#Misadventures in Python

[friedwizardwhispers]

Small things I love about the Septimus Heap books:

This is a universe where you can have an actual pet rock. Petroc Trelawney has my whole heart and should also have yours.

At one point, an iguana was mowing the loan

The misadventures of Stanley, the rat having to deal with the Heaps (tm) in every book and his failed marriage and the adoption of his children + his job. He is doing his best, okay ?

Grandpa Benji went into the forest one day and never came back, living his life as a tree int he forest.

Sam. I know he is not little but I love Sam Heap and he deserves to be appreciated (the moments between him and Sep are great)

Medieval world ? Yes totally. Is that a submarine and an elevator ? Yes. Don't worry about it. There is no implications here of this being a post-apocalyptic futuristic world. What are you talking about ?

✨Jenna and Septimus killed a man ✨.

And considering what Sep says to her after and the fact that he was a child soldier without a name until he was 10,it probably wasn't the first time for him

Sleuth, Simon's emotional support tennis ball. It's very busy considering Simon is Simon and would need a lot of emotional support. It is also doing its best and should stop being taken by little brats .

Marcia and her fashion choices (tm). Does she need the pointy purple python shoes ? Nooooo. We wouldn't have her without them though.

The illustrations. They are so good. I love them so much.

You can add more if you want..

[skippiefritz]

BRO YOUR HFC/MP FANARTS ARE GETTING BETTER BY THE MINUTE WTF?!!?!?

(in layman’s terms, I ABSOLUTELY love your recent HFC/MP fanrts frfr!!! I fr would LOVE it if you ever made mini webcomics about the fictional misadventures of either the irl Pythons or the HFC Pythons in your absolutely cute and adorable and incredible and amazing artstyle, like fr I’d love to see them frfr!!!)

Vielen dank! Im very happy you like my silly fanart sm :)

while I dont plan on doing little comics n such of the pythons (lil too close to RPF for me lolz) Ive been working on a little Graham Chapman zine in my free time! it's very messy and personal but I hope to share it soon :o)

[sizzlinglightsoul]

Funniest Books With Comedy: A Reading List for Every Mood

Sometimes, all you need is a good laugh—and what better place to find one than between the pages of a great book? Whether you're dealing with the blues, feeling quirky, or just in the mood for some ridiculous fun, there's a comedy read that fits your vibe perfectly.

We've put together a reading list of the funniest books with comedy, tailored to different moods. Whether you're after clever wit, chaotic misadventures, or heartwarming humour, you'll find something here to make you chuckle, snort, or laugh uncontrollably.

😄 Feeling Light and Playful? Try These

1. "Bridget Jones’s Diary" by Helen Fielding

If you're in the mood for breezy, lovable chaos, this British rom-com classic delivers. Bridget's awkward missteps, diary entries, and relatable insecurities will have you giggling from start to finish.

Mood Match: Perfect for lazy afternoons and rom-com lovers who want a side of sass.

2. "Crazy Rich Asians" by Kevin Kwan

A comedy of manners wrapped in fashion, family feuds, and wild wealth. This book is a glamorous escape and a hilarious peek into an over-the-top world.

Mood Match: Ideal for when you want a juicy, glitzy escape with razor-sharp humour.

🤪 Feeling Silly and Absurd? Go for These

3. "The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy" by Douglas Adams

A must-read for anyone who loves absurd sci-fi comedy. With its deadpan delivery and nonsensical situations, it’s like Monty Python meets space travel.

Mood Match: Great for fans of dry British humour and cosmic nonsense.

4. "Good Omens" by Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett

An angel and a demon join forces to stop the apocalypse. That alone should tell you how offbeat and clever this book is.

Mood Match: When you're in the mood for satire, sarcasm, and celestial chaos.

😬 Feeling Awkward or Cringey? Embrace It

5. "Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine" by Gail Honeyman

It’s not a traditional comedy, but Eleanor’s social missteps and unintentional wit provide touching and sometimes laugh-out-loud moments.

Mood Match: When you want humour mixed with heart and healing.

6. "Hyperbole and a Half" by Allie Brosh

A hilarious combination of comics and storytelling that captures mental health, childhood, and awkward adulthood in the most relatable way possible.

Mood Match: Perfect for when you need a good laugh at life’s messy moments.

😂 Need a Gut-Busting Laugh? These Will Do It

7. "I’m Judging You: The Do-Better Manual" by Luvvie Ajayi

Witty, bold, and brutally honest. Luvvie’s essays cover everything from pop culture to social justice with sass and smarts.

Mood Match: When you want to laugh and learn at the same time.

8. "My Life as a Goddess" by Guy Branum

A bold, brilliant memoir packed with hilarious insights on politics, pop culture, and being the outsider who’s also the star.

Mood Match: When you want your humour loud, proud, and unapologetically clever.

💛 Craving Feel-Good Laughs? These are Gold

9. "The Rosie Project" by Graeme Simsion

This rom-com follows a socially awkward professor who creates a survey to find the perfect wife—only to be thrown off course by the wildly unsuitable Rosie.

Mood Match: Great for hopeless romantics who love a good geek-chic story.

10. "Where’d You Go, Bernadette" by Maria Semple

Told through emails, letters, and transcripts, this novel follows the disappearance of an eccentric architect-mom with biting wit and emotional depth.

Mood Match: When you want quirky characters, family drama, and smart laughs.

📚 Bonus: Discover More Humour Online

Can’t get enough? Explore these links for more hilarious reads and quotes:

🔗 Humor Quotes on Scoreven

🔗 Explore More at Scoreven

From witty one-liners to snarky blog posts, there's something for every comedy connoisseur.

Final Thoughts

Reading a funny book is one of the best ways to unwind. Whether you’re curled up in bed, killing time on your commute, or just need a mental refresh, a great comedy read is like instant therapy.

So next time your mood needs a lift, grab a book that matches your vibe and get ready to laugh out loud. After all, as they say: a day without laughter is a day wasted.

Up next: Want to dive into Christmas humor memes or funny quotes about New Year? Stay tuned for more laugh-worthy blog posts!

[observerblock23]

I just. Kinda want to see this keep happening? Repeatedly. To the point where they both have more defined “roles” during the incidents. So that they eventually find themselves in a stitch that the bats can’t fix in time and end up having to save the day.

A conclusion that inevitably leads to DnD style shenanigans. Neither wants them wants this to happen, but the clash of genres that they live in just inevitably leads off to their misadventures becoming an odd amalgamation of Monty Python and power rangers.

Then why be of the Kids that’s in Gotham Academy trying to start a streaming career or something gets dragged along. Turns out, this kids life is basically one of those kid detective found footage books/series, with the twist of they’re a streamer. They end up kind of slotting into the Warlock role, with chat being the Patron giving advice. (Maybe it’s Wes, he wound up in Gotham because of his rep in Amity (too many uncovered secrets.))

After these shenanigans get discovered by Gotham at large, Batman would likely try to stop it. He can’t though, because he can’t exactly make Damien not be friends with someone.

This kind of just keeps happening, and no one knows how to stop it. More kids end up joining in, and somehow no one dies. Not for lack of trying though.

It comes to a head when they accidentally foil the plans of an actual, known villain, and Damien realizes he might have accidentally made a vigilante team.

Danny just wants one normal week. Is that too much to ask?

Danny and Damian go to Gotham Academy together, for reasons *handwaves*. Damian doesn't really care about Danny, but after a while he notices that Fenton is a trouble magnet like no other. If there's a secret cult to accidentally stumble upon or a hostage situation, you can bet Fenton luck is gonna result in Danny being at the center of it.

When Damian gets benched from being Robin for a while (take a pick on reasons) he decides to hang out with Danny. Father can't be mad if the trouble comes to him, not the other way around!

Meanwhile Danny is trying to figure out why his schoolmate with the weird aura wants to suddenly be BFFs. Is he being overshadowed?

[mydigitalcreations]

Some of the the Week 34 tech and social news, seen in a different fantastic, fictional way:

A fierce dragon was terrorizing the land. One day, someone stole its egg, which enraged the dragon even further. The dragon began breathing fire and destroying everything in its path, killing many people.

The mayor of one village wanted to stop the carnage, so he thought that if people could share news about the dragon easily, it would help save lives. However, the Meta guild, which was the most proficient at sharing news, had stopped sharing news from the village because the mayor had refused to pay them.

The China emperor also heard about the dragon's misadventure and wanted to help. He proposed a system to identify each egg by its owner, so that the thief could be caught and the egg could be returned.

Another guild, in a faraway land, had also been having issues with sharing news. They asked the town criers to read poems or tell the entire story, before sharing the headline of the news.

One town crier was struggling to write a poem about the dragon misadventure, but when he heard about the python that Microsoft was bringing to Excel, he was inspired. He wrote a poem about how the python could help with bookkeeping, and how it was not to be feared like the dragon.

Two friends were walking through the village when they heard about the python. One friend commented that it was interesting that there was now a python that could help with bookkeeping, while they had brought a big lion to welcome people at their ball games.

The other friend was not paying attention. He was thinking about an idea he had heard about while traveling. The idea was that being confident of achieving the state of flow would actually help achieve it. He wondered if this idea could apply to everything, such as being confident of defeating a dragon.

[sprinklecipher]

The Sprinkle Cipher

I came up with the ‘sprinkle’ part of my username in a pretty arbitrary way, but ever since I picked out the username, I’ve thought about what a sprinkle-based cipher might actually look like. Combining different types or colors of sprinkles seemed like the most logical approach, so I came up with a simple substitution encryption scheme that can encode letters using specific combinations of five different sprinkle types.

Each sprinkle type (1-5) could theoretically be any kind of sprinkle, although it would be best for each type to be as clearly distinct from the others as possible to reduce the possibility for confusion. The best application of this cipher would be to use different combinations of sprinkles on a set of cupcakes or cookies to encode the message (so each individual cupcake/cookie would correspond to one letter, based on which combination of sprinkles it had on it), but the same principal could be applied to other things as well.

Here's a chart depicting the sprinkle-combinations that are associated with each letter using my encryption scheme.

