#this is truly next level ned spotting

[fabricated-misslieness]

Peter Parker x gender neutral reader with powers

Powers inspired by Fetch from Infamous Second Son

(I made this moodboard earlier on in the week to keep inspiration, since I didn’t have the time to write this then. This basically describes the reader)

Part 2 here

Requested: No

Word Count: 2512

Warnings: Swearing

Everyone knew (y/n) as the star of the track team, but to certain others he was a little more than that.

To the people in your classes, you were the quiet kid, the one that the teacher always seemed to forget to call. Yet they couldn’t seem to be that angry at your luck, maybe it was your charm, or maybe it was that sweet smile of yours.

To the quiet, shyer students, you were the nice popular kid, the one that would pull bullies away from others whenever you saw a situation arise. Ironically, the bullies were usually other popular kids.

To the popular kids, you were the one that they all liked, despite not talking much. You could say one sentence in an entire conversation and it would make them grow fonder of you.

To the kids in your art class, you were the one that always had a tip for their artwork, a tip that never failed to help. You were the artistic kid who got praise from everyone and would not hesitate to praise back.

To your best friends, you were crazy, in the good way. You had a risk to try every day and a gorgeous hide-away spot hidden in plain sight. But you had the tendency to disappear without a trace, though you were always back by a day or two. As for where you went, it was a mystery. They asked, but you never gave a direct answer.

To Peter Parker, you were someone that gave him subtle hints. Hints to what, he didn’t know, but you always winked when you saw him and didn’t have the time to speak, which was rare. You usually approached him, gave him a suave greeting, and sometimes a small pick up line. Ned told him they were pick up lines, but he didn’t actually believe that they were. The constant of the confusing equation that you were, though, was your smile. It was genuine. Not pitiful, not forced, not mocking, but truly, truly genuine.

It felt nice for someone, someone who wasn’t all that close to him, to smile at him in that way. He was used to the pitiful stares from people who knew what happened to his family, the forced ones he got from people trying to act nice, the mocking ones he got from Flash and his friends when they taunted him.

But to Spider-Man, you were an enigma. He’d usually find you spray painting the side of a building. Of course, he didn’t know it was you. Your ‘disguise’, he called it a disguise but it clearly wasn’t one, was a painting mask, one that blocked toxic paint fumes, and a beanie. Really, it was that simple. 

You couldn’t blame him, though, anytime you had the small gut feeling he, or for that matter any other law-abiding citizen, was nearby, you’d bolt.

Your powers came in handy for that.

Speaking of which, he wanted to know where those powers came from, if they were tech or superpowers, if you ever had to replenish, if they consumed something like energy, if you could do something other than run faster and let the trails linger, and several other questions.

Everything you did with them left a neon red glow or  trail, sometimes you even used them for your artwork.

Anyway, what even was the crime you did for Spider-Man to come after you?

Vandalism, straight up graffiti. That was certainly a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man kinda job, huh? Helping grandmas cross the street, old hispanic ladies get directions, stopping people from loitering where they shouldn’t be… non-Avengers level stuff.

Your graffiti was mostly political/social movement stuff, but sometimes it was a way for you to express yourself.

Nobody knew about your powers, hell, you didn’t even know where they came from. That was why you never told anybody, but man was it a hard secret to hold. Your reason was that they’d push you to become a superhero, like Spider-Man. That, however, wasn’t the biggest of your fears, nor the biggest reason.

You were scared. What would they think of you?

What would they think of the real you? The ‘you’ you wanted to show them.

You sighed, looking at the artwork on the wall. You’d worked as the ideas came to your head, even with how messy it was, it looked good. You felt like it represented you.

Even with how good it felt to paint your feelings out, your recent thoughts about how your friends, or really anybody at all, would react had altered your mood.

“How does Spider-Man do it?” You muttered to yourself. How did he keep a different identity, from superhero to teenager? At least you thought he was a teenager. Every time you ran from him he’d scream for you to “come back” or “slow down”, and he’d always sounded like a teenager.

“How do I do what?” Before you could run just like the other times, he webbed your wrist to the wall, too late to realize it was fresh paint and you had your watch on.

You shrunk back, side-eyeing the artwork and struggling against your restraint, forgetting in a state of panic that you could easily break it with your powers.

Spider-Man could see the panic in your eyes, and he was quick to calm you down.

“Struggling won’t--” No, Peter, that’s not how you reassure someone. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He was relieved to see panic to falter that teeny little bit.

“I just want to make a deal.” It struck him a few seconds later how wrong that sounded. “N-Not a drug deal, or anything.” 

The panic subsided, though the uneasy feeling didn’t. You were amused at his mixup, thought you didn’t show it.

“You stop spray painting areas where you’re not allowed, and I let you go with a warning.”

You raise an eyebrow, pulling down your mask slightly so that he could hear you properly. Peter couldn’t help but think you looked a little attractive that way.

“You’ve seen the activism stuff I’ve done.” He has, and he was all for it, but it was still vandalism. “The world needs to listen, and if they can’t, they have to see.” You stuffed your hands into your pockets. You would’ve assumed that Spider-Man would be all up for it, but it seemed like he wasn’t.

“Trust me, I agree with it, it’s just that it’s illegal.” He crossed his arms as if to intimidate you but it had no effect on you.

You huff, furrowing your eyebrows. “You know that’s bull, Spider-Man.”

“Look, I love your artwork, but you have no permits.” He insisted, which was making you grow more and more agitated.

“You don’t have to be lawful good.” Peter raised his eyebrows at the DND terms, but you couldn’t see that. “These are statements for the world. And they’re—“

Spider-Man gestured towards the graffiti behind you, which was clearly not a statement.

“Alright, you got me there.“ You roll your eyes, “I can stop these, but I will not stop the important ones. I put them in those places because I need the people to see.”

Spider-Man was conflicted. On one hand, you were morally correct. On the other lawful hand, the spray painting was still illegal. He didn’t know how he should act on this.

Once again, he could clearly see you growing frustrated.

He steps forward to put a hand on your shoulder, but as his hand lands on it, your powers let out a neon red shock.

It doesn’t affect you, but it clearly affects him… and the web on your wrist.

He collapses face-first on the ground of the alleyway.

“Shit,” You kneel down next to him. “Of all the times for these stupid powers to backfire, it’s now?”

You stand up, debating on whether or not you should flee from the scene, leaving the red clad superhero on the ground.

Your moral compass was pointing to no. You couldn’t just leave him here alone, he seemed hurt.

You’d never done something like that on accident, not to this degree. Anything else remotely similar had been used as self defense, to some mugger or two, and all it did was stun them for a sec so that you could run away.

You turn him over to check on him.

He appeared to be fine physically, but then again if he’d only fainted he’d be up and running by now. 

You sigh, stretching and getting ready to pick him up because he didn’t exactly look like a light-weight. Now, where was the nearest hideout?

Peter woke up in a sleeping bag. The first thought in his head wasn’t where he was, rather, why was his mask on? 

He moved to take it off but then remembered what happened last night.

Then he asked himself, where am I?

He strained to sit up. It felt like he’d been hit by a truck several times.

He first looked down because his head throbbed with a splitting headache. When he found himself stable enough, he looked at his surroundings. 

The first thing he’d noted to himself was that this was definitely not his bedroom, nor was it a place he recognized.

The second thing was, the place was dirty as all hell, it looked to be an abandoned warehouse. The only furniture seemed to be placed there by squatters, which was technically what you were, since this was your hideout.

You walked carrying a dunkin donuts bag. “You’re up?”

Without the beanie and the mask, he could finally see who you were. “(y/n)?” He whispered under his breath, hoping you wouldn’t catch that. You were the person who gave him hints, and also the star of the track team. No wonder you were able to run away from him that fast, even with your powers. He felt stupid, it was so obvious who you were.

“Yeah, that’s me.” You snicker, sitting next to him. You take note of the way he sways as he sits as if he were dazed, which he most likely was. “I’m going to assume you know me. As much as I’d like to guess who you were, I think that’d be a bit rude.”

Despite how dizzy he felt, Peter couldn’t help but notice you acted as if whatever happened in that alleyway didn’t happen.

You were being nice to him, even when he started that argument.

“I brought food, even if you won’t eat it in front of me.” You hand him a sandwich and a cup of water. Peter nods, taking the drinks but keeping them next to him. “I checked you for any serious injuries, had to pull back your suit.”

You notice the way he leans back from you, you take it as a sign of worry.

“Don’t worry, there was nothing serious. I didn’t check under your mask either, if you’re worried about that too.” You thought he would’ve assumed you didn’t from your previous comment about his identity, but panic can make you forget things, you guess. “Just bruises, and I think I gave you a concussion. They’re probably from that red burst... sorry about that by the way.”

“Probably?” He asked.

You hummed a yes, rubbing the back of your neck. “I don’t actually know much about these powers.” You played with the neon light of the glow stick you always carried around with you, in case you ever needed a recharge. You ‘pulled’ the light from the stick, admiring it. Spider-Man seemed to admire it too, though probably in an investigative manner.

After a while of molding it into different forms, you put it back on the stick. Peter took that as a sign to speak up.

“You don’t mind me knowing your identity?”

You stare up at him with a cheeky smile. Peter thought you looked beautiful under the red glow of the glowstick. “I wasn’t trying to hide it.”

Peter flushes a bright red, thankful for his mask. He nods slowly, pretending he was processing the information.

“I should.. leave.” He stands up, a little too fast for his dizziness. As a consequence, he nearly falls back down, if it weren’t for your fast reflexes.

“I think you should stay a while.” Your smile was wonderful. “Wait ‘till you feel fine.”

Peter looked out the small windows of the warehouse, it was still dark out. That was a relief, since that day, or maybe tomorrow who knows, was a school day. “Okay.” He mutters adorably. He plops back down on the sleeping bag.

You sit next to him again, taking a bite of your own sandwich. “I don’t imagine you’re actually hungry.” He nods back at you.

“You should take these back.” He makes an effort to shove the items back in your bag, but you stop him before he can.

“No, you should keep them.” He can tell you seem worried.

“Y’know, I think my concussion is--” He tries to stand up, yet you pull him back down.

You gave him an all-knowing look, “It’s not. You’re still swaying.”

You see the spider eyes narrow at you, and you can’t help but think he’s adorable. It’s almost like Peter trying to figure out if you’re flirting with him or not. “You’re nice.”

“I caused your concussion.” You reply.

Right, you were the one that pulled Flash away from him. He’d heard the stories from the other kids, too. Man, you seemed absolutely perfect.

The rest of his time with you he insists on making small talk, even if you tell him not talking might help him rest up more. You weren’t exactly sure if it would, and he wasn’t either, which was one of the reasons he insisted.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for him to stop swaying. He had a small headache, which would most likely last for the rest of the day, but the dizziness had left him.

His main priority was to get out of there, not only to get home, but also because you were making him flustered. You liked teasing Spider-Man, despite not indulging in blush because of the mask. You could tell by the way he looked down or how he fiddled with his fingers.

“I think I’m good now.” You made him stand up to make sure he was telling the truth.

He passed that simple test so you showed him towards the exit.

You checked your phone, “12 am.”

He nods, sandwich bag webbed up to the drink for easier carriage. “Uh..” You hadn’t expected Spider-Man to be this awkward. “Thanks..?”

“Yeah,” You smile. “No problem.”

He turns to head out but you stop him with a hand on his shoulder. He nearly jumps back when you press a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“See ya around?” Your smile turned cheeky.

“Y-Yeah!” He exclaims out nervously. A second later, he’s right out the door. Even if he has a mask on, he’s not risking embarrassing himself in front of you.

“God, why do I have to be so awkward?”

[gallavictorious]

“Will you suck my dick whenever I want?” Sex, Power, and the Gallavich Modes of Communication.

Becaue of reasons I want to talk a bit about the rather infamous “suck my dick” scene of 4x08.

This is a complicated scene and I have complicated feelings about it, which is pretty much the above-mentioned 'reasons' for writing this exploratory meta: when in confoundment, hash it out by putting all your thoughts down on paper. Fair warning: this is long, and since it deals with dubious consent you might want to give it a miss if discussion of that sort of thing upsets you. Same goes if you believe that Ian really is just asking for unlimited access to blowjobs, or find extensive (over)analysis of fictional works silly.

The accusation sometimes levelled at Ian in regards to this scene is that he's being manipulative and practically forcing Mickey into performing sexual acts he would otherwise not perfom, taking advantage of Mickey's emotional vulnerability to secure sexual pleasure for himself. He certainly issues an ultimatum and this scene is uncomfortable to watch because of that, but at the same time it's always seemed pretty obvious to me that endless blowjobs isn't really Ian's objective here. If that's all he wanted, he could easily get that without having to resort to extortion: finding sexual partners has never been a problem for him. No, there are other things at work, and below I try to figure out what.

Let's kick of by a quote from Oscar Wilde: “Everything is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.”

Because yes, this is about power rather than sex – which is another way of saying that what Ian truly wants isn't for Mickey to give him a blowjob, but for Mickey to agree to do it in spite of his initial reluctance. Which still isn't a very flattering look for Ian, because neither demanding blowjobs nor demanding your partner's submission is particularly charming (outside of negotiated kink, of course). However, I think it's fair to say that the power Ian seeks here is not the power to (permanently) place himself above Mickey, but the power to once more level the playing field between them and regain some sense of the agency and control that Ian felt he lost during the whole mess leading up to Mickey's wedding.

From the very start, Ian's been wanting more from Mickey than Mickey's been willing or able to give (not because Mickey isn't as into Ian as Ian is into him, but because of all that other shit: you know well what I'm talking about). To a large extent, Ian's been reining himself in, wary of asking too much, lest he scare Mickey off. Whenever he's openly pushed for more – trying to kiss Mickey, putting his hand on the glass, insisting that Mickey do not murder his father – Mickey has brusquely rebuffed him. However, he's had quite a bit of success with less direct methods, as when he 'gets' Mickey to kiss him by explaining that one of the reasons he likes Ned is that Ned isn't afraid to. (And for the record, I don't think this was a conscious ploy by Ian: he was simply being honest with Mickey, in a way that also conveyed his disappointment in Mickey's continued unwillingness to kiss.)

Ian's been in love with Mickey for a long time. For a long time, he doesn't tell Mickey this, which  is partly due to the above-mentioned fear of scaring Mickey off, and partly due to Ian genuinely not being sure if Mickey likes him back. (“How do you know if a guy you've been hanging out with likes you?”) But following the very obviously jealous beatdown of Ned, the kiss in the van, and the invitation to a sleep-over, Ian is finally convinced that Mickey does indeed like him too – only 3x06 happens and Mickey is not only shutting him out again, he's getting married to someone else.

But knowing what he now knows – i.e. that Mickey is in love with him – Ian doen't back off or try (to the best of his feeble ability) to play it cool. He puts himself out there, he puts his emotions on display, and he repeatedly begs Mickey not to get married.

Mickey gets married all the same.

Now, Ian has a strong sense of integrity and does not enjoy having to depend on someone else. Ian is not very good at admitting when he's wrong. Ian is proud. Because of this and quite apart from the heartbreak of losing Mickey to marriage, I'd imagine that he's feeling less than great about being scorned after having been so open about his wishes. (Well. Scorned is a somewhat strong word: Mickey's obviously still down for him, but he's not willing to give Ian what he wants – a real relationship, as Ian defines it.) As far as Ian is concerned, the situation has created a tangible power gap between them, with Mickey having the upper hand. (It might be argued that the power gap's been there the entire time, with Ian wanting more than Mickey was willing to give, but up until that point Ian has not actively asked for things Mickey's made clear is out of bounds but has accepted Mickey's marking of boundaries with a shrug and an 'oh'.)

Mickey's broken “don't” as Ian announces his intention to enlist isn't enough to bridge that gap: it's an admission of feeling, of need, but does not indicate any intention on Mickey's part to further act on that feeling. It doesn't change anything: Ian still wants a commited relationship, Mickey still wants Ian around to fuck him even while he stays married to Svetlana.

And for all that we sympathize with Mickey – which we bloody well should, because he was the victim of a horrible crime and trapped in the shittiest of situations through no fault of his own – it isn't unreasonable of Ian to not want to be the secret 'mistress' of a closeted man. He's been there, done that, and quite understandably wants more from Mickey. He isn't wrong for trying to extricate himself from that situation, even as it's utterly understandable why Mickey isn't able to give him what he wants at the time.

Life's like that, kids. Sometimes there are no good choices, and sometimes no one's at fault even though everything's an absolute mess and people get hurt. (I mean, Terry's at fault. Terry is a huge fucking cunt.)

It bears saying that Ian isn't a saint and doesn't behave perfectly in this situation: he shows little understanding for Mickey's entirely justifiable fears, and rather than telling Mickey that he loves him, he insists that Mickey admits that he loves Ian, which I do find a bit presumptuous. Ian's small smile when Mickey comes close to breaking when Ian announces his plan to leave indicates that he finds some small measure of pleasure in knowing that he's hurt Mickey the way Mickey has hurt him: though I think it's not primarily pleasure in the hurt itself, but rather pleasure in what it signifies, i.e. that Mickey does care about him too. But that isn't enough; that isn't really news.

So he enlists and that goes the way it goes and then Mickey seeks him out at the club and brings him home, to the bed Mickey normally shares with his wife. This, I think, tells Ian something; it suggests something beyond Mickey just having feelings for him. It's just a suggestion, mind, so it doesn't actually resolve anything, but it's enough of a something that Ian's willing to have a conversation about possibly returning when Mickey comes to see him at the Gallagher house.

But Ian has a problem. If he simply goes back to be being with Mickey without anything changing he has effectively agreed to the sort of arrangement he joined the army to very pointedly escape. Quite apart from him not wanting that sort of relationship, it would signify a failure to proud guy Ian, and following his failure to even make it through basic, I think that's not something he's willing to allow. He still wants to be with Mickey, though. Knowing that Mickey is as unlikely to divorce his wife now as he was to call off the wedding, Ian can't ask for that; he can't ask again for the type or relationship he really wants – but he can't go back to what they had previously either. This puts him in a pretty  tough spot, and I think this is why he asks for Mickey to suck his dick. While not achieving exactly what he wants it still gives him enough of a something that he feels comfortable resuming his relationship with Mickey:

Firstly, it serves to even the score and redistribute the power between them. Yes, this is him asking Mickey to submit to him and for Mickey to acknowledge Ian's power over him, but it's a request made from what Ian perceives to be a position of weakness (because of the whole Ian putting himself out there and Mickey getting married in spite of that). By momentarily placing himself above Mickey, Ian seeks balance the scales, bringing them back to an even level. This is a one-time thing, over and done with once Mickey agrees. Evidence suggests this works very well, too: look at their interactions the next day, when they're back to their normal and easy back and forth. Even so, it's a pretty fucked up thing to ask for, but we need to remember that Ian has a fairly complicated relationship with sex, given all that he's been through, and probably doesn't take this kind of thing nearly as seriously as we might want him to.

Secondly, Ian wants Mickey to commit to an emotional honesty he has so far resisted. If they can't be an official couple, he still wants that much. They were getting somewhere before Terry fucked everything up, and Ian has zero interest in going back to a relationship where Mickey pretends that it's only about the banging and shies away from any notions of an emotional involvement.

Ian wants Mickey to let himself be vulnerable with Ian, and while performing a sexual act to signify a commitment not to let things be only about sex seems pretty damned contradictory at first glance, this specific type of sexual act – which is bitch-coded in the enviroment Mickey has grown up in and which he probably finds hard to admit that he likes (until he doesn't: “I suck his dick and I love it” – but this line really supports both the idea that Mickey doesn't in fact mind sucking Ian's dick and that it's something that isn't “appropriate” for him to like; else he wouldn't have thrown it in Terry's face like that) – signifies more that just the sexual act itself: Ian knows that Mickey likes sucking his dick, and he wants Mickey to own that (as Mickey owns being a bottom): he wants Mickey to lay off the bullshit and be honest about who is and what he wants, to Ian, if not to anyone else at this point. The last time Ian asked this of Mickey, Mickey kicked him in the face, so I don't think it's too hard to see why Ian would go about it in this way rather than asking for what he really wants outright.

What he seeks here is a promise of a long-time commitment, and that's why the “whenever I want” bit is significant, because it points ahead to the future, even if Ian has no intention of enforcing the actual sucking of dicks bit.

And I think it's very important that both Ian and Mickey are ver clear about the fact that Ian will not enforce this. I think they are: for all that they have trouble communicating at times, this is the sort of subtle signalling they are pretty good at. I guess it comes down a bit to character intepretation though: I just don't think Ian would seriously ask this of Mickey, and I don't think Mickey would agree to it either. They both see this for the one-time act of submission it is, with all that it signifies and symbolizes.

(Let's be clear: if Ian had actually continued to enforce this demand, leading them down a path of a 'blow me right now or I'm leaving' that would have been pretty damned horrible. The reason I don't think this happened, apart from finding it OOC, is the complete lack of evidence that things are weird between them going forward, and if Ian had been forcing Mickey, a rape victim, into performing sexual acts, things sure as hell would have been weird between them. After this, they're back on an even footing: they sure have conflicts, which culminates with Mickey coming out [and, yes – demanding that someone come out isn't great, especially when that someone is facing the kind of threats Mickey is, but at the same time it's perfectly reasonable for Ian not to want to stay in a secret relationship: again, it's a fucked-up situation with no good choices], but they're on level fighting ground. It's not the sort of conflict resolution I'd recommend, but it apparently worked for them, and given their generally messy dynamic, I'm not really surprised.)

In fairness, Ian isn't really being nice about this whole thing, and there's absolutely some glee and triump when Mickey actually agrees to do it. A sense of vindication, surely, after what happened between them just before Ian left. But do notice that while Ian kind of does rub it in – “suck my dick, whenever I want” with that pleased smile – he doesn't in fact make Mickey say it, even though Mickey's request – “don't make me say it, asswipe” – does make it clear that if Ian demands it, Mickey will. There is an element of payback to this whole exchange, there's no denying that, but Ian's not out to actually be cruel to Mickey: he wants them to be back on even and equal ground, and he wants Mickey to own his desires and emotions.

So yeah, it's still not great by any means, and it's still uncomfortable to watch, but if we take into account Ian's somewhat causal relationship to sex in general, as well as Mickey's unwillingness both to emotionally commit and to actually talk about things, I think it's fair to say that Ian is not trying to manipulate Mickey, but rather to stand his ground and express his wishes in a way that he believes Mickey can and will play along with. (I, incidentally, think that Ian might be wrong, and that it's possible that Mickey has missed him enough and worked with himself enough that if Ian had made instead asked “will we actually talk about our feelings” Mickey would have gone along with that too, to the best of his ability – but this is actually way easier for Mickey to roll with.) It is pretty messed up, but viewed through the lense of their shared history and less than straightforward modes of communication, it does make a whole lot of sense.

To me at least – as always, feel free to disagree or add your own perspectives. I view meta as an invitation to discuss, not as a finalized argument to end discussion, and there are certainly aspects I haven’t touched upon here. And if you have seen this discussed before, I'd be super grateful if you'd point in me in the right direction.

[cyberwolfwrites-fanfiction]

a family's bond - chapter one

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/29878746/chapters/73527165)

words: 6630

summary:

"I hate it here," Peter whispered.

"I know," said Harley tiredly. They were curled up on the top bunk of their bunk bed together. They craved genuine physical affection after too many months of being touch-starved or physically hurt—there was no in-between—and being on the top bunk meant that they were harder to reach.

Dan was in his bedroom down the hall snoring off the alcohol. He'd gotten rejected for the promotion he'd been working towards for the past year and he'd drowned his sorrows in a bar somewhere before coming home to take out his frustration on them. He'd been too drunk and uncoordinated to cause any lasting harm—or harm that should have obviously still been there a day later—but the encounter had shaken them, Peter especially.

He'd come from a loving home, but in the matter of minutes both of his remaining family members had bled out in front of him and he'd been tossed in the system. He wasn't used to the harsh cruelties of the world—though he'd gotten a taste of it when he was four and eight, respectively—and it had left him reeling.

"I wish we could just... leave," Peter mumbled.

"Me, too."

Peter's fingers drummed against his desk in boredom as he looked out the window. The skies were clear, as they usually were during late winter in New York, and he boredly watched as a bird jumped across a small tree branch before taking to the skies. His eyes left the bird to linger on the distant skyscrapers of Manhattan. He could just about spot Stark Tower in the distance, and even half-way blocked by other smaller buildings, it still managed to appear tall and imposing.

The Tower had gotten yet another remodel, this time as a result of the Avengers's "civil war" as the media dubbed it half a year ago (though Peter had a feeling it had to do with the incident during Homecoming and Harley agreed with him), and it was once again sporting the Stark name on it instead of the stylized Avengers "A." It now stood as Stark Industries's headquarters, and despite the events that happened the last time he'd visited a major science and tech company, Peter hoped that Mr Harrington somehow scored a field trip there for the Academic Decathlon team.

After all, Mr Harrington had somehow managed to get a field trip to Oscorp, which was only a tier or two below SI.

(If you had asked him two years ago, Peter probably would've said that Oscorp's biochemical engineering and progress on limb regeneration made them equal with Stark Industries’s green energy and neurological prosthesis engineering (though Harley would've disagreed since he was the more techy type of the two), but he kind of changed his mind after the whole got-bit-by-a-spider-and-nearly-died episode. And even though he and Harley became Spider-Man out of it, he was a little bitter. That and the whole Green Goblin fiasco a month or so ago. He and Harley both got pretty hurt in that one…)

The back of Peter's neck buzzed slightly and he caught a glimpse of Harley tossing a small crumbled ball at him. Peter looked up at his foster brother, who nodded subtly in Mrs Warren's direction. As teachers often did, she was looking around to make sure that everyone was doing their classwork. Just as Mrs Warren turned in his and Harley's direction, Peter picked up his pencil and filled in a question on his worksheet. There was a slight prickling on the back of his neck, telling him that Mrs Warren was looking at him, but it faded swiftly after she looked away.

The worksheet was on something that Peter had more than enough knowledge on—pendulums—due to his "job" as Spider-Man. He was out there six times a week (three days a week as well as three nights) and he often did pendulum swings for fun. The worksheet was boring, but Peter continued to fill it in because he knew that Mrs Warren would comment on it otherwise. He, along with Harley, had skipped more than a few classes when they first started out as Spider-Man, and not to mention simply not paying attention in class, and that had led to some trust issues and disappointment amongst their teachers.

After a few more minutes—and a completed worksheet which led to Peter staring at the skyline again—Harley nudged Peter's foot again. When he looked over, Harley tapped on his old watch and Peter glanced up at the clock, letting out a sigh of relief. There were only a few more minutes left of class.

Harley, easily spotting his relief, quirked his lips up in a slight smirk. Peter rolled his eyes. He was bored and wanted to get out of school already, so what? It wasn't as if Harley wasn't itching to get out, as well. He knew as well as anyone that his foster brother would rather be outside (even in the cold) than sitting in a classroom. It was too bad that they weren't even halfway through the school day. Peter had Spanish next class—which wouldn't be too difficult as Aunt May had taught him Italian and Spanish wasn't too far off from it—and then lunch, but there were four more classes after that before school got out for the day.

A minute before class was due to end, Mrs Warren gathered everyone's attention. "Bell's going to ring everyone so whatever you didn't finish is due on Monday," she informed them all. Peter huffed a breath of amusement as more than a few people let out relieved sighs. He knew that this was AP Physics and all, but this stuff was easy.

Though they knew it was coming, both Peter and Harley cringed when the bell rang loudly with a nasally buzzing sound. Where the bell had been an annoyance before his spider bite, it was now almost painful. Their senses were dialled up to eleven and they often got sensory overloads, which they had to work through since they couldn't miss any school, and the bell was one of the highest annoyances there were.

