#no wonder there's so much peter whump

[idk-bruh-20]

Irondad fic ideas #134

Fic where everything in the current MCU has happened

...for Peter.

In fact, Mysterio captured Peter right after Endgame. Everything that happened since -- Europe, his identity, May -- has been an illusion.

Mysterio even altered Peter's memory of the battle against Thanos to torture him. He doesn't remember the rush to get Tony to a hospital. He doesn't remember being kidnapped. He believes Tony died on the battlefield

Which is why, when he's suddenly in a cell and Iron Man bursts in, frantic and alive, Peter has a hard time telling what's real.

[xoxo-ren-xoxo]

Hermitcraft / Life Series Fic Recs

Because I love so many of them...

I'll split the fics into completed and updating fics, and try to only recommend currently updating fics (i.e., not abandoned). I'm going to write a little about why I like each fic and what the general vibes are - so this is also a kind of review I guess?

I've tried to @ the authors if they have a public tumblr. Sorry to anyone who didn't want to be tagged, I can remove any @ if you ask (or if I have embarrassingly tagged the wrong person). Anyway, enjoy, and I appreciate reblogs because I want as many people to see these fics as possible!!

This ended up being incredibly long so I'm putting a divider here. Click to keep reading!!! Also, fair warning: shipping ahead! Some fics will have mild sexual content, please read the tags if you are unsure <3

Updating Fics

I have already recommended Help Me To Breathe, lost in the dark (he's got a heavy heart), and There Are Monsters Nearby in this post, so I won't explain why I like them a second time, but definitely check them out!!

Death's A Good Gig by @mawofthemagnetar is probably going to be finished by the time this post gets to you, reader, but I'm putting it here anyway. It's short and sweet, one of my favourite representations of Zedaph (or, Zedeath) I've read, and just a joy to experience. If you like grim reapers and discussions of unions, this one is for you. Also I need more Zedaph in my life.

Look, I'm Sorry, Please Stop Scaring Everyone by @cat-in-the-desert reminds me a lot of a particular TV drama I liked when I was younger, which followed a similar premise. This fic follows Mumbo (vampire) and Grian (ghost) as they get up to various housemate shenanigans and meet their local magic-expert and salesman Scar. This fic is fun, but still includes a nice amount of Feelings and hinted-at Angst which I really love. It's lighthearted, but never boring.

It Hurts To Hope by Inquillitory is my favourite of the "Grian crash lands into Hermitcraft and causes problems for everyone" genre. Seeing how many fics there are with that premise, I think that says a lot. It handles Grian's weird Watcher stuff really well. Honestly, I just want to know what happens next!

killing the boy in the tv by @raspberrystruck is like a sickfic on steroids. If you want Grian with so much past trauma he forgets how to function in society, this is basically the fic for you. I really love how hybrid traits affect the characters' interactions in this fic, and how everyone is kind of messed up because of the imbalance Grian brings. It is wonderfully descriptive in all the right places!

Love Me Like I'm Dead by @daniofcrows is such a gem. You know how hard it is to find good Xisuma whump? It's impossible. I absolutely love how Xisuma and Evil X are characterised in this, and I am obsessed with the unique take on hanahaki disease which I have never seen handled in this way before. The balance between flashbacks and present day is maintained wonderfully and I cannot wait to continue reading this one. Wow.

Oh, you wanted me to do a verse? by @bugbbear is... kind of indescribable. It's horror. It's comedy. It's the apocalypse. It's boatem. Scar eats someone. One of the most interesting and unique apocalypse stories I have read. Slowly updating but worth the wait, in my opinion. This one NEEDS more attention.

So Much For Stardust by @a-plethora-of-peters is basically one of my all-time favourites. Which is a damn good achievement seeing as I don't usually read ZITS fics. Like, ever. In this fic, Skizz is a human abducted and hurt badly by aliens, now recovering in the care of good aliens who don't know how 'sentient' he is. Every update of this one makes me smile, it is wonderful. I love how the characters are written and how the different perspectives are shown. It is just great.

Solar Waltz by @raspberrystruck and aroundtheclock is a brilliant and very very sad regression fic. I love fluffy regression fics as much as the next guy, but this one just... hits different. The hurt/comfort levels are off the charts. Grian is so damn cute the whole time, while also being harrowingly complicated and sad. I am so ready for whatever comes next.

Tango's Castle of Cards by @evilrat-sabre is the one where Tango is a BUG. He's just a little guy (horror). This one is so beautifully written, with poetry-type interludes and perspective changes that really make everything feel so much more impactful. Finding out your buddy is a murder bug isn't the easiest thing in the world. I love this so much.

Traveling Thieves {Dark Fantasy AU} (series) by @amethystfairy1 is basically one of the series of all time. I know I keep saying that but it really really is. I love a good fantasy au, and I love an au with hybrids even more. In this world, hybrids are treated like slaves, but it isn't all doom and gloom for the main characters of each installment. There is a lot of hurt/comfort and the different stories feed into each other in really interesting ways. I try to read as much as I can, though I've missed a few because my emails are buggy. Definitely worth reading these fics, especially since now they're all starting to come together!

Completed Fics

Solving Counting Sheep by @theminecraftbee might have rearranged my brain chemistry a little. Another strong contender for 'fics that inspire me to kill Grian', this time with a more concrete notion of "replacement". Three is my favourite fucked up living weapon. It's so rare to find Evo fics in this day and age, too. This fic had me immediately clicking on every update as soon as I got the emails.

Rescue Fire by @imaginethat0327 is one of the most unique takes on a fictionalised life series game that I have ever read. The whole concept is explained in a realistic and easy-to-follow way, as we learn what's happening with the characters. There are several brilliant storylines happening in this one, but my particular favourites are Jimmy & Tango, Joel, and of course Scar & Grian. This fic is full of whump and, well, read the tags, it isn't always pleasant, but those are my favourite things ever. Definitely worth checking out this fic and its currently updating sequel.

don't you know about me? by takenbadgering is a wonderful comedy of errors with just the right amount of angst for a realistic setting type of fic. If you enjoy polyamory miscommunications, rave aesthetics, kandi, school teacher dynamics, and a lovely blend between grumbo, cubscar, and mumscar, this is the one.

Eventually the Birds Must Land by @milo-hypno follows a polyam ship I would have never thought of, and I cannot believe how much I loved it. This married-as-friends fic premise is wonderful, and captures the main trio (Grian, Mumbo, Impulse)'s personalities so well, while balancing them with the incredibly terrifying descriptions of the Watchers and their power. There's a lot of angst here, but it is ultimately hurt/comfort to the maximum degree. I loved reading it as it updated. Yay for gay marriage!

From The Archives (series) by @sixteenth-days was the absolute inspiration for my own Comms AU, and I will never forget its influence on me. As someone basically unfamiliar with TMA, I thought this series might be hard to follow, but it was not! I read all 57 parts in the span of two days, and I think it altered my brain chemistry. Please read it, even if (especially if) you don't know anything about TMA. The Cleo and Grian storyline lives in my head rent free. I mean it. This is horror at its finest. Also there's an audio series of this fic being released rn, which is very cool.

SUPERCRITICAL by @masque-of-plague hits different. It is such a wonderful take on the superhero/HotGuy trope, and it gets so super dark at some points! This one really takes swings at it's fictional government, which of course I love, while at the same time building this brilliantly emotional relationship between Scar and Grian. I do enjoy a bit of enemies to lovers, but the actual plot mixed into the story makes this one extra special. It is thrilling, with action that I don't get to see too often! Great work.

I am weary with contending! is one of the mumscarian fics of all time. From 'this house has people in it'-type horror, to magic gone wrong, to childhood trauma, to attempted assassination, to gender fuckery, this fic has it all. Usually I don't go for convex siblings, but this one is good enough to get a pass from me. Amazingly detailed worldbuilding alongside a brilliantly creative story.

It Spreads by @foxxology may not count as a fic, actually. It's a comic. But it's posted on ao3 so it counts. I was obsessed with this one as it was updating, honestly. It rocked me to my core. The art is phenomenal. The writing is brilliant. I love sculk.

Luck of the sea by Sleepy_Duck is a lovely take on mermaid and human interactions, with Grian as a marine life conservator and Scar as a very neglected mer. This one takes us emotionally in all sorts of directions, and offers lots of hope for the future of the characters. I heavily enjoyed this fic - if you like mermaids and marine biology, check it out.

there are many downsides to being a marine biologist by donnerstag is another mermaid fic but with a pretty different vibe. First of all, it follows what I would consider a rarepair Doc/Martyn. Second of all, reading this as it updated was a thrilling experience that nearly made me cry at certain points. I love how the relationship builds in this fic. It is honestly amazing. The whole idea of experimenting on a sentient sea creature, learning that he can communicate, then losing funding and having to save him from being dissected?!?! It's crazy. I love it.

Thus concludes my fic recommendations. I hope you enjoy at least some of these, and consider reblogging to spread these wonderful fics around <3

[whumblr]

Hey!!! I know I just sent an ask the other day but I didn't what to forget to ask this

Can I have a drabble where jay has a panic attack because he hears some sort of sound that zayne makes (example the click of zayne's knife).

love your writing so much!!

Have a wonderful day and get good sleep❤️

Fidgety

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1

-

Jay didn’t mind afternoon team meetings as much, really. It was a bit of a break in the day for him, half an hour to shut his mind off, sit back, and just listen. Maybe pipe up every now and then, or zone out and mull over the words for his upcoming articles, but mainly, just, listen.

Today however, he was distracted. Or rather, kept getting distracted.

Unfortunately, Peter had a habit of clicking his pen when he was paying attention. He had one of those blue pens with a button on the side that clicked the plunger back. And he was very much paying attention now.

Normally, it wouldn’t really bother Jay and he could shut it out. But, well, first, his nerves were shot, and very close in second, the click sounded like that of Zayne’s knife. A little shk with every click and he could practically see the blade flick out in his mind’s eye. He managed to reduce his flinches with every click, blinked his eyes, twitched his fingers, skipped a heartbeat, but on the inside, everything went haywire.

He forced himself to take deep breaths, keep in control, to stop the hyperventilation from kicking in. Forced himself to focus on who was speaking, on the actual words spoken – that didn’t mean they actually hit the mark; he listened intently but the panic rising scattered the words from their sentences like leaves in the wind.

Calm down. He was safe. He was here in the office. He was—

Shk

He was down on the floor, face pressed against the wood, a heavy weight on the small of his back pinning him down.

Shk

Something cold tickled over his back. Something sharp. Pressure slowly increased and the cold tipped into his skin, breaking it, a wet hot sensation bubbling up, fighting against the cold intruding as if trying to expel it. Then it repeated itself. And again. Hot lines carved into his skin with a cold instrument, by a cold tormentor. The weight draped over his shoulders. A chuckle in his ear. The call of his name, an added fake compliment how he was doing so well—

“Jay.” Dennis’ sharp voice broke through his haze and shocked him back into the meeting room. “Could you write the suggestions down for me?”

Dennis, leading the meeting, stood in front of the whiteboard and held out one of the markers. He had a concerned look in his eyes and beckoned him over.

Jay pulled himself from his own swamp of anxiety and gratefully stood. “Yeah. Sure.” He accepted the marker and Dennis held it a split second longer than necessary. His focus was still on his discussion with Terry, but his eyes briefly snapped to Jay searching his for some form of assurance before he let go and stepped forward, resuming his talk.

Jay fully turned towards the board to hide his face. He squeezed his eyes closed for a second, let out a long exhale, and uncapped the marker, facing the group again.

Shk

Something pressed against his stomach, something cold, sharp. A sharp gasp and he made a tiny jump backwards. But he quickly calmed down again when he realised it was only the magnetic tray for the eraser stuck to the whiteboard.

As one of the other team members was speaking, Dennis slowly walked over to Peter, tapped on the table to get his attention and gestured his fingers down. Peter got the message and put his pen away. A little something about Dennis Jay greatly admired. He himself would never do that, scared of being accused of making a fuss about nothing, inviting confrontation. But Dennis not only did it, he did it without even saying a word, without making the other feel bad.

And best of all: he did it for Jay.

-

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror

@susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime

@freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks

@whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion

@afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8

@withdrawingramen @lolrpop @nugget4427 @light-me-on-pyre @treasureguardingdragon

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt 5 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: what is the appropriate amount of time to forgive your kidnapper?

words: 3.9 k

warning: mob-typical violence. whump. hurt/comfort. allusions to violence. coersion. kidnapping. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. 'only ten one bed oops' trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. nudity. extremely toxic relationships.

a/n - as many of you pointed out in the last chapter, this version of Peter is darker and messier than TASM canon. expect him to make a lot of mistakes before he becomes a changed man. if he changes.

18+. you're responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if you don't remember watching an episode of pop up [music] video on a television network, then keep it movin'.

Back to Part 4

Part 5

She awoke to darkness. Her whole body felt sore. Head throbbing from the onslaught of tears. She felt like a ceramic pot that had been roasting in a kiln for hours.

Stirring from her dreamless sleep, she glanced left and right. Her hands were free of the bindings. Brow curled, she looked over at the closed door, pondering if her captor had snuck into the room while she was out.

Honey sat up with a start, blinking the remnants of sleep from her eyes. She reached for her wrists, finding nothing but an oily residue left behind. Still puffy from the duct tape rash, her skin was sensitive to her touch, but otherwise unharmed.

She glanced up at the closed door. Her stomach churned. She fought the instinct to curl up and hide beneath the bed. The memory of Peter’s fierce gaze lingered, a raw burn in her mind. 

Despite her logic telling her that she was the victim, she still felt conflicted. 

She had been kidnapped, sure— and she needed to do whatever was necessary to survive. Strangely, she still felt guilty for taking a swing at him like she did. As soon as her fingers touched the rock, she slammed it into the side of his head, without much thought.

“What are you, stupid? It’s a wonder you even make it home alive each night!”

She couldn’t quite name what came over her. She dealt a blow to his temple that could’ve killed him. Surprised that it didn’t. And then what would that be like? Could she really find it in herself to kill another human being? Not to mention, she’d be alone in the woods with a dead body, with no clue where she was. 

The thought made her queasy, twisting her stomach into a pretzel. She could’ve just run away, but when it came time to do so, she froze. Typical.

While she was hiding, she watched and listened quietly to his rampage below. Rage was one thing she expected, but not the misery she witnessed. The look she found in his eyes was something else entirely. Heartbreak and relief, like he would burst into tears at any moment.

It made her heart ache to witness it.

And then she hit him with a rock. Like some kind of cavewoman. 

