#i really do live up to the gen z humor thing huh

[flutteringfable]

”whats the funniest danganronpa meme”

easy. the endless different ways we can find to mispronounce the franchise title. some of my favorites include:

ding dong romper

dangle rumpus

danger ronper

dangit grandpa

dingle ronpa

danganoronpa

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Let's Call It Funny

Prompt: Hi! If you know about those gen z peter parker posts, could your write something based on that? With Steve Getting It (tm) because fatalistic nihilism in humor tended to show up during the world wars and we’re seeing a reflection of that now? Sorry- I just think it’d make great options for steve and peter bonding, and dad!tony but actual emotions (gasp!) You can totally ignore this if you want!

Don't ever apologize for giving me such a great ask

Read on Ao3 Part 2

Warnings: uhhh gen z humor

Pairings: none! all found family in this bitch

Word Count: 2529

Here’s the thing about humor. It’s not necessarily that one generation is any funnier than another, it’s just that high school kids are perpetually the funniest people alive. Something about being in a pressure cooker of an environment with a bunch of other people whose bodies are changing in new unpredictable ways whilst having very little say in how their lives go creates humor. Gasp of shock, right?

So basically what Peter’s trying to say is that he’s fucking hilarious.

Come on, not only does he have the default high schooler stuff, he’s also gay, which gives him an instant bonus. He’s trans, which opens up a whole new subset of humor for him to explore. He’s neurodivergent as fuck, and we all know that makes people funny as hell. And if that weren’t enough, he’s severely traumatized and he’s Spider-Man.

Peter Parker is funny as hell.

What is truly devastating—and really, it’s their loss—is that so few people seem to appreciate it.

Ned gets it. Ned’s not someone Peter would expect to not get it, just because hey, it’s Ned. They’ve met each other in the hallways and been like ‘hey! You’re still alive! Congrats on having a body!’ Only for the other one to go ‘hey! You’re alive too! I wish I had an intangible form!’

Because bodies are stupid and evolution really fucked us over but at least we’re not horses.

A solid 50% of their interactions are just quoting John Mulaney and Bo Burnham bits back and forth at each other. Peter’s never gonna forget the day they both had detention and had to watch that stupid Cap PSA—it’s propaganda, you Nazi fuckwits—and something reminded them of the ‘horse loose in a hospital’ bit and they just did it. Full out. Stood up and did the actions and everything. The rest of the room was either trying to do it with them—and failing, because they didn’t have nearly enough practice—or looking so confused. The security guard—Paul, he’s great—just looked at them blearily after they finished and went:

“I mean, you kids are right, but you’re not supposed to talk in detention.”

Well, excuse them for trying to make it more entertaining for everyone.

MJ gets it. If Peter’s being honest, he learned most of his humor from her. She is the master and it is an honor to study in her wake. He’s definitely hijacked the asking whether or not anything’s actually meaningful existentialism jokes and they’ve wormed their way into his day-to-day repertoire.

“Why are you late, Mr. Parker?”

“Time is a social construct, Mrs. B, none of us are ever late or early except in the subjective spacetime paths. The limits of our sensory perception make it so we can’t tell if anything is real, let alone whether or not they conform to some arbitrary definition of ‘time.’”

“…just sit down, Peter.”

See? It works.

Aunt May gets…worried.

Sure, they’ve actually talked about when Peter needs help and wants to reach out and when he’s just making jokes off the cuff because hey, humor’s a great coping mechanism or it’s just a joke and not that serious. Peter loves his Aunt May, so so so much, and the last thing he wants to do is really worry her. And she’s gotten pretty good at figuring out when he’s just joking and when he’s spiraling.

Sometimes, though…

“Peter,” Aunt May calls from the kitchen, “did you remember to stop by the store on your way home?”

Peter freezes halfway through the door.

“Peter?”

He swallows. “…no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am too stressed and consumed by the swirling pit of blackness deep in my soul to remember my head is connected to my body, let alone remember to go to the store.”

Silence.

“…Aunt May?”

“Do you want to drop off your stuff and then go to the store?”

“…yeah, please.”

“Love you, Pete.”

“Love you!”

“Try to remember that you’ve got arms so you can pick stuff up.”

“Got it!”

See? It’s fine.

The Avengers don’t get it. Like, at all.

Natasha and Clint like, sorta get it? They make the same jokes all the time when they think Peter can’t hear them, which—come on, you guys are super spies, surely you know people are gonna hear you when they’re gonna hear you. Natasha will make a crack about something, Clint will laugh and shove her shoulder. It’s their dynamic, we get it. But when Peter does it…

“Hey, Baby Spider?”

Peter sticks his head up from the ceiling. “Yeah?”

“Where’re you crawling off to?”

“I’m gonna go hide in the garage.”

Natasha blinks up at him. “Why?”

“Because if I get crushed by the airlock doors then I won’t have to do my paper tomorrow.”

Silence. Natasha’s mask is too good for Peter to actually see what’s going on with her, let alone from this angle, but silence isn’t good.

“Nat—oof!”

Something blurs out of the vent nearby and tackles him down onto the couch.

“Clint!”

“Nope,” Clint mutters, wrapping Peter up in a hug as Natasha comes to join them. “You’re staying with us now, Pete.”

“Guys, I’m fine.”

“Peter,” Natasha says softly, “don’t joke about that, you’ll make us worry.”

“I don’t wanna do that,” Peter mumbles, “but it’s fine.”

“Coping mechanism, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s got too many brain cells to do that,” Clint says, ruffling Peter’s hair.

“Stark has a lot of brain cells, you see what good that does him?”

“Hmm. Guess you’re gonna have to stay awhile, Pete.”

There are worse fates. Definitely.

Thor just kind of gets confused by it. He acts like Peter isn’t going to be absolutely fine because there’s no need to do anything like that. No, Peter, you don’t have to put the bleach in first into your cereal, there’s plenty of milk left over. No, Peter, you don’t have to throw yourself off the roof because your laptop is freezing, Stark has so many just lying around. No, Peter, you don’t have to pack a rucksack and run away to the Alps and live like a recluse, come here and get a hug.

Peter suspects Thor’s playing dumb on purpose. The man is smart as hell, there’s no way all of this is flying over his head. And honestly, it warms his heart a little bit when he sees Thor’s sincere, concerned look when he thinks Peter’s not looking.

Banner and Rhodey just kinda shake their heads and move on. They’re used to it. They live and work with some of the most dramatic fucking people in the goddamn universe, they’re used to a little bit of extra humor. Occasionally one of them will give him a look that says he’s pushing his luck, but that’s not often. Less often now ‘cause he knows what he can get away with. He’s also seen them hiding smiles behind their hands or poorly disguised coughs. They’re not as slick as they think they are.

Tony.

Tony is the fucking worst.

Peter can’t get away with so much as sighing too hard before Iron Dad™ is swooping in all soft words and concerned touches. Jesus. You’d think he’d get it, he uses humor as a coping mechanism too, goddamnit, why is he so worried about Peter?

Okay, fine, he knows why.

MJ’s over at the Tower, having another one of her ‘sketch people in crisis’ appointments with Natasha. Peter is coming off of a 32-hour caffeine rush and is violently wishing for death. Tony is in the kitchen doing…something.

“Hey, do you think bleach would make a good smoothie?”

Tony wheels around to see MJ pulling a glass out of the cupboard.

“Kid—“

“Sounds like a filling breakfast,” Peter groans, “can you make me one too?”

“…I’m legitimately concerned,” comes Tony’s mutter.

MJ ignores him. “Who’s the bitch on your forehead?”

Peter rubs absentmindedly at the massive knot on his head, courtesy of a wall that rudely decided to move at the last second while Peter was attempting to walk through a doorway. “He’s called DJ Braindeath and he’s my only friend in the world.”