As he started to put away his stuff to leave, Mrs Warren called out, "Peter, Harley, can you two hang back for a few moments?"

Peter hunched in slightly on himself as Flash sniggered on his way out the door. He couldn't help the way his hands trembled slightly. Were he and Harley in trouble? The last time they skipped had been a few weeks ago, they were careful about that now, so she couldn't be worried about their attendances, could she? And they've been on top of their homework ever since they got their patrols levelled out. Where Peter patrolled during the day, Harley patrolled during the night, giving them both ample time to do their homework.

"Yeah, sure," Harley answered Mrs Warren for them both, his southern accent completely gone. Harley had been in the city since he was twelve, he was sixteen now, and he'd had enough time to completely smother any bit of southern drawl he'd had. He'd been bullied for it, Harley had told Peter when he first caught Harley slipping, and so he did his best to hide it.

Doing his best to calm his nerves, Peter shoved his Physics binder into his beaten backpack. He'd lost his older one during patrol and Ned had been kind enough to lend him an old one of his. Peter had gotten into trouble after that since all of his homework, including an English essay, had been in it. There was no reason to be nervous, Peter tried to tell himself. It was just Mrs Warren! She was a good teacher, a fun one, and she was kind enough to not call on him often, not forcing him to speak.

Peter rarely ever spoke freely much these days since his aunt and uncle's murder and the trauma he experienced in foster care, the only people he truly spoke to being Harley or Ned, and sometimes a word here or there for MJ (they were mostly apologies for stupid things). He tended to stay quiet unless he was talking to Harley alone or if he was on patrol; the rest of the time he didn't talk.

It was a common coping mechanism for him, and it wasn't new.

When his parents had died when he was four, Peter had stopped talking. It had taken some (read: a lot) coaxing from May, Ben, and his therapist, and some dance classes, to get him to start speaking again. It had happened again when he was around eight when Skip had—when he'd had Skip as a babysitter and he—well, when Skip was his babysitter. Ned, who'd he'd befriended at the time because he didn't bully him and didn't force him to talk, had been the one to get him to talk that time.

He'd slipped back into the habit when May and Ben died two years ago. His foster homes hadn't cared—in fact, they loved not having a mouthy kid—but some of his teachers hadn't been that accepting. They'd given him some leeway due to his twice-over-orphan-ness, but he'd still needed to do presentations and answer questions. He'd tried but most of the time he just couldn't force the words out. The words got stuck in his throat. It wasn't until he'd met Harley the summer before freshman year did he manage to work up the courage to speak. He still didn't talk that much in public, and he didn't speak much at home, but Harley had managed to break down his walls to the point where he could speak to teachers if needed.

(There was also Spider-Man, but when he was Spider-Man he wasn't Peter, the nerdy orphan, he was a bad-ass crime-fighting hero, and a chatterbox. Spider-Man talked where Peter didn't. That's how it worked and he was comfortable with that.)

Taking a breath to calm himself, and reminding himself that Harley wouldn't leave him, Peter stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Everyone was out of the classroom at this point beside him, Harley, and Mrs Warren, and Peter knew that it was Mrs Warren's break so no one should be coming in for anything. It both relieved him—because if he and Harley had done something wrong and were getting in trouble, then no one would be there to see the epic scolding they were about to get, Peter knew that personally—and worried him—because if they weren't in trouble, then what did Mrs Warren need to talk to them about, and in private, too?

"Are we in trouble?" Harley asked in his usual quiet voice. Mrs Warren looked up with a kind smile that had Peter relaxing marginally.

"No boys, you're not in trouble this time," she said. "I actually wanted to ask for your opinion on something." Peter's brow furrowed and he exchanged a puzzled look with Harley. Mrs Warren pulled open a drawer in her desk and she pulled out a packet of some kind, handing it to Peter who was the closest of the two. He glanced down at it with Harley peering over his shoulder—the jerk had the gall to be taller than him—and blinked stupidly at the logo on the top left of the page.

"Stark Industries?" Harley blurted as Peter stared at the packet in surprise.

Mrs Warren was beaming at them. "Yes," she said. "Stark Industries is holding a competition at their company as a sort of entrance exam for high school interns. Every STEM school in the area received five forms each to pick for a student and I was wondering if you two were interested? You're both very intelligent, and despite the troubles you've had recently," Peter was chagrined at the mention of their recent dip in attendance and their grades, especially paired with Mrs Warren's stern look, "I believe you two have the chance to win the competition together."

"Wait, two?" Harley said, "as in both of us, and together? Is that even allowed? And ma'am, there's only one packet here and you said only five students per school were chosen."

Mrs Warren's answer was to pull out another packet from her desk. "Yes, both of you, Mr Keener. Two people are allowed to team up, and despite the poor attendance and the missing assignments both of you had a few months ago, you both made up the work and you're grades and GPA are some of the highest of your year. And I know for a fact that you two are capable of the work Stark Industries is looking for. I've spoken with your STEM teachers and you two are bored in class. And Mr Hapgood went as far as to show me the projects you two are working on in shop class. Your projects are very intuitive and creative, even your potato gun, Harley."

Peter felt a blush creep up his ears at the praise, it'd been a while since anyone had genuinely complimented him, and Harley grinned sheepishly.

"Thanks, Mrs Warren," Harley said. Peter nodded to show that he felt the same and he ducked his head at Mrs Warren's amused grin.

Peter flipped through his own packet, eyes skimming the information on the contest, before he looked at the last page with the permission form on it. His lips turned down slightly at the edges. They needed a parent's or guardian's permission to enter the competition and Peter wasn't sure if their faster father, Dan, would allow them to participate. They already had to beg him to continue Academic Decathlon a few months ago, and he'd forced them to quit their other extracurriculars (band and robotics club for Peter and the soccer team and robotics for Harley) because of their absences and the steep drop in grades got him in trouble with their social workers. And even if Dan allowed them to participate, there was no way that they would be able to afford materials to even create something of their own.

Harley must've been thinking the same thing because he asked, "Do we have to buy the materials ourselves?"

Mrs Warren, who knew their home situations and that they couldn't afford brand new, expensive materials like the rest of their classmates, nodded sympathetically. "I'm afraid that the school won't be able to provide either of you with materials because then the school would have to be able to provide every student participating with materials, and the school doesn't have enough funds to cover everyone's projects and provide the materials used in our tech classes. However, students will be allowed to use the workshop's tools and anything bought in bulk—like wiring or screws, for example—and the computer labs for coding."

That was better than nothing, Peter thought. Harley's lips thinned, Peter was sure he was thinking on the glass half empty side rather than the glass half full, and he nodded.

"Now, you two don't have to say yes right away," said Mrs Warren. "Take some time, talk amongst yourselves, talk with your foster parents, figure things out. The competition is in a little more than a month—not long, I know, but a part of SI's competition is making a fully working project in a limited space of time—but knowing you two, you should have enough time to whip something up. I do need an answer by the end of next week, though, okay?" They both nodded. "Good, now let me get you two some passes so you can get to class."

Mrs Warren swiftly filled out some hall passes for them and they were on their way.

Peter and Harley walked slowly down the hall, both preoccupied with their own thoughts. Peter flipped back to the front of the packed he'd been given and he read the information a little slower. Just like Mrs Warren said, the competition was for high school students at STEM schools, and that specialists and other people at SI would more or less be grading their project—their idea, presentation, and how well executed the idea was—for a chance to become an intern at the company. There was also a bit about how SI would sponsor and-or donate to the schools where the interns were chosen from, which was intimidating to think about because that meant that Mrs Warren thought they were worth representing the whole of Midtown to Stark Industries for future interns to be chosen from. He swiftly shelved that thought and read the rest of the paper. Oh! The internship was paid, too. That was nice and would help a lot. Still, he came back to the same thought earlier.

"Do you think Dan will let us compete?" he murmured. He didn't bother speaking at a normal level; Harley had the same enhanced senses he had, which meant that he'd be able to hear him whisper from all the way across the school.

Harley frowned at his own packet. "I honestly don't know," he said. "Dan hasn't been stressed lately and we've been careful to keep our grades up so he hasn't gotten any more worrying calls from the social workers. I'm more worried about the fact that we won't be able to buy anything brand new. I know we've got some money saved up from helping around the neighbourhood and our part-time jobs, but we're saving that for stuff we need like extra food and first aid supplies."

"Dumpster diving, then?" Peter suggested quietly. "Not like we haven't done it before."

Harley snorted. Almost everything they owned (or created) was thrifted or pulled from dumpsters. Their laptops, their phones, an old tablet that they'd neglected because they've been so busy making up work and doing homework and patrolling, and even some clothes. Even their webshooters were made from stuff out of dumpsters, their wires coming from broken DVD players and various other parts coming from lighters and other trash that they'd found.

"Look at the schools competing," Harley pointed out, gesturing to a section on the form. "These are all schools, most of them being private schools, where a lot of rich kids go to. Hell, this is a school for rich kids and the only reason we got in was because of that entrance exam we took and they made a special case because we both got the highest grades and we're orphans. Everyone competing will have the money for expensive parts and we'll be entering with literal trash."

"Doesn't matter anyway," Peter muttered, shoulders slumping. "Not like Dan'll let us compete."

Harley whirled around in front of him, stopping him in place by clasping both hands on his shoulders. Instead of flinching away from the movement, Peter leaned into the steady hands of his foster brother. He and Harley had been together for a year and a half, they'd been in similar shitty situations, and they felt like they were brothers in all but name and blood.

"Chin up, Parker," Harley said reassuringly, tipping Peter's head up with a slight nudge to his chin. "We've been good little boys and Dan doesn't have to know that materials won't be provided. Quindi smettila di preoccuparti, capisci?"

Peter smiled slightly at the casual use of Italian. He'd grown up speaking it with Aunt May and it was a way to remind him of her. Harley had overheard him speaking to himself in it while doing homework not long after they met and he had all but demanded that Peter teach him it. Peter, after a little prodding, had agreed to do so. He surprisingly loved teaching Harley how to speak his aunt's native tongue; there wasn't much to do in a small apartment and pointing out the names of everyday things to Harley got his mind off of things. Harley had slowly but surely picked up the language, probably out of boredom and daily use, and he often spoke to Peter in it. He wasn't completely fluent in it yet, especially since Peter's lessons faded when their workload picked up, but he'd no doubt realized that Peter calmed when he heard the language.

"Si, I understand," Peter murmured. Harley clapped him on the shoulder before steering Peter in the direction of his next class and Peter said, "Ci vediamo a pranzo con Ned e MJ."

It only took a second or two for Harley to translate and he smiled. "Yeah, see you at lunch," he confirmed. He saluted Peter before spinning on his heel and heading back down the hall to his class.

Just as Harley rounded the corner, someone from behind him said, "Señor Parker, as much as I admire your ability to speak Italian, this is Spanish and you're late." Peter jumped slightly and spun to face his Spanish teacher.

"Lo siento, Señor," Peter apologised quietly, easily switching from Italian and English to Spanish. "I got held up in Physics."

Señor Mendez merely raised a brow, took his hall pass, and waved him to his seat. With his enhanced hearing, Peter could hear Harley snickering to himself at Señor Mendez's comment.

***

"You're so mean," Peter huffed as he plopped down next to Harley, his lunch tray clattering against the table. Harley merely smirked at him, easily knowing what he was talking about.

"What'd he do?" Ned asked.

"He got caught speaking Italian with me in the halls when he was supposed to be in Spanish," Harley told him.

"You two didn't try to skip again, did you?" MJ said from a few seats away from them, looking up from her book, which was on the Black Dahlia murder. Harley scoffed in offence.

"No," he huffed. "We got held back in Physics. Mrs Warren wanted to talk to us about something."

"What for? You guys didn't get in trouble, did you?" Ned said in worry. He didn't know that they were Spider-Man but he was aware that they got in trouble a few months ago for skipping school a lot and not turning in any assigned homework. He hadn't been able to wiggle any information out of Peter, who he'd known longer than Harley, and Harley was better at keeping secrets or lying, not that Peter wasn't getting up there in skill.

Harley fished through his backpack for the permission form, slapping it on the lunch table for Ned and MJ to read. Ned gasped. "You're getting an internship at Stark Industries!?" he squealed, causing a few heads to turn their way.

Peter shushed Ned loudly. "No! It's a competition for an internship," he said, tapping the title of the document, which read Stark Industries Internship Competition.

"Oh…"

MJ just rolled her eyes at them, refocusing on her book.

"Basically," Harley began to explain, putting his form back in his bag, "a bunch of these STEM schools were given five forms each to give to five students to compete. We each have to make a project to present to the 'esteemed heads' and specialists at Stark Industries. They'll be grading how it works and stuff and they'll decide who gets an internship."

"That's so cool! What about Peter?" Ned asked, turning to glance at Peter. "Did he get a form, too?"

"Mine's in my bag," Peter said after swallowing a bite of his food. Ned grinned widely at them.

"Out of five of the forms, both of you got one? OMG, guys, that's so cool!" Ned was loud again but Peter didn't bother shushing him this time, despite the attention on them. He was grinning at Ned, who'd been one of his best friends for years, because his friend was so excited for them. In fact, Ned was all genuine. He didn't even look remotely jealous or upset that they'd been chosen over him.

"You're not upset?" Peter asked suddenly, voice quiet. "That you didn't get one?"

"Well, I'm jealous, yeah. I mean, both of you guys are going to be interns at Stark Industries!" He ignored Harley's correction that they were going to get the chance to be interns at Stark Industries, that they weren't already interns. "Like you get to work with some of the best minds and you might even get to see Tony Stark! Iron Man! How could I not be jealous?"

"But you're not… mad?" Peter was nervous. He didn't want Ned to be mad at him for getting picked over for a chance at winning an internship at Stark Industries. Ned was super smart and he'd idolized Tony Stark just as much as he did, though Peter had to admit that Ned idolized the Avengers, the superheroes, more than Tony Stark and his company itself.

"No! You've always been better at that stuff than me, you know that. All I do is code and make robots. Stark Industries makes, like, medical equipment and stuff. And dudes, when you start your internship, tell me all about it! I want to live vicariously through you."

Harley chuckled. "Ned, we don't even have an idea yet."

"Well, what about a drone?" Ned suggested. "Even though Stark Industries doesn't sell the military weapons anymore, they still provide them and the police with other types of tech. You could make a small drone for search and rescue missions?"

"It would have to have some extra stuff on it," Harley mused. "SI is already working on drones. What about something with a thermal camera or some type of scanner? The military could use drones to search for landmines, couldn't they?"

"If I was you guys, I'd be tempted to make R2D2," said Ned.

Peter smiled slightly at the idea of making something from Star Wars. His mind whirled with different types of things they could build for the competition before an old idea flickered through his mind. He rifled through his backpack and pulled out two notebooks, a new one he'd gotten recently and one that was for ideas like his webshooters or robots rather than schoolwork. He hadn't been able to come up with any ideas during Spanish, he'd been too worried about the fact that Dan might not even let them complete, but Ned and Harley had sparked an old idea he'd had. He flipped through the pages, looking for the idea that he'd come up with a few months ago when he and Harley first became Spider-Man and one of them got really injured without the other knowing.

Ned and Harley had stopped talking when he'd pulled out his notebook and began flipping through it. Without bothering to tell his friend and foster brother what he was doing, Peter began to scribble in his notebook, occasionally glancing over his old notes to make sure he was writing down the correct information.

Harley leaned over to read the scribbles as Peter began to jot down ideas and a few chemical compounds. It didn't take Harley long to make sense of his notes.

“A pressure sensor?” he asked.

Peter nodded, and after glancing at Ned—who was watching him idly, used to his idea frenzies—and MJ who was ignoring them—said, “I came up with the idea a while ago. It's a sensor to detect injuries based on different pressure ratios. It could be used in clothes or something. Could also probably send the information remotely with a program, maybe."

Harley blinked in surprise, easily realizing that he was thinking of a Spider-Man suit that could detect what injuries they had, as well as tell the other what injuries they gained. Peter knew it was something that Harley would like, because while Harley didn't hide injuries from Peter, Peter didn’t want to worry Harley and so he hid when he was hurt. It usually backfired on him, though, since Harley could see through him easily, but Peter still tried to hide his injuries. But with a suit that could detect injuries and also transmit them remotely? Harley wouldn't even have to try and get Peter to tell him he was hurt, he would know immediately.

“I like this idea,” Harley declared, making Peter snort. Harley pulled Peter's notes over to him and read them over. “Would something like this work, though?”

"The sensors are easy to make," Peter murmured, "and we have that old tablet and free run of the computer labs. We're both pretty good at coding, so that would work."

“We can’t just show up at a competition with a multimeter if sensors are this easy to make,” said Harley with a frown. His eyes flicked over Peter's notes before lingering on a chemical compound he wrote down. "What's this?"

Peter tapped a section of notes, specifically the word Cloth??? that was circled, and made a hand motion—it was the one they used for shooting webs, though to anyone else it would look like he was signing "I love you" with his hand down. Harley's lips formed an O.

"You're going to try and make cloth out of them?" Harley asked, making Peter nod. "Make sure they don't dissolve then." Peter winced at the thought of their project dissolving mid-presentation and made a note to add a stabilizer to the mixture. He would have to end up testing various amounts of stabilizer, along with different amounts of chemicals, to make sure that the cloth would hold up.

The rest of the school day was spent with Peter and Harley swapping notes on what they wanted to do for the project in their shared classes or when they passed in the halls. Harley was already working on the coding for the app and ideas on how to fix the tablet they had. They would probably have to go dumpster diving or go to pawn shops for parts, though. Peter was scribbling down various chemical compounds as they came to mind, all of them based around his web formula. He would have to find a way to get the chemicals; half of them weren't cheap or available on their own and he didn't feel comfortable stealing that much from the school. He had a make-shift chemistry lab in an abandoned building where he and Harley had originally practised Spider-Manning (and still did, sparring was fun), but he would have to still buy various cleaners to separate some of the chemicals needed.

As it was Friday, Dan got home from work early, so Peter and Harley didn't have any time to set up their makeshift lab. They'd stashed a lot of their Spider-Man stuff there, along with a lot of the electronics and tools they had gotten from thrift stores or dumpster diving. There was no room in Dan's apartment to store anything—and the man didn't want any of their junk lying around—and they had no access to the roof unless they wanted to use their spider-powers, which they both agreed was a dumb idea to use in broad daylight. Due to Dan getting off work early, Peter and Harley also couldn't patrol during the day, so they ended up doing their homework, discussing their ideas a little, and doing chores.

Out of all of their chores, Peter disliked cooking the most. Cooking reminded him too much of May and Ben; Ben had been the chef of the house, and he'd taught Peter how to cook, and May had been a terrible cook. She'd often burn the noodles she tried to boil for her mother's Carbonara. But it had been endearing and something he loved about her. However, as Harley didn't know how to cook anything past PB&J (Peter was slowly teaching him when they had free time before Dan got home), he had to make the dinner tonight.

He didn't bemoan this chore, it beat cleaning the bathroom, and he instead made the best damn spaghetti he'd made in a while to butter Dan up. While Peter was nervous about telling Dan about the competition, Harley had argued that it was best to tell Dan about it tonight. The man should be in a decent mood—because he was never in a good mood—since he had work off tomorrow.

They were just finishing cleaning up and setting the table when they heard Dan walking down the hall. He wasn't a very quiet walker, instead his steps were loud and echoed in the apartment, and the sound of them instinctively had Peter's heart speeding up. Dan was an average man—he was five-ten, probably weighed around a hundred and sixty pounds, and he had dirty-blonde hair and boring brown eyes—and there was theoretically nothing intimidating or threatening about him.

But, there was this thing about Dan—he wasn't nice.

Oh, he could play nice for the neighbours or for their social workers, but he certainly wasn't nice to them. They'd live with Dan long enough (a year and a half), that they'd experienced almost every single emotion that the man could express. And most of that was hate or anger. And violence. Violence towards them.

Peter could remember numerous times where a beating had started with loud, thumping footsteps.

"Calmati," murmured Harley under his breath, taking the wet pot that Peter was rinsing off before he'd frozen. Peter let out a slightly shaky breath before taking in some slow calming ones. The doorknob rattled before twisting open, revealing Dan. Peter's eyes followed Dan as he moved throughout the apartment, kicking off his shoes and loosening his tie, hanging up his coat on the coat rack.

Peter took his eyes off Dan and put away the pots and pans he'd used, keeping tabs on the man with his ears. Dan came out of his room after a few minutes and stood near the table.

"What's for dinner?" he said gruffly, sitting in his usual seat.

"Spaghetti and garlic bread, sir," Harley answered politely, his voice quiet. Dan liked the quiet and so dinner was the only time to talk to him. He tended to work a lot of overtime, probably in hopes of getting a promotion at work, and so he was often tired when he got home. Peter and Harley had to be quiet when moving around for school and after dinner, since that was the only time Dan got to relax; it was that or aggravate Dan, which led to getting punished. They'd only made that mistake a few times.

"Smells good," said Dan grudgingly, plating himself some.

"Thank you," Peter thanked him. Usually, he wouldn't talk at all during dinner, but he figured being polite should give him some points. Dan just grunted. When plating their own food, Peter and Harley made sure not to give themselves too much. Their metabolisms ran much higher than they'd done before, meaning that they had to eat more to stay healthy, but if they started to eat more than expected, then Dan would get suspicious and-or grouchy that they were "eating him out of his house." Both of them had lived with foster parents who didn't want to waste money feeding them much and so they took what they could get without complaining. They used their spare money to buy protein bars and those kept them full-enough.

Dinner was quiet for the most part. The only sounds were the sounds of them eating, their forks scraping across their plates, and the downstairs neighbours fighting like they usually did. They were a few floors down so Dan couldn't hear them, but Peter and Harley could. Peter couldn't tell if the relationship was abused, though, since they went from screaming at each other to acting lovey-dovey within hours.

When Dan was sharing signs of finishing his dinner, Peter and Harley shared a swift glance.

"Sir?" Harley said, setting down his fork. Peter did the same and brought his hands to his lap, fiddling with his hoodie sleeves nervously. He watched from beneath his lashes as Dan looked at Harley and grunted, which Harley took that as permission to speak. "Our Physics teacher held us back in class today and—"

"You didn't skip or anything did you?" Dan said harshly with narrowed eyes. "You remember what I said would happen if you got in trouble again, right?"

"Yes, I remember, but we didn't do anything wrong!" Harley rushed to say. "In fact, our teacher actually held us back to tell us that our grades are so good that we've got an internship opportunity."

"An internship," Dan deadpanned, setting down his fork and giving them his attention. Peter wasn't sure if having Dan's full attention on them was good or not. He hoped "good."

"Yes, sir," Harley said, bobbing his head. "The top STEM schools in New York were given permission slips for a competition at Stark Industries. The competition takes place next month and depending on what you make and what the specialists at the company say, you could end up with an internship. Sir."

"It's a competition?" Dan said with a frown. "Not an actual internship? And you two want to compete?" Peter kept his expression neutral when Dan sent a glance his way, but his fingers tightened around his sleeves.

"S-Sir," Peter jumped in to help Harley. "E-Each school was only given five forms. Since Stark Industries will sponsor the schools who they choose the interns from, the schools will pick only the, um, best students?" Peter winced slightly at his wording but continued speaking despite the slight shaking of his voice. "S-Sir, Harley and I both got forms. W-We're some of the best students in our grade, w-we wouldn't have been chosen to represent Midtown if we, uh, weren't capable?"

Dan's lips thinned as he thought. "What… is this competition, exactly?"

"Each student is supposed to create and make a prototype of working tech, sir," said Harley, taking Dan's attention of Peter. "It's the same type of thing we're doing in shop class so it wouldn't be too difficult. The school is allowing us to use their computer labs and materials after school—" There was no need to tell him what those materials were, exactly. "—and we'd still be able to do our chores and homework. We'd just have to stay at school for an extra hour or two to work on our project in order to get it done for the competition."

"When is the competition?"

"In a month, sir. Transportation to Stark Industries is provided." That was a lie but there was no reason to tell Dan that they had the extra money to pay for a sub across the city. Or the fact that their project would be small enough that they could just swing to the Tower if they needed to.

"Both of you are competing?"

"Yes, but we're allowed to work on the same project and enter it together," Harley clarified.

"And this internship, how many hours after school would you be gone? I can't have your grades dropping and making me look bad."

"Only a few hours a week, I think," Harley said. "We could probably ask, but I don't think the workload would be too much since we're only high school students and they know we go to demanding STEM schools."

Dan was silent for a few moments. Peter resisted the urge to fidget, instead choosing to dig his nails into his arm to distract him. Below him, Mr and Mrs Fights-A-Lot were getting into another row that Peter was sure would either end up in one of them storming out to the bar or in hot, passionate, cringe-inducing sex. He'd rather it be the former rather than the latter since there was only so much sex sounds that he could listen to without it making him want to curl up in a ball, vomit, or both. He just hoped that he was asleep before it happened, if it happened.

Dan let out a gusty sigh, making Peter jump. "Well?" he demanded. "Are there permission forms or something?"

"Oh, uh, I-I'll go get them, sir," Peter stammered out, stumbling to his feet. He ran into the edge of the table in his haste to get out of the room and tensed in preparation for a reprimand that never happened. Peter and Harley had put their forms on their shared desk just in case Dan allowed them to compete, so he was back in the kitchen not twenty seconds after he'd left. He also provided a pen and Dan signed off on both forms with a glance to make sure what he was signing was actually a form for an internship and not something else.

Not long after, Peter and Harley cleaned the dirty dishes before being dismissed to their room for the night.

Peter laid up in the top bunk of the bunk bed, staring up at the watermarked ceiling, his through whirling loudly through his mind. He couldn't believe that Dan was actually allowing them to compete. Now all they had to do was actually make their project and they only had a month to do it! What if it wasn't good enough? What if it wasn't original? What if someone made a better working one? What if it didn't work?

And, what if they won?

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 7: Nightwraiths and Impulsive Decisions

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 6,260

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“Two rooms please,” The man working behind the bar moves his gaze to Visenya, an oily grin snaking its way onto his face. He’s a short, chubby man with beady brown eyes that focus on her too intently, lingering on her chest area.. His mousy brown hair is greasy and slicked back, an unsuccessful attempt to hide his bald patches, it would seem. The longer he looks at her, his grin creeps wider and wider until Visenya can see his teeth, the ones still in his mouth at least. Majority are blackened while the whitest of them are yellow and the stench of something rotting hits her nose.

He pulls out a heavy book from behind the counter, slamming it on the bar, faintly humming as he thumbs through the pages. With each page turn, he makes a show of licking his fingers, eye raking up and down Visenya as he does before moving his eyes down to the page.

“Looks like we only got one,” he says. His eyes peer up at Visenya, a grin sleazier than the last, if possible. “However, I’m sure I could arrange for somewhere else...like my room perhaps. Free of charge of course,” Visenya’s jaw tightens as she rolls her eyes, slamming a few pieces of gold on the counter with more force than necessary. The rat of a man jumps a bit in surprise, sliding the coins towards him with shaky hands.

Men are the same no matter where you go.

“I’ll just take the room, along with some drinks for me and my friend,” Visenya says, nodding her head towards Jaskier, who’s sitting at a table nervously fumbling with his lute. The man grumbles under his breath while putting away the room ledger, replacing it with an old rusty key. She grabs it and moves towards Jaskier, taking a seat across from him.

“Oh, there you are! Any luck?” Jaskier says upon noticing her. In response she throws the rusty key on the table, untrapping the sheath of her blade and resting it beside her. “Just one?”

“It was all they had,” she says. A barmaid approaches their table, two drinks in hand. She sets them on the table and quickly scurries away before either of them could so much as glance at her. As soon as the drinks touch the table, Visenya grabs one of the cups and takes a large gulp, the ale leaving behind a slight numbing sensation as it flows down her throat. It’s not the smoothest ale she’s had, but also not piss poor swill.  

