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foreverrogers · 2 years

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bittersweet

Pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

Summary: peter and his coworker break a couple health codes in the walk-in

Warnings: peter parker is an idiot who does not know how to make coffee or manage his emotions, unprotected sex, the defilement of a walk-in fridge

Words: 3.2k

A/N: for @spidervee 's April for AU's writing party!! cannot lie this one... had made me very hot and bothered and i'm kinda obessessed with it. p.s. if i have wildly underestimated the deadliness of a walk-in fridge please do not tell me

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The first time Peter meets you, you're 15 minutes late for your interview. For his interview, that is, the one you're supposed to be holding in order to figure out whether or not he was qualified to make coffee at your little corner cafe. (Spoiler alert, he was not.)

Peter's been sitting here for 15 minutes, watching the barista at the counter handle the steady flow of patrons solo, trying his best not to bounce his leg under the table so violently it pulls the bolts out of the concrete.

The ring of the entrance bell draws his attention to you, sunglasses slipping down your nose, clad in a black trench coat and thick knit scarf protecting you from the impending New York Winter outside. He can guess it's you by the trenta Starbucks up your holding precariously by the lid, messy scrawl of your name recognisable as who he knew to be the manager of the store.

"You have a visitor," The other barista, known only by her name tag as Gwen, states, doesn't look up from her position behind the coffee machine.

Peter watches you squint before pushing your sunglasses up with two fingers. You make eye contact through the opaque plastic. "Oh, shit." You pull off your glasses as you start towards him, toss them haphazardly into your tote as you hook one boot behind the leg of your chair to pull it back. He moves to stand up, remembers the manners May had taught him, is stopped halfway when you hold up your hand. "Oh, please, you don't need to. I'm so sorry, by the way, I thought this was happening on Monday."

"It, um..." Peter trails off a little, doesn't quite know how to match the energy in front of him, watches you take a long swig from your cup. "It is Monday."

"That, uh, yeah." You sigh heavily, set down your cup and move to shuffle out of your coat. "I'm sorry, it was a rough weekend. Why don't we just take that one again? My name is Y/n, it's great to meet you."

Peter thinks you might only hire him because you feel bad about his interview.

It's either that or literally nobody else applied for the job, because if his resume didn't make it glaringly obvious, Peter Parker had never made a good cup of coffee in his life.

"What'd'ya got?"

You're standing next to him, one leg crossed over the other as you lean against the counter with your hands on your hips and you're grinning— grinning like this is not so secretly your favourite part of the job, seeing the hopeless look on the faces of college students when confronted with an industrial coffee machine.

It doesn't help that the heat hasn't fully kicked in and it's freezing in the store, and the radiating yellow light is a piercing contrast to the early morning darkness he had walked through to get here. That, and Peter had been out patrolling until 2am.

"Literally nothing."

You try and fail to conceal your laugh, push yourself away from the counter to walk towards him. "Ok, you watch first and then try."

Peter definitely watches. He's a little memorized if he's being honest, the sure deftness of your movements, the inexplicable grace of it, has to snap himself out of his trance every time you turn to make sure he's paying attention.

In a matter of minutes, there's a cup of coffee in your hands, perfect foam heart and all. "Got it?"

"Probably not."

You're still smiling, move to pick up the portafilter on the counter. "Give it your best and I'll only judge you a little, promise."

The furthest Peter gets is successfully not dropping the instrument when you pass it to him, turns towards the machine and immediately freezes, eyebrows set in a perpetual confused pinch.

"Okay, sure, hey. It took me like a month to get the hang of this thing, don't stress."

He feels it before he really registers it, the warmth of your hand slipping over his as you guide him towards the counter. You lean over him to reach for a scoop of grounds, arm brushing over his chest and you're so close he can smell you. Not in a creepy way, just in a proximity kind of way, in the way you smell like coffee, but only the sweetness and none of the bitterness, earthy and deep and caramel.

He thinks that this is bad, what's he's signed up for here, with you, with your hands around his and his brain short circuiting at the contact, immediately forgets almost everything you show him because he's too busy trying not to tremble.

