#i feel the only thing limiting that is if i were unable to adapt my mindset to consider them in different settings and emotional states :3

[triglycercule]

Thoughts on mtt

they should travel the multiverse together and see and experience a more peaceful life than all of them ever have (⁎˃ᴗ˂⁎)

also they should get to gnaw at each other like rabies infected dogs 🧡🙏

[amtskind]

why was gregor samsa unbothered?

recently, someone on reddit asked the question "why does gregor seem unbothered by his transformation into a vermin, and instead thinks about trivial problems". i tried myself on my interpretation of said fact, and decided to post my answer here as well:

to some degree the insect-metaphor is not to take literally, as it often happens in literature. think of kafka's original wish, not to print any insects on the book's cover.

first, let's establish the samsas' life: gregor is the family's only financial income after his father failed his own business and had many debts to pay off, so all the samsas are depended on him. some may even argue, they exploit him, since the whole family is fully able to work (as seen after his transformation) and yet decides to make gregor work for him all alone. we don't know, if gregor does realize that, if he denies it for the sake of his sanity - or if he really doesn't notice. he thinks positively about his family.

gregor carries a lot of responsibility, he doesn't want to fail, because he cares for his family.

but other than work and family, gregor's life is incredibly limited. no friends mentioned, no love-interest in sight (but the desire referenced through the picture of a woman in his room).

his transformation into a vermin with bug-like features could be a metaphor for an incident, that made him unable to work and fall into isolation (like an illness). as gregor was almost a farm-animal in the literal sense before, he now lost all his use, making him useless and an "unnecessary burden".

try to picture the scenario, that you wake up - for example, without your limbs or without your speech. you may freak out or feel alienated by yourself, but in the first place you will miss your former life - your routine - your "use in society", as harsh as it sounds.

gregor's indifference towards his "new form" shows, that living as a "bug" per se isn't that hard. he hopes, people would accept that, just as he does. but society - in this case his family and colleagues, don't. they despise him, hide him, isolate him, just like some people do with those, who they view as deviant or useless.

gregor could have adapted to his new life, if his family let him - but the samsas didn't - and the hierarchy turned, the family grew and moved, but without gregor. and when gregor accepted, that he will never live his life "nomally" again (not necessarily as a human, but simply enjoying the same things as he did before - like his family's company), he crawls in the corner to die. in some altruistic act, to not be a burden to his family anymore. kafka shows us, how vile and fatal isolation is.

the insect-metaphor as a whole paints the picture, how unlivable gregor's life was already. his exploitation via. work isolates him from the outer life and he is unhappy about it. but as always, gregor tries to deny it, maybe for his own comfort - to at least think, this life is worth living. but despite everything, deep down he knows he is full of sorrow and stress. his transformation was the final mirror to his life, that pulled him (or moreso the reader, as gregor still hangs onto hope for the bettering and love for his family) out of the disillusioned view, that things were normal.

gregor clinges onto his routine, his past - oh so "happy" life and general altruism - and as always, puts himself last, not minding his horrific state.

in the end: what could he have done anyway? the protagonists of kafka are a subject to an enigmatic, unknown rule or power, which they don't question any further. sometimes, you aren't in control of your life. "it is what it is."

[rist-ix]

The sparxshipping teasing from Iginio got me wondering.... if we ever did get canon sparxshipping explored, whether in a reboot or new adaptation, how would you like it for it to be done?

I'm gonna try to answer both of these in one post cause they overlap a little, but first of all thank you!

Buckle up fellas I'm bringing discourse.

This is gonna be a bit of an unpopular opinion I think, and it’s that I don’t want sparxshipping to be canon at all.

Feel free to get the pitchforks, but until then imma talk. I have villainships that I think not only add something to the overall plot, they kind of define it too. Reylo for examples, with its themes of redemption, masks and compassion, or Darklina and how important their relationship is to the war and Grisha oppression, or Lotor and Allura with its symbolism of breaking the cycle of abuse, making peace, reclaiming a heritage thought lost and so on.

To put it very briskly: an established Sparxshipping relationship adds nothing to the plot. It would have to be a plot of its own, and while there are tons of fascinating plot threads you could weave back into Domino, Bloom's family and the war before the Fall, it is simply, plainly, and rightfully so not the story Winx Club is telling.

Winx Club, at its core, is about the girls and their friendship. That is the show I love, and that is the show I am invested in. Fanfiction is a separate thing, I’ll get into that later. But canon, commercially produced and globally aired Winx Club is what we are talking about now. And the one defining truth of Winx Club is that it’s about the Winx. Their boyfriends are the side note, the Kens to their Barbies, to cement them as the cool popular teenagers younger kids are supposed to see them as. If Bloom and Valtor had a lasting serious relationship, Valtor would inevitably have to be shoved into that category as well, and that would ruin the entire appeal of him.

To boil it down even more: if sparxshipping were canon, either Winx Club would have to shift away from its intrinsic premise and formula, or Valtor would have to be diminished beyond recognition. So my longstanding opinion has always been: don’t make sparxshipping canon. Just don’t.

What I, personally, would do if I were ever to gain access to the mythical and likely overcrowded writing room at Rainbow SpA, is this:

Tease the fuck out of it.

Lean into their fucked up little hate-obsession. Every time they share the screen they have to be radiating unresolved sexual tension. Their chemistry has to be so off-the-charts it sparks a million fanfics before the season even ends. If there aren’t so many crappy amv's set to angsty Taylor swift songs it brings down the YouTube servers by midnight you have failed. Because canon is bound to certain limits, but fanfiction is NOT. The goal of any show should be to create something that will awaken an inescapable need to build on it, to continue where it left off, or to wonder but-what-if? To make people text incoherent keysmashes to their fandom buddies with shaky hands in the middle of the night and be unable to sleep until they’ve confirmed their buddy has seen it too.

I would want to see Bloom go fully I-have-lost-sight-of-everything-but-revenge until her friends manage to pull her back, I would want them to fight so vehemently the structures around them collapse and they don’t even notice. They should be in situations where they are UNDENIABLY going to die if they fight on and they still do it, they literally CANNOT stop, they don’t care to. To the point that everyone around them is seriously concerned and talking about their terrifying obsession with each other, more or less out in the open. And after a season full of epic fight scenes, high stake conflicts and frankly obscene tension between them, I would want Bloom to kill him.

Straight up.

Give her that moment of calm self assurance, at peace and perfectly in control, while Valtor tries to gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss his way out of this, contrasting the way her support network and genuine, unconditional friendships strengthen her while Valtor, who is always sabotaging everyone around him, is forced to confront his own powerlessness in the face of the power that created him. His manipulation attempts have nothing to latch on to. They have one last exchange where Valtor is visibly furious at her denial of him / his own failure — to really drive home that this is Bloom's triumph — but the last words they exchange are cordial. Maybe a comment at her growth, or a warning about his mothers, or another way to foreshadow future threats — if he couldn’t defeat her, no one should. He ends on a high note, but he does end, and it’s at Bloom's hands. She retakes the corrupted spark into the Flame she is guarding, and that is that.

And then, and this is important. He fucking haunts her for the entire next story arc. The next season, the next two seasons maybe, because she has learned a fuck ton of things from him and it is really, really difficult to move on knowing everything she does, knowing everything he implied or hinted at, or simply knowing so many really, really cruel ways to get her way now, which isn’t who she wants to be, but it would be easy, quick and effective for the greater good, right?

Boom, character conflict for the next season established, lots of potential for future flashbacks or visions, Valtor stays on his high horse of forever-the-juiciest-fucking-villain-of-the-franchise and the story can move on.

The End

Cue three decades of mind-blowing fanfiction. We all say Thank you Rainbow and cry ourselves to sleep thinking about what could have been.

[rhiannonsknife]

hey you read the sweetpea book, right? u think the tv show is a good adaptation??

okay anon get ready for a YAP™ session because this topic is so very dear to me!!

(for anyone who hasn’t read the books; spoiler warning, i will be talking about all 5 books!)

—POSSIBLE SWEETPEA 1-5 SPOILERS

here’s the thing: i should probably start off by saying that i watched the show before reading any of the books, and i only ended up getting them because i enjoyed the show so much!

personally, i think ella did such a good job (probably biased though, since rhiannon is one of my favorite characters ever 😭😭), and i would 100% recommend the show!!

whenever i watch a book adaptation, whether it’s a show or a movie, i usually tend to like the book(s) better. for me, it’s often because movies or shows lack the depth and complexity of the original material, if that makes sense?? maybe it’s just me (as a ‘writer’), but i find it easier to convey emotions and thought processes through words rather than just seeing them on a screen. plus, especially with movies, there’s always limited time, so they often have to cut out scenes that were significant in the books yk?

and honestly, i feel like that’s exactly what happened with sweetpea.

i think ella at some point said that the show is meant to be a prequel to the events of the book and to show us the “making of sweetpea.” but now that i’ve read the books, i don’t understand why they made so many changes to rhiannon’s story. if you watch the show without any context or knowledge of the books, you obviously wouldn’t notice this, but i completely get why people who knew the books beforehand ended up feeling disappointed.

in my opinion, the books already showed how rhiannon became the person she is. the whole book series essentially hinges on the question of whether she was born ‘evil’/‘unable to love’ or if specific events from her childhood shaped her into who she is. that’s the core premise of the books.

maybe there’s an answer to this that we’ll get in season 2, but so far, i just don’t see why they made all these significant changes.

for example, in the show, rhiannon mostly kills ‘bullies’ and acts impulsively (except for julia’s kidnapping, i guess). and while bullying is obviously a serious issue with severe consequences (as portrayed in the show), i don’t understand why they didn’t stick with book-rhiannon’s story: preying on abusers, not just ‘bullies’ who treat people poorly. again, this is its own complex issue, and i think viewers can still empathize with show-rhiannon without knowing the books.

but like… time and place, guys!! in the books, rhiannon literally hunts down rapists, pedophiles, and animal abusers (with a few exceptions). she’s still impulsive, but she actually plans and carefully selects her victims. i don’t see why they would shift that focus to bullies when the entire book series is built on something completely different.

i’d genuinely love to know their reasoning behind these changes. even if they wanted to center ‘bullies,’ they could’ve still kept at least certain parts of her past, (whether that be the ‘priory gardens incident’ -if yk yk-, or the whole background with her father as well as grandfather!) since it’s such a key part of who rhiannon becomes.

so, to answer your question: while i think the show works great on its own, i don’t think it’s a great adaptation. or at least, it doesn’t do justice to the themes of the books. that being said, i’m so happy the show got me into reading the books, because they’re honestly even better, and i’d recommend them to anyone who enjoyed sweetpea!

also, thank you for your question anon! i love yapping about these books if you couldn’t already tell! i tried to keep this as short and ‘simple’ as possible so i’m sorry if any takes in this aren’t nuanced enough or oversimplified!! i tried to express this as best as possible while trying to keep it short!