“Well, I’m sure we can make it work,” Jaskier says.

Visenya just grunts in response, throwing her ale back and finishing it off. She holds a hand up to gain the attention of a barmaid that is currently bustling around the tavern like a rat. A moment later she swings back to their table, wiping her hands onto her dingy and stained apron.

“Another ale for me,” Visenya says. The woman nods and rushes off, yelling Visenya’s order at the man behind the bar, returning a moment later with a full mug of ale. She places it in front of Visenya and turns to leave, however before she can, Visenya slips a gold coin in one of her deep pockets. 

“Ah, I knew you had a heart somewhere in there, Jane,” Jaskier says. His tone is light and teasing as he places his lute in the chair beside him. He takes a drink from his ale and promptly begins to sputter and cough, putting it down as quickly as he picked it up.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She hides her smirk behind her mug as she slowly sips her drink. Amusement dances in her amber eyes as Jaskier continues to cough for the next few seconds. 

“Don-- don’t think, I didn’t see you slip that coin into her pocket,” Jaskier says, smacking his hand against his chest a few times before his breathing returned to normal. He sighs in relief and pulls out his water skin, taking a large gulp from it.

“So? It wasn’t like it was mine,” she says, raising a single eyebrow at Jaskier. His brows furrow and he purses his lips, before suddenly his eyes widen and he frantically begins to pat his pockets. 

“You took my coin pouch!” he yells, pointing his finger accusingly at her. “I can’t believe you would do that to me, what if we were to get separated and I needed to get food so I don’t starve to death? What would you do then, Jane? Hmm. Bet you didn’t think about that!”

Visenya turns her attention away from Jaskier’s ranting, scanning the current occupants in the bar. There’s the usual hunters and rangers, people traveling from one place to another, and then the workers. Her attention is captured however, when someone new enters the inn. Long snow-white hair, a bulky stature that could intimidate a giant, and two swords strapped to his back. 

Geralt.

He approaches the bar, giving his order to the rat behind the counter, and she imagines him using a harsh tone, his words clipped and cold. He sits down on a bar stool, folding on himself as he lowers his elbows onto the counter. His position is the perfect spot, allowing everyone in the room to be visible to him, while staying hidden in the shadows himself. 

Visenya's eyes lock onto him and as his eyes move through the room, their gazes meet. The bartender timidly places Geralt’s drink in front of him before scurrying off to the other end. She offers him a sly smirk, raising a single eyebrow at him, daring him to come over. 

And he does not disappoint. 

With an ale in one hand, he stands from the bar and starts to walk towards Visenya and Jaskier's table. The crowds part for him, granting the intimidating Witcher a wide berth. And for a second, the thought of traveling with Geralt and never having to deal with people’s bullshit crosses Visenya’s mind. But then her eyes rest on Jaskier - who is still ranting about his coin pouch - and in that moment she knows she couldn't leave him. This idiot wouldn’t last a day without her.

“Geralt!” Visenya says. Jaskier stops mid rant, moving his gaze to the approaching Witcher. 

“Oh yes! This is perfect, brilliant even.” Jaskier says, his tone bursting with excitement. “Whatever grand quest Geralt is about to complete is going to make a fantastic song!”

 “Jaskier, do me a favor.” Visenya says, eyes not moving an inch from Geralt.

“Of course, anything My Lady.”

“Shut up,” Visenya says just in time for Geralt to reach their table. “If I didn’t know any better, Geralt of Rivia, I’d think you were following me,” she says, granting him a sly smile, a stark contrast to the frosty glare she wore moments ago. Geralt grunts in response, a hint of a smile hidden under his stony facade, and pulls out the chair beside Visenya.

“Jaskier.” Geralt says, nodding his head towards the bard. Something glinting in the light gains Visenya’s attention, her eyes drawn to one of Geralt’s swords. Resting on the hilt of it is a familiar broach, with a sword cutting through the middle of it, surrounded in gems. 

Renfri’s broach. 

Her smile dims a touch, the mischievous expression turning bleak and hollow. She hasn’t thought of Renfri since Blaviken, unwilling to think about any of it. Visenya managed to tuck thoughts of Renfri in the same box she kept all of her memories of Westeros, locked deep enough away to continue on with her life. But seeing the broach that belonged to her - something so intricately tied with Renfri and her history - is like the box being thrown open and it’s contents spilling to the ground. 

“You kept it,” Visenya says, voice barely above a whisper. Geralt looks at the broach then back at Visenya. Neither of them say anything, not that Visenya trusts herself to form a coherent sentence.

“The broach? Should I know about this broach, it seems like a big deal. Jane I didn’t know you liked jewelry?” Jaskier interrupts, pulling Visenya from her reverie, firing off his questions like a hyperactive rabbit.

And just like that the box is locked again, it’s contents neatly folded inside.

“It’s nothing.” Visenya quickly answers with a stiff tone, turning back to her drink and taking an even larger swig than before. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem like nothing.” Jaskier rebuttals and Visenya glowers at him, not ready to deal with anything that involves Blaviken.

 “Leave it, Jaskier.” Geralt says, leveling a firm glare at him, eyes demanding for him to drop it. 

“Fine, Fine I know a touchy subject when I see it. But how did you two meet anyway? Back during the whole Filavandrel situation you two seemed well acquainted.” Jaskier asks, taking a small drink of his ale, and it brings a twinge of amusement to Visenya to see him struggling to swallow it.

 “You’d think by now this one -” he points over at Visenya, “would tell me but no, I’m not worthy of her tales. Haven’t even gotten her last name.” 

“Blaviken,” Visenya answers, managing to make her voice even and strong, laced with her usual ice. “And I do have a last name, you’re just not privy to that information,”

“Truly, Blaviken? Wasn’t half the town burnt to a crisp? Were you present when it happened? Do you know what caused the explosion? How could you leave the details of this riveting tragedy from me!?” He exclaims, enthralled by the story he already weaved in his mind.

“No, I wasn’t there,”

Her eyes glaze over, grip tightening on the mug in her hand. Images of people burning in a building flash before her eyes, their screams echoing in her head. The smell of burning flesh - the stench still lingering in the depths of her mind - causes her stomach to turn. And she swears that her mug starts to heat up, the ale coming to a vicious boil the longer and longer her mind wanders. Physically she is there, but mentally she’s miles away, until Geralt snaps her back to her body.

“I see you took your own advice about hair oils.” Geralt says, noticing the tight grip on her cup and the haunted look in her eyes. He knows it well, he’s seen it painted on other people’s faces many times. His eyes are locked on Visenya’s hair, braided in an intricate fashion, securely out of her face. It’s still that same disgusting brown, but not nearly as much of a state as before, the ends much more manageable. A playful smile appears on Visenya’s face, the ghosts of Blaviken disappearing from her mind, and she lightly smacks him on his broad shoulder, not worried about actually hurting the giant of a man.

“Shut up and drink your ale,” she says, gesturing towards the drink the barmaid slipped him earlier. “Why are you here anyway?” she asks as he drinks his ale. 

“A Nightwraith,” he answers, “There’s been one lurking nearby.” 

“Well, I doubt it’s in this inn, so why are you here?” Visenya asks. 

“Nightwraiths only come out at night, so I’m getting a drink.” Geralt says, gesturing to his mug.

“And that you might’ve possibly heard we were here,” Jaskier said, forcing himself into the conversation. “A few men in the town were getting too comfortable and Jane set them straight,” Visenya levels a glare at Jaskier, not liking the implications in his eyes, the accusing words dripping from his smiling lips. He instantly flushes, beginning to nervously play with his sleeves, the confidence there only moments ago nowhere to be seen. 

“What are you implying, Jaskier,” Visenya asks, a thinly veiled threat laced in her words, promises of reintroducing him to her fist if he isn’t careful.

“I’m just saying, this is what… the third time you’ve run into each other and the two of you seem very familiar with each other” he mutters. 

“Jaskier…” Geralt says, utilizing the same tone as Visenya. And she doesn’t doubt that Geralt’s probably already hit the bard too. 

“I didn’t say a word,” His expression is similar to a cat that got the cream, smug with a satisfied glint in his eyes. His eyes slowly move from Geralt to Visenya, back to Geralt then Visenya, before landing on his lute. He picks up the instrument and begins mindlessly strumming it, humming different lyrics quietly as he does.

Geralt rolls his eyes, while Visenya fidgets with one of her daggers.

Stupid bard.

They idly sit there for a few more minutes and once Geralt finishes his drink, he stands up to leave. 

“Wait Geralt,” Visenya said, grabbing onto his arm, causing him to look down at her. “Let me help you fight the wraith.”

“No,” he said, his tone flat, not even allowing a second to consider the offer.

“Why not?” Visenya presses, refusing to accept no without a reason, her pride rearing its ugly head. Does he think she’s incapable of holding her own in battle, like she’s some damsel in distress?

“It’s too dangerous,” he simply says, pulling his arm free from her grasp and leaving the inn. Visenya huffs in frustration, reaching across the table and swiping Jaskier’s full mug of ale.

When was the last time she got to hit something that could give her a real fight?

“Hey! That’s mine,” Jaskier exclaims, but makes no move to try and take it back. 

“Well I need a drink and I got tired of you sipping on it like it’s some high class wine,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes. Jaskier huffs, but says nothing else. He leans back in his chair and Visenya finishes off his mug. There’s silence surrounding them for a moment, blocking out the intruding tavern ambience

“You really are something else, Jane,” Jaskier says, bringing Visenya’s attention back to him. His eyes are intently watching her, lacking the lightheartedness he usually possesses. Her smile slowly vanishes, meeting Jaskier’s gaze, and not for the first time, Jaskier proves himself more perceptive than most people give him credit for. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says, averting her eyes to her hands, tracing the details of the small ring on her finger.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about what you said to Filavandrel,” he says. Visenya’s eyes snap towards Jaskier. She opens her mouth to reply, but Jaskier cuts her off. “But, I won’t push it. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” 

Visenya’s mouth opens and closes a few times as she tries to form a proper sentence. 

“ I- Thank you,” she finally says. Finishing off the rest of her ale, she grabs the key from the table and stands up, Jaskier mirroring her actions.

Silently, they move across the room towards the stairs to get to the second level. 

“So who’s getting the bed?” Jaskier asks, a hair too close.

“Me,”.

“Or we could share…?” Jaskier suggests.

“Or you can sleep outside in the cold.”

                                                  o0o0o0o

The soft grass gives out underneath the weight of Visenya’s footsteps, leaving behind a trail of her tracks as she quietly moves through the meadow. There’s no sun to guide her, the darkness only allowing for faint shadows and delusions of monsters at every corner. There’s a chill in the air, an ominous feeling creeping up her spine that nearly makes her heave up her dinner. She’s not sure what possessed her to do something this stupid; it could be pride or the need to prove a point. Either way, it’ll probably get her killed one day. 

The townsfolk were more than willing to tell her everything they knew about the wraith plaguing their home, even giving a general location. It’s a few hours past sundown and approximately ten minutes after she saw Geralt exit the town. Armed with a sword and donning her leather armor, the sinking feeling that she’s in over her head sets in, a pit forming in the depths of her stomach. 

But it’s too late to turn back now.  

It’s silent, so much so that Visenya can hear her breathing, the deep inhale and exhale seemingly as loud as a Dothraki screamer. The air is ice cold, so cold it could make Winterfell feel like Dorne. Each breath is clearly visible in the air, the condensation nearly freezing it into small icicles on sight. Her heart speeds up, the ominous feeling that previously felt more like a nagging sensation in the back of her mind is at full power. There’s a tickle in her left ear, the feeling of someone a breath away from her skin. She whirls to the left, and there’s nothing but empty air, and just as she turns away--.

A screech rings in the still air, so piercing Visneya has to cover her ears in fear of losing that ability to hear. She whips her head to the left, keen eyes trying to see through the inky darkness surrounding her, and then she sees it- a glint of silver in the distance, flashing so quickly, it could only be the dangerous dance of one person, Geralt.

Without allowing a moment of hesitation, Visenya draws her blade and charges. There’s a sliver of fear in the back of her mind that she forces away. She’s never fought a wraith - or any monster of any kind, but there’s no turning back now.

The closer she gets, the clearer the noises becomes. She hears the sound of metal clanging together, heavy breathing similar to a snarling wolf, and another scream - this one not as loud as the first one. About 20 feet away, a spectral figure comes into sight, wearing a torn up nightgown, the once pristine white fabric stained red and black. A blackened tongue oozing with dark ichor hangs from its mouth, nearly reaching its spectral feet. A shimmering purple barrier surrounds it as Geralt hacks away at it, moving as if he’s made to fight.

She grabs one of her silver daggers - the first weapon she bought here, still charging at full speed. It leaves her hand, cutting through the air, landing where its heart would be. A clean shot, just like Jon taught her all those years ago, hidden in the Godswood. 

Geralt’s head whips towards Visenya, the distraction allowing for the wraith to drag it’s razor sharp claws across his chest, the leather armor taking the brunt of the damage. He staggers backward, but tosses a vial at the wraith. It explodes on contact and leaves behind a luminous glow in the area. The creature screeches in pain as it flies towards Geralt. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Jane?” Geralt yells, anger evident in his tone as he dodges an incoming attack.

“Helping you!” she replies. She brings her blade up and slices into the creature. The sword passes through it, leaving the wraith unharmed.

“Your sword won’t do anything!” he yells, hitting the wraith with his sword, a line of flames following the swing. “It’s steel, only silver kills monsters.”

“Well fuck me then!” Visenya tosses the sword away, pulling out a second dagger, this one also forged from silver. It leaves her hand and lands in the center of the creature’s forehead, falling to the ground as the shimmering circle around them disappears. The wraith becomes incorporeal again and swipes one of its hands towards Visenya, scratching along her chest.

 A howl of pain echoes from her mouth, a burning sensation lights her body on fire, but not the type of fire she’s familiar with. This one is darker and twisted, making her toes curl inwards as it feels like her life essence is being drained. Visenya staggers backward and attempts to gain her footing. However, before she has a chance to recover, it swipes at her again with its other hand, scratching across her chest again, creating an X. With another cry of pain, Visenya falls backward. 

The wraith glides towards her, its scream making her ears bleed. She attempts to stand but doesn’t have the strength, it feels like her body weighs a ton. The closer the wraith gets to her, the faster her heart speeds up, the feeling of impending doom growing stronger. And as it draws closer, on instinct she throws her arm up, an attempt to shield her body from the creature. And as she screams, pain flaring in her body from the simple action, a flash of fire follows her movements. It smacks against the wraith, burning away the rags it wears and the black ichor dripping from it. The creature recoils and shrieks once again, however, before it continues its advance, a sword pierces it from behind. With a final scream, the wraith disappears, leaving a sticky substance behind in its place, that too dissipates after a moment, only leaving behind burning injuries in its wake. 

Silently, Geralt steps in front of Visenya with a hand outstretched towards her. She takes it, his hand is surprisingly cool to touch, a startling contrast to her burning skin. He slings her arm over his shoulder and the two of them begin the trek back to town. On their way past it, Geralt bends down to grab her sword from the ground. 

The walk back to the inn is completely silent, Geralt saying nothing and Visenya wanting to speak, but not knowing what to say. It isn’t until they’re in Geralt’s room, the door firmly shut behind them, that he says anything, or even looks at her.

“You shouldn’t have come.” Geralt says, his voice holding the usual coldness, keeping everyone at arm's length, but contained under his words is a burning anger. He grabs a medicine kit from his pack and walks over to Visenya, a poultice in one hand and bandages in the other. “Take off your shirt.” 

“But I did come,” she says as she took off her leather tunic, leaving on her breast band. Her vision is slightly fuzzy around the edges, but much clearer than it had been in the field. The burning sensation isn’t nearly as intense, but that doesn’t mean it’s healing, in fact the wound looks worse.  It’s like when you cut your finger on parchment, the pain doesn’t go away, instead it lingers in the back of your mind, until it finally leaves entirely.

“Yeah and you almost got killed!” he says, aggressively cleaning the deep claw marks that mar her skin, adding to the collection of scars covering her body. She hisses in pain at the contact but does nothing to stop him. She watches his eyes, a storm brewing in them. His mouth is pulled in a tight line with his jaw tightly clenched. His hands held the rag so tightly she could see his veins popping out on his arm. 

“Like that’s the worst thing that could happen! Not that it matters, because I didn’t die but the wraith did. End of story.” She shouldn’t have said that, and she knows it. The second the words fly from her mouth she regrets them, but it’s too late. Her pride is wounded, hurting as much as the claw marks on her chest. 

“Like hell that’s the end of the story. Do you not realize how stupid what you did was?” he snarls, throwing the rag in his hand to the ground, pure unbridled rage in his eyes.

“Who cares, I clearly don’t! Can’t you say thank you and move one,” Visenya exclaims, over this argument the moment it started, but unable to concede and admit fault. She’s too stubborn for that.

And he laughs.

Not a full belly laugh that makes your stomach twist into knots, or the type of laugh that is like the first spring air touching your skin after a year of winter. No, this one is cold and sarcastic and cruel. 

“You want me to thank you? Is that it?” he asks, his eyes wild and crazy, his mouth twisting into a mocking grin. 

“Would that be so bad?” She stands from the bed, pain immediately rearing its hateful head at her, but the anger coursing through her bones overpowers it, blocking out her senses and common sense. 

“Enlighten me then Jane. Why should I thank you, hmm? What did you do in that fight other than distract me,” he asks, raising his eyebrows at her, his eyes egging her on, demanding a response. 

“I helped you, you fucking idiot!” she replies, shoving him with all the strength she could muster. He staggers back just a hair, quickly gaining his footing back.

“And if you died? Would that be helping me? When they had to bury--” 

Smack.

She brings her hand up, cracking it across his face with a clean smack, the noise reverberating around them. And it’s silent, beyond their heavy breathing and the crackling fire. From the force of the blow, Geralt’s head turned left and stays that way for a moment, his left cheek bright red. The shock on his face disappears, like fire melting ice, while Visenya stares at him, unsure of what to do next. Her hand thrums with pain, his face harder than she’d anticipated. 

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she mutters after a moment of silence. Flashes of Walder Frey and his soldiers, Robb falling dead to the ground, and Visenya’s knees meeting the dirt, only able to cry as bolts pierced her skin. 

They maintain eye contact for a moment, Visenya lost in her thoughts and Geralt trying to digest what she said. And then like the first snow of winter, the broken dam that lets the river flow freely, Geralt breaks the silence.

“Sit down, I still need to wrap your wound.”

In a daze, Visenya sits down as Geralt starts spreading a foul smelling poultice on her wounds, yet she can’t even bring herself to grimace at the smell, too lost in her head. Visenya stares at the wall ahead of her, lost in her own thoughts. A sigh escapes her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Visenya says nervously, biting her bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have come, I don’t know anything about monsters and charged headfirst into a fight without a proper weapon.” A chuckle escapes her throat, the tone self-deprecating and sardonic. 

“I’ve noticed you don’t think too much before acting,” he said, his tone lighter than the anger in it only seconds ago, her apology calming his rage. Visenya snorts, remembering all the times she’d been scolded for her hot-headedness by the Starks - mainly Catelyn and on occasion Jon too. 

“So I’ve been told,” she says. Geralt begins applying the bandages over her wounds to protect them from getting infected. He doesn’t say anything else, but Visenya can hear the questions swirling in his mind. 

“Go on. Ask away all the questions I know you have.” Visenya says. Geralt pauses his actions but continues nonetheless.

“I do have questions, but I know if you wanted me to know the answers, you’d tell me.” Geralt replies. He finishes dressing her wounds and steps away from her. He begins gathering the remaining supplies and places them back into his pack.

“Do you miss her?” Visenya asks, watching Geralt intently. He doesn’t pause his actions, but he does throw her a quick glance. “I mean, you still have her broach. She must’ve meant something.” Visenya ponders aloud. Geralt throws his pack across the room onto a chair.  He quickly removes his leather jerkin, expertly undoing on the ties and clasps that keep it in place. He’s left wearing a simple tunic and his sturdy leather pants. He then sits beside Visenya on the bed. 

“I will admit, she had an impact on me.” Geralt says, handing her a water skin. She takes a large drink from it, the cool water refreshing against her dry throat, then Visenya passes the water back to him, wiping at her mouth. 

“I feel like every time I close my eyes to sleep, she’s there. A faint whisper in my dreams that never leaves.” Visenya says, her voice barely above a whisper. Geralt doesn’t reply but continues to watch her, his expression is unreadable. 

“I was gonna leave with her, did ya know?” Visenya says, softly laughing after, tracing the grain in the floorboards. “We were going to take the world by storm, no one safe from our chaos.”

“I’m sorry.” Geralt mutters.

“Don’t be, she was determined to burn down the world. Nothing we could’ve done,” Visenya replies, trying to convince herself more than anything. Her need to destroy those who’ve wronged her led to her downfall, a moral point of no return. It reminds Visenya how fickle someone’s state of sanity is. One wrong move and everything snaps. 

That could’ve been Visenya if not for the Starks.

It could still be her.

And that thought terrifies her.

“How long did you know her?” Geralt asks. 

“Not much longer than you,” Visenya says, snorting obnoxiously. “It seems stupid, being so torn up about the death of someone you’ve only known for three days.” 

“People have done crazier.” Geralt replies. Apprehensively he puts a hand on Visenya’s shoulder as an attempt to comfort her. She accepts it and leans against his touch. Forming a small smile on her face, she looks up at him.

“Like charge into a fight against a wraith unprepared.” she quips.

“Some might say that,” he says. He moves his hand so his arm is wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his side. 

“Would it surprise you to know I’ve done far stupider?” Visenya asks, her eyes shifting to his wolf medallion, tracing and retracing it. 

“Would you be offended if I say I’m not.” Geralt says. She can feel his gaze on her, so intense it might burn a hole through her.

“I can’t be offended about anything after the stunt I just pulled,” Visenya says. She pulls a centimeter away from Geralt, sitting up to be eye level with him.

Easier said than done, considering how tall he is. 

She rests her hands on top of his shoulders, attempting to balance herself. His eyes follow her every move but he does nothing to stop her. Her eyes trace his face, taking the moment to memorize each curve and scar. His face is angular and sharp, faint white lines dancing across his face. His lips - soft and full, an intoxicating contrast to the sharpness on the rest of his face. From the moment she saw him, Visenya knew that Geralt was attractive. But being this close to him, with his eyes looking at her like they are, now she knows how attractive he is.

“Everyone always told me I was too impulsive,” Visenya says, leaning her weight against Geralt as she swings one of her legs around him, straddling his lap.

“Hmm. And where would they get that idea?” Geralt replies, moving his arms to coil around her waist like a snake tightening around its prey. 

“I have no idea,” Visenya says, moving her face closer to Geralt’s. He doesn’t move towards her, but he doesn’t move away either. His grip around her does tighten, however. She continues until their faces are barely a centimeter apart. They’re so close she can feel his breath fanning on her face as her eyelashes delicately tickle against his skin. The two of them continue to stare at each other, daring the other person to make a move. Her eyes search his - unsure of what she’s looking for, but searching nonetheless. 

There’s a little distance between them.

Until there isn’t.  

Geralt closes the gap between them, pressing his lips against her, like a starving beast that finally found a meal after days of searching. It’s all teeth and tongue, desperation clawing at both of them. His lips are slightly chapped from the biting wind outside, but still so soft. It’s like the first time Visenya wore a dress from silks, drowning in the soft fabric that felt like a million gentle caresses. 

Gods, his lips are softer than they have the right to be.

 Her hands move from his shoulders and weave themselves into his hair, lightly tugging as she does. He pulls her closer to his body, the heat radiating from Visenya hotter than any fire. The adrenaline from the fight with wraith returns tenfold, a roaring fire burning away the pain lingering in her chest until there’s nothing but a dull ache left. Visenya can feel herself getting addicted to the sensation of his lips, desperately craving more and chasing his mouth during those few seconds they pull away for air.

On pure instinct, she begins to grind against him in the same rhythm of her ragged breathing, desperate for some sort of friction. His hands that were previously around her waist slide down until he’s gripping both sides of her hips. He starts to guide her movements, clearly well practiced in this department. The sensation elicits soft moans from Visenya that Geralt swallows. 

Geralt breaks the kiss, moving his mouth to her neck, leaving marks wherever his teeth touch. Visenya gasps at the feeling, tugging on his hair harder than before. Geralt growls and continues his assault. A warm feeling inside her continues to grow the longer they stay like this until it’s nearly unbearable. One of her hands untangles itself from his hair, moving to grip his chin. 

She forces his head away from her neck to face her head-on. A predatory grin forms on Visenya's face, the control she holds over him in the moment exhilarating. Usually, Geralt maintains control of a situation, both in combat and in conversation, he’s holding the reins. But in this moment, with his eyes practically begging for her to do something - anything as he tightens his grip on her hips, he’s as helpless as the damsels in Sansa’s stories. His amber eyes appear nearly feral, wild and blown out. His hair is a tangled mess from where Visenya brushed her hands through it, his lips are bruised and swollen, evidence of what just happened between them. 

She continues to grind against him while maintaining her grip on his chin. A series of low grunts escapes his mouth, the sound spurring Visenya on. She quickens her pace and with her hand still in Geralt’s hair, she pulls harder and forces his head upwards to expose his neck. His jaw is clenched, veins in his neck popping out. She leans her face forward, burying her face in his pulse point, leaving trails of phantom kisses leading up to his jawline. She begins to nibble at his jaw, slowly moving towards his lips. She moves her hands onto the tops of his shoulders, leaning most of her weight against him. Geralt leans forward, attempting to connect their lips, but Visenya pulls back. Far enough that he doesn’t reach her, but still close enough that her breath tickles his lips. A low grunt of annoyance leaves his mouth, but he does nothing else.

“Nuh uh uh. Not yet,” she tells him, giving him a grin that shows all her teeth. “You’ve gotta earn it.” His grip on her hips is so tight, Visenya’s sure it’s gonna leave marks. His movements become jerkier and rougher as he guides her hips against his crotch. A pit grows in Visenya’s stomach as she grinds harder against him. A slew of curses leave Geralt’s mouth, but he maintains eye contact with Visenya like he’s entranced. 

“Fuck, Geralt. There you go, that’s right.” Visenya moans, closing her eyes and fully enjoying the sensations. “If it’s this good when you’ve got your clothes on, I can only imagine when you’re not.” she says, fluidly moving with the pace he set. 

“Why don’t you find out,” he grunts, his breathing unsteady. Visenya simply laughs at him, opening her eyes and leaning into him. 

“Not yet, this is only the third time we’ve met. A girl has to maintain some propriety,” She presses her lips against his, slipping her tongue in his mouth, but pulls away before he gets a chance to react. 

“You’re a fucking tease,” Geralt says, attempting to chase her mouth. 

“The door’s over there, I’m sure there’s a nearby brothel that could help you out.” Visenya says. However, before Geralt gets a chance to respond, she digs her fingers into his shoulders. She rubs against him with rigid backward and forward motions, chasing the high that she instinctively knows is so close. She clenches her legs tighter against him as a tingle fills her body, starting from her head down to her toes. Almost simultaneously, a throaty groan leaves Geralt's mouth and he presses his face into the crook of her neck. The two of them slow their movements until neither of them are moving. 

They stay like that for a while, neither of them saying a word. Visenya eventually manages to catch her breath and steady her heart. The adrenaline previously pumping through her diminishes as she gains control of her brain. 

“Stay.” Geralt asks - no demands. His eyes meet hers with the same intensity his gaze always holds, but something softer is mingled with it. 

“Jaskier will know if I don’t come back to the room.” Visenya reminds him. “And I really don’t want to deal with that.” 

“To hell with the bard.” Geralt argues, tightening his grip around Visenya and pulling her closer. 

