walk right out . sometimes he won’t even have any real reason to steal stuff , he just does because he’s bored . will go into a store and take something he doesn’t even need , surprisingly has never been caught . very reckless of him considering his situation , but again , he just doesn’t care anymore . he spends a lot of his money on drugs , so he’ll steal basic necessities sometimes , like toilet paper , tooth paste , soap , shampoo and conditioner . the weirdest thing he steals hands down is like .... family pictures of people he doesn’t even know ? like it’s so weird , he’ll jack a wallet , take all the money , and realize there’s like a family picture in there , the wife , the husband , their kids , a dog . weird as fuck , but he takes the money and family picture and throws out the wallet ? again , super weird , but i think never really having a legit family and losing the one person he loved unconditionally who believed in him caused this ? he’s just like you know .... what let me live through the eyes of these people <3  super fucking strange , literally has a few pictures of random ass families he doesn’t even know at all just stuffed into his glove compartment , for no reason at all .... fucking weirdo tbh

another fun fact is he has hypermobile shoulders ( or double jointed shoulders ) . he realized this when getting handcuffed once , his arms behind his back . he thought to himself ‘ i feel i can bring my arms above my head to bring my handcuffs to the front without breaking my arms ’ surprise , surprise , he definitely could ! does that weird shit and brings his entire arms from the back to the front while holding them , he said undercover contortionist here !

this is a wild headcanon , but remember those twenty clown paintings murphy insisted aleks never get rid of ? entire story behind those things . so murphy ? actually won the powerball in 2015 . no lie , magically got all numbers right , won 238 million . with federal withholding and taxes and all ? still left murphy with a stacking 101 million dollars . he spent less than half , leaving him with exactly 64 million dollars . now you would expect him to start living a glamorous life after that right ? well wrong ! he remained humble as ever, bought an rv and the car he wanted , payed off his bills , donated some money to charity , but continued living in his hood ass apartment in venice beach , kept quiet about the entire thing , never told a single soul . he’s the type of old school guy that would rather keep his money under his mattress rather than in a bank , doesn’t trust banks , only had a debit card because it was absolutely necessary , and a credit card he never really used , really just to build decent credit . he knew he couldn’t empty his entire account in one go , so he emptied it , little by little , gradually with time , until he eventually had all 64 million dollars in cash , all one hundred dollar bills . he knew he couldn’t store the money in a duffel bag like an idiot , so what did this man do ? literally .... put the money inside the paintings . no lie , inside the paintings . he knew no one would ever wanna steal a hideous clown painting , he was smart about it . each painting is stored with 3.2 million dollars inside , all one hundred dollar bills , meaning each painting carries exactly 32,000 one hundred dollar bills inside , tightly packed together so they all fit , wrapped and all . now really , really stop to think about this ..... aleks ? actually has 64 million god damn dollars inside his rv , stored inside those hideous clown paintings , and the most wild part ? he has absolutely no idea at all . to him , they’re just ugly ass clown paintings that weigh a ton ( because they’re stuffed with money , aleks ! ) . crazy , right ? everyone in sunhollow thinking he’s dirt poor trailer trash , without a nickel to his name . shit , he thinks the same thing too ! positive he’s gonna die broke as fuck and alone , but little does he know ? man is carrying 64 million in his shitty rv , and he has absolutely no fucking clue at all . definitely going to accidentally find out one day ( but that calls for a future self para tbh )

murphy had no intentions of spending all the money on himself , planned to donate the other half and spend the rest living his final days in santo domingo , dominican republic ( literally .... that’s how humble this man is ) . around that time is when he started fostering aleks though , and after the first few months with him , he knew , right away , that he was going to give that money to him one day . didn’t tell him about it because he knew it would freak him out and he wouldn’t stop asking about it , but he knew all that money would be his . stored it all away in those terrible clown paintings , specifically because he knew no one would suspect a thing . wanted to tell him about it , but passed away before he could . aleks still doesn’t know what’s in those paintings , has them stacked away somewhere because he thinks they’re so ugly , but would never throw them away because it was murphy’s last wish . the day he finds out what they actually have inside though ? his life will do a whole 360 . again , i’m gonna work into that though

people just think he’s trailer trash tbh and he does nothing to prove them wrong . i think his reputation just follows him around . lots of people don’t bother to get to know him and he doesn’t really bother to get to know people . he’s a big ass loner , spends nearly every single day alone minus when he’s at the tattoo shop . lots of people are really intimidated by him , especially with all the rumors about him , and that fucking ankle monitor tbh , but he doesn’t care , doesn’t do anything to try and stop what people think . he’s like if people wanna think i’m trailer trash whatever i don’t care , and he really , really doesn’t

he’s actually kind of a low key hoe ? bisexual as fuck and will hook up with just about anyone . it’s wild though because he’ll fuck you and kind of just disappear ? half the time he doesn’t even do it on purpose , he’ll kind of just dip without giving you his phone number or even wait for you to wake up . like you’ll maybe wanna make breakfast for both you guys , but you look to the other side of your bed and he’s no longer there . no phone number , no way of contacting him , kind of just a ghost . he never let’s people come over to his place ever ( because .... rv tbh ) so it’s not like there’s any way you can really see him again if you wanted to . unless you randomly see him somewhere , but odds are he’ll disappear into the background before you even really get a chance to talk to him . gives him this asshole reputation , but the truth is he just doesn’t want people getting too close to him out of fear that they’ll abandon him . you’ll think you’re starting a lovely friendship with him or even just a great hook up and he’ll randomly just ghost for like six months 🥴 never see him again type shit

he actually .... doesn’t really like being touched at all ? it’s weird because he likes sex a lot and doesn’t mind being touched everywhere in that moment during the heat of it , but like let’s say afterwards maybe you wanna cuddle ? you wanna greet him with a hug ? a little kiss on the cheek ? he’s not comfortable with that . he doesn’t mean to be an ass about it , but he actually physically cringes when someone just greets him with a random hug without any type of warning . will literally push you away and be like ‘ please don’t touch me again ’ . maybe this has to due with his childhood in general but like .... do not greet him with a random hug or kiss on the cheek ever because he will literally disappear so fast , push you away so quickly . if he initiates it , sure , but if it’s just random from the other party , he’s not gucci with it . i think if he finds someone he actually really cares about and vibes with he would be okay with physical affection ( example , he let murphy hug him all the time ) , but like let’s say he just meets you and you wanna go in for a friendly hug ? he’s gonna take like three steps back . makes him look like an asshole , but he really can’t help it . he doesn’t like being thrown off guard like that , strangely feels like he doesn’t have control of the situation ? he’s super weird tbh . he’s fine with a fist bump , or a quick handshake though