“Peter—“

“Oh did you meet him at the furry convention?"

“Technically it’d be a buggie convention.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?”

“The pantry doesn’t have good coffee, I’m going to Starbucks.” MJ grabs her bag. “You want anything?”

“A will to live?”

“Peter, what the fuck—“

“Oof, I’ve only got like…20 bucks.”

Peter lets his head drop back to the counter. “Then just leave me here to die.”

“Can I have champagne at your funeral?”

“I’ll be dead, I won’t fucking care.”

“God, I wish that were me.”

Then MJ’s gone and Peter gets treated to a 20-minute conversation with a very concerned Tony Stark that he doesn’t remember most of because hey caffeine crashes aren’t fun.

He definitely does it on purpose sometimes just to wind Tony up. Like there’s this one incident with an interview he does as Spider-Man and he gets asked what he thinks about Tony Stark’s newest intern, Peter Parker.

“That boy’s an embarrassment, just…complete failure. Can’t speak without stuttering through every other word and self-esteem issues all over the place. Also looks like he got dressed in the dark.”

The reporter had awkwardly moved on to another question. The interview aired later that day while Peter was at the Tower. Tony sat next to him on the couch about halfway through.

“You look good, Pete.”

Peter had mumbled halfheartedly, only to hear the reporter ask the same question.

“See, that’s the problem with having a secret identity, you don’t…” Tony trailed off as he heard the answer.

Peter snorted as Spider-Man finished talking. “Say that to my face, you bitch, get a real job. At least I don’t look like someone vomited silly string all over my spandex.”

“Are you okay?”

See? Fun.

The only one he’s made a conscious effort to not be this funny around is Steve.

Because, okay, here’s the thing. Steve’s disappointed look has no effect on him anymore. He’s immune, motherfuckers, he’s had detention too many times for it to still work. Here’s the other thing: Steve doesn’t actually use that tone of voice that often. It’s this meticulously crafted image he plays up in interviews because it catches all the bad guys so off guard when Captain America is suddenly swearing a blue streak at them and telling them to go fuck themselves in, honestly, quite creative ways. The sincere Steve Rogers disappointment and concern still very much works. Also doesn’t help that Steve does caring so fucking well, like…who gave him the right to say a few things and hold Peter like he’s something precious and do the quick one-two punch of saying a super sincere compliment and following it up with ‘I love you.’ Who did that? It’s rude. Stop it.

And yeah, Steve’s the resident Mom at the Ready. It’s a risk to even sit on your bed looking sad ‘cause here he comes, wearing something snuggly and saying ‘hey’ in that stupid, stupid compassionate voice. So Peter knows he’s just gonna end up crying from too much soft if Steve actually gets concerned. Which won’t be fair because he’s gonna try and explain that he’s fine and it’s just his sense of humor while crying. Yeah, like that’s gonna be believable.

So he’s trying not to but damnit it’s hard.

Then he walks into the kitchen one day to see Steve struggling with the toaster.

It’s one of Tony’s new prototypes—which means that anyone struggling with it is so fair—and from the looks of it, it’s managed to not only burn the bread to a crisp, but also mangle the slices beyond recognizable shape.

Peter’s not paying that much attention. He’s on his phone, heading towards his spot in the corner with the beanbag chairs and definitely doesn’t recognize Steve as he goes.

He only plops down and hears someone declare, in a completely deadpan voice: “There is no point to existing at all.”

“Oh, mood.”

He doesn’t think much of it. He doesn’t even know who said that, that’s how hyper-focused he is right now. He hears the others come in and feels Clint plonk down next to him.

“Hey, Pete.”

“Sah, dude.”

“Just vibing. Did I do it right?”

“Yeah, man you’re going great.”

“You teach Thor ‘yeet’ yet?”

“We’re getting there.”

“Steve,” he hears Tony call from the kitchen, “what the fuck did you do?”

“Language.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me about language when you’re making toast that looks like a goddamn welder’s table, what is that?”

“Your prototype’s work, I imagine.”

“How did you even—“

Clint chuckles next to him as the two of them start fondly bickering. Peter’s too busy speedrunning the five stages of grief in his head.

Did…did Steve say the thing about there being no point to existence at all?

No…no way.

He must be imagining things.

Then, of course, there’s a chime on his phone.

Ned: Did u do the bio hw?

There was bio homework?

Ned: yeah, due at noon

“I now know why God abandoned this timeline and when will death come to take me?”

The room goes silent.

Shit.

“Peter,” Clint says, “it’s gonna be fine, you can do bio homework in your sleep—“

“Are you okay?” Ah, that’s Thor.

“Kid—“

And Nat, and Tony’s probably rushing over here as he speaks.

Then there’s another voice.

“We can only pray the reaper arrives early for his appointment with us, kid.”

Peter’s head snaps up.

Steve.

Steve fucking Rogers raises a coffee cup at him in salute and takes a sip. He makes a face.

“…that was definitely salt,” he mutters, before shrugging and downing the whole thing.

…what?

Peter’s still staring at him until he catches his gaze and winks.

Oh, fuck yes.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Tony says, hands on his hips, “explain.”

Steve just gives him a look. “I grew up in the Great Depression, Tony, and I was in the army. You don’t think I have a fatalistic sense of humor?”

“Plus the fact that most of my generation is resorting to types of humor found when death and stress are so ever-present that you have to joke about it says something,” Peter adds, “doesn’t it?”

Steve raises his cup again. “See? He gets it.”

And just like that, the bond between Peter Parker and Steve Rogers was written, formed, and sealed in salt and existentialist depression.

“There’s two of you,” Tony mumbles, “oh my god, there’s two of you.”

“Oh, you just wait ’til Buck and Sam get back.”

Peter can’t fucking wait.

[khaleesiofalicante]

"Love isn't soft, like those poets say. Love has teeth which bite and the wounds never close" -Stephen King.

Rafael is so dramatic and I love him jdvdjsjl

There is something so fucking soft and homelike and nostalgic about this scene🥺🥺

As always I love good sibling representation 😎

The way you can see how becoming the governor affected everyone even in the little things as t-shirts or tweets... Wow

Gen Z humor is top tier udhdkdbdj

The man is like wine. He keeps getting better with age. He aged like fine wine indeed😌🍷

It’s hard to feel nostalgic about something you never learned how to love. THIS HITS TOO FUCKING CLOSE!!!

They made it🥺 I'm so proud of how they always kept growing!!

Alec being practical as always. Although I would be kinda traumatized knowing my parents had sex in that room..poor Max...

I mean... They did put in good use Max's gift... They are a horny mess and honestly no one can blame them... Imagine having a husband THAT hot??? And no, idk of which one I'm talking about!!

No room will ever feel unfamiliar or alien to Magnus when Alec is there with him. Every place they lived in was a home because Alec was there, in this essay I will-

“It’s yours,” Magnus whispers. “All of this is yours. Only yours.” I SCREAMED-

Second timeline was so fucking sad😭😭 The parallels of when Alec was at the lowest he just wanted his mom🥺 And him repeating that he can't live without Magnus but not realizing the way he can lose him completely if he doesn't let him go... This just breaks me😭

Brooklyn got lost somewhere in Albany. I NEED A MINUTE. OMG

Janie>>>>>>

“Your marriage is not broken,” she tells him again. “It’s just hurt. It is hurt very badly. You have to let it heal. Otherwise, it is going to fester.” I love Maryse and the things about marriage and doing what he needs to survive. The power of that woman istg

Magnus losing either way, he needed healing so bad...

THE FUCKING LETTER!! I LITERALLY CRIED. I had to stop reading it a couple of times because it was just too much. I'm in awe with your writing!! Some of my favorite bits:

This isn’t me running. This is me stopping.