I assigned the sprinkle combinations to letters so that the most frequently occurring letters would only require one or two sprinkle types. With that in mind, here’s the chart again, but sorted to letter-frequency order:

To help visualize what it might actually look like to use a cipher like this, I wrote a script to make images of “cookies” with the appropriate combination of sprinkle types to correspond to a letter. For this visualization, I went with pink, blue, red, lavender, and dark purple sprinkle colors to represent the respective sprinkle types, but, again, the specific kind of sprinkles can be varied. The resulting “cookie” pictures may be ugly MS paint-looking abominations, but I think they convey the general idea well enough. Here’s an idea of how the cookie-alphabet would look:

Letters A-O

Letters P - Z

And here’s an example of the cipher being applied to form a message:

I probably could have selected better colors, but I think the proof-of-concept is promising enough that I could see actually using this IRL at least once (although I recognize that that position is very much a “me” thing).

In conclusion, here’s my 100% objective evaluation of this new encryption method:

Pros of the sprinkle cipher:

Cute

Potentially delicious

Plausible deniability—the fact that there’s an encoded message at all is not obvious (see steganography for more on this kind of thing)

Can be used to wish your weird cryptography friend a happy birthday in a way that they will appreciate

Great way to passive-aggressively vent frustration towards people you dislike but have reason to provide food for. You could encode a snarky message on cupcakes for a potluck attended by bad coworkers, for example

Cons of the sprinkle cipher:

Poor communication potential. Difficult pattern to remember for both encoding/decoding purposes

Requires five visually distinct types of sprinkles to implement, which may be impractical (although counterpoint: sprinkle shakers that have 6 different sprinkle types are not all that uncommon)

Possible message length may be limited by the number of cookies/cupcakes/etc. that you are able to bake for the occasion

If your bad coworkers begin to suspect that you have taken out your frustrations on them via the cupcakes you brought to the potluck, they will probably not consider that you have done so using a sprinkle-based substitution cipher and may instead believe that you did something more serious, like spike the cupcakes with laxatives. This could cause problems for you

[nianeyna]

*gently rests head on table* I can't even process a single url in the flask app because BeautifulSoup is too slow and it times out. the internet was a mistake!!!

[citrusreadstoa]

Reading The Hidden Oracle: Chapter 38 (SPOILERS)

"The plague spread." These are not promising starting words.

"Strangely enough, Damien White got sick right after he learned that Chiara was sick. The two had cots next to each other in the infirmary . . . even though they kept sniping at each other whenever they knew they were being watched." OTP OTP OTP

"recruiting whales and hippocampi to help him haul away the Colossus." How're they gonna get rid of the oil? Would the seashells and sand dollars that Percy used that the Triple G Ranch and in the Manhattan rivers work in this scenario?

"his own weathered, bearded mien." MIEN (n.): a person's look or manner, especially one of a particular kind indicating their character or mood

"The canoe dock could be rebuilt." And guess who's gonna be rushing to be the first to use it? None other than our best worst Canoe Duo!

"The Colossus's footstep craters could be repurposed as convenient foxholes or koi ponds." I really like the koi pond idea.

"The only major damage was to the Demeter cabin . . . the Colossus had managed to step on it before turning around" I'll bet that was on purpose. What if Nero goes after Miranda and Billie and any of Meg's other half-siblings as a warning to her?

Oh wait, is Apollo going to get slapped in the face by the Styx for using the plague arrow on the Colossus? Ah, the Styx's slaps are relatively gentle, anyway.

"At the moment, I did not want to be Apollo. All the destruction I saw below me... it was my fault." You know, this is one of the few times when the protagonist wallows over a disaster or conflict being their fault and I actually agree somewhat. The villain being his distant descendant, he's responsible for them to a degree and his neglect of his duties as a god allowed them to grow their power. Most of the Oracles being lost is his fault, but I am hesitant to blame the loss of Delphi on him considering the lockdown state of Olympus and split personality going on when Python took it over. Lots of this is his fault, though.

"What I needed to do was to find her. I wondered if Meg had phrased her order that way on purpose, or if that was just wishful thinking on my part." 100% wishful thinking. There was too much going on at that time for Meg to think that much about her phrasing and even if she did, if she wanted to be found, she wouldn't have run away to begin with.

"I should leave Camp Half-Blood immediately, before the campers woke." Don't do that. That is unwise. Athena would never recommend that. Don't pull a Nico and suddenly disappear when no one is looking.

"I wanted to flirt with Chiara and steal her away from Damien... or perhaps steal Damien away from Chiara, I wasn't sure yet." Please do not.

"Because I was a coward, I waited too long." Same.

"Lord Apollo." I love how Rachel still calls him Lord Apollo when he clearly looks like Lester Papadopoulos.

"The Arrow of Dodona just gives random advice." Yeah, where did that arrow come from? I'm willing to bet it's just something that exists in Greek mythology with no further explanation. It talks and gives sage advice simply because it does. No further context.

"'I appreciate the offer of assistance, but--' 'Whoa.' Percy held up his hands." He's drawing a CLEAR line. No taking chances that he might end up going unwillingly on a quest again. "'I'll go,' Rachel said. I shook my head." Aw, I wanted to see The Wacky Misadventures of Rachel the Prophecyless Oracle and Apollo the Powerless Sun God. It'd be so interesting to see a mortal go on a quest normally intended for demigods!

"I've lost too many people to bad influence . . . We almost lost Nico, too..." Bullshit. Nico never once blinked in the general direction of Kronos's army.

"I didn't want to speak the words." No, not the limerick! "A limerick?" "I know! . . . I'm doomed!" No, not the limerick!

"Percy slapped his knee. 'There you go. Happiness approaches. Happy is a name'" I get that Percy knows Festus, but how does he know that he's a three-seater? He's only seen Festus in his dragon form when he picked up Gaea. I guess it's unreasonable to assume the Lost Trio never bragged about their own quest.

Where did Leo get all that Celestial bronze to rebuild Festus's body? They had a hard enough time getting enough bronze to repair the ship that one time with Echo and Narcissus.

Anyway, HAPPINESS APPROACHES. I never thought to link that to Festus!

[not-terezi-pyrope]

I know "which programming language is best" is largely a matter of taste, but holy shit is Python bad for anything other than outlining simple algorithms in a pseudocode-like manner for teaching purposes.

All of the important underlying type information is abstracted away in favour of simplicity, which just means that when you want to interact with it, as you have to when you are doing anything substantial, you have to stuff in clunky syntactic garbage functions in order to retrieve it anyway, which just makes the resulting code less readable than it would have been in the first place.

Because type information is abstracted away, IDE tooltips always fucking suck.

The language disdains object oriented programming, despite the fact that nearly all modern programming is object oriented. Every bit of syntax to declare object properties feels like a hack. Access modifiers are not exposed and you have to add them in your function names??? You can't declare members in the class body and have to instead add them dynamically in the constructor???????? The object "self" must be explicitly passed to class functions as a parameter??????????????????? Those are all so hilariously bad and unintuitive that even though I know I've checked this I feel like I must be missing something, how was that chosen to be the intended behaviour!!!

It's an interpreted language. Why have we made an interpreted language the norm for data science applications, whyyyyyyy. Not to mention that means that you have to declare functions before you can run them like aaaaaaaa what is this the 1960s where we are feeding programs in via punch cards.

The entire Python experiment was a colossal misadventure. Because it is more human-readable when you are just demonstrating simple algorithms it is an easy language to introduce as a "first programming language" in entry compsci classes, as stuff like typing is abstracted away (I honestly feel that teaching programming like this is actively counterproductive to creating understanding, but whatever).

Anyway, so it got taught first, which unfortunately meant that people learning to program got used to it and started using it for actual applications, and now we are stuck with shitty Python abstractions and paradigms as the default for a lot of people and it has become one of the most popular languages on Earth, even though literally any other programming language will be much more well suited to the purpose of actually programming computers and will be more efficient. Now you have to know and use Python in order to do any actual industry work as a programmer, aaaaaa.

We literally have C# which is practically perfect for both imperative and functional programming and has a mass of libraries and can be compiled to standard executables and yet in order to write any ML code I have to create socket bridges to a live Python script because all of the libraries for data science were written for Python because data science people don't know how to use anything else and the .NET ports suck and are not up to date, aaaaaaaaaaaaa.

The proliferation of Python as a serious programming language and its consequences has been disastrous for humanity.

[shpadoinkle-day]

'South' creators do it for laughs

By Don Aucoin, Globe Staff, 01/20/98

PASADENA, Calif. - How hot is ''South Park,'' the cartoon series that

treats scatology and theology with equally subversive glee?

So hot that Comedy Central just signed up its 100th advertiser for the

show. So hot that some barrooms now feature ''South Park Night,''

structured around the show's Wednesday 10 p.m. time slot.

So hot that actor David Caruso, whose career choices were lampooned on

''South Park,'' has become the latest in a parade of celebrities to ask

if he can do a guest-voice shot - and ''South Park'' creators Trey

Parker and Matt Stone aren't sure they're interested.

''We only do the big stars,'' Parker explained drily.

Pretty heady stuff for a couple of guys who started out just trying to

make each other laugh by creating a show about the gross-out

misadventures of four foul-mouthed third-graders and ended up with a

certified cult hit.

Lately, ''South Park'' has gained notoriety for its talking turd called

Mr. Hankey, the Christmas Poo. An upcoming storyline will pit Jesus vs.

Satan on pay-per-view TV. Another episode is titled ''Cartman's Mom is a

Dirty Slut.''

''We are not in the business of offending people,'' Parker said. ''We

are in the business of telling stories.... What this has all been about

since Matt and I started was making each other laugh. We don't sit

around and think, `How far can we go? How outrageous can we be?' ''

What makes Parker and Stone laugh makes some cringe, especially when

they consider the impact on young children who increasingly are tuning

in to watch Kyle, Stan, Kenny, and the rest of the scabrous gang on

''South Park.''

The 28-year-old Parker emphasized that ''we're not making the show for

kids; we're making the show for people our age.'' However, he and Stone

said they are not bothered by the prospect of youngsters watching it,

maintaining that many aged 10 and up are on the same wavelength as the

show's humor. Shrugged Stone, 26: ''We don't think kids are going to

learn any words they don't already say 800 times a day on the

playground.''

Nor does Parker understand objections about the depiction of Jesus

Christ as a regular character in ''South Park.'' ''We have Jesus on our

show and he's a good guy and tries to get people to follow him, so I

don't know what they have to protest about,'' he said.