Brilliant idea, she thought disdainfully.

“You need to slow down!” More bitter thoughts flooded her, this time with the voice of her mother. “Always talking too fast! Always moving too fast! You do without thinking. No wonder you mess everything up.”

Her eyes grew heavy with melancholy and exhaustion. Despite the darkness wrapped around her, she felt like sleep was out of the question.

A strange melody crept up through the closed door to her room. Voices. Percussion. Music. Upbeat and entrancing. 

There wasn’t a clock in her room but she had figured it was the middle of the night. Why would Peter be jamming out in the middle of the night?

Her stomach twisted again. The thought of coming face-to-face with him gave her chills. She rubbed her wrists idly. She could feel bruises there. She was afraid to leave the room. But she was also starving, and lamented not having at least one sandwich before her daring and ill-conceived escape. She was also miserably dehydrated, as every bit of moisture had leaked through her swollen eyelids.

And she had to pee. And that was now all she could think about. Her room thankfully had its own bathroom. Swinging her still-booted feet over the edge of the bed onto the floor, she tiptoed to the bathroom and relieved herself.

She thought she heard singing. Bad, out-of-tune singing. Creeping to the door, she placed her ear against the cool surface, trying to identify thes source. Out of curiosity or courage, she twisted the handle and peeked her head around the frame.

By the time she reached the bottom step of the staircase into the living room, she had a full view of the area and Peter was nowhere in sight. The one person who was in the room (and the source of music) was Miles, as he sat at the kitchen bar and dangled a pizza slice larger than his head above his mouth. 

The music was echoing across the room from a tiny portable speaker on top of the kitchen bar. In his own world, the teenager’s head bobbed as he blew steam from his pizza, then took a giant bite. 

She watched curiously as she approached from behind. The giant decorative clock built into the great room wall confirmed that it was incredibly late. Or early. One wouldn’t know it from Miles’ energy, or the volume of his jam session. She looked left and right, expecting to find more people, but saw no one else.

The flow of the music was broken when she accidentally walked into a low-height side table, her knee knocking to the corner. The lamp on top of the table jolted and Miles spun around in the barstool, letting out a piercing screech that could best be described as falsetto.

Honey responded in kind, letting out a shrieking Ahhhhhh of her own. Miles curled himself up on the stool, pulling his palms and one leg up defensively. “Sorry!” she blurted, as he clutched his own chest. “Sorry! So sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“You scared the crap outta me!” Miles said, his panic ebbing.

“I didn’t mean to—wait, is that how you really scream?”

“What about it?!” Miles exclaimed indignantly. “Not the point! You’re the one who’s creepin’ up on people like we’re in a horror movie... Crazy... La Llorona stuff!” The pitch of his voice normalized as he took a deep breath, frustration subsiding. “I dead-ass almost punched you in the face—I don’t mess around!”  

“Sorry, sorry...” Honey babbled, her face twisted in a grimace. “I, uh, didn’t mean... to, uh... Llorona...”

“It’s fine!” Miles sighed, his heart rate slowing. It didn’t sound fine. “It’s over—maybe let’s just not ever mention this again, okay? To anyone? Especially not to people I know.”

Honey nodded her head in agreement, motioning that her lips were zipped and she was ‘throwing away the key.’ 

A few awkward moments of silence passed between them as he reached over and turned down the music on the speaker. He straightened out his zip-up hoodie uncomfortably. A small smile crept up on her face. She found his reaction endearing, and not at all what she expected from—whatever it was they were involved with.

“Um,” she cleared her throat. “Hi.”

Miles gave her a sheepish look. “Hi.”

There was a mountain of awkwardness between them. She looked around, then pointed at the massive box of pizza. “So... post-midnight snack?”

“Oh,” the teenager responded, looking back at the pizza. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re probably hungry.” He reached for the box, opening the lid. “Here, have some. It’s Lucia’s. There’s plenty.”

“Lucia’s?” she exclaimed, pondering the distance between wherever they were to downtown Flushing. She moved to the box, peering inside. “I like Dani’s.” 

“Well, nobody’s perfect. This pie heats up better,” Miles remarked, taking another bite of his slice. 

“Yeah?” Her eyes slid over to Miles. “How fresh is it?”

“Boss said to bring Lucia’s. So I did.” He shrugged his shoulders idly, placing his attention back on his slice of pizza. She slumped with a huff, having been dismissed.

“Boss,” she repeated, a chill going down her spine. “You mean Ben. Or...Peter, I guess,” She glanced around the mostly empty kitchen and living area, almost as if saying his name would summon him like Bloody Mary. “Is he here?”

Miles smacked his lips, wiping his mouth. “Nope, just me.” 

There was a pleasant calmness in his demeanor. It seemed to her that he was the only normal person that she’d met since being pulled off the train. The only person that treated her like a real person. Not that Peter hadn’t tried to show her kindness... or at least, what his mind perceived as kindness.

She rocked forward on her toes, suddenly interested in the fibers of the cardboard box. “Is he... Is he okay?”

Miles avoided looking at her, and she wondered how much Peter had told him about her escape attempt. She wondered why she felt suddenly embarrassed by her actions. Ashamed even. What did that say about her?

“Didn’t say much,” he replied. “Said he needed to take care of some stuff. Told me to hang out in case you needed anything.” 

Something burned in her chest, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. “That was nice,” she stated in earnest. “I guess.” 

“He’s pretty cool,” Miles nodded, matter-of-factly. “Nice guy.”

She bitterly scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

He didn’t respond. He was skilled at avoiding her provocation despite how badly she wanted to start a fight. Passively, he devoured his pizza in record time, then reached over the box to grab a paper plate. It looked sorely out of place compared to the grandeur of the kitchen. 

“Wan’some?” he asked. “I also brought soda and stuff. Boss said no TV, but we can watch a movie on Netflix or something. Or we got a Switch. You ever play Smash Bros?”

It took her a moment for the implications to sink in. “‘No TV?’” she repeated with a growl, letting out a frustrated sigh. “What are we, children?” 

She snatched the paper plate from his hand and reached into the box, grabbing herself a slice of pizza. Without further protest, she bit into the pie, savoring the taste. Lucia’s was superior, she recognized. 

“He said to get you whatever you needed,” he answered, paying her complaints no mind. “The whole house is free range except for the office. But everything else is cool. You can use the gym. There’s a library. The sauna. A pool, if you wanna check that out, too.”

She blinked at him, nearly choking on her pizza. “This place has a pool?” 

“Heated,” he wiggled his eyebrows enticingly. 

She glanced down, conniving. “What about a computer?”

Miles shook his head. “Don’t know about that.”  

“Could I borrow your phone?”

“No can.”

“C’mon,” she pleaded, her voice gentle. “I’m not gonna call the cops. Just wanna check in with my mom.” 

“Can’t bring phones out here,” he shrugged apologetically. “It’s a rule. Phones can be hacked and traced. All you need is a sus text like ‘Hey, I’m here,’ or ‘We issued you a refund for $600,’ and you click on the link and boom. They got you.”

Honey peered at him suspiciously, “Who’s they?”

“No clue.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your ‘boss’ sounds pretty paranoid if you ask me.”

“That actually wasn’t his rule,” Miles explained conversationally. He leaned back in the barstool in a way that made her anxious. “That was Peni. She’s our tech nerd.”

“Peni?” she repeated.

“Yeah, she’s like—a genius.”

Her pizza suddenly became too chewy. “So I’m just a prisoner?” she huffed.

Miles looked over at her for a few moments, considering her. He let out a quiet sigh. “I know it’s a lot,” he said kindly, then added with consolation. “Pete’s a lot. Sometimes.”  Stone-faced, she stared back skeptically. “But he’s a really good dude. Just... he worries. He wouldn’t do all this if he didn’t care.”

She glared at him through lidded eyes. “Do you hear yourself right now?” she spat. “You sound like a Lifetime movie. Do I need to call Child Protective Services?”

“Hey, not cool. M’not a child,” he bristled, offended. “I’m sixteen.” She stared at him with a raised brow, watching as he stuffed another slice of pie into his mouth. “Wan’some Mountain Dew?”

She blinked. Several times. Then resigned herself. “Sure.”

The eerie indigo and orange glow of civil dawn peeked through the bay windows of the great room. It was silent except for soft snores. With weary eyes and a suit jacket which had been wrinkled by physical exertion, Peter wandered into his house even more of an alien than when he’d left it. 

The sort of activities in which he’d participated in earlier that night did that to him. It made him a stranger in his own home. Even more in his own skin.

He paused briefly and took a moment to gaze upon the lanky teenager sprawled out on one of the leather couches. Jordans crossed. sticking up over the sofa arm. A Nintendo controller rested on his chest as he dozed deeply, film forming in the corner of his open mouth. The sight made Peter crack a bittersweet smile. Nostalgia accompanied by an ache of longing. Somewhere beneath Miles’ oversized clothes, there was a good kid who wasn’t all that different from Peter.

Who he used to be. 

His eyes roved across the room to the opposite sofa. Honey was curled up like a cat, still in the blouse and jeans that she arrived in. Her hiking boots were placed neatly next to the couch. The snuggly sight of her made his heart leap into his throat. Her upper body expanded and deflated in a steady rhythm like ocean waves, and the action both entranced and haunted him. The bittersweet feeling in his chest soured and blackened, until it became a guilt-ridden tumor wrapping tendrils around his heart.

He had been so cruel earlier. He erupted into a fit of blind rage. A brute. The kind of anger that made people want to turn their heads. Anger that if Gwen were still alive, she wouldn’t be able to look at without being sickened. He was the sort of person that Aunt May and Uncle Ben would cross the street to avoid.

He thought he’d lost her too. And he was terrified.

No wonder she was scared. It was his fault, to think that she could somehow see him as something other than a monster. Now, there wasn’t much hope in changing her mind.

Peter felt his eyes burn as he peeled them from her lithe form. He glanced down at his hands, observing the deep crimson stains in his skin. Rusty-brown spots soiled the wrinkled cuffs of his dress shirt. 

He’d have to throw it out, he mused. There’d be no getting those stains out. No matter how much time he put into scrubbing. No matter if he flayed his own skin off his bones, the blood would always be there.

His heart rate quickened. He felt bile rising in his throat. With alarm, he disappeared down a hallway, tucking himself swiftly in a washroom. 

When he returned, he was shirtless. His forearms were bright red, stinging with how hard he’d scrubbed. Head down, he crept quietly towards the staircase leading up to the bedrooms on the upper level. 

He paused at the sofa, glancing down longingly at the woman he would never deserve. 

The woman that would never forgive him for how he acted. 

Never forgive him for what he was. The thought made his lower lip tremble.

He didn’t deserve her. This was an undeniable fact. 

But regardless, she was still his responsibility. His to protect. His to keep safe. 

His to keep.

His shadow fell over her as he reached down and gently lifted her from the sofa. Effortlessly, he carried her weight like a towel over his arm, or a down-pillow in his hands. Ascending the staircase with her tucked against his chest, he didn’t miss the way she huddled closer to his warmth. She sighed against the skin over his heart in a way that made gooseflesh rise. 

Gently, he ferried her, like a small boat on a glass lake. He strode past the door to the room that she had occupied and continued down the hallway, headed to the southern-facing end of the house. He approached the heavy oak door to his bedroom and used his toe to push it open. The action barely disturbed her at all. Like floating on a cloud.

Moving through the bedroom darkened by blackout curtains, he drifted across his room and rested her body on the silk surface of the California-king bedspread. Delicately, he placed her head on a 1000-thread count pillow void of any scents other than his own. He hoped that it would smell like her shampoo by the time she woke up. 

He stepped back from the bed, listening the pulsation of her heart. Studied the pace of her breathing. Fixated on her soft features as she floated in her slumber. A familiar pang reached his chest as he watched her, hesitating for only a moment more before he padded to the other side of the bed. 

She sighed in her sleep, nuzzling the softest pillow she’d ever laid on, and shuddered comfortably as two arms wrapped around her waist. She felt herself pulled back and was cradled by a firm form shaping her own. It was warm. She was warm. The breath on the back of her neck was warm.

Her eyes shot open, a small gasp catching in her throat. Rapidly, she blinked through the murky twilight of the foreign bedroom, her heart spiking. 

“Don’t,” she heard a deep, raspy voice whisper in her ear. She went rigid, recognizing the owner of the voice and the body pressed up against hers. Alarm flooded her.

“Please don’t,” he said softly, with a tone that sounded shockingly broken. She was frozen. Stunned. By fear or surprise, or both. 

Another murmur, “Stay with me.”

It was a whimper shaped like a demand. With it, she swore she could feel a tremble in his grip. He buried his face in her hair, his bearded chin tucking into her shoulder. His arms locked her into an impenetrable grip. 

Instinct was screaming at her to break the hold. Told her she needed to fight. Or run, as far and fast as she could manage. 

It wouldn’t be very far. The previous afternoon he proved that he was more than capable of bringing her back. 

She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The way the air from his lungs ghosted over her nape made her eyes flutter shut. 

His arms were heavy. Firm, but not painful. Solid, not tight. She imagined the hearty limbs of the oak in the backyard of her childhood home. Three seasons out of the year, she’d scale into its arbor, hiding from her troubles. She once wanted to build a home there.

She should fight. She should run.

There was a monster in her bed. She was in a monster’s bed. 

And yet, sleep took her soon after. The most peaceful rest she’d had in ages.

When she emerged from her rest, she was alone again. Harsh daylight flooded into the bedroom she hadn’t had the chance to see. After a moment of confusion, she turned around to see the other side of the bed unoccupied. The blankets undisturbed. She glanced down at her own clothes. Though wrinkled and dirtied from her tree climbing adventure and attempted escape, they were intact. 

She was surprised, but even more surprised at the strange mix of... anxiety? 

When is the appropriate amount of time when you’re forced into your kidnapper’s bed for him to... you know... make a move? Was it her? Was she awful, or even worse—did she smell bad? 

The line of self-conscious questioning and odd disappointment frustrated her further. She sighed, silenting cursing her own stupidity, shaking the thought from her mind. 

Someone once told her that if life was a horror film, she’d be the first to die. It would’ve offended her more if she wasn’t wrapped up in the notion that if life could be a horror film, how would any of us know we were in one?

Her mother answered— ”Stupid, stupid girl.”

Attention now turned to the surroundings, she came face-to-face with another real-life magazine spread. A dream bedroom. The coziest jewel of this particular dream home. 