he hates mind games ! hates them . he’s definitely not the type of guy you can give a million hints to and he’s fine just figuring them out and going along with it . he doesn’t like indirect people who say one thing but mean something else and say this with hopes that you ‘ catch on ’ , he hates that difficult shit . he will catch onto every single hint you send , know exactly what you want too , but he’s not going to do anything about it . he wants someone who can be blunt and upfront with him , someone who knows what they want and shouts it to the world , someone who will tell him what they want from the start , no sugar coating , no beating around the bush , no mind games or backwards flirting . he’s a very blunt person , will tell you what he wants right off the bat without even blinking , doesn’t believe in the will they/won’t they bullshit . you’re either upfront and straight up with him , or you can play those mindgames for like , fifteen minutes with him before he ghosts you quick as fuck . like you want him to be super unattracted to you ? play mind games with him , beat around the bush , and hint at stuff while never directly telling him what you want . watch you never hear from him ever again tbh

he actually did half the tattoos he has . he’s become a very skilled artist , really good at sketching , painting , anything involving art with his hands . it’s relaxing to him . he hasn’t done any type of boxing or karate since murphy died , but he can very easily pick up from where he left off . he has a black belt , very good at both things , but has been avoiding it since the whole thing with murphy went down 

he actually has undiagnosed bipolar disorder and even ptsd , especially from that bullet . he doesn’t really know this , but even just the sound of a gun going off can trigger him , take him back to murphy’s backyard , blood everywhere . it’s never happened to him before thankfully , but it’s a possible idea for a future thread or even self para . he has ptsd over lots of things that happened in his childhood and teen years , but a gun shot would probably really trigger him . for his bipolar disorder , he has a mixture of both manic and depressive episodes , but mostly manic ones . he’ll be awake for an entire week and not even really feel tired , fake elevated happiness , but it’s hard for him to notice he even has a problem with how heavily he abuses drugs . being high all the time never gives his brain a moment to think

literally getting drug tested every other week , but he’s still doing drugs ? he’s currently barely smoking weed because he knows that stays in your system forever , but drugs that flush out in just a couple of days or don’t even show up ? he’s all for it ! catch him with niacin , cranberry pills and juice , and cleansing pills like , two days prior . he hasn’t failed a drug test yet but he’s still doing drugs . actual dumb ass criminal mastermind ? like .... the lengths he’ll go to get high but not get caught ..... go to fucking therapy and rehab aleks holy fuck

murphy’s old pitbull ended up dying at seventeen years old , in 2018 ! no one thought he would make it for so long , but little guy did . aleks still remembers the pitbull , has a little pitbull small tattoo somewhere on his right arm in honor of this dog . his name was pawly 

despite the fact that he hasn’t spoken norwegian in over a decade ( last time with his sister ) , he still vividly remembers it , since it was basically his first language . like , he claims he doesn’t remember it anymore , claims he forgot , but if someone just randomly starts speaking norwegian , his brain would instantly put all the words together and he would start speaking back fluently . you can’t forget what you fully learned , aleks !

a part of him wants to reconnect with his sister . he hasn’t seen her in over a decade , has no clue where she’s at , if she ever got adopted or if she’s even alive at this point . he really wants to find her but doesn’t know where to start ? little does he know she’s literally living in sunhollow too ( shoutout to aurora thorsen sparks )

really , really wants to be a vegetarian , later on a vegan ! he loves animals so much , has seen so many documentaries where he knows fucking animal slaughterhouses and meat is like the number one cause of the green house effect ( especially slaughter houses , watch cowspiracy on netflix to get an idea ) , but he’s a broke ass bitch right now and just eats whatever , when he’s even hungry . he always tells himself that if he ever has money ( HAHAHA LITTLE DO YOU KNOW ALEKS ) that he’s definitely going to become a big ass vegan . loves cows so much , would dead ass go ‘ moo ’ if he were to ever meet one and would probably be upset if they don’t moo back at him 🤡

he has never left california , literally ever . he’s been nearly all around cali , but has never left , not even to another state  –  it’s legit all he knows . he really , really wants to travel , take a road trip down to mexico ( literally even knows some okay spanish from being friends with so many mexicans and central and south americans ) like , he just really wants to go anywhere . he’d like to visit his parents’ hometown , a little town in norway named stavanger . he wants to go all around south america , buenos aires , rio de janeiro , lima , he just wants to go places and see life from outside the shithole he’s been stuck in since forever , and one day he will do it ( when he finally finds that fucking money damn ) . if he could choose to live anywhere , he would probably wanna go to his family roots , in norway . he already speaks the language so it should be fairly easy ( kind of wild how he wants to do all this yet he wants to die at the same time .... sad boi hours tbh )

may not look like it , but he really can kick your ass if he wants to ( that karate / boxing in him be like 😜 ) . if you see him from far , he looks like a little soft angel ( baby face that will never go away ngl ) but don’t let his physical appearance fool you ! he will dead ass high kick someone in the face if he has to , no remorse . he isn’t as violent anymore compared to when he was a teen , but if he feels like he’s going to be attacked or feels like you genuinely want to physically hurt him , he won’t hesitate to fuck you up 

even though he’s grown a tougher shell over the years , he’s very low key still a softy . deep down inside , he’s still that little kid that would cry whenever people were mean to him . he can be very sensitive and compassionate ..... but on the inside . obviously he no longer bursts into tears like he used to as a little kid , but contrary to popular belief , if you really get to know him , he’s soft . shows with how much he loves animals , and it’s weird because he doesn’t like being touched unexpectedly , looks like a bad ass and acts like one , but deep down ? soft ass heart , too soft for this world , needs to find the right person to actually connect with and cuddle gdi

he has the tiniest little scar , right below his right eye , where kyle decked him ( left handed punch ) . it’s really barely even noticeable , and lots of people who have short conversations with him won’t even realize . if you’re talking to him for a while , and really admire his face though , you’ll notice it . again , not a huge scar , not super prominent , really blends in with his skin , and usually something most people miss , but it’s there

i’m gonna end this here because this is long and i’m going to leave connections to brain storming , but below is his birthchart !

[hangingslothcentral]

remus lupin, he was done dirty by dumbledore, too

You know who was always on Dumbledore’s side? Remus John ‘Wolfy McWolfface II’ Lupin. Even when Sirius, the last of his school friends and whomst he may or may not have been in love with was being asked to do questionable things by Dumbledore, Remus staunchly followed good ol’ Prof Dumbledon’t’s advice. Sirius got screwed over by Dumbledore and in the books, sometimes he began to realise it. Even Harry, Dumbledore’s man through and through, expressed his doubts, though he never really understood the extent to which Dumbledore’s presence in his life royally ruined it. Faced with Snape’s apparent betrayal at the end of HBP, Remus is flummoxed; he says he had assumed Dumbledore had more to go on than that. He had trusted this man i m p l i c i t l y, and it is not hard to see why.