Parker likened the show to ''Monty Python's Flying Circus,'' a key early

influence on him and Stone, and said that even the grossest gags are

subordinate to stories with a point. For instance, he maintains that the

talking-poop episode chiefly revolved around the feelings of exclusion felt on

Christmas Day by Kyle, who is Jewish.

(By the way, Parker heatedly rejects ''Ren & Stimpy'' cartoonist John

Kricfalusi's claim that the duo stole the idea of a talking-poop

character from him. Parker said he created the character five years

ago.)

These are salad days for Parker and Stone, two University of Colorado

graduates, who yesterday wore Denver Broncos jerseys (and predicted

victory for the Broncos in the Super Bowl this Sunday).

''South Park'' has clearly caught the hard-to-define but all-important

buzz. Animation kingpin Mike Judge (''Beavis and Butt-head,'' ''King of

the Hill'') has praised it, and a major soft-drink manufacturer even

tried to land Kyle, Stan et. al. as spokeskids (a request Stone and

Parker rebuffed).

By Comedy Central standards, ''South Park'' is a ratings winner, and it

has become a favorite of many TV critics - though not all. In the Jan.

16 Entertainment Weekly, respected critic Ken Tucker yawns: ''`South

Park' is the essence of a novelty act. If you've seen one episode,

you've seen 'em all.''

Parker and Stone may be too busy to notice brickbats. In addition to

their work on the show, for which they provide many of the voices, they

are starring in an upcoming feature film with the Zucker brothers of

''Airplane!'' fame.

Then there are all those pesky calls from celebrities who want to be on

''South Park,'' perhaps in a tribute to the show's satiric power.

''I don't know if they just wanted to do a voice before we ripped on

them,'' mused Parker. ''So we started thinking, OK, who do we want to

meet?''

This story ran on page C08 of the Boston Globe on 01/20/98.

© Copyright 1997 Globe Newspaper Company.

[kettle-on]

I don’t know why I’m having so much trouble keeping my chapter breaks consistent, but here’s a little more to add to Chapter 1 of my Eric/Mike/OFC fanfic.

(Previous part)

Chapter 1 continued... ?

For simplicity, let’s consider this Chapter 2

      “And so, there’s Terry, slowly unzipping in front of all these Germans, about to reveal all, and I just thought, ‘we’ve got to get the hell outta here!’”

      Eric was entertaining Y/N with adventures of the Pythons filming in Germany, and painting a picture of a Terry Jones she’d never seen before.

      “Are we sure he’s allowed back to Germany?” she asked, “Has he tried?”

      “You know, I don’t know.”

      He hadn’t spoken much about Monty Python as a group before. She decided it was something that he felt was just a part of him, like the birth marks on his left cheek, something that didn’t need to be explained but simply was. Eric spoke about many things with passion and detail, but she hadn’t yet seen him speak about anything with more fondness than Monty Python.

      “It sounds like a pretty good team to me,” said Y/N.

      Eric spoke quickly, “Oh, we were more than that – we were like brothers! Well,” he stopped himself, “Maybe not quite. Something in between cousins and brothers. They were good days. And here we are again!”

      They reached a large stone table that had been laid out with elegant crockery, glasses of varying sizes, multiple bottles of wine (two of which had already been opened), and baskets of bread rolls and assorted fruits. Dinner was to be served shortly, in the English style. There was an unfamiliar sense of formality here, Y/N thought, totally at odds with the silliness and recklessness brought by the vacationing comedians.

      John and Terry Jones had seemingly found the cocktail bar earlier in the day, and were now communicating in shouts:

      “No, NO – we are not talking work anymore!” hollered John, his face now as red as the wine in his glass.

      Terry was insisting that their philosophical exploration of ancient Roman attitudes was not work, and was instead just healthy academic discussion.

      “Who let those two get into the drinks?” Y/N quietly asked, leaning slightly over to Michael who had taken a seat beside her.

      “I don’t know,” he replied, looking her in the face, “I must have missed that part.”

      Eric, remembering past misadventures of Terry and booze, offered a distraction, “Wine, Terry?”

      “Eric, don’t,” cautioned Y/N.

      “He’s fine, love, trust me. It’ll only help him,” he insisted, holding up the unopened bottle of Italian red wine from his end of the table.

      “Here, Terry, have a taste of Italy and consult with your inner Roman.”

      Graham Chapman, who had been unusually quiet for some time, looked an almost fatherly figure at the head of the table, quietly clasping his pipe with intrigue on his lips as he observed the goings on. He had, himself, recently given up the drink entirely, and this proved to be an opportunity for him to assume a position of thoughtful wisdom that had previously been disguised as drunken lunacy.

      “Where’s Gilly?” Eric asked the table, once eating was underway and he realized they were missing an American.

      “The apples got ‘im,” said Michael, falsely stone-faced.

      “Oh yes, it would seem those apples you see in that tree behind me are not to be ingested.” warned Graham. “Poor Terry let his daredevil get the better of him, and we’ve since learned that the fruit are the stuff of fairytales, and would appear to be poisonous. I’d advise you all to stick to the grapes.”

      “What about Terry? Is he all right?” asked Y/N.

      “He’ll live, unfortunately.”

       The dinner conversation continued long past sunset, and Y/N had learned stories and half-stories of filming, touring, dangerous film sets, BBC programmers, and television hosts. Endless names she didn’t recognize were thrown into the air, a memory suggested by one man, caught by the others with laughter and eye-rolling, and vanishing without further explanation. It was thrilling and adorable, she found, but terribly difficult to follow. The Python machine had reassembled, and was ready to roll in full force.

      While discussion at one end of the table turned to marriage, Graham at the other end caught Eric’s wrist, gently pulling his attention.

      “She’s a good one, that one,” he said, looking past Eric at Y/N who was desperately trying to decipher whose wife was whose. Beside her, Michael was smiling and studying her profile, before he caught Graham’s eyes and turned to look the other way. 

      “You’ll do well not to fuck this up.”

      “I don’t plan to, Doctor,” Eric affirmed, leaning toward his pipe-smoking friend. “I’ve told her from the start, I’m hers for good, as long as she’ll have me.”

[xxx-cat-xxx]

A little broken

Over a year after defeating Thanos and almost losing Tony, Peter is still haunted by the final battle. In an attempt to outrun the memories, he starts college far from New York.

It takes a visit from his mentor and an ill-timed flu bug that brings them both to their knees until Peter realises that he doesn’t have to take on the whole world alone.

Some Irondad hurt/comfort for everyone who’s quarantining at home (and those of you who have to work. Stay safe!) This is my @marveltrumpshate​ fic for Heyriel. Great thanks to @whumphoarder​ for doing so much more than beta reading. I hope you enjoy.

______________________________

The first time they meet, Peter isn’t sure what to make of Tony Stark. 

The man shows up unannounced to Peter’s apartment, chewing on May’s date loaf and walking around Peter’s room as if he owns the place—talking as if he owns the whole world. Peter is both awed and appalled, May’s occasional comments about greedy billionaires ringing in his ears. But then Peter starts talking about his motivation for doing what he does, and for a moment something in the older man’s face seems to break. That’s when Peter knows that there’s more to him than what makes the tabloids. 

Germany is both a thrilling adventure and an unparalleled disaster. Peter watches the group of heroes he’s looked up to since childhood break apart before his very eyes. The fight is grueling, taking more out of Peter than he knew was possible. He is lying there on the ground, trying to catch his breath, when Tony bends over him. And for a moment, there it is again: the broken facade on his face—below it, pure panic. The way Tony looks at him with thinly masked worry reminds him of Ben’s expression whenever Peter was little and having an asthma attack, and it does something to his insides that he can’t really explain. 

Then, a few months later, Peter inevitably screws up and slices a ferry in half. The two of them are standing high above the city when Tony takes his suit away, and Peter feels tears pricking at his eyes. He cries later in his room, alone, because it’s so much more than just the suit; he feels that by disappointing Tony he’s lost his chance at something so much bigger. 

It’s a miracle he manages to fix this one.

After Siberia, Tony is darker and quieter and indisputably older—like he’s finally grown up. Peter is sad for him, but it’s not all bad either. This new Tony starts taking more of an interest in Peter’s training—starts acting like a real mentor to him. There are afternoons spent together in the lab, dinners at the tower with Tony and Mr. Rhodes, and even the occasional low-stakes mission. Slowly, Tony’s world starts to feel like a place where Peter might one day belong.

But then, the universe gets ripped in two and somewhere on a red and war-torn planet, Peter clings to Tony in desperation, feeling first his body, then his thoughts slip away from him. 

When he wakes again, there’s another battle to fight, but this time there’s no thrill to it. It’s his personal horror film come true.

He can hear the moment when Tony’s heart stops. Peter cries openly this time.  

*

In the end, Tony makes it through. He loses an arm and much of his physical strength, but he’s stubborn as hell and fights his way through recovery. But somehow the day of the battle never fades from Peter’s brain like memories should. 

When he finishes school, May proposes NYU, Tony naturally wants MIT, but Peter chooses Culver University. It might be good for him to get out of New York, is what he says. It might be good for him not to be in a place that has Tony’s legacy lurking around every corner, is what he thinks. And maybe moving away will make things easier when he returns. 

Three months into Peter’s first semester at Culver, Tony accepts a guest speaking gig at the university and decides to stay at a nearby hotel to spend the weekend with Peter.

And that’s when it all goes to hell. 

*

“Hello? Earth to Peter.” Tony waves a hand in his face. “Who are you daydreaming about?”

“Huh?” Peter looks up at Tony, then down at his half-finished iced tea. “Nothing,” he evades. “Nobody, I mean. Sorry, I’m just��just tired. And I have a lot of work left this weekend.”

“Mh-hmm.” Tony looks as if he isn’t quite believing it. “You want more spring rolls?” 

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll wait for the main dish.” 

Peter hasn’t eaten much today, but he’s not quite hungry either. He’s nursing a headache and the tiredness is not just an excuse. As happy as Peter is to see his mentor, Tony’s timing in showing up the week before midterms really could’ve been better. Peter feels like he might fall asleep right here at the restaurant table, but he already knows that he’s going to have to stay up until late to finish his readings. 

“You’re doing it again,” Tony points out. “You’re being awfully quiet, kid. What’s going on?” 