It's a situation that teaches him three very important lessons.

Lesson number one: the universe is conspiring against him.

That's the only logical reason that after a week of skirting around you he finds out you're only a year above him at Empire State, and every subsequent Tuesday and Friday commute from work to school is done together.

As in, a 20 minute walk and a subway trip alone, side by side, just the two of you, and there's only so much you can talk about the shittiest customers 6am had to offer before you inevitably have to talk about yourselves. Peter has to know you and work with you, a set of circumstances which only exacerbates the little tug in his chest he feels every time he sees you.

Lesson number two: the universe is downright fucking with him.

It's a slow afternoon, a store front filled to the brim with empty chairs as Gwen tries to walk him through the till for the dozenth time.

"Oh, hey, turn it up!" You're behind them, suddenly, flick your dishcloth at Gwen until she reaches under the counter to grab the TV remote with a groan.

You slot between them, forearms propped against the counter as you look eagerly up into the television where the newest of Spider-Man's late-night antics were being dramatically displayed.

He's never seen you like this, your regular witty, almost aloof exterior waived for the enamoured expression you adopt, eyes wide and mouth hanging in a slight gape, all because of him. It doesn't matter that you don't know it's him— he still counts it, or at least his ego definitely does.

"Y/n has a crush on Spider-Man," Gwen tells him, looks over with a roll of her eyes.

"Shut up, I do not have a crush on Spider-Man." You flick her with the cloth again, don't get in much damage since your eyes are still glued to the screen. "I just don't think he gets enough credit for all the good that he does around here."

Gwen snorts, crosses her arms. "Like you wouldn't try to jump his bones if you ever met him in real life."

It was cruel, the way you glance at him when you turned around like you knew. Like you knew it was him, knew what it would do to him. You look back at Gwen, meet her with a sly smile. "What? Maybe a little seduction is just repayment for always saving the city."

Therein lies lesson number three: the universe is fucking sadistic.

It's only 8pm, but this deep into Winter there's nothing but pitch black beyond the windows of the back room.

You've somehow convinced Peter to help you do stock take— or, rather, you had asked, and it was impossible for him to say no to you. Either way, it's 8pm and it's dark and it's cold, and you're both clad in heavy coats as you stare at the contents of the walk-in fridge, clipboards in hand.

There's a faint thrum of the music you've put on in the background, but otherwise everything is smothered by the blearing of the fans above you, drowns out so much that neither of your hear the scrape of the chair holding open the door until it's too late.

The sudden thud behind you makes you jump.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Peter turns then, follows the line of your slack expression to the see the sealed door of the walk-in. "That's... not good."

You discard your clip board onto one of the shelves, start a frantic pat down of your body until he hears you start to swear under your breath. "Fuck, I left my phone outside. Do you have yours?"

He mimics your movements, runs his hands over his sides and searches every pocket twice before resurfacing, bares his empty hands.

"Fuck." You look between him and the door a couple times, breath clearly picking up with the quickened rise and fall of your chest.

"Gwen'll be in for prep at 4, right?"

You ignore him, start toward the door, try to no avail to slip your fingers between the sturdy rubber seal. "Fuck!"

Peter watches you pace the length of the fridge, hands on your hips, and consciously considers his two options.

He could pry the door open, subsequently`ending up revealing something he's not exactly willing to tell you just yet, or he could stay here, with you, ostensibly trapped in a walk-in together for the next eight hours.

"I guess we're locked in until then."

You turn to him, frown set as you sigh. "Well, at least we're not gonna starve to death." You collapse against the floor, sit with your back firmly against the shelves as you reach for a bag of shredded cheese.

*****

"I spy with my little eye something beginning with... uh... M."

You turn towards him, find your faces only inches apart in this position you've migrated to, legs tucked to your chests as you sit with your arms pressed together. "If it's milk I already did milk like twenty minutes ago."

"It's not milk."

"Is it a type of milk?"

"That's not how I Spy works."