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hiii can I request a fic where its like the reader is being a brat at the Raven because of an argument she had with Mari (she's a teacher btw) and Marilyn starts to run out patience and it she finally snaps when she sees reader trying to make her jealous. Marilyn drags the reader to her room and starts punishing her

Yess!!! Here it is!!! I hope you like it, and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :))))

I'll give to you a good reason to be jealous

Pairing: Marilyn Thornhill x Fem, Teacher! Reader

Warnings: Smut, strong language, spanking, jealousy, kinks

Word count: 2,613

Summary: Marilyn and you argued, and you want to take some revenge…

 N/A: Requests are open!!! Sorry about the delays, I’m working hard on your requests. I love you all!!!

You snorted, running your hand over the back of your neck. You hated the arguments, and  even more if they were with Marilyn.

You met her when you came to Nevermore. Everyone was surprised that such a young girl would teach art to werewolves, vampires, and gorgons, among other things… You adapted very quickly, although in truth, you were familiar with being an outcast. Marilyn Thornhill was the exception from that academy. She was normi, she was not like you. That was not an impediment for you to fall in love with her. The best of all was that somehow, she corresponded to you and, after a shameful love confession, you started a relationship in the middle of that whole world of monsters and outcasts.

It was going well, you loved her, she loved you, but there were some things you still hadn't gotten used to. Everyone has flaws, but Marilyn had only one, a very big one, jealousy.

That night was the long-awaited Rave 'N dance, the most important student event of Nevermore, or so Principal Weems said. The problem wasn't being with your co-workers, some of whom had shown a special interest in you. The problem for Marilyn was your clothes, a dress perhaps too short and suggestive for a person of your position.

“Honestly, Mari, I don't understand you,” you said taking the bag. “I think it looks great on me, I don't see the problem anywhere.”

“Well, look, I do see the problem, I can see two problems exactly,” The redhead said, pointing to your pronounced cleavage.

You laughed as you looked down, but you shook your head.

“You love them,” you said biting your lip.

“Of course I love them, (Y/N). Precisely for this reason I don't like that you go showing your tits throughout the academy,” she told you, trying to use a calmer tone.

“My God…” You sighed, raising your eyebrows. “I'm just wearing a cleavage.”

“You’re just wearing?”

“Marilyn… Give me a break…” You said, letting yourself fall on the bed. “Would you mind to stop thinking that everyone wants something with me? It's frustrating, seriously.”

“Seeing how you enjoy putting your tits in others’ face of is more frustrating,” she replied, crossing her arms.

You sat up and closed your eyes. That night you didn't feel like agreeing with her. You were convinced that her jealousy was completely absurd. But she didn't care if you told her over and over again that you loved her, that you would never change her for anyone. She seemed like she didn't listen to you at all. She sometimes made you desperate, but you always had your own methods to make her come to her senses, or at least push her to the limit of her patience, with her delicious consequences, of course...

“Look, Marilyn, I don't care if you don't like it, I'm going to wear this dress and I don’t care if you don't like it,” you said, getting up and leaving the room, leaving the redhead with no chance to respond.

All the students were dressed in white, elegant and informal.

Larissa was waiting for you at the entrance of the room and when she saw you appear alone, she frowned.

“Welcome to the dance, (Y/N), where's Marilyn?” She asked, unable to help but sound a bit nosy. You rolled your eyes.

“She will come now, when she finishes grumbling,” you said amused.

“Something has happened?”

-“Oh no, nothing. Our stuff. Anyway, who do I have to yell at to get something to drink?”

Larissa smiled and pointed to one of the tables with a bowl full of punch. You headed there, greeting your students and the other teachers along the way.

“Hey, (Y/N), you look amazing,” one of the teachers said. You smiled and nodded gratefully for the compliment.

“Thanks Ray, you're not bad either,” you commented, winking at him.

You looked towards the door as Marilyn walked in and talked to Larissa, probably giving her some silly explanation as to why she wasn't with you. You pursed your lips, furious to see your girlfriend smiling as if nothing had happened. For you it was like a declaration of war. And you thought you would win.

The dance was going well. The students danced innocently and even you also encouraged yourself to dance a little with them. You didn't talk to Marilyn, but you did catch glances from time to time. Pretending to be content and happy didn't seem to work. You no longer only wanted her to realize her mistake, you also liked the idea of provoking her, of angering her. The sugar in that drink affected your mind, making it seem like a good idea to play on her worst fears.

The redhead was sitting at one of the tables, alone. Your co-worker, Ray, was nearby, pouring himself a glass of punch. The perfect chance.

“Hello Ray, are you having fun?” You asked your now smiling partner. You knew perfectly well that he liked you. Marilyn looked up to see you in that attitude. She couldn't pretend that she wasn't interested in your conversation.

“Um, yes,” the boy said, nodding as he blushed. “I thought you'd come with Marilyn, but I haven't seen you two talk all night.”

You sighed swallowing the discomfort that someone flirting with you knowing that you had a girlfriend meant for you.

"Well, we've argued…” You said, running a finger through his arm, making him laugh nervously.

The music was so loud that surely the redhead wasn't listening to the conversation, but her eyes were getting darker.

“Oh, I'm so sorry… Do you want to dance?” Your partner asked. You glanced at Marilyn and her unfriendly face, but you nodded, leaving your glass on the table where the redhead was sitting.

You tried to dodge all of Ray's attempts to get close to you and at the same time you wanted to make your girlfriend jealous. It was a complicated task and you were almost going to give up, but a strong grip on your wrist took you off the dance floor.

“Hey, what are you doing?” You asked annoyed, watching Marilyn drag you out of the ballroom. “Let me go.”

“Shut up,” she said dryly. You smiled to yourself. Mission accomplished.

Her grip was strong enough to hurt you. You didn't resist, you walked the Nevermore corridors without speaking or complaining. After all, it was what you wanted.

You got to her room and when Marilyn opened the door, she pushed you inside roughly. You made an effort not to stumble and your look became childish.

“What is the reason for this kidnapping? I was having fun.”

“Oh, I bet, (Y/N), you were having so much fun with that idiot Ray,” Marilyn hissed, moving closer to you until your back hit the wall.

“Well, yes. He is a very funny boy, and besides, he is only two years older than me,” you said. That was a low blow for her, and you knew it.

Marilyn smirked and shook her head before slapping you hard across the face.

“What were you thinking, bitch?” She asked, pulling your hair hard. You closed your eyes scared, although only in appearance. You knew Marilyn liked to play rough, and so do you. “Not even you are capable of sinking so low...”

“I haven't done anything… Mommy…”

That was the name in which Marilyn called herself on those occasions. You rarely said it. Proof of this was the redhead's look of surprise and her increasingly growing smile.

“You haven't done anything, honey?” She said, pouting and now grabbing your chin. “I think you have. You have disobeyed me, and not happy with that, you have been flirting with a boy in front of me...”

“Oh, sorry,” you said, amused. Marilyn released you and patted your nearly exposed breasts.

“It's not worth it for me to say sorry, (Y/N). You have behaved badly and mommy has to punish you,” she told you in a disturbing way.

“I'll be a good girl, I promise,” you exaggeratedly pleaded. Deep down you wanted to be punished, you wanted it almost desperately.

“Shhh, honey. You should have thought of that before... Come on, come here,” she whispered into her ear, giving you a tender kiss on the lips afterwards.

Marilyn led you to the bed and sat down, still holding your hand. You made an attempt to unzip your dress, but she stopped you.

“No, my love, don't take off that dress. I want to punish you while you're wearing it,” she told you, taking her hands under your clothes and pulling your underwear down. “That’s it…”

Marilyn bit her lip as she caressed your now bare buttocks. You couldn't help but gasp intensely.

“Put yourself here, my love,” she told you as she patted her lap. You obeyed immediately, lying on top of her.

Marilyn lifted the fabric of your dress, exposing your bottom as she gently stroked it.

“That's the way I like it. An obedient girl...” Your lover whispered.

“Please, mommy, I'll be a good girl… Forgive me,” you said, with your voice filled with desire.

“Oh, how sweet you are, (Y/N). I'll be good to you, I promise. It will only be 10 this time… Come on, honey, count with me.”

“1!” You said when you felt the first blow. It itched, but at the same time it made you so wet that you thought Marilyn would eventually notice.

One after one, the spankings turned your buttocks a reddish hue. You screamed, but not in pain, but in pleasure. You were used to it and Marilyn of course sensed the great pleasure that "her punishments" produced in you.

“10!” The last one was always the hardest. You hissed at the sting, and moaned as her hand caressed the sore spot.

“You've done very well, my girl…” Marilyn told you, making you sit up. “Next time you think of trying to make me jealous, I won't be so benevolent, do you understand?”

You nodded and lay back on the bed, shifting so as not to feel too much of the residual pain you had.

“I didn't hear you, (Y/N),” she told you, moving to get on top of you, with her legs on either side of your hips.

“Yes... Mari...” You sighed, taking your hands to her waist and beginning to move so that your heat came together and rubbed against each other.

“Mmm, you're so sexy…” The redhead said, also following the rhythm and beginning to moan. Her hands went straight to your breasts, which came out of the neckline of your dress. “I like you so much, (Y/N)”

“You have to admit you like the dress,” you gasped defiantly, making her stop.

“Are you still kidding, (Y/N)? Maybe mommy hasn't punished you enough,” she threatened you. You shook your head and luckily the redhead continued to brush her body against yours.

“Are you having fun making mommy jealous?” Marilyn asked, leaning towards your ear while her hand went up your legs. “Answer me.”

“Yes, it amuses me,” you said defiantly, noticing how that hand that used to spank you now caressed you sensually on the inside of your thigh.

“How shameless you are... Surely you wanted me to punish you... Right?” She asked ironically. You nodded profusely.

“Yeah… Ow!” You screamed when her nails dug into your skin.

“You are very perverse, (Y/N), you know that my only fear in this life is losing you.”

That suddenly romantic tone took you a little out of the situation, but your heart thanked for her words. After that, her fingers finally reached your wet crotch and you moaned in relief to feel that contact where you needed it most.