“Nothing, seriously.” Peter manages to hold eye contact for a few seconds and then takes another sip of his iced tea. “So, you said we could fix the suit while you’re here?”

Tony takes the bait (or maybe just lets it drop intentionally) and the talk quickly turns technical. 

After a few minutes, they’re interrupted by the waitress—a student Peter thinks he recognises from his Python lab—who stares at Tony for a moment, her gaze lingering on the scars decorating his right cheek and ear before dropping down to his bionic arm. Then she catches herself and asks for their order.

When their food arrives, Peter observes Tony take out a box of different coloured pills and swallow a couple of them dry. 

“I know, not sexy,” Tony remarks, noticing his look, “but sort of necessary if I want to keep this baby ticking.” He taps his hand over his chest with a wan smile. 

Peter grins half-heartedly in return, even while he can feel his insides clench. The comment reminds him of the time Tony’s heart actually did stop, of the battlefield with the dust of Thanos’ army still hanging in the air, of the utter helplessness he felt when Tony snapped, of― 

“Uhm, excuse me?” It’s the waitress again, her voice shy, cheeks blushing. She extends a piece of paper toward Tony. “Could I, uhm, could you, maybe give me an autograph for my sister? She’s a big fan. I mean, we all are, of course, but she’s got her room decorated with posters of you and all that…”

Tony looks her up and down with a raised eyebrow and a smirk playing around his lips. “What’s your sister’s name?” he asks finally, making a show of producing an integrated pen from his bionic arm. The waitress is visibly impressed, and Peter resists the temptation to roll his eyes―it’s far from the first time he’s seen this trick. If Tony was famous before, it’s nothing compared to the status he earned since dusting Thanos and saving the universe. 

Tony gives the waitress an easy smile along with the paper he passes back, and then turns back to Peter with a smirk. “Fangirls,” he whispers. “Gotta love ‘em. Did I tell you about the kid who offered me all of his allowance for a hoofprint from Gerald?”

*

Because Tony is Tony, it takes a long time before he has caught Peter up on anecdotes of Morgan, Happy, and Gerald’s newest misadventures, and by the time Peter gets back home, it is already late evening. His studio apartment is small and rather old, with walls that have turned grey over time and windows that don’t fully close anymore, but it’s got its own kitchen and bathroom, which is much better than a dorm room―especially since Peter wouldn’t know how to explain the odd hours he keeps or the regular blood stains in the shower to any of his fellow students. 

Peter’s head has been throbbing painfully for the better part of an hour, and the lights from the screen when he pulls out his laptop don’t make it any better. All his body seems to want is sleep, but if he’s going to spend the next two days upgrading his suit with Tony’s help, he really needs to get these chemistry readings finished. 

He tries for several hours, but the words don’t seem to want to stick in his mind and it takes longer than expected until he feels that he has understood the chapter. Peter drops into bed around 3:30 in the morning, too tired to even change out of his jeans, and falls asleep immediately.

*

Peter is woken up by someone knocking on his apartment door to the beat of “We Will Rock You”, and it’s all he can do to stifle a groan. He drags himself out of bed and over to the door.

“Finally,” Tony sighs when Peter lets him in, shoving a reusable thermal to-go cup in the kid’s face and causing him to flinch backwards. “I thought I’d have to actually start singing.” Then he gives Peter a once-over and his face falls. “What happened to you?”

“I think I’m sick,” Peter replies, realising it is true the same moment the words leave his mouth. His head is hurting even more than the night before and his throat feels raw and painful, but the worst is the utter weakness in his body and the chills running down his back that tell him he has a fever. 

“What kind of sick?” Tony asks suspiciously. To Peter’s surprise, instead of turning on his heel and leaving the surely germ-infested apartment, Tony steps over the threshold and raises a hand to cup to Peter’s forehead.

“Dunno.” Peter shrugs. “Just feel like garbage. Flu was going around the school last week―it’s probably that.”

“Aw, kid,” Tony sighs, something like compassion in his voice. “Yeah, you feel really warm.” 

“Sorry about the suit,” Peter says, moving back to sit down on his bed heavily. “I guess you can just go back to New York early then.” 

“What? You think I’m coldhearted enough to leave my former intern alone on his deathbed somewhere in the Virginian wilderness?” 

“Culver’s not that bad,” Peter defends. “And I’m not alone either.”

“So that means you have someone here to take care of you?” Tony raises a sceptical eyebrow.

Peter hesitates. “I… May’s a nurse,” he evades. “I can call her.” 

Truth is, there actually isn’t anybody. He hasn’t really made friends yet―at least certainly not the kind he would consider asking to take care of him while he’s down with the flu. He calls May twice a week, skypes with Ned—and occasionally still with MJ—on the weekends, and he’s friendly enough with his classmates when they’re working together in classes. But his downtime is mostly spent studying on his own and patrolling the city at night.

“Yeah, no, that’s not happening.” Tony looks him over appraisingly, then seems to make a decision and presses the cup of hot chocolate into Peter’s hand. “Guess I’ll stick around for a bit. Here, drink that.” 

“I don’t really feel like it.” Peter is definitely queasy, bordering on nauseous, and the thought of drinking something as rich as hot chocolate almost makes his stomach turn. He shifts on the bed so that he can lean against the headboard, feeling too tired to hold his body up without support.

“Well, you need to have something. Super metabolism and all that.” Tony strides over to the small, definitely not tidy kitchenette and starts opening cupboards, most of which are empty. He comes up with a few packets of shrimp-flavoured instant noodles and a box of Coco Puffs. “Really, kid?”

“I was gonna get groceries today,” Peter says defensively. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna do that now,” Tony states. “What do you say to buttered noodles? That’s all Morgan ever wants when she’s sick.” 

“Yeah, that’s...that’s fine,” Peter says, dumbfounded at the idea of Tony Stark going to the supermarket and making pasta for him. 

“Good. Glad that you agree, since that’s about as far as my cooking skills go.” He zips up his jacket and grabs Peter’s keys from the table. “Don’t do anything stupid till I’m back.” With that, he’s out of the door. 

Peter doesn’t feel like he’d be able to do anything stupid even if he wanted to. He can’t remember the last time he felt this bad, and with his Spider-Manning lifestyle, that really says something. He’s thirsty, but his throat hurts in a way that doesn’t make him want to swallow anything. There’s an ugly taste in his mouth and he really wants to brush his teeth, but the bathroom could just as well be a hundred miles away. 

If May were here, she would have set him up on the sofa with Star Trek: TOS playing on the TV while changing his sheets and airing out the room, he thinks. And suddenly the homesickness hits him like a train. He misses May. He misses New York and his friends and even the busy schedule that high school provided him with, but mostly he misses coming home to an apartment that’s not empty, having someone to eat breakfast with in the mornings and share his day with in the evenings over burnt teriyaki chicken. Just the thought of May’s disastrous cooking skills almost brings tears to his eyes. 

He stays like this for an indefinite amount of time, feeling miserable and blinking back tears, until Tony eventually returns. He sets down the shopping bag on the table and closes his eyes for a moment, rubbing the bridge between them with his fingers, the telltale sign that he has a headache. 

“You okay?” Peter asks hoarsely.

“Yeah. You live in a village, kid. Took forever to find a parking spot and then everyone and their mother wanted an autograph. Basically fought my way out of there. Might have to give my lawyer a heads up, actually.” 

Peter can’t even bring himself to force a laugh. A part of him wants to tell Tony to just go home already; the other part of him really, really doesn’t want to be alone right now. He sniffs hard and swallows to keep his nose from dripping.

“Hey,” Tony’s expression sobers as he sits down next to him on the mattress. “Did I miss something?”

“I just―” Peter rubs a sleeve over his watery eyes, feeling embarrassed. He thinks for an excuse and suddenly remembers the very real problems of college. “Ah, crap.” 

“Huh?” Tony asks.

“I have two tests next week,” Peter admits miserably. “I haven’t done anything for them yet―I was going to study this weekend in the evenings―”

“That’s fine, kid, we can deal with that. We saved the universe, remember? Schoolwork is nothing compared to Thanos, trust me.”

“I know,” Peter sniffs. Then, before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “I‘m just missing home.” 

“Ah,” Tony says. He lays his bionic hand on Peter’s shoulder and rubs it. “Yeah, that makes more sense.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter goes on, “I didn’t mean, I’m just―” 

“You’re just sick and tired and emotional,” Tony assesses, but there’s no judgement in his voice. “Come on.” He gestures for Peter to lie down and pulls the blanket up to his neck. “Go to sleep, kid.” His tone is almost soft. “I’ll be here.”

Peter falls into a feverish, exhausted sleep. He’s dimly aware of an icy cold gripping him and chills wracking his body, and then of Tony putting an extra blanket on him. At some point Tony offers food, but Peter’s too tired to even fully open his eyes. He mumbles something that he hopes Tony understands and turns over to the other side. 

The next time he fully surfaces, it’s from Tony gently shaking him awake. “Hey Pete, I know you’re tired, but you really need to eat something.” 

“Don’ wanna,” he mutters, pulling the covers up to his chin.

“Peter. Come on, kid.” 

He blinks himself awake. The apartment is dark now; it must be evening already. The faint smell of food lingers in the air. “D’ I sleep all day?” he asks, confused. 

“Almost. You can still catch Saturday Night Live.” 

“Hmm.” Peter sits up slowly. He feels woozy and weak and his head is still hurting, which is ridiculous considering how long he slept for. 

“Just let me check your temperature.” Tony takes off his smartwatch and presses it against Peter’s neck, just under his chin. The cold metal sends shivers down his spine. 

“102.6,” Tony reports. “Yeah, that’s not great. A pity that fever reducers don’t work on you.” Tony’s voice sounds rough. Peter squints up at him just as the man turns his head into his shoulder to cough. He looks tired—really tired—and, as far as Peter can make out in the dim light of the bedside lamp, his face is kind of flushed. 

“Are you okay?” Peter croaks. 

“Uhm...” For a moment it looks like Tony wants to lie, but then he falters. “Not really. Guess I caught the same bug you did.”

“Shit,” Peter says. This sucks big time. 

“I already texted May—she’ll probably be up here tomorrow. As soon as you’d had something to eat and drink, I’ll go back to the hotel and get out of your hair. You don’t need an old sick man around.”