You sigh, puff your cheeks out with it as you scan the contents of the fridge. "Muffins," You say after a moment, point to the low basket of stale baked goods above you.

"You're way too good at this game."

You hum a laugh, smile as you tilt your head in search of your next object. The tilt leans itself a little too easily to resting your head on his shoulder, and you're too cold and too tired to resist the thought.

Peter looks at you, holds his breath as he takes in the slow rythym of your breath and the warm pressure on his shoulder, the light shudder of your jaw against him. You still smell like coffee, the sweet bite of it cutting through the sterile musk of the fridge. "You're cold."

You laugh again, still don't move to pull away. "No shit, it's like 35 degrees in here."

He does it wordlessly, starts to shift underneath you, forces you upright as he shrugs of his coat.

"Don't be ridiculous, Parker."

"Don't worry," He smiles, that wide, bright, genuine smile that you've been reluctant to admit heats up your insides a little. His coat is in his hands, and he slowly drapes it around your shoulders, swallows you up in the heavy material you hug close. It smells like him, like burnt coffee. "I, uh, run hot."

There's that little tug again, deep in his chest as you watch each other, but this time it's not so little, makes him want to lurch forward with a magnetic force so powerful it almost hurts. You gulp, your voice breathy and whisper quiet when you speak next. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Oh, uh- How do I-"

"And you always do that, too," You start, ignore his stumbling and poke him lightly in the cheek where he's since used up vital body heat to flush. "Blush whenever I notice you staring."

"Sorry," He mumbles, dips his head to hide the impossibly deepening hue of his cheeks.

"It's okay," You laugh, and then there's one finger under his chin, the coolness of your skin meeting inexplicable heat of his. You tilt his face back up towards yours. "It's only creepy some of the time."

You don't pull away, even as he's looking you in the eye and smiling lightly and you try to comprehend how one person can look so adorable when they blush. You tell yourself it's the heat.

And there's definitely heat involved, a collision of it when you both lean in at the same time and his mouth is on yours, hot and open and sweet.

Cold hands come up to frame your face and then you're in his lap in a heatbeat, the coat around your shoulders pooling over his shins, arms around his neck and fingers tangling into his hair.

"You're warm," You mumble, slip the words quietly between kisses, makes him smile against you before he's pulling away to look up at you.

"Told you I run hot," He smiles, feels you hum when he leans up to kiss along the line of your jaw.

"I can think of a way we can get a little warmer."

Peter pulls away to look at you, keeps you in place with one hand on your cheek as the other arms wraps firmly around your waist. "You sure?"

"Yes, please," You mutter, breathless, kiss him as your hands move down to work open the button of your jeans.

It seems counterintuitive, to start undressing when you're trapped in the cold. But then again, sharing body heat was good for that sort of thing.

Bare skin meets the harsh cool air, but Peter's never felt anything as hot as your palm pressing against him through his boxers.

You hum again, seemingly satified, press curved lips to his. "It's always the shy ones."

He opens his mouth to ask, is immediately cut off by your hands slipping under the band of his boxers and then you're touching him, makes him gasp into you mouth as you slowly stroke him.

The whining moan he lets out is enough to make you clench around nothing, warmth rushing to your lower half as he bucks into your touch. "God, you're pretty."

"Pretty sure that's-" You're still stroking the length of him, jolts of pleasure running up his spine that make him curl his toes in his shoes and momentarily forget how to speak. "Pretty sure that's my line."

"Both can be true," You smile, and then your hand is gone, leaves him cold and aching as you move to pull aside your panties.

You kneel up, use your free hand to tilt his face up to kiss him and he takes the hint, takes himself in his hand to line up with your entrance as you settle back down.

There's a flood of warmth as you start to sink onto him, the sharing of hot breath as mouths open over the other.

It somehow feels too hot, like he needs to start ripping off the layers still covering his upper half and feel the bare skin of your chest against his.

"How does that feel?" You're looking at him, breathing heavy, eyebrows pinched lightly together, ask for permission before moving.

"Pefect," He breathes, and then he's leaning up, kisses you swollen. "Fuck, you feel perfect."