“You said it, not me.” Visenya quips, leaning forward to meet Geralt's lips again. 

                                              o0o0o0o

Tags: If you’re name is crossed out, it means Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you. 

 @sunlithours | @1967-chevy-impala-called-roscoe​ | @historicallydysfunctional​ | @stuckupstucky​ | @aknerdchick​ |  @ayamenimthiriel​​ | 

[bigdaddib]

Gendry Who? pt2

So, lol, this is from like so so long ago and I didn’t update it cause it started getting so much longer than I ever intended it to. I did make a part 2 though, from Gendry’s pov. If anyone’s still interested, here ya go

“Arya’s recital is next week, you coming?”

 Gendry had long since conditioned himself to not respond too dramatically when her name was mentioned. Instead, he withdrawals so deep within himself even he couldn’t tell you where to find him. “Wouldn’t you be bringing Ygritte?” Gendry asked, not pausing as he shoveled down cereal and scrolled through his phone.

 “Yeah, but she invited you too, she just has to know so she can reserve us a seat.”

 This, however, Gendry did not prepare himself for. His spoon, just as it was about to enter his mouth, became so still not even a drop of milk spilled over the sides. His thumb hovered over his phone screen, eyes unblinking but not seeing anything around him.

 Sure, she had said she had forgiven him. And, sure, he had believed her because she was Arya. If she didn’t forgive you, if she harbored any negative emotions toward you, you knew about it. But he didn’t think her forgiveness would change anything, as much as he had hoped it might. He had played multiple scenarios in his head on how it might, he had no choice in the matter. Letting his mind wander meant fantasizing about seeing Arya again, eyes soft and caring as she opened her arms so they could simply pick up where they left off two years ago. Thinking of what it would be like to kiss her again, even if it were just for a second…

 Even if it were just on the cheek.

 Those cheek kisses were what he had lived on. He’d be anxious for the end of the night because he knew he had a kiss on the cheek waiting for him. He’d need that kiss, since it was all he had to carry him through until the next time he saw her, then the cycle would continue. It was so easy to get caught up in that routine again, just one kiss on the cheek from her and he was left pressing his fingers to that spot dreamily an entire month after. He was fully prepared to rely on that last kiss for the rest of his fucking life. Forgiving him didn’t mean taking him back, and he had no right to ask for her back, he barely had the right to ask for forgiveness. It was a blessing that he managed that, especially with the way he had went about it. Jerking her around, stuttering his stupid arse off, it was a wonder she understood him at all, he sure as hell didn’t understand himself. He never understood himself when he was dealing with her, never knew what the right thing to do was.

 Seeing her through the rain on the side of the road, angrily kicking her flat tire, the right thing to do was to help her out. When it turned out she was Arya Stark, famous rebellious daughter to Ned and Catelyn Stark, openly defying their wishes by pursuing ballet, the right thing to do was help her out and not expect anything in return. People must do things for her all the time, expecting some sort of favor in exchange. He wanted to show the small girl with wide grey eyes and soaked through dark clothes that he didn’t want anything from her, didn’t expect anything.

 Then she had kissed him on the cheek.

 “She…invited me?” was all he was able to say.

 Jon raised a brow. “Did something happen between you two?”

 Gendry’s overwhelming first instinct was to say “no!” Of course not! Why would he even think that?! Arya and him…they were nothing, he had helped her out with her car and her wifi and one time with her mysteriously broken bed frame and that was all they had to do with each other…

 But that sort of thinking was what had gotten him into this situation, wasn’t it?

 If he had simply answered these types of questions honestly, where would he be now? With Arya? Waiting outside her dorm room to take her to a quick lunch between classes? Walking hand in hand with her down the street, feeling her tucked into his side?

 Embarrassing her?

 He winced. He had to stop that. She wasn’t embarrassed by things like he was, she didn’t care, so why should he? If she was willing to let Gendry drag her down to his level, then he should be too. Whatever people said, whatever their questions and whatever their jokes, they shouldn’t bother him because he had her. He had her tucked in next to him, hand in hand, getting a sandwich before she had to head back to practice…

 Except he wasn’t, because he couldn’t. He couldn’t let himself have her without thinking she would one day wake up and realize she had been wasting herself away on him. Realize all the shit and jokes she would have to take for him weren’t worth it and she would leave. So he had to leave first, he had to make sure no one would know what sort of loser Arya was running around with so that maybe Arya wouldn’t figure it out either.

 That wasn’t quite how things worked out though.

 “What do you mean?” Gendry said, finally putting the spoon into his mouth.

 “I mean…you guys never talk anymore, and you got kind of weird just a second ago.”

 Gendry cleared his throat, set his phone down. “No…I just…you know she knows ballet’s not my sort of thing. But, uh, yeah, I’ll go. If she wants me to.” Honestly, he’d go anywhere if she wanted him to.

 Jon nodded, grabbed his jacket and keys. He’d come over this morning to give Gendry his flat keys, but Gendry had said he didn’t need them. He trusted Jon enough to live with him for two years, he trusted him enough to keep a spare set of keys.

 “Then I’ll meet you there, yeah?” Jon turned to look at Gendry as he opened the door to leave.

 Gendry only nodded and didn’t move after Jon left.

 Did this mean she wanted to be friends? Or was she only being polite?

 No. If Arya didn’t want him there she wouldn’t invite him. That’s the way she was, she was blunt and straight forward. Which is why what he did to her was so difficult all around. The lying and sneaking around may have been fun for her the first month or two, but when they started getting into the “I love you’s” and holding each other all night, it probably got a bit redundant. He could feel it, he could feel her frustration with him, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Numerous times he found himself at her door with full intentions to simply give up and be with her, to not think about it so much. But then she’d open the door and he’d be struck by her smile and by her eyes and know deep, deep down, with everything in him, that he didn’t deserve her. He never would. No one did, but especially not him.

He’d never seen her dance before. Of course, he knew she did it professionally. The entire bloody world knew that. He assumed she was good at it. With her passion for it and the way she blatantly disregarded her parent’s wishes for her in order to do it, her skill was the last thing to questioned. He never felt he needed to watch her in action, he already knew everything he needed to know. Ballet, though he never took the time to watch anyone do it, was boring anyway. It must be, or else more people would say otherwise.

 Obviously, he was wrong.

 Although, he was biased. If it had been anyone else besides Arya dancing on that stage, he probably wouldn’t have been nearly as interested. But she was, and he couldn’t even find the time to blink. He had to watch the almost liquid way her body moved across the stage. Bent and twirled, leaped and stretched. Gendry knew Arya’s body well, probably better than he knew his own, and he liked to think he knew its limitations, but he never truly grasped its potential. What had he been doing, throwing her legs over his shoulders? Watching her back arch against a wall? What did any of that prove? He should’ve been driving her to practice, watch her dance every damn day. Not doing so was a fucking waste of time.

 He was confused when it was intermission, even more so when he saw Jon snoring peacefully next to him. Angrily, Gendry shoved at his shoulder. “What’s wrong with you?” he barked.

 Jon blinked dazedly. “Sorry, you won’t tell her, will you?”

 Gendry rolled his eyes, feeling genuinely angry. How in all seven hells had Jon managed to fall asleep? Was he even watching? If Arya asked and Jon said she was wonderful, he would set the record straight. Besides, Arya was the one person he couldn’t lie to, not really. He could lie to Jon, he could even lie to himself, but not to her. Not to those big grey eyes.

 Gendry found he was too angry to hold up conversation with Jon, so he excused himself to go to the bathroom.

 The second half of the ballet seemed to be going just as good, if not better, than the first half. Gendry found himself leaning as far forward as he was able, watching as Arya’s body flowed just as easily and languidly as the silken dress they had put her in, knowing her very skin felt just as smooth.

 When she fell onto her right ankle it took everything in him not to climb onto that stage and carry her off.

 It took her two attempts to get back up, everyone around her kept up with the routine but it was all a bit awkward considering she was the lead dancer.

 Gendry’s knuckles turned white as he saw her wince for the first time since knowing her. It stirred something different in him, something protective and fierce. He’d felt something similar to it once before, seeing her cry for the first time.

 He hadn’t registered it at first, the single tear glistening down her cheek. He thought it was a trick of the light, a reflection off the window, anything but a genuine tear. Anything but a tear coming from Arya Stark’s eye. That simply wasn’t possible, Arya Stark didn’t cry, she couldn’t, wouldn’t let herself. But she was, and it was because of him. Fuck, if everything in him didn’t crumble into dust.

 Arya wasn’t crying now. She was getting back up, dancing on that ankle he was sure he heard crack. And she kept dancing, right up to the very end. Gendry hadn’t taken a solid breath the rest of the performance, holding it for something horrible to happen, and when it was finally over he stood up in an immediate search for her.

 Eventually, he found her in the dressing room, foot elevated and head in her hands. It was swollen an angry read, an ice pack rested on top of it. There was a man whispering in her ear, hand rubbing up and down her back. Gendry paused at the sight, Jon halting just behind his shoulder.

 “Arya?” Jon called out.

 Dejectedly, Arya lifted her head. Only her tired grey eyes visible. Gendry’s feet started walking toward her.

 “You’re Arya’s family?” The man straightened up, back straight and shoulders broad. If Gendry was making assumptions, he’d say he was one of Arya’s dance teachers.

 “We are,” Jon answered and Gendry’s chest tightened. He added nothing to contradict him.

 “She should be fine. We had the doctor come in and—”

 “I can speak for myself Jaqen,” Arya snapped. Jaqen’s only response was a sigh, brought his hand back to her bare shoulder.

 “I’ll check up on you later,” he whispered and Arya’s only response was to rest her head back into her hands. Jaqen smiled tensely toward Jon and Gendry before leaving.

 “Are you alright?” Jon was the first to ask, walking around Gendry and kneeling in front of her.

 “No. I fucking blew it,” she bit out. “No company will hire me now, its fucking over.”

 No one knew what to say, it was quiet for a moment. Then Jon tried, “You were beautiful up until then, Arya, I’m sure they’ll see that.”

 Gendry let him say it, she didn’t need to hear that Jon had actually been napping the whole time.

 “It’s fucking whatever,” her voice was violent, yet very tired. “I’ll just go to real college or something. The world is at my fingertips and all that. This is a sign I shouldn’t throw it all away,” she made it obvious she wasn’t serious about any of the words she was saying.  

 Gendry wanted nothing more than to go over and hold her as tightly. Maybe even let her cry on his shoulder, if she felt comfortable enough. He could feel it, her warmth pressed into him, her head nestled into his neck. Maybe it wouldn’t make her feel better, but he would.

 “Can you…can you just bring the car around or something?” Arya spoke up. “I just want to get out of here.”

 “Right. Right, Gendry, stay with her. I’ll text you when I’m out front,”

 Jon left and Gendry promised he wouldn’t be the first to speak. He wouldn’t push her.

 “Can you leave?” she whispered.

 His heart shattered. “…Wh—why?”

 “Because…because…” her voice cracked. She paused to release a heavy, shaky breath. “I can’t hold myself together around you.”

 Something close to hope warmed him, and he let that propel him to kneel beside her as Jon did. It was a reflex to smooth a hand over her temple. “What are you holding yourself together for?” he whispered.

 Arya shrugged in response.

 “I won’t tell anyone that you’re upset if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 Arya shook her head. “It’s not everyone else…I don’t wanna know.”

 Gendry took a second to collect her meaning. “You don’t want to know you’re upset?” he clarified.

 Slowly, Arya nodded.

 “Alright, I won’t tell you either,” he agreed easily.

 Arya’s shoulders shook in a dry laugh, revealing a dark, glistening grey eye. On the verge of tears. He rubbed a thumb over her brow bone. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he whispered. In movement a similar to the leaps she made on stage, she was in his arms. Head buried into his neck and fingers clawing at his back, she clutched him to her desperately.

 Her entire body shook with her sobs and he felt his shirt absorb her hot tears, he was proud to hold her through it. It’s what he should’ve done that first time. He should’ve held her, all night if that’s how long it lasted. How long had she cried? He wondered that often. Was it all night? Did it carry into the morning? Was it no more than a second?

 He himself found himself crying through an entire month. Alone in his room, often in the middle of his dreams. He’d wake up sniffling, laying on a wet pillow. That was different, though. He deserved it, she didn’t.

 He had cried into that voicemail.

 He wanted to ask about it, during the party. He wanted to know if she had gotten it, half hoping she hadn’t. He had immediately regretted it, once it was sent. A month later and he was still staring anxiously at his phone for a response, any response. A fuck off, an lol, anything at all, anything but that horrible silence. Because Arya Stark was never silent on things she cared about, and didn’t she care about him?

 He hadn’t brought it up, obviously, because what would she say? What could she say to make him feel better? That she hadn’t gotten it? Maybe, but in retrospect her knowing his pain was a different sort of comfort. He wanted her to know he had truly cared for her, wanted to be with her, he wasn’t simply jerking her around. Whether or not that changed anything between them didn’t matter, as long as she knew that.

 And if she had listened to it? What then? What more was there to say? She had heard him break and decided to leave him there and that was that. No response told him all he needed to know, no use in opening old wounds.

 Except now, holding her, all of his wounds were open and pulsing and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Gendry’s phone buzzed which was probably Jon telling them he was out front. They didn’t move.

 “I don’t suppose you’d let me carry you?” He tried, dreading watching her limp all the way to Jon’s car.

 “Actually,” her voice was breathless and ragged, voice raw from sobbing. “I really don’t think I can walk on it. I already overworked it.”

 Gendry was oddly excited. “I could…is there a back door or something? We could sneak out front.”

 Arya pulled back enough to gift him a small smile. Nodding, she said, “I’ll tell you where to go.”

[et-lesailes]

missing linc // chapter seven

series masterlist

pairing: ceo!dad!steve x reader

word count: 2625

chapter summary: reader’s night with peter and his friends comes to an unfortunate and abrupt end, coincidentally linked to steve’s night being ruined as well. 

taglist:  @viarogers​ , @evanstush​ , @chibi-crazy​ , @cevanswh0re​ , @songforhema​, @sebabestianstan101​ ,  @bval-1​, @wonderwinchester​, @poerebel​ , @gogomez-509​ , @patzammit​, @a-distantdreamer​, @jbug491writinghelp​, @broklynbby​, @lille-kattunge​,  @rohaintahquil​, @deidrashouseofpain​, @firstangeldragonranch​, @peach-acid​, @allsortsofinterests​, @xoxabs88xox​, @honeyloverogers​, @capsiclesdoll​, @mcueveryday​,  @bangtan-serendipity​, @heyyouwiththeassbutt​, @cptn-sgrogers​, @heyiamthatbitch​, @captainscanadian​, @kaithezaftig​, @morganhoran1671​, @booktease21​, @hista-girl​, @steeeeverogers​, @okilover02​,  @sadella-adams​, @rumoured-whispers​, @aletteredaffair​, @shannon124​, @isawritesstories​, @knuffeltuff​, @wxntersoldiers​, @kelbabyblue​, @macgruberrr​, @troublermalik​,  @societalfailure​, @brastrangled​, @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall​, @anxiousstark​, @captainsbxbygirl​, @barbar126​, @cevanswhores​, @whimsicalatbest​, @amazonian-strap-queen​, @bookish-shristi​, @hannie-stark​, @beardburnsupersoldiers, @babyhua, @kind-sober-fullydressed, @whores4thor, @gingerninjaprincess16, @straightforwardly, @danathewitchywoman, @rosee-sensuelle, @angelicdisgrace​

notes: it’s finally here! i’d love to hear your feedback on this one :)

While he was laughing and enjoying his beer with his friends, Peter couldn’t help but continuously look towards the door, hoping you would come soon. 

He was truly alright with you only wanting friendship and nothing more for the time being; of course he had been disappointed, but he had always been a sweet and considerate guy. He could appreciate friendship unlike most guys in his age range, he wasn’t the type to insist a girl date or sleep with him. Besides, if you were to date him someday, you would most certainly be worth the wait in his opinion. Still, he would remind himself that he couldn’t simply expect that or that he should keep his hopes up. He got the feeling that there was something else in the picture that you weren’t telling him about, perhaps the main reason as to why you weren’t quite ready to be with him. 

“When’s she gonna be here, Peter?” his best friend, Ned, asked with a grin, wiggling his eyebrows. He blinked and scoffed, reaching over to nudge his side. “Will you shut up? She’ll— she’ll be here soon. Just don’t say anything… dumb, okay?” Ned laughed, shaking his head to himself. “I think you’re going to have to worry about that more than me,” he teased before returning to his drink, making Peter roll his eyes. However, when he heard a knock on the door, he sprang to his feet a little too fast to go answer it.

“Hey!” he greeted with a wide smile, biting on his lower lip as he tried not to stare at you. You smiled back, giving him a little wave. “Hey there. Thanks for inviting me,” you told him sincerely; even though you had just gotten here, you already felt a little better knowing you actually had plans instead of staying at home and thinking about Steve the entire night. “Of course, why wouldn’t I?” He led you inside, tilting his head. “Can I get you a drink?” You sighed playfully, nodding your head. “Oh, yeah. I definitely need a drink. I’ll just have a beer,” you agreed with a smile, and he chuckled lightly, though gave you a look of concern. “Rough day or something? Do you want to talk about it?” You paused. There was no way you could tell him about Steve— partly because it was already so taboo, and partly because this was a boy you knew for a fact had feelings for you; it would just be awkward and disrespectful. “It’s just work stuff,” you finally said, but he arched an eyebrow. “Alright, but if you do want to talk about it, I’m here. Honestly.” He gave you a small smile as he took a beer from the fridge, handing it to you. You smiled back as you opened it. “I appreciate it. I really do, Peter.”

How you ended up in some bar downtown called O’Malley’s with Peter and his friends at 11:00 PM on a weeknight, you had no idea. But at least you were having fun. You had forgotten how it felt to talk to people your age, with your mindset and on your level. Just like you, they had no clear idea of what they were doing in life, all they knew was that they were trying. They struggled and they had their conflicts paired with their emotional twenty-something-year-old brains, but they laughed and loved through it all. You couldn’t help but wonder what Steve had been like at this age, but you tried to shake the curiosity off. This night was about you being a college kid, not an employee considering a relationship with a much older customer. 

Only a few people in the group could drink, considering the rest of you were under twenty-one, but it still felt nice to hang out with everyone in a different setting. You realized that the daycare had become your entire life; yes, you had weekends off, but you were generally so drained you ended up staying at home. As you were sobering up at the booth you were all sitting at, you felt a little nudge from beside you, turning to meet with Peter’s kind smile. “You feeling alright? Didn’t drink too much, did you?” You couldn’t help but smile at how thoughtful he was, shaking your head. ��No, no, I only had a couple beers at the house. I’m good, really.” You assured him, then looked around. “Do you guys come here often? It’s nice. Not too crowded, but not boring either.” He nodded, glancing towards the bar. “Yeah, actually, we only discovered this place recently. Stumbled in one day, became close with this really cool bartender here, and now she gives us free drinks whenever she’s working. I’ll introduce you if she’s here tonight, she’s pretty fun to hang out with.”

You spent the next thirty minutes or so chatting with the group, though you knew you’d have to head out soon. It was already guaranteed that you’d be slightly sleep deprived at work the next day, but you still felt no regret. You needed this night, and losing a few hours of sleep wasn’t going to kill you. You actually felt better in all aspects, your mind clear enough to focus on the positives. You had a mature conversation with Steve, you would still be able to babysit the little boy you loved so much, and now you had a great group of friends you could reach out to— especially Peter. 

And then you happened to look over at the bar, only to be met with who was possibly the last person you wanted to see while you were out and trying to forget about all of your problems. 

There stood Tiana, her eyes narrowed as she spoke to a young blonde behind the counter, hand gestures rampant and words flying endlessly, though you were too far away to hear what she was saying. Peter noticed you were distracted and looked to where your eyes were before perking up. “Oh, hey. That’s Stella over there, the bartender I was telling you about!” he noted obliviously, smiling as he glanced down at you before looking back to her. “Er… she seems a little busy right now, but—”

“I gotta go.” You quickly cut him off, suddenly standing up. You didn’t know why you were panicking. It wasn’t like you and Tiana were on bad terms, but you knew you did not want to talk to her or even make eye contact with her anywhere outside of work. Not after your call with Steve, and quite honestly, not after the stunt she had pulled at the daycare when picking up Linc. Peter blinked, standing up too with a slight frown. “Y/N, what’s going on, are you alright?” You could feel your heart racing, your breathing getting irregular. Fuck. This was an anxiety attack, you knew it. “I-I just need to go, okay?” you blubbered out, biting your lip harshly. You picked up your bag and turned to leave, practically feeling out of breath in the bar that suddenly seemed ten times more crowded than it was before. Still, Peter caught up with you, suddenly taking a hold of your hand and walking out with you, no more questions asked. “Listen, I drove you here, remember? I don’t want you to waste money on an Uber to your car. Let me drive you back.” He insisted, his voice soft and gentle. You wiped at your eyes, feeling the tears threatening to make an appearance. God, what was wrong with you? “Are you sure?” you mumbled practically inaudible, knowing if you spoke any louder you would just break down. “Positive.” He assured you, giving your hand a comforting squeeze. “Come on. Let’s get to my car.”

You tried to hold it together on the walk back, and somehow, you did. However, the second you got into the passenger side, the tears began rolling down your cheeks, your hands immediately moving to cover your face in embarrassment as you lowered your head, trying to hold back the whimpers. Peter reached for a box of tissues in the backseat, gently placing it on the center console between you. “Do you want me to start driving?” he questioned softly, rubbing your shoulder lightly. “Or do you want to sit here for a bit?” You were grateful that he wasn’t being nosy about why you were crying to begin with. Trying to take a deep breath, you whispered, “It’s okay, you can start driving.”

He nodded his head, reaching over to hold your hand gently and squeeze it as he pulled out of the parking spot. The rest of the ride home, you gradually calmed down, eventually looking out the window with flushed cheeks and somewhat puffy eyes knowing you were more than ready to go to sleep. 

It was nearly one in the morning when Steve heard the front door of the house open, rubbing at his eyes as he opened them from his sleep. 

He and Tiana hadn’t been communicating all that much ever since he had told her about you. Not that it mattered too much to him, but when she had suddenly left the house with no explanation a couple of hours earlier, there was not much he could do to find out where she went so late on a weeknight. Linc had been asleep since eight and normally slept through the night just fine, and it wasn’t as though Steve particularly needed her company— and so he had gone about his daily nighttime routine. Unfortunately, being alone with his thoughts meant that all he could think about was you. Still, he had managed to sleep somehow— up until now, anyways. He heard her footsteps coming up the stairs and then to the French doors of the bedroom they shared, her voice urgent as she stepped inside. “Steve.”

“Mmhm?” he let out a tired hum, yawning as he looked towards her figure. “Where were you?”

“Stella’s here.”

If the man wasn’t fully awake before, he was now. He immediately sat up, his short blond hair still somehow going every which way atop his head as he looked at her with wide blue eyes. “What? Like in this house?”

“No, no— she’s here, in town. For good.” Tiana sat down on the edge of the bed, and despite the room being dark, Steve could see the distress in the silhouette of her frame. He stared at her for a few moments before exhaling, burying his head in his hands. “What the hell is she doing here?”

“She wants to see Linc.”

“As in… she wants to…?”

“I don’t know Steve, okay?” Tiana looked to him and with the help of the moonlight streaking in through the blinds, he could see her eyes gleaming with tears. “I don’t know what the fuck she wants. All I know is— fuck, I don’t even know what I know.” She stood up again and he heard her sniff. Steve bit his lip before standing up as well, coming over to her from behind and slowly placing his hands on her shoulders. “I’m assuming the last place you want to be is here.” He murmured, and she turned her head to look up at him, though she did not seem angry or upset by this hunch. “Go stay at David’s tonight.” He insisted, turning her around to face him. “I’ll… I’ll deal with this. Or at the very least, I’ll help you deal with it. We’ll be alright, I promise.”

She looked at him for a few moments before slowly nodding. Walking towards the closet, she took an overnight bag and started packing. 

Steve watched her, bringing his hands up to run through his hair, then rubbing his temples. This was all his fault, and as the frustration set in, he sat down on the bed with a heavy heart, unable to help but wonder how you would feel about all of this.

“I’m so, so sorry.” You took a deep breath as you leaned against the headboard of your bed, wiping at your eyes with a tissue. Peter frowned as he sat on the edge of the bed, shaking his head insistently. “You have nothing to apologize for, Y/N. You’re allowed to feel sad, you know, and you’re not under any obligation to tell me why.” You smiled as you sniffed, sighing somewhat shakily. “I don’t know what got into me, honestly. It was all so stupid, I don’t know why I had to cry about it.” He reached over and patted your leg comfortingly. “It was a panic attack. There never has to be a reason behind ‘em, they just… happen. I know, I’ve been there.” You frowned slightly as you looked at him, biting your lip. “You have? I’m sorry to hear that.” He shrugged, chuckling softly. “Honestly, I think every college student gets a panic attack at least once. But hey, we all move on from them, right? Are you feeling any better now?”

“Yes.” You nodded sincerely, giving him a thankful smile. “I really am. Thank you so much for bringing me home, I’m sorry you had to leave your fr-”

“Will you stop apologizing?” he playfully demanded, and you blinked before laughing. “Okay, okay. I’m just really thankful, ya know? It means a lot that you were there for me while I was, you know, freaking out over nothing.” He tilted his head, seeming a little more serious all of a sudden. “Are you sure it was nothing…? Look, again, you don’t have to tell me. But it definitely seemed like you panicked over whoever it was you saw there at the bar.” You sighed softly; you couldn’t have expected him to not notice, you had made it pretty damn obvious. “I mean, yes. It was because of a person, but honestly, nothing that bad even happened. I mean, maybe it was kind of bad, but… definitely not bad enough for me to just burst into tears like that. I think I was just thrown off guard, and then the anxiety kicked in, and… well, you were there.”

He nodded understandingly, frowning in concern. “Well, Y/N, I just want you to know I’ll always be there.” He spoke softly, his voice genuine. “Whenever you want me to be, anyways. I know we’ve just started this friendship but I’m serious, I want you to know you can talk to me. Or not talk to me. But I’ll be here.”

You hated that you wanted to kiss him right now. ‘No, no, this is just you being emotional and vulnerable. God, are you on your period or something? What has gotten into you?’ you thought to yourself, trying to regulate your emotions for one goddamn second. “Thanks, Peter. I don’t know what I did to have you be so nice to me, but honestly, I appreciate it so much.” 

He smiled and carefully stood up, tilting his head. “You should sleep. You have work tomorrow, right?” You blinked and nodded your head, trying not to feel disappointed that he was leaving, but you knew it was only right. You sunk down into your covers, pulling them up around you as you lay your head on the pillow. He went to turn off the lamp on your nightstand, but suddenly leaned down to press a soft kiss on your cheek. “Night, Y/N. Call me if you need anything.”

Your eyes remained wide even as the lights went out. And even as he stumbled over your backpack on the floor on his way out, though the little “oof” he let out made you barely giggle after a few moments. 

[spider-manholland]

I Am Delicate | Peter Parker

part five of the mending hearts mini-series

Pairing(s): Ex!Peter Parker x Female Reader, Peter Parker x Michelle Jones, Brad Davis x Female Reader

Warning(s): angst, swearing, mentions of sex, Far From Home spoilers

Summary: Sometimes it takes losing the person you once loved to make you realize how much they still mean to you.

Requested by @decaffeinated-turtle

Masterlist

The argument Peter had with you was still running through his mind, his hands clenching into fists as his blood began to boil.  He swore he never felt himself get this angry and frustrated before but now here he was, cursing internally as he gripped on his brown curls tightly.  