“What? No!” Peter blurts before he can stop himself. He feels his breath speeding up, horrified at both the idea of Tony leaving him here alone, and of Tony being on his own in some hotel room feeling as miserable as Peter does now. “Please don’t go.”

Tony looks taken aback. “Pete, I don’t think I’m going to be much help soon.” 

“No, it’s not that, it’s just…” Peter feels himself blushing. “It’s nice not to be alone,” he admits in a small voice. 

Tony gives him a long look. “Okay, fine,” he agrees eventually. “But that means you have to listen to me. And the first rule is: eat your dinner, kid.”

They eat quietly. Tony is visibly making an effort not to let on just how bad he’s feeling, but Peter has learned to read the signs during his mentor’s long period of recovery from the snap. Tony is rubbing his shoulder whenever he thinks that Peter isn’t looking, which means that his prosthesis is hurting him. His shoulders are slumped, showing how tired he is, he’s nursing a headache, and then there is the fairly obvious sign of him hardly having eaten anything except for two spoons of pasta and his medication.

After dinner, Tony calls Pepper while Peter calls May. She gives him a run-down of the usual flu advice―“Stay hydrated, try and rest, and for god’s sake, don’t pile every blanket you own on yourself like that time you had strep, Peter—keep the curtains on the windows”—and promises to drive up tomorrow if she can get her shift covered. Then she asks to talk to Tony. Meanwhile, Peter uses the bathroom, brushes his teeth and changes into pyjamas. Observing himself in the mirror, he realises just how run-down he looks. He splashes some water on his face, which does nothing except make him shiver. 

“She asked whether you built that Lego ship she got you for your birthday,” Tony announces when Peter returns. 

“Oh.” Peter hasn’t, of course. He’s neither had the time nor the motivation to do so without Ned.

Tony makes a show of looking around the room. “This place is less personal than an airbnb. I told her there’s not even a poster on your wall.”

“So what?” Peter sighs. He feels the need to defend himself, but he’s too sick to come up with anything.  

Tony doesn’t press it, luckily. He borrows a pair of sweatpants, which end up being a bit short around his ankles and make it look like he’s outgrown them. It almost makes Peter smile. They pull out the sofa-sleeper that May insisted on him getting, but which he’s had no opportunity to use until now. When everything is set up, Peter is almost dizzy from being on his feet for so long. He’s both sweating and shivering and very glad to lie back down under the covers.

Tony turns on the TV, but neither of them is really paying attention. Peter is half asleep a few minutes into the news and Tony seems visibly uncomfortable, shifting around every few minutes on the couch. 

“Do you want to switch to the bed?” Peter asks him, secretly hoping for the answer to be no―he really doesn’t want to get up again. Tony shakes his head, lips pressed tightly together. Then he gets to his feet faster than Peter would have thought possible for someone in his condition and bolts to the bathroom. 

Peter hears nothing for a while. Then there’s a few weak coughs, followed by a retch and the sound of splashing. Peter cringes, his own stomach twisting in sympathy. The small size of the apartment and his enhanced hearing make it impossible to tune out the sounds as Tony continues to be sick into the toilet for the next ten minutes. When the retching tapers off, Peter shakily gets to his feet and fills a glass of water from the kitchenette. 

He knocks on the bathroom door, then leans heavily against the frame. “I got you some water,” he calls, hearing Tony’s ragged breathing inside. “Can I come in?”

“Just go to sleep, kid,” Tony croaks. 

“Yeah, sure,” Peter mumbles under his breath. After a few moments, he hears the sound of the flush and then the door opens. Tony is covered in sweat and looking about as bad as Peter feels, plus there’s a greenish tinge to his face. The smell of vomit wafts out and hits Peter’s nostrils, turning his own stomach. 

“Thanks, Pete,” Tony croaks says hoarsely and takes the water from his hand. His metal fingers feel cold against Peter’s burning skin when they brush the back of his hand. “Sorry you had to hear that.”

“‘S okay,” Peter mumbles. He suddenly has a hard time focusing on Tony. His head feels so heavy that he has to rest it against the doorframe as well. 

“Jeez, kid,” Tony comments. Then his face drains even more of colour and he presses his knuckles against his lips, swallowing thickly. “Go lie down, okay? I’ll be out in a bit.” With that, he turns and disappears back into the bathroom. 

For once, Peter listens to him, unsure whether he will be able to keep standing much longer anyway. After a moment of consideration, he curls up on the couch, leaving the softer bed for the older man. He drifts there for a while, trying to tune out the sounds of sickness coming from the bathroom. 

Eventually, he is dimly aware of someone entering the room and switching off the lights. There’s cold metal touching his neck as someone takes his temperature and tsks, then softly brushes back his hair and lays a cold washcloth on his forehead. It feels amazing against Peter’s burning skin.

“Thanks, May,” he mumbles.

*

Waking up feels like resurfacing after diving into a deep pool of water. Peter’s eyelids are sticky with sleep and his brain feels like it’s been through a potato masher. He’s disoriented, so it takes a bit until he realises that it was Tony’s voice that woke him. “Pete,” he hears him calling again weakly. Something about it shakes him out of his half-awake state. 

“Tony?” he asks, sitting up. There’s a rustling sound and a thump from the bathroom, confirming his worry. A quick glance at his phone on the bedside table tells him that it’s just after 4am. Definitely not the time to take a shower.

Peter’s head swims when he gets up from the couch. He takes a few unsteady steps towards the bathroom and then stops to lean against the wall until his vision clears and he can open the door.

Tony is on the ground next to the toilet, wrenched in between the bowl and the shower, looking about ten times worse than earlier. His face is almost grey except for the scars on his right cheek, which are flushed in an angry red. His dark eyes are glassy and deeply exhausted. Sweat sticks to his hair and t-shirt, the prosthesis off and one sleeve dangling empty. The smell of vomit hangs thickly in the air, much stronger than before.

Tony slowly lifts his head when Peter steps in. “Hey,” he croaks, attempting a smile and giving up somewhere halfway. “Sorry for waking you. ‘S just that I could use some help.”

“With what exactly?” 

“Getting up?” Tony asks sheepishly. “I tried and almost took down your shower curtain.”

Peter blinks. “Well, shit.”

“You said it, kid.” 

Peter extends a hand and Tony grabs it gratefully, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Peter closes the toilet lid and Tony sits down on it with a heavy sigh. He shudders convulsively, then closes his eyes and swallows rapidly a few times, as if trying to stop himself from being sick again. 

“How long have you been in here?” Peter asks while checking Tony’s temperature on his smart watch. He finds it to be at a worrying 103.6.

“Uhm,” Tony makes a vague gesture with his hand. “Midnight, maybe? Kinda lost track of time.” Peter frowns. “Sorry for waking you up, kid,” Tony says again, taking his expression the wrong way. “That’s kind of why I didn’t want to stay.”

“You should have called me earlier.” Peter fills a glass of water from the tap. “And yeah, really reassuring to think of you spending the night on the bathroom floor of your hotel because you can’t get up on your own.”

Tony mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “Not like I haven’t done that before.” When Peter hands him the glass, the man’s hands are trembling so much that half of the water spills out onto his shirt. 

“Shit,” Tony mutters. “All my spares are at the hotel.” 

“I can give you one of mine,” Peter offers. 

“Yeah, that... that would be great,” Tony says earnestly. Peter wonders whether he’s maybe a bit delirious. “This shit didn’t use to happen before the snap, you know.”

“Don’t worry,” Peter says, surprised at the admission. He fetches a clean sweatshirt from the dresser and hands it to the older man. His mentor’s whole body is shaking violently with chills. While Tony changes, Peter notices that the scar pattern around his shoulder stump is an angry red. It looks painful, but Tony doesn’t seem to care too much. 

Something twists within Peter. It reminds him too much of the time just after the snap when he saw Tony in the hospital, weak with fever from the infected limb.

“Ready for bed?” Peter asks, shaking the thoughts from his head.

“Yeah,” Tony says, although he doesn’t look too sure. Peter pulls him upright and almost staggers under the man’s weight and his own weakness. Tony doesn’t comment, and when Peter turns towards him, he sees that he is biting his lips, eyes largely unfocused. 

“This really hit you hard, huh?” Peter asks when they have made it to the bed, sitting down next to Tony. His mentor is bending forward, head in his hands, panting and shaking like he just finished a mission in the suit. That’s not the only thing, though. With his advanced hearing, Peter can pick up Tony’s heartbeat, which is slightly arrhythmic. 

“Tony?” he asks suspiciously. “What’s wrong with your heart?”

“Yeah, about that…” The other man raises his head, but avoids Peter’s gaze.

“What?” Peter can feel his own heart rate speeding up in worry.

“I, uh...remember my heart medication?” Tony says casually. “I threw up the last dose. It’s not dangerous, don’t worry,” he adds when Peter stares at him, alarmed, “Or, well, at least not yet. Just sort of increases the nausea and dizziness.”

“Can’t you take another dose?” he asks. 

“I don’t think I can keep anything down right now,” Tony admits. “But I’ll try in the morning.”

“Hmm.” This doesn’t really do anything to make Peter feel better. 

“Don’ worry, kid” Tony adds with a tired slur to his words, which only achieves the opposite. With a lot of effort, he pulls his legs up to the bed and then lies down under the blankets. “Let’s both sleep for a bit and things will look brighter in the morning.”

Peter gets himself a glass of water and then curls back up on the couch. He hears Tony’s breaths turn heavy and even out before long, but although he feels exhausted, he has a hard time going back to sleep. The sofa feels like rocks under his achy body, and he keeps turning around, unable to find a comfortable position. His head doesn’t fare any better. With his brain cloudy from fever, it’s even harder than usual to stave off the memories from the battlefield. 

His eyes finally fall shut and back he goes, right into the middle of dust and blood and death looming around every corner. He knows that there should be screams and shouts everywhere, but it’s silent, dead silent, except for the underlying thump-thump-thump of Tony’s heartbeat, becoming ever quieter. 

Peter rounds a heap of rubble and almost stumbles over Tony, who is lying on the ground, half his body eaten away by the radiation. The beating gets weaker even as Peter falls onto his knees and tears stream down his cheeks. He’s been here a hundred times, unable to save the man who saved him, and he knows exactly how this is going to end. 