“Your body belongs to me, your heart belongs to me…” She whispered, while she slowly introduced her fingers inside of you. Your moans were too loud, but the dance music surely camouflaged them well.

“Do you like it, honey?” She asked increasing the pace. Her words were harsh, but her touch was soft, loving, tender. Little by little the pace increased, making your body move in a disorderly and involuntary way.

“Yeah, fuck... I'm going, I'm going to...” You said, finding it impossible to resist the waves of pleasure that ran through your senses. Marilyn stopped, drawing you a frustrated gasp.

“No, my love, not yet. Before I let you to cum, you have to promise me that you will not try to make me jealous again...” Marilyn said mischievously. She had all the power, all the control over you. It almost hurt you not to be able to release and you decided to humiliate yourself a bit, which you didn't care too much about...

“I'll never do it again. I'm yours, only yours. Please Mari... I need...” You begged, impatient.

“Say it right, honey…” She hissed, running a hand over your exposed breasts.

“Mommy, please... I... I'll never make fun of you again, I won't make you jealous again, please, mommy...”

“Good girl…” she whispered, moving her fingers again. The pleasure was already unbearable, and your hands gripped the sheets tightly as your entire body tensed, finally releasing all your pleasure.

 “I love when you're so desperate,” Marilyn murmured, getting off of you and taking off her boots. “Stay still, you still have to make it up to me.”

The redhead removed her stockings along with her own underwear. She slowly approached you and you knew exactly what she was going to do, and you loved it.

Not wanting to wait any longer, she climbed back on top of you, until her legs were on either side of your head.

“Make mommy happy, honey…” She said before lowering her body.

That way you could feel her, taste her in a unique way. It was her favorite position, and she only dared to do it on special occasions (and in reconciliations as well). You had trouble breathing, but you didn't care, her moans and her swear words were all the oxygen you needed. You grabbed her legs with your hands, holding her even closer to you as your tongue did her work.

It didn't last long in that state. Soon the weight on you was accentuated, while a brazenly loud moan reverberated on the old walls of the room.

“Oh… Sweetheart…” she said with a tender, relaxed voice. “Forgive me…”

That unexpected apology brought you out of your state of pleasure, but you nodded, caressing her cheek.

“Bah, it doesn't matter. I have also behaved like a brat,” you said, sitting down.

“But don't go near that slimy boy, I don't like him, at all,” she said, sitting next to you and kissing you briefly on the lips.

“Mari…”

“Okay, okay. Just be careful, please.”

You rolled your eyes as you hugged her lovingly. It could have been a romantic moment, but a quick knock on the door interrupted you. You both looked at each other, frowning.

Marilyn got up, put on her clothes and went to the door while you did the same, in a hurry.

“Larissa, what the…?” Your girlfriend said, looking stunned at Weems.

That reaction was normal. Larissa was covered in red from top to bottom, and the furious look on her face told you it hadn't been on purpose.

“What happened to you?” You asked, pretending to be normal. Larissa grunted.

“Where the hell have you two been? I've been looking for you for a while,” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Oh… Well…” Marilyn said, shy and embarrassed.

“Oh, I don't know why I keep asking... Come immediately to the ballroom. Someone has spread red paint on the fire system.”

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 33 - Solaris by Stanislaw Lem

This was the third work of really classic sci I read in June, and the second that’s probably more famous as the raw material for an adaptation than as a book in its own right. Though in fairness the Tarkovsky movie is as far as I’m aware a better adaptation of this than Shadows of Chernobyl is of Roadside Picnic. Anyway, all to say that I think I’m starting to get used to the sort of abruptness and lack of narration regarding the protagonist’s emotions that seem to have been common in sci fi from the 60s-70s.

Solaris takes places on an eponymous alien world, almost entirely covered in a vast and strange ocean-like body with only half a Europe’s worth of rocky islands scattered across its surface. The story follows Kriss, a scientist, as he arrives for a posting on the skeleton crew living in a station floating above the ocean and studying it. As he arrives, he learns that the only member of the crew he personally knew had died the day before, and that the only two residents are acting paranoid and erratic; this all starts making sense when something that seems to all appearances to be his dead ex-girlfriend appears and starts talking to him, and he learns that the other two have doppelgangers of their own bothering them. Things spiral from there.

So, I’m not sure if this is a cosmic horror story, exactly, but it’s not not one either. The overriding theme is the limits of human rationality and understanding, the total impossibility of what we’d recognize as communication with something truly alien, the feeling of smallness and insignificance in the face of vast and strange and awe-inspiring. The first chapter of the book includes an intellectual history of the Solarists, going over decades of study and all the discarded theories and failed experiments that have made the posting such a dead end as the bright lights of science moved on to more promising problems. The ocean is Other, beyond human comprehension, and even at the end of the book none of the characters have come any closer to determining whether the phantoms it conjured out of their memories is an attempt to reach out and communicate, an experiment to see how they react, a reward or punishment, a purely reflexive response by something that isn’t even really properly conscious, or something else entirely.

I honestly don’t rightly know just what sort of science fiction a Polish guy in 1961 might have been writing in conversation with, but from my perspective there were definitely a few passages that seemed to be taking shots at what most space opera treats as aliens. ‘We have no need of other worlds. We need mirrors.’ and all that. But again, that could very easily be me projecting – easy enough to read it as commenting on a dozen other things.

It was interesting that Rheya was the only doppelganger we ever meet – the story’s quite claustrophobic, and the other two scientists go quite out of their way to make sure Kriss absolutely never sees whose haunting them. Interesting, too, that Kriss is the only one whose actually got anything to be guilty about with regard to his – or, at least, according to Snow the other two were the subject of intrusive thoughts or unbecoming fantasies, whereas Rheya did in fact kill herself a couple days after the two have them had a particularly cruel argument and ugly breakup.

It’s not what the book was about, but I’m honestly kind of sad we didn’t get more insight into Rheya’s psychology? A simulacrum that knows she’s a simulacrum, created by by some unknowable agency for some purely instrumental purpose, not even in her own right but entirely to prod someone else with, unable to spend too long out of sight of him without some control mechanism sending her into a panic attack. There’s some real meat to dig into there, right? Just think of all the juicy existential angst.

My library’s copy of this is the old Kilmartin-Cox translation, which I’ve since regrettably learned is considered pretty rough and low-quality relative to the newer editions. Still, even given that, I kind of adored a decent amount of the prose in this? Or the descriptions of the alien environments, to be specific – the lengthy descriptions of the constructs thrown up by the ocean and how the appearance of the station shifted so dramatically with the rising and setting of each of the system’s two suns were just legitimately beautiful, and make me extremely eager to watch one of the movie adaptations when I can conscript some friends for it.

[paradoxcase]

@wellhappybirthdaytomeiguess:

A couple things: Pash and Cam/Pal eliminated all the Merv Wing folks, so this is We Suffers branch. The security measures they put in place I think assumed ‘Sweet Simple Nona’ and not ‘Eldritch Monster Nona.’

I mean, I feel like they were expecting her to be an eldritch monster since they were still shooting her? Well, someone at some point said to disengage, but that was after they all lined up outside the room to shoot at her

There is definite debate over who is saying ‘Fool. You’re killing her.’ In this instance, I personally think the ‘her’ is Harrow (her body) and I think it’s said by some piece of Gideon still in there to the overarching Nona. But I am probably massively wrong.

Well, it makes me feel better that that question is never actually answered in the book, since I don't have any better idea, either

I think you are spot on about Nona’s tantrum reminds Pyrrha of. And if the body horror of the opening part of this chapter is any indication…oh my.

Yeah, back in Harrow the Ninth I wasn't sure what the Lyctors meant about Alecto being monstrous since by all accounts she seemed to have a regular human body and they seemed to think she was a regular human. But if she sometimes treated her body the way Nona treats her body here, I can see them saying that

‘Remembering her teeth’ simply means she’s about to start tearing flesh with them pretty soon, I think!

Oh, like since she's feeling like her body is foreign to her right now, she's only sometimes remembering what body parts she has that she can use to express her anger?

At its core, most folks think the cause of this third tantrum was Nona being chained/tied/zipped/locked up. And there are definitely a couple of characters who might reasonably be enraged about waking up tied to a chair or bed in a locked room. Interesting too that Nona holding the chair leg is described as holding it as if it were a broadsword if I recall correctly.

Hmm, it says she brandished it "like a sword", but I don't know if that's enough to indicate Gideon? I think Nona has said that she's familiar with Camilla's swords, right?

And yeah, I mean, I would probably freak out too, if someone ziptied me to some chairs. I can see why BOE maybe thought that was a smart idea since they tie them up when bringing them to the facility, too, but still.

@eye-lantern:

For the strength thing, to me it's like neural adaptation and hysteric strength. Our mind muscle connexion has a set strain that it can inflict on muscles and tendons to avoid us injuring ourselves. Powerlifters and athletes train to add muscle mass but also to make this limit adapt closer to their max strength, but it mostly stays below permanent damage. Some lifters clean break their tendons, tear muscle fibers by going to hard. After Eddy Hall lifted 500 p he fainted and had to be hospitalized. During that one biggest effort they deploy strength way beyond what a non lifter can exert per kg of muscle. Nona can go further, and absolutely destroy her body to create impossible proportional strength. Hitting a door with all you strength would do little because you hit under the strength you will shatter your bones at, but Nona's hits would render her unable to move. Because she has no instinct of preserving her own body.

Thanks, that's interesting! And Nona destroying her body this way still doesn't stop her because she has the Lyctor healing ability, so as long as she doesn't damage herself faster than her body can heal she can just keep going

@wellhappybirthdaytomeiguess:

yeah, I feel like we are really seeing a sort of mental breakdown of John here, at least a bit. Cassieopia was so right. You can save the world, or you can have revenge. You can't do both. John says he wants both, but I personally think he was so so so angry about the trillionaires that he couldn't think straight.

Yeah, it's making more and more sense that John is Gen Z - I feel like so many younger online spaces are sort of focused on people being angry and less on like, what can we do to help. Maybe that's just how it is when you're younger, but I don't remember being that angry when I was a teenager? And like, we had stuff to be angry about, that was back when Dubya was in office and doing the "War on Terror" because of the "WMDs" that turned out not to actually exist and so forth. But I feel like I see more irrational anger like this in some places now

[cathumanwarriors]

Ivypool and the subversion of what it means to be "strong"

Ivypool in this AU is very very different from what people normally see her as, even in the books proper. She's often drawn as buff and muscular, with sharp eyes and the taller of her and Dovewing.