There's already sweat sticking the material of your sweater to your back as soon as you start moving, slow at first, ease the pace until his hand is slipping from your waist to your hip and encouraging the rock of your body.

It makes your knees ache, cold against the harsh plastic floor, but you can't really think about that when everything else drowns it out, the stretch of him filling you up and the nudge of his cock against your g-spot with every descent and the friction of your bodies.

"God, Pete. Fuck."

His grip on you is tighter now, fingers digging into the flesh of his hips as he starts to meet your movements with his own thrusts.

Your own grip shifts upwards, slips around his throat so you can tilt his head to the side and kiss up his neck and along his jaw, savour the sharper jerks of his hips every time you sink your teeth in to nip at the soft skin.

He feels the rush of warm air against the shell of his ear when he slips his hand between you, presses his thumb to your clit to start rubbing tight circles.

And it could be the cirumstances, the spontaneous flurry of action that's brought you here, or the fact that he's been fantasizing about this moment for months of lonesome late nights, or a steady culmination of everything leading up to this, but Peter can't deny the sudden tightening low in his stomach.

"Gonna cum," He mutters, nudges his nose against your chin as he looks up at you, mouth open and eyebrows knit taut. "Need to cum so bad, y/n, fuck. Feels so fucking good."

The words alone are enough to make you flutter around him, pick up the rocking of your hips as you kiss him hard, lean in to speak with your lips brushing over his. "Want me to tell you to cum inside of me? That what you want, sweetheart? Wanna fill me up?"

"Yes," He whispers, breathless, looks you right in the eye as he asks. "Please- fuck, please let me cum inside you."

The movement of his thumb over your clit is faster now, pushes you closer and closer to the edge until you're so busy breathing in quick, stuttered gasps that finding the words to answer him becomes almost impossible.

"'M right with you, baby. Want you to cum for me."

Everything is sticky and laboured and hot, a pocket of overwhelming heat in the middle of this fridge as Peter stills inside you, warms you from the inside out as you come apart around him, fingers tight in his hair and digging into his shoulder.

You're chests are still heaving, arms tightening around your waist, breathing laughs into sloppy kisses as you lean your forehead against his.

You hardly have time to cool down before there's a sound from somewhere outside, a heavy metallic thud that makes you both widen your eyes and jolt away from each other in a rush to redress.

"You know this is the third-" Gwen stops dead in her tracks, gapes a little at the sight of you and Peter on the floor, frantically buttoning your jeans. "You're both fucking disgusting."

"What are you-" You have to cough a little to clear your throat, shake you head and your shoulders loose to try and regain your composure. "What time is it?"

"It's midnight, I got an alert saying the alarm hadn't been set... I can't believe you two got locked in a fridge and your first instinct was to fuck."

"We, uh-" Peter's the one clearing his throat now, flushes bright red as he looks from you to Gwen. "We played I spy for like... two hours."

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slowly-writing · 4 years

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Whispers

Avengers x Teen!Reader

Word count: 1.8K

Requested by @shady80smusicsingercolor : Avengers x teen!reader Where the reader is a cheerleader at the high school that Peter goes to, reader was during school hours when the teen heard the rest of the squad talking crap about them,teen gets upset,and after teen decided to skip practice,when they arrive to the avengers tower,Steve was the first one to notice but yet haven't notice the sadness in the reader face,but then realized the teen should be in practice,Steve now notices the teen face, calls for the team,and team comfort her

A/N: this was requested so long ago (literally April 10th), and I’m so sorry it took me so long. Thank you for your patients!

“Bye Pete, I’ll see you back home. I’ve got practice after school,” you remind the boy, waving as you turn the corner out of the cafeteria. You always left lunch a little early. Your next class was across the school and you really didn’t like to be late. So that’s what brought you here, alone and hearing voices ahead of you. Normally you wouldn’t think much of it, being in a school there’s constantly someone somewhere, talking about something. But then you heard your name.

You paused creeping close to the corner, but not quite rounding it. Listening to the voices you recognized as your teammates.