A beat, almost indiscernible. A breath leaves Tony’s lips for the last time. 

Silence. 

*

He wakes to the feeling that everything in the world that possibly could be wrong, is wrong. His whole body is hot and he feels nauseous, almost as if he will throw up. Sick, he remembers. He’s sick. Tony’s― 

Peter forces himself to take a deep breath that comes out more like a choked sob. He sits up dizzily, and is surprised by the light streaming through the windows. His eyes immediately wander to Tony’s still form on the bed, covered by blankets. Peter can make out his slightly ragged breathing, but he’s way past the point where he would feel calmed by this. 

Unsteadily, he makes his way over to the bed and sits down on the floor next to it, shivering uncontrollably from the coldness of the tile, but not wanting to wake Tony up. He tries to calm himself, but his heart won’t stop racing. Everything feels kind of surreal and he can’t shake the image of Tony’s body on the ground, so still and lifeless. There are tears burning in his eyes. He shoves his knuckles in his mouth to keep himself from sobbing loudly. 

“Kid?” Tony’s groggy voice asks. “What ‘appened?”

“S-Sorry,” Peter manages. “G-Go back to sleep.”

“Hey.” Tony rubs his eyes and tries to push himself up, only partially succeeding. Looking at Peter, his face takes on an alarmed expression. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Peter whispers, feeling infinitely stupid. “J-Just had a nightmare.” He bites his lip, but with the admission, a dam seems to break. He can feel his eyes overflowing. 

“Hey, kid, hey,” Tony says softly. “It’s alright.”

Peter just shakes his head, tears dripping down his cheeks onto the floor. Tony extends a trembling hand to wipe them away. “Do these nightmares happen often?” he asks.

“Sometimes,” Peter evades. He wonders why he doesn’t just tell the truth. That there’s rarely a night when he doesn’t go back to the battle against Thanos, or the dust on Titan, or even the Vulture in flames―an enemy that seems ridiculous now compared to the ones they’ve fought since, but sometimes still makes it into Peter’s dreams. 

“It’s gotten worse again, hasn’t it?” Tony asks. “Since you moved here.” His hand drops down to Peter’s shoulder and squeezes it lightly. 

“‘S okay,” he lies. “I’m fine. Jus’... just the fever.”

“Mmh-hmm, sure. Come here.” Tony nods his head towards himself, weakly lifting an arm, and Peter lets himself get pulled into the hug. “Woah, kid. You’re on fire.” 

“Hmm,” Peter mumbles. “You too.” 

It’s true; Tony’s body feels even hotter than his. The sweatshirt Peter had given him is already damp with sweat. And, most concerningly, his heart is still beating out of rhythm. It reminds Peter way too much of his dream for him to ignore it. 

“You need to have some water,” Tony says, ignorant to Peter’s thoughts. “And eat something. It’s been a while.”

Peter’s queasiness increases at the thought. “Stomach’s not feeling great,” he admits. “How are you doing?” he asks then, into the older man’s chest. “And don’t lie.” 

He feels Tony grimacing. “Like a clock someone forgot to wind up.” His remaining arm lets go of Peter as he brings it to his chest to massage the area around his heart. “But hey, don’t worry. I’m gonna try my pills and some water and then I’ll be back on my bullshit before you know it.” 

But he isn’t. Half an hour later, Peter has to support Tony to the toilet to once again throw up the medication and the few sips of water he’s just managed to get down. He stops trying to reassure Peter after the second bout of painful dry heaves wrack his body and doesn’t even resist when Peter wipes down his grey face with a wet cloth. On their way back, halfway across the bedroom, they almost lose balance when Tony’s legs suddenly give out. Peter just manages to stabilise him before they can faceplant all the way. 

“That’s it. You need to go to the ER,” Peter decides after all-but carrying Tony back to the bed and sitting him down. Peter’s own body feels heavy with exhaustion. Tony weakly shakes his head and opens his mouth to object. “Please, Tony.”

There must have been something in his voice that gave away his desperation because Tony shuts up mid-inhale. He gives Peter a deep look and then nods shakily. ”But only if you eat something first.”

“Okay.” He checks Tony’s temperature, which has climbed even higher, to 103.8. Peter’s own is hardly any better at 103.2, but at least he can still stand―kind of, he realises when he has to sit down to be able to concentrate on his phone screen long enough to call a cab. 

The walk to the kitchen feels like it’s a mile long. Peter surveys the meagre food choices and decides that cold pasta with salt looks like the best option. After the first few bites, his queasiness abides a bit and he manages to finish his small plate, suddenly realising how hungry he was. He drinks two glasses of water with it and finally feels a little less lightheaded. Then he goes to the bathroom and, on a whim, swallows a small handful of painkillers from the bottle of Advil Tony has sitting beside his pill box. They will hardly do anything for him, but hopefully they’ll keep him upright until they reach the hospital.

When Peter comes back, he expects Tony to be lying where he left him and is already wondering how he’s going to maneuver him down the stairs from the second floor with the man's balance shot and his own legs feeling like noodles. But Tony is sitting up and in the process of putting on his shoes. His determination, however, falters a bit when it comes to actually standing up. 

“Just go slow,” Peter directs, supporting Tony to the door and taking on most of the man’s weight. “One step at a time.”

They make it down the first staircase before Tony holds up a hand. “Just need a minute,” he exhales, sitting down with a sigh and leaning against the wall, his eyelids fluttering shut. His breathing is ragged. Peter looks at him worriedly, the unsteady thump of the man’s heartbeat loud in his ears. Tony, as if feeling the gaze, opens one eye to squint at him. “Not dead yet, kid. Come on, let’s get downstairs.” 

Maybe it’s the fact that the painkillers are wearing off faster than expected or that Peter’s anxiety is finally getting the better of him, but the cab ride is kind of a blur. He just remembers Tony sitting with his head tipped back and his eyes closed, looking deathly exhausted, and at some point grabbing the older man’s hand and holding on. 

Peter only lets go of it when he has to fill in the forms once they reach the hospital. The ER nurse takes one look at Tony’s scarred face and missing arm and then directs them to a private room. Peter’s hand is shaking so hard that Tony’s name on the form looks like a child’s scrawl. Behind him, his mentor is already being connected to a heart monitor, while another nurse is bringing an IV stand.

He hands the form to the elderly nurse and then has to steady himself against the wall when he stumbles a bit. 

Her brow furrows. “Are you alright?” she asks. 

“Y-Yes,” Peter answers quickly. 

“Bullshit. He’s got the flu too,” Tony mutters from the bed behind them. 

“I’m fine,” Peter insists, feeling his heart rate spike. They’ve done a great deal to keep his secret identity, well, secret while he’s at Culver, and he’s not about to let his powers be discovered just because of a flu bug. “Really, I’m okay. Not a big deal.”

“Honey, you can’t be here as a visitor if you’re sick,” the nurse says, her tone kind, but firm. “You’ll risk infecting the other patients.”

Peter looks up, taking a moment to understand the implications. “What? No, please don’t make me go!” 

The nurse eyes him critically, then sighs and relents. “If you’re going to stay, you’ll have to be inside this room at all times. I can’t have you walking around spreading germs.”

“That’s okay,” Peter agrees immediately. It’s not like he was planning to walk the halls anyway; his legs feel like they might go on strike any moment. When the nurse turns around to start working on Tony, Peter wobbles over to an uncomfortable chair in the corner and collapses into it.

He feels like the next time he takes an actual breath is once Tony is hooked up to painkillers, antiemetics, and something for his heart, the fluids dripping steadily into his arm through an IV and the heart monitor finally—finally—reverts back to a steady rhythm of beeps. Tony isn’t conscious anymore to notice; after spending the better part of the last 24 hours on Peter’s bathroom floor, his exhaustion has finally gotten the upper hand. He drifts off as soon as the meds start kicking in. 

Once the nurses leave, Peter drags his chair over next to the bed. Tony looks—there is no other way to describe it—frail. Like he might fall apart any minute if Peter stops watching. His fever is still much too high at 103.3 and he is sleeping fitfully, as if the dreams are haunting him as well. Peter can still see images from the nightmare in his mind. Not clear, but looming, like he might find himself on the battlefield any time he turns around. 

He doesn’t want to fall asleep, but he’s dead tired. Now with the adrenaline fading, it feels like his body weighs a thousand pounds. He suddenly doesn’t even feel able to keep his head up, and instead lets himself slump forward, crossing his arms and resting his head on top. His cold hands are a sharp contrast to his burning face. 

His mind feels oddly detached from his body, like he’s floating, and he has no idea how much time has passed when suddenly the nurse shakes him awake from where he’s slidden down onto the edge of Tony’s mattress. “Can you just move for a second, hon?” she asks gently. “I need to hook up some more fluids."

"Oh yeah, sure, of course..." Peter nods groggily and goes to stand up a little too quickly. The moment he is on his feet, he can practically feel the blood rushing away from his head, and a wave of darkness rolls over him. Peter grabs for something to hold on to but comes up empty. He feels himself sway into the nurse, who grabs his shoulders and just about manages to keep him from face planting on the hospital floor.

“You’re really warm, dear,” she observes after helping him sit back down on the chair. "You really can't be here if you're not a patient. Let me call someone to get you a bed."

“But I—” Peter feels panic swelling in his chest. He doesn’t want to leave Tony alone, especially when he can’t be sure that the man’s heart won’t stop again, but he can’t let anyone find out about Spider-Man either―

"Peter, it's fine,” he hears a thin voice. Tony, just woken up, is shifting wearily under the blanket, turning his head towards them. “They'll sign NDAs and no one will know. Just do what she says and get in the bed, alright?"

So Peter does. The nurse calls her colleague, who sets up a bed next to Tony’s and takes Peter’s vitals. After Peter groggily explains that fever reducers won’t do anything to bring down his 103.5 degree temperature, the nurse hooks him up to fluids to counteract the dehydration.

The world goes blurry again and he is half asleep when he sees Tony slip something into the elderly nurse’s hand on her way out the door.  

When she’s gone, Peter gives Tony a confused look. “You bribed her to let me stay in the room?” 

“What are you talking about?” Tony scoffs lightly. “I just asked nicely and told her you took part in saving the world―that was more than enough.” He shrugs a bit. “And I might’ve signed an autograph for her son.” 