So it's probably jarring to read that I don't see Ivypool like that. In my head, she is small, slight, muscular yes, but with no real strength. She is round-faced and looks a little childish, with downward tapering eyes that make her look sleepy more than anything. She is also very pale with dark circles under her eyes.

This very distinct image has persisted for over a decade now, and I wanted to delve a little bit into my reasonings for seeing her this way, and the story I'd want to tell with her character.

While I like Ivypool and her arc in OotS, I think at times it was directionless and we have a more nostalgic idea of the books than when we actually read them. There was a story there hidden about discovering what true strength was, and what Ivypool wanted most in life. I liked she was awful to her sister as an apprentice, and I liked that she behaved immaturely and didn't consider her sister's feelings because she felt so inferior. But I wanted this to have direction and thematic parallels that tie the sisters together.

Which is why Ivypool in this AU is albino. She has a myriad of vision and health problems, and her growth is stunted by all the energy she has to extend to dealing with multiple health issues. And to top it off, she almost died during her birth. Whitewing had a very difficult pregnancy where they were only expecting one child, not twins. And while Whitewing loved her children dearly, she did have to treat them differently because of their conditions. Ivykit could not do everything Dovekit could, and Dovekit saw and experienced things Ivykit could not experience. It's a prime situation for resentment to form, and that resentment be turned into malice.

So it's more complex than simple jealousy Dovepaw gets to do stuff she can't, because there is a layer of truth to it. Both girls are in situations where they are being separated and unable to communicate with each other about how they feel. And Ivypaw cannot grasp that Dovepaw has her own struggles and frustrations because she's been set up to be a perfect paragon or the Clans explode. There is a distance between them that they cannot reach.

So this is where that idea of "finding true strength" comes into play. Ivypaw believes if she were stronger, if she were "better" she wouldn't be looked down upon. And a developing teenager can easily be manipulated, especially when their feelings are validated and they are told what they want to hear.

Ivypool isn't strong, so she believes if she trains hard enough with Hawkfrost, she can attain that strength. It's the exact same internalized concept that only the competent succeed in life. She doesn't have high muscle density, and she's not tall or has broad shoulders, so she has to compensate. She uses speed and reflexes instead, a high battle IQ that can adapt quickly to a situation. She is so formidable a fighter because she is in perfect tune with her body and its limitations.

But it's only after she attains that strength does she realize it comes with a price. She realizes she's been manipulated, and might be part of a death cult now.

So she starts risking her life every night to "atone", she believes, out of her own guilt. Dangerous, self-destructive behavior because she has "lost" what purpose was driving her. She realizes she's been unfair to her sister, but cannot process that emotionally in a healthy manner.

It's not until TFW, when she is able to speak to someone who has also spiraled, who also feels guilt for what they've done that she is able to find true purpose and what drives her to keep going. It's compassion.

She is strongest when she can protect the next generation so they can grow and become strong. Her natural inclination is not cold rage and apathy; that is a coping mechanism brought on by the trauma of the Dark Forest. She is naturally a protector and defender. That is what her warrior name, Alexis, means. "Defending men."

So the strength she was looking for all that time was the strength to be kind to herself. It was only then she could unlock her full potential and surpass her limitations.

[kitcat992]

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

One More Day? No Way Home?

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

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

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

Identity Theft │ Chapter 18: Homecoming

Tony hadn’t moved in hours.

Moving took energy, something he was severely lacking.

He simply sat, catatonic. Motionless.

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

He didn’t care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And waited.

For what, he wasn’t too sure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mrs. Parker, please wait —”

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

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

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

Happy followed closely behind.

“Mrs. Parker —”

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

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

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

It was history repeating itself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The question made Tony's head stutter still.

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

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

“I...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Identity Theft │ Chapter 20: Family Ties

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though his words trailed off, she understood his intention.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She could handle that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Identity Theft │ Chapter 21: Sins of the Father

“It’s okay, Pete. You can let go.”

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

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

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

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

Peter felt trapped.

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

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

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

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

This was like that. Only five hundred times worse.

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

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

Peter felt helpless to it all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, just make it stop.

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

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

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

So he drifted. It was easier that way.

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

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

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

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

It was usually faces.

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

Mr. Stark.

“Easy Petey, easy.”

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

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

The voice penetrated any fear he had pullulating inside.

Identity Theft │ Chapter 22: Sweet Sixteen

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

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

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

“Oh,” he managed.

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

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

Being that Tony could relate, he never pushed it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s been happy with you around.”

Identity Theft │ Chapter 23: Bridge Over Troubled Water

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And they said chivalry was dead.”

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

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

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

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

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

May nodded. “Good. Thanks, Happy.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh.”

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

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

God, her life had gotten to be so bizarre.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The message written was simple.

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

Maybe she would stop and get a bagel after all.

Identity Theft │ Chapter 24: Grounds For Improvement

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even worse — he was the cause of it.

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

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

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

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

Peter bit his lower lip, hesitant to respond.

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

Losing family. Losing a loved one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That he was fine.

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

May sighed. “Oh, honey —”

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

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

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

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

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

Identity Theft │ Chapter 26: Building Blocks

“Ms. Parker,” Tony called out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter eyed May curiously. “He does?”

She nodded, giving him an encouraging thumbs up.

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

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

Still, May smiled in his direction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pepper Potts lesson number fifty-six.

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

Tony frowned and blinked. “Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May gave a half-roll of her eyes.

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

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

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

Tony was momentarily stunned.

“That's...it?”

She gave a curt nod. “That's it.”

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

Consider him getting off easy.

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

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

Identity Theft │ Chapter 27: Growing Pains

“You going to put that down anytime soon?”

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

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

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

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

Peter gaped, feigning melodramatic offense. “Hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 1: Prologue

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

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

“Hey, Peter!?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But there is this party —”

“You should go!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 9: Gray Area

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Distraction. Right.

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

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

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

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

“He had a panic attack.”

May’s face dropped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure —”

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

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

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

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

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

Now, radio silence.

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

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

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

“What was it about?”

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

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

“The fight,” she specified.

Tony pointed a finger her way. “Argument —”

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

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

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

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

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

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 10: Something Wicked This Way Comes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter’s knees buckled.

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

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

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

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

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

“You know, he’s worried about you.”

Her calm did nothing to off-put his agitation.

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing is going on, I’m fine —!”

“Cut the bullshit!”

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

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

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

He didn’t know what to say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The wood near the hinges cracked and splintered.

It left an echo that swept through the apartment.

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

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 13: Into The Abyss

Buzzzz.

Buzzbuzzzzz.

Buzzbuzzzbuzzz.

Buzz.

Buzzbuzzbuzzz —

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

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

It was official. He slept like shit last night.

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

There was no attempt made to clean up the clutter.

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

Buzzbuzzzzz —

“Oh my — ugh!”

So much for that.

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

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

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

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

Yesterday.

Shit.

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

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

"Sleep. You earned a day of laziness.

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

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

We’ll talk later.

Promise.

Love love love LOVE you,

May."

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

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

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

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

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

And now...

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 16: Web of Lies and Deceit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve been doing it all year!”

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

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

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

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

May stared at him, stunned and stuttering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not how it works —”

“Will you just let me talk!?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It felt wrongfully good.

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

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

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

A chill swept over him.

Suddenly, he was tired.

Really, really tired.

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

He didn’t want to fight anymore.

He didn’t want to have to lie anymore.

He just…

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

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

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

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

He needed help, right?

Could May help?

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

Right?

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

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

He barely got halfway there before May spun towards him.

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

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

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

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

“Peter!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That needed to change. With or without help.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 22: Welcome to Wakanda

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

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

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

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

Tony scoffed.

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

Just like that, Peter’ face fell flat.

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

“...what?”

 But it sure as hell felt like it did. 

His back stood up straighter than a stiff board.

That meant —

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

“May didn’t tell you?” 

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

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

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

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

“She didn’t say a word.” 

Peter visibly gulped.

It wasn’t May.

All he could hear was ringing.

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

“Where’s my phone?”

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

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

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

Tony noticed. 

He immediately didn’t like what he saw.

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

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

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

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

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

Tony quirked an eyebrow.

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

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

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

Tony barely gave him a courtesy glance. 

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

“Yes, but —”

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

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

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

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

They weren’t alone.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 33: Comes Great Responsibility

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

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

May raised both her eyebrows.

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

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

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

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

May smiled at him, all the same time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The neighbors Maltese was definitely louder than that last part.

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

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

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

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

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

“Here.”

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

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

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

May took that as ‘find out for yourself.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Peter,” May gently interrupted.

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

“I uhm, I don’t know if I’ve…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d get there.

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

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 2: R.S.V.P

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

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

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

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

And then a third time, just to be sure.

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

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

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

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

“I am not going through a — ”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell them what you originally wanted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It…it hurt my back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you show me how to ride it?”

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

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

Peter threw both his arms out wide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 3: Something Old

“Is he losing things again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy just barely resisted a snort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[bi-functional]

Do I already have an au thats got its own folder in my google drive about Visually Impaired Bill? Yes. Do I want to talk about it because I broke my glasses and forgot how blind I am? Yes.

There’s just something about low visibility and how it’s such a concept to play with. My eyesight is Horrible and it’s almost impossible for me to get 20/20 vision, you could be standing a yard from me and I wouldn’t be able to see your face and my eye sight is just going to keep deteriorating with age. And for those curious, I do have contacts to wear, though like I mentioned, they do not give me 20/20 and also my jokes of being unable to cry or show emotions was taken too seriously by my eyes which decided they would also be unable to produce moisture properly, which makes contacts extremely irritating and hard to wear for long periods of time, even with the aid of special eyedrops.

But also, it’s been brought to my attention how like… genuinely fun and eerie you can make low visibility, and this isn’t me making light of being visually impaired or anything this is just genuine shit that’s been happening to me for the past week and I’d like you to imagine the following scenarios with Bill in mind:

Staring at people completely dead eyed, only to be told to stop staring at them cause it’s creepy. Apparently we’ve been having a staring contest but I was just trying to track movement of the faceless thing that walked in so I could stay aware of my surroundings.

Being told repeatedly to look at things that’s impossible for me to make out without any aid, fr sometimes I feel like Toph from avatar with the way my family tries to show me shit and has to be reminded I cannot, in fact, see them or what they’re trying to show me.

Having to keep a physical hand on the people I go out with in order to keep a physical marker on them. If I were to loose them in a crowd I would not be able to find them.