Remus was made a werewolf when he was five, in a deliberate attack by Fenrir Greyback, as retaliation for laws Wolfy McWolf Snr. had made. Very little is known about Remus’ childhood, but his parents did not cast him out after he was infected, so they clearly loved him, and they must have been doing something to try and contain what happened to him once a month or else both of them would be dead, or werewolves too. Imagine being six years old and having your parents carry you down to the cellar once a month, locking you in there alone, feeling that intense and horrifying pain, waking up, covered in scratches and bitemarks you had apparently put there yourself, but you have only the vaguest memories of it. Your parents love you, but they also fear you enough to do this to you. There is a monster inside of you and you have to bury it or it will destroy everything you know and love.

You can’t have friends; it’s too much of a risk. They get too close and they may begin to wonder why you become so weak around the full moon, why sometimes you are covered in bandages, why you are covered in scars. You occupy yourself with books. Your best friends are buried in the pages. They cannot fear or judge you and they will never learn your secret. You learn fast and eagerly; you are clever, and talented, but you are warned that you must stay safe, stay secret.

There is a school but you cannot go. You cannot possibly go. How could you? You have a secret monster lurking under your skin and if anyone were to find out, you may never have a warm bed again. You understand this, even though it makes you sad.

Until one day, a man arrives at your house. He comes with kind smiles and a box of jelly beans; he talks to you directly, even when your parents try to take command of the conversation. He has thought of a way that you can go to school; he can help you. You can learn.

It’s not just school, he’s offering. It’s your entire life. It’s a future you didn’t even dare to daydream about. So you pack off to school, afraid but excited, knowing you still have to stay small, stay quiet, stay safe. You have to, or the web of lies that keeps you safe could come crumbling down on you. You have a secret monster lurking just under your skin, afterall. You are a risk to others; that is why you were not going to be allowed to go to school. So you stay small and safe, so you can keep everyone else safe from you, too. You don’t want people to be in danger, and they would be. You know this because your parents were afraid of you. You are afraid of you.

You go once a month, when it happens, to this miserable shack in the middle of nowhere. The school nurse does her best to patch you up the next day, but your injuries are cursed and so they can’t really be hidden. Your classmates stare and wonder what is going on. Some stare more than others. Some stare an awful lot. Too much. They start sticking their noses in your business and have no idea how disasterous it would be for everyone if they found out the truth. Sirius, James and Peter are funny, you would love them to be your friends, but they can’t be, because of the monster inside you, and you have to keep them away, for everyone’s sake. But they just won’t let up. They keep on and on and then, one day, Sirius Black, with his stupid floppy hair and sideways grin, he figures it out.

It’s frightening, it’s thrilling, and before he knows it, Remus has done the impossible, the forbidden; he has made friends. It’s better than he could have imagined; his friends are better than he could have imagined. Not only do they except the monster that is part of him without judgement or reproach, they actually help to tame it, learning to become animagi so the monster can chase and run with them. He doesn’t wake up injured any more. He wakes up exhausted, to listen to tales of night time adventures, of deers stalked and tails nipped and miles of countryside mapped under his own monsterous paws. And after a while, he even begins to remember. As though if he lets the monster out and makes his peace with it, the two of them can co-exist. Maybe the line between them is not so stark, is not so frightening. Perhaps the monster is not so much of a monster as he thought; dangerous, yes, but something that really can be managed.

And then he finishes school and becomes a member of the Order and Dumbledore, the man to whom he owes his freedom, his education, his friends, his whole life, he turns around and asks Remus for a favour. Unblinking, unperturbed, Remus agrees. Of course he does. He owes Dumbledore everything and this task is important; mingle with the other werewolves and report on their political opinions.

Remus does this and learns the life he would have had if Dumbledore hadn’t saved him. He sees these people suffering, cast out, slaves to the monsters they cannot even begin to hide. He is not accepted by them; how could they accept him, when by rights he should be living alongside them the slums but instead stands before them clean and learned and loved? But he does his duty to Dumbledore and reports back that the werewolves are disenfranchised, likely to be easy to radicalise. Of course they are. What has society ever offered them, why should they seek to defend it? Go back, learn more, Remus is bidden. Integrate, blend in.

Remus grows thin, tired. He cannot share what he learns with his friends, and does not see them for weeks, sometimes months at a time. He feels stretched, burned out, lonely, cold, isolated. But this is what Dumbledore has tasked him to do and he owes Dumbledore his life. Dumbledore helped him when everyone else could only see the bleak future he is now witnessing for himself up close. He would be one of these outcasts if it were not for Dumbledore. So he grits his teeth and gets on.

He learns the news last. James and Lily are dead, and Sirius betrayed them and murdered Peter to boot. He had hardly seen any of them in so long, it all seems surreal. The war - for now at least - is over. Remus has no need to stay amongst the other werewolves anymore, and all of his friends are gone, one way or another. He lives alone, in a tumbledown cottage in the middle of nowhere, scraping by. He exists on the fringes of society. There is a monster under his skin he must do everything he can to contain. There are no friends to run through miles of countryside with, no funny stories about pouncing and stalking through forests, no stags to nip at, rats to chase, nor dogs to wrestle in the grass. He is alone. The other werewolves will not have him; he is different from them, too.

What did Dumbledore see in Remus that made him fight to get him a place at Hogwarts? What was it about him that made him different from those beaten, starving people he saw slumming on the edges of wizarding society? What did he do to deserve to be saved? Nothing.

Dumbledore did not start a campaign to defend Remus’ rights. He did not champion him, did not say ‘here is this boy and you should treat him as your own because despite his illness, his curse, that is exactly what he is’. He did not say, it is wrong for werewolves to be outcast. He did not say we should be doing work to help these outcast people reintegrate with society. Remus is not special to Dumbledore. He is just convenient, and Dumbledore does not spare a thought on Remus once that convenience and usefulness is outlived, not for an entire decade, not until he becomes convenient and useful again.

And that, my friends, is yet another reason Dumbledore fucking sucks.

[fatandnerdy30]

Land of the Avengers Chapter 4

So, here’s the fourth chapter! I hope that this can help put a little smile on your face during this hard, lonely time in the world. Remember, there is someone who loves you...and though I haven’t met any of you, I love everyone who reads this, and those who don’t!