Because I’m tired, my love.

Because it hurts so much.

///

I love you.

But just as everything else right now, loving you hurts.

I love you.

But I’m so, so sorry that it wasn’t enough for me to hold on.

///

It was supposed to be everlasting, wasn’t it?

///

Love me until it becomes unfair.

Love me until it becomes impossible.

Love me until you cannot.

That last one. Istg I've repeated that in my head for the last couple of days. It was just so beautiful and raw...

All their family sessions heal my soul on a personal level... And they are also funny af😂

I need to know Rafael's decision👀 but I support him 100% tho!!

Was this fucker really going on dates with his wedding ring and holding it while he was nervous? He is sometimes an idiot.. but we love him anyways

Love me reading some of Alec's hoe thoughts jdhsidjs

I mean... It's only fair or Magnus to be the one that comes back

Magnus making him eat the muffin😂 he can be a little shit when he wants to huh?

He better end up in heaven when he dies. Fair enough

But Max being the first son would actually give a lot of rwrb vibes!! I'm sure David would like that, wouldn't he??😏 My priorities aren't straight, what can I say?

Honest talk I'm so proud of Alec just for the fact that Jai considered him as a candidate!! But also, damn!! Rafael?? You got it boy!!

AHH NOT THE NECKLACE!!!😭 AND MINERVA!!! THEM>>>>

She walks away and Alec rolls his eyes. “No wonder they like each other. Maybe they were roommates in hell.

///

“It’s sweet that you think that,” Shinyun smiles at him. “But you run a state and I run an empire. We’re not the same.”

If I ever get to have the sass they have I will have done something good in my life :)

Goodbyes are fucking hard indeed😭 I love this family and this timeline and this scene and-

Rafael is onto something 👀 but yess please stop talking idhdjdbdkdk

Song rec: Missing you by Hunter Hayes

THE QUOTE BRO OMG.

This song was so tlnd.

ps - have i ever told you that you remind me of rafe?

[losingmymindtonight]

WARNINGS: Peter jokes about dying a lot in this. It’s just Gen Z humor, but if that’s likely to trigger you, please be careful!

--

On days like this, the cabin was a haven, a lighthouse, a McDonald’s sign shining through midnight darkness.

(Okay, maybe his last metaphor wasn’t as romantic as the others, but it was still true. Midnight hash browns were the best hash browns. Fight him.)

Peter thought he was a pretty chill person. Hell, he was known for a being a chill person. Go to Peter, people said. He’s just so chill, people said. You could punch him in the face and he’ll apologize, people said.

(Okay, maybe nobody actually said that about him, because nobody besides, like, a handful of people actually cared about his existence, but if they did, that’s probably be what they’d say.)

But, sometimes, he just got frustrated. Like, kinda-wanted-to-find-some-abandoned-hunting-lodge-in-the-middle-of-a-forest-somewhere-and-tear-it-to-pieces-with-his-bare-hands frustrated. 

(Okay, maybe not a whole hunting lodge. Maybe, like, a cabin. Or a half-molded shed. The point was: he wanted to annihilate something. The more satisfying the thing was to destroy, the better.)

He’d admitted it rather shamefully to Tony in the lab, once, and the man had laughed so hard that Peter had genuinely thought he was going to hyperventilate.

“Jesus, Pete, you are not actually feeling bad for occasionally, just occasionally, being frustrated, are you? Because if you are, I’m selling you for a less faulty kid.”

As it turned out, Tony was probably gonna have to sell him, because the guilt never, ever abated. See, Peter wasn’t supposed to get frustrated. That wasn’t his purpose. He was a fixer. Fixers were patient, wise, and they certainly didn’t get frustrated. They didn’t get angry. Those emotions were not things that fixers felt.

Maybe he was faulty. Maybe Tony should sell him.

He was always a mess when he was pissed, and he always blamed it on inexperience with functioning when he was focusing so much energy on not punching the nearest object. He tripped getting out of his car, locked his backpack inside and ended up fumbling angrily with the trunk before finally, finally getting it open. When he got to the door, he missed the lock the first time and then it took him four tries to get the damn thing open.

(He nearly cried at that point. Which, was, you know, not his proudest moment.)

Tony was reading on the couch when he came stomping in, although the book was quickly discarded. Peter just threw himself face-first onto the unoccupied loveseat, groaning for a solid fifteen seconds before Tony’s amused voice interrupted him.

“You alright there, kiddo?”

“I’m gonna kill someone,” he said, monotone despite the lava in him, “and then I’m gonna kill myself, and then I’m gonna... well, I don’t actually know who’s gonna die after that bit, but the killing’s not ending there, I can tell you that.”

Tony whistled. “Wow, Pete. Resorting to a murder-suicide before dinner? That’s drastic, even for me. Must’ve been one hell of a day.”

He couldn’t stop the snort that jumped up his throat. God, he hated being so cynical. It really didn’t come all that naturally to him. It felt like wearing a suit that didn’t quite fit.

“You have literally no idea.”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

Poor Tony. He was the one who always had to listen to him complain. He barely did it with his friends, certainly never did it with May. Like he’d said before, that wasn’t his purpose, wasn’t his role in those dynamics.

But here? In the cabin, carefully cocooned in the safe-space of Tony’s world? Yeah, he could be a little whiny.

Still, though: poor Tony.

“I hate people,” he rambled. “I hate the world. I hate myself. I even hate the sky. Can I hate the sky? Is that, like, a thing I can do? You know what, don’t answer that, cause I do, so it’s a thing I’ve done either way.”

“Mm,” Tony replied, and Peter could hear the leather on the couch creak as he shifted his weight. “I have a proposition.”

“Does the proposition include me dying?”

“Uh, absolutely not. Haven’t we been over this? No dying, not allowed. You dying is off limits.”

“Tragic.”

“Shut up. Besides, my proposition is much better than dying.”

Peter turned his head, and used the one eye not smothered by the loveseat’s cushion to squint over at Tony. “What’s your proposition?”

“Scream.”

“Uh, excuse me?”

“Just scream. Loud as you can. We’re the only ones in the house, by the way, so you won’t worry anyone. Pep’s with Morgan at her dance class.”

“You want me to scream?”

“It’s therapeutic.”

“It’s weird.”

“No, it’s therapeutic,” Tony shot back, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, kid. I dare you.”

“No, no, don’t make this a dare-”

Tony was grinning, obviously beyond proud of himself. “I bet you won’t do it.”

“Mister Stark-”

“Who knew that Spider-Man was scared of a little screaming, huh?”

“I’m not scared-”

“You seem a little scared.”

“I’m not-”

“You sure? Cause I’m starting to wonder if I need to-”

Peter buried his face into the cushion, and screamed.

He paused. Gasped in a breath that smelled like hot sweat and damp leather. Screamed again.

There were a few seconds of silence after he’d finished. Then,

“You done?”

He rolled onto his back, giving Tony his full attention. The man had his legs propped up on the coffee table, arms folded behind his head: the picture of relaxation. Definitely not how you’d expect someone to look if they’d just had a sixteen-year-old kid screaming their head off in their living room.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m done.”

“Feel better?”

“A little,” he admitted, and it was true. The frustration was still there, lingering like a pit in his chest, but he knew it’d probably stick around until the next day, anyway, so any relief was, well, a relief.

Mostly, he was just feeling guilty for feeling those things in the first place.

“You’re allowed to be pissed off sometimes, y’know,” Tony said, studying his face. One day, Peter was determined to uncover how it was that his mentor always seemed to know exactly what he was thinking before he’d even finished thinking it. “It’s called being human. Even freakishly precious kids like yourself aren’t immune to that particular tragedy.”

“I don’t like it, though.”