The people who choose to adapt to my extremely low visibility and those who choose to be irritated by it. The difference between those two.

With Bill having only One Eye, imagining that one eye having terrible and deteriorating vision is just a concept that I enthusiastically get my grubby little hands all over uk? Regardless of if it’s a human au, or if it’s an ‘axolotl sent me to earth in a human form as punishment’ au or however you want to spin it. An all seeing Eye and being of an alternate dimension warped with dreams and nightmares and unreality being unable to properly conceive the reality he’s been so desperate to find his way into is just a Good Prompt to me idk broski.

It is now time for some of the Bill headcanons I have in this department and in that previously mentioned AU folder.

Bill calls Dipper Pinetree after stealing his cap and discovering the embroidered pine tree on it. Dipper had refused to give his name hoping to be left alone but Bill simply found other solutions.

Bill keeping a constant hand or arm around Dipper while in public spaces.

Others initiating obvious and intentional contact with Bill when they start speaking to him, commonly but not limited to group conversations. It’s a more meaningful way to ‘maintain eye contact’ or allow them to give him their full attention.

Bill also has a contact he can wear when he needs to, but sometimes due to migraines or general discomfort he simply won’t wear it.

This post is already way too long but yeah ❤️ Wether it’s a human au or not just Bill having to deal with a human version of himself that’s extremely visually impaired as a juxtaposition to the All Seeing Eye of his true form. That’s all I’m pitching here. I have so many thoughts uk. So many au’s.

[lowstakesdilemma]

Braving the elements, all alone.

Hi, I hope you're having a beautiful day!

I'm new to tumblr, recently moved here from reddit, where I spent my days as a lurker. I thought to myself: let's expand some horizons. Tumblr seemed like a cozy place to share my ideas, so here we are.

Along with the decision to move came the inspiration to make some ttrpg characters, and in a fun way: by making a character for each song in my ever-growing Spotify playlist. I know I won't cover them all, but if something strikes me as interesting, I want to explore it. If I get the chance to improve my awful drawing skills, that's a nice bonus.

I don't know whether to make a separate post explaining all this, so for now let's just do the introductions here: this will not be a blog about optimizing dnd characters. 5e is a system very close to my heart (which sucks considering half of my players hate it passionately), so most oc's I post will likely be made using its framework (no homebrew, but all the official books are fair game), but as with pretty much all character ideas, they are fairly universal and can be adapted to many other systems. Additionally, I probably could optimize them - I'm not opposed to min-maxing, after all, but I think it's very liberating sometimes to actually try making sub-optimal characters. If you're good at the game (besides roleplaying, I'm just talking about combat here), it should pose an interesting challenge.

Gods, this post is so long already.

But we're finally getting to the actual topic. Today's song, for no particular reason, is The Darker The Weather // The Better The Man by MISSIO. I won't post the song lyrics, I'll just assume you either don't care or looked them up. If, in any of these posts, the song is on your playlist, please let me know, I won't feel as lonely in this sad world.

Our adventurer is Vishara, the Kalashtar (not really) Wizard. Let's start with her

Backstory

Vishara comes from a long lineage of warlocks living in the snowy tundra, employing the help of fiends and fey to fend off the freezing temperatures. From a very young age, she was the target of jealousy among her siblings, being treated by their grandfather as a prodigy, while rejecting the idea of selling her soul for power. She began studying the school of evocation, wanting to sever her family's dependence on the devilish magic. Once mother found out, she sent her away to study magic in the big city, protecting Vishara from her relatives.

At the academy, Vishara turned out to be a mediocre wizard at best, clearly showing the potential unique to her blood, yet not utilising it. The teachers were confused, but turned a blind eye to it, and let her pass a few years out of pity. She didn't care, and spent countless nights cramming the spell formulas, memorising the names of great wizards and witches. She made some friends, who recognised her for her kind soul, and after a few misadventures, forged a tight bond. Their group became known in the nearby villages as The Wands of Loyalty, beacuse even though they could physically be snapped in half like twigs, their camraderie proved unbreakable.

After obtaining the diplomma she wanted, Vishara said goodbye to the Wands and went back to her family home, having honed magic potent enough to melt the ice endangering any travelers. As a parting gift, the Wands gave her a robe with cantrip formulas written on it, and a few basic spell sigils woven into the fabric.

The journey was long, and even though Vishara could protect herself from harm, her frail body was tested to its limits. Upon finally arriving, she saw the family stronghold empty, devoid of life, and filled with corpses. She rushed over to her mother's room, only to find it empty and suspiciously clean, with the only thing out of place being a weird amulet she always saw her mom wear.

With a storm of questions boiling in her head, and no answers in sight, she was struck dumb, unable to form any response. That's when she felt it. The creeping chill. She heard the whisper, one her grandfather taught her to listen to, promising power, and information. A lonely spirit, just like her. Drawn to her inner flame, wanting to corrupt it. This was how Vishara met her new mentor.

Mechanics

Vishara is not really a Kalashtar. She could be anything from a human to an elf, it doesn't matter. We choose the Kalashtar race to represent Vishara's mentor - the being attached to her, the literal devil on her shoulder (well, it can be a fey or undead, but the point still stands). It protects her mind from outside interference ("it's occupied, dammit! Find your own mortal to possess!"), but sends her dreams of death and bitter cold, warning her that they will come true if she doesn't accept the deal, blah, blah blah. If the DM's cool, the Mind Link ability might also be the spirit, and we have to ask them to convey a message to someone. Pretty cool, right?

For stats, using the standard array, I'd pick something like this: 8 STR, 10 DEX, 12 (13) CON, 15 (17) INT, 14 WIS, 13 CHA. Vishara is a wizard, first and foremost, so the intelligence is a must. It can be a bit lower if you want to roleplay the 'bad wizard' thing, but we do want to help our party, not hinder it. The wisdom getting a 14 justifies our refusal to dabble with infernal powers, and possibly opens up the way to becoming a cleric, which might be appropriate. The charisma is our bloodline, and of course setting up a possible giving-in-to-temptation moment and multiclassing to warlock. The physical stats represent the fact that we're a wizard and we'll die from an average slap to the face.

As a character

Possible plot hooks for the DM: - A letter arrives, signed as Vishara's mother. - The remnants of her family come, seeking revenge, thinking it was Vishara that killed their relatives - The tundra is getting colder by the day. Someone should investigate, it may be a curse - Who made the first deal in the family? What was it about, and did it condemn all their children to being soulless? -A member of the Wands appears, they need help. Now.

As an NPC

Possible quests to give: - Escort her to a temple in the middle of the tundra, maybe lift the curse? - Vishara attacks the party, thinking it was them that killed her family. Who sent her on the party's trail? - The nearby magic academy has lost it's headmaster in a tragic fireball-related accident. Nobody wants to take up his mantle, so the staff hires the party to find a graduate for the position.

Loot: - The coat with spell formulas written on it. It can be just a fancy spell focus, or maybe a multi-spell scroll, or just a coat with Glyphs of Warding. What's their trigger? Who knows.

The song relevance (imho)

The first thing that comes to my mind when listening to this song is 'loneliness'. The way the singer pronounces "Distant", and the music backing him, is just... surreal, evoking a scene of drowning in an ocean, slowly, as your vision grows darker and darker. I know the opinion of "edgy character bad", but it's such a shallow take I won't even try to refute it here. I'll just say, complicated characters make for compelling stories, and tragedies complicate things really well. The surrealness also plays nicely into Vishara's dreams, which this passage could be all about.

The pre-chorus sets the scene just as well, giving us an easy setting for most of Vishara's story.

The chorus breaks the subtlety, shielding itself with only a metaphor from being taken literally, word for word. It's filled with anger, and hope at the same time, which isn't that easy to pull off for one, and makes for great material in the gym. Determination. Theoretically we don't need to make a character to say this part to (like I did with the devil), but it's just such a perfect quote for a warlock in the making, that I couldn't resist. I love the class so much.

The second verse is less connected to Vishara, but, interestingly enough, I think the third and fourth lines are fantastic characterizations of her to-be patron, who (at least in my version) latches onto this mortal not to hurt them, but to connect to them.

Alright, that should be everything. If you made it this far, let me just officially say: feel free to use anything you found here in your games.

May you and your friends' calendars align!

[starry-eyed-psychopomp]

I mean I actually do read more than just danmei. I only started reading danmei within the past year and have been consuming queer fantasy religiously for years now. I was an English Major. I work in a bookstore. This post was very much informed by my experience reading a shitload of queer fantasy. Lowkey a little offended by the implication that this opinion comes from just not reading enough. That’s kind of a rude assumption to make? Anyway, I’ll elaborate on my feelings, because I have a lot of Thoughts on the topic and I like to yap.

I do think a lot of people in the danmei community could stand to read more genres and generally diversify their shelves (heavy on DIVERSIFY), and I’m sure that was the point you were making, but that’s not really what I was talking about? Like my point wasn’t “Western books Bad, that’s why I only read danmei,” it was “I want to see This in MORE books!” Does that make sense?

This is my opinion of course, but when I’ve read Western fantasy books with queer romance, I often either felt like authors have to choose to either prioritize the romance or the fantasy. It’s either all romance with little high-stakes angst and worldbuilding (you don’t see enough characters getting brutally stabbed and their love interests wailing over their body in Western romantasy and THAT’S A SHAME), or all fantasy politics interspersed with enemies-to-lovers ~yearning~ and ~sexual tension~ every hundred or so pages (and it takes a good writer to keep my attention through all that). Romantasy doesn’t have enough angst and gore, fantasy with a romantic subplot doesn’t have enough kissing and cuddling. So far, most of the danmei I’ve read is able to strike that balance.

And not to mention that romantasy usually comes in the form of standalone books. It’s a lot harder to do high-stakes worldbuilding with those limitations. Or it’ll be technically a series, but every book follows a different couple in the same world, so you don’t get much time to spend with a single pairing. In danmei, it’s a lot more common to see five, eight, thirteen book-long series with lots of adaptations and additional content, which is generally just more engaging. And it’s all centered around a romance! A queer romance, at that!!

I’m familiar with both your recommendations, though I personally haven’t picked up Godkiller. Funnily enough though, A Marvellous Light was actually one of the Western queer romantasy books I was thinking about when I wrote this post, because as you said, it’s very popular, and I personally didn’t like it. The worldbuilding was too…generically British for my specific tastes, and overall I found it pretty boring. A lot of hanging out and fucking in mansions on the English countryside, not enough stabbing and bleeding out and dying in front of your love interest to keep me interested. OBVIOUSLY THIS IS JUST MY PERSONAL OPINION! Read what you want. Regency romance is a thing people like and that’s chill. But that’s something that I really like in romance that danmei is just more likely to deliver. So as an example of a Western book that embodies the traits I was talking about in my original post? Not really.