Her body hurt, that's all Virginia knew the moment she woke up. She let out a little groan, her eyebrows scrunching as she slowly came to. The first sound she heard was Cadet Keener's voice. Instantly her eyes snapped open and she sat up, automatically regretting her decision as her ribs shot a sharp pain through her midsection. "Virginia?" Clint's use of her full name was a sign that something was wrong. "Are you all right?" She nodded, gritting her teeth against the pain."Yes...just got up too fast. How...how are the cadets?" They were more important than her most likely broken ribs. She could deal with those later. "Captain?" Harley's voice was strong as he said her name. She looked to her left and saw his smiling face. Her shoulders dropped in relief at the sight of the boy looking at her with clear, bright eyes. "Cadet Keener...where's Parker?" Virginia took a look around, noting the lake they were seated by. "He's still out," Clint said, wiping his face. "We're staying here for the night, then we're moving in the morning..." He ended his sentence, drifting off towards the end. It seemed as if he wanted to tell her something. "Is everyone accounted for?" There was a silence that fell over the survivors. "Cadet? Is there something you're not telling me?" Keener nodded, putting his head down. "It's Mrs. Parker, captain...On our way down...she was..." he inhaled. "She was sucked out of the side of the ship along with her chair." That made the woman put her head down, tears forming in her eyes. She couldn't believe she'd already lost one of her charges. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Clint, vibrating like a living wire. "Report, Sargent," she demanded. His spine snapped taught and he saluted. "We're in danger being out in the open, ma'am. I saw...and I still can't believe I'm saying this....a giant, captain. A giant man.." He sat, shaking his head. Virginia's face seemed contemplative. "A giant? Clint, what are you talking about?" "I know it sounds crazy!" The man shot up, hands running through his hair as he paced. "But, he took our ship, Pepper...all of our supplies, our communications, they're all on that ship." The captain raised a brow in speculation. "He took...the ship? The entire ship?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. That ship was too big for anyone to carry, let alone one man. "Yes, Gin! The entire ship! He just picked it up like it was a toy and shoved it under his arm and walked away! I watched the entire thing! The ground actually shook when he walked...." Clint took a deep breath. "Okay...okay....so...we're stranded, with no ship, no supplies..." Pepper had trained for this, but never thought she'd actually experience it. "We have to set up a camp with anything we can find." Clint scoffed. "Yeah? What are we gonna use, flower petals? Because I'm sure those are big enough to cover all four of us easily!" "Sargent! You're becoming hysterical, stick to your training." Automatically Clint went rigid, then relaxed, nodding. "You're right...you're right. I'm sorry Captain..." Virginia nodded. "No need. It's just," she looked towards Harley who was still watching over an unconscious Peter a little ways away. "I don't want to scare the cadets." They shouldn't have been here. She sighed and lay back, eyes closed against the pain of the movement. "Why did I have to urge to have them tested early?" She asked aloud. "I should have waited until they graduated...they would have been prepared for this." "Captain, I don't think anyone would have been prepared for this." Clint let out a breath, but chuckled and laid back next to the woman. "So, what do we do now?" "What the guide book says, Sargeant. We found water, now all we need is shelter, and if you look around us, there's plenty of places to find things to build with." She turned her head. "We'll be okay." "Cadet Parker hasn't woken up yet, and it's been a day since we crashed." Harley was staring at his friend with a worried expression, his hand gripping onto Peter's, two fingers along his wrist as if to make sure the cadet was still alive. That got the woman worried. "If he doesn't wake.....then we'll have to leave him." She hated saying it, but....they couldn't be strapped down with unfettered weight. It was bad enough that she wouldn't be able to walk without some help. "What!?" Harley sat up, his voice high. "Captain, you don't mean that, do you?" Tears glistened in the boy's eyes as he went between his friend to the captain. "Yes, I do Cadet. Hopefully he wakes soon...we need to move, if what Sargent Barton said was true, we're going to have to find somewhere safe...." She hoped Parker woke up soon... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tony walked into the compound, taking the elevator down to the vehicle bay. Suddenly, the elevator stopped and Steve walked on, nodding to the man. He then spotted the toy in the man's arms, raising a brow. "A little old to play with toys, aren't you?" "Very funny. I found it out when I was hiking through the village of the ticks. It looked like something, so, I picked it up. I'm taking it back to the tower. Wanna come and watch me and Banner poke it with a stick?" Steve chuckled. "As fun as that sounds, I'll have to decline. I'm going back out. I got a heat signature reading, but it was too small to be an animal... I wanna see what it was." Tony turned towards the man, interested now. "Oh really? Show me." He waited for Steve to bring up his scans, scoffing when it took him too long, grabbing the phone from him. "Never give old people technology. It's amazing you haven't blown this up yet." Pressing he scrolled through the files before he came across what he was looking for. "Friday? Be a dear and make this bigger?" "Yes, boss," the Irish AI commented. A second later, a hologram popped up over the phone. Tony and Steve watched what looked like one heat signature, but...it seemed off. "Is it carrying something?" Steve asked, pressing closer to the screen. "Looks it....so that means, it has to be compassionate. Almost...human. It can't be a bot, because this is a human's temp reading." Tony stroked his chin in thought. "I'm gonna bring this," he held up the ship, "to Brucie, while you can go hunting for heat signatures." The elevator stopped and the man stepped off, only to turn around. "Unless you want to wait for me to come back with the proper equipment? It'll be easier to find them." He raised his brows, walking backward. "Think about it. Until then, I'll be at the tower." He nodded, slipped on his sunglasses, and walked down the hall towards the garage, snickering as Friday showed Steve in the corner of the man's glasses trying to open the doors again, only to have them shut in his face. Classic. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Peter began to show signs of waking a little later that day. "C'pt'n," he mumbled, alerting everyone to his status. Everything seemed like it was underwater during a storm. "Pete!" Harley's smiling face was above him, blocking out most of the light that was hurting the boy's eyes. "Pete, I'm so glad you're awake." "H'rley? Wh't h'pnd?" His throat was so dry and he felt like he'd just been hit by a bus. "Are we und'rw'ter?" "Cadet? Are you with us?" Captain Potts' voice filtered in from the right and the boy tried to move his head, wincing when he did. "Good to see you awake, Cadet." Peter tried to smile at her, but only managed a pained grimace. "Where's my aunt?" he asked a little more clearly after a minute, making the captain take a deep breath. The woman put her head down, a hand seeking his and squeezing. "May Parker is...KIA, Cadet. I'm...so sorry." The boy's eyes widened, tears gathering in them as he struggled against Harley to sit up, ripping his hand from the woman's and crying out when he put pressure on his injured arm. "No! No, she can't be....no, you just haven't looked for her!" "Cadet!" Clint snapped and the boy came to attention. "There's maybe hundreds of miles of forestry here, and we have no supplies, no shelter, nothing! We have to believe her dead...otherwise, we may leave you clinging to hope, and hope....can be dangerous in times like this." The man stared into Peter's eyes, anger and sorrow mixing together. He couldn't believe it...not his aunt...She was the only one he had left...He broke into sobs, clutching on to his friend for dear life. "I'm so sorry, Pete.." Harley kept saying, over and over again, hand rubbing circles on the young teen's back. But, the teen couldn't hear past his own grief. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Have I got a surprise for you, jolly green!" Tony strode into the lab underneath the tower. It was a 2-hour drive from the compound to here, but it was good to let Bruce know he was coming and to prepare. "Very funny," the large green man said, striding over to where Tony was standing. "Do you have it?" His eyes were searching Tony's much smaller body for any signs of the telltale 'ship' the man had found. "Have what? Oh, this?" He pulled the ship from behind his back, smirking. "Would I ever lie to you? Now, help me crack this egg." He placed the model on the silver table and stared at it until Bruce came over, the table shaking with his quick steps. "Don't touch it until we have it scanned for anything, like gamma radiation or anything nuclear." He lifted the machine, a toy in his hands, really. He was aching to get a look inside, but he had to wait. "You tell me that after I put it in my car and drove it here for 2 hours? What a friend you are." Tony wiped his sleeves, knowing that wouldn't do anything to get rid of radiation. But it got his friend to smile. "It probably won't be in harmful quantities. Especially not in its purest form, at least. But....look," Bruce pointed to the screen that showed the glowing matter on the ship. "It's from space....mostly from the Earth's orbital field...but," he turned to another screen and linked the two up, waiting a moment. "There's a small amount of cosmic radiation...that can only happen in space flight, but...there hasn't been any around here in...what, fifty years? Not that I've been to space recently, but I do read all the articles pertaining to NASA." He motioned to the Starkpad Tony had built for him, the extra wide screen for his massive fingers. "You'll get your chance. For now, let's crack this open and find out whether or not little Tommy has lost his toy space ship." Tony's eyes were gleaming with excited curiosity as the scans were run. "All clear," Bruce said, and not a moment too soon for the billionaire. Tony rushed forward and grabbed the ship, trying to peer into the windows and whistled. "The detail on this makes me think maybe it was a Stark Inventories made toy. I mean, the screens work and everything. Hand me the laser saw, will you?" He held out his hand, motioning with his fingers until the tool was placed in his palm and he promptly began to slice into the ship. "Tony, are you sure that's the right thing to do? I mean, what if something gets damaged?" Bruce looked more intrigued than worried at this point though. "Omelettes," Tony said, putting the tool aside. "And the egg is cracked." Gently he laid the two sides next to each other and what he saw amazed him. "Look at this...it looks like it's from the sixties." He hadn't seen such cheesy machinery besides in the old batman shows. "But this toy looks brand new...Do you think we could have just ruined a collector's model?" The giant green man was looking down over Tony's shoulder, taking in all the lights and the screens. "Psh, no. But...I wanna poke it...Friday, be a dear and run a scan on the tech in this?" "On it, boss." While the AI went to work, Tony pushed the chair away from the table and stood, going to the bar and poured himself a double shot, downing it in a second. "While she does that, I have to get ready for the gala. Something about my name being put on something...yada yada yada..." He hated those things. Emperor Stane would be there, being all touchy with Tony's being, and posing himself with the man in front of the cameras. Ever since Obadiah rose to power the man had become a tyrant. He ruled the world with an iron fist, destroying anyone who dared oppose his edicts. Obadiah and Tony's father had worked closely together before he became a ruler. God, if you believed what Stane called himself, and with the power that he wielded a lot of people did. Most of his power though came from his favorite toy, A.K.A Tony Stark. Obadiah had always been in Tony's life ever since he could remember. So when he started showing a genius that not even Howard possessed...Well, Stane got a little greedy. Once Tony had graduated from MIT and made his first weapon- a blaster that outdid his father by twenty years, Obadiah used Tony, sucked him into his scheme unknowingly to become Ruler of the world. He promised him a new factory and lab with all the newest equipment he could ask for. That, of course, didn't appeal to Tony, but the power to overthrow his father. That's what he wanted. And he got it when both his parents died in a car crash, and Tony was named the head of Stark Industries. And inadvertently helped Obadiah rise to power. "Just be careful, Tones," Bruce said snapping the man out of his thoughts. "I'll have Friday contact you in case she finds something." The green giant smiled and turned back around to look at one of the bots that had just rolled up. "Dum-E, get me the goggles, please? I want to take this apart." Tony left the room, a large glass of bourbon in his hand and downed it before he even got to the door.