“What’s the deal with y/n and Peter? She’s always with him...I wonder if they’re dating,” Betty whispers to the group you can’t quite see.

“They can’t be. She’s way too good for Parker. It’s just a charity thing. Cause she lives with the avengers and he works there or whatever. She probably pities him,” Brad counters and you shrink further in on yourself.

“She’s kind of a weirdo too though. With that whole mysterious backstory and weird accent she tries to hide. Where’s she from? And how did she end up at the avengers tower?” Liz joins in and your frown deepens.

Did they really think you were shallow enough to think you were better than Peter? Just because he wasn’t on the football team? If only they knew how awesome he really was. And why did they suddenly want to know everything about you? They never asked before and you don’t really want to unpack their analysis of your home life anyways. That was none of their business.

You silently turn around, taking the long way to class. You really don’t want to see any of them right now.

xxxxx

When the final bell rang you sat at your desk, debating whether you could face practice. They don’t know you heard them gossiping, and it hurts more that they said it all behind your back, so you shake your head sending a quick text off to your coach, claiming you have a migraine, and start walking home.

You kept running over the things they had said. They really thought Peter was lame? After everything, you’d thought they’d gotten to know him. He’s the coolest person you’ve met, even without the whole spiderman thing. He was sweet and super passionate about the things he enjoyed. He was smarter than you could ever hope to be, but you never minded listening to him in the lab as he rambled about the new web shooters he was working on. You think he’s amazing, and you know that’s more than your massive crush talking.

Then there was the fact that they thought you were hiding things. It’s not like your living situation was a secret, but it wasn’t something you enjoyed talking about. You were born in Sokovia and lived there with your parents until the attack with Ultron happened. Most of that day is a blur, a mix of confusion, chaos, and repressed memories. But you know Steve got you out, but your parents were lost in the tragedy.

Steve and the other avengers felt some sort of responsibility to you. You’re still not quite sure why, but you know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. A lot of people from your hometown came out of it with nothing, and the team is always sure to help when they can, but you’re grateful for your new life and all that it’s given you.

You’re so lost in thought you don’t even register that you’re almost home until you reach the front door of the tower. You smile weakly at the security guard and make your way to the elevator, silently praying nobody is home. As the doors open you see your prayers haven’t been answered, but the silver lining is Peter’s not there yet. Maybe Steve will forget you have practice today.

“Hey, kiddo. Didn’t you have practice after school?” shit.

“Uh yeah...it umm. Got cancelled. Last minute...gardening emergency. They had to close the field for the day,” you wince and Steve raises an eyebrow. “I gotta go. Homework.”

With that lame excuse you scramble to your room, closing the door behind you and flopping face down on the bed.

xxxxx

“Hey, Peter. Did y/n seem off to you today? She seemed upset when she got home from school,” Steve asks Peter in the lab, Peter furrowing his brow before responding.

“No, not that I noticed, but I haven’t seen her since lunch. Maybe practice was rough, I know they’re getting ready for that competition in a few weeks,” Peter says softly, trying to figure out how to help you.

“No, practice was cancelled. They closed the field,” Steve’s words cause Peter’s head to snap up.

“No they didn’t. I saw them practicing after school. The soccer team was on the field too. I didn’t look too close because y/n says it’s embarrassing when I watch practices, but I know it happened,” Peter stands, setting his tools aside, “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

“I’ll come with you,” Steve follows him out of the lab, and not five minutes later, there’s a knock on your door.

“Coming,” you yell, only to immediately shrink back after opening the door. One look at their faces and you know they’ve caught you in your lie, “hey.”

“I think we need to talk,” Steve says in his captain voice and you let out a sigh, opening the door enough for them to follow you into the room.

“Why did you skip practice?” Peter’s head is tilting to the side like a confused puppy, and you have to remind yourself that this is a serious conversation, not a time to fawn over how cute he is.

“I just-”

“And don’t try to lie again,” Steve cuts you off. The man really knows you too well.