Although it was a modest size, it didn’t feel that way. The primary bedroom was decorated with a soothing blend of alabaster stone, exposed beams of reclaimed wood, and snuggly linen tones. Vaulted ceilings lined with ash. A winding, black iron chandelier dangled over the four-post bed she laid in. A stone fireplace stood opposite from the bed, accompanied by an overstuffed linen chair. Just as in the other rooms, a double-height window accented with floor-to-ceiling drapes towered over the room and revealed the breathtaking mountain landscape.

She sat up and gathered her jaw up off of the bedspread. Wiped drool from her lip. The room was charming and warm, like fuzzy socks and sherpa blankets. Marshmallows melting on hot cocoa. It wrapped around her, like a hug.

Like her visitor last night.

She yanked her eyes off of the rustic-contemporary decor, searching for Peter, as if he would’ve somehow camouflaged himself into the space. Placing her socked feet down on the blessedly toasty hardwood, she peered around curiously. The gentle roar of water running caught her attention as she wandered to the other side of ithe room. An open doorway led into another massive space, one side lined with wardrobe cabinetry and the other half of the room obscured by a wall. 

Idly, she followed the path through what she recognized as a closet larger than her apartment, rounding the corner of the freestanding wall. Clouds billowed around her, as she gazed open-mouthed at the primary bathroom. Sunlight poured in, lighting up the space, bouncing off of white marble and black obsidian glass tile—

And Peter Parker. 

Steam wafting off of his nude form, hot water pouring down his backside. She paused midstep, eyes like saucers. Felt the blood rush to her face. Panic swallowed her. She imagined this is exactly what deers must feel right before getting plowed by an F-150, blinded by headlights. 

Except that she was blinded by his wet pale skin, the way the steam rose from it, like he was the source of heat. The smattering of freckles spread faintly across his shoulders. His palms were flat against the backsplash as he bowed his head into the stream of water. His dark locks slicked back by a cleansing cascade. 

She followed the current down the curve of his shoulders and the peaks of his spine, down to the dimpled valleys of his lower back, and that breathtaking canyon ridge that dips down in a V at his hips— whatever that’s called— and never in her life would she see herself as an ‘ass enthusiast,’ but her mouth was watering now, maybe from the lack of hair on his body (his skin was so buttery smooth, what was his skincare secret?) or the subtle curvature of his shapely cheeks— 

Aimlessly, she collided with a freestanding towel drying rack, sending it clamoring to the tile floor. To her ears it sounded like the whole Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade falling down a staircase into a pile of cookware. She didn’t bother to see if Peter could hear the racket.

Like Icarus into the Sun, she hurled her own body back into the closet before she could be seen. Landed hard on the carpeted floor with a thud. She scattered, scrambling like a crab, on her hands and knees until she could get to her feet and bolt from the room.

In a frenzy, she rushed to ‘her’ bedroom, the one nearest to the stairs. She didn’t breathe again until the door was slammed shut and she rested her weight against it. A fire raged beneath her skin, her face aflame with embarrassment. She dragged her palms down her cheeks, groaning with mortification, sinking to the floor.

At what point is it acceptable to creep on your kidnapper in the shower?

Continue to Part 6

a/n - I've gotten such overwhelmingly amazing feedback on this. thank you so much to each of you that commented, sent me an ask, and big thank you to those of you that reblogged!

don't forget, to be tagged you must reblog so I can keep track of you!

thank you so much, angels!

[takaraphoenix]

with regards to your WIP folder. If you'd like to share anything about 'emergency contact'? Because the name alone is giving me so many whump possibilities for Stiles, that I'm wondering if you're pulling a bait and switch and it's Peter or Chris who has Stiles as his emergency contact…? Or is this a 5 + 1 fic where they all trade off having the brain cell?

AAAH THANK YOU FOR TAKING MY BAIT AND ASKING ABOUT MY FICS. I love talking about the things that live in my brain *^*

(Go visit my post about my WIP folder if ur curious what lives in my brain right now~)

OKAY SO. The thought behind it was that I don't think Stiles would put his dad as his emergency contact, because he never wants to be the reason why his father gets That Call from the hospital again. Stiles was there when his dad got That Call from the hospital about Claudia and he couldn't, he would want his dad to learn about his death from a kinder source, as morbid as that sounds.

So he picks his Alphas as his emergency contacts. And Peter and Chris learn about that when Stiles got into a regular, mundane car accident. Nothing supernatural to hunt down to avenge the boy, much to Peter's dismay, so all Peter and Chris can do is sit in that damn waiting room until Stiles gets out of surgery.

Also, I generally love writing characters being very loopy on pain meds so I think a loopy on pain meds Stiles would be adorable and endearing and a great way of getting Stetopher together ;D

And since I actually already started writing this one, have a little excerpt:

--

“Hello?” Chris’ voice was gruff, annoyed.

“Mister Argent?”

Chris’ brows furrowed at the foreign, feminine voice. “Yes.”

“Mister Christopher Argent?”

Peter was growing impatient in his lap and so was Chris. “Yes. Who is this?”

He already had to lean away from Peter, who was trying to steal the phone and throw it into a corner of the room, assuming – much like Chris at this point – that someone was trying to sell him something. He should have hung up right away when it wasn’t someone from the pack.

“This is Nurse Reynolds with the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. It’s about Mister Stilinski.”

Peter, with his fingers triumphantly wrapped around the edge of the phone, froze. So did Chris.

“W… What?” Chris forced out, swallowing hard. “Why…?”

“I’m sorry but I have to tell you that Mister Stilinski was in a car accident.”

Chris could see his own terror and fear mirrored in Peter’s face, the wolf’s hands having slipped to rest on Chris’ chest now, holding onto them. Stiles. Something had happened to Stiles.

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Hiiii!!! How're you doing? Good I hope!! ahh I'm seeing these amazing reblogs on your page and with College and my F1 brainrot I haven't been able to read Irondad fics 😭😭😭 is it okay if I ask you to give me some recommendations? preferable whump or sickfics (with fluff, lots of fluff) 👉🏼👈🏼 or like which fics did you enjoy the most this year/past 6 months 💙💙💙🩵🩵🩵🩵

Sorry for the delay in answering! I just needed to find the right time to really sit down and make a *good* list. Haha. Here is a list of what I've read recently and enjoyed a lot. Some of it fits better into your criteria than others, and some of them are still in progress, but here's the list! Don't forget to kudos and comment!!

[fic list with links below the cut!]

Paradigm shift by Bergen (T) In Progress (I love where this one is going! Lot's of fun surprises)

Peter got a Stark phone when he was ten. Adrian took him to a big store with lots of TV screens that all played the same video of Tony Stark declaring to the world that he was Iron Man. They ducked behind the microwaves, both of them giggling as Adrian stuffed the phone under Peter’s sweater.

They walked right out the door without tripping the alarm, and Adrian bought him ice cream to celebrate

After his parents die, Peter is taken in by the Toomes’ family. Things slowly, then quickly spiral out of control. All Adrian wants is to take revenge on Tony Stark. All Peter wants is to do the right thing. Why is that so much harder than expected?

Spaghetti and Red Wine by arthropodwithapen (M) In Progress (Lots of good whump moments but also some fluff and angst!)

After Peter's precarious position goes from bad to worse time and time again, he is left all alone with nothing but his anger and resentment at the world to keep him company. He wonders how much more he can take and whether the growing grudge between him and the Avengers will be enough to finish him off for good. Will he be able to complete his mission in time? Does he even want to anymore?

Of course. He is Spider-Man and he has a job to do. And he'll do it even if it kills him. For everyone else's sake.

Strands in the Rope series by Sara (ctrsara) @ctrsara (T) Complete (this whole series and its follow-up are super great. Lots of angst, misunderstandings, and of course, a whole ton of fluff)

A collection of insights starting after the events of Homecoming, mostly from Tony's perspective. The relationship that Tony and Peter had built by the time Infinity War happened (or not - I'm not a big fan) wasn't built on any big world-ending events, but on countless lab sessions, movie nights, smaller emergencies, and conversations. All of these combined to form a bond between them just as strong as blood ties, and just as unbreakable. I feel like we missed out on all that on-screen, so I can never read enough stories that would maybe cover that period. There is a follow-up series called, Unbroken Strands.

Please, Help Me by Muikelle (Not Rated) In Progress (So. Much. Whump.)

Mj watched as they pride apart the car. Her car. The only car she had, the one Tony had gifted her as a graduation gift. The car she and Peter first- well. Anyways. Then Peter was being moved out of it, and slow motion had taken over once more. She was standing to go get to him, he needed her. She needed him. But a man stopped her, told her to sit down, or something of the likes. She was pissed off when they closed the ambulance door and finally took off with her inside, she didn't need to be in there, she needed to be with Peter.

Or Mj and Peter get into a car crash when coming home from spring break.

Iron Dad: Coming Home by JAWorley (T) Complete (I just started reading this but so far it's really great!)

Cold, tired, hungry, and homeless, 14 year old Peter Parker gets taken in by Adrian Toomes and his crew. Mr. Toomes is a great guy who teaches Peter how to survive on the streets, and Peter loves him for it, despite that Mr. Toomes hates Peter’s hero Iron Man and says Tony Stark is out to line his own pockets by stepping on the little guy. When Iron Man appears one day and presents Spider Man with an opportunity too good to pass up, Peter finds himself having to make up his mind about what ‘helping the little guy’ really means. Peter also begins to find out some ugly truths about the things Adrian Toomes and his crew are making, and has to decide if the safety Toomes offers is worth throwing Spider Man’s mission and morals out the window. Can he find that same safety with Mr. Stark? So much of Peter’s future hangs in the balance and depends on the choices he makes. An anti-hero and an anti-villain are just one step over the same line in a different direction.

Double-sided Coin by kingdomfaraway @asyouleft (G) Complete (I have never read anything like this before and it was so so good!)

The Iron Man rarely had assignments that weren’t direct kill orders.

Usually he was given a weapon and a target, with the strict instructions of leaving no one alive, target and witness alike. They didn’t expect him to make too much conversation, to integrate himself into the person’s life, to find a way to gain the target’s trust. He was not a spy. He was a machine made to kill, to take down threats to HYDRA, and to preserve the Greater Good.

When the assignment came from high up to kidnap, not kill, a young boy, Peter Parker, he was a little baffled.

(or How to Make a Deadly Assassin Adopt You: A HYDRA!Tony fic)

How to Get Banned from Monaco (again) by niniblack @niniblack (T) Complete (This is so funny and so perfectly in character. I love it.)

Tony texts Rhodey before they leave for Monaco:

two rules for this trip

don’t let Peter out of your sight

don’t let him do anything Pepper would get mad about

Rhodey: that second one doesn’t leave many options

will you make me a lot of pancakes (when we meet again?) by Peng_Peng (G) Complete (This is some great Ironfam whump, right here!)

Five times hurting you + Five times receiving your kindness.

Peter knew from the first time they met that the kid wasn't going to like him. But Peter could do that. She was his first and only sister after all.

A New Point of View by waitingondaisies (T) Complete (This one is si so fun with lots of funny and serious moments. It's a good balance)

Peter rushes out of school to join Tony in fighting the aliens that appear over New York, leaving behind the problems that plague his life.

He ends up leaving them behind for far longer than expected when an alien substance causes him to swap bodies with Tony. They agree to live each other’s lives to keep the mishap under wraps, giving each of them an up-close and personal view of the other’s hidden problems.

Peter will come to learn that Tony’s life isn’t as glamorous as it appears, and Tony will come face to face with all of the things that Peter never told him about: bullies, unfair teachers, and economic struggles.

Saving the World Does Not a Hero Make by Azure_K_Mello (M) Complete (This isn't an Irondad fic so much as it's an older MCU/X-Men Crossover but I read it again recently because I love it so much)

Years ago, Tony Stark created a brutal weapon. Even when he was the Merchant of Death, he couldn’t bring himself to put it on the market. But, when S.H.I.E.L.D. learned of its existence, they wanted it. Deciding Spider-Man was the weakest link in Iron Man’s armor, Captain America, Black Widow and Falcon were sent to apprehend him — hoping he either knew where the weapon was or that they could trade him to Tony for it.

But, apprehending a fifteen-year-old is more correctly be termed as kidnapping. And what S.H.I.E.L.D. called interrogation was, in actuality, torture. And, when push came to shove, Peter had to save himself when no one else was going to help.

And my shameless self-promotion...

Threenager by happyaspie (G) Incomplete

While on patrol, Peter is struck by a spell that turns him into a toddler. Or mostly into a toddler. His memories, intellect, and experiences are still intact. Unfortunately, that makes being trapped in a toddler's body, with a toddler's motor skills that much harder. His legs are too short, and his fingers are too uncooperative. He can’t ride in the car without a super claustrophobic car seat. He can’t even wash his hands without help and it's all very frustrating. Between the teasing, Tony does his absolute best to help.

I could add so much more to this list, but I think I'll stop here. Haha. As far as sickfics go, @sicktember is coming up soon and I know *I* will have plenty to add to the genera during that event!! So be on the lookout for that, my friend! And Thank you so much for asking me to compile this list!!

[jinxquickfoot]

20 Questions for Writers

I was tagged by @16woodsequ. Thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

82!! And that's counting the one-shot collections as 1 fic.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,572,787

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Still in Marvel, although I've had a few ideas around Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss that I probably would written if my MCU WIP list wasn't so impossibly long.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

The One Where Peter is Bucky's Weakness

Let's Whump the Spider-Kid and Friends!

The One Where Peter is Tony's Weakness

You're Always Spider-Man

The One Where Clint is Tony's Weakness

You guys really like it when I kidnap Peter Parker.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Of course!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

The Worst Thing, it's the only ending I wouldn't call 'happy'. I labelled it 'bittersweet' instead, which I think is fitting. Actually Dollhouse also is a strong contender.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Let's Whump the Spider-Kid and Friends! teeters on the edge of soppy. Everyone is alive post-Endgame, Peter gets a prom with all the Avengers and his high school friends, and the Spider-Kid in question gets a whole month of rest.

In hindsight, I wrote that fic during pretty extreme burnout (that I am now thankfully over), and I can see my need for rest and care just bleeding through Peter in those final chapters. I'm so grateful we both got what we needed.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not for a long time, since the debates over Civil War have... if not settled, maybe don't hold as much interest as they used to.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not yet, but I think I might be brave and include some Winterhawk smut in the Heart of Stone series.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Nope.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. I've come across one or two with eerily similar premises and wondered, but I've never followed up. Tropes are tropes for a reason.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not a translation but Hair is Everything has a podfic!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Many! And tried to many at the same time which was a mistake, but I'm so glad I've gotten to work with so many incredible authors:

The One Where Clint is Steve's Weakness with @16woodsequ

The One Where T'Challa is Shuri's Weakness with @fluencca

The One Where Bruce is Thor's Weakness with @onwardmeteors

The One Where Peter is Peter's Weakness with @spagbol99

The One Where Bucky is Steve's Weakness with @usaonetwothree

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Winterhawk aka Clint/Bucky has my heart forever and ever, but I have a soft spot for Clint/Matt and Wanda/Vision as well. Outside of Marvel, I love reading for Stede/Ed, Husk/Angel, Caleb/Essek and Buck/Eddie.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you will?