[stereogeekspodcast]

[Transcript] Season 1, Episode 10. Flashback Favourite – Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse is always a ton of fun to watch. Repeatedly! But what makes it such a great film? Is it the characters, the design, the score, or the story? How about all of the above? In this Flashback Favourite episode on Stereo Geeks, we discuss our love for this film and why we keep returning to it.

Listen to the episode on Anchor. 

[Continuum by Audionautix plays]

Ron: Hello and welcome to another Flashback Favourites episode of Stereo Geeks. I'm Ron.

Mon: And I'm Mon.

Ron: Today, we’re talking about Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse.

Mon: This episode is going to be full of spoilers. So, if you haven't watched this movie, why not?

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Ron: What is Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse about?

The story follows Miles Morales, voiced by Shameik Moore as he becomes a new Spider-Man. Parallel to this plot, is Wilson Fisk voiced by Liev Schreiber, opening up portals into other dimensions, which brings in other Spider-People from alternate universes. All the Spider-People have to work together to stop Wilson Fisk, save the world and return to their own dimension.

Mon: We’ve seen Into the Spider-Verse four times, which, for us, is a lot.

It's a great combination of bringing a comic book property which a lot of people aren't familiar with, but also bringing in that ethos, that Expanded Universe feel that we all love. And the best thing is that this Spider-Man is so different but also similar to all other Spider-Men that we have had before.

Ron: Miles Morales is really relatable. We’re introduced to him humming/singing a song—which is so much fun—Sunflower by Post Malone. And that's something that everybody does. We’ve all done it! It immediately makes that connection between the audience and Miles, and that carries throughout the entire film.

Mon: Yeah! When we meet Miles in the film, he's just been enrolled in this prestigious academy. He's convinced that he's just the diversity hire, but in fact, he is a genius. He's very smart, but he really needs to apply himself in this new place and it's work, work, work all the time. It's very different from his old life.

There's a part of him that, obviously, wants to go back to how things used to be, which is natural. He's a teenager, he probably misses his friends. And he doesn't get to be at home that often. So, the film really pulls us into Miles’ universe, as well makes him this very relatable kind of character. And we can all sort of see parts of ourselves in him, even though we are across different ages.

And then Miles sees something that, well, it's scarring. He basically sees the death of his universe’s Spider-Man. Around the same time, he's bitten by a radioactive spider, and he's just discovering his own path. So, we've got these classic, heroic Spider-Man elements, but they're on Miles.

Ron: Yeah, I love that we get this origin story for Miles, while we're also getting to know all these other Spider-People. And then we get the mentor-mentee relationship with Peter B. Parker and Miles.