Like I wasn't just talking about books that happen to have gay people and body horror. If that were the case I'd never have picked up another book after reading The Locked Tomb series, because there's no topping perfection. I elaborated a bit more in my tags, which I recognize wouldn't be kept in a reblog, but I meant it more in the sense of an intersection between the two? The intersection between romance and body horror that I was specifically talking about involves like. Melodrama. The agony of the romance is so intense it must be expressed with blood, and that physical, gory pain then goes on to inspire angst between the romantic leads.

So you get characters cradling their lover’s bloody body; holding onto their corpse for years, unable to accept their death; being forced to watch them be stabbed over and over again; mourning for years, devoted to them and only them; etc etc, and any number of new ways authors conceive to torment us. And all the while, the characters are still in proximity to each other. They flirt, they hold hands, they kiss, they cuddle, they get protective of each other, they keep bridal-carrying each other, and on and on.

There’s a level of physical intimacy that goes beyond just sexual tension and an eventual climactic kiss, and danmei authors seem to understand that it won’t detract from the intense violence that also exists in their stories. The gore and violence and body horror goes hand in hand with the romance, it’s not just tangential to it. Intense emotion that both drives the plot and brings a kind of cathartic pain to the audience, who remain secure in the knowledge that it will still work out in the end. Like Aristotelian tragedy for people who get a bit too emotionally attached to fictional characters.

And like, there are Western books that I think danmei fans would enjoy. They don't always hit all the marks I was talking about, but they exist. Danmei fans tend to really like Dark Rise by C.S. Pacat, for instance. A Strange and Stubborn Endurance by Foz Meadows and Winter’s Orbit by Everina Maxwell are fantasy/sci-fi romances with higher stakes and more complex worldbuilding. On the f/f and baihe side of things, She Who Became the Sun by Shelley Parker-Chan and the Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri are political fantasies with dense worldbuilding, but the romances are prominent enough, and they’re really good. And though it's not for everyone, I'll always preach the good word of Gideon the Ninth, which has tons of agonizing homoerotic angst that scratches a particular itch in my brain. I wouldn’t say any of these fit exactly the bill of what I’m going for (Dark Rise probably comes closest, though Gideon the Ninth would beat it if I thought griddlehark was ever gonna kiss for real) but not all danmei fits my specific standards either, so…¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But yeah. Like obviously there are fantastic books that aren’t danmei, but danmei has certain conventions and tropes that I feel we don’t often get from Western media. For some reason, our media is just…weirdly averse to sincerity and melodrama. Too much romance is considered trite and has no place in, like, a gritty war story. There are exceptions, but it is a trend in our culture that I find disappointing. And it’s a problem Chinese media like danmei doesn’t seem to have as much.

GOD I wish more Western books would take cues from danmei for how to write fantasy romance, danmei is like the only genre I’ve encountered that understands my ideal ratio of fluffy romance to body horror

[shycoconutt]

I Need You (Kakashi x Reader Smut)

A/n: Oh boy do I got some smutty smut for you. This is my first time writing smut and I think I did okay! Please let me know what you think and, as always, feel free to send some requests my way! 🤍

Summary: You find yourself unbelievably horny waiting for Kakashi to get home from work. The night goes exactly as planned.

Word Count: 4200

Warnings: NSFW ( minors, there's the door -> 🚪), fem!reader, vaginal sex, rough sex, doggy style, cunnilingus

Gods, why am I so horny?

Sat in the reading chair in the corner of your and Kakashi’s bedroom, you find yourself unable to focus on the new novel you picked up at the bookstore this morning. Each time you try to focus on the words in front of you, your eyes start to drift off the page and fall on your bed across the room. The bed where Kakashi and you have had sex now maybe a dozen times. You two have been platonic partners for years, but it wasn’t until recently where you both allowed your feelings to blossom into romance. Some would say that your relationship with Kakashi came on fast, but those who say that don’t truly know either of you.

After the war, and after keeping your feelings for each other bottled down for years, Kakashi took you on a vacation to a quaint village on the outskirts of Konoha. During your stay, you two could finally relax and find comfort in each other. The future seemed less uncertain, and you allowed yourself to open up in ways you never had before. You both knew you loved each other, that you were meant for each other, but the stress of war and the lack of knowledge that either of you would come out alive prevented anything from happening. The last thing either of you wanted to do was take the other’s heart six feet under.

It was the third night on the trip when he proposed to you. Kakashi and you were naked together in the natural hot spring, embracing each other in the water. The words he spoke to you that night are etched in your brain, never to be forgotten.

“My whole life I’ve been fighting; fighting for Konoha, fighting for my team, fighting for our friends, fighting my demons, fighting the truth, and fighting the feelings I have for you. I never understood why it was so hard to escape you, but it isn’t until now where I finally understand. Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do. Our love is so natural, so pure. It pains me to know that our reality has muddled it for so long. You are the best thing that’s ever come into my life, and the gods only know how thankful I am that you have been by my side through it all. Everything I’ve ever gone through, every challenge I’ve had to overcome, you’ve guided me along the way. I used to think I was undeserving of your love, but now that we both are standing here, bruised and battered by our past, I realize that it was always supposed to be this way. You and me. Forever.”

That was the night you and Kakashi shared your first kiss. The night you first held each other in a naked embrace. The night you touched the skin normally concealed under each other's clothes. The night you trailed kisses down his chest, to his stomach, his hip, and up his shaft. The night you grabbed him in your hand and stroked him while looking into his eyes. The night you felt his tongue draw across your nipples. The night you felt him suck and nibble at your neck. The night you felt his fingers, god his fingers, trace up your wet heat to rub onto your most sensitive spot. The night he held onto your hip and slid into your tenderness. The night you whispered sweet nothings in each other's ears while he pumped into you. The night you made love, four times.

It’s been a week since your mini-vacation of ultimate bliss. Immediately after arriving back to the village, you both moved out of your individual apartments and moved into the Hatake estate, per Kakashi’s request. When you asked him if this is truly what he wanted, he assured you that this was the place he wanted to make a home with you and your future children. He also liked that the estate is largely removed from the Hokage tower, where he will be spending the majority of his time in the future. Renovations are far from over, but your bedroom was the first area of the house to be set up. It’s your shared sanctuary, and to be completely honest, you’ve never felt more at home.

The only word to describe this week between you and Kakashi is passionate. Even with opposite schedules, you both make time for one another every day. You’ve been insanely busy at your new job that you acquired post-war, spearheading the mental health resource center for war veterans and shinobi still in active duty. Kakashi is busy shadowing Tsunade while she sorts out post-war rehabilitation plans for the village. This is your first day off and, unfortunately, Kakashi is out doing future Hokage duties. Though frustrating, both of you are super understanding of each other's roles in this village and you respect that time with each other may be limited in the coming years. That’s why any chance you get, you both check in on each other throughout your day. Whether it’s offering to take his ninken on a walk while he’s in the office, or him bringing you breakfast when you get to work, you find opportunities to be present in each other’s daily lives.

The evenings, however, are a whole other story. Both of you are usually home a little after eight, and you’ve adapted to having late dinners with each other. After cleaning up, the rest of the evening is spent wrapped up in each other. One thing you weren’t expecting about being with Kakashi is that he is constantly touching you when you are alone together. His hands are either on your thighs, wrapped in your hair, caressing your face, squeezing your arms, massaging your shoulders, touching your lips, or any other way he can get them on you. You crave his touch, so to say that you enjoy this side of him is an understatement. Not only does Kakashi adore touching you, he also adores being touched.

Touching leads to caressing, caressing leads to groping, and groping leads to passionate lovemaking.

Well, geez (y/n), maybe if you stopped daydreaming about Kakashi’s hands all over you then you wouldn’t be this goddamn horny.

Here’s the thing with you and Kakashi’s newfound sex life. You are in the early stages. All the sex you have is all about romance, making up for the lost time, and finally expressing your feelings with your body. It’s amazing and you wouldn’t change your lovemaking for the world.

But right now, you don’t desire lovemaking. You desire rough, animalistic, dirty, dirty sex.

The kind of sex that makes you shudder in desire and fear.

The kind of sex that makes in between your legs sore the next day.

Realizing you’ve been daydreaming for the past fifteen minutes, you close your novel shut and toss it aside. You look over at the clock on your nightstand to find that it’s almost time for Kakashi to be home. Usually, you would already be cooking something up for dinner, but you have a feeling that any food you make would just get cold. Eating is not your priority right now, Kakashi is.

A devious smile forms at your lips when you consider what you plan on doing with him when he walks through the front door. Should you take him right there? Get down on your knees and beg for him? Run a warm, candle-lit bath? Put whip cream on your tits and tell him that you’re his dinner? All great options, but none are really representative of how much you need him.

In one swift movement, you are up off your chair and running towards your closet. He could be here any minute and there’s no time to waste. Once there, you take in how disorganized your closet is. You have yet to unpack any of your clothes, as all you’ve worn the past week is your jonin uniform and your pajamas. Rummaging through the boxes sprawled out on the floor, you finally find which box you are looking for. The box looks like any other box, but written on the side in marker is the word intimates.

Bingo.

One might think you are a sex fiend with all the lingerie you own, but that is far from reality. The truth is, lingerie has always made you feel sexy. Most of all, it’s just so pretty. You love the power it gives you. You love the fact that no one knows that some days you are wearing the world’s skimpiest lingerie underneath your uniform. It’s like you have an edge on someone that they don't even realize. Also, when you did happen to end up in bed with a man, you were over-prepared. The look on their faces when you stripped off your clothes was priceless. It was your way of telling them that you expected them to want you.

There are way too many options to choose from, and you find yourself starting to panic as time passes on. You know you’re overthinking this as, honestly, Kakashi would love anything you put on. Some things you know about Kakashi are that his favorite color is blue, he loves your thighs and is obsessed with how soft your skin is. Therefore, you should obviously go for the baby blue lace and silk set. It includes a lace balconette bra, a thong connected to thigh garters, and a silk robe to go over the top. After putting it on and taking a look at yourself in the mirror, you knew you made the right choice.