Well the Peter I knew wouldn't have hurt me like you have.  Your words echoed inside his head, scoffing when he opened him and Ned’s shared hotel room’s door and stepped inside.  Its wasn't like he purposely meant to hurt you, and he can't help his feelings, he can’t control them they just develop.  But there was a part of him that blamed himself for that argument, he was technically the reason it started in the first place.  He shouldn't have been nosy but he couldn't help himself, the sight of a hickey on your chest, one that he didn't leave was weird. But you two weren't together anymore and he had to accept that.  Hell, he was the reason for your relationship ending.  He just didn't why seeing you, picturing you with Brad made him all.....angry.

He knew that since you two weren't together anymore it would only be a matter of time before you found someone else, but he didn't know why it bothered him so much.  He likes MJ, like really likes her.  He just had to accept the fact that you’d be--Brad’s and hopefully MJ will be his-

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Spider-Man.” Peter froze in his spot at the sudden mysterious voice, turning his head to see none of than Nick Fury sitting in the corner of his room, his single eye staring him down.

“You’re Nick Fury.” Peter spoke, his voice low as he stared at him with wide-eyes, closing the door softly. “W-What are you doing in my hotel room?”

“Go put your suit,” was the only thing Fury said before standing up from where he was seating, causing Peter to tilt his head up to meet his eye level. “We need to talk.”

- - -

Why? Peter leaned against the side of the hotel’s building, his hands and feet stuck to wall as he closed his eyes, sighing. Why did Nick Fury have to sabotage my summer vacation? Why do I have to save the world? Why me?

After taking a few calming breaths, Peter continued climbing up the wall of the building until he got to his hotel room’s window. And just as he was about to climb through it, he couldn’t help but spot a familiar face through his lenses standing up on the roof. You.  Peter could immediately notice the redness in your eyes, meaning that you were recently crying.

It’s all your fault she’s like this, his mind reminded him as he began to feel guilt eat him all over again.  You're the reason she is crying.

Peter just...watched as you stood there, staring into the distance of the beautiful city.  As he stayed there, stuck against the wall, Peter found himself slowly climbing his way up past his room’s window to you.  But just as he was about to appear in front of you, a male’s voice was then heard, a voice that made Peter’s blood instantly boil, belonging to none other than Brad Davis.  

“Hey,” you whipped your head away from the view of the breathtaking city to face whoever spoke, cracking a small smile at the sight of Brad who was standing by the doorway of the rooftop’s entrance.  “Hey,” you greeted back, returning your attention back to the city as Brad walked over and stood next to you.  “Betty told me you were up here.  You okay?”

Peter could feel himself getting even more angry at the sound of Brad’s caring voice.  Why was he so concerned about you?  He doesn't even know you.  Peter knew he shouldn't be listening in your guys’ conversation but he couldn't help himself.  He could hear his inner self telling him, yelling at him to go back to his room and sleep but his curiosity got the better of him so he stayed, and listened to everything.

“I’m fine,” you just shrugged, feeling yourself frown.  “Me and Peter just had some stupid fight that’s all.”

“Oh,” Brad nodded, leaning his body forward and resting his arms on the railing.  “What did you guys fight about?  If you don't mind me asking.”  You turned to face him, not answering, and when Brad saw you raise your brows he knew, smirking.  “Oh, never mind.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, also leaning forward against the railing.  “The entire argument was just so stupid.” You let out an exasperated groan, running your hands frustrating through your hair.  “He had no right to get angry about you and I sleeping together-”

“We actually didn’t sleep together.” Brad quickly corrected, chuckling at the unimpressed look he got from you.  “You know what I mean.” You rolled your eyes, “He was the one that ended things with me, not the other way around.  And he’s here, on this trip trying to get with the girl he broke up with me for but gets angry when I try to move on.  It’s just not fair.”

“Do you hate him?” Brad asked after a brief silence that filled between you two.  Peter could feel his heart stop and drop into the pit of his stomach at Brad’s question, his mind filled with many different negative thoughts.  Did you hate him?  Peter wanted to climb back down and into his room, not wanting to hear your answer but he couldn't, he needed to know if you did.

“I want to.” You answered honestly, feeling the invisible weights lift off your shoulders.  “I really really want to but I can’t.” You shook your head, feeling tears prick your eyes.  “No matter how bad Peter hurts me I can never hate him.  He’s done so much for me, more than anyone has ever had.  And after everything he’s been through-” your mind drifting towards everything that Peter suffered through for the past eight months.  Coming back after missing for five years and losing Tony Stark just after, the man that took him under his guidance and became the only father figure he had left in his life.  “-he deserves happiness.” You voice cracked.

“Even if that means sacrificing your own?” Brad asked, frowning when you just nodded your head, refusing to say anything because you knew that the moment you opened your mouth you would break down.  “Hey, come here.”  Brad opened his arms, and when you fell in them that’s when you let the sobs fall from your lips.  “I just really miss him.” You cried out, shoving your face into his hard chest.  “I love him.”

“Hey,” Brad soothingly rubbed his hands up and down your back, resting his cheek on top of your head as he swayed comfortingly back and forth with you.  “It’ll get better, I promise.  And remember what I said back on the plane?” He asked, smiling softly as you nodded your head, wiping the tears that stained your cheeks.  “Parker’s a dumbass for letting a girl as wonderful and beautiful as you go.  Don't worry, you’ll find someone way better than him that actually truly deserves you.” 

Peter didn't know he was also crying until he felt his tears soak through his mask and drop onto his arm.  Fuck, Peter cursed, banging his head repeatedly against the brick wall as he continued to swear at himself.  Peter could feel guilty sobs slowly build up in his throat but quickly swallowed them down, not wanting to catch your guys’ attention.  Just as he was about to swing off and away from this conversation an idea then popped up in his head, hoping that it’ll help or least start to make up for all the horrible things he’s done to you.

No one’s better than Peter, your mind instantly said.  “We should head back.” Brad nodded towards the rooftop’s door, “We need to start packing again for our trip to Paris tomorrow morning.”

“I’m gonna stay here a little longer,” You said, pointing at the ground.  “Are you going to be okay?” Brad asked, receiving a nod from you.  “Yeah, I’ll be fine.  Just want to enjoy the view for a little bit.”

You watched as Brad nodded before heading towards the roof’s exit.  And when he was out of your sight, you then heard some sort of shuffling behind you, causing you to whip your head around.  You could then feel yourself smile and your heart flutter inside your chest at the sight of the Red Dragon necklace resting on the railing in front of you.  But as you grabbed the piece of jewelry and held it in your hands, one thought ran through your mind.

Did Peter just hear everything you said about him?

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!  Let me know if you want to be added to this series taglist or my permanent one.

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[iron--spider]

you’re still peter parker

A small, moment in time after ‘ever in your favor’ ends. Not a true sequel, but could be included in one in the future. I just had to step back in, just for a moment.

~

Peter’s panic attacks are full body. It’s like he’s trapped, something squeezing him, sucking his blood, holding him down and cutting off his air. They come when he least expects them, when he most expects them, when he doesn’t expect them at all. They come when he thinks too much. They come when there are no thoughts in his head, when he’s holding MJ’s hand, when he’s planning with Tony, when he’s looking around and remembering who he is and what he went through. They live inside him. They bleed him dry.

 It’s been six months since he escaped the arena, and he can’t even count how many panic attacks he’s had since everything. Since Tony woke up. Since the bombing. Since that new Iron Man suit shuddered to life. Since the Avengers became an official, documented thing. Signed and sealed, on Fury’s desk. 

The propos are almost a daily thing, and it’s strange, to think of how much the Districts have seen of him. Strange, to know that his face is on wanted posters in the Capitol, images they once used to advertise his presence in the Games. His voice has spawned war chants. People have created Spider-Man masks, and they wear them as they rush into the fire, ready to sacrifice themselves for the greater good.

 He keeps doing it, but it terrifies him. It feels like he’s killing these people. Like he’s still in the Games, fighting for his life. 

 District Thirteen has enclaves in the walls that remind Peter of Scott with their smallness—they’re dripping and dank and dark, large pipes that carry the water back and forth to all of Thirteen’s citizens. It’s hard to get in and out, and they don’t encourage it. But they haven’t stopped him yet.

 His panic attacks are like starvation. Every bit of him shaking, and he steps over the big pipe in the middle of the space, nearly tripping and faceplanting into the wall. He braces his hand there instead, and he slides down, drawing his knees up to his chest. He hugs them close, and squeezes his eyes shut tight. He can’t stop trembling. 

 He doesn’t feel like a superhero, no matter how many times people call him that. He wonders, sometimes, if he’s still there. In the arena. He wonders if this is all a dream. If he’s still dying, in pain and alone. 

 “No, no,” he whispers. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

 He sees spiders in the darkness. He hears his own voice, screaming. What Twelve looked like, smoldering. He didn’t look at the bodies. He didn’t look, but he could still see, he could still imagine. They’re tattooed on the backs of his eyes. So is Scott’s face. Death itself has its hands on Peter’s shoulders. Its nails in his skin. Tony always tries to tell him that none of it is his fault, and sometimes, Peter believes him. Sometimes he knows it’s true, that he’s just a kid that loved his friend, someone caught up in all this. Other times, the blame is so heavy that he collapses under the weight of it.

 Some days are better than others. Some days, he feels like Spider-Man. Other days, he feels like this.

 “You’re Peter Parker,” he whispers, rocking back and forth. “You’re Spider-Man. You’ve been on one—one big mission and two—small raids since—since you got here. You’re in—here is Thirteen. You live in Thirteen now. You’re from District Twelve. There’s no more District Twelve.”

 He doesn’t know why he said that last part. It doesn’t help. It sends chills down his arms and he shakes his head, biting down on his lower lip until it bleeds. 

 May is on her shift for another three hours. MJ and Ned are in class. Peter should be in the workshop with Tony. So that means that Tony will probably come looking for him, like he always does. That’s something else Peter doesn’t feel like he deserves. Those lost souls in Twelve—he knows all of them would have given anything to have Tony Stark care about them as much as he cares about Peter. 

 As if on cue, the hatch door squeals open. 

 “Kid?” Tony calls, his voice echoing. “You down there again?”

 Peter wants to call out, wants to answer him, but his voice is lost in his throat, lost in the grips of his panic. His eyes are still shut, and it’s almost like he can’t open them. He’s dizzy and he realizes he’s holding his breath, and he lets it out, a few tears racing down his cheeks. He gets cold down here. He doesn’t know why he comes. It feels like the only place where he’s truly alone, even though that isn’t really what he wants. He doesn’t know what he wants.

 “Bud, I’m coming,” Tony says, and Peter can hear him starting down the ladder. Peter wonders if he’ll be able to see where his super strength warped the bars. If he does, he doesn’t say anything. “Hey—I’m right here. Okay? I’m coming.”

 Peter breathes hard through his mouth, and he can hear Tony’s footsteps, can hear him stepping over the pipe just like Peter did. Then Peter feels him settle next to him, can feel him wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He tugs him closer, and even with his eyes closed, Peter can see the glow of Tony’s arc reactor. It’s always so bright no matter what he’s wearing, so much so that it bothers Tony sometimes. But it’s strangely comforting to Peter. A reminder he’s alive.

 “We’re okay,” Tony whispers, gently ruffling Peter’s hair with his free hand. “Yeah?”

 Peter still can’t find words.

 “Like I told you before, this is completely normal,” Tony says. “So don’t beat yourself up. This was me like, every five minutes after my Games. And half the time, still, as you well know. So it’s okay. It’s okay, just breathe. We’re good. We’re all good. We’re here, we’re fine, it’s fine.”

 Peter leans into him, trying to breathe normally again.

 “You don’t have to go on the next one,” Tony says. “For real. You don’t. You don’t owe anybody anything. And it’s just small, we’re heading to Six with supplies. We don’t even need the full team.”

 “I want to,” Peter croaks. “It’s not—it’s not that.” And that’s what sucks the most. He doesn’t know what it is, why he gets like this. He doesn’t know. It’s everything. It’s nothing. It’s all of it and none of it all at the same time. Every step he takes feels like a mistake. 

 “Okay,” Tony whispers, rubbing his shoulder. “No, I get it.”

 Peter looks up at him, and sees that he’s got a few smoky places on his face, like there might have been a couple more mini explosions in the lab. Peter tries not to hiccup, and he shakes his head. “Do you get it?” he asks. “Because I don’t.”

 “I get not getting it,” Tony says. “There’s way too much to sort through with all the bullshit they’ve heaped on us—especially us, the ones who had to deal with all of it. Being a tribute. Their insane social media death march. The Games themselves. And now this. After.”

 “After,” Peter repeats.

 “We want a certain thing out of it, but we should have known the Capitol wouldn’t go down easy,” Tony says, shrugging a little bit, squeezing Peter’s shoulder. “But we are gonna get there. We are. There’s gonna be a normal after all this. A real world, without their rules. Without more war.”

 Peter shakes, leaning his head on Tony’s shoulder. “I was just—walking on the third level. Nothing happened. I’d just dropped MJ off at class, and I—I was gonna come find you and I just—it was like—it was like—”

 “Like someone flipped a switch,” Tony says. “Sometimes the memories feel like they’re real, like they’re as big as you, pinning you down.”

 Peter squeezes his eyes shut tight and opens them again. He nods. “Yeah. Exactly that. I see spiders when I close my eyes. I know it’s been six months and I haven’t actually seen a real one yet, but if I see one—I don’t know. I don’t know. I can just say everybody’s gonna lose faith in me real quick.”

 Tony shakes his head. “Nobody’s gonna lose faith in you,” he says. “Literally impossible. Even if this goddamn cave is your hiding spot of choice.” He doesn’t say it with any heat or anger, and he tugs Peter closer.

 Peter blows out a breath. “It just—I don’t know why I come here. It kinda reminds me of Twelve, a little bit. Weirdly. Like the entrance to the mines, where I’d always meet Ben when he got off work, where I’d hand off his lunch. They never really liked me going in there that far but I—I always wanted to meet him as soon as he came up.”

 Tony rubs his arm up and down. “So you do know why you come here,” he says. 

 Peter’s brows furrow, but it feels like clarity. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”

 “Think of how proud he is,” Tony says. “Astronomical. That’s probably why the stars have been so bright every time we’ve gotten to go out.”

 That makes Peter feel a little warmer, and he can’t help but smile at the idea of Ben’s pride lighting up the sky.

 “You don’t have to worry about anyone losing faith in you, because they never will, no matter what you do,” Tony says. “You’re the face of this. They’re all finding their strength in you and what you did and what you continue to do, just by speaking to them. They know you’re human too. They know that you wear your heart on your sleeve and they love you more for it. You’re fighting and it hurts you, but you’re fighting.”

 Peter chews on his lower lip again, tears tracking down his face.

 “And when you feel like this, you’ve got us,” Tony says. “May, who loves you to the damn moon and back. Ned, who’d give anything for you, MJ who literally wants to marry you—”

 Peter snorts, covering his face with his hand. His heart gives a little flip like it does whenever he so much as thinks about her.

 “—the whole team, Sam, that moron Hammer, everybody in Thirteen, all the rebels in the Districts, and, like, me. I know that last one doesn’t make much difference—”

 Peter scoffs, looking up at him. “All the difference,” he says, sniffling. “You’re the best, you’re the absolute best—”

 Tony reaches out and swipes one of Peter’s tears away. “I’m a wreck, kid, but you knew that—”

 “You’re a wreck, I’m a wreck,” Peter says. “You being a wreck makes me feel like me being a wreck is okay. Because you’re...you’re still you. You’re still Tony Stark.”

 Tony grins at him. “And you’re still Peter Parker. Always will be.”

 It really helps, to hear him say it. The panic is shrinking back now, shriveling up inside him, and he sucks in a few breaths, his head clearing up. 

 “You’re safe,” Tony says, pressing a quick kiss to Peter’s temple. “You’re here. You’re not there anymore. And guess what, I made cornbread and it’s actually good this time, thank you very much, and it’s ready in our workshop right alongside the plans for the scarlet spider suit. I figured out that new shortcut up there, only handprint guys get to use it—”

 Peter nods at him. “Yeah,” he says. “Just...a couple more minutes, and I’ll...I’ll be able to go.”

 “Alright, Pete,” Tony says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready.”

 Peter stares at him for a second. “You’re gonna...wait for me?” he asks.

 Tony narrows his eyes at him. “Course I am,” he says. “What’s more important, huh? Actually, don’t answer that. None of it is more important than you and I don’t even wanna hear you try and make the argument.”

 Peter keeps staring at him. He still can’t believe it. Even now, after what feels like a whole lifetime since they first met on that train. For the second first time.

 “For now, I’ll regale you with the tale of how I nearly blew myself up about ten minutes ago,” Tony says. 

 “Again?” Peter laughs, trying not to burst into tears.

 Tony nods solemnly. “Again.” He starts his story, and Peter leans his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes.

 He’s Peter Parker, from District Twelve. He’s alive. And he’s got a father again.

[spellbound-banshee]

Comes From the Heart - Peter Parker

Summary: Peter lost the Stark internship, and while you and May have been freaking out all day, he finally comes home in oversized pajamas. (You know he’s Spider-Man).

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing

Pairing: Peter Parker (TH) x reader

A/N: this is my first fanfic on here, so i hope y’all enjoy it!

You and Aunt May were pacing in their apartment, worried sick about where Peter could be both thinking the worst possible situations but never daring to share any of them. You saw on the news what happened to the ferry, and even though you knew he tried to save the day, you couldn’t help but think he was seriously injured. Suddenly, you heard a knock at the door and before you could even gasp May was already at the door, opening it and sighing out of relief and frustration. She walked away, running a hand through her hair, debating whether or not to murder him right there or lecture him. In the doorframe stood a teary eyed Peter Parker, wearing pajamas 12 sized too big from him, his hair disheveled and dark circles under his eyes. “Peter...” You sighed, relieved and smiling slightly. You quickly ran up to him, wrapping him up in a giant hug; he wrapped his arms around you and let out a shuddering breath against your shoulder. “Peter, are you okay?” You felt a small shake of his head followed by a sniff, so you hugged him tighter and placed your hand in his hair.

When you two had finally parted, Aunt May’s heel-clicking pacing stopped and she finally looked Peter dead in the eyes. Peter’s face softened and you saw the scared child come out, breaking your heart further. “We’ve been calling you all day... but you didn’t answer your phone.” She bit the inside of her cheek and ran her nails through her already tousled hair. “Then this ferry thing happens... I’ve called police stations, five. I’ve called five of your friends, I’ve called Ned’s mother I’ve-”

“May, May I’m fine.” Peter cut in, attempting to ease her nerves as he stepped closer to her. “I’m okay, honestly just relax, I’m fine.”

“Cut the bullshit.” She whipped around, stopping her frenzy and staring Peter dead in the eyes. Peter tensed up at this action, and you took a protective step towards subconsciously. “I know you left detention, I know you left the hotel room in Washington, I know you sneak out of this house every night. That’s not fine. Peter, you have to tell us what’s going on!” Peter looked over at you, tears in his already red-rimmed and tired eyes; he then looked down at the ground in shame, unable to the bring himself to make eye contact. “Just lay it out, it’s just us.” There was a brief shift in the atmosphere as he took in a shuddering breath, face still towards the ground.

“I lost the Stark Internship.” He voice broke, a tear slipping out of his eye.

“What?” What the hell does that mean? Did he lose his powers? You asked, looking at him with a sympathetic look; you knew how much he loved being Spider-Man. “What happened?” You tried to keep your voice calm and even, but seeing Peter so broken in front of you was keeping you from achieving that. 

“I just thought that I could work really hard and he would... he would, y’know...” His voice cracking, speaking the broken words as he sat down on the couch; he slouched and hung his head down, biting the inside of his cheek. You quickly sat next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. May stood there with a shocked expression on her face, her anger melting away and fusing into sympathy for her broken nephew in front of her. “But, I-I screwed it up...”

You bit your lip and placed one of your hands in his hair, stroking the strands on the nape of his neck soothingly. Eventually he just picked up his head and wrapped you in a hug, crying silent tears on your shoulder.

“Oh Peter, I’m so sorry.” May said, not knowing what to do and just standing there, looking at the scene in front of her. He just tried to hold in his sobs against you; short, shuddering breaths coming from his mouth as you whispered reassuringly in his ear.

“I’m sorry I made you worry.” His shaky voice articulated, but you shook your head and simply wrapped your arms around his back, stroking the white fabric. You kissed his temple lovingly, turning your eyes to may, who’d gone to the refrigerator to get water for Peter. As soon as she made eye contact with you, you mouthed: “can I stay over?” You gestured towards Peter with your eyes, making her nod and place the water on the table in front of you; she pointed her finger towards the sky, meaning ‘top bunk.’ You have her a half smile, then went back to console your broken friend.

-

“(Y/n)? Are you still awake?” You heard the sleepy voice below you whisper, and you quickly shifted in the bed to look down at Peter below you.

“Yeah, yeah I’m awake. What’s wrong, Parker?” As you hung down, your hair hung down with you, making Peter stifle a small chuckle. It was normal for you sleepovers, since you’d been friends since you were six years old.

“Can you come down here?” You smiled and tied up your messy hair so it wouldn’t fall in your face.

“Alright, but if I fall asleep you’re going to have to wake up early. May can’t see us like this.” He forced a smile and watched you climb down the latter, landing on the ground with a (practiced) cat-like silence and climbing into the bed with Peter. “Are you okay?” You ask as he offers you a spot under the covers, and you knew he really wasn’t feeling right if he needed this level of consolation. The room was totally dark, so it was difficult for you to see his face.

“No if I’m being honest...” Yeah, you figured.

“Yeah, I know how much that suit meant to you, I’m really sorry.” You whispered, laying down and smiling slightly at him, even though he couldn’t see it. “Is this okay?” You asked, about to place a hand on his shoulder and cuddle up next to him, to which he nodded and leaned into the touch. “You deserve so much better than Tony Stark...” You said, closing your eyes but being careful not to drift off. 

“I don’t know, Mr. Stark... he was always super nice to me, he trusted me, and that felt good.” You nodded as Peter talked, trying not to cry again and doing a good job of keeping it inside. “I just feel like... I don’t know... I’m nothing without that suit.”

“Hey...” You said, keeping your voice soothing but lifting your head off his shoulder to look at him. “Don’t say that, Parker. You don’t need Tony Stark... you don’t need a fancy suit to make you Spider-Man, okay? I know it sounds cheesy, but Spider-Man comes from here...” You said, pointing to his heart and tracing a finger over the fabric of his shirt. “You were in sweatpants and a hoodie before you even met Tony Stark. You made your own web shooter, your own goggles, your own... everything.” 

Peter nodded, letting your words sink in. “You have these powers Peter, and sure that suit helped a lot and it had a lot of fancy features, but you are strong. You’re stronger than you know, you can do this, suit or not.” You laid your head back on his shoulder and pulled him closer to you. “You can do anything, Parker.” There was a soothing silence that blanketed the air, and you could tell Peter felt a little better from the way he smiled into your hair.

“Thank you. Truly, (Y/n), thank you. You’re the best friend anyone could ask for.” He said softly, kissing the top of your head and placing his hand over your hand on his chest. 

“Anytime, Parker. Now, go to sleep, even superheroes need their beauty sleep.”

“Shut up.” He laughed, slapping your hand gently and shifting slightly so you were closer to him. “Goodnight, (L/n).”

“Night, Parker.” You smiled, adjusting yourself one more time before closing your eyes, letting the tiredness of the night engulf you. Peter took a little longer to fall asleep, but the sound of your breathing combined with the crickets humming outside eventually made his eyes heavy.

Before he closed his eyes, he kissed the top of your head and held you tight, setting a reminder on his phone to wake up a few minutes early so you could scramble off of each other before Aunt May busted his ass. “Thank you.” He whispered, finally closing his heavy eyes and letting the warmth of the night wrap him in sleep.

-

[nicole-lynne]

Lockscreen Tells All

Summary: Peter gets a glimpse of how you see him through the lens and it opens up how you both truly feel. 

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

This is a part of @blissfulparker‘s writing challenge to celebrate 5k! 

The bell rang and the class around you transformed from dutiful students to heathens fighting to get out the door first. Patiently, you and your best friend MJ waited for the rest of your classmates to leave before gathering your belongings.

“Are you still cool with sleeping over this weekend, Y/N?” MJ asked as you two walked up to your side-by-side lockers.

“Absolutely! I’ve been so busy lately. It’s like all of the school events happen in the last month of school. Principal Morita has had me booked solid taking pictures.” You were shoving books in your locker aimlessly as tiredness was settling in your bones.

MJ slammed her locker and looked at you with excitement. “Well we’re not going to worry about that this weekend. We’re going to stock up on junk food, the guys are going to come over, and forget all about anything school related!”

Your heart picked up slightly at the thought of seeing Peter tonight. You hadn’t seen him all day so it made you even more excited. But you kept your face devoid of emotion in order to keep your crush on Peter Parker to yourself. You hadn’t told MJ and you weren’t planning on letting it slip in the school hallway.

MJ didn’t seem to notice your change in demeanor, instead she snatched your hand and shook it, squealing with you for a minute. Then she stopped and looked around, making sure no one had seen her. You giggled energetically and tangled your arm with hers.