If I've posted it, I'll finish it (I swear, I know I haven't touched the Whumptoberverse in three years). I do have an outline for something called the Amendment trilogy which I thought had some promise, but I've done so many Civil War Fix-Its now I doubt it has anything original to say these days.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I don't think my plot twists are too shabby, and I like to think that I find new things to say about well-worn characters and tropes. I'm also pretty damn good at structure, but that's because I studied and practised the hell out of it. Oh and occasionally I like to think I'm funny, especially when writing for Tony.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Sometimes I focus too much on getting a fic done than letting it breathe. I've been told several times the ending to The One Where Peter is Bucky's Weakness is disappointing, and I agree. I was ready to get out of there so I Game of Throned it instead of spending a good 5-10 chapters wrapping that fic up properly.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Short bits are fine if you pop the translation in the end notes. If not, I like to just say something like, "He switched to Russian [continues dialogue in English]."

19. First fandom you wrote for?

MCU and we're still going, baby.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

AH okay I want to include all those I co-wrote but that feels like cheating, because what I like about those fics is often what other people brought to them.

I used to say Budapest and that's still a strong contender. But I actually love The One Where Clint is Sam's Weakness, specifically the final chapter. The idea of mistakes and regrets and choices not making you who you are is a very personal thing for me. Clint saying "You’re my hero, Kate." might be my favorite line I've ever written in a fic. Sometimes the simplest ones are the best.

Low pressure tag: @fluencca @usaonetwothree @queenofalotofdifferentworlds @spagbol99 @teeelsie-posts

[runawaymun]

Hi so I just binged your fics and adore them, I love “kids get sane adults and overcome trauma and feel safe” fics

And I was wondering if it was inspired by any other fics you could recommend? Especially Tolkien

aaa I'm so glad you like them! thank you!

The adoptive family trope is a trope that is incredibly near and dear to my heart and weirdly underexplored in the LOTR fandom tbqh. You'd think there would be more of it. I get this question a lot and unfortunately I must repeat that my toxic trait is that I am incredibly picky when it comes to the fics I read, and that And the Stars Shine the Same was actually started in a blind rage after scouring the internet for anything like it, and finding that most of them over-simplified the healing process or grossly mischaracterized Elrond OR turned out to be romantic in the end (but like not in a good way). So unfortunately I have very few fics I can recommend.

In terms of well-written fic that you might like if you like my work, as always, I recommend pretty much anything @jaz-the-bard has written when it comes to Elrond & kidnap fam adjacent material (and just...good fic...in general...hngg). @potatoobsessed999 (potatoesanddreams on AO3) has some really lovely genfic, and I literally cannot recommend @idrilsscribe's Under Strange Stars series enough. The Ever-Fixed Star series is an incredible set of Elrond-adjacent (but mostly Feanorian-centric) fics by @eirianerisdar that deal with themes of forgiveness, family, redemption, and healing and they remain just about some of my favorite fics of all time <3 I also will continue to endlessly rec @thatfeanorian's All the Ways to Love which is not gen, but does include just really excellent Russingon slowburn trauma recovery re: Feanor is The Worst Dad Ever and Maedhros' self-esteem is a dumpster fire, and Fingon is Best Boy (of course!).

For other fandoms I recently blitzed through I've Been Holding Back Tears (While You're Throwing Back Beers) by im_your_mom_now which is just unabashed Peter Parker AU whump with Tony being a very worried and concerned adult (trying to be a worried and concerned adoptive dad but of course it's Tony and he's emotionally constipated so he's not going to outright admit that he feels like Peter is his son which is just CHEFS KISS) It's actually incredibly well written -- like I don't normally go for Marvel anything but I just couldn't resist. It hit all my sweet spots for me and I really am a softie for Dad!Tony with Peter. <3 It's incredibly anti aunt-May though, fair warning.

Yeah that's mostly what I have for you! If any of my followers wants to chime in -- as always drop your recs on this post for anon :)

[flowerslut]

Popped on to wish you a speedy and healthy recovery from your procedures 🖤

Also, thank you for updating Roots, and I hope it’s because you wanted to and not because you felt you had to. Please put yourself first right now 🖤

But since you updated…I wanted to say on first read this is my instinctive raw gut reaction without analysis…I was loving you having Jasper come back to himself so much…when he first recognises Edward, then when he sees Emmett - the burst of rage and regret and guilt he has! Remembering Alice, running to check on her… until a certain someone snapped him back into his automatic response and the thought he had….makes me feel sick. But I know he wouldn’t do that to Alice, and you mentioned something in your tags about infidelity not being a tag..

(I also hope Alice didn’t see that particular vision with her fragile state right now, would not be helpful for her)

I’m really hoping you let him come back to himself soon and see Alice even though it’ll rip our poor troubled Jasper’s heart out at seeing her like that/knowing what was done to her 💔

My heart is breaking for Rosalie!

And being the Peter/(Charlotte RIP) stan I am, I kind of lowkey love the fact he was stinking of venom and rot because that screams to me that he carried and held Alice all the way back home and we love that for his character 🖤

tldr; take care of yourself and Roots is better than the entire plot of The Twilight Saga altogether, sending positive vibes and all the Jalice love 🖤

Clara x

(PS, I may be back with a more in depth analysis once I’ve reread this chapter after some sleep after a 12 hour working day)

thank you so much!!!! I'm feeling better every day and I'm in good spirits so that's a huge plus!! and omfg lmfaooo don't worry!! every single time I've worked hard to squeeze in a roots update is because I'm fucking feral about this story and I LOVE thinking about it and posting it and talking about it etc etc!! 🥰 for as obsessed with roots as everyone says they are, just know that I'm over here also feeling the same stuff!!! sure there's a sense of obligation there since I like posting regular updates but it's 10000% percent because I love! to write!!! and I love! the fics!! I write!!!!

gonna reply to the rest under a cut bc of spoilers! ♡

don't worry, if jasper's disorientation/current mental state is making you feel sick or nervous or anxious then that means my job here is done 💀 this poor man is still trying to mesh the good (his current life) with the bad (his past life) in his brain and it's causing a full fracture to happen. we (jalice stans) often talk a lot about jasper's trauma because it's a really interesting subject to dive into, but being able to write and explore a traumatized character going through psychosis has always been something I like to explore in fanfic and with characters I like (who are all very traumatized individuals. hm. wonder what that says about me 💀)

anyways you'll have a better idea of what alice is and isn't seeing two chapters from now! but don't worry, I will give you one assurance and say that this past chapter (48) is as disoriented as jasper gets in the fic. he starts clearing up more little by little as the story progresses. unfortunately, I can't say the same about alice

and poor rosalie oh my godddd :( I think that whumping emmett (or renesmee, if we're being real here) is probably the best way to get rosalie to break down. and rosalie is interesting because she's so quick to anger. but when there's no immediate target for that anger, and when the person she loves more than anything is in such a state, you can only imagine what she's going through right now. (which is why edward's current job is keeping rosalie from trying to fight maria because she badly needs something to tear into) you definitely get a little more peter & alice content in the next alice chapter, but not a wild amount. peter's main job right now is 'keep alice alive' and if that means having to begrudgingly follow maria's orders...well, he'll do it, but he won't like it...

thank you again for always being so sweet!! I'm so happy you and other people love this story so much! it feels so good to have a fic that I was insane about for a year straight finally infect my readers in the same way that it did me 💀 I can't wait for you guys to have the full thing by the end of the year!!!!!!! thanks again! ♡

[lokiinmediasideblog]

Could you rank Loki versions you know (marvel and non marvel alike) on a scale of favorite to least favorite?

I'll limit to my top 10 and my one least favorite because it's hard, and emotional attachment factors into this rather than how well-executed they are.

strandedinmidgard's blog-Back when I was in high school and early college, and Tumblr blog archives and asks could be accessed without an account, I would send asks to a blog called strandedinmidgard. It's still up, but not very active. Wonderful art and humor. Try to guess which asks were mine. I didn't have a Tumblr account back then yet I would frequent that blog.

Thor & Loki: Blood Brothers (aka "Loki (2004)" on readcomiconline)-Changed my brain chemistry. I am that bastard old man's number one defender. He's so tragic!!! If you read a comic with Marvel!Loki, make sure this one's included. Especially if you love grimdark things.

American Gods-Brief yet compelling antagonists. Has great dialogue and provides great prison advice. Quite mysterious.

MCU-He's kinda adorable? The best part of movies I'd have not liked otherwise (*cough* Avengers). Looks so pretty when he cries, which makes me want to make him cry. Keeps sacrificing himself. Good for whump material. Got me into Norse mythology by making me curious enough to read the Wikipedia page for it.

Ikol (Marvel comics)-They have a very tragic origin as a copy of the original earth-616 Loki. I love characters that fight against destiny. Pretty fun. They're very stylish too.

The Bifrost Incident-I love her voice, and I was introduced to this album because I hosted the "Tournament of Lokis." The verdict was that she is the best Loki.

Loki: A Bad God's Guide to Being Good. It's Diary of a Wimpy Kid but with Norse mythology! Loki is turned into a child for his misdeeds. It is also not afraid to have sincere moments and character development.

Black Wolf : The Binding of Loki-This Loki is a terrible person but he's very interesting and reads like a force of nature more than anything. It was a well-written yet very long book.

Son of the Mask-Terrible movie, but I felt I owed him for making me feel better about myself through him being a flawed deity and for introducing me to the concept of polytheism. I had too much anxiety over going to hell as a kid over lies I had to tell. Helped me in a weird way.

Valhalla comics-Peter Madsen. This are a somewhat more child-friendly re-telling of Norse myths but with a lot of slapstick humor.

Least favorite:

ROR. I just hate that anime and I am not a fan of the designs. The concept sounds lazy to me. The weird Adam battle made me cringe. I only watched some episodes years ago cus my dad will watch anything.

[measuringbliss]

Spider-Man Read-Through 020: The Dark Wings of Death (ASM 126-128)

MASTERPOST

In this set of issues, we see fun crumbs of upcoming stuff, a very interesting mystery plot (if you're reading 127-128 for the first time, do try to solve it!), and secret lesbians (maybe, nobody's sure).

That's a mood whiplash if I see one.

This batch begins with the totally not-goofy-nor-lame Kangaroo, who this time has SUPER-POWERS (the cover says so)!

See?

Some producers ask Spidey to star in an ad, and if you're an old-time reader you'll remember something similar happened before and didn't go so well. He's not tempted either. Meanwhile, the Kangaroo (who last appeared ish 81) meets up with Jonas Harrow (who we saw in 114, he's the one who experimented on Hammerhead).

On campus, Professor Warren pops up to tell the readers that he's totally not about to become an important character, and Peter is an ass to MJ and Flash. Oh, what else is new!

Our dear old Jonas is clueless because as soon as the Kangaroo gets powers, he leaves to deal with Spidey instead of listening to him.

Spidey accepts to do the car ad and requires Johnny Storm's help. I always thought he had the pose of a naked anime girl in any opening ever. I'm curious about the new costume, though. I wonder when it came to pass... Oh, but the Internet has the answer! "From 1973 to 1975, Johnny incorporated a red uniform into his wardrobe in an homage to the original Silver Age Human Torch." And I get more information here: "As a child, Johnny Storm had read comic books about the World War II Human Torch and idolized him. After gaining similar powers and taking his name, Johnny decided for a short time that he would take on a costume similar to that of his android hero."

As shown in the preview of this post, while Spidey's about to discover the greatest invention of last century, Jonah's son is hanging on (continuity, nice!).

So the Kangaroo dies by radiation, anyway. It would be tragic if the character wasn't such a buffoon.

And MJ tries her best, as usual, but Harry ignores her...

Because he's too busy pretending his father's contempt for him was ever worth anything. Anyway, I love how those boots are drawn.

Classic Sunset Spidey!!!

In the readers' letters, we get a very interesting (and funny in hindsight) comment from the writers.

I can finally feel than the bigger number of pages is great. The story's allowed to breathe, we both get a lot of fight AND some drama. It's good!

That's kind of an iconic cover! The questions (although we already know for Harry...), MJ's wild outfit (her pants!!!)... It's a great cover.

In this issue, Peter looks a bit too much like an 80s rugged hunk to my taste.

Okay Mr. Schwarzenegger. Whatever you say.

So Peter keeps being an ass, almost to an absurd degree. Boy, you need to learn empathy and compassion. I do appreciate a good undressing though so keep going please.

The Vulture is the murderer but Peter's wet dreams about Johnny Storm are much more interesting to me.

Because things aren't getting better any time soon on the Parksborn front, you know.

Peter gets him and Flash into an accident because he's a menace (it's actually because the Vulture just took MJ away) and thus, the Flash whump continues (I'm into that!).

The hero and the villain fight, Spidey saves MJ, they get in a lab...

I love her design, don't know why.

WHAT AN ICONIC MOMENT.

The Vulture wants to make Spidey his boytoy, and behind a tree...

Those panels of Harry wishing Spidey's death have stayed in my mind ever since I saw them the first time. Incredibly striking, and exciting for the reader who can't help but want a fight between these two--for the Green Goblin remains a delightful villain, even with Harry's traits.

Anyway, I was checking a certain website to see reactions (because comicdom is so sparse that it's hard to see reactions to specific issues)...

6 years ago!!! And under that, the comments are just as shocked.

I should check THOSE comments more often because they're also pretty funny.

Meanwhile, in the readers' letters...

The next and last issue of this batch (128) opens with Spidey falling from the sky, too high to shoot webs at a building. Once again, incredibly iconic.

Also, welcome to 1974! What a way to start the year. The last year I've read fully! But I read a whole bunch of 1975 so we'll see what new material we get there...

So Spidey gets out of the predicament in the usual fashion (if you can't swing, web up a hammoc) and goes back to the lab where the shadiest character design I've ever seen in this magazine also coincidentally is there.

They keep mentioning coke, which wasn't the case when "Stan Lee" (and whoever else helped...) wrote the lines.

Another gorgeous character design.

So are they lesbians or twins? Or both? You decide, Pete.