Tony laughed. “I know. Seriously though, Pete, you’re a good kid. Give yourself some leeway. Not everyone can be cheerful all the time.”

Peter sighed, shoving a cushion off the loveseat just because he could. “But if I’m not cheerful, who’s gonna be?”

“Uh, I don’t know, maybe jolly old Saint Nicholas?” Tony rolled his eyes. “Anyway, who gives a shit? Everybody’s supposed to get their day in the sun, but that means that you’re allowed a day in the darkness, too.” He shuddered. “God, look what you’ve done to me. I just got poetic.”

Despite the resentment still brewing him his gut, he couldn’t resist Tony’s prodding. “It was good, Mister Stark. Like, really good. Like, Shakespeare who? Sorry, I don’t know him.”

“You’re obnoxious.”

“Hey, I’ve had a bad day.”

“Are you gonna sing a sad song just to turn it around?”

“Daniel Powter.”

Tony stared at him like he’d just spoken a foreign language. “Excuse you?”

“Daniel Powter,” Peter repeated. “He’s the guy who did that song, Bad Day.”

“Well, thank god I know that now,” Tony said, reaching out for the remote and turning on the TV. “Now, I say we drown our sorrows in awful television and pizza for dinner. Thoughts? Comments? Objections?”

The cabin: haven, lighthouse, midnight McDonald’s. All things that called out to people in the dark. “Sounds good to me.”

It looked like they were going to move on, that the previous moment had passed, but then Tony stalled, face growing serious again. “Actually, one last thing before I let you change the subject for good.” Tony pointed at him with the remote. “Remember this: you’re allowed to clean up your own messes before you clean up everybody else’s, and you’re not responsible for other people.”

“I feel responsible for other people,” Peter muttered.

“Yeah, well, you’re delusional.” Tony turned back to the screen. “Now: Family Feud or Kitchen Nightmares?”

“Star Wars!” Peter exclaimed, just to lighten the mood, and to see Tony’s face.

Sure enough, the fond-annoyance blossomed within a second.

“No-”

[danetobelieve]

Who’s Fext? || Luce and Winston

As weird as it was being at a high school alumni event, Winston had to admit that at least Luce was there. She was cool. All the Vurals were. In their own way. If they had been forced to go through something like this alone then they weren’t sure that they would’ve come out of it entirely sane. They were dressed appropriately for the event. Just office wear really, a shirt and trousers, a jacket, sneakers, a hoodie, okay maybe they could’ve made more of an effort. But this was something that they were doing to keep their mother happy, rather then because they really wanted to. “Thank god,” Winston said as they headed out of the hall where the event had taken place, “I wasn’t sure that I could take another “have you ever shot a gun?” question if my life depended on it.” 

Why the high school had wanted her here was beyond Luce. She didn’t think that “tattoo artist at a local shop” ranked all that highly on the list of things that would inspire kids to stay in school. But, she’d spent her day in the art classes, talking to kids about what she did and how her classes had helped prepare her for her career. Which was objectively a lie-- what she’d learned as an apprentice was what had made her successful. But, they didn’t need to know that. Plus, it was good to see Winston here. She’d spent the last five years living out in her cabin, very deliberately avoiding other people. But, it wasn’t bad seeing the neighbor kid again. “You could have just lied. Would have been fun to see the teacher just go wide-eyed and pull the plug on the whole thing.” Luce said with a grin. “I straight up just told the kids that I dropped out of college a semester in.” SHe said as they walked down the hall together.

Laughing Winston couldn’t help but imagine what the AV club kids -- or whatever the current Gen Z equivalent was -- would say if they tried to claim that they had dropped out of college. “I don’t know if it would work as well for me if I tried to lie about dropping out of college or anything like that, if anything I think that they would know that there is no way that I can actually make it anywhere meaningful in my career without college.” They shuffled their feet as they made their way through the corridors of their old high school. High school hadn’t been the best, and they didn’t exactly miss it. Winston hadn’t really found their feet till college and at that point it was nice that they could put high school well behind them. “Besides, I think I’m still too hard wired to be a good student to fuck with a teacher like that. They probably don’t want to be here either.”

“That’s a good point. Your whole deal requires a lot of studying and shit.” Luce said with a nod. Winston had always been good at that sort of thing-- they’d pretty much grown up together, their interests in tech stuff had gone a long way back. “I figured. But, this is why you’re the one with the internship with WCPD. You’re good and law abiding like that.” Stretching, the material of her flannel shirt rubbed against her forearms in an almost suffocating way. She’d figured it wouldn’t have been a great idea to roll up in her usual outfit-- leather jacket, tank, and jeans-- so she’d worn a flannel under her usual jacket. It didn’t hide the tattoos on her hands, but the art teacher had known who she was inviting when she’d extended the offer. As they walked down the empty hallways, Luce glanced down one of the corridors, a smirk growing on her face. “Hey. Do you remember Mr. Blume? Taught chemistry? Wanna pop by and see if he’s still teaching here?”

“I mean, it is all just practice, just a different way of practicing to the work that you do. Besides, my kind of practicing is a lot less permanent then yours, I don’t know if I would have the nerve to give someone a tattoo, I’d be terrified of fucking up.” Winston swallowed at the thought, imagining how angry they would be if someone gave them a bad tattoo. How did people work their way around something like that? They knew that they definitely didn’t have the spine for it. “Wow, am I that easy to read?” Winston asked with a shake of their head, they tugged at the rolled up sleeves of the shirt they had worn today, wishing that they had taken a leaf out of Luce’s book and dressed more casually. A t-shirt would’ve been more comfortable. AS they moved down the corridors and headed towards the classrooms which were called ‘labs’ they found themselves nodding. “Oh hell yeah, I loved Mr. Blume, he was like the best teacher that they had in this place, is he still around?” Winston made their way down the corridors, in some ways it was like nothing at all had changed. Things seemed to be mostly the same and yet they were different. “Think he’s got the same classroom?” 

“That’s why there’s a three year apprenticeship. You practice on oranges for a long time, then pig skin, then yourself.” Luce said, rolling up her sleeves and showing them a faded and honestly kind of shitty crescent moon she had on the inside of her wrist. It was far from her best work, but she kept it as a reminder of how far she’d come in the last few years. “You just work until you’re too good to fuck up.” She said with an easy shrug. “And, you’re only easy to read cuz we grew up together, goofball.” Luce teased. As the two walked down the hall, she couldn’t help but smile a bit wistfully. High school hadn’t been too bad for her, honestly. She’d had to deal with being known as “Bea’s Little Sister” for a while, but by the time Nell and Winston got to high school, she’d carved out her own little niche in the art wing. “He might. I just remember blowing shit up when we learned about combustion reactions. That was fun.” She said with a smile. 

“Three years of training so that I could potentially ruin someone’s skin permanently,” Winston chuckled and shrugged, “I don’t think after all of that I would trust myself to do a really good job. But then again I was never the artist that you were.” They glanced at the tattoo and raised an eyebrow. “Damn, you actually did tattoo yourself, that must have been a weird experience.” Luce really seemed to be in her element when it came to tattoos and Winston was kind of impressed. “True, I think when you’ve known a family as long as the Dane’s and Vural’s have known each other then you really get good at reading people, I know exactly what it means when your mom purses her lips. You know how she does.” Winston hadn’t loved high school, they’d not exactly been popular and they’d had friends but they’d also had … well not friends. “He once dropped a tiny bit of sodium straight into a puddle for the class, I don’t think that the janitor ever forgave him for it,” they strutted down the corridor and paused outside of his classroom, peering through the little square window of glass set into the door, Winston spotted him working at the desk at the front of the class. “Hey, he’s in there, you wanna say hi?”