Peter would have rolled his eyes if his head wasn’t hurting so much. “Still a bribe,” he mumbles.

“Go to sleep, kid,” Tony says warmly.

He closes his eyes but then opens them again to see Tony watching him. “You’ll be okay, right?” Peter asks. 

“Of course,” Tony replies. “I’m always okay.”

*

When Peter wakes up again in the early evening, it’s to May lightly stroking his curls out of his face. A tension he didn’t even know he was holding seems to fall off his shoulders.

“Hey, baby,” she says softly when he hugs her. “Rough weekend, huh?” 

It is decided that neither of them has to spend the night at the hospital―Tony has to fight to be discharged, but they eventually let him go after making him promise to rest, take his medicine, and tell May if his heart acts up again. In turn, Tony collects each of the staff members’ contact details to have his lawyers send NDAs later. 

The drive back to the flat is quiet. Tony attempts small talk for the first five minutes, but is still too out of it from the combined force of illness and drugs, and quickly gives up again. Peter is just relieved that May is there. 

Once they’re home, May makes both of them eat some toast and then ushers them off to bed. Peter feels like he hasn’t slept since he moved to Virginia, and maybe that’s true in a way. But now with Tony and May both there, he finally feels like it’s safe to let himself go. 

*

He wakes up to May opening the windows to let in the chilly morning air.

“C’n I have some water?” he mumbles. 

May hands him the glass. “Your fever has come down a bit overnight. Feeling any better?” she asks. 

“Hmm.” He’s still weary and headachey, but the chills are gone and the world seems much less frightening now. “How’s Tony?” he asks.

“Still asleep. We talked a little last night—he didn’t get much rest, I’m afraid. But you should wake him up and tell him it’s time for food and medicine.”

Peter sits up and is rewarded with a lack of dizziness. He goes to the toilet and washes his face before trudging over to the bed and sitting down carefully on the mattress next to his mentor’s sleeping form. Tony’s eyes are moving rapidly behind his closed eyelids as if he’s in the middle of a dream. His hair is a greasy mess, the scars as red and angry as before and his cheeks still flushed with fever, but the rest of his face isn’t as pale as it was the previous day, and, when he listens carefully, Peter can make out his regular heartbeat.

“Tony?” Peter whispers, gently touching his flesh shoulder. 

Tony grunts and rolls himself over. “Pep?” he asks in a muffled voice. 

“Not exactly.” Tony blinks awake and squints up at Peter. “How are you feeling?”

“Ugh…I want my hospital drugs back,” Tony half-jokes. “But not on the verge of cardiac failure anymore, so that’s a plus.”

“Hmm.” Peter reaches for his hand to check the smart watch. “Your temperature’s down.” Tony’s is at 101.5, whereas Peter’s is at 100.7. Tony gives first the numbers and then Peter a critical once-over before closing his eyes again. 

“Don’t go back to sleep,” Peter warns. “May said you need to take your medicine and eat something.”

Tony groans audibly. “Nurses never let you have any fun...” 

*

The first time they met, Peter wasn’t sure what to make of Tony Stark. 

Times have changed, Peter thinks, as he surveys the scene in his apartment. 

After a painfully slow shuffle to the bathroom and back, Tony decides that he doesn’t feel up to walking around just yet, so they all eat breakfast in bed, assembled on various pillows and blankets, while Star Trek plays on the TV in the background. With his appetite returning and worries temporarily lifted, Peter devours two pieces of toast with chocolate spread and a glass of orange juice while Tony sticks to saltines, tea, and the pills he swallows under May’s watchful eye. 

When they’re done, May announces that she’s heading out for groceries. “No crime-fighting until I’m back,” she orders with a smile. “And I want each of you to finish the water bottles on the table.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Tony salutes sarcastically. The moment May shuts the door, he sets down his half-finished cup of tea and slumps visibly into his pillows. 

“You alright?” Peter asks immediately. 

“Jeez, kid, you’re worse than Morgan,” Tony comments, not without affection. “I know last night was scary for you, but honestly, this is not even in my top 20 for life-threatening events I’ve experienced in the last few decades.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” Peter retorts. “Because it really doesn’t.”

He must have come across less playful than intended, because Tony’s expression sobers. He regards Peter with the deep look that always gives him the feeling of being x-rayed. 

“I know,” Tony says. “But that’s kind of the point. I’ve been through so much shit in my life that I know pretty much exactly how you feel.” 

He drags himself a bit more upright and lays a warm hand on Peter’s forearm. “I know how it is when your thoughts circle back to the same moment over and over again and the nightmares won’t let you rest. I know how easy it is to isolate yourself because the memories are eating you up and you feel like nobody can help you.”

He pauses for a moment and rubs a hand over his forehead. Peter remembers the darkness on Tony’s face the first time they met and wonders whether that’s what Tony sees on his now. 

“What I’m trying to say is,” Tony continues, “you don’t have to pretend to be fine if you’re not. At least not in front of me or May.” 

The irony of it almost makes Peter smile, despite the lump forming in his throat. Tony just spent the last 36 hours trying to downplay the pain he was in. “You are one to talk,” he remarks.

Tony chuckles quietly. “Still learning, kid.” He picks up his tea cup and takes another sip before continuing in a softer voice. “Just trust me, it‘s okay to be a little broken, even when you’re not sick. And you don’t have to hide it. I know what loneliness looks like. I’ve been through all of it and it took me years to understand that the only thing that can help is to let other people in―the right kind of people.”

The thoughts are running a marathon in Peter’s head and he’s dimly aware that he’s trembling. He swallows hard before speaking. “It’s just… sometimes I don’t even want to remember. It’s just so hard to start talking. About”―he takes a deep breath―“the battle. And the dreams. And everything else.”

“Yeah, it is. I never said it would be easy.” Tony seems to hesitate for a moment, but then he pulls Peter toward him one-handedly so that they can lie side by side. He covers both of them with his blanket. Peter turns his head into Tony’s shoulder and closes his eyes, taking deep breaths. “And we don’t have to start today. But I’ll be there whenever you’re ready.”

________________

If you liked this, you might also enjoy my other post-Endgame fic (in which Tony is obviously still alive): What We Lose in the Fire We Gain in the Flood

All my fics

Taglist: @toomuchtoread33  @yepokokfine

[thisblogisalsoboundforglory]

WHAT I HAVE BEEN READING LATELY

Kage Baker’s Company Series

In the Garden of Iden

Sky Coyote

Mendoza in Hollywood

The Graveyard Game

The Life of the World to Come

The Children of the Company

The Machine's Child

The Sons of Heaven

The Empress of Mars

Not Less than Gods

Nell Gwynne's On Land and At Sea

Black Projects, White Knights: The Company Dossiers

Gods and Pawns

In the Company of Thieves

Ø  Science Fiction written by a woman with Asperger’s. Wildly uneven. Main protagonist is female, but there are lots of POV characters, male and female.

Ø  Big ideas.

Ø  Lots of adventure, some action.

Ø   Small doses of humor.

 Neil Gaiman

Good Omens (with Sir Terry Pratchett)

Neverwhere

Stardust

American Gods

Anansi Boys

The Graveyard Book

The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Ø  Neil’s books are a road trip with Carl Jung, Joseph Campbell and a baggie full of sativa.

Ø  Ideas are incidental. The Milieu’s in charge.

Ø  Adventure happens whether you like it or not.

Ø   Cosmic humor. The joke’s on us.

 Connie Willis’s Oxford Time Travel Series

Firewatch

Doomsday Book

To Say Nothing of the Dog (and the novel that inspired it – Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat)

Blackout/All Clear

Assorted:

The Last of the Winnebagos

Ø  Connie loves her historical research. Blackout/All Clear actually lasts as long as the Blitz, but anything in the Oxford Time Travel series is worth reading. Doomsday Book reads like prophecy in retrospect.

Ø  One idea: Hi! This is the human condition! How fucking amazing is that?!?

Ø  Gut-punch adventure with extra consequences. Background action.

Ø   I’d have to say that Doomsday Book is the funniest book about the black death I’ve ever read, which isn’t saying much. To Say Nothing of the Dog is classic farce, though. Girl’s got range.

Neal Stephenson

Snow Crash (After the apocalypse, the world will be ruled by Home-Owners Associations. Be afraid.)

Cryptonomicon

Anathem

Seveneves

Ø  Neal writes big, undisciplined, unfocused books that keep unfolding in your mind for months after you’ve read them. He’s a very guy-type writer, in spite of a female protagonist or two. Seveneves, be warned, starts out brilliant and devolves into extreme meh.

Ø  Big. Fucking. Ideas.

Ø  Battles, crashes, fistfights, parachute jumps, nuclear powered motorcycles and extreme gardening action. Is there an MPAA acronym for that?

Ø   Humor dry enough to be garnished with two green olives on a stick.

  Christopher Moore

Pine Cove Series:

Practical Demonkeeping

The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove

The Stupidest Angel: A Heartwarming Tale of Christmas Terror (Okay, yeah, Christmas. But Christmas with zombies, so that’s all right.)

Fluke (Not strictly Pine Cove, but in the same universe. Ever wonder why whales sing? They’re ordering Pastrami sandwiches. I’m not kidding.)

Death Merchant Chronicles:

A Dirty Job

Secondhand Souls (Best literary dogs this side of Jack London)

Coyote Blue (Kind of an outlier. Overlapping characters)

Shakespeare Series:

Fool

The Serpent of Venice

Shakespeare for Squirrels

Assorted:

Island of the Sequined Love Nun (Cargo cults with Pine Cove crossovers. I have a theory that the characters in this book are direct descendants of certain characters in Stephenson’s Cryptonomicon.)

Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal (So I have a favorite first-century wonder rabbi. Who doesn’t?)

Sacre Bleu

Noir

Ø  Not for the squeamish, the easily offended, or those who can’t lovingly embrace the fact that the human species is pretty much a bunch of idiots snatching at moments of grace.

Ø  No big ideas whatever. Barely any half-baked notions.

Ø  Enthusiastic geek adventure. Action as a last resort.

Ø   Nonstop funny from beginning to end.

 Ben Aaronovitch’s Rivers of London Series

Rivers of London

Moon Over Soho

Whispers Under Ground

Broken Homes

Foxglove Summer

The Hanging Tree

The Furthest Station

Lies Sleeping

The October Man

False Value

Tales From the Folly

Ø  Lean, self-deprecating police procedurals disguised as fantasy novels. Excellent writing.