Ned Leeds hasn't had a role for a while (just you wait, honey) but he's sure looking like a stud right there.

Peter is still being an ass to MJ.

And Spidey eventually susses out everything and tells all, like Professor Layton would. This is actually quite an experimental story, given than the reveal that Dr Shallot is the new Vulture is just as bonkers as me just revealing this that way.

I had completely forgotten about everything, but goddamn, what an interesting set of issues. I'd say the plotting is masterful because the magazine really never expects its readers to be that smart. Hmm.

(I was convinced the victim was her twin though... What's up with them swapping outfits? Was that intentional, on whose part? Since they're not twins, I will assume lesbians.)

Let's check the comments :-)

I can't post any picture since I reached the limit (would you believe it!) but I CAN copy/paste!

"Brace yourselves, the Jackal leads to some of the really weird and convoluted plots."

YES. Very compelling though.

In the next batch: The Punisher and the Jackal are introduced, and we also get a long-awaited wedding! The 70s just keep on being iconic, it never stops!

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt. 11 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: what does it mean for your world to be torn apart?

words: 7.7k

chapter warning: graphic descriptions of sex, violence and gore. smutty fantasies (p in v, oral-f and m receiving, dubcon), nude photos, catfishing, revenge p*rn, coercion and manipulation of a minor, references to cancer treatment

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whump. hurt/comfort. sexual situations. spousal abuse. family trauma. drug use. coersion. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Please don't date a mob boss.

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you can't name the Mambo #5 women then gtfo.

a/n - Originally this chapter and the next were intended to be one part, but the word count was far too long. I encourage you to read them together! Read this one first! Also, it might be fun to listen to the official Sugar and Vice playlist on Spotify for the next two chapters.

Back to Part 10.

Part 11

What does it mean to be pulled apart?

Peter knew. He was experiencing it first-hand.

It was glorious.

Heaven was the only thing he could think of, and he wasn’t even sure he believed such a place existed. But if it did, it would be here—in between the thighs of the woman he’d die for. 

She looked so delicate beneath him. So tiny against the black ocean of silk sheets in his bed. Her arms were outstretched, a black-leather cuff binding each wrist. Her legs were also spread wide. The sight was breathtakingly lewd—body trembling, goosefleshed, inner thighs dripping wet. He loved the way her hips squirmed beneath his hands. It made it even more fun to hold her down. 

It was almost vulgar, a shameless, pornographic display. But she was an angel, after all. How could anything be vulgar about an angel? How could anything be shameful in Heaven? How could something so sweet be a sin?

Honey. He remembered how his mind used to wander into dark territory. It was somewhat embarrassing, how often it would happen. He’d be standing in line at the coffee shop watching her work, or watching her whip up a batch of cake batter in his kitchen. Suddenly, the thought would attack his mind: like being struck by lightning. He would wonder if she tasted as sweet as she was, while silently observing her with a crooked half-smile on his face, cock half-hard in his pants.

She tasted better than he ever could’ve imagined. Uniquely sweet and still somehow floral, like honey and lavender. Honeysuckle. No wonder birds and bees couldn’t get enough of the stuff. Hummingbird wings beat beneath his chest as his tongue lapped at her petals, devouring the nectar he’d find. 

He was addicted to it. Whimpering for it. Jesus, he was a goner.

He’d never stop. He wanted to stay in Heaven forever. Just him desperately consuming her with mewling pathetic noises as he ground his crotch helplessly against the bedsheets. He wanted to stay there and weave his tongue through her folds—fuck, he was gonna come just from eating her out, blow his load in his pants like a fuckin’ teenager—until she begged him to stop. Until he’d pulled every last beautiful noise from her.

She was crying from pleasure. Screaming from it. He knew it. He was splitting her in half, as much she tore him apart. He was in pieces. Fragments. His love, and pain, and soul all spilling out for her. 

Only for her.

The water was warm. The steam filled his lungs. Heat settled in his chest and burned like fire. His hands were buried in her sopping wet hair. She was wrapped around his fingers. Wrapped around his cock. Her face was pressed against the shower wall as he gazed hungrily down at the place where he was impaling her. Every thrust of his hips was a dizzying jolt of electricity. 

He was obsessed with the view, watching his cock slip in and out of her folds. Fuck she’s so tight. It hurt. There’s nothing wrong with a little pain, though. Nothing wrong with a little blood.

Her mouth felt so tight. Watching his cock slip in and out of her lips. Her throat closed around his length. He gazed down at those hypnotic, sparkling, watery eyes. Fuck he could see his head going down her throat. She was so good to him. So good. 

Perfect angel. So good on her knees for him. Sucking him so well, the berber carpet of her closet rubbing burns there, but it didn’t seem to bother her. Such a tough girl. 

Such a pretty girl. Wearing that beautiful little lavender dress he bought for her. He knew she’d like it. He knew it’d look perfect on her—goddamn potato sack’d look sexy on her—the second he saw it in the store, he knew. Babydoll. It suits her so well. Like it was made for her. 

Like her mouth was made for him. He gripped her chin tighter. Her pussy was made for him. He began to thrust into her throat, couldn’t help himself. Her whole body was made for him. 

Lace and silk flowing down it. His cum would be flowing soon enough. Dripping all over, coating her face and tits and tongue. Looking up at him with those beautiful eyes as she held her mouth open for him like a good girl, tongue stuck out greedily, savoring every last drop. Nothing wrong with being greedy sometimes. His good girl. 

His cum streaming down her face. 

Her tears streaming down her face. 

His tears streaming down her face.

He snapped his hips faster, fucking her into his creaky, old twin mattress. The lumpy one he slept on every night since he was 5. He’d proactively shoved old t-shirts in the cracks between the bed and the wall to muffle any potential pounding. 

He was pretty sure that May and Ben might have suspected he was foolin’ around and stuff, but ever since the Sex Talk Debacle of 2008, he would prefer a wrap it up, stop means stop, and never to have that conversation again.

“Peter... oh god, feelss s’good...” he heard a breathless whisper that shot straight to his cock. 

He looked down to see the most gorgeous green eyes in the entire world staring up at him. Blissed out. Euphoric. Corn silk hair spread out on his pillow like a halo around her head. Fair skin, apple-cheeks, kissable freckles, and peony-pink lips. An angel.

Heaven. He was in Heaven. The sight of her made him want to fall down and worship. Made him want to cry. Bury his head against her belly and sob and scream and have her pet him and run her fingers through his hair and rock him and cradle him and promise that she’d never leave him again.

It had been so long. “Gwen...” he panted, a groan bubbling up in his chest. “God, Gwen, I’ve missed you... s-so fuckin’ much—”

“I love you,” she gasped a hushed reply, nearing her climax. Like whispering a secret. So quiet, so the other angels couldn’t hear. “I-I love you, Peter—I love you always...”

He was being torn apart. He wanted to die, the way she tightened around him.

“Fuck, fuck, Peter, don’t stop!”

He opened his eyes. Honey was beneath him again, in his childhood bedroom. There was blood everywhere in the sheets. Streaming down her face. Coating her breasts. Covering her arms. Covering his hands. 

“Peter, please, don’t stop,” she whined, and who was he to deny her. She was a goddess and this was her kingdom. 

Perfect girl. Such a good girl. 

“I’ve been so good for you, been so, so good—”

don’t stop.

Stop, just stop—

—don’t fucking stop—

—Peter, snap out of it, stop!

“Pete, wake up!” 

His eyes popped open just as he felt himself falling over the edge. The sensation was terrifying. Like plummeting in a dream. Disorienting. 

Light pierced his eyes like flaming swords. The hum of neon rang in his ears like a jet engine. He tasted bile on his tongue, but his mouth was drier than a desert. Throat was sore. Great, is this the flu? How long has it been since he was sick? Gross taste in his mouth. Awful metallic scent in his nose.

His muscles locked in place. Brain short-circuiting. 

Blood. He smelled blood.

“Pete, can you hear me? Are you still crazy?” Eddie’s voice punctured his eardrums, and Peter reached up to cover his ears protectively. Lashes fluttered, dark eyes roving around. The picture came into focus.

He was in a room. A dark room. No windows. With ugly carpet and ugly modern furniture that reeked of cigars, cigarettes and old vodka. 

It was a small lounge of some kind. Through the walls he could hear bells and laughter and shrill screams of excitement. 

Broken glass littered the patterned floor, multiple recognizable fragments that were once full bottles of Belluga, Russo-Baltique, Chopin, and good old-fashioned Belvedere. 

He was on his back. Looking up at Eddie Brock, who looked even more worse-for-wear than he normally did. “Talk to me, buddy,” he anxiously muttered, leaning over his boss. 

Also, this was not the person he expected to see after... whatever that was.

His throat was too sore to respond in words. Instead he groaned, rolling over on his side. Hissing in pain that radiated in his chest and ribs and hands. His hands were bloody.

He swallowed hard. Heart pounding. “Honey...” he whispered, worry and confusion taking over.

“She’s safe,” Eddie replied, and it only sort of gave him some relief. 

He twisted around, assessing the room. The furniture had been turned over. It looked like a tornado shredded the space. Attempting to get up was difficult, especially as Peter tried to conceal the rapidly weakening hard-on in his trousers. 

“What about you, how’re you feelin’?” Eddie’s voice chimed in again, voice softer. “What do you see? What do you remember?”

He didn’t want to talk about what he remembered, worried that the bulge in his pants had already given him away. Peter squeezed his eyes closed, the orbs feeling like sandstones lodged into his skull. He groaned, “Uhhh... shit... I... uh...”

He remembered... 

His time in Heaven. The closet. The bedsheets. Honey. Gwen.

No, none of that’s real. None of that happened.

—you’ll never see them again—

Focus, Parker.

—youre a monster and monsters never get to heaven no such thing—

“Pete,” Eddie repeated, this time more firmly. “You with me?” 

Peter looked up at the other man, reading his 5 o’clock shadow. Gazed at the concern in his hazel-gray eyes, the old scar cutting over his left brow, and the dark, puffy bags beneath. He really hadn’t slept in days. What the hell happened?

White hair. Long white hair. Smelled like bergamot, and cedar, and tobacco.

Silver. On her eye lids. Around her neck. Chrome-like. Two tiny patches of shiny silver fabric just barely covering massive, fake tits.

Peter swallowed hard, heart pounding. “I...” 

Silver thong, garter belt and thigh harnesses to match. She looked like a disco ball. Turning, twirling... gliding around a silver pole. Silver eyes, or maybe that’s just the way they looked when she looked at him. Gazing at him seductively. All over him.

Silver tongue. 

He tasted bile coming up his throat. “I... don’t...” Brought the back of his hand up to his mouth to keep it down.

What had he done? What the fuck—?

He looked down at himself in confusion. His black shirt was torn open. Dark pants ripped, shredded in some places. There was a giant black hole in the middle of his memory. 

He was home. In his home, in a meeting, in the parlor— He broke the piano—

“That was almost 3 days ago, man,” Eddie chimed in. Peter stared up at him, gobsmacked. Stunned. Confused. Worry set in Eddie’s eyes, the corners of his mouth downturned. “You’re in Vegas.”

Horror. Filling his eyes, his chest. Shock. Heaving. His throat was tightening up because of it. “Wha...?” Peter murmured in disbelief. “Wh-what...?” 

Like a spooked cat, he clamored to his feet, the whole world tilting as he came to an abrupt stand. 

Blinking rapidly, trying to see into the dark spot in his mind. Black holes consume everything. All light swallowed up. His belt was unbuckled. The fly still fastened tight. His shirt was torn and bloody. Blood all over.

“I...” Peter thought he was going to be sick. He thought he’d scream. “What did I—?” His gaze traveled over the room as he stumbled backward. That’s when he caught a glimpse of it. 

Red hair.

He was trembling. Creeping towards a toppled-over chaise lounge, staring unblinkingly down at the horrible pattern of the carpet. The stains on it. Blood.

Long, white waves of hair, spread out like a halo, stained red with blood. Not his blood. 

Hers. The silver woman who was flirting with him. Bugging him. Teasing him. Shamelessly trying to seduce him. Sat in his lap and poured vodka down his throat and filthy promises in his ear, before dragging him ‘somewhere private.’

“Oh, god,” Peter gagged. Her broken body was spread out in front of them, her blood painting the floor and walls. 

The silver woman’s body was torn apart. Ripped open. Separated. Two halves.

Peter’s legs gave out, dropping to a knee, tears streaming down his cheeks. “God, what did I do?” he breathlessly gasped. There was so much blood. Her skin wasn’t even visible. 

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t lose it!” Eddie babbled, jumping into view. His form obscured the body as he took Peter by the face. His skin was ice cold. “It’s not what it looks like, alright? Don’t— don’t you fuckin’ throw up! Don’t throw up, that’s your DNA!”

As if he cared about going to jail at this point. Peter was already dead inside. Maybe he needed jail. Supermax. Maybe he needed the electric chair. 

“Eddie...” he shivered, voice trembling, “what-what’d... I-I don’t remem—” 

“She was an assassin,” Eddie explained, gripping him by his shoulders. Peter’s glazed over expression swam with confusion. Drowned in it. 

Eddie rolled his eyes, annoyed by the awkwardness of the situation. “C’mon, man,” he grimaced. “You really thought ‘Silver Sable’ was her name?” 

Peter blinked, eyes bugged out. Eddie let out a straight-faced groan, shocked by his boss’ naivety. “Silvija Sablinova was her real name,” he added. “A finalist on the Kremlin’s Got Talent, and guess what her talent was? Cuttin’ throats, man. She’s the leader of the baddest hit squad money can buy. And you were on her list.”

Peter’s skin was stone cold. Shaking his head in disbelief, his brows pinched together in shock. 

Eddie rolled his eyes, “I saw the whole thing go down on the security camera footage. Sorry, buddy, she wasn’t that into you.” 

Peter’s face flushed red, and he looked away. 

“Looks like Kingpin wanted to send you a message.” Eddie looked over at the body, grimness returning to his tone. “Message received, I guess.”

Peter shoved him back angrily, breaking his grip. The dryness in his eyes was only now being counteracted by tears threatening to spill. They burned like acid. “You think that matters to me? I killed her! I did... that.”

“In self-defense,” Eddie argued, then pointed at Peter’s chest. “Not before she got a few good licks in.”

He followed the end of his finger to his chest. Looking down beneath his shirt, he could see bloody gashes oozing beneath the fabric.

Eddie chuckled at the sight in disbelief, “Dude. She stabbed you with a sword—”

“You think this is fuckin’ funny?” Peter snapped, eyes burning hot. “Do you have any idea....?”  The air left his lungs before he could finish the sentence. He felt hollow. Numb.