“Eh. It’s all about practice. Some people might start with talent, but that doesn’t mean shit compared to consistent practice.” Luce said, a hint of humor in her tone. That statement could be applied to magic as well. Bea had always been the focus of their parent’s attention, the first born, the one with the flare their parents were looking for. But talent didn’t measure ability. At the mention of her mother, Luce full body shuddered, shaking her head at the mere thought. “You’re not wrong in the slightest.” She agreed. Yet another quote-unquote benefit of living with her sisters… their mothers increased ability to meddle in her life. She fucking hated it. At least when she was in the woods, she’d had some physical distance to keep her family out of her life. Laughing, she grinned at Winston. “That sounds just like him. He is? Shit, yeah, let’s go in there.” Pulling open the door, Luce grinned and waved a hand. “Hey there, Mr. Blume. Still kicking huh?”

“I guess it’s like a musical instrument, the more that you work on it the more confident you are, but also the more able to deal with unexpected shit you are able to be… though I hope with tattoos you don’t often have to deal with any surprises.” Winston laughed gently at the idea of a surprise arising during a tattooing session. That wouldn’t be ideal. Obviously. “It’s nice that you’re back around, I know you had to do your time in the woods and stuff, but it’s cool to actually see you and Nell and Bea more now, there were a couple of years when I was in college and Nell was travelling, kinda felt like you guys were on a different planet you know.” The Vural family had always been beyond good to Winston and they would never forget that goodness. They had given them a lot and they would do whatever they needed to feel as if they were on equal footing once more. Following Luce into the classroom, Winston waved as well. “Hey Mr. Blume, can’t believe you’re still stuck here right…” they fell silent as Mr. Blume’s eyes snapped up and locked with Winston’s leaving a chill to trickle down their spine as they realised something was wrong, “you okay Mr. Blume?” 

“Yep, pretty much. Eh,” Luce paused, thinking about the strange walk-in tattoo that she’d just done the other day. “There are some surprises that can happen. Usually just people saying they’re ‘totally fine’ and then passing out on me. When you decide to get a tattoo, just be honest with your artist.” She advised. At their mention of the time when the family was spread all over the place, Luce’s joking expression wavered for a moment. If Winston thought they were on a different planet then, then call her a fucking astronaut. She’d rather be back in her cabin than living with Bea and Nell. She’d had an entire place to herself, now she had a room and a shed. A great shed, but still a shed. As soon as the two of them stepped closer, Luce’s eyes narrowed, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. There was something off, something evil about Mr. Blume. Not in a typical science teacher way either. In straight up, that’s some bad shit kind of way. As Winston moved closer, Luce grabbed them by the shoulder. “Don’t--” Before she could finish that sentence, Mr. Blume vaulted over his desk and hurtled towards them with unnatural speed.

Winston frowned for a moment, “I definitely think that I would be the type to think that I was totally fine when in actuality I would be moments away from passing out, besides, I’m not exactly the best with blood and shock and stuff…” they sighed and shook their head gently before continuing. “Either way, if I do get a tattoo I will do everything that I can to be entirely honest with whoever is putting a permanent mark on my body. Seems like it is in my best interests really.” They noticed Luce’s expression and immediately realised that she hadn’t felt the same. But now didn’t exactly seem the time to ask her about it, so Winston decided that they would simply have to ask about it later. Or not at all. Depended on how they felt it would be received. They didn’t want to intrude after all. “Fuck, run,” Winston didn’t need to see the empty look in Mr. Blume’s eye, they didn’t need to see the way that they had cleared that desk with a single bound and they didn’t need to see the bee line that they were making towards them, “run run run.” They were pushing Luce out of the door and sprinting after them. “I don’t remember Mr. Blume doing that when we had chemistry together, even when I forgot my homework a few too many times.”

As soon as Mr. Blume yeeted himself over the desk, Luce had already turned on her heel and started sprinting away. Thank god she didn’t go running this morning, her legs were fresh and she needed the extra oomph, given she was hauling ass in heavy fucking boots. “Less quipping, more running!” Luce yelled over her shoulder as she booked it down the hallways. The school was empty, which worked out in their favor. But, as she looked behind her, Luce saw that Mr. Blume was hot in pursuit and gaining fast. There was something about his eyes, a dead look behind them, that just screamed ‘oh fuck no’ to her. “This way! Shortcut outta school!” Grabbing Winston’s arm, she pulled a hard right down one of the hallways towards one of the back entrances she’d used to cut class back in the day. Here’s hoping the door lock was still busted. As they neared the double doors, Luce kicked her foot out to push open the door and ran outside into the darkness. 

It was all that Winston could do to stop themselves from screaming and swearing. Something that they weren’t about to do in front of someone who they had grown up in semi awe of. “Good idea, more running,” Winston said as they glanced over their shoulder and realised that Mr. Blume was easily keeping pace, in fact they might’ve even been gaining on them. Winston was sure that if Mr. Blume had seen them back in the day then they would’ve definitely told them off for running. Luce seemed to know exactly where they were going however, and as Winston saw that Mr. Blume was maybe seconds behind them they tried to pack on a final burst of speed as they exploded out of the school and into the perpetual night. “My car is in the car park, we should just get the fuck out of here and get someone more qualified to deal with this to help.” Things were going well, they were really making progress, they were getting further and further away and then of course, Winston Dane, the clumsiest person in the world had to have two left feet and trip over a curb. 

Luce nodded at Winston’s plan-- it was as good an idea as any and whatever the fuck Mr. Blume was clearly wanted both of them dead. He looked human enough, so maybe if they lured it to the police station, the police would just riddle him with bullets and that would end that situation? Just make up some story about the guy going nuts and trying to murder them? But, as soon as they made it out into the parking lot, Winston tripped and fell over the edge of the curb. Pausing to help them up, Luce gritted her teeth together as she saw that Mr. Blume had not, in fact, been tricked by the sharp turn. “Fuck it.” She said, glancing over her shoulder to make sure she and Winston were the only ones around before holding her hands out and letting free a burst of magic. A ball of fire the size of a softball, concentrated and burning a bright white, soared from her hands towards Mr. Blume. “Get fucked, old man!” She yelled. But, instead of engulfing him in flames, something weird happened. The fire seemed to dissipate, recede, the colors growing dimmer and dimmer until there was nothing but smoke in front of him. 

After learning the truth about the Vural family, Winston had suspected that Luce could also do magic too, but they weren’t about to admit that to them without letting them explain it first. But apparently when she had thrown a literal ball of bright white fire at Mr. Blume, that wasn’t something that they were going to need to do. “Yeah, get fucked…” Winston had made it to their feet just in time to see the fire expand around Mr. Blume, it should’ve burned them away and yet the magic just seemed to dissipate and vanish as if the oxygen around them had been snuffed out, “okay we should definitely run,” Winston said sprinting past Luce and grabbing her hand, pulling her towards their complete shit mobile. Their ankle twinged gently as they ran, the mostly healed wound that they’d received from the weird gremlin thing at UMWC not loving the amount of aerobic exercise that they were getting. Looking back, Winston tried to think of something that would buy them more time, do anything to get them more space, they had a plan, but it would take them a minute to enact it and they wanted to make sure they were in the car first. 

The effort of throwing the ball of fire barely winded Luce, but it was the irritation of watching the man just continue to pursue them that really got to her. What the fuck? How did he just do that? There was no way that he would have been able to just… dissolve her magic like that. It was a fucking fireball. Letting out growl under her breath, she raised her hands again, intent on nuking this man into the ground. But, before she could conjure up another ball of flames, Winston had grabbed her hand and yanked her towards their car. “I can take him!” She protested, but when she saw the way that they were limping, she gritted her teeth. Even if she wanted to try and duke it out with Mr. Blume, there was no way that Winston would be able to manage. They shouldn’t be caught in the middle of this shit. “Ah screw it, the car it is.” She said, running ahead towards the familiar looking vehicle. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” She yelled, watching as Mr. Blume continued his relentless pursuit after them. 