Before finding a comfortable spot on the bed, you quickly grab some baby oil and rub it all over your body. The oil will allow Kakashi to slide his hands all over you effortlessly, which is exactly what you need. Satisfied, you grab your book and lay on top of your made bed. You weren’t planning on actually reading, but you think your casualness while wearing such a sexy outfit will have Kakashi’s head spinning.

So there you were, belly down, ass out, feet intertwined, book in hand, when you heard the lock click and the front door open. Perfect timing.

You could hear Kakashi kick off his shoes and take off his vest as he walked into your home. Usually, you would be standing in the kitchen where he would come and give you a warm embrace and kiss you until you told him that he has to eat dinner. But, you're not there, and you can sense his confusion.

“Where’s my babygirl?” Kakashi’s voice projects throughout the house, a hint of concern in his voice. You smile at the thought of the pout that’s probably on his face right now.

“Sorry sweetheart, I’ve been caught up in my new book. I’m in the bedroom,” you call back to him.

You hear what sounds like a sigh of relief as his footsteps make their way down your hallway in the direction of your bedroom, the sounds of pieces of his uniform dropping off of him every few steps. You make sure to keep your head turned to the door so you can take in his reaction to your state.

“Oh, the new book you got this morning? How is it? Let me guess, you already finished-”

An indescribable feeling shoots through your whole body as Kakashi enters your bedroom. He just finished pulling his mask down his face, as his hand is still caught to the fabric pooling around his neck. With a smile on your face, you soak in his expression as he’s stood in the entrance of your room, a deep blush forming on his cheeks and his mouth still agape in mid-sentence. His eyes dart back and forth from your face to the bottom of your ass that’s hanging out of your silk robe.

Damn, you really did that (y/n).

“What’s wrong, Kashi?” You say in the most innocent voice you can muster. You bat your eyelashes and flip over to sit up so he can get a good look at you. You let your book drop off the bed and land on the floor.

There’s another pause before Kakashi slowly walks towards you on the bed. Without speaking, he reaches a hand out to you. You take it and he pulls you up so you're kneeling on the bed as he stands in front of you. His dark eyes bore into yours as both of his hands drop to your thighs. Slowly, he grazes them up over your hips, your waist, up the sides of your breasts, to wrap around the back of your neck. You can feel the hairs on your skin stand in anticipation. With his hands still wrapped around you, he brings his head down to you and grazes his mouth on your jawline. From there he plants small kisses up the side of your face until he reaches your ear where he nibbles before speaking to you in a strained, low tone.

“You’re a very dangerous woman, (y/n).”

He must have felt you shudder because you could feel him smile against your cheek. Standing up straight again, Kakashi’s hands drop to the tie of your robe around your waist.

“May I?” he asks, giving you the sexiest look you’ve ever seen. Kakashi has been so effortlessly attractive since you met when you were young. Having these intimate moments with him almost seems surreal.

“Of course, Hatake,” you smile up at him.

Taking the tie in his hands, he starts to unravel the knot keeping your robe together. Once loose, he lets it fall over your shoulders and off your body completely.

After a few moments taking in the sight of you, Kakashi lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head.

“You’re so out of my league,” he confesses to you.

You let out a small giggle.

“Absolutely not,” you protest.

Without missing a beat, Kakashi grabs on to you and tosses you back on the bed so you are laying down underneath him. One of his hands wraps around the back of your head while the other cups your breast. Pulling the fabric of your bra down, he kneads your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. One of his knees lands in between your legs and he brings it up to press on to you. You can’t help the moan that escapes as you feel him all around you.

“So what’s the deal?” Kakashi teases. “I leave you alone in the house for one day and I come back to this?” He looks down at your body and back up again. “Where did you get this outfit, hm?”

“Oh baby,” you start teasing him back, “I guess one thing you don’t know about me yet is that I wear lingerie like this all the time.”

“Oh really?” he questions.

“Yep, all the time.” You smirk at what you’re about to say next. “Actually, remember that one time we were stationed together in the Earth country for a month for that S-rank assassination mission?”

Kakashi nods, confused where you’re going with this story.

“We let our guards down and almost hooked up the last night before we came back to the village.”

“I remember.”

“Well,” you pause for effect, “guess what I was wearing underneath my uniform that night?”

Kakashi remains silent, brows furrowed waiting for you. You smile at him deviously as you say your answer.

“This.”

Kakashi lets out what can only be described as an aroused, defeated groan when you utter your confession. He quickly comes back down and your mouths crash together in a heated frenzy. It isn’t until now when you realize that his bulge is hard against your leg, asking to be broken free from the confinement of his pants. While making out, you reach down and slip your hand under his waistband and grab onto his throbbing cock, stroking it in your hand. Although rock hard, the skin of his cock is soft and velvety.

Kakashi moans in your mouth when you make contact with him, but quickly escapes your grasp and gets up off of you. Sprawled out on the bed, you watch him strip down naked in front of you, starting with his shirt, then his pants and briefs. His body is truly something to marvel at, as decades of being a ninja have carved his body into perfection. You love the way his member slaps against his lower stomach when he pulls it from its confinement, excited and eager for you. He stands for a moment, contemplating what to do with you.

“I don’t want to take that pretty outfit off of you just yet. I guess I’ll just have to work around it for now,” Kakashi says as he stands at the end of the bed. Grabbing your ankles, he pulls you towards him and bends your legs upward until your knees meet your chest. Holding both of your legs up with one hand, he takes the other and spanks your ass cheek with a loud slap. You whimper from the sting while he rubs the mark he left. Kakashi sucks in another loud breath.

“Ugh, (y/n), you look so good for me.”

Before you can respond, Kakashi takes your thong and slides it over so you are exposed to him. Getting down on his knees, he brings his face to your glistening cunt and flattens his tongue against it. There he gives you one long lick up your slit to taste you. A moan erupts from him as your wetness meets his taste buds.

“You’re already so wet for me baby,” Kakashi breathes before going in to suck on you.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you confess through your moans. “I only get this wet for you.”

“That’s because you're mine and mine only.”

Kakashi takes his time with you, almost as if this is his last meal on earth and he wants to savor it. He’s delicate in some moments and fierce in others. Incorporating his fingers, he slides them into you and curves them up to hit your g-spot repeatedly while eating you. Your hand instinctively cradles his face while the other intertwines with his silver locks. You start to feel tightness in your lower stomach as he brings you close to climax. The sound of his moans muffled inside you is enough to send you over the edge.

“Kakashi, baby, I’m gonna-”

“Come for me, baby,” Kakashi nods, giving you permission to let go.

Letting go of Kakashi, you grip onto the sheets around you, feeling the tightness build and drop out of you. Closing your eyes, the waves of ecstasy ripple throughout your body causing you to scream out in pleasure. Riding with you, Kakashi slowly continues to work you through your climax, cleaning up whatever juices spill over.

“Good girl,” He says to you while bringing your legs back down onto the bed. Slowly, he kisses up your thighs while hooking onto your thong, bringing it down off of them. While he does this, you reach around and unclasp your bra, throwing it aside. Once the thong is thrown aside as well, Kakashi lifts himself off the floor and flips you over so you're laying on your stomach, another smack landing on your ass cheek. The high from your orgasm is immediately replaced with anticipation for what he plans on doing to you next.

You feel Kakashi’s naked body slide on top of you until he's flush against your skin, his body completely enveloping yours. Once his face is level with yours, and his cock is hard against your backside, he brushes your hair away from your face.

“Are you ready for me?” Kakashi whispers into your ear.

You nod into the mattress, chest rising and falling with every strained breath.

“You need to use your words, (y/n),” Kakashi scolds you while tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I need you, Kakashi. Please, I need you.” Your words come out as a plea, not being able to take his absence any longer.

You feel Kakashi’s weight lift off of you as he reaches around your waist and lifts it up so your ass is tilted upwards. From there you can feel him position his tip at your entrance, slowly rubbing it up and down to spread your wetness.

“Please, Kashi, I need your cock inside me,” you beg.

Without further hesitation, you feel every inch of him slide into your folds until he’s bottomed out inside you. The feeling of him deep within you sends you into euphoria and you can feel yourself tighten around him.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Kakashi whispers.

Starting off slow, he pumps into you with control. You feel pleasure and pain as Kakashi kisses your neck while grabbing onto your hair. After each thrust you feel him going faster and harder, your bodies smacking against each other. To gain more leverage, he lifts off of you and brings you up onto your hands and knees. With his hand gripping your shoulder, he pumps into you with ferocity.

“For years I’ve touched myself thinking about getting to fuck you like this baby. You’re so beautiful and so good to me. Everything about your body draws me to you,” Kakashi says in between moans. You feel him start to twitch inside you, his thrusts getting more out of control. You look over your shoulder and meet his gaze.

“We deserve this baby. You deserve this. Give me everything.” You both know your words mean more than just sex, and Kakashi relishes them.

Lifting you up by your neck, Kakashi brings you toward him so you're both kneeling while he continues thrusting inside of you. He brings one hand around your front to circle your clit and the other cups your breast. Your hands lift up behind you to grab onto his face. Turning your head to him, you kiss him with every ounce of passion you have left. This new position is hitting you at your core and you can feel yourself tighten again. Kakashi must have felt it too, as he broke free from your mouth to tilt his head back in pleasure. Without exchanging words, you know you both are at your limit.

With a few last staggering thrusts, both of you reach climax in unison. Feeling yourself go limp, Kakashi wraps his arms around you to keep you steady. You feel streams of his hot semen pool inside of your contracting walls. With Kakashi’s moans singing in your ear, you can’t help but smirk at his vulnerability. With him still inside, you hold onto each other, trying to catch your breaths. After a few beats, you both begin to laugh at your exasperated states.

“Stay here, I’m going to get a towel,” Kakashi says while shifting out of you. After pulling a towel from the cupboard in your bathroom, Kakashi brings it to you and cleans up between your legs. Before you have time to move, Kakashi picks you up bridal style and spins you around in his arms.

You scream and start to laugh as he plants kisses all over your face. “Kakashi!”

“Hm?” he hums in your ear, pretending he didn’t just lift you with little to no effort.

Holding you up with one arm, he grabs a blanket off the bed and carries you to the chair in the corner of your room. There he sits down and places you sideways on his lap so you’re facing each other. He then takes the blanket and wraps it around you both so you can stay warm while cuddling each other. Kakashi has always had a knack for knowing exactly what you want at any given moment.

“I thought we could get some inspiration for our next round,” Kakashi says with a smirk as he pulls out a copy of Icha Icha Tactics from underneath the cushion.