Eddie wasn’t smiling anymore. He glared right back. “Yeah, Pete,” he said with clipped words. “I do.”

They were deadlocked in heated silence. Finally, Peter stepped backward. Body weary, as it always was after a blitz like that. But this time, it was different. It was worse. 

Squeezed his eyes shut, holding back tears. He gripped his hair, letting out a frustrated cry that sounded more like a growl. The agonized groan of a dying animal.

“I got rid of the camera footage, but we gotta get out of here,” Eddie mentioned, anxiously eying the door. “Get back home before anyone else sees you.”

“I-I don’t...” Peter wiped his mouth, unable to keep that smell at bay. Now he could taste the metal on his tongue. 

“Look, this was not random, okay?” Eddie countered. “How did Kingpin know where you were? None of the rest of us did! We’ve been lookin’ all over the East Coast for you. This isn’t circumstance, this is strategy. He went after you for a reason.”

Peter’s eyes were fixed on the floor, tears blurring his vision. “The woman, I-I didn’t...” he sniffed, his voice trembling. He gnawed on his lip to prevent the wobble. “I didn’t want to... I would never do—” 

He was unable to speak further. Unable to breathe. 

Assassin or no, the images from whatever ‘hallucination’ Peter had been having, juxtaposed with the violent scene he ‘awakened’ to, made him sick with self-loathing. It was like throwing a bucket of ice water on him. A bucket of flaming napalm. 

Guilt churned in his stomach. He was ashamed. Mortified at himself. When he squeezed his eyelids closed, all he could see behind them were Honey’s eyes. The look of betrayal on her face. He didn’t even remember how he got there. He didn’t remember anything.

A blackout. 

“You weren’t you,” Eddie said, his tone endearing. “Not really.”

When Peter looked back up, tears running down the bridge of his nose and cheeks, he realized he was looking at a friend. Maybe his only friend. The only one that saw him for what he truly was, and didn’t run away in terror.

Maybe he should, though. Peter certainly scared the shit out of himself.

This was an awful idea, Honey thought, standing outside of the ajar door to Peter’s office. She was half convinced that it would never work— it was impossible, given the enhanced security. She told him. Begged him.

Her puppet master didn’t care. Assured her, via text, that when she got to the door, it would be open. The cameras wouldn’t see her, they’d see a loop instead. 

She had no idea how John was able to pull that off, but he was capable of anything.

He reminded her of that with a series of photos. This time, they were screenshots of an Instagram chat. The tiny profile pic was undeniably Gabriella. The conversation was intimate. Flirty. Then a little inappropriate. Then straight-up graphic. 

She’d sent pictures—christ, what are you doing, Gabby, you never send pictures!—the kind that would make a young girl want to die of embarrassment. 

Or just die. 

And John fucking Walker had them.

It infuriated her. Honey cried for three hours out of sheer rage. It was so wrong—so fucking wrong, that motherfucker, how did he get into her phone? how was he even allowed to have pictures like that? they’re illegal! 

And the more she read over the screenshots, the more she paid attention to spelling and punctuation. The more she began to suspect that John had always been the only recipient of those photos. A catfish caught.

Over her dead fucking body, she thought. She’d die before she’d let him touch her.

And standing in Peter’s office, snooping quietly through his files, that was likely going to be the outcome.

If the threat of harming her sister wasn’t enough, there was a separate gnawing fear inside of her. It had been three days since she’d seen Peter.

After that night, he took off without a word to her or anyone else. She waited for him. After what she saw him do to his guard, she was scared out of her mind, but she waited anyway. He didn’t come home that night. Or the following day. 

And when she asked questions, nobody would give her a straight answer. And the following day, everyone vanished. She was practically alone in the penthouse, except for the 12 other faceless guards who didn’t dare speak to her. Apparently, it was a death warrant.

Now it was Day 3, and she felt like giant bats were flailing in her belly. Where could he have gone? And why did he not at least call her and tell her where he was, or if he was alright? She still didn’t have her own phone (officially) but there could’ve been some form of communication. 

Was she being naive to think that they had that kind of relationship? She wasn’t allowed to do anything without him knowing about it, but he could disappear for days and not tell her anything? How was that fair?

What if he was with someone? Someone else?

She stowed that sharp pang away, not wanting to dwell on it. She was not jealous. She was safer with him gone. He was a monster. She was not jealous.

She was stupid. This was dumb. She had no idea what John was even looking for, but his desk and the drawers showed nothing to indicate where Peter had gone. She sighed, anxiety filling her chest, worried that she wouldn’t have anything to offer him that would satiate his hunger for cruelty.

She stopped at one of the shelves in the built-in bookcase. There, on top of a book, was an item that she’d never noticed before: a metal rangefinder camera, silver with a bumpy black grip and amber-coated lens. 

She didn’t know anything about cameras, but it felt heavy in her hands. She thought it was probably heavier than cameras should be. It looked old. She tested the weight, carefully turning the device over in her hands, inspecting details. 

On the front of the camera, in the top right corner, there was a little badge with an embossed atom symbol. The front also had letters ‘GSN’ and the word ‘GYashica.’ She’d never heard of that brand before—wait, was that GYashica or just the letter G and the word Yashica? Maybe it wasn’t a G. It wasn’t a G. Probably.

The top of the camera had words that were easier to read: Electro 35. A Yashica Electro 35. Old. Vintage. Kinda beat-up. The inside of the camera had a label on it too, from an embossed office label printer: PROPERTY OF PETER PARKER.

It made her smile. Her eyes glanced up at the book the camera had been sitting on, and that’s when she noticed it wasn’t a book at all. It was a box that looked like a book, like the kind that her mom used to use to hide all of their money.

Curiously, she set the camera down on a lower shelf and reached up to retrieve the box. 

Inside: Photos. Real, physical, color photos printed on old photo paper, not like the kind that some people can print off with a printer at home. She remembered having one of those wind-up film cameras once, but those pictures never looked as good as these.

Candids, all of them. Taken with a skilled eye.

A woman, middle-aged, with a wide smile. In mid-conversation, it would seem, with bright eyes despite how sullen they looked. She was sitting up in a chair, an infusion pump beside her. A yellow, daisy floral bandana was wrapped around her head. Her hair was not visible.

The back of the photo had a date. May 2006. Her brows went up as she flipped the photo back around, taking a closer look at the woman. Not May 2006.

May. 2006.

Her lips parted, not realizing she was going to come face-to-face with the May Reilly. May Parker. Peter’s Aunt May. The woman that became his surrogate mother. The ‘fighter’ that defeated cancer. The only mother he really knew, lost in a rain of gunfire. 

Next photo.

An older man, white hair matted down, his upper half drenched. He was sitting in a tight space on a kitchen floor, in front of a sink cabinet that was wide open. In his hand was a pipe. In the other was a rag he was using to dab at his face. Also visible: May, looking a bit older than in the last photo, doubled over, tears in her eyes. Both of them laughing their asses off.

The back of the photo read ‘You should’ve just called a plumber, Ben. 2011’

A chuckle escaped her lips as she put the scene together. She could imagine May’s voice repeating the phrase, and somehow could imagine the man pictured in the photo stubbornly holding out. A warm smile stretched her lips. 

They were so happy. Once upon a time.

Next photo. She gasped.

The woman’s eyes were so green. The brightest green eyes she’d ever seen. She was beautiful. Cornsilk hair framed the apples of her cheeks. It was a closeup, somewhere outdoors. Somewhere cold. A thick-knit beanie was pulled over her ears, and the tip of her nose was bright red. 

Gwen. That was the only word on the back of the photo. 

Honey turned the photo back around, now with her jaw agape. Her brows were furrowed. Gwen. The girl of Peter’s dreams. Beneath that photo, there was a strip of photos in sequence, like the kind taken in a photo booth.

Gwen and Peter. Smiling. Silly. Kissing. Sweet. 

How could something so sweet make her heart ache? He was happy. Once upon a time. 

She pursed her lips together. 

This was stupid. She was stupid. Why was she being stupid?

She turned the strip over to find another handwritten phrase: Do I have to lose you too????

The pang in her chest remained, but this time it was for Peter. And for herself.

With a heavy sigh, she put the photos back in the box. When her fingertips touched the bottom, it moved. She blinked, confused. The bottom of the box was fake.

Tilting her head to the side, she worked her fingernails under the edge of the bottom insert. She pried it up, revealing more photos hidden underneath.

Her eyes went wide, her breath stuck in her throat. Horror.

Gwen again. But these... were different. She was naked. Different poses. Limbs laid out in scandalous ways. 

Honey blushed, pulling her eyes away. Her face warmed and her heart began to race. 

This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. She shouldn’t be looking at this. 

She glanced back at the provocative photos. By the look on Gwen’s face, she was a willing subject. Each picture was taken with a singular intention. Each one, a small taste. Hands gripping her breasts. Another with her ass raised in the air. Looking directly at the lens with a finger hooked between her lips, the other hand slipped between her spread legs. Another closeup of her exposed nipples and her sultry smile, semen covering both. Provocative. Passionate. Pornographic. 

This was wrong. 

She imagined Peter taking these photos. Imagined him directing her, manipulating her body in whatever way he wanted. A doll for him to play with. 

Sweat beaded on her neck. Why was it so hot in that room? Why did her face feel so hot?

Hands shaking, she shoved the photos back into the box. Snapped the lid shut, returning it to its position on the bookshelf. 

Her whole body was trembling. She was aching. 

What was wrong with her? Why did she have the disgusting urge to shove her hand in her pants and just—

“Can I help you find something?” Peter said from behind her. She gasped, spinning suddenly, her hand knocking into the camera. The heavy metal object slid off the shelf and plummeted to the floor. She watched the device falling with horror.

Until it was caught. Peter was suddenly there. Like he’d teleported in the blink of an eye. His wide fingers closed around the camera. He’d saved it, just inches off the ground, before it was destroyed.

She was instantly relieved, then immediately doused in an ice bath. Her whole body went stiff, like she’d electrocuted herself. She was stunned, motionless. His dark eyes landed on hers. Peering up at her, inquisitively from his leaned-over position. Slowly, he straightened out, full control over every muscle. He loomed over her, looking down at her horrified gaze.

“I—” she gasped, babbling. Struggling. “I-I...”

“That was close, wasn’t it?” Peter murmured, studying her too intently. 

She looked down at the camera in his hand, and looked back up at him. A subconscious step backward reminded her that her back was flat against the bookcase. She felt trapped again. Cornered. Her eyes were saucers, staring down the barrel of his gaze. 

“Thank god, you caught it!” she laughed nervously. Her heart was pounding. She swallowed hard, grinning wide. “Nice reflexes.”

Peter watched her carefully, scrutiny playing in his eyes. The bat in her stomach had grown to a full-sized pterodactyl. 

Honey cleared her throat. “Sorry, I... I shouldn’t have been playing with the camera. I was just, um, curious, I guess. I-I don’t even know how to use one.” She wrung her hands idly, digging her thumbnail into her palm. “It looks old.” She said it with a lilt at the end. Turning the statement into a question. 

He glanced back down at the camera. “Uh... yeah... It is.” He looked back up at her, the tension falling from his face. “It’s, um... Yeah, I got it at a garage sale a while ago.” He pursed his lips, somewhat shy. “Good little camera.”

She rocked on her toes, the smile beginning to hurt. “Does it still work?”

He met her eyes, molasses flowing once again. “Yeah. It-it does.”

Honey nodded, trying to cover up the awkwardness, like smoothing out wrinkles in a bedsheet. “You shoot people, huh?”

He raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“Your shirt,” she answered, thinking back to the first night she spent in the penthouse. “The one I borrowed that first night?” His face softened as soon as he recalled what she was talking about. “‘I shoot people.’ I get it now.” She giggled. “It’s funny.” 

He watched her smile, and listened to her laugh, and looked away. Unable to hide the reddening of his ears. The flush in his cheeks.

“Um,” Honey carefully began, observing his reaction carefully. “Maybe... maybe one day you can show me how it works? Teach me a little bit about photography?” His eyes darted up to meet hers, flustered and wide. 

Lips pursed, he stared at her in a daze, taking forever to respond. He nodded. Silently. Then, “Y-Yeah, I, uh... maybe.”

He reached over her head and put the camera back on the shelf, on top of the closed ‘book’ where it had been sitting. She bit her lip, avoiding his gaze, stepping out from underneath him. She fought the urge to run out the door. 

“What are you doing in here?” Peter asked, turning towards her. 

She turned around to face him, taking the sight of him in. He looked tired. His hair was messier than she was used to. Floofy. Like he didn’t use any hair product, which for him, was strange. 

He wasn’t dressed like he normally was—just a black, short-sleeve collared shirt with a couple of buttons loose at the top. Skinny black jeans. She wasn’t used to seeing him without at least four articles of clothing. It was odd. Unnerving.

“I was looking for you,” she answered, her brows knit together. It was technically the truth. “Are you okay? You-you look...awful.”

He raised a brow. “Thanks—?”

“No, no, no,” she shook her head. “I just meant...that...” 

Her eyes darted to the corners of his face anxiously. She spotted a small knick on his forehead. An almost-healed wound that looked old, but one she had never noticed before. Her brow curled at the sight. Her hand came up of its own accord, and before she knew it, her fingers were gently brushing the healing skin near the wound. 

Her gaze was warm. Sincere. Genuine concern.

When her fingers touched his flesh, he froze. Jaw clamped tight. Lashes fluttered closed. 

Against his judgment, against everything he believed about what he deserved, he leaned into her touch. Heat built up behind his eyelids, his eyes beginning to sting from the mounting wave. A shiver traveled down his spine. 

Just one gentle touch, and the entire world went away. He felt her hand go still. Or maybe time had stopped. He was afraid to open his eyes back up. Afraid that he was stuck in another dream. Her heart was pounding. So was his. 

When he finally peeled his eyes open, she was staring at him with a look of confusion. Worried, but not in a bad way. Stunned, but not scared. She narrowed her gaze, studying his eyes, and it made him want to hide. Like she could see through him. See into his soul. 

She swallowed dryly, pulling her hand back slowly. His heart clenched, and ached, and wailed, and longed for the warmth of her skin as soon as it was gone.

She fixed her gaze on him, chewing her bottom lip. “We were worried about you,” she said. “I was worried about you.” Seeing through him. Those eyes. 

—youre a monster and monsters never get to heaven—

Peter gulped down whatever tears were threatening to fall, stopping them. Hardened his gaze. Inhaled sharply. Winced at the feeling of broken shards of glass near his heart. “I’m, uh... sorry about that,” he nodded, avoiding her gaze. “I... I just needed some space.”