“You can absolutely take him I am completely and totally sure of it, but at the same time the guy just absorbed what looked like a white hot fireball, which by the way was very very cool, and I don’t really want to find out what the hell else they can do.” Winston reached into their pocket and dropped their keys immediately. Great. “Uh, if you could throw a few more fireballs at him whilst I get the keys then that would be great,” Winston was already pressed flat to the tarmac of the car park, they were wriggling under the very greasy and dirty underside of their car in an attempt to reach their keys, praying that they would be able to get them before whatever the hell Mr. Blume was got to them first. Somehow they didn’t think that when their old chemistry teacher got their hands on two of his former students that he was going to explain covalent bonds to them or quiz them on the periodic table. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Luce groaned, but stepped up to bat nonetheless. Rolling her sleeves up, she took a deep breath. Calm. Steady and calm. Disregard the neighbor kid behind her fumbling with their keys, completely ignore the murderous chemistry teacher on a warpath. Just straight up forget the fact he’d made her fireball completely vanish in a puff of smoke. None of that mattered, none of it. There was only the fire inside her. The burning, white hot energy. Flames she so carefully stoked and tended to, urging her onwards. And all she had to do was let them free. With a sharp exhale, Luce held out her hands and jets of red hot fire streamed out from her palms. Not fireballs, he’d already demonstrated he didn’t give a shit about those. No, she was going for volume this time. The parking lot lit up with the red hot glow of flames, shooting twenty feet in front of her from both of her hands. Aiming at the ground, she urged the magic on, fueling the fire to burn, even on the empty asphalt. Pulling back her hands, sweat dripped down the side of her face as she glared triumphantly at Mr. Blume, who had stopped for a moment on the other side of the flames. 

As Winston’s fingers curled around the ring of their keys, they dragged them towards them and managed to bound up to their feet, slipping their keys in the lock of the car they pulled the door open and slipped the keys into the ignition. As they turned it and heard the car roll over a few times before sputtering into life, Winston thanked whoever had given them luck today because their car never ever started first time. Turning around, they were just in time to see Luce’s hands fire … well flames in great jets in front of them. A huge wall of fire erupted into life and Mr. Blume was hidden from view. Winston’s jaw fell slack and they were awe struck by the sheer display Luce had made. They’d managed small magic but nothing as big as what Luce had just done. For a moment, Winston was convinced that she’d saved them. Second time lucky right? And then, the most terrifying thing that Winston had ever seen happened. Mr. Blume appeared inbetween the flames that licked the open air, and then stepped through the magical inferno, causing the flames to shy away from their form as they made their way forwards. The heat seemed intense however, and Winston was convinced that they could see some of the skin on Mr. Blume’s face sizzle in the heat of the air, but they were through the wall of fire and making their way towards the car. “Luce, get in now!” they snapped, throwing the door open as they spun the car around and revved the engine, ready to speed away. 

The second Mr. Blume vanished from sight, Luce had a fleeting moment of exhilaration. She’d done it, she’d made him back off. Maybe she’d even-- before she could get too happy, he appeared again, in the middle of the flames. Her magic was repelled away from him, skirting around his form as he took a slow step towards her. His eyes stared at her, unflinching, entirely focused on her. A chill ran down her spine and she recoiled. “What are you?” She asked, more to herself than to him. Before either of them could respond, Luce heard Winston’s car roar to life, heard them yell at her to get in. They didn’t need to tell her twice. Turning tail, she ran for the door and slid inside, slamming the door shut. Grabbing hold of the Oh Shit Handle, she stared through the window as Mr. Blume continued to come for them. “Let’s get the hell outta here!”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” Mr. Blume was sprinting towards them, Winston could hear their footsteps and see them hurtling towards them in their rear view mirror. They shifted gear, slammed their foot on the accelerator and felt the wheels spin in place for a moment before the car shot off. Keeping their eyes bouncing back from their mirrors and the windscreen, Winston reached inside of themselves and harnessed the well of energy that they accessed in times of magical need. Taking a deep breath, they began chanting under their breath. Mr. Blume was moving with surprising speed and Winston could see them cutting across the car park as Winston was forced to weave between the cars that were still parked here, which wasn’t many. As they reached the exit to the school, Winston turned left and finished their incantation. As they turned left an identical copy of their car appeared to peel off towards the right. Winston slammed the speed on, heading towards the one place that they could think of which might have some information on what the hell this all was and what was going on here. “Fuck, that was really fucking close.” 

As they zipped out of the parking lot as quickly as Winston’s car would allow, Luce slumped in the back seat, panting from the effort. Doing a mental check of her energy levels, she grimaced. She’d expended more of her energy on that than she’d originally thought she would. And it didn’t even phase him. What the fuck was Mr. Blume? As she stared out the window of the car, she was startled to see an illusion of their car appear in the middle of the road. What? That wasn’t her. Which meant… Leaning forward, Luce grabbed the back of Winston’s seat to stabilize herself. “Winnie. When were you gonna tell me you were a spellcaster, huh?” She asked, exhaustion letting her annoyance come through in her tone a bit more than she intended. 

Perspiration beaded on Winston’s forehead as they slammed their foot down as hard as it would possibly go. They knew that they needed to eat, but they would have to do that later. But they’d found that for them, after using any amount of magic it was important to have a sudden and ferocious hit of calories as soon as possible to avoid too much of a deficit. “Sorry, I ….” they swallowed, “towards the beginning of this year I found out about all of this and I just haven’t been telling people about it because honestly I’m not very good and I also know that with Miriam Flemming out there it isn’t exactly safe to be broadcasting that information.” They took a left, then a right, then three more lefts, then two rights and another right, finally convinced that they were safe, they turned the wheel and headed for the old Scribe building. “But, we need to work out what that was and how we’re going to deal with it, because Mr. Blume is too dangerous to just leave to their own devices apparently, but I have a place we can go.” 

[sloturtle]

DBH Headcanons: DPD pt. 2

Gavin is gen Z. There is a 98% chance he flossed and did the Fortnite default dance.

That bastard was also a troll on Pubg and VRChat, you cannot tell me otherwise

You guys, Hank... Hank had to have been one of those millennials who was like "The fuck is gen z doing, stop with the fidget spinners and sadness! Are you guys even okay!?"

When Connor showers, he sits in a towel like E.T while Hank gets him pajamas.

Likewise, Connor sets out Hank's outfit for the next day. (You can take this as romantic or familial affections, but still)

Gavin had a Juul. Shit head.

"Connor, play Despacito"

Holy shit, guys. The DPD actively reference B99 and Fowler outwardly hates it, but secretly loves it.

"Connor, play I Want It That Way"

Someone in that goddamn police station played a uke at some point- I feel it in my bones

Fatalistic humor has stuck around even through their adulthood, so someone says "Victim was found dead this morning-" "Lucky bastard."

"The suspect reportedly poured coffee on themself and then climbed into a fish tank." "Mood."

"Says here they overdosed on twelve(12) types of drugs and fell fifteen(15) feet from the second floor balcony of the strip club." "They really lived their best life, huh?"

John Mulaney quotes up the wazoo

At one point, people just post sticky notes with memes on them everywhere. Like, some say "Zendaya is mechee" or "Sans Undertale"

"Connor, play The Cha Cha Slide"

Fowler: "There's only one thing worse than a killer-" *yank*

Gavin: "An android."

Fowler: "nO-"

There's a lot of meme related chain emails that get sent out and everyone hates it.