“You know how in movies and TV shows cheerleaders are always such jerks?” They both silently nod, “and how when I moved here I tried really hard to fit in so they’d be nice to me?” two more nods. “I thought it worked but it turns out that in real life they just say the mean things behind your back when they think you aren’t listening.”

“What’d they say?” Steve’s voice is softer now, he’s always been afraid of you having problems at school. He knows his fair share about bullying, and knows kids will always attack anything different. Your accent may have faded over the years, but it’s still clear that you’re not from here and you’re not quite used to the New York lifestyle. Back home everything was smaller, but you’re always excited to learn about your new home. It’s rare to see you without a smile on your face and he always hoped your naive compassion would save you.

“They were talking about how weird it was that I kept secrets about why I lived here and…” you trail off, looking at Peter. He looks ready to go to war for you, and you don’t want to admit the rest out loud, “that I must only hang out with Peter out of pity. But it's not true! Sometimes I think it’s the other way around. You’re so sweet and smart that sometimes I think the only reason you spend time with me is because you feel bad for me. The freaky kid from another country with no family. I try to fit in a school, so I don’t talk about my home, and I’ve learned to talk like they do. But no matter what I do, I still stick out. Maybe it’d be easier for you if we weren’t friends at all.”

By the time you finish your eyes are firmly locked on your hands in your lap, tears building up in your eyes.

“That’s not true,” Peter says firmly, in a rare show of anger. For a moment you think he’s mad at you, until he continues and you see the real object of his anger. “I don't hang out with you because I pity you, or I think I have to. I hang out with you because I like you for who you are. You make me feel normal. Not like the geeky kid at school everyone likes to tease, or the hero the city looks to for help. With you I’m just Peter. You listen to me ramble about tech I know you couldn’t care less about and you tell me about cheerleading moves that are so foreign to me they may as well be in a different language, but it doesn’t matter. We’re there for each other, it’s what we do. And I wish I could’ve been there for you this time. I know what it’s like to feel like you have to keep secrets but you don’t have to do that with me.”

You let his words sink in, letting him brush away the tears that have made their way down your cheeks before Steve speaks.

“And you have a family. I know you lost yours in Sokovia and I can’t even imagine that pain, but you’re not alone. You have all of us and any one of us will be here to listen to you, or take your mind off of it for a bit. What happened to you was traumatic, you lost your whole life and it’s okay not to want the kids at school knowing that. But you don’t have to forget where you came from to fit in. Wanda makes food from Sokovia on Peitro’s birthday every year and I know she still keeps her journal in Russian. You’re allowed to miss your home, y/n. It doesn’t make you wierd, or ungrateful. It makes you human,” Steve wraps his arm around your shoulder and you lean into his side.

“I do like it here, but it’s just so hard sometimes,” you admit softly.

“We know it is, but you’re not alone,” Peter tells you and you smile up at him, gently taking his hand in your own.

“Now, I think you need a fun, relaxing night with no responsibilities. What do you say to a movie night. We’ll watch whatever you want,” Steve proposes and your smile widens as you nod. “Then it’s settled. I’ll go gather the troops, and you two come join us whenever you’re ready.”

It’s silent for a few moments after he leaves and you soon realize you’re still holding Peter’s hand. You go to pull away but his grip is firm. His other hand on your chin, drawing your eyes to his. “I mean it you know. I like you, as more than just a friend.”

“You do?” your voice is barely above a whisper, but there’s a happiness in your eyes you can’t hide and Peter’s whole face lights up.

“Yes really. I have for a while now, I just never knew how to tell you. I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way.”

“I do,” the words tumble out of your mouth before he’s even done speaking, but he’s smiling, and so are you. For now it all feels right as he gently presses his lips to yours. The whispers in the hallways don’t matter, because you have a family, and it seems you may have a boyfriend now too.

Tag list: @rvgrsbrns @rororo06 @prizmix-and-friends @worlds-in-words @im-salt-but-not-salty @5aftermidnight @riotmaximoff @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @stop-drop-and-drumroll

#Peter Parker x reader #steve rogers x reader #Steve rogers x teen!reader #Cheerleader!reader #marvel #marvel reader insert