There are these really sweet moments between Miles and the Spider-People, but also more importantly, between Miles and his own family. A lot of the time—and this is probably one of the biggest failings of Peter Parker in the Marvel Cinematic Universe—we don't really get that much of Peter and his own family. We see that he's really fond of his Aunt May, but it's more like a protective kind of thing. She's a bit of a quirky, kookie aunt. We get very little idea of his bond with his Uncle Benjamin. It’s kind of riding on people's past knowledge of the character from the films and the comic books. If you're coming in as a brand-new person who hasn't got that knowledge, it's putting a lot of pressure on you to find that information out.

Whereas, with Miles, you see that his parents are fond of him. His mom dotes on him, his dad is crazy about him. That hilarious opening scene where Miles’ dad picks him up in his cop car and drops him off at his school and then insists, using the loudspeaker, that Miles proclaim that he loves his dad. It is so so cringe. But you’re like… you totally get it. His parents love him.

Mon: When we recently re-watched this film, remember I was telling you that Miles is cringing now, but 20 years later Miles is going to look back at this moment and he's gonna love it. And he's gonna be so happy that his dad really, really wanted to show how much they love each other. It’s just so cute.

Ron: And you can see that, you know, everybody in his school has noticed this particular event. People keep teasing him about it throughout the day. Yeah, right now, Miles is feeling a bit like ‘oh gosh, why?’. But as you said, he will love this moment later on. And by the end of the film, it's something that he does come back to, and he tells his father that he loves him.

But there’s another relationship that we get to see which is really, really sweet, and that is between Miles and his Uncle Aaron, voiced by Mahershala Ali, who is soon going to be playing Blade. Not sure when that's gonna happen, but we'll wait. And that's a really cute bond in the movie.

We’re used to the Peter Parker-Ben Parker relationship, and it’s great to see a different character have that kind of bond with his uncle. And Aaron gets a whole arc of his own. He's great as Miles’ uncle—he loves Miles, he lets him do all the crazy stuff. He takes him to graffiti this particular area that he’s found. We can assume that he found it while scoping the joint for Wilson Fisk, who we learn Aaron is actually working for, as the Prowler. But it's a really sweet bond and it's something different from what Miles has with his parents.

Mon: With Uncle Aaron, he's this doting uncle who really lets Miles be himself and do whatever he wants. But Aaron isn't there as a foil to Miles’ parents. He's there to encourage Miles to think outside the box. So, I like that Aaron is a really positive influence in Miles’ life, even though he turns out to be a bad guy.

Ron: You can see how Aaron and Miles’ dad, Jefferson, probably were always destined for different paths. When we see their phone screens, you see that both Jefferson and Aaron have pictures of themselves together—you realize that that bond is there, it's just that because their paths have diverged so drastically that they can't have that relationship. But they're still being able to have something of a bond because of Miles.

Mon: There are a lot elements in Miles’ story which are similar or throwbacks to Peter Parker’s. But, at the same time they have their own angle. And the fact that Miles is half-Black-half-Puerto Rican, it gives us a hero story for a wider audience.

Ron: This is always going to be an issue with the comics universe. It has been very largely white and male. When we get any kind of representation that's outside of that very narrow focus, we're excited. We see ourselves in Miles even though we're not sharing the same kind of heritage.

Mon: It's because Miles goes beyond just being a few labels. He's a very relatable character and that's exactly what Spider-Man is meant to be.

In the comics, Spider-Man was always the little guy. He was the underdog who was fighting for everyone. I would say that all adaptations of Spider-Man continue in the same vein. For a lot of people what they find with the MCU Spider-Man is that he has the backing of Tony Stark—he has all that tech and the entire Avengers behind him, so he doesn't seem relatable in the way that the comics do.

Miles brings that in. He brings it in exactly the way that people who grew up reading Spider-Man will feel when they're watching him.

Ron: Yeah, that's definitely what makes Miles so memorable in this film and makes us want to see even more of this particular Miles and the universe they've created.

But let's move away from Miles, which is hard. With such a great protagonist, you want to focus on him. We get a lot of other Spider-People—we get Gwen Stacy from another universe and she's Spider-Woman in her dimension. Voiced by Hailee Steinfeld, this Spider-Woman is sadder, she’is lonely.

She got the spider-bite two years ago and she's been Spider-Woman ever since, but she also lost her friend in the past. So, for her, finding other Spider-People is an enormous relief. Just having other people around her who understand what it means to get that spider-bite, to become a hero, to fight for the city, and more importantly, to keep that duality of their actual identity and their spider-persona, that's a huge boon for her.

And the relationship between Gwen and Miles is really quite sweet. They end up in the same school because Gwen’s Spider-Sense tells her that this is the place to be. And she obviously forms a bond with him, which is not the best way to meet somebody, but hey, we take our Spider-Friends as we get them.

But yeah, it’s a sweet relationship and I like that it doesn't become romantic immediately. I always find that so frustrating because if you shoehorn in a romance, the problem is that it adds a different level to a relationship within a story. And when you have a story like this which is quite densely packed, there's a lot happening, adding a romantic encounter becomes just too much. I like that they decide to be friends.

Mon: At the end of the day, Gwen's journey is to come out of her shell and accept friendship again, which is something that she's closed herself off from, because of what happened in her dimension.

And I agree with you that adding a romantic element would be too much, too soon, especially in a plot-heavy story like this one.

Ron: And when there's so much at stake. Gwen can't stay in this universe. Her entire goal here is to get back to her own dimension, even though it will continue to be a lonely existence, but at least she's opened herself up to the possibility of finding new friends. She didn't have that when she was still on her Earth. A romance really wouldn't have worked.

We saw that on the The Flash. Kid-Flash on Earth One with Jessie Quick from Earth Two, they do try to have that relationship but eventually it does fizzle out.

Mon: Let's talk about the Spider-People. There’s Spider Noir, voiced by Nicolas Cage.

Ron: What a resurgence!

Mon: When we first saw this film, I remember I was like, ‘who is this? This such a familiar voice.’ But he really works in this character, because it's actually quite subdued. Because Spider Noir is so different from the rest of the Spider-People who are human, but yet he brings this gravitas and credibility to it. I really like the character.

Ron: I love Spider Noir. They've actually got comic book spin-off for him and yeah, definitely check it out.

Mon: So, there’s Spider-Ham who is voiced by John Mulaney. I would say that he's probably the strangest incarnation in this film. But the creators realized it and definitely used him to the minimal.

Ron: But they make the quirky work, which I liked. There's not too much hamminess, pardon the pun, but it's funny.

Mon: We also have Peni Parker, voiced by Kimiko Glenn. She doesn't have spider-powers, but she has a robot created by her father which is powered by radioactive spider. So her abilities are completely different but very integral to the plot.

So, let's talk about the main Spider-Man in this film, which is Peter B. Parker voiced by Jake Johnson. He's basically the Spider-Man we know, but different. He’s been Spider-Man for 22 years.