Ø  These will not expand your mind. They might expand your Latin vocabulary.

Ø  Crisply described action, judiciously used. Whodunnit adventure. It’s all about good storytelling.

Ø  Generous servings of sly humor. Aaronovitch is a geek culture blueblood who drops so many inside jokes, there are websites devoted to indexing them.

  John Scalzi

Old Man’s War Series:

Old Man’s War

Questions for a Soldier

The Ghost Brigades

The Sagan Diary

The Last Colony

Zoe’s Tale

After the Coup

The Human Division

The End of All Things

Ø  Star Trek with realpolitik instead of optimism.

Ø  The Big Idea is that there’s nothing new under the sun. Nor over it.

Ø  Action-adventure final frontier saga with high stakes.

Ø  It’s funny when the characters are being funny, and precisely to the same degree that the character is funny.

Assorted:

The Dispatcher

Murder by Other Means

Redshirts (Star Trek, sideways, with occasional optimism)

Ø  Scalzi abandons (or skewers) his space-opera tendencies with these three little gems of speculative fiction. Scalzi’s gift is patience. He lets the scenario unfold like a striptease.

Ø  What-if thought experiments that jolt the brain like espresso shots.

Ø  Action/misadventure as necessary to accomplish the psychological special effects.

Ø  Redshirts is satire, so the humor is built-in, but it’s buried in the mix.

  David Wong/Jason Pargin

John Dies at the End

This Book is Full of Spiders: Seriously, Dude, Don’t Touch It

What the Hell Did I Just Read?

Ø  Pargin clearly starts his novels with a handful of arresting scenes and images, then looses the characters on an unsuspecting world to wander wither they will.

Ø  Ideas aren’t as big or obvious as Heinlein, but they are there to challenge all your assumptions in the same way that Heinlein’s were.

Ø  Classic action/adventure for anyone raised on Scooby-Doo.

Ø  Occasional gusts of humor in a climate that’s predominantly tongue-in-cheek.

 Jodi Taylor’s Chronicles of St. Mary’s Series

Just One Damned Thing After Another

The Very First Damned Thing

A Symphony of Echoes

When a Child is Born*

A Second Chance

Roman Holiday*

A Trail Through Time

Christmas Present*

No Time Like the Past

What Could Possible Go Wrong?

Ships and Stings and Wedding Rings*

Lies, Damned Lies and History

The Great St Mary’s Day Out*

My Name is Markham*

And the Rest is History

A Perfect Storm*

Christmas Past*

An Argumentation of Historians

The Battersea Barricades*

The Steam Pump Jump*

And Now for Something Completely Different*

Hope for the Best

When Did You Last See Your Father?*

Why Is Nothing Ever Simple*

Plan For The Worst

The Ordeal of the Haunted Room

Ø  The * denotes a short story or novella. Okay, try to imagine Indiana Jones as a smartassed redheaded woman with a time machine and a merry band of full contact historians. I love history, and I especially love history narrated by a woman who can kick T. Rex ass.

Ø  The ideas are toys, not themes. Soapy in spots.

Ø  Action! Adventure! More action! More adventure! Tea break. Action again!

Ø  Big, squishy dollops of snort-worthy stuff.

 Laurie R. King’s Mary Russell Series

The Beekeeper's Apprentice

A Monstrous Regiment of Women

A Letter of Mary

The Moor

Jerusalem

Justice Hall

The Game

Locked Rooms

The Language of Bees

The God of the Hive

Beekeeping for Beginners

Pirate King

Garment of Shadows

Dreaming Spies

The Marriage of Mary Russell

The Murder of Mary Russell

Mary Russell's War And Other Stories of Suspense

Island of the Mad

Riviera Gold

The Art of Detection (Strictly speaking, this is in the action!lesbian Detective Kate Martinelli series, but it crosses over to the Sherlock Holmes genre. If you’ve ever wondered how Holmes would deal with the transgendered, this is the book.)

Ø  Sherlock Holmes retires to Sussex, keeps bees, marries a nice Jewish girl who is smarter than he is and less than half his age and he’s mentored since she was fifteen in an extremely problematic power dynamic relationship that should repulse me but doesn’t, somehow, because this is the best Sherlock Holmes pastiche out there. Mary should have been a rabbi, but it is 1920, so she learns martial arts and becomes an international detective instead. Guest appearances by Conan Doyle, Kimball O’Hara, T.E. Lawrence, Cole Porter, and the Oxford Comma.

Ø  Nothing mind-expanding here, unless the levels of meta present in a fictional world that is about how the fictional world might not be as fictional as you thought come as a surprise to anyone in the era of tie-in books, films, tv, interactive social media and RPGs.

Ø  If these two geniuses can’t catch the bad guys with their dazzling brilliance, they will happily kick some ass. Adventure takes center stage and the action sequences are especially creative.

Ø  Amusement is afoot.

 Jasper Fforde’s Thursday Next Series

The Eyre Affair

Lost in a Good Book

The Well of Lost Plots

Something Rotten

First Among Sequels

One of Our Thursdays is Missing

The Woman Who Died a Lot

Ø  In a world where Librarians are revered and Shakespeare is more popular than the Beatles, someone has to facilitate the weekly anger-management sessions for the characters of Wuthering Heights, if only to keep them from killing each other before the novel actually ends. That someone is Thursday Next – Literature Cop.

Ø  Mind-bending enough to give Noam Chomsky material for another hundred years.

Ø  Adventure aplenty. Action? Even the punctuation will try to kill you.

Ø  This is a frolicsome look at humorous situations filled with funny people. Pretty much a full house in the laugh department.

 Sir Terry Pratchett’s Discworld Series/City Watch Arc

Guards! Guards!

Men at Arms

Feet of Clay

Jingo

The Fifth Elephant

Night Watch

Thud!

Snuff

Raising Steam

Ø  If this were a game of CLUE, the answer would be Niccolo Machiavelli in Narnia with a Monty Python. Everything you think you know about books with dragons and trolls and dwarves and wizards is expertly ripped to shreds and reassembled as social satire that can save your soul, even if it turns out you don’t really have one. Do not be fooled by the Tolkien chassis – there’s a Vonnegut-class engine at work.

Ø  Caution: Ideas in the Mirror Universe May be Larger Than They Appear

Ø  The City Watch arc has plenty of thrilling action sequences. Some other of the fifty-million Discworld novels have less. Every one of them is nonstop adventure. Most of the adventure, however, takes the form of characters desperately trying to avoid thrilling action sequences.

Ø  Funny? Even though I’ve read every book in the series at least ten times, I still have to make sure I have cold packs on hand in case I laugh so hard I rupture something.

[sunnyskies281]

Coming to you sometime before the end of 2020...

Des and Clive misadventures!

A series of short stories of Des and (bailed out of prison) Clive!

Starring:

Desmond Sycamore/ Descole as Des!

Clive Dove as Clive!

Professor Hershel Layton as the target of most of the pranks

Luke as the dumb yet well meaning voice of reason!

Emmy as Not actually appearing in this fic

Flora as Possibly plot relevant at some time!

And lastly,

Me! As the questionably sane person who’s writing the crackfic.

Get ready for short and probably poorly written mini fics that might include:

ASDFmovie gags

Monty Python Skits

Random ideas

Possibly a parody at one point?

3am nonsense.

So, buckle your seatbelts and all aboard the hype train (that seats like 2 passengers because who am I kidding, nobody’s gonna read this).

Des and Clive misadventures!

Coming soon (Hopefully) to an AO3 near you!

[yonderghostshistories]

True true. Ig in a way, one of the reasons that there are no parodies of the Python Boys themselves is cuz the Boys each have a very unique kind of voice that is quite hard to replicate, y-ya’know what I mean? Like the only Python to get most voice impressions out of ig is John Cleese cuz, again, he’s the more popular and more well known Python of the PB lot.

Imo,

it’s good that there are no parodies of the Python Boys in that we were/are spared of some potentially…uhh…shit parodies of the Pythons.

it’s bad that there are no parodies of the Python Boys in that I would love to hear someone do like a “Python Boys” fan meme sorta video series in a sort of “Solid JJ” kinda style where we follow the fictional Pythonesque misadventures of the Pythons and their shenanigans, and all the 6 Pythons are voiced by 1 person (or at least 3 of each Python is voiced by 2 people, i.e 3 Pythons voiced by 1 person, 3 other Pythons voiced by another person). Or maybe a really cool fandub of a webcomic about the Pythons which could be really fun and kinda cute and wholesome, etc etc.

I’d like to hear your personal thoughts on this @arthur-two-sheds-jackson !!

Is it just me, or is it kinda weird that Monty Python has never been parodied that much in pop culture, or at least not as often.

Now, what I mean by that is that I’m not talking about MP’s sketches and/or famous & well known characters getting parodied in pop culture, no no no, I’m talking about THE PYTHONS THEMSELVES.

Hell I can’t even think of people who can do impressions of the Pythons THEMSELVES (aside from John Cleese cuz ofc he’s the more “well known” member ig)

Like i don’t think even Family Guy itself has made a cutaway gag that was smth like oh idk uhh

“hey Lois, remember the time that I did [X] with the Pythons”

[cut to Peter Griffin hanging out with the Pythons (who are themselves voiced with somewhat decent voice impressions of the Pythons) doing [X] thing]

maybe I’m blanking on some other examples, but tbh the only thing that parodied the Pythons themselves that I actually remember is this one Harry & Paul sketch from a few years ago, as shown below :

(it is very funny sketch tbh ngl)

But even then, the sketch iirc only parodied John Cleese, Michael Palin and Terry Jones. Like it leaves out Eric Idle, Terry Gilliam & Graham Chapman for some reason.

Like the Pythons were like the Beatles of Bizarre Comedy in terms of how influential they both were in their respective fields (The Beatles for Music and The Pythons for Comedy).

I bring this up because UNLIKE the Pythons however, the Beatles themselves have probably been parodied TO DEATH over the centuries/decades like OMG.

Again, this is just my personal thoughts and incase if I am indeed blanking on some examples of the Pythons THEMSELVES getting parodied, do let me know said examples in the comments/tags/reblogs!! I’d much appreciate it fr!!