[cncobby]

What superhero CNCO would be pt 1

soo this is a bit different(?? kinda not really??) than my usual headcannons but i hope you guys like it!! 

basically what i’m doing is starting a little mini series of cnco as superheroes/what superhero cnco remind me of! (fun fact im a big marvel nerd) kinda like a little au about their lives as said superhero. this is an AU headcannon(aka alternate universe) so they aren’t like famous singers here if that makes sense...theyre more or less “normal people (or as normal as superheroes can get)

i’m going to be posting seperately for each member bc they turned out to be way longer than i anticipated jlsdkfjs but pls let me know if u like it!! i got inspired bc me and @cncocubanita went to go see the new animated spiderman and it was SO. GOOD. 

JOEL

spiderman/peter parker 

uh disclaimer im mixing all spidey boys in this one meaning its a combo of original, amazing spiderman, spidey tom holland, and the spideyverse one

joel DEFINITELY fits the role of spidey boy

lowkey a dweeb

lowkey cute as fuck

also he’s a gen z kid and has the same humor as peter

(that one scene where he’s like ‘oh nooo you’ve found my biggest weaknes...small knives...’)

ya thats joel 100%

super dorky and awkward around girls like peter too

he’s a student at your local college and attempts to flirt with you but ultimately fails 

like all the time

u know that one scene in spiderman: homecoming where peter has the mask on and is pretending to talk to liz? 

yeah joel does that

eventually u do find out he’s spiderman

listen it was an accident but also he sucks at keeping secrets???

so it wasnt ... that hard to figure out

he’s trying to flirt with u one day when he accidentally shoots out webs

his eyes widens and he starts laughing nervously and fumbling over his words (more than usual) 

“haHAHAAHA WOW DID YOU SEE THE WEATHER TODAY??? SO NICE HUH”

“...i mean its raining but i guess”

“oH yEah i mEan who doESn’t love sOMe rAIN???”

literally his voice is cracking HELL throughout this conversation

he wants to: big die bc god damn it why does he have to look dumb in front of you

after deciding to ignore how weird he’s acting you were ilke “well i love getting coffee on rainy days, wanna come?”

(bc u obvi had a crush on him too i mean who wouldnt look at the cute dork) (he obviously didnt know this)

he was like YES so fast

him to himself: “goddamn joel can u RELAX don’t scare her”

so u guys spend hours talking over copious amounts of coffee

this becomes a routine thing eventually

you guys going to your fave coffeeshop and doing hw and lowkey (highkey!!) flirting 

becoming bff’s that arent really just bff’s if u know what i mean

u start piecing things together when he starts leaving randomly after hearing sirens outside

or when he shows up to school the next day looking a bit more worn out and bruised than usual

so naturally being the nosy person u are

u go over to his house and sweet aunt may believes you when you say you have a project

so ur sitting there just waiting

and sure enough there’s spidey boy climbing thru the window

nearly screams when he see’s you curiously staring at him from his bed

“so... this is what you’ve been up to”

“hahaHAHAHA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE???”

attempting to cover up the spiderman costume 

which obviously fails bc he’s literally covered head to toe

eventually he just sighs and flops down next to you on the bed

“do you hate me?”

“how could i hate you i love spiderman”

well that caught his attention

“oh really now”

trying to act all cocky but u just shove him like 

“ya dont get excited dummy i CANT BELIEVE YOU DIDNT TELL ME”

“whoops?”

u guys stay up the whole night just talking about his spidey adventures with u yelling at him in between stories bc yOU CANT BELIEVE HE’D PUT HIMSELF IN DANGER LIKE THAT

aunt may finds you two cuddled up the next morning<3

pls let me know what you guys think!! spoiler if these first headcannons does well i’m thinking about expanding the series ... stay tuned to see ;)))) 

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

No, It's Definitely Funny

Prompt: Can I request a second part to "Let's Call It Funny" where Bucky, Sam, Steve, and Peter unite forces to confuse and concern all the other avengers (with at least one instance where two or all of them respond to something by pretending to jump off a building?) Love you! -Auggie

Does it count as being back on my bullshit if I never left?

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: none, unless you need a warning for gen z humor

Pairings: it's still found family hours

Word Count: 2259

Peter’s gonna be honest, he may or may not have some competition for the funniest person in the Tower right now.

Because let’s look at the list here:

Traumatized? Everybody and their private jet’s worth of vintage and designer baggage needs therapy.

Queer? If you think Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, or Sam Wilson is straight, you need to tell them everything they’ve ever done to make you think they’re straight so they can stop doing it immediately.

Superhero? Yeah, okay, shush, now you’re being stupid.

Neurodivergent? Have you seen the way these men behave? Definitely the model of Perfectly Normal Person™, what on earth are you talking about, absolutely 100% Normal™.

The only things he’s still got going for him that the others don’t are high-schooler and trans. That’s not a lot when it comes to the fact that hey, two of them are from the Great Depression—let’s be honest, they’re the OGs when it comes to fatalistic humor—and they’ve all got years of practice.

Sure, Peter’s got some trauma-given raw talent, but it’s not refined by years and years of throwing yourself off of buildings and out of planes to avoid having conversations about your emotions.

The day Aunt Nat dropped all of SHIELD’s files on the Internet and Peter found out that Steve yeeted himself out of a plane—without a parachute!—to avoid Nat’s prodding about getting a date was the best day of his fucking life.

“Don’t you go stealing my moves there, kid,” Steve had scolded playfully, winking over the rim of his mug.

“Try and stop me, I dare you.”

“And this is why,” Tony had sighed, looking every bit his 79 years—“Hey!”—as he watches this interaction go down, “you have a parachute built into your suit.”

“I’ll just wear my old one, don’t worry about it.”

“That heinous thing that’s just a cut-up old hoodie and goggles? Peter, no, that thing is being held together with safety pins and hope!”

“I mean, me too, so it’s fine.”

“Peter!”

“Also, like, it’s the one I almost got crushed to death in, so it’s got the emotional trauma seasoning already.”

“Wait—“ Bucky had sat up— “you almost got crushed to death by a building? Sheesh, kid, you’re really flirting with the reaper, huh.”

“It wasn’t so bad, I had training from the years and years of carrying the weight of my sins crawling on my back.”

“At least ask Death for his number next time, he’s not returning my calls.”

“Sergeant, I swear to God—“

“Actually, Death uses they/them pronouns, I asked when I met them last weekend.”

“What the fuck did you do last weekend?”

“Really? Oh cool, well, can you get their number for me? We had a date back in ’45 that they missed.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem.”

“Tony, why are you screaming? Not keeping dates is a very serious matter.”

“Trust me, I speak from experience, Tony, it’s not a good habit to get into.”

“You should respect your elders and not scream while we’re talking to you, mister.”

“All of you shut the fuck up.”

See? On one hand, it’s great to have more partners in this venture of making Tony’s hair turn grey—he’s that age, it’s bound to happen any time soon now— “One more crack about my age, kid, I swear.” — but on the other hand, Peter is seriously losing his massive lead on funniest person in the Tower.

The other thing he’s worried about is Sam’s ability to make it so the others can’t actually worry about him.

Because—listen, Sam Wilson is a fucking national treasure and all you fuckers better acknowledge that. It’s no secret that the Captains take turns going out with the shield, all of them answer to ‘Captain America’ because that’s what they are, but no one—and Peter will never say this under threat of death because he does not need any more of the Steve Rogers’ Puppy Dog Eyes™, thank you very much—no one does it better than Sam.

And that means that Sam fucking Wilson can turn a fatalistic, self-deprecating joke into a motivational speech that doesn’t feel disingenuous or cliché at all and everyone is too busy processing the philosophical revelations they’re having to scold him for his, frankly, outstanding sense of humor.