Spider-Man on Miles’ Earth has been in action for 10 years. He's voiced by Chris Pine and he's blond.

So, Peter B. is closer to the Spider-Man that we’re used to, but he's older. He's semi-retired because he's suffering from a heartbreak. He and Mary Jane Watson have broken up and he's really, really struggling with that.

Ron: We also learn that Peter B. Parker has lost his Aunt May. So, he's pretty much alone. Being Spider-Man has kind of lost its charm. He's saved people, and he's helped people but he still had to face these losses on his own. He's still hiding his identity. It's not been an easy life and he seems kind of depressed but unable to get any help for it. Which is not surprising—how are you going to tell your therapist that you’re depressed because you’re Spider-Man?

Mon: Yeah. So when he's drawn into this world, all he wants to do is get back. He's not interested in helping Miles with his goal, which is taking down Wilson Fisk.

Ron: He's also not as capable. He realizes very soon that Miles needs a mentor. He's lost his own Spider-Man, so he needs somebody with Peter B.’s experience to teach him the way. That's not what he wants to do. He just wants to get out of here. He definitely does not want somebody looking up to him.

Mon: Especially not a kid. As we soon realize, Peter B. and his relationship with Mary Jane dissolved because she wanted kids and he didn’t it. This is a subplot that happens with a lot of superheroes because given their lifestyle, it doesn't seem safe. So, we can understand that maybe that's why Peter B. did not want to start a family.

But at the same time, Miles is kind of a reminder of what he could do and could be and he does change his mind by the end of it, because Miles can do that to people.

Ron: I mean, it is a lot of responsibility. Peter B. does not seem in the right place for that kind of responsibility, so this particular mission ends up changing his mind because he realizes what he doesn't have and what he could have with somebody like Miles.

Mon: When I first watched this film,I felt like the biggest chink in the armor was Johnson's voicing of Peter B. Parker. I felt like he didn't bring that much gravitas to the role. And while his voice and Chris Pine’s voice [sic] are both very similar in the film, I just found that the OG-Peter had more of a punch when he was speaking, whereas with Jake Johnson, it's not that much.

That being said, three watches later, I'm fine with it.

Ron: I also felt the same way. But having seen it more times now, I feel like Jake Johnson's voice kind of works with Peter B. because it sounds older, it sounds jaded. He sounds like a mellow man.

Chris Pine’s Peter is more hopeful and younger.

Mon: He’s excitable because he's only 10 years into this and he’s only 26, so he has the world at his feet. And he's in a happy relationship and everything. But yeah, I can understand where we originally came from and why we’ve changed our minds now.

And especially because when you listen to Peter B. in conversation with Miles, it's so different because Shameik Moore is bringing so much emotion and levity to the voice. Miles is so alive and he's an animated character, but he’s popping off that screen. But, it makes more sense when you've watched it a few times.

Ron: Absolutely.

Mon: The entire voice cast is brilliant. It is not only full of these known names but they really add their own dimension to all these characters. We haven't even mentioned Doc Ock yet!

Who doesn’t love a world which has a gender-bent Doc Ock? Kathryn Hahn as Olivia Octavius, she's scary. She's scary good, but she's scary scary too. I just love this character, she's amazing.

Ron: I also love that when she's revealed as Doc Ock, she says that only her friends call her Liv. And later on, when we meet Peter’s Aunt May, she says, ‘Oh, it's Liv’. [both laugh] Are these two friends? I need to know more about this story.

Mon: Speaking of Aunt May, she’s voiced by Lily Tomlin. I really like this Aunt May, because it seems like she’s really apart of Spider-Man’s universe. We're so used to seeing Aunt May as being this frail, old Auntie who really needs help and protecting, but here, Peter Parker has an arsenal of suits and gadgets and it looks like it's basically because Aunt May is Peter's Q.

Ron: Yeah, because she makes up the suit for Miles. So, she's obviously been helping Peter for a long time now.

Mon: And she's got this edge to her, which I like, I’m totally digging.

Ron: She's amazing.

I think the only thing that I would change in Into the Spider-Verse is the way they kind of fat shame Peter B. Parker. I mean, the guy is depressed, he is lonely. Yeah, he eats a few more pizzas and he’s got a gut, do we have to keep bugging him about it?

Mon: Yeah, I think one joke, maybe Miles is like ‘oh, what’s that?’ But then it happens three or four times, so it was a little too much.

Ron: And considering that Hollywood as a whole, and especially superhero films, are so nasty about people's body sizes, I really feel like we could have done without it in this world.

Mon: Yeah, I agree with you. That's probably the biggest issue and criticism that we can have about this film.

Ron: Because the rest of the film is great and the characterizations are great! There are some moments when you’re just like, ‘wow these characters are so well thought out’.

Like when Peter B., Miles and Gwen Stacy go to see Aunt May, for Peter B. he's lost his Aunt for a long, long time. He can't wait to get out of there. He barely even waits for her to answer the door, because he just needs to leave. And he finally says, ‘I'm not ready for this’. And we understand how Aunt May is shocked when she sees a version of her Peter standing in front of her, but for him, it's just as devastating to see somebody who he’s lost.

At the same time we got a more quirky scene later on where Peter B. sees this world’s Mary Jane. And yes, she's younger, she's different from the Mary Jane of his world, but he cannot get over the fact that this is Mary Jane and he really needs to speak to her.

Mon: He, sort of, uses this Mary Jane as a proxy for venting all the feelings and emotions that he has for his own one. And it's so funny because she's essentially asking for bread…

Ron: And he's a waiter.

Mon: And he's just going on and on about how he's failed her, he's disappointed her. And she's like, ‘what?’.

Ron: ‘It's only bread’.

Mon: It's just so funny. It's like these moments which are so tinged with emotion but also levity and they just do it perfectly time and time again.

Ron: And there are so many laugh out loud moments in this film and that really helps, because there are some devastating moments as well.

Like, we’ve already mentioned Peter B. meeting Aunt May, but Miles loses his Uncle right in front of him. And that entire sequence is so so sad, because we've already seen how much Miles loves his Uncle Aaron, and he also obviously loves his nephew as much. For them to be on opposite sides, and for Aaron to be killed just as he is realizing that Miles has become Spider-Man and that the two of them need to figure this out, it’s just an awful way for that entire sequence to go down.

And then when Jefferson comes to tell Miles, he can't really speak to Miles because Miles has been tied up by the Spider-People so that he does not get into any more trouble. So, Jefferson kind of goes about it very differently and he doesn't come out with what happens but he just tries to tell Miles that they're there for him, because they don't want Miles to end up going down the same pathway that Aaron did, which ended up in Aaron dying. It's a really touching scene.

And the two of them on the two different sides of the door, feeling this particular loss so strongly but not be able to communicate it, it just gets me every time I see it.