She recoiled slightly. “From me?”

His eyes grew wide with alarm, “No. No, no... no, not from you. That’s not what I— No, never, I just—” 

The words dropped off. He closed his mouth, flexed his jaw. “Um...” That sting came back to his eyes, betraying him. “Sorry.” His gaze dropped to the floor as he said it. 

The stench of blood lingered. Couldn’t get it out of his airways.

She shifted her weight between her toes, scratching the back of her neck. “It’s... um... it’s okay. I’m just... glad you’re home.” 

Home. 

He lifted his gaze, meeting her eyes once again. She wasn’t lying when she said it.

Home. He took a slow breath. Anywhere she was, that was his home.

“I know we don’t owe each other anything,” Honey said, coy. “And I know you really like rules, so... could we add one? If... if one of us isn’t home, could you at least—I don’t know— tell me you’re okay? At night, if-if you feel like you need to be away again.” The timidness of her voice broke his heart. “So I don’t worry?”

He looked at her like he’d just discovered a planet. How long had it been since anyone worried if he didn’t come home? How long has it been since he was home?

Eyes glistening, he couldn’t find the words. He just nodded. His mind was spinning with guilt, grief, loneliness and longing. Over a decade’s worth. Shyly, his eyes darted around. He hadn’t thought about the fact that she’d been in the room when he killed the Rat—Dexter Bennett, that two-faced asshole, always knew he was dirty—and therefore, witnessed the brutality of his rage. 

She saw him at his worst. Sometimes, Peter felt like his worst was all he had to offer. The fact that she was worried instead of horrified was unbelievable.

“Do you want to get dinner sometime?” she blurted. 

His head snapped over, eyes widened. “Wh... what?”

Her voice was thick with anxiety. “I-I’ve been thinking about it, and... and I mean, we have dinner together all the time, but-but it’s different, because we’re at the house—and there’s nothing wrong with that! It’s just—um, it’s not really anything special. Not that I want something special—like, I’m not asking for a Michelin star or anything—also, why are the people who make tires in charge of judging what we eat? That’s so weird. But anyway, I was thinking, since—y’know, everything has been happening so fast, and... we... sometimes, I feel like we-we barely know each other, y’know?. Or, y’know, in a... deeper way, a-a more.. A closer way. And, y’know... that’s why I thought that we should... should—”

“You wanna have dinner? With me?” he sounded stunned beyond belief.

“Yes!” Honey responded with a relieved sigh. Then, she back-tracked. “I mean... not like... a date, or anything—” 

He grimaced subtly, trying to hide it. 

“Unless... Unless you want it to be?”

His breath caught in his throat. Looked up at her, like he was caught in a dream. Held that gaze for as long as he could, then looked away. Bit his lower lip. Pocketed his hands in his jeans. “That depends,” he said, shifting his molasses eyes to her, sparkling with charm. “You got any plans this Saturday night?”

There he was. Her friend. Honey failed to hide her teeth, feeling a blush travel up her neck. “Um... not particularly.” She smiled, tension lifting. At the sight of her friend, the bats in her stomach became butterflies again and threatened to lift her off the ground. “Why?” 

At the sight of her smile, he returned a thousand-watt grin. She couldn’t contain the giggle that escaped her lips. They were teenagers again. Like schoolchildren, nervously swallowing stupid smiles, both of them trying to regain their composure.

“Because,” he said, his voice like honey, “I wanna take you to dinner.” She blushed, and he fixed her with a warm gaze, only cooling a bit. “And I wanna prove myself, that I-I... that I’m more,” he swallowed hard, the sincerity returning to his words. “More than just—”

The words fell away from his lips, his heart plunging into sorrow. She saw the drop, her smile fading at the sight. Goddamn doe eyes. She felt suddenly guilty. Alarmed. “You don’t have to—”

“No, no, no, I gotta say this, just let me say this,” he puffed, refocusing his intent. “I haven’t always been good to you. I know that. And I want you to know that I can be better. I wanna prove to you that I know how to treat a woman right, and... That I can treat you the way you deserve to be treated.” He swallowed hard, voice evening out, “You make me feel things that I didn’t even know I was still capable of feeling.”

Her eyes grew wide at this admission. He meant it. 

Dozens of feelings he thought were extinct. Joy. Mercy. Nerves. Excitement. Affection. Love.

“Hope.” He muttered, speaking the word like it was the name of a long-lost friend. “And for that, I know dinner is meaningless. But... it’s a start.”  He gazed at her endearingly, and it made her heart swell. 

“Yes,” she said, her smile equally bittersweet. “I’d love that.”

This wasn’t a date. Not the date. Peter assured her as much. 

Their date was Saturday, and it was Friday. And this wasn’t it.

She felt ridiculous. Stumbling around in an ivory-and-gold-sequined Versace mini dress she honestly mistook for a long-sleeved shirt. 

Hours before, Felicia raided her closet, tossing items at her with a fired-up ‘surprise, bitch, you and me are goin’ out!’ 

Felicia picked the shirt, laughing when Honey asked for the pants. She chose a carefully-curated item from the shoe collection—lace-up your boots, soldier— and chucked them at her. Disappointingly, they were not combat boots. Instead, it was a pair of black, pointed-toe Jimmy Choo stiletto pumps with crystal ankle straps. 

Honey brought up her concerns—how am I supposed to walk in those and not show my ass in this tiny shirt?— which Felicia also laughed off.

Because it wasn’t a shirt. It was an actual dress. And now, Honey felt like she was gripping the hem like the edge of a cliff, with wobbly legs like a baby giraffe on stilts.

“This... this isn’t the date,” Peter swore, sensing her discomfort as they pulled up. He opted for another Saint Laurent pairing—a burgundy velvet blazer, black silky shirt and black gabardine pants, along with Louboutin leather oxfords.

There was a row of freezing club-goers shivering on the sidewalk outside in a line wrapped around the block. Peter helped Honey out of the SUV, and guided her straight past the line. Keeping a respectful few inches of distance, he held his palm near her lower back as they walked through the entrance of the trendy, luxurious nightclub simply known as ‘Web.’ 

Which was a stupid name, she told Peter. 

Turns out it was his club.

And this wasn’t the date. It was business. 

Peter and his associates needed to visit a friend, he explained. This ‘night out’ was really a show of force, Honey realized. He was bringing his top lieutenants, Felicia, Miguel, and Eddie, to the party, as well as at least a dozen other faceless guards, who were told laughably to ‘blend in’ to the crowd.

The inside of the place was overwhelming. Instantly, her senses were overloaded. It was enormous, which made the exclusivity confusing. Sounds and sights and sensation hit her from all sides, a mixture of sirens, lasers, colored spotlights, confetti and fog cannons shooting off. At this stage, they were protected from the sweaty, bustling crowd below, observing the raging party from a balcony. Occasionally, she was blinded by the bright flashing of a 100-foot LED wall, which served as a backdrop for the DJ and could also light-up Times Square if they were close enough. 

Instinctively, she clutched Peter’s arm, worrying her rouge lip with her teeth. The feeling of her warmth set fire to his body. “This won’t take long,” he assured her, apologetically.

“Okay, Dad,” Felicia chirped, skipping up to them and hooking Honey’s free arm in hers. “If it’s okay with you, we’re gonna go out and play, byeeee!” She whisked her away, dragging her towards a staircase. Honey gave Peter a dizzied look as she was lead away.

His muscles pulled taut as his Honey disappeared from view. An ominous lump weighed down his stomach. He would’ve never brought her here at all, if it wasn’t his name on the lease. Felicia insisted that she needed a little freedom. A chance to blow off steam. And an opportunity for Peter to not come off like “a creepy, stalkerish, Nirvana’s-First-Album psychopath who collects her hair to make dolls.”

He grimaced at her comparison. I’m not that bad, am I?

After he tore someone’s head off in front of his whole crew, he figured his reputation could use a little improvement. And Peter wasn’t keen to leave her alone at home again, especially after Vegas.

“You doin’ okay?” Eddie asked quietly. Peter glanced over at him, yanking his downcast eyes from the floor. 

“Um,” he said, clearing his throat. Barely loud enough for the other man to hear. “Yeah, I’m just...uh, I... ” 

—monster... betrayer... parasite—

“That devil on your shoulder again?” Eddie asked with a sympathetic frown. 

Taking a deep breath, Peter nodded his head, rubbing his face tiredly. Eddie quietly observed him, then glanced around to make sure no one else was in ear shot. “Look, uh... I don’t wanna go into the details but... just so you know... nothin’ happened.”

Peter looked over at him, confused. Eddie stared back with an awkward, unsynchronized, conspiratorial wink. The other man knitted his brow incredulously. “What?”

“Y’know,” Eddie said, leaning in closer. “In Vegas.”

Peter’s face flushed red, brows raised. 

“Remember I said I scrubbed the security footage,” Eddie whisper-shouted, more conspicuously than he intended. “I scrubbed it. Saw everything.”

Peter’s eyes bugged out. “Wait, what?”

“Not everything!” Eddie whisper-exclaimed urgently. “I mean, nothing came out. Like, your junk didn’t come out. I didn’t see it.”

Peter felt his soul leave his body. He stared at Eddie him in horror, mouth agape, desperately shaking his head ‘no.’ 

“Like she was all over you,” Eddie whisper-explained, “in your fugue state, but it was nothin’ R rated. Didn’t make it past second base. No penetration, y’know? Except for the sword, when she—”

Peter threw up a hand, grimacing, “Okay, I don’t really want—”

“Your virtue is still intact, is what I’m tryin’ t’say,” Eddie whisper-blurted, like ripping off a bandaid. “Y’know. Your honor hasn’t been... uh... fucked away, I guess.”

Tight-lipped, Peter nodded rapidly, side-eyeing him. “Yeah, no, no, I appreciate that.”

“I’m just lookin’ out f’you, is all. I jus’thought you should know—”

“No, I get that. Got it. Thank you. Thank you—”

“In case you were broken up about it, y’know?"

“Yeah, yeah, thank you. Let’s...” Peter cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact. Swallowing his mortified embarrassment, he added, cordially, “Let’s... uh... let’s not talk about this ever again, yeah?”

“For sure,” Eddie whisper-agreed.

Peter took a deep, steadying breath, glancing around at his group, hearing them grow impatient.

Miguel glared at them from a distance, dissatisfied. “Are we gonna do this, or are you two gonna keep flirting? At least somebody buy the other a drink.”

Perturbed, Peter leveled a stern gaze at Miguel, silencing him. He then turned back to Eddie. “Keep an eye on them, will ya?” he asked, with a head-nod towards the dance floor. Worry in his eyes.

“Sure,” the other man nodded. Eddie left to look for Felicia and Honey, feeling the burn of judgmental gazes from the rest of Peter’s crew on his back. 

Rowdy shouts echoed from a separate lounge area perched above the crowd, the sounds lost and buried by the thrumming base of a Masked Wolf mix. Peter and Miguel glanced over at the sound of the commotion.

Scantily-clad models presented at least a half-dozen, ice-filled chillers of expensive bottles to a table like sacrificial offerings. They approached the altar with lit Roman Candles, the sparks from the fireworks raining down like the Fourth of July. A dozen other women—at least one of whom was an actual supermodel— gave praise with flutes and glasses raised.

With a skeptical glare, Peter narrowed his eyes on the center of everyone’s attention—the god they were all there to worship. His old friend. Professional boxer and future heavyweight champion of the world, Danny ‘Iron Fist’ Rand.

“You’d think he’d be taking it easy, especially right before a big fight.” Peter turned towards the voice of another one of his associates—the manager of the club, Jessica Drew. 

The gorgeous woman strode towards the group flaunting a cardinal red, wide-leg jumpsuit with citrine-jeweled embellishments on the halter neckline. Her fluffy, blown-out coils were pulled up high in a wide, red, ruched-fabric headband. A matching golden jewel glittered at the crown of the wrap.

“Jessica,” Peter greeted her with a warm gaze. 

She glanced over to the Rand party with a withering look, rolling her eyes. “Boys never know when to give it a rest, huh?”

Peter softly smiled, nodding in reply. “No rest for the wicked,” he replied. “Let’s get this done, yeah?”

Continue to Part 12

[back to masterlist]

a/n Part 11 and 12 were originally one section, so think of this as 11.A.

If you want to be tagged, please reblog so I can add you to the list. And thank you for all of your comments, replies, asks, and feedback, to me and to other fanfic writers. Your support keeps fanfic alive.

[penna-nomen]

This Showrunner’s Challenge fascinated me, so @silbrith and I talked through it in our recent writing retreat, using White Collar as the fandom.

We went through two rounds. The first was starting fresh with the canon material, and the second looked at how I would approach it in our White Collar AU, Caffrey Conversation. It was a lot of fun, so I want to share the results with you. I want to keep spoilers to a minimum, so I focused on season 1 of WC.

Overview:

Round 1: Honestly, the WC writers did most of this in the first season. 

Round 2: Honestly, in an AU that’s nearing 3 million words, we’ve done most of this, too. I focused on stories I wrote, but we could do this for Silbrith’s stories, too

The details: Below is the original challenge and how we aligned it to WC and CC.

Begin writing a fanfic. 

1 Everything at once. (we treated this as starting the story)

Round 1: The White Collar pilot

Round 2: The first story in the CC series

2 Product placement! 

Round 1: Peter’s car. Obviously there was a product placement deal regarding the Ford Taurus in the first seasons. Other product placement opportunities included coffee. Or in S1E2 “Threads” there could have been ads for a line of clothing or for Project Runway.

Round 2: CC Story #2 “Choirboy Caffrey” mentioned a rental car and that would have been ideal product placement. I had a Toyota in mind but I don’t remember if I mentioned the brand.

3 Fan favorite. Your most recently mentioned character (or named object) is now beloved by the audience. You must give it a bigger part in the story

Round 1: S1E4 “Flip of the Coin” gives El a larger part because her best friend needed help, so we see her at the FBI offices.

Round 2: In CC story #4 “By the Book” OC Henry gets his moment to shine.

4 Executive meddling. You must change to a different genre. 

Round 1: S1E3 “Book of Hours” has a lot of focus on miracles and a book that can supposedly heal. When I first watched that episode, I wondered if the show was veering into a supernatural genre.

Round 2: CC story #38 “A Caffrey Christmas Carol” sent the characters into sci-fi territory.