“Let’s go, you dork!”

~~~

The windows were wide open to let the breeze flow through the room and MJ had the music cranked to an ungodly level. The two of you had changed into your pajamas and were dancing around the room, a thin layer of sweat on your skin.

It felt amazing to escape the strain of your current lifestyle even for just a few hours. MJ had forced you to promise that you wouldn’t use your camera for anything professional for the whole weekend and it hadn’t taken much to accept that stipulation.

Knock knock. MJ was lost in the music so you swayed your way to the front door, half expecting the pizza delivery boy. You swung the door open and froze in your spot as you came face to face with chocolate brown eyes, messy curls, and perfectly pouty lips. He looked adorable in a Stark Industries t-shirt that fit him wonderfully.

Instinctively, you reached up to tame your hair that had tangled into a hornets nest during your dance session. It was evident that it was a lost cause so you diverted to straightening your tank top and shorts instead.

Peter watched you with fascination and your stomach was erupting with butterflies as his gaze traveled along your face. Ned kept looking back and forth between the two of you, unaware of what was going on.

“Hi, Y/N. What have you and MJ been up too?” Ned broke in at last.

You turned your focus to Ned, remembering that he was here too. “Hey, Ned. Um, just been listening to some music while we waited for the pizza.” You gave Peter a small smile. “I got extra pepperoni for you.” 

“Ah, awesome! Thanks, Y/N/N, you’re the best.” Peter exclaimed and you beamed from being praised.

The boys crowded their way into the living room and plopped down onto the couch in their usual places. Trying to act as casual as possible, you sank into the place right next to Peter and tucked your feet under you. It was impossible to ignore that his hand was just inches from your knee. One little bump and his long fingers could be on your skin.

“What movie do you guys want to start with?” MJ asked from the floor, her body turned just enough to acknowledge the group.

Ned bounced slightly, “Let’s watch a scary movie!”

The rest of the group agreed easily but you groaned loudly. “Not another scary movie, you guys. I’ll be up all night.”

Peter leaned over, his shoulder bumping into yours. You were hyper-sensitive to the feeling of his shoulder against yours. “I promise I won’t let anything get you. You can hold my hand if you get scared.”

Goosebumps speckled your skin in an instant. He was watching you with that comforting gaze that always made you feel protected. You slowly nodded and his eyes glistened with delight. You bit your lip nervously, dying to press your mouth to his, instead you fell backwards against the fluffy pillow beside you.

Another knock at the door interrupted the chatter and MJ jumped up to answer it.

“Someone get the drinks, I’ll get the pizza.” She called as she ran out of the room. You moved to get up at the same time as Peter.

“I’ll help you get everything.” He offered when you gave him a weird look. A small flutter went through your body as he motioned for you to lead the way.

Your head was buried in the fridge when you recognized the faint tune of your cell alarm. You glanced around to see it lying on the kitchen counter.

“Can you get that, Pete? It’s probably just my alarm.” And you returned to pulling out different sodas from the rack.

“Sure, no problem...” His voice trailed off.

Silence hung over the room like a blanket and you looked up to find him staring at your phone screen. “Um, are you okay? Pete?”

“Am I your lockscreen?”

You swallowed thickly. It had completely slipped your mind that you had made him your lock screen a few weeks ago. You had been on your way to take pictures for the Robotics Competition when you had seen him in the hallway talking to a classmate. He just looked so happy and free that you couldn’t stop yourself from capturing the moment.

Now, he was standing in front of you, barely more than a step away, waiting for an answer. You wondered if he could hear the blood rushing in your ears or the thudding of your heart inside your chest.

“Um. Well, yes. I just love the picture and I like to have things I like for my wallpaper...” Your feet had suddenly become more interesting to you in the last 15 seconds.

“And you like me?” His voice was soft.

All you could do was nod like a child who was scared to be scolded.

You were surprised by a hand tilting your chin up, and you lifted your eyes to meet his. Shivers were running down your spine as Peter smiled sweetly down at you. He leaned forward, his nose brushing against yours, and your breath was caught in your throat. Was this really happening?

He hesitated in that spot, “I like you too.” Lips rubbing against each other as he said the words.

You lost all sensibility in that moment. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him the rest of the way. He made a little oof of surprise and placed his hands on your waist instantaneously.

You and Peter were pushing and pulling against each other like fuel to a fire. His hands were pressed to the low spot of your back and you were playing with the small curls at the base of his neck. His lips felt calming and electric as they moved against yours.

Peter had turned and pinned you against the counter, deepening the kiss, and the thumping of his heart was echoing in your chest. His body was flush against yours and the heat was rushing to your head. The primal instinct within you was dying to keep going, unrelenting to let Peter out of your grasp. But the practical side of you was telling you that this was only your first kiss. The first of many, you hoped.

The need for air overtook the need for passion and you broke away. Peter was panting heavily, his breath washing over you. Without thinking, you stood on your tiptoes and pulled his lower lip in between your teeth and then let it snap back. Peter groaned and rested his forehead against yours.

“You are so beautiful. God, I could kiss you all night.” The words were husky with adoration.

You giggled like a schoolgirl and rubbed your nose against his. “I think MJ and Ned might think something was up.”

Peter’s eyes flicked to the doorway and laughed an airy laugh. “I think they may already know.”

You turned your head quickly to see MJ and Ned standing in the doorway, knowing smirks on their face. A blush tipped your cheeks and you tucked in closer to Peter’s body, your cheek placed against his neck.

“You owe me five bucks, Ned.” MJ held her hand and Ned grumbled as he dug around in his pockets.

“Ah man, you two couldn’t have waited two more weeks. I needed that.” Ned hung his head and headed back into the living room. MJ shot you an annoyingly smug grin and disappeared to follow Ned.

Peter squeezed his arms around you and you melted into his touch. “Ya know, I really like that picture you took of me. You’re so freakin talented.”

You smiled against his neck. “Thanks, Pete. But it’s just a hobby, nothing special.”

“Trust me when I say, everything about you is special. And I hope I’m allowed to show you every day just how special you are to me.” He looked down at you, his chocolate brown were tinted with want. You could tell that he was nervous to be this open with someone.

You bent forward and kissed his lips sweetly. “Only if I get to do the same thing for you, Peter Parker.”

Peter embraced you tightly and lifted you off your feet and you could feel his face pressed into your hair. Your heart was soaring with excitement. The last thing you had expected from this weekend was catching the guy you’d been pining after for so long. It was an amazing feeling.

Finally, Peter reluctantly put you down but held your hand up against his heart. “I’ll be your lockscreen for as long as you’ll have me.”

“COME ON, YOU LOVEBIRDS.” You both burst out laughing as MJ screamed from the living room, snapping you out of your trance. You locked your hand with Peter and started gathering the sodas for your friends.

“You promised I could hold your hand if I got scared, right?” You quipped and Peter’s grin told you all you needed to know.

[elisaphoenix13]

The Doctor Is In

(5 times Stephen took care of Tony and Peter and 1 time they took care of him)

Stephen fled from the Tower the moment heavy metal music echoed through the surrounding floors of the lab. It wasn't that he hated the music, it was the fact that he knew exactly what it meant.

Tony and Peter were blowing things up.

He could meditate through a majority of things that went on in the Tower. Like if Clint and Sam took over their living room to play video games, Peter crawling all over the ceiling, Tony  cursing at something he's tinkering with on the coffee table...or Clint crawling through the air vents. Their floor was constantly taken over by the other Avengers, and he had grown used to it, but explosions from the lab was another thing entirely. It was random and had different levels of noise that startled Stephen's astral form back into his body and left him momentarily confused and disoriented. Not a fun feeling.

Stephen sighs when Wong drops a stack of books on the table in front of him and he opens a single eye. "Do you mind?"

Wong ignores him as he sits down. "AC/DC?"

The sorcerer supreme stretches out in his chair. "Metallica."

"Wouldn't blasting music hurt Peter's ears?"

"He's used to it. He's usually the one controlling the volume anyway." Stephen slumps in his chair.

"How's motherhood treating you?" Wong grins.

Strange groans. "Not you too. How did you know?"

"Tony calls you Mama Bear almost all the time. It was obvious." Wong flips through one of the books. "...and I heard Peter call you Mom."

"That boy will be the death of me."

"I thought I saw some more grey hair."

He wouldn't be surprised. Both Peter and Tony had very little consideration for self-preservation to the point that...well...they were blowing things up in the lab. He could confidently bet the Eye of Agamotto that he would go home to at least one of them in need of first aid. Bruce only helped them in emergencies for how often they got themselves into trouble. He was tired of fishing glass out of broken skin because of a stupid idea.

"I'm tempted to cover them in bubble wrap so I can have a minute of peace without having to worry about what trouble they're getting into."

"Your domesticity is nauseating."

Stephen smirks. "You're just jealous."

"Hardly."

Stephen's phone starts ringing and he looks at the screen, sighs, and answers.

"Yes Spiderling?"

"Holy crap! Where are you?! Dad got knocked out by the fire extinguisher--"

Stephen coughs to hide his laugh. He was definitely going to watch today's recording of the lab to see how that happened. "I'll be there shortly."

He hangs up before Peter can utter another word and glances at Wong.

"What's the damage this time?"

Stephen grins. "Technical knockout by a fire extinguisher."

Wong laughs.

_______________________

"Peter I swear--" A Lego smacks painlessly against Stephen's forehead. "Did you just throw a Lego at me?!"

The teen flattens himself against the ceiling. "That was my venom! I'm a spider!"

The Vishanti are testing me.

Peter had just recently gotten all of his wisdom teeth pulled and was on very strong pain killers. Something Stephen prayed he would never have to give the boy again because he was a menace. Peter refused to stay in bed and had taken to the ceiling instead, leaving Stephen no choice but to follow him and try to coax him down. He hoped to whatever entity that was listening that the boy wouldn't fall and hurt himself.

The first thing he tried was Levi but Peter stubbornly clung to the ceiling so he had to wave the cloak off from that attempt. Bribing him with ice cream was a dead end as well.

"Spiderling, you don't spit venom." Then another idea came to mind and Stephen didn't know why he didn't think if it before. "How does a movie night with cuddles sound?"

Peter looks at the sorcerer and seems to think over his offer. "'Kay."

Peter was a sucker for physical contact no matter how high he was.

Stephen sighs with relief when the teen moves down from the ceiling and immediately clings to the older man's front like a baby. The sorcerer wraps his arms around Peter to hold him steady, and makes his way back to the boy's bedroom where he gently deposits his burden. He murmurs to the boy to stay while he leaves to change into something more comfortable, and thankfully returns to Peter's room a couple minutes later to find the boy curled up under his blankets.

"Where's Dad?"

"At an Accords meeting. He'll be back by dinner." Strange slips into bed next to Peter and the teen wastes no time in curling up against him. "What do you want to watch Spider-Baby?"

"Disney movie."

Stephen has Karen (Tony connected Peter's AI to his bedroom) start a Disney movie, and gently strokes brown curls. It didn't take long for Peter to pass out between the ministrations and snuggling. One would think the boy was touch starved.

_____________

The tower was calm. Peter was at school and Tony was at a meeting, so Stephen felt he could relax. He really should have known better. As soon as he stretched out on the couch with an actual book not related to the mystic artes, Tony strode out of the elevator with blood streaming down his temple. The sorcerer sighs when his boyfriend flops onto the couch when he sits up, and he retrieves the first aid kit and some ice through a couple of small portals.

"I'd ask how your meeting went but that would be pointless."

Tony hisses when Stephen applies some antiseptic. "The meeting was fine. The private meeting Ross wanted...not so much."

"Just say the word and I can have him free-falling for a couple of hours."

"That would be counter productive since I'm trying to keep you and Peter out of the Accords. You're both special cases."

The doctor finishes by applying a butterfly bandage and then hands Tony the ice. The engineer did have legitimate reasons for keeping Stephen and Peter away. Stephen was the Sorcerer Supreme, and had a responsibility to protect the world from magical attacks. Peter was simply underage.

"Head feeling better?" Stephen asks softly.

Tony nods and grimaces as he places the ice pack on his head. "I think I'll live."

Scott slips into the living room and sits in an armchair sipping at a juice pouch. "Hey Strange, your Mama Bear is showing."

"That better not be Peter's Capri Sun."

"Case and point." He grins and loudly sucks every last drop.

"Quit raiding my fridge Lang." Tony snarks.

"Quit buying all the good stuff." Scott kicks his legs up onto the coffee table and turns on the t.v.

Stephen simply laid out on the couch again with his legs across Tony's lap and read while the other two watched reruns of Friends. He would take the quiet while he could. It was a rare occurrence.

____________________

"Doctor Strange, you have an incoming call from Peter." Victor calls from his bracelet.

Stephen sighs and puts his tea down to pull his phone out of his pocket. He was at school so either he had gotten into trouble (Not likely unless it was an attack an earth kind) or he wasn't feeling well. Something still unlikely because of the spider bite.

"What's wrong Spiderling?" The sorcerer asks when he accepts the call.

"Uh...Doctor Strange?" That was not Peter. In fact it sounded like...

"Ned? Where's Peter?"

"We're in the boy's bathroom on the second floor. I think Peter is going through a sensory overload."

Shit. That was the one thing that Peter truly hated. "Alright. I'll be there in just a minute."

Stephen hangs up, uses his magic to change into his street clothes, and then opens a portal to just around the corner to the school. With long strides, he shoves his way through pedestrians and into the school and makes a quick stop in the office.

"I'm here to pick up Peter Parker." The secretary looks up, blushes, and reaches for the intercom phone until Stephen reaches out and stops her. "Please don't. He's not feeling well and the intercom will only make things worse. I know where he is if I may go get him myself."

The woman quickly gathers herself. "Of course sir. I just need your name and have you sign him out."

When he relayed his name to her, she looked at him with a mixture of confusion and skepticism, but thankfully cleared him to retrieve Peter. She was probably wondering where his robes were since he was dressed like any other person.

Stephen rushes out of the office and up the stairs and to his relief finds the bathrooms fairly quickly. He wrinkles his nose in disgust as he walks in but says nothing when he spots Peter curled in the corner with his hands over his ears. Ned looks up and relief crosses his features as he promptly moves away from his best friend and the doctor takes his place and gently pulls Peter's hands down.

"I'll get you home in just a second Spiderling." Strange looks up at Ned and accepts Peter's backpack from him. "Thank you for calling me."

Ned nods. "I can call him later and tell him what his homework is."

"I'm sure he would appreciate that."

He then turns and opens a portal, the sound of the sparks drawing a whimper from the suffering teen beside him, and Stephen ignores his breaking heart as he helps Peter through. He closes the portal and leads the teen to his bed where Peter quickly sheds everything but his boxers to, Stephen assumed, get rid of his itchy clothing.

"Karen, Overload Protocol please."

In an instant, the window is covered, the lights are dimmed, and Peter finally relaxes when the room is soundproof and nearly dark. Stephen gently lays the covers over his son and Peter cracks open an eye in response.

"Mom?" Peter croaks out.

"Just relax Spider-Baby."

Peter nods and rolls onto his side before settling against his pillow.

_____________________

An explosion startles both Stephen and Happy from their naps on their respective couches, and both jump to their feet before rushing down to the lab. The sorcerer punches in the code to open the lab door and he looks around the trashed and smoking lab for Peter and Tony, faintly registering that DUM-E was successfully taking care of any fires. He soons spots the engineer slumped against the wall and he rushes over before kneeling down to examine him and tend to his injuries.

"I've got Peter!" The bodyguard yells from the other side of the room. "He looks fine. Just knocked out!"

Stephen exhales when he finds Tony in the same condition. "Tony is the same. It must have been a repulsor explosion."

Tony groans and slowly opens his eyes. "Peter..."

"He's alright. What happened?"

The billionaire stands with the doctor's help and rubs the back of his head. "One of my gauntlets short-circuited."

Happy approaches them with a smirk. "The kid just woke up and he's talking a mile a minute. I'm pretty sure he's fine. I'm going back upstairs to finish my nap."

Tony rolls his eyes as Happy leaves the lab and both parents walk over to Peter to find him patting DUM-E.

"Good job putting out the fire buddy. Now Dad won't have to donate you to a community college." The robot trills at the praise.

"Now FRIDAY is risking reprogramming." Tony says irritably.

"I tried to warn you Boss but you didn't listen." Could AI be annoyed? FRIDAY definitely sounded annoyed.

"That sounds like something you would do." Stephen drawls and Tony throws his arms up.

"Traitors! I'm scrapping FRIDAY and breaking up with you!"

Peter looks up at Tony's declaration and watches the couple in alarm, but Stephen simply smiles and the teen relaxes and turns his attention back to DUM-E. The poor kid really feared that his family was going to fall apart over something trivial and it hurt Stephen. It really showed how much Peter loved them.

"You won't have anyone to kiss your boo-boos then."

Tony stares at Stephen until he barks out a laugh that turns into something hysterical. "That's true. Brucie isn't the type." He finally wheezes out.

Stephen then decided to take it a step further. "Besides, if we break up, I'm taking Peter."

The boy himself pouts. "Don't drag me into your marital problems."

"Okay, first of all kid, we have to be married to have marital problems. Second, Stephanie, he was my kid first."

"You guys might as well get married. You already act like an old married couple." Peter grumbles and the older two glance at each other.

"...and there's the headache I get from dealing with you two." Stephen says and rubs his temples.

_____________________

+1

Stephen groggily opens his eyes when a cool hand finds itself on his forehead and he purrs when he finds Tony leaning over him. Something he would completely deny later because he wasn't even aware he could even make that noise.

"Feeling under the weather Mama Bear?"

"I'm fine."

"I'll believe that when you stop trying to hack up a lung while you're sleeping."

The sorcerer bats Tony's hand away and sits up, only for his boyfriend's hand to settle on his chest to stop him from getting up. It was weird for him to be fussed over and he also wasn't about to let a cold keep him from the research he needed to do.

"If you put one foot on the floor I am going to sic Peter on you."

That actually got Stephen's attention. Tony had gotten sick a few weeks back and when Peter got wind of it, he hovered. The teen took it upon himself to make sure that the engineer took some medicine, fed him, and even checked in on him to make sure he was resting. Stephen found it hilarious and let the boy help take care of Tony as long as he didn't disturb him.

To be on the receiving end of that though? That was a scary thought. He was the doctor in the family. He was supposed to worry about them, no matter how many headaches that might cause, not the other way around.

So he laid back down.

"That's what I thought. The only acceptable reason for you to get out of bed is for the bathroom."

"Asshole."

"I love you too Mama Bear. Now let us take care of you." Tony kisses his forehead. "I'll send Peter in with some water and pills."

Stephen glares up at him. "You're going to let him hover anyway?"

Tony frowns. "He already knows you're sick. He promised not to hover."

"...fine."

After Tony left the bedroom, Stephen expected Peter to stumble in a couple minutes later.

He never did.

Tony was the one to bring him whatever he needed, and the doctor immediately knew something was wrong. It took him a few minutes to think about what happened, but then he finally remembered Peter's enhanced hearing. The boy probably heard his parents' earlier conversation and assumed Stephen didn't want to be bothered by him and decided to stay away and respect his wishes.

Just the thought squeezed the sorcerer's heart painfully.

Precious, wonderful Peter ignored his own insecurities so Mom could rest without disruption.

Tony's cellphone ringing pulls Stephen out of his own head and he watches as the older man looks at the screen. He grimaces in irritation before pocketing the phone and places a glass of water on the nightstand by Stephen.

"Pepper needs me for something SI related."

Stephen waves him away. "I'll be fine. I'll have FRIDAY annoy Bruce if I need something."

Tony opens his mouth as if to say something but seems to think better of it and closes his mouth again. Stephen relaxes against his pillow when the billionaire leaves and allows himself to doze off until a thud and a soft curse wakes him later in the evening. Blue eyes blink open at the disturbance and he immediately makes eye contact with doe-like brown eyes wide with horror.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you! I'm only in here because Dad asked me to check on you. Y-You're obviously fine so I'll...go. Yeah." Peter turns to leave and Stephen quickly reaches out and grabs his sleeve.

"Come here Spiderling."

"I swear I wasn't hovering!"

Stephen smiles softly and pulls the younger onto the bed next to him. "You can watch tv if you want...just keep me company."

The horror slowly eases away as the sorcerer pulls him into a hug, and Peter quietly turns on the tv with low volume. If this wasn't enough to show his son he wasn't bothered, he didn't know what was. He really did need the company though. After living in the chaos of the tower for months, the quiet was unnerving.

Stephen found that he really didn't mind.

[writing-reading-inspiring]

hey, could i request an imagine where the reader is a trans guy who’s in peter’s high school and one day he’s over at peter’s house and peter and ned coach him on how to look/act like a guy? can be funny or serious lol

Hey sweetie, so I hope that this is good and what you wanted. I’m so sorry if I disappoint or if I don’t represent trans guys correctly in this. I don’t have any personal connections to anyone who is trans, so I had to go on what I’ve read and seen. I’m sorry if how I portrayed them is wrong and I truly hope none of it’s offensive, though it shouldn’t be. I also want to apologize for how long this took to write. I have been super busy the past couple of weeks and I wanted to write this correctly, so I did some research as well.

(y/b/n) - your birth name

“Now, I know you’re nervous, but all you have to do is be yourself. Trust me, everyone will love you, bear.”

My mom smiled at me as we pulled into the parking lot of my brand new school, Midtown High. I sent her an appreciative smile as my heart beat rose to be so fast I was sure she could hear it.

Apparently my hunch may have been correct because she took my hand and looked me in the eyes.

“Listen to me, you’re going to be okay. I promise. Your father and I made sure to look for only the best educational systems when we moved. I know transferring half way through the year is tough, but sweetheart, there are so many opportunities here. I know you’re going to find the best ones.”

My mom always knows what to say to calm my nerves and get me thinking straight again. I took in a deep breath, counted to ten, and released. I’ve been doing this exercise since the guidance counselor at my old school taught me it to keep me calm when other students commented on how I’m transgender. 

“Thanks mom, you always know what to say. I should probably go though, I think I heard the bell. I love you.”

“I love you too. Have an amazing day, I know you’ll do great.”

I grabbed my bag and got out of the car, shaking off any remaining negative thoughts I had. There’s no point in being scared when I haven’t even encountered the students yet. I mean, they could be really nice, right? This is supposed to be a school for genius level students, so they’re probably educated enough to know that there’s nothing wrong with being trans. 

I began to walk the halls to my first period - chemistry. 

Luckily, my mom set up an appointment with the school to have them give me a tour last Saturday, so I know where all of my classes are. Being a transfer student is hard enough without adding on not knowing where to go. 

No one was passing a glance at me when I walked past them, so my hope began to rise. I know students will be able to tell I’m new in my classes, but at least I won’t feel like I’m clueless all the time.

The bell rang just as I made it into Mr. Cobbwell’s room. Now comes the fun part, seeing if there’s a seating arrangement. I’m praying there’s only a seating arrangement and not a mandatory introduction. 

“Excuse me, sir. I’m the new transfer student. I was wondering if there was a seating arrangement that I should be aware of,” I asked who I assume is the teacher with my best smile.

“Well, there isn’t assigned seats, but a lot of students are already partnered up. We’ll find you someone though, don’t worry. For now, let’s introduce you to the class.”

My stomach dropped at his words. I knew that this was going to cause some confusion, but hopefully no hate. The school has to have my legal name and I haven’t fully transitioned, so I was going to have to inform everyone of who I actually was in an embarrassing way.

“Class settle down, I know we just had a break, but it’s time to get back to learning. We have a new student here today, Miss (y/b/n). Is there anything you would like to say to the class?”

“Yeah, um, my name is actually (y/n) and it’s Mister.”

Mr. Cobbwell was about to reply when I student yelled out from the second row. “Wait, so you’re not a chick? There’s no way you’re a dude.”

My cheeks flared red as I stood mortified in front of the entire class.

“Shut up, Flash. Leave him alone, there’s no need for your commentary.”

I smiled gratefully to curly haired boy who spoke up for me.

“I’m very sorry for the mix up Mister (y/n). Why don’t you sit next to Peter? Peter raise your hand for him.”

The boy who told the rude guy off raised his hand. I smiled and made my way over to him, even more grateful now that I know I won’t have to deal with anymore comments.

“Hey, I’m Peter. It’s nice to meet you. So you transferred?”

“Hey Peter, I’m (y/n), but you knew that since I was introduced a second ago. Anyway, uh, yeah, I just transferred from Cynthia Jenkins.”

“Oh, that’s cool. Your old decathlon is really good. We went against them last semester.”

I couldn’t help but laugh a little, “Yeah, I would hope so, I was on it.”

His eyes widened, “Really! We could really use some new members if you want to be part of it. We’re meeting after school on Friday in the lunchroom”

“You know what? I’ll probably check that out. Thanks.”

He smiled again at me before beginning to take notes of whatever Mr. Cobbwell has been talking about. I quickly got out my school supplies and began working.

The class continued on with notes until the bell rang.

“Hey (y/n), if you don’t have anyone to sit with today at lunch, you could always hang out with my friend Ned and me. We sit near the back.” Peter spoke to me before I could bolt to my next class.

“Oh, that would be cool, thanks Peter.” He nodded at me before heading off.

Most of my classes followed the same formula as chemistry. Get introduced, correct them, take notes. It was honestly really boring, but at least no one has said anything bad about me being transgender.

It was time for lunch and I was worried that Peter didn’t really want me there. He could have just been being nice, but given that I don’t really know anyone else, I’m still taking my chance on him. 

I spotted Peter next to a boy who I’m assuming is the Ned person he was talking about. Peter saw me just a second after and quickly waved me over.

“Hey (y/n), this is my friend Ned. Ned this is (y/n), he just transferred from Cynthia Jenkins.”

“Really? That’s so cool. I know some people there, they’re pretty chill. So why did you transfer?” 

I nervously scratched the back of my neck. This was kind of a sore subject, but of course Ned didn’t know that.

“Um, well, let’s just say some people there aren’t as chill as the ones you know. Sorry if that’s rude, I just don’t like talking about it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” I could tell Ned felt bad.

“No, it’s cool, you didn’t know.”

Peter quickly entered the conversation again trying to lead us away from the subject. “So (y/n) is thinking about joining the decathlon team. He was on the one at his old school.”

“That’s great, we really need some new members. A couple of kids quit after the whole Washington incident last year.”

I quickly figured out what he was talking about. “Wait, it was your decathlon team that was in the elevator at the Washington Monument last year?”

They both nodded their heads in confirmation.

“Dude, I saw that on the news. At least Spiderman was there to save you guys. That’s pretty cool.”

Peter perked up at the mention of Spiderman, “So, are you a fan of him. Spiderman I mean.”

“I guess. He does a lot for others, you know? He really looks out for the neighborhood and I appreciate that. It was a good thing he was in Washington though.”

“Yeah, thank goodness for Spiderman,” Ned spoke nervously now for some reason. Peter nudged him a little before turning his attention back towards me.

“So (y/n), it was really weird that Mr. Cobbwell called you (y/b/n). Did you get the problem fixed? I’m assuming there was a typo in the system when they were transferring your information.”

I sighed, thinking of how to explain the situation best. I was hoping he already figured it out, but I knew I’d have to tell people eventually, so it might have well been now.

“Actually, there weren't any mistakes. My birth name is (y/b/n).”

I could tell the two were confused by this, so I quickly continued.

“I’m transgender. My birth name is (y/b/n), but I go by (y/n) now. The school system needs my legal information and since I haven’t fully transitioned or gotten my name legally changed, the system has different information than I go by.”

The boys seemed shocked for a moment, but they quickly recovered. Ned was the first to speak.

“That actually explains a lot. No offense, but you don’t really look too masculine. Then again neither do we, but I get it now that I know you were probably raised a bit different. I hope that wasn’t offensive.”

“No, you’re right. I was raised to be different, but I’m just not. I was born in the wrong body and I’m working on correcting that. I hope that’s not too weird though. Some people at my old school had a problem with it and I was really hoping that wouldn’t happen here.”

Peter gave me a smile, “Don’t worry (y/n), it doesn’t change anything. Hey, do you want to hang out today after school? We could all go to my apartment to do something. We could also talk more there since lunch is almost over.”

“That would be great actually. Thanks for inviting me.”

He nodded his head before Ned interjected, “Yeah, that’d be cool. We could teach you how to be a manly man too. Just like I am.”

Peter gave him a look and scoffed, “You wish. He’s more masculine than you are.”

“(y/n) may be, but does he have a cool hat? No, so we have much to teach him.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the two. I could tell this was going to be fun.

Lunch ended and Peter quickly gave me his number and told me to meet Ned and him near his locker after school. 

The rest of the school day was boring and went by slowly as I waited to be able to hang out with Peter and Ned again.

Eventually the dismissal bell rang and I bolted from my English class. I texted my mom earlier and told her I was invited over to a new friends. She was ecstatic that I was already making friends.

I met up with the two where I was told and was greeted with warm smiles.

“Ready to go? I just got a new Lego Millennium Falcon set that we can put together,” Ned told me excitedly.

“That sounds like fun. I really like Star Wars, it was the first movie my dad showed me.”

“Really? That’s awesome. Ned and I are huge fans, obviously. We actually built the Death Star last semester.” Peter was quick to inform me.