Mon: Yeah, this entire film is quite a rollercoaster ride, but it never feels like anything is too contrived.

Which is funny because this is an animated film with a whole bunch of Spider-People. But yeah, it just really understands the human condition.

Ron: When you're invested in the characters, you become more interested in everything that's happening in the film. And we haven't even talked about Wilson Fisk yet.

Yeah, he's the bad guy. But why is he doing what he's doing? We figure out that Wilson Fisk as strong and powerful and scary as he is, he had a family. And he lost that family because of the person he was. He's conducting these experiments with Doc Ock in the hopes that he will be able to get a version of his family from another universe.

And as I was watching this for the fourth time, I realized that Fisk is never going to get what he wants, not because the Spider-People are going to stop him—which they do—but because even if he does succeed, the version of his wife and son that he will get are never going to be his wife and son. They're going to be another Wilson Fisk's wife and son. And also, as we figure out, the alternative dimension Spider-people, they can't actually stay here, they start glitching. And the longer they stay, the more dangerous it becomes. And they finally figure out that if they stay too long, they will die. So, Fisk is never going to get what he wants, but he's so desperate. And what I realized was that it's not just desperation to have a family again, it’s desperation for that redemption that he's never gonna get.

Mon: So, with Fisk, the reason he lost his family is because they caught him fighting Spider-Man, and they rushed out and were in a car accident. The thing is, his need for redemption comes from the fact that he knows that he's responsible. It’s that guilt that is driving him to do these experiments over and over again, even though it is harmful for his city.

I think that, that just makes such a great character, because it's not just fridging the dead wife. It’s the fact that we know that he's a bad guy, he knows he's a bad guy and this is the one thing that he's lost and he needs it back. And the layers of knowing that he's never gonna get what he wants, makes the story even more powerful.

Ron: Every character is so well thought out in this film that you just can't not watch it again and again, because every time I've watched this film I found a new layer to another character. That's great! Because that's what you want in a superhero film, that rewatchability and to spend more time with people that you’ve ended up really caring about.

Mon: It's so easy, especially with genre films, to get wrapped up in spectacle and for far too long genre films only relied on spectacle. But in this film, you know from the very instance that it begins that you're going to be invested in the characters. And the story comes second, the gimmicks come third.

Ron: Gimmickry could have easily been the leading force for this film. There are so many different animation styles working in this film because of all the different universes. You've got Miles’ universe, You’ve got Peter B.'s universe; you've got Gwen Stacy's universe. You've got Spider Noir’s black and white world; you've got Spider-Ham’s 2D animation; you’ve got Peni Parker, who's from the anime universe. That's a lot and that's why it took this film so long to be made.

But all these different animation styles make it even more beautiful to watch. It doesn’t take away from the actual story or the characters. That’s what I love.

Mon: The combination of all these animation techniques add layers to the story and the plot, while the writing has added layers to each of the characters.

What I really loved about the animation is that it brings this vibrancy that we are so not used to seeing, even in animation. I mean, you can understand why it took them, what, four years to bring this movie to life. Every time we look there's something else that you find in the corner here or the corner there, because it's so artistic, and these aesthetics are from the comic book world, but for the screen. So, this is poetry in motion, quite literally.

Ron: Absolutely.

Mon: I mean I just love looking at this film; each frame can be a canvas that you can hang on your walls. It's amazing.

And it's no wonder that this film ended up getting the Oscar for Best Animated Film, it would have been an absolute travesty had it not.

Ron: Because Into the Spider-Verse brings together everything that we love about genre films, superhero films, and animation films, but it also does this amazing thing of appealing to a variety of audiences. It doesn't matter what age you are, you're going to love this film, and that's great.

Mon: Every time you see these Twitter watch parties or something, people are just going out of their minds with new things that they’ve found or new little Easter Eggs, and that’s why everybody loves this film. It's hard not to, because it's just such an incredible world full of incredible characters.

And we haven’t even come to the music and the songs.

Ron: So good, so good. I have listened to this soundtrack and score so much since I first watched the movie. I think my Spotify is bored of me.

Mon: What I like about the soundtrack is that it leans into the fact that Miles has mixed heritage, so there's a lot of songs by hip hop, rap R&B stars, and they really definitely add to Miles’ story. It’s incredible.

Especially the ‘leap of faith’ scene, and the ‘shoulder touch’ scene. Both of them, they’re incredible scenes, but the music and the score just add a whole new dimension to how you feel about those scenes.

Ron: Everything works so synchronously in this film. It's a masterpiece honestly.

Mon: And we don't use that word lightly, but I can't argue with that. Having watched it four times in two years, and to really enjoy it every time we watch it, that's what surprises me.

The last scene of the film definitely suggest that there's going to be a sequel. Now, we do know that there is a sequel planned for 2022. We're not entirely sure which angle they're gonna go with. It seems that they're going to bring in the Spider-People again. Let's just hope that it lives up to the layers of storytelling and characterization that it does in this film.

I'm looking forward to seeing these characters again, for sure. And I'm curious to know if Spider-Man 2099 is also going to be there.

Ron: We do get to see him, and it does seem to suggest that he has a dimension-hopping device with him. Whether that means that he's going to appear in the next film, we don't know. Voiced by Oscar Isaac, this is a character we definitely want to see. It will be fun to see the Spider-People that we already know make some new friends and add some new abilities to their arsenal.

Mon: I'm just glad that we got this film, and that it was received so well, not only was it critically appraised, but fans loved it, it was big in the box office. It's so rewatchable that I'm pretty sure Sony is making lots of money. Because stories like this, they need to be told, because they're a completely different perspective, completely different audience, and it expands who can watch,s enjoy and see themselves in these superhero films.

What I will say is that given the kind of strobe lighting and animation, for some people you might enjoy this film more as a home viewing experience, rather than on the big screen.

When we first saw it on the big screen, there's so much coming at you, it's a little too much stimulus. When you watch it in the comfort of your own home, you might be able to enjoy it even more.

Ron: I agree with you. The first time I watched it, I found it a bit too much. I wasn't able to concentrate on everything that was happening. But when I watched it again on a smaller screen, I felt like I could really appreciate the details.

Mon: Yeah, it’s not so overwhelming.

Ron: But this has been such a great film to go back to. And every time I've watched it, it's just been like meeting old friends, but also finding new characteristics and new details. It's been a wonderful experience, and I can't wait for the sequel.

What did you love about Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse? We'd love to hear from you.

Ron: You can find us on Twitter @Stereo_Geeks. Or send us an email stereogeekspodcast@gmail.com. We hope you enjoyed this episode. And see you next week!

Mon: The Stereo Geeks logo was created using Canva. The music for our podcast comes courtesy Audionautix.

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Transcription by Otter.ai and Mon.