It’s not fair and Peter can’t do it.

He tried. Once.

Didn’t go very well.

No, he’s not gonna talk about it, let’s just move on.

Sam has offered to catch him a couple of times when he gets himself a little too deep into the Mamma Spider™ or Iron Dad™ trap of feeeelings, and he gratefully scoots out of the way when Sam sits down next to him and just makes another joke.

Sam is also a fantastic role model for the brand of ‘I’m going to the store and only have twenty bucks, stop asking for your will to live back’ jokes.

“Hey, Pete!”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s go, bodega run.”

“Can we pick up some hopes and dreams, too, all of those got scribbled out in fat red Sharpie yesterday.”

“I said bodega run, not Court of Miracles run.”

“But Sam~”

“Listen, kid, if you manage to find your hopes and dreams in this bodega, keep an eye out for your childhood innocence, that might be on the next shelf over.”

“Deal.”

“Do you two need some more therapy appointments?”

“Only got fifteen bucks, man.”

“I’m literally a billionaire!”

Peter eagerly studies under this pinnacle of humor and keeps his worries to himself.

Because if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, and Peter’s sense of humor is wonderful, but he is a tad intimidated by the amount of variety the others have got going for them.

“You’re a fucking terror, Spider-ling, that’s what you are.”

“Not true! I was ‘a pleasure to have in class.’”

“Oh, is that why you’re taking ‘Little Shit’ lessons from Barnes and Rogers?”

“And Sam! Don’t forget Captain Wilson, he is an invaluable part of this team. I’m surprised at your ignorance.”

“Pete—no, that’s not—“

“I’m ashamed for you, Mr. Stark.”

“Listen here you little shit—“

Anyway…

Steve and Bucky have a habit of telling these like, really awful jokes that have Peter in stitches for half an hour. It’s not fair and he doesn’t get why they’re so funny because they aren’t, and yet here he is, laughing anyway.

It’s probably some combination of Steve’s perfected innocent face that he wears when he has to do interviews and Bucky’s habit of not giving a single solitary fuck. But they’re able to make the worst jokes with completely serious expressions and it’s not fair.

“Hey, can you guys come help me with something?”

“Sure, Peter,” Steve says instantly, bounding over with his 95-year-old Golden Retriever energy as Bucky trails behind him like a cat that’s sitting in your lap because he wants to, not because he likes you or anything, “what’s up?”

“I have a history project on WWII due tomorrow and I haven’t started it yet.”

Bucky snorts, taking a swig of coffee and sitting down on the floor. Which, same. “You got your eulogy planned?”

“Drafted, sighed, notarized, but Aunt May said no so I gotta do this.”

“Well, if Aunt May says no then I guess that’s that.”

Tony, from far away in another part of the Tower, has a sickening feeling that May Parker has once again proven that she is the most powerful parent and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“I, um,” Peter mumbles, fidgeting with his pen, “I want to be respectful of your boundaries, and if you don’t want to talk about anything then—“

Because it’s one thing for someone to make jokes about their trauma and another for someone else to go poking and prodding at it.

“Hey,” Steve interrupts softly, nudging him with his knee, “first off, thank you for saying that and we appreciate your respect, but we got you. You worry about enough, sweetheart, let us take care of ourselves.”

Peter gives him a look.

“When it comes to this,” Steve amends, having the decency to look a little sheepish, “we’ll take care of ourselves.”

Bucky scoffs. “Uh-huh.”

“We will, Buck.”

“My therapist will be real happy to hear that.” He looks up at Peter and winks. “Besides, what good is our trauma if we don’t pin it up and display it for good grades?”

Peter huffs, the joke undercut a little by the way Bucky knocks his foot against Peter’s and Steve’s arm stretches over the couch behind him.

Peter has to resist the urge to lean his head onto Steve’s shoulder, because then Steve’s hand will come up and ruffle his hair and Peter’s eyes will droop slowly closed as he loses himself in the warmth and safety of Steve’s embrace and then Steve will lean down to press a kiss to his temple and—

Right. Homework.

“What’s it on specifically,” Bucky asks, clearly spotting the temptation on Peter’s end, “home front? Overseas? Time period?”

“Uh, it’s an analysis of total war.”

“Like, how much of the country was devoted to the war effort?”

“Yeah, basically. It’s talking about how the Nazi War Machine made their war total and how that extends to a lot of other countries, but also about the reasons why the war was fought—“

They delve into a conversation about total war, Peter pointing out how Italy’s motivation for territory keeps it from being a total war on their part, Bucky speaking to how the different dynamics worked in various countries and the fallout, Steve bringing up how much of the home front was devoted to bringing attention to the war being fought overseas. Then, of course, as is inevitable, they devolve into storytelling.

Peter’s notebook—with notes! He did his job!—is set aside as he gives in to the need to let Steve cuddle him on the couch. Come on, the man is warm and big and gives good hugs, how is he supposed to not? Bucky sprawls out on the floor, leaning back on his hands as he smiles fondly.

“You know,” he remarks casually, “I fought a Nazi in my pajamas once.”

Peter blinks sleepily. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, though how he got in my pajamas, I have no idea.”

Peter snorts. Then he giggles. Then he’s collapsing into Steve’s side, positively sobbing with laughter.

It’s not funny.

It’s really not that funny.

But here he is, fucking dying, and he doesn’t even have the wherewithal to welcome the sweet embrace of oblivion.

“Okay, note to self,” Bucky murmurs when he’s calmed down a little, wiping away tears, “sleepy spider likes corny jokes.”

“Just don’t break our baby spider, Buck, Momma Spider would kill you in cold blood.”

“Listen, if Natasha Romanoff kills me, don’t prosecute. That’s on me.”

Peter can’t do corny jokes. He really can’t. He just sounds like he’s a recording so old it’s unintelligible and it’s bad. He has a reputation to maintain here!

However, there is one sense of humor that Peter is very eager to learn and adopt, and hey, it might actually be Iron Dad™ Approved!

It’s a rookie mistake, asking Bucky Barnes for a hand, but in his defense, Peter was left unsupervised and was distracted.

“Hey, Bucky, can you give me a hand?”

“Sure thing, Peter.”

Something nudges his arm and he looks down. It’s Bucky’s metal arm, bumping up against his elbow.

It’s a cheap joke. It’s bad. It does not deserve Peter’s laughter.

He snorts anyway.

“That’s on me,” he says after a second, “you know what, that’s my fault.”

“What, is this not what you meant?”

“No, no, you’re fine.” Peter scruffs a hand through his hair. He looks down at the prosthetic again. “Well, that’s disarming.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to snort. “You gotta hand it to me, though, it’s a good joke.”

Oh, it’s on.

“No, no, of course, I understand. You really can’t let an opportunity like that slip through your fingers.”

Steve chokes on his next sip of coffee. “Stop making the kid shoulder the burden of making puns with you.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Don’t palm this off on someone else, Steve, you’re as bad as he is.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Peter shrugs. “You just gotta knuckle-down and find the right one.”

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had to reach for puns?” Bucky hefts his arm.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say a lot.”

“Jeez, Pete, good one.”

“What, are you not finding them humerus?”

Sam’s gone, Steve shortly after. Bucky just grins proudly at him.

Then there’s a massive thunk from behind them. Peter turns around to see Tony slamming his forehead into the counter.

“You are all going to kill me,” he mutters, glaring up at them, “all three of you.”

“Oh, come on, Mr. Stark, Captain Barnes would never hurt you.”

Tony raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“After all,” Peter grins, gesturing to Bucky who is doing a very good innocent face—he must’ve been taking notes from Steve— “look at him, he’s completely armless.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker—“

Okay, so maybe it’s not Iron Dad™ Approved.

Oh, well.