“That’s really cool, I definitely want to see it. Darth Vader is my favorite character, I don’t know why, but I always favor the villains in movies.”

Peter gave a nervous laugh, “I hope you don’t favor the villains in real life.”

“Nah, just movies. The one’s in real life absolutely suck. I prefer the superheros.”

The three of us continued to talk about whatever came to mind as we made our way to Peter’s apartment. By the time we were in the door, I was able to tell that I would get along really well with the two of them.

“So, this is my home. My aunt May isn’t home from work until six, so we have some time to ourselves. You guys are welcome to stay for dinner, but I don’t know if you’re going to want what she makes. I love her, but her cooking isn’t exactly the best.”

Ned and I laughed at Peters comment, Ned nodding his head in agreement before we all went to Peter’s room.

“So, do you guys want to watch a movie? We could watch Star Wars or another classic like Jurassic Park or Back To The Future.”

Ned replied to Peter first, “We haven’t watched Back To The Future in a while. You good with that (y/n)?”

“Yeah, I’ve never actually seen it.”

The two looked at me like I just told them I eat human hearts.

“What?”

“You’ve never watched Back To The Future? I can’t believe this,” Peter told me.

“We’re fixing this,” Ned interjected, putting the movie into the DVD player connected to the TV. 

The three of us watch the movie, following it with Jurassic Park and Star Wars: Return Of The Jedi.

Half way through our third movie, our attention started to falter from the film and we began talking again.

“Yo (y/n), I just remembered. We have to coach you how to act and look more like a guy,” Ned said suddenly.

“Oh, yeah. Okay, where do we begin?”

Peter started first, “Okay, so you obviously have masculine characteristics given that that’s how you identify, but we kind of need to teach you how to have others realize.”

I nodded my head in agreement. “A lot of people still consider me a girl, it would be nice for them to think of me as I actually am.”

“Exactly, so let’s start there. We’ll begin with the typical posture and style.”

Ned began to object, “Peter, I don’t think you should be the one to teach him how to dress. Don’t worry (y/n), I got you. So, how do you feel about hats?”

Peter rolled his eyes and threw a pillow at Ned while I laughed. 

“Don’t be dumb. Anyway, (y/n), since we have differences in styles, we can talk about how to walk and stand.”

Peter got up and began to walk around the room in an over exaggerated swagger strut. He then proceeded to stop, turn to Ned and me, and folded his arms over his chest while slumping. He quickly returned to normal, rapidly nodding his head while gesturing for me to do the same.

I timidly got up and followed what he showed me. As I uncrossed my arms, we all burst out laughing at how ridiculous this all was. 

“Th - that - was absolutely terrible. It has nothing to do with you (y/n), just Peter’s terrible teaching,” Ned was barely able to get out while laughing. 

“Hey, I did pretty good. In all honesty, there isn’t any set way you should act or look I guess. I think you just need to be more confident in yourself (y/n). I know whatever happened at your old school was bad, but people at Midtown are better. Well, maybe not Flash, but you don’t need to worry about him. Just be yourself and everyone will see who you really are.”

I smiled at Peter’s words. He was right, I just needed to be confident in myself and not worry about others judging me on who I am.

Maybe my mom was right, I will have a lot of new opportunities. I mean, I’m pretty sure I already started finding the best ones.

[fortunatelylori]

Do you think that Benjen knew the truth about Jon? In s6 i was annoyed that he left just b4 bran found out so we'll never know

Hey, nonnie!

This is a very interesting question and while I do not have a definitive answer, I am inclined to say that Benjen did in fact know the truth about Jon. There are two theories about how he found out. One is frankly quite boring and not all that interesting, while the other is much more emotional and meaningful. So I’ll kind of lay out both and you can make up your mind on it yourself. 

The first scenario is that he found out once the children of the forest found him and healed him from the wounds inflicted by the White Walker in season 1. What we know about this incident is that the way Benjen was healed by the COF was similar to the creation of the Night King. Since all of this is just show canon at this point, things might be different in the books so keep that in mind. 

The story Benjen tells Bran and Meera is that the COF inserted a shard of dragonglass into his heart to stop the process of him dying and turning into a wight. Why the COF would have done that for him and not the rest of the party he was with, remains a mystery but we do know that the NK is imbued with greenseer abilities because he was able to spot Bran while he was warging and actually interact with him by touching him (which lead to the magic of BR’s cave to be destroyed and them being attacked). It’s not outside the realm of possibility that Benjen, in his new hybrid state, has now gained access to the weirwood net and is able to have visions of the past, present and future just like Bran. In addition, Benjen is a Stark and we know that most of the Starks are magical in one way or another (although not as powerful as Bran, of course). These 2 things would go a long way in explaining how Benjen was able to pop up at the exact time when Bran and Jon needed rescuing when they were beyond the wall. So it Benjen does in fact have greenseer abilities, he would probably be able to see just how Ned came to find Jon and what lead him to bring him home from the Tower of Joy. 

The other theory, and the one I’m most partial too, is that Benjen knew all along that Jon was Lyanna’s son. Some people speculate that Ned told him after bringing Jon home as, unlike Cat, Benjen had a vested interest in protecting his sister’s son. But I don’t think Ned needed to tell Benjen for him to figure it out all on his own. 

One of the most interesting aspects about Benjen, and one the books highlight far more than the show, is his extremely close relationship with Lyanna. They were closer in age and Benjen was Lyanna’s wingman, so to speak, all through their childhood and adolescence. 

I always found it fascinating that one of the visions Bran has the first time he accesses the weirwood net is of Lyanna and Benjen playing in the godswood. While there might be other narrative reasons for this vision that are, as of yet, unrevealed it does highlight just how close these two were. 

Also Benjen was present at the tournament where Rhaegar crowned Lyanna as the Queen of Love and Beauty and since he also helped Howland Reed after he was attacked, it’s very possible that he was the only person to know that Lyanna was the Knight of the Laughing Tree and he helped her in this endeavor. Which would also make it possible that he was there the first time Rhaegar and Lyanna interacted when he tracked them down and revealed their shenanigans. 

All of this is speculation at this point, of course, but if everything above happened, it’s also likely that Benjen knew Rhaegar kept in touch with Lyanna and chose to keep his sister’s secret. Unlike his brothers, he might very well have known that Lyanna was not actually kidnapped and that she went with Rhaegar willingly. I doubt either Benjen or Lyanna realized just what a terrible mistake they made in engaging with Rahegar to that level or the consequences of what they might have seen as a innocent, romantic tryst would have. 

During the rebellion, Benjen was stuck being the Stark in Winterfell and was cut off from communicating with Ned which is why he probably never managed to tell Ned that Lyanna had ran off with Rhaegar of her own accord. Not that this would have stopped the rebellion per se but I imagine Benjen would have been riddled with guilt over his part in all of it, not to mention carry a trauma for aiding Lyanna in what would essentially be a huge tragedy for their family and also lead to her death. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that a few months after Ned returned home, Benjen went to the Wall. I think him joining the NW was his way of atoning for what he saw as his failure to protect his sister and their family. So, knowing all that he knew about Lyanna and Rhaegar, knowing Ned as he did and also seeing how stubborn he was in refusing to ever talk about the mother of his bastard son and seeing just how much Jon looked like Lyanna, I think Benjen figured out fairly quickly just who Jon was. Perhaps he confronted Ned with this and Ned confirmed it. Perhaps he kept it to himself and it was an unspoken thing between the two brothers but I think there’s a very good chance that Benjen knew. 

I have to stop here and remark on the double standard that the fandom applies to characters in this series. Sansa is often dragged through the mud as a bully and an idiot for having a difficult relationship with Arya and because of her naivete when it comes to Cersei and Jofferey. Lyanna, however, is always spared such criticism. Although we know that by virtue of being the older sister, she did in fact dominate Benjen and made fun of him: in the vision that Bran has, Lyanna roughs him up and then scolds him for screaming because she’s afraid someone will find out and at the tourney she pours a glass of wine over his head when he makes fun of her crying over Rhaegar playing the harp. And that’s just the canon aspect of their relationship. If the theory above turns out to be true, Lyanna effectively made her little brother complicit in the event that shattered their family. Also, just for the record, while the brunt of the Rhaegar/Lyanna relationship must rest on Rhaegar’s adult shoulders, it’s also worth noting that Lyanna chose to run away with a married man and entertain his advances for months prior. She was most likely groomed and coerced into this but, at the same time, she had ample time to inform her father or older siblings of what Rhaegar was doing and she chose not to, probably because she saw it as a way of getting out of her betrothal to Robert. All of this doesn’t make her an evil person or a monster but the responsibility of what happened is greater in her case then whatever role Sansa is supposed to have played in Ned’s downfall (which is minimal if not, downright inexistent) or the tragedy that she falls victim to after her father’s death. But because Lyanna is known to have swung a sword at some point, she’s Jon’s mother and also reminds fans of Arya, she get’s a free pass. Sansa, on the other hand, must suffer for the rest of her life because she was an innocent little girl who was taught to trust the adults around her and did just that. 

Coming back to the topic at hand … It’s also interesting that Benjen is at once willing to let Jon join the NW but at the same time tries to talk him out of it. He’s conflicted about Jon’s decision. He tells Jon this: 

Benjen: You don’t understand what you might be giving up. None of us will ever father sons. 

Jon: I don’t care about that. 

Benjen: You might. If you knew what it meant. 

Now, on the surface this feels like Benjen finding Jon’s inexperience in matters of sex endearing. But … I always got the feeling that Benjen was referring to more than that. After all, why say none of them will have children and not point out that Jon might at least try to have sex before joining a celibate order for life? I think he was in fact unsure whether to take Jon to the Wall because by joining the NW Jon would be making a life altering decision without being in possession of all the facts concerning who he was and what his actual place in the world could be. 

This theory is supported, in my mind, by Ned and Jon’s last conversation: 

Jon: Is my mother alive? Does she know about me? Where I am, where I’m going? Does she care? 

Ned: The next time we see each other, we’ll talk about your mother. I promise. 

Firstly, please allow me to retreat in a dark corner and cry. Poor Jon! I get very defensive of him when people label him entitled or a bully because of his inability to understand the plight of Pyp and Grenn when he gets to the wall, because even though Pyp and Grenn go through hardships, Jon’s life has not been a walk in the park. Living in a castle and having access to a sword master shouldn’t blind people from the very real and painful traumas that have plagued Jon since the moment he was born. 

Now, going back to the quote …  Ned is a man of his word. I truly believe that he had every intention of telling Jon about Lyanna and his true parentage once they “saw each other” again. The question is why now? Why keep a secret for so long and promise to tell Jon the truth? What changes? 

The only answer I can come up with is that by the time Ned and Jon would see each other again, Jon would have taken his NW oath which would not only mean that Jon was out of the reach of Robert but also that he would be now stuck there, unable to do anything with this new information. So Ned is biding his time until that happens so that Jon would have no choice but continue to be the Bastard of Winterfell. And Benjen is aiding him in this. 

This feels like the kind of thing GRRM would come up with since it adds to the bittersweet aspect of the Jon/Ned/Benjen relationship. Both these men protect and love Jon but they also fail him by keeping him in the dark about who he is and standing by while Jon condemns himself to a life of celibacy, in a place that will most likely kill him because he sees no other road open to him in life. 

Thanks for the ask!

[visionsofus]

Field Trips, Infinity Stones, and oh mY GOD IS THAT SPIDER-MAN?

CH1  |  CH2  | CH3  | CH4  | CH5  | CH6  |  AO3

|CHAPTER 7 ~ exhibits and explosions |

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things go boom

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter stepped into the bustling cafeteria, the force of the heavy door that swung closed behind him ruffling his hair. He took a deep breath and after a quick scan of the room, identified Ned and MJ who were seated, luckily, at an empty table by the window. Determined to avoid the stares and whispers of the rest of his classmates, Peter walked swiftly in the direction of his friends. With each step he pushed the thoughts of the lab on Level 27 further and further from his mind. 

Peter was fairly familiar with the cafeteria on floor 7, having spent many a lunch time down here with some of the other interns. Conversations had often centred around the surprisingly good food that was served, bumps they had run into in their experimentation or complaints about the restrictions placed around their projects. Peter had found the cafeteria a fun and laid-back place to relax with the other interns in between research and experimentation. They'd often had dares going on such as who could sweat talk the cooks into giving them an extra serving or who could design a gadget that would raid the vending machines near the drink fountain.

Though Peter tried to keep his eyes to the ground as he walked swiftly over to Ned's table, he subconsciously took in his surroundings. He spotted Daniel over on one of the tables with some of the interns, his eyes trained on Peter in concern. Midtown took up three tables, but the rest were largely occupied by high school students like himself but wearing two different sets of uniform blazers. Peter didn't recognise either.

Peter shied away from the eyes of his classmates and anyone else who had looked up at his entrance. All their eyes made him antsy and he almost missed the quiet seclusion of the lab he had just been in. His lab… no, Peter corrected himself, no it wasn't.

'But you've always been enough'

Peter squirmed slightly as Mr Stark's words rang through his head as he walked through the tables.

The rest of the occupants of the cafeteria chatted on unbeknownst to the attention that Peter was getting as he tugged his backpack closer to his back. Though the iron spider suit had been fairly lightweight, he already found himself missing the assurance and comfort it had provided. Had he made the wrong choice? He cast the thought from his mind as he took a seat next to Ned and across from MJ.

Ned, oh so reliable Ned, had gotten Peter his serving of lunch already. Peter managed a small smile when he saw the food, Friday's had always been curry days at Stark Industries. It seemed some things never changed.

"Everything ok, Peter?" Ned said quietly, looking concerned.

"Not really." Peter said honestly, sighing as he picked up his spoon. "I'll tell you… sometime." Peter loved being able to share the superhero part of his world with Ned. But there were some things that he just couldn't explain in a way that Ned would truly understand. The bond he'd had with Mr Stark was one of those things.

"Alright, whatever you need just let me know." Ned said smiling warmly and putting an arm around Peter in a sort of half hug.

"Thanks buddy." Peter said, trying to smile. He didn't like how strained his voice sounded, as though he were about to fall apart all over again.

Peter swallowed and looked down at his curry, pushing it around his plate with the spoon. He'd always looked forward to the Fridays he'd spent at Stark Industries because they had usually turned into weekend trips that May hadn’t always been wholly in support of. May really didn’t like it when Peter missed school. Peter would spend the three days researching and experimenting and sleeping in the spare room in the private Stark quarters up on the floor below the CEO's office. He'd have dinners with Tony sometimes, and Pepper if she was free but other times it would just be him and Happy. Peter had fond memories of the time that Tony had tried to cook a lasagne for dinner and had ended up setting off the fire alarm and had to explain to Friday that there was no need to contact emergency services. Both Peter and Friday had been sworn to secrecy to never tell Pepper about the disaster evening.

Peter would spend the days learning as much as he could and always dreading the arrival of Sunday night which marked his return to his ordinary life as a high schooler. On rare occasions he would be able to convince May that his time at SI was a better for his future than classes were, and she'd let him take Monday off as well. Peter felt a lump forming in his throat and in the interests of preserving his dignity, he cast the memories to the side and focused on what he was eating.

Peter glanced up from his food as he caught Ned surreptitiously sliding an apple flavoured juice pouch over to his plate. Peter raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Whattt." Ned said shrugging and zipping up his backpack which was under the table, not before Peter caught sight of four other identical juices. "They had them with the food, do you know how long it has been since I had one of these? I know you like them, you can't hide anything from me."

"Thanks." Peter said, managing a smile.

Peter unwrapped the straw and poked the juice pouch open, sniffing as he did. He should have stopped at a bathroom to grab some tissues and at least wash his face; all that crying had left his nose running and eyes sore. He sighed and sniffed again. He was tired but at least he was feeling a little hungry now, that was a good sign. With each mouthful of curry Peter tried to push the memories of Mr Stark further from his mind. He hoped that Karen wasn't angry with him for snapping at her and walking out of the lab like that. Could machines sulk? He wouldn't put it past her.

Peter sniffed again and rubbed at his eyes, scowling as he did so. It was so damn obvious that he had been crying.

Peter rested his cheek on one of his hands as he pushed the curry around his plate, taking a mouthful every now and then. Ned seemed to notice that Peter needed distracting and started to tell him about some of the intern's projects they had seen, including what Ned described as ‘mind-controlled drones’ - Peter wished that he'd had the chance to talk to the intern responsible for that project.

Peter listened to Ned's talking and nodded and made noises of agreement where it was appropriate. He let himself get lost in Ned's version of events of Flash being humiliated by one of the interns, a thrilling tale that Peter wished he had more energy to pay attention to.

MJ began fishing through her backpack, eventually pulling out her sketch book - the one that Peter had seen her use time and time again to sketch 'people in crisis' as she so liked to call it. Peter wondered how often he featured in it. Did she ever draw herself? Peter doubted it, MJ had always seemed so cool under pressure, he couldn’t imagine her ever reacting badly to a crisis. It did make him wonder how she had settled in after the Snap, he barely knew anything about her family or whether they had been dusted in the Decimation.

MJ discarded her notebook however and kept looking around in her bag, eventually pulling out a pack of tissues and throwing them at Peter. It wasn't the best of throws and would have gone well over his shoulder if it weren't for his Spidey senses. He caught the small plastic packet in two fingers and raised an eyebrow at her.

"You look like you need them." MJ said shrugging and opening her sketch book up.

"Thanks…?" Peter said and then turned to Ned to whisper, "Do I really look that bad?"

"It's not great." Ned said looking over Peter's face once.

"Great." Peter whispered, pulling a tissue out and dabbing at his nose. "I'm just going to the bathroom, I'll be right back."

"Sure thing." Ned said taking another bite of curry and craning his head to try and get a look at who MJ was sketching. She frowned and turned the sketch book further away from him[SF1] .

Peter slipped his hands into his pockets and ducked around tables and exiting the cafeteria quickly. He needed to splash his face with some water, maybe blow his nose and try and put himself back together again.

Once Peter was out in the corridor, he noticed a group of five students from one of the other high schools gathered outside the elevators. Two guys, three girls, all dressed in purple and green blazers. Peter thought about stopping but decided it was none of his business and continued onwards to the bathroom at the end of the corridor. Their visitor level clearance cards wouldn't get them anywhere anyways. Peter had already entered the bathroom before he could see Daniel join their entourage.

"Welcome to the 18th Level museum," Abigail said spreading her arms out behind her as the group entered the enormous space. "Stark Industries New York headquarters is the only one with such a display, it's one of a kind. For the next two hours you are going to be able to walk around the exhibits, look at our history and in groups of four we will be inviting you to test out some old models."

Abigail reached into her bag and pulled out a set of folded maps and began handing them out in bundles for the students to share amongst themselves. "These are maps to all the displays. The museum is divided into three spaces, in the south wing you will find the history of SI from Howard Stark until the present, the west wing holds most of our Avenger artefacts." excited murmurs broke out throughout the group.

"This space we are currently in is dedicated to the late Mr Stark's work post his accident in 2008. The actual replicas and models that you'll get the chance to experiment with are kept over that way," Abigail said gesturing to her right, past glass cases and information boards, "in the east wing."

The students had started chattering in excitement with several making a break from the group and drifting towards the east wing, hoping to be the first to try out some of the old prototypes.

"When we are done here you willbe required to walk through another detector so please do not try and remove any artefact from the museum as our AI system will immediately alert us and we will have to contact the authorities." Abigail said sternly but stepped aside to allow the eager students to rush forward and look at the exhibits.

Peter looked at Ned who had opened up his map and was struggling to decide where he wanted to go first.

"Where do you want to start?" Peter prompted, looking around the museum space and wondering how they were supposed to spend two hours here.

"I don't even know." Ned said shaking his head. From the excitement clear on Ned’s face it seemed that he would have no trouble finding ways to entertain himself.

"We could just start at the beginning." Peter shrugged, indicating the south wing which was home to the original history of SI. It seemed a safe enough place to start that hopefully wouldn't dredge up many memories for Peter.

"Good idea." Ned said nodding and started off in that direction.

Any other time and Peter probably would have enjoyed looking around the museum. He had heard about it but had never actually ventured to the 18th level himself. He wished that he could feel a little more engaged with the exhibits, but it was difficult considering the way his thoughts kept annoyingly returning to the lab ten floors above them. Peter found the best way to keep his mind off it all was to just not think about anything. He followed Ned around to each case, read the information on the boards but didn't really absorb any of it, and just let Ned go about his business. Sometimes Ned asked Peter questions, particularly when they arrived at the Avengers wing and Ned found a small case dedicated to Peter's own superhero alias.

"This is part of your first suit, right?" Ned asked, his voice hushed so that MJ, just a few feet away and reading about Black Widow’s bulletproof suit, didn’t hear them.

"Yep." Peter said sighing and looking at his deconstructed Spider-Man suit. He'd agreed to let Tony display some of his first designs as well as elements of the first prototype. As a rule, the museum didn't display any full suits that were in working condition because it was a security threat. Thus, the only parts of the suit that were displayed were some models of his web shooters and his old mask and eye goggles.

"Cool." Ned whispered and snapped a few photos, it made Peter smile. Ned had seen his suit before, and he’d seen the newer, better suit that Mr Stark had designed, yet this stuff still made him excited.

Peter followed Ned over to the huge case that held designs for Captain America's suit and shield. Peter's heartstrings were tugged at yet again as he thought of Steve Rogers. A couple of weeks earlier he had received a message from Sam Wilson, aka Falcon. Peter had sort of freaked out when he had gotten the email, wondering if he was being called in for a mission or worse, the message was actually spam. He'd had very few interactions with Falcon outside of battles and getting the message out of the blue made him worried. Instead it had been a mass email sent out to what appeared to be the rest of the Avengers (Peter had immediately saved their emails to his contacts) and detailed events that had taken place earlier that day when Steve had been sent back to return all the infinity stones to their appropriate places in history and had not returned. At least not in the same form he had left in.

"Wow Vibranium," Ned said, reading one of Cap's many information boards. "Do you have any of that?"

"I had a tiny, tiny bit to experiment with that Mr Stark had left over from remaking Cap's shield." Peter explained quietly, "But it's really, really difficult stuff to get and Wakanda is super careful about who they give it to."

"Damn." Ned said sighing. "I'd love to have a shield like that."

Peter laughed despite himself.

Once they had made it around to all the exhibits, Peter becoming very distant at the Iron Man exhibit and Ned had taken his fill of photos, they proceeded into the testing wing. By this time most of the other students had already had their turn so the line wasn't very long.

The prototypes weren't all that impressive once you had seen and experienced the real thing, Peter decided. They had two technicians helping the students to navigate the equipment. Each student had the opportunity to use a replica of Cap's shield, though it were far less impressive and seemed to actually obey the laws of physics, unlike the real thing. They could try on a replica of War Machine's helmet and interact with a bot to read and react to different situations that were presented in a sort of virtual reality environment. There were a few other pieces of equipment lying around but it seemed these two were the most highly sought after. The third item that the students were most keen to use was what shook Peter the most. It was a replica of one of Tony's suit - just the arm and there was no arc reactor powering the blasters - that melded to the arm and shifted as the wearer moved. Peter squirmed as each student tried it on, each looking more ridiculous than the last.

Peter scowled at Flash who had just stepped into the experimental space and immediately headed for the Iron Man arm. The tech helped him into it and Flash grinned as he moved his arm around and watched as the plates shifted with his movements. It was beginning to make Peter feel sick, the spectacle of it all. Here were a bunch of teenagers enjoying trying on different weapons. Though they were just replicas, it annoyed Peter to think that they were being used so carelessly when the real things belonged to people he knew and who put their lives on the line time and time again. Before Thanos, Peter might have found it amusing, he might have even stood a little taller knowing that he actually got to see the real things. But now… it made him feel sick.

Peter watched as Flash arrogantly raised his hand and looked towards the rest of the students as he obnoxiously mimicked a finger snap. Peter saw some of his classmates visibly flinch and Peter himself went stock still in shock. From what Peter had heard, finger snapping had taken on incredible connotations post the Decimation. People were afraid to snap their fingers and it became a sort of equivalent to the horrid 'go kill yourself/ kill me now' phrases that people had enjoyed lightly tossing around for a period back in 2017. Given that some of his classmates had lived through the Decimation, Peter wasn't surprised at their reactions after the way their lives had been turned upside down. It made Peter want to go up into the experimental space and punch Flash right in his stupid face.

For Peter it was different. The connotation of that motion shook him deep to his core, making him feel as though he were back on the battle field, watching Tony Stark die all over again. Peter's chest tightened and suddenly all the noises around him felt infinitely louder, the lights above and their ringing making him want to clap his hands over his ears and eyes. Even the sound of Flash moving his arm and hearing the metal plates clink sent Peter reeling. He smelt body odour in the air, mixing with deodorant and perfume and the potent smell of mint chewing gum that made his nose sting. Peter's vision began to blur, and he swallowed thickly as his heart rate quickened and his palms became clammy. He stumbled when a wave of dizziness hit, and he bumped into Ned.

"You ok?" Ned said grasping Peter's arm to support him.

"Yeah, I'll be ok." Peter said shying away from Ned's touch. "Just going to get some air I think."

Before Ned could offer to come with him Peter pushed through his classmates and made for the exit.

Peter left the museum space through the same door that they had come in and headed down the corridor towards a large window he had spotted earlier. He reached it quickly and took a seat, pressing his back against the smooth, cool concrete. He pulled his backpack off and set it in front of him, pulling out a pair of noise cancelling headphones and snapping them over his ears. Silence washed over Peter as he breathed deeply, crossing his legs out in front of him as he settled into the little outcropping beside the window.

The sensory overload was something Peter had gradually learnt to cope with better over the last few years. He'd come to accept it as just another part of the Spider-Man gig. As great as his heightened senses were in a battle, in regular life sometimes they were just too much. It didn't help that he seemed to be experiencing panic attack symptoms more frequently now.

Sometimes when his senses got too loud Peter liked to listen to music, sometimes, like now, he just liked the silence that the noise cancelling headphones provided. He shut his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cool glass and focused on calming his breathing down, practicing the counting method that Karen had taught him about.

Peter didn't have to take the headphones off or open his eyes to know that someone had joined him. He sensed the air shift as she sat down opposite him, felt the floor beneath him vibrate with her movements.

Peter let his eyes open and glanced at MJ who had taken a seat opposite him, sketch book open. Of course, she had come to sketch him. At this point he didn't feel offended and just let her draw him.

"You ok?" She asked, once Peter removed his headphones. The sounds were quieter now and Peter tried to focus on keeping it that way.

"Yeah." Peter said shrugging and watching as she pushed the graphite pencil around the page, gradually forming what resembled a head.

"You reacted pretty badly to the snap." MJ mused and Peter cursed her for being so observant.

"What do you mean?" He said, choosing to play dumb.

"I'm not an idiot, I know a panic attack when I see one." MJ said, continuing her sketching but pausing to look up at Peter every now and then. She was half right he supposed, but she couldn't possibly know about the sensory overload thing. She probably only knew it was a panic attack because of stupid Flash grabbing his phone on the bus that morning. MJ spoke again, "counting helps for me, I identify 5 thinks I can see, 4 things I can hear et cetera until I’ve gone through all my senses."

"Breathing helps me." Peter replied, tilting his head curiously. Did MJ get panic attacks?

"Yeah well it is pretty crucial." She said, her lips quirking up in what Peter took to be a sort of half smile. "But, you got snapped so how come you reacted so badly to it? We weren't even here to see the effects."

Peter looked out the window and sighed, his warm breath making the glass fog up. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you… or if you did, you'd find it dumb."

"To make you react like that, I doubt it'd be dumb." MJ said in a way that made it clear she wasn't pushing him for an answer, but Peter found that he wanted to anyway.