5 Audiences are craving more coziness. The next chapter must be completely low stakes and set you at ease. 

Round 1: S1E12 “Bottlenecked” – okay, I don’t remember much about this episode, but the main plot is a competition to fool an expert into believing a newly created bottle of wine is actually a couple hundred years old. 

Round 2: CC story #68 “Movie Night” was mostly about a competition to pick the best movie for viewing at a holiday gathering.

6 Audiences are craving more suspense. The next chapter must take place entirely in a single location, ideally just a single room, and build tension with every exchange of dialog. 

Round 1: S1E8 “Hard Sell” spends much of the episode at an estate on Long Island with a particularly suspenseful scene in a room that is rapidly running out of air.

Round 2: CC story #5 “Caffrey Envoy” is set almost entirely in the WC offices, although there are flashbacks to a townhouse in D.C. The scenes of Neal and an Air Force officer in Hughes’ office, viewed by Peter through the glass wall, had some suspense. But I had more suspense in CC story #9 “Caffrey Disclosure” in the scenes where they have a bad guy with a hostage cornered in a warehouse.

7 Audiences are craving more action. The next chapter needs to involve at least one extended fight scene. 

Round 1: S1E13 “Front Man” included some Neal whump. I’d have to go into later seasons for a true fight scene – I’m thinking of the one between Neal and Keller during The Treasure arc, where Peter comes to the rescue.

Round 2: CC story #7 “Caffrey Flashback” included a fair amount of action, such as a life-or-death rush to the hospital, a chase scene in the hospital, and someone stealing Peter’s gun and using it to threaten someone in the hospital. Plus there is a flashback to a child struggling against an abductor. And Peter shoots someone. Fight scenes really aren’t my thing, though, so I can't think of an example of hand-to-hand combat.

8 Audiences are craving more romance. The next chapter needs to involve a deep, sappy confession of either love or admiration 

Round 1: S1E10 “Vital Signs” contains the “You’re the only one I really trust” scene between Peter and Neal. It doesn’t get better than that.

Round 2: CC story #54 “Lavender Dreams” has a wedding, many references to couples in Jane Austen novels, and a proposal. 

9 Go to the most recent line in your fic that references a brand. Due to ongoing legal action, that brand cannot be mentioned again, but you score 1 audience point every time you allude to it in a way that paints it in a negative light. 

Round 1: It would have been easy to add this to S1E7 “Free Fall” by turning the diamond theft into a lesson about blood diamonds and the diamond trade.

Round 2: This one’s tough because I’ve tried to avoid mentioning brand names in fic. CC story #6 “Written in the Stars” mentions Star Wars, which gets mentioned again in later stories, so that could be an option.

10 The two most recently mentioned characters' actors have, IRL, gone through a VERY messy divorce or friend breakup. You cannot put them in the same scene, but they must both remain relevant parts of the show.  

Round 1: It would have been easy to add this to S1E9 “Bad Judgement” and later episodes in S1. Agent Fowler has an important role, but he’s also getting into trouble at the FBI so he’s working behind the scenes. So that could work if the actors portraying him and Peter had a beef.

Round 2: CC story #9 “Caffrey Disclosure” would work well for this. A lot of the plot focuses on looking for OC Henry, who is working behind the scenes, so a friend breakup between the actors portraying him and Neal works. There’s also a section in the middle of the story where Neal is traveling and only catches up with Peter over the phone, so that could have been a temporary friend breakup between those two actors.

11 The most recent negative event is now the center of a very real IRL news story. You must immediately pivot away from all plotlines involving it and, if possible, also find away to apologize for even thinking to include it. 

Round 1: I went with The Treasure arc in season 2 for this, tying back to fans being upset about the source of the treasure.

Round 2: In CC story #4 “By the Book” and following stories there were originally references to a series about a school of wizardry, and I replaced those references with a fictional series when I learned what the author had been up to.  

12 The most recently mentioned character's actor has decided to leave the show. You must write them out in the next chapter.

Round 1: S1E14 “Out of the Box” – No details in this post, to avoid spoilers for people currently watching on Netflix

Round 2: an OC who had a big role in the story dies in #9 “Caffrey Disclosure”

You win if you can complete the fic in a state of relative coherency.

Conclusion: Are White Collar and Caffrey Conversation coherent? Maybe not always, but they are fun!

Thanks for following along!

There should be a fanfic writing game called the showrunners challenge where someone writes a story and partway through someone else can play things like "actor leaves after 4000 more words" or "topic now too politically sensitive due to unforeseen world events" or "lost rights to that reference"

[comfortlesshurt]

September 2024 Stats Update

Here we are again! Hit my big goal this month, but this is the first I'm getting a chance to look at much of anything else that's changed since the end of August.

Discussion of AO3/FFN stats under the cut. You can block #stats update if seeing these posts once a month will bug you!

Main goal: VLD word count greater than Spider-Man. Current progress: 51,386/100,258 (51.25%) Note on this one: now that I'm editing older fics, SM word count may change a little bit. I've only gotten WORDIER since I wrote those fics, so I expect a slight increase for every fic I finished editing. That's also where a little bit of the bump to VLD came from, but most of it is actual new fics.

We are actively in the experimental phase now, but this is a single-blind study so those will stay a secret until I'm done.

Time Period: September 2nd, 2024 to September 30th, 2024

AO3

I got that quarter of a million total hits I've been aiming for! Very exciting stuff. My next big milestones are 300k hits, 2k bookmarks, and 200k total published words.

Published word count delta: +3,134 across two new works and zero existing works

Work subscriptions delta: +1

New hits: 2,311

New kudos: 149

Comments delta: +6

Works bookmarks delta: +26

User subscriptions delta: +1 (maybe they forgave me for not spam-updating Augusnippets this month)

FFN

This site was extra frustrating this month since the spam AI art bots finally found me, but I stayed strong and did NOT delete my FFN. Might be turning off messaging over there soon though...

User favs delta: 0

User alerts delta: +1

Published word count delta: +3,154

New profile views: 15

New reviews: 0

New story views: 662

C2 delta: 0

Story favs delta: +7

Story alerts delta: +2

Single-Point AO3 Data: September 30th, 2024

Newer Fic Achievements

Not much new this month! I was lost in the sauce with LTS(LTFH) which is nowhere near being posted, but I did get a couple more oneshots up.

What are you wondering? (What do you know?): top 10% comment conversion & #1 for bookmark conversion

On it, yes, indeed (on it, watch me bleed): top 10% comment conversion & bookmark conversion

Nowhere to call home (so I'll pack and run away): #2 for comments, top 10% for subs conversion & #1 for comment conversion

Older Fic Achievement

5 Times Peter Struggled with Spider Metabolism: special shoutout for (despite being published for over 6 years now) being in the top 10% for hits/day and kudos/day. I'm pretty sure someone put this on a rec list again recently because it seems like it's been popular lately.

Top 10% by...

Comments:

5 Times Peter Struggled with Spider Metabolism

Nowhere to call home (so I'll pack and run away)

5 Times Lance Doesn't Matter

Whump Bingo

We are the reckless (we are the wild youth)

Smiling 'cause you're used to it (a house that's always haunted)

Again, not many changes to the top 10%s this month, BUT my published fic count went up, so the top 10% is now 6 items instead of 5. Also again, it hasn't been long enough since the last all-time stats review, but that should hopefully have some changes by the end of October.

And that's all I've got for this month. Really, the most exciting thing at this point is getting those experiments started.

[general9chaos]

(Woobie whump anon) I just asked OTNF this, so you’ll see it again on your dash, without the background info - but is there a difference between unresolved sexual tension and a platonic friendship between M/M, M/F and F/F? Word of God (me) says that my MC never had any sexual longing for his friend and traveling companion (both M) after experiencing intense body shaming and other stuff in jail - I’m just wondering how to portray those memories platonically. Thanks

To me, the common distinction is that with UST there's sexual attraction. With platonic friendship, there isn't. The thing is, sexual attraction looks a little different between M/M, M/F, and F/F relationships.

Another dimension to keep in mind is that male writers write in male gaze sorts of ways, and female writers write in a female gaze sort of way, and these are distinct from each other. I mostly read porn written by guys, so I don't have the best grasp on what the female gaze looks like in practice. I do notice the obvious stuff, though. Like, the POV character looks at the other guy's forearms and goes "ooh, cute" in that distinctly slashfic way. That's a blatant signal of sexual attraction, on par with a guy focusing first on a woman's tits. You should avoid that.

I'm going to just drop a couple of examples. Enemy, It's Cold Outside by MueraRashaye is platonic. I don't notice any attraction between these two characters. They are each focusing on what the other is doing rather than lingering on physical descriptions like the next example. Hook, Yarn, Sinker by pprfaith has a bunch of UST early on before it turns into asexual slash. In chapter one, both Stiles and Peter are noticing the attractive features of the other and going on about them. That's my go to example of female gaze in slashfic.

I'm not including links because tumblr eats posts with links for some godforsaken reason. Forum software is much better about that.

[natromanoffsgfs]

Hydra AU

At 6 years old, the son of Tony and Pepper Stark, Peter, is kidnapped, never to be seen again. Or, so they thought. Ten years later, while raiding a HYDRA base, the Avengers come across a new, enhanced individual, working for the enemy: in black spandex, with a tendency to stick to walls and shoot webs from his wrists, the Black Spider is a pain in the ass in more ways than one.

(139k words)

Summary: Doing the right thing shouldn’t be this hard, right? That’s what Peter told himself day in and day out, but the world decided to still make his life more miserable (Thanks Parker Luck ™). That was until a knight in shining armor (well it had to be shining if it was bright red) literally fell out of the sky and disturb his perfectly good sleeping arrangements. ……. Or my take on a Peter Parker Hydra AU (65k words)

Tony Stark goes on a mission with the Avengers to infiltrate a discovered HYDRA base. He has orders to kill everyone involved with the operation and he plans to follow those...until he comes across a 16 year old kid with curly brown hair and brown eyes who has spent the last 9 years as HYDRA's prisoner. Instead, Tony helps him escape and they slowly grow closer. But Peter can't truly escape his past; it seems to follow him wherever he goes and put the people he cares about in danger

(257k words)

Finding a compromise between nearly a dozen superheroes and the entirety of the United Nations was a...difficult task, to say the least. Difficult, but not impossible. But with the Accords eventually handled and the Avengers sticking together as a team, the world can remain well protected. Things are going smoothly until a string of robberies and murders comes back with ties to HYDRA, and the Avengers are thrown back into a war they'd thought was long since won.

Meanwhile, HYDRA is rebuilding itself using research stolen from Oscorp with the help of their newest threat - Asset 1562, the boy once known as Peter Parker.

But what happens when their supposed weapon meets the heroes? Things don't always go as planned when it comes to the Avengers.

(215k words)

Peter Parker has been living in HYDRA ever since his parents died at age four. All he can remember are the lessons HYDRA taught him and a series of words that strike fear into his heart. The only thing driving him forward are the memories of meeting his hero The Winter Soldier when he was seven and the goal to one day be as great an assassin as him.

At age sixteen Peter finds himself tangled in the lives of the Avengers and can't help but wonder if there's more to life than what he's been told.

Tony wants to help him, no matter what.

(140k words)

If he was being honest with himself, he was slightly terrified of the skinny boy standing in front of him, who looked as relaxed as he could possibly be, so naturally, Tony stuck out his hand for the boy to shake, ignoring the slight twitch from him at the sudden movement. “Tony Stark.”

“I know,” the boy said. His voice was quiet, calm, but he sounded like he’d seen a lot more than someone of his age ever should, and his eyes, brown and soulful, carried the same message.

“This is usually when you tell me your name, kid,” Tony prompted.

“Oh, right,” the boy said hurriedly. “It’s Peter. I’m Peter.”

~~~~

OR

The oh-so-overdone HYDRA Peter trope that literally no one asked for, but we delivered anyway. Featuring shameless Peter whump, way too much angst to be healthy, and a bucketload of Irondad and Spiderson fluff.

(244k words)

“W-what’s happening?” whispered Peter. He wiggled around on his bed, trying to shrug the hand off his shoulder. “Get off me!”

“Calm down, son,” said the other man. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

“Captain America? Get me out of here?” asked Peter, squinting his eyes and tilting his head. Iron Man hoisted him out of bed, and the covers went with him, hitting the floor by Peter’s feet. “Oh cool, I’m being kidnapped.”

“Not exactly the term I would use.”

OR

The Avengers rescue Peter from a Hydra base ran by his father, Richard Parker, except Peter doesn't really see it as a rescue, and has trouble settling into a new life away from Hydra and his father at the Avengers compound.

OR

Peter learns how to be an actual teenager, live life, and put his abusive past behind him, and Tony learns how to be a father.

(30k words)

When the Avengers find a malnourished, traumatized, enhanced teen in a Hydra base, they manage to convince SHIELD that the kid is better off in the Compound than the SHIELD Headquarters.

Peter Parker thinks his luck might finally be changing for the better, until he hears a conversation between Captain America and Iron Man that terrifies him--if the superheroes find out that Peter was an assassin for Hydra, he feels certain they'll kick him out--or worse, send him to the Raft for a punishment he surely deserves.

Can the Spider manage to keep his bloodied past a secret from a room full of mind readers, spies and military? It'll certainly prove harder than he'd thought.

(72k words)

broken wing. - Chapter 1 - katified - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

Despite Steve's best attempts, Hydra survived and is recovering; however, during what appeared at first to be a routine raid, the Avengers discover what—or who—may be the key to dismantling the organization for good. Unfortunately, these things are never easy, as their most promising lead refuses to cooperate.

(83k words)

Whispers in the Dark - Chapter 1 - StellaLuna365 - The Avengers (Marvel Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

May and Ben are brutally murdered when HYDRA agents break into Peter Parker's home, seeking the super soldier serum rediscovered by his parents. Now on the run from HYDRA, carrying the formula and desperate to keep it and himself safe, the Avengers take him in for protection. Is he just another job for the Avengers, or will the heroes finally become the family he's always needed?

Meanwhile, HYDRA lurks, and despite the Avengers' overwhelming desire to keep Peter safe, they aren't so easily dissuaded. The adversary is everywhere, and they are just getting started.

(219k words)

Thousands of Agonies - im_your_mom_now - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

In thousands of agonies—I exist." __

Hydra kidnapped Peter Parker when he was three. Known only as the Variable, he grows up in the organization, learns their ways, and becomes something more than just human. Upon coming to the realization that Hydra isn't working for the greater good, he escapes and tries to audition for the Avengers. The problem is, they just won't take him seriously.

__

OR: Hydra kidnapped Peter Parker when he was young and raised him into a compliant assassin with spider powers.

(29k words)