“What? How did that get there?” you laugh.

“Oh, I have multiple copies of these everywhere,” he jokes, waving the book in the air.

You laugh and lightly hit his chest. Tucking the blanket up closer to your face, you lay your head down on Kakashi’s shoulder while he flips open to a page in the book.

Before he starts to read to you, Kakashi lifts your chin to kiss you. Every time your lips touch his, flashes of your joint past enters your mind. Although it was hard, and you faced many difficult trials on the way, you are forever thankful that you were both able to live long enough to experience these moments. You took care of each other, lifted each other up when they were in the dirt, and now you can finally share the love you’ve always held for each other. You wouldn’t change any of it. After your kiss, before pulling away from you, Kakashi looks deep into your eyes.

“I love you, (y/n).”

You smile up at him, tears brimming in your eyes.

“I love you too, Kakashi. Forever.”

-

A/n cont.: Well, whattdaya think? :)

[deneveve-is-lost]

Okay well I wasn't calling you stupid I was suggesting that perhaps you were misdirected by the stupid oversimplification of this concept that has been spread around everywhere over the past few years because I was giving you the benefit of the doubt, but if you choose to identify as stupid I won't stop you.

To start with, it's literally vitally important to the core concept to understand that the social model draws a strong and clear distinction between disability and impairment, impairments are the physical traits that you have (or lack) that affect the way you function, disability refers to specifically the ways in which people with disabilities are systemically disadvantaged and oppressed in all areas of society. This is what I mean when I say that the social model is being horrifically misunderstood because the point is not that you can live the same life as an able bodied person if you just had all these barriers removed, the point is actually that you can't and that you should not be expected to, things that able bodied people think are your problems are not your problems they are just facts of your existence and it is nobody's business to assume how you feel about that.

You're right that I know nothing about ventilators so yeah that was a poor example, but it doesn't mean that I'm wrong about you (I mean actually the majority of people but since you decided to take it personally) misunderstanding what the social model actually is. Literally the inability to breathe independently is listed as an example of an impairment on the Wikipedia page, it's not overwhelmingly hard to find this information and yet so many websites exclude it or seem to completely misunderstand what it means because whoever is writing it is clearly unable to deconstruct the way they define "ability" enough to understand what the social model is actually saying.

It's not saying you will not be impaired, it's saying that your limitations should not make you a different class of person.

For example, I have a friend with narcolepsy and chronic pain that is so bad they will never be able to function for longer than 6 hours a day, they're in a wheelchair, they need help bathing and can only really manage it once a week, they can't really cook or clean for themselves, and all of this happened quite rapidly as they entered adulthood. This is very difficult for them because they have to adjust, but that doesn't mean that the way they are living now is any less valuable or worthwhile than the life I am living as a less disabled person, or the life an able bodied person is living. They deserve to be able to access, for example, adequate finances. The fact that they are expected to work to be able to afford their basic necessities is why they need to be considered disabled, so that they can access special funding just for disabled people that allows them not to work. The process is humiliating and difficult to access, and many disabled people are rejected or not given enough to afford the medical care they need. If medical care was free and everyone was provided with a universal basic income, this problem would go away. My friend would still only have a maximum of 6 functional hours in a day, they would still be in pain and wheelchair bound for all of those hours, but they wouldn't be subjected to humiliating and dehumanising and inaccessible systems and procedures to have their basic needs met, and as a result those 6 functional hours could be put to better use doing things that fulfilled them and gave their life joy and meaning.

That is the social model. If you didn't need to be able bodied to have your basic needs met, your impairments would not require you to be treated as a different class of person. If society was flexible and suited to adapting to the needs of the individual it would not matter that you had different needs, they would simply be met without requiring you to prove anything about why you need them.

*social model of disability voice*

"Actually everyone has a disability that can be easily accommodated for and free access to disability aids means you won't be disabled anymore."

If I could swing my ventilator around like a mace and hit you with it, I would.

[marshmallowprotection]

I've always wanted to ask you, but what do you depict Jumin as..? I've seen several headcanons where people depict Jumin as a possessive, stone hearted person who cannot feel emotions or struggles to differentiate different feelings. Most hcs show him being unable to comfort MC the way he wants to.

And for the most part, yeah. I do agree he will struggle with being able to comfort people, especially if they're emotional, but other than that, I don't really see him as someone being possessive or mono-faced after the good ending.

If anything, he's incredibly protective and loves MC wholeheartedly, it's actually really wholesome.

- S.flower

Misunderstood. I don't think anybody truly knows him the way that he is. He doesn't let a lot of people get close to him like that, but for the ones that he does, even they have a limited idea of what it's like to be close to him. He is not a robot. He is not incapable of human emotion. Anytime somebody insinuates that it's because they do not care about getting to know the real person.

Sometimes he struggles to relate to other people because of his upbringing, and he has a hard time knowing what he's supposed to do in the moment. He closed off his emotions when he was a child to some extent, but not in the way that people think that he did. It's very subtle.

 You can tell a lot about him from the way that he talks about traumatic experiences offhandedly like they were nothing. He doesn't consider some of his experiences to be out of the ordinary for somebody in his position. Think about the way that he talks about being kidnapped or being harassed. He's clearly uncomfortable, but he talks about it as if he's supposed to be resigned to that happening or the possibility of that happening.

He keeps a level head in the middle of a crisis because he wants to keep everybody that he cares about safe. He could be crumbling on the inside and remain unsure of how to express that feeling because he has to be the one that takes care of everything. You see this happening in different timelines where she is the rock that keeps everyone together but you would never expect that he is breaking down on the inside. He doesn't want people to see that. 

He knows that it would detract from the situation and somebody has to be level-headed. He takes away from his own experiences because he feels like he has to ensure that things go right. He would do anything to protect the people that he cares about. It's a shame that people don't understand just how big his heart is.

I think what he struggles with the most is the fact that he's lacking in experience. It's not that he doesn't know how love works. It's just that he's never been in a relationship and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do next. He adapts and he learns rather quickly, but you're the first person that he's ever loved. You're the first person that he's loved like this. 

Sometimes he's not sure what he's supposed to do in a relationship, and that can make it difficult for him to navigate the waters. When he's trying to make the first move, when he's trying to come for you, when he's trying to do this or that. It isn't that he doesn't have emotions, it's just that he is very methodical and he wants to process what he should do. He likes to check every possible Avenue before he does something. He gets into his head about things and that's where the difficulty remains.

He can be a little clueless sometimes but it's hard to pick that because some people get a little lost in translation. I definitely don't care for the ones that depict him as possessive, because it leans into that bad ending that I don't like to talk about. So, I do not agree with anybody who calls him possessive. 

That's just my personal opinion on the matter, and it's fine if other people think differently. But I just cannot see him pushing someone around and trying to control them in his good ending. The only reason why he was pushy during the events of his route was because he was afraid of losing you. It brought out things that he's not proud of, but he admits to them and he wants to work on them with you.

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | The Premature Burial (Corman, 1962)

This review contains spoilers in the last paragraph. I would strongly suggest skipping it if you haven't seen the movie.

One of the nice surprises about this movie is that it shows us Hazel Court in a very different mode than I'd become used to. Granted, the majority of things I'd seen her in I only watched over the last week or so, and it's unfair to draw conclusions based on such a small sample size. But in The Masque of the Red Death and The Raven, she'd played boisterously bad characters in performances that can be described as heave-heavy. Here, she is more reserved, seemingly driven primarily by her love and concern for her husband as he spirals into madness. And I come to the conclusion, seeing her go from characters so delighted in their sin, to one seemingly so steadfast in her virtue, that she's really been one of the highlights of these Roger Corman Edgar Allan Poe adaptations. Of course, the fact that the object of her love and concern, that she is so eager to marry at first, is none other than Ray "Dial M For Murder" Milland, should lead you to draw some suspicions. At best, her love seems ill advised, given that his best known roles cast him as an alcoholic who tried to kill his wife. Lady, this guy is not marriage material. (Okay, those were two different movies.)

Milland took the lead role as Corman's usual choice Vincent Price was unable to take the part thanks to contractual obligations, and I think the movie is better off as a result. Price can be very enjoyable in these movies, but there's an irrepressible delight he takes in playing such characters that would feel wrong for the movie. Milland is comparatively somber and human, someone seemingly done in by his affliction, not all too unlike his performance in The Lost Weekend. Apologies if I've framed some of this glibly, but I think the movie is pretty compassionate in this respect as far as these things go. Perhaps the most glib the movie gets, aside from the climax, is when he demonstrates his contraptions for escaping a premature burial, although the tone here is one of concern for his deteriorating psyche. (Although if you pulled what he did in real life, it might be a little funny. At least if you played it like a practical joke. Okay, maybe not to your loved ones. Okay, definitely not if you planned to dynamite your way out of your grave like he considers. I also imagine the insurance company would demand a refund.)

With the exception of Masque, these movies have felt pointedly small, most likely as a result of their budgets, but I think this uses that smallness best. This is about a character crippled with fear of catalepsy, who essentially imprisons himself in his home as he becomes increasingly obsessive about the condition. (As someone who's felt some unease going back to the world after the last few years, I perhaps identified with him a bit more than I'd like to admit.) Which means that limiting the story to a handful of sets serves both a diegetic and an atmospheric purpose, and the latter aim gets a little help from the abstracted graveyard scenes, where a little bit of fog goes a long way. (Remind me to fish out my foggy movie punchcards, I think I've seen enough for that submarine sandwich. Hopefully I didn't pull the loco gangster move of having multiple incomplete punchcards, something I've been all too guilty of in real life.) All of these have offered different modes of gothic horror, and this is the one that feels most decayed, most entombed.

**SPOILERS*** (You can skip this last paragraph if you haven't seen this.)

I do think the movie miscalculates with the last ten minutes. The climax, in which Milland breaks out of his premature burial and seeks revenge on those who've wronged him, feels clumsy where the rest of the movie has been executed with elegance and a lightness of touch. It's as if Corman remembered he had to serve up some overt scares to the audience and stumbles through them as quickly as possible, throwing deliberation to the wind. I am not immune to the charms of such sequences, but I do think it hurts the movie a little. But I also think the last minute twist, wherein Court is revealed to have orchestrated Milland's downfall, cheapens what had seemingly been a rich and nuanced relationship. I had grown to like Court as a good woman, and didn't like that we reverted to business as usual. But to atone, the movie nicely enriches the complex love Milland's sister Heather Angel had for him in the tender final moments, so perhaps all is not lost.