"I… I lost Mr Stark." Peter whispered, so quiet he wondered if she heard. He kept his eyes trained outside to the skyline, not wanting to see MJ's reaction. He heard her pencil stop moving across the paper for a few seconds before starting again. "He was my mentor, I know Flash doesn’t believe it, but he taught me a lot… he was really important to me. Losing him was like losing a part of myself, and I'm struggling to find my way back."

Peter stopped talking and bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from thinking further about the matter and MJ didn't push him further.

"See." MJ said leaning her head against the glass so as to catch Peter's eye. "Not dumb at all."

"Thanks." Peter said smiling weakly.

"And for the record, I don't think you ever really lose someone. As long as they're still here," she tapped her forehead, "and here" then her heart, “you never actually lose them."

Peter nodded and mulled over her words for a little longer. They remained seated across from each other by the window outcropping for some time, not speaking. The silence wasn't uncomfortable or awkward in any way, instead it was peaceful and comforting. Peter was beginning to find that he actually really enjoyed spending time with MJ.

He was mustering up the courage to ask MJ how she was doing after being brought back from the Snap, worried that any question into her personal life might make her retreat, when the hair on his arms stood up. Peter immediately became alert, looking first out the window to ensure that no alien ships were descending from the sky. He put his headphones away and slung his backpack over his shoulders, moving to push himself off the ground and pressing a hand against the cool tiling of the floor as he did. Peter paused when he felt the energy currents running beneath them and the slow but steady rumbling that was disrupting the waves. Something was growing in power beneath them. Sometime was definitely not right.

"Something-" Peter began but his voice was lost to the extreme force of the explosion that went off several floors beneath them.

[thebluelemontree]

Hi there! I love your meta. I was wondering what your thoughts are on the fact that the sansa and sandor relationship seems to be a complete secret from everyone. including (especially) littlefinger. i have a few ideas but i'd like to hear your thoughts. :)

Thanks!  Sorry for the long wait.  I think the relationship is well camouflaged for a few good reasons.  Long post ahead.   

Let’s start with Sandor’s life experience at court and what makes him so particularly good at navigating around all the intrigues and informants.  

As far as “players” go, mainly we’re talking about Cersei, Varys, Littlefinger, and Tyrion, the ones who make it their business to learn as much as they can to stay a step ahead of everyone else.  Of course, they don’t consider each other players of equal caliber either.  In LF’s case, he thinks he is the only player; however, there is a common intellectual arrogance and bias among them.  Only a tiny handful of privileged, educated people are playing at the high-stakes table.  They tend to be far more attuned to other players at that table as this is THE game, the only game that really matters.  Other players are people they might consider an obstacle, threat, or a competitive rival for their objectives.  People that display a similar (yet still inferior) level of cunning to their own.    

That bias can lead to blind spots when it comes to how they look at non-players with their small lives and small ambitions.  Generally they are unworthy of interest unless they have something they want or are keys to unlock an advantage against another player.  Then they become a potentially playable pawn.  The next step would be to learn the pawn’s secrets or what motivates them to know how to play them.  They can’t imagine any pawn would be smart enough to be aware of a player making moves on them, let alone be able to put up a successful defense against it or manipulate a player outright.  Granted these people in question are undoubtedly intelligent and there are many who lend themselves easily to becoming pawns; however, I would argue that it’s very easy to manipulate people that already trust you or who want to believe in what you’re selling.  It’s much harder to manipulate shrewd people.  He’d never admit it, but it’s exactly why LF doesn’t even attempt to fuck with Stannis directly.  And very much like Stannis, Sandor has blanket mistrust of everyone starting at a young age.  Growing up around Gregor would also make him more hypervigilant than most, followed by his many years guarding Cersei that would only increase his cynicism.  And that’s really all it takes to immunize yourself against becoming a pawn most of the time:  awareness and a healthy amount of skepticism.          

Sansa is new to this world in AGOT and she comes to it a guileless open book. Cersei can easily figure out how to tease out usable information with Sansa’s innocence and trusting nature.  Littlefinger will later use her love of knights and songs coupled with the pressure of her situation to get her to leave with Dontos.  Again, no one should be congratulating themselves for being smart enough to manipulate a preteen that wears her heart on her sleeve.  Sandor is aware and he does try to educate Sansa that she needs to keep her guard up, learn to lie better to protect herself, trust no one, and use her instincts to figure out the truth behind the lies. 

Sandor Clegane snorted. “Pretty thing, and such a bad liar. A dog can smell a lie, you know. Look around you, and take a good whiff. They’re all liars here … and every one better than you.“  – Sansa II, ACOK.

While he’s otherwise displayed complete loyalty to his masters, Sandor the person has spent his life locked down tighter than a crab’s ass.  It takes a lot of conscious effort to keep all your true thoughts and opinions to yourself.  The mouth twitch reveals how often he suppresses those urges.  “Sandorspeak” is another.  There will be a few moments where some things do slip in front of others, but we’ll get to that later.  He’s also a character that is known for oddly being both imposing and easily recognizable to also making himself almost blend into the background of a scene.  With prying eyes everywhere looking for something of interest to pop up on their radar, being as unassuming as possible is a useful skill.  Sandor is also just as capable of using deception as any player.  I recall a line Varys says to Tyrion:

The eunuch took a cloak from a peg. It was roughspun, sun-faded, and threadbare, but very ample in its cut. “If you will permit me.” When he swept it over Tyrion’s shoulders it enveloped him head to heel, with a cowl that could be pulled forward to drown his face in shadows. “Men see what they expect to see,” Varys said as he fussed and pulled. “Dwarfs are not so common a sight as children, so a child is what they will see. A boy in an old cloak on his father’s horse, going about his father’s business. – Tyrion III, ACOK.

This exact tactic is utilized by Sandor while trying to smuggle Arya into the Twins.  He shrouds his face, changes his vocabulary to sound common, has a plausible backstory to go with it, and he successfully fools Ser Donnel Haigh, a knight that knows him personally.  That’s pretty incredible for a guy with a half-burned face and distinctive rasp.  He pulls it off because he understands how Ser Donnel thinks:

“How come he didn’t know you, then?” Arya asked.

“Because knights are fools, and it would have been beneath him to look twice at some poxy peasant.” He gave the horses a lick with the whip. “Keep your eyes down and your tone respectful and say ser a lot, and most knights will never see you. They pay more mind to horses than to smallfolk. He might have known Stranger if he’d ever seen me ride him.” – Arya X, ASOS.

“Men see what they expect to see” and that goes for the players too.  Of course, we have all the other examples of Sandor knowing how to lie convincingly depending on who he’s talking to.  Speaking of Varys, we know his spies have looked at Sandor at least from time to time.  His position as “Cersei’s dog” makes him a natural person of interest for those seeking an advantage over the queen or prince.  As Varys confirms to Tyrion, the Hound drinks, gambles, and whores on his off time.  Boringly typical manly man stuff befitting his station as a soldier.  No extreme vices or skeletons in the closet that could be used as leverage.  No large outstanding debts.  He can’t be bribed into disloyalty.  He displays no ambitions or greed for more than what he has.  He just seems to be exactly what he looks like on the surface.  A quasi-educated brute that is smart enough to know his place and is content to live on what his masters give him.    

“And when you know what a man wants you know who he is, and how to move him.“  These are Littlefinger’s words to Sansa.  Who else has any inkling that Sandor wants anything beyond what he already has except Sansa?  No one.  I think this line from Littlefinger to Ned shows that Littlefinger in the past has given some thought on how he could possibly move the Hound to become his asset.

“Even a blind man could see the Hound loathed his brother.”

“Ah, but Gregor was his to loathe, not yours to kill. Once Dondarrion lops the summit off our Mountain, the Clegane lands and incomes will pass to Sandor, but I wouldn’t hold my water waiting for his thanks, not that one.” 

If Littlefinger honestly thought he could win Sandor over by having his brother eliminated, he probably would have made it happen already; however, he knows the lands and incomes are not going to cause Sandor to change sides.  Not when that “favor” would come from the likes of Littlefinger with certain expectations for it.  Again, see the Stannis quote which uses similar phrasing of “X won’t be sufficiently grateful for your help.”  Littlefinger steers clear of shrewd people (and you can add Myranda Royce to that list) to begin with.  They don’t want anything he’s selling.  Sandor’s hatred for Gregor isn’t really the useful tool it would seem as there’s no way to capitalize on it.  He’s an apparently uncrackable combination lock.  Because no player can imagine that what Sandor truly wants and lacks is empathy and validation (something that can only come from genuine human connection), he’s not a movable chess piece for any of them.  There are far easier targets with more obvious vulnerabilities to make use of instead like Janos Slynt, Dontos Hollard, and Lancel Lannister.    

There’s also good deal of classism in play here as well.  Like most other people pretty low on the social hierarchy, they tend to be underestimated, overlooked, and ignored by their “betters.”  Indeed, Sandor himself is also convinced it is his lot in life to be nothing more than a guard dog.  There’s no point in wanting anything more than that as it will only lead to rejection or compromising the few principles he has.  This part at least isn’t a deliberate act.  He’s been so consistent at being the Hound for so long that even when he eventually does slip a little when it comes to Sansa, no one is picking it up and examining it.    

Sansa is assumed to be exactly what she appears.  A delicate, helpless, and insipid little girl too cowed by fear to do anything but recite her courtesies and prayers.  As Dontos tells her, being severely underestimated in every way makes her almost invisible and she can use that to her advantage.  

“Joffrey and his mother say I’m stupid.”

“Let them. You’re safer that way, sweetling. Queen Cersei and the Imp and Lord Varys and their like, they all watch each other keen as hawks, and pay this one and that one to spy out what the others are doing, but no one ever troubles themselves about Lady Tanda’s daughter, do they?”        

As time goes on, no one really troubles themselves with Sansa either unless there’s a specific reason.  Mostly she’s left alone and free to wander the castle, so there’s no fear that she’s capable of escaping or making allies.  Her maids are Cersei’s spies, but Sansa already guessed that.  Everyone is convinced (well, except Sandor) it’s her dumb, childish piety that drives her to the godswood so much.  Just by their respective circumstances and the plot, Sandor and Sansa were already as individuals hiding in the blind spots of the major players.

With that all said, why would anyone imagine for a second that Sandor and Sansa would have anything to do with each other?  Sandor has been an unwavering loyal Lannister servant since he was a boy and that makes him an enemy of the Starks.  He’s hard, mean, and rough mannered.  His face is considered terrifyingly ugly.  He’s shown no attachments or compassion for any other human being before.  He’s cynical about everything Sansa stands for.  Likewise, Sansa openly admires physically beautiful and gallant knights like Ser Loras.  Everything Sandor is not.  There’s also a huge chasm of class difference between them.  Highborn ladies do not fraternize with lowborn men, especially one as coarse and offensive as the Hound.  It goes without saying that nothing draws more immediate attention in this society than people transgressing class boundaries. There’s just no way either one would speak to the other in a too familiar way in public.  On paper, they could not be more different from each other for the idea to even occur to anyone.

There’s also the very deliberate gradual pacing of the relationship.  It all unfolds very slowly with time, circumstance, and natural chemistry.  It’s a relationship that defies any clear definition or obvious markers that someone could theoretically hone in on.  They both have issues of immaturity and inability to consciously understand what exactly this thing is between them.   Neither one intentionally seeks the other out to initiate more contact nor are they actively trying to further a relationship.  Until the night of the Blackwater, they were always brought together for other reasons not of their making.  Most often it’s because Joffrey commands the presence of both to be there.  Other times it’s pure chance like the serpentine steps or the top of Maegor’s Holdfast.  None of their more intimate conversations take place where there’s a possibility of someone following or overhearing.  If there’s nothing planned or intentional, there’s nothing to draw suspicion.  

There’s just not enough happening in front of witnesses either for a single character to notice a discernable pattern.  Often there are large enough gaps of time between those moments and the witnesses, if there are any, can vary.        

After Sansa II, AGOT (the night of the Hand’s tourney), it won’t be until Sansa VI, AGOT that they actually speak again.  This is the chapter where Sansa is forced out of bed by Joffrey, made to look at her father’s head on the battlement, and Sandor reciprocates empathy and support for her.  I wrote about the specifics of this chapter here.  Joffrey, Meryn Trant, and Arys Oakheart are present for part of it.  This early on, if the Hound’s uncharacteristically softer and gentler behavior was noticed at all, it was probably promptly dismissed as nothing.  Meryn is apathetic to whatever happens and Arys was probably just relieved it wasn’t him ordered to hit Sansa.  After all, it was Joffrey’s order to get Sansa out of bed, which Sandor obeyed.  Dabbing the blood on her lip though?  Perhaps that part was a little strange that Sandor took it upon himself to dab her lip instead of handing her the handkerchief, but then again Joffrey commanded that Sansa wipe the blood from her face.  That’s not enough for anyone to think there’s something going on between them.      

Next would be Joffrey’s nameday tourney in Sansa I, ACOK.  Roughly a few weeks to a month has passed.  Those present are Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen.  I wrote about the subtle Sansan stuff going on here.  The children aren’t going to notice anything and Joffrey is too obtuse.  Lothor Brune (probably already Petyr’s hired sword at this point) and Dontos Hollard are also present.  Sansa made up the story about bad luck to kill a man on your nameday, but it’s the Hound backing up that nonsense that persuades Joffrey to relent for one day.  I don’t think that detail registers with either Lothor or Dontos.  Then Sansa speaks up again to convince Joffrey to make Dontos his fool instead.  It’s Lothor that probably conveys the story without mention of Sandor to Littlefinger, who would then have the idea to use Dontos as a pawn.  Dontos is probably too drunk and too terrified for his life to notice that Sandor also had a small part in saving his life.

It’s also in that chapter that word has reached KL that Jaime has been captured by Robb.  It’s mentioned a few times that if Sansa is harmed or killed, there could be retaliation on Jaime for it.  Because of Sandor’s long personal service and loyalty to Cersei, it would then make sense to frame Sandor’s protective actions toward Sansa as protecting Lannister interests.  During the bread riot, Tyrion orders that the Whitecloaks go back into the city to find Sansa for this reason.  But then Sandor arrives with Sansa in tow and Tyrion hears Sandor say: “The little bird's bleeding. Someone take her back to her cage and see to that cut."  All it sounds like is that Sandor is using a slightly irreverent epithet for a valuable hostage.  There’s no time for Tyrion to even think about that as his attention is quickly drawn away to the fires in Flea Bottom possibly reaching the stores of wildfire.  

Sandor’s actions in the public beating scene in Sansa III, ACOK could be explained the same way.  

"Enough," she heard the Hound rasp.

"No it isn't," the king replied. "Boros, make her naked."    

I think Joffrey is too fixated on mixing violence and sexuality for the first time to really notice Sandor’s defiance.  And giving Sansa his cloak to cover herself came at Tyrion’s prompting.  

And that’s it.  That’s all anyone ever sees.  Sansa never speaks a word to anyone that she ever had any connection to Sandor.  When she’s Alayne Stone, a girl with a completely different past, that part of her life gets partitioned off along with everything that belongs to Sansa Stark.  

You asked me specifically (and especially) about Littlefinger not knowing anything about their relationship.  I don’t think he has any more ability to figure it out than anyone else in KL and somehow failed to do so; however, the parallels between him and Sandor lead me to think that these two will be on opposing sides in the future fight to finally return Sansa to her Stark identity.  Both are from small, humble landed knight houses that were established by their grandfathers.  Both had their childhood idealism shattered in an event that involves almost dying and severe scarring.  They both became cynical towards the system and its institutions.  Both have/had romantic feelings toward a woman too highborn for them.  Not coincidentally those women are a mother and daughter.  Sandor has his Hound identity to be the “butcher” instead of the “meat.”  Petyr has his mockingbird to be the “player” instead of the “pawn.”  There are some really important differences as well.  Just on a basic level, one represents plain, blunt honesty and truth.  The other spins “lies and Arbor gold.”  While Sandor still has the idealist deeply buried under his cynicism, Petyr’s is completely dead.  Sandor finds his purpose in service to others and he is neither greedy nor ambitious.  Petyr’s job may be to serve the crown and he plays up being lowborn and non-threatening, but he lives to only serve himself, acquiring wealth, power, and titles.  Vengeance is a theme of both their stories.  Sandor actually refrained from killing his brother while Littlefinger’s pursuit of vengeance has no boundaries against those he feels have wronged him.  Thousands suffer and die because of him.  It’s possible to go on and on.  It’s clear the two have very similar origins and backstories but have taken very different paths and approaches to life.  Both have Sansa at the center of their journeys.  This should come full circle.  

Yeah, I think he will one day find out about the relationship between Sansa and Sandor and it will land on him like a meteor.  It’s something he could never account for in all his machinations and in the grooming of his perfect daughter-partner-lover.  Think of the burning humiliation and devastation he felt when he “lost” Catelyn to Brandon, then a second time to Ned.  That would be the original wound that festered for over 15 years the point of him kicking off the plot to the ASOIAF series.  Now multiply that by ten when he loses the girl all over again to another canid-sigiled guy with dark hair, gray eyes, and that same plain, Northern face.  I picture this reaction:

[imagineclaireandjamie]

A Hundred Lesser Faces: Fifteen

Section One {A Hundred Lesser Faces} what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh? :  [(One) (Two) (Three) (Four) (Five) (Six) (Seven)

Section Two {A Hundred More}, the aftermath of Claire and Jamie’s reunion, following their journey as they work to build a new life together [(Eight) (Nine) (Ten) (Eleven) (Twelve) (Thirteen) (Fourteen)]

Start of Section 3: {Begin and Tell} 

Several days later 

“Will you PLEASE be so kind as to explain,” I called as I let my skirts fall and tiptoed carefully back through the brush to where Jamie was holding the horses, “why it is we never have to stop for YOU to take a piss?”

“I’ve a twelve-gallon bladder,” he called back without missing a beat. “Had it made special for long rides.”

“HA bloody HA.” I drew up level with him, fumbling in my pocket for a bit of bread as he bent to tighten my horse’s girth strap. “Admit it: you’re an actual sorcerer.”

“Well, and If I were, I would hope I could magick wi’ more profitable stuff than piss.” He grinned at me over his shoulder, hair escaping his queue and hanging in his face. “I’ve been able to make water off the side of a horse since I was a boy, Sassenach.”

“What?” I sputtered, laughing through a mouthful of crumbs. “While still riding?”

“Tis a bit more difficult in breeks, ken, but wi’ a bit of careful wrangling, aye, it’s quite manageable.”

“Wrangling, mm?” I hummed, imagining John Wayne, lasso in hand, facing off with a ferocious horned beast intent on wreaking havoc.  “How do you keep the wind from—” 

“A man must choose his timing wisely, to be sure,” Mr. Wayne himself said as he straightened. “Do ye no’ recall all the times I’ve let ye ride ahead this past week?” 

“So THAT’s what you’re doing! I always thought you were just after a pleasing view of my rear aspect,” I said, in mock-affront, giggling as I brushed off my hands and prepared to remount.

“Tis a most agreeable added benefit.” He touched my arm and placed a sweet, warm kiss in the tender spot where jaw met ear, sending warmth all the way down to my toes. 

“Here, lass, wait a moment,” he added abruptly a minute later, preventing me from stepping back up into the stirrup. He was fishing about in his sporran and came out with a handful of coins, which he pressed into my hand. 

I stared at it. “What’s this?”

“Money,” he called carelessly, walking around to his own horse.

I rolled my eyes at him over the saddle. “I can see that, darling, but why do I need it?” 

“For the inn. The turning for Broch Morda is just ahead.”

“Inn?” I repeated, dumbly. “....Aren’t we going straight to Lallybroch?”  

“No, we’re not.” 

“But—Hold the bloody phone,” I said, moving around my horses’s head to stand in front of him. “Ever since Inverness, haven’t we been talking about ‘leaving for Lallybroch,’ ‘getting close to Lallybroch’ and all that?”

“A generalization, on my part,” he shrugged, making ready to mount up, “I’m sorry if ye were misled.”

“Apparently I WAS,” I said pointedly, alarm bells starting to ring. Jamie was not a man to make careless omissions. I caught his sleeve as he made to swing up. “Jamie, wait—” 

“We’re not going to Lallybroch.” The finality in his tone said what the words did not.  

“You mean not at all?” My mouth had actually fallen open. “Why ever—oh.....Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

Jenny. 

His face was rigid with controlled feeling. “I’m no’ prepared to go knocking on the door and pretend as though all is well between us, Sassenach.”

“Well of course not!” I said, throwing up my free hand and letting my own tempests fly free, control be damned. “It isn’t all well, after what she did! But surely it’s better to go confront her and get it all out in the open! You’re not planning to shun her for the rest of your lives, after all.” 

“Am I not?” 

I was so stunned, I couldn’t immediately think of anything to say, and so just stood there, dismayed to see the mask of steel and spikes that had so suddenly hidden my playful Jamie of moments ago completely from view. 

He had been very quiet on the topic of Jenny in Inverness and on our ride, only getting a sad, almost confused look about him in the few times her name was spoken. We’d not talked about any specifics pertaining to Jenny, either of feeling or plan for the future, but from that mournful look—so utterly foreign to me, on Jamie’s features— I’d presumed that it was primarily hurt and betrayal with which he had been wrestling in his heart. The expression on his face now, though, told me that even if that had been the case, hot fury had since claimed dominance within him, bordering on sheer vengeance.

“Jamie, come now,” I said soothingly, deciding to try and bring things back into a rational sphere. “She’s your sister, whatever else she may be, and I know how much you love h—”

“She’s a woman,” he corrected slowly, his consonants sharp and fearsome as his gaze, “who had enough hate in her heart to willfully see you and me consigned to misery apart for the rest of our days. I’ll no’ seek out reconciliation wi’ such a person.” 

“But—” 

“I’ll be on my way,” he said over me, “and you’ll stay at Broch Morda until I return.”

I nearly snarled ‘Oh, I WILL, will I?’ but settled for a, “Did it not cross your mind that I might want to mend things with Jenny?”

I honestly wasn’t sure that I had, before that moment. In fact, the entire way from Inverness, I’d used the long stretches of quiet to rehearse many a biting jab and condemnation to throw at the wicked woman’s feet when I saw her. That hot coal of anger had kept me warm and satisfied, justified in the knowledge that there would soon be reckoning, or so I’d assumed. There was nothing like a truly terrifying rage, though, in someone as large and dangerous as Jamie, to make one try to put aside their own vindictive glee and transmute calls for blood toward forgiveness.

From the look on his face, I honestly didn’t know what Jamie would do or say when next he saw his sister (surely he wouldn’t actually do her harm, but—), and that fact frightened me enough to have me grasping at any straws within reach. “I never thought of you as a petty person, Jamie,” I tried, “but this is—” 

“’Petty’?” His nostrils flared dangerously. “Are ye truly telling me, Sassenach,” he snarled, “that if things had been reversed—if one of your own family had tried to keep us from—”

“I don’t have any family apart from yours,” I snapped, but then quickly groaned and rubbed my temple, seeing that line of argument going nowhere. “It’s the here and now that we have to contend with, Jamie! Surely you know there’s wisdom in that.”

“I may ken it,” he admitted tightly, “but my mind’s made up.”

We were both standing tight-strung between the horses, holding onto our respective reins as though they could anchor us from further outbursts. 

Not a foolproof plan, evidently. 

“So where the hell are you supposedly running off to while I hide at the inn?” I blurted, that ‘until I return’ finally clicking into place.

He spoke tersely but at once. “To speak wi’ Laoghaire. Break the news and hammer out an understanding wi’ her until Ned can arrive to settle things before the law.”

Well...Yes, that made good sense, I supposed. 

Still, I was vexed enough to keep on the offensive, though I hated hearing the petulance in my voice. “All this time, you’ve been planning to just go off and leave me alone? Without even bothering to talk to me about it?”

“I am sorry for no’ being more clear about my intentions, but—” He was blinking hard and gritting his teeth. “Jesus, Claire, surely ye can understand that we canna be seen together in town, let alone let it be known that we’re sharing a room,” he hissed, telling me that he was just about as near the end of his rope as I was. “Risk the gossip getting back to Balriggan before I myself do?” He shook his head mightily. “You’ll go to the inn and wait there until I’ve gotten things in hand, and ye can greet Ned when he arrives, forbye. I’m sorry, but there’s no other way to see it all safely sett—”

“Of course there is, you brute of a man! Going to LALLYBROCH! Surely your family wouldn’t ever allow the gossip to—”

“CLAIRE!”

I fell silent, and could have cursed him for it. 

He let go the reins and slowly stepped forward, cupping one hand to my face. The touch itself was gentle, but his eyes were deadly serious, in no way threatening, but no less terrifying for it.  “I love you. With all my life and heart, I love you. Ye ken it to be so. But this is my sister; my marriage needing to be dissolved. I need ye to let me do things in the way I see fit, this time.”

Well, fuck you, too, I wanted to spit, but I gritted my teeth. “Fine.”

I realized too late that there had been a moment of soft pleading in his eyes as he spoke the last words. I watched in dismay as it vanished, leaving only hard coldness. Then his touch, too, was gone, and a minute later we were mounted, riding toward the crossroads in complete silence.

Damn you, Jamie Fraser, AND your wretched sister. And Damn you too, Laoghaire notFraser, while we’re at it. TWICE.  

I’d known moments like this would come creeping in between us, sooner or later—the perfectly natural clashes and disagreements of married people, those moments of misunderstanding from poor assumptions and hasty conclusions; of wholeheartedly wanting to chuck the other person into a ravine for being a stubborn arse. Of course, those moments were inevitable ; I’d known that from the beginning. I had just hoped they wouldn’t come so soon. 

Easy, though, Beauchamp. Take a breath. 

I obeyed, letting the sharp snap of the mid-morning wind brace my churning temper. 

This was a very unusual set of circumstances, I forced myself to keep remembering, with pressures of all kinds falling squarely on Jamie’s shoulders. I had, of course, had the advantage of months and months in which to prepare for our reunion, to set my affairs in order and rearrange my life with all loose ends tied. Jamie, though, had been taken completely and utterly unawares. It should be no surprise that it would be a bumpy journey, on his side, both logistically and emotionally. 

I took another deep breath, feeling some of the ire evaporating. While I still thought (knew!) going to Lallybroch first to face the 60-inch beast head-on was the best course of action, I supposed I could find it in my heart to support his choice and afford him some control over how to approach his own tangled web, the one he was unraveling for my sake.

I was opening my mouth to say something, a gentle word or reassurance, if not apology (I wasn’t prepared to be that magnanimous yet), but before I could, we were at the juncture, and Jamie was turning his horse toward the left fork, toward the unseen Balriggan. He jerked his head toward the right. “It’s no’ far to the inn, a half-hour at most. Introduce yourself to the keeper as Malcolm, if they ask for a name. “

I nodded.

“I’ll come as soon as I can, or else send word.”

He opened his mouth to say more, closed it, inclined his head, and was off.

I exhaled in a great whoosh as I watched him ride off with speed, frustrated beyond measure both at him and myself. Don’t let the sun go down on your anger, mm? We would have at least one sunset, likely many more, before this mess was settled between us, not to mention the great behemoth of Laoghaire’s shock and reaction to weather, and a widespread scandal to mitigate once the word good and truly spread. Yes, it would be a long many sunsets, together or apart. 

The impulse to go after him pulled tight and anxious in my belly—Go tell him you love him, you fool; wish him good luck in the dealings with Laoghaire; let him know you’re on his side—but fear and hurt won out, and I kicked up the horse toward the right, picking carefully over the rocks on the steeply-graded path.

We hadn’t climbed more than fifty yards when, without warning, an almighty screech rent the air. The horse was rearing beneath me practically before I could register the sound, let alone look to discover its source. I might have managed to keep my seat, but the horse was new, neither of us used to one another, and when she bucked, I went launching off over her right shoulder. 

It was only by providence that the trajectory landed me in the bracken and not against the boulder two feet away at the edge of the path, else I would have dislocated my shoulder or broken my collarbone for certain. It was my army training, though—twenty-five-or-more-years aged, but still apparently sharp—that made sure I tucked the shoulder and rolled rather than throwing out my arm.  Still, even without broken bones, the pain and impact of the landing was unbelievable. As I sat up, groaning, teeth-rattling shocks of pain were coursing up my spine and down to my stunned fingers and back. I curled the limp arm tight to my chest, trying to catch my breath, trying not to vomit from the pulsing lightning storm happening in my line of sight.

I heard a strangled sound, whipped my head around, and saw Jenny bloody Murray standing on the loop of the road above me, where I had been about to turn the horse before being thrown. 

She was wrapped in a traveling cloak, the mule she’d been riding completely forgotten behind her, as was the basket that lay on the road, contents scattered. She was staring down at me as though at a ghost, but one that she meant to do battle with to her own death. “Is it you, Claire?” she demanded, voice high and deadly-fierce as her brother’s with shaking energy; a blazing valkyrie ready to attack. “Tell me this moment, are ye real?” 

"Real enough for you to have gotten me chucked off a real horse, if you hadn’t fucking noticed!” I snarled, cradling my arm.

But damn her, the woman’s face completely fell and she burst into tears as she ran for me, sobbing, “Oh, Thank God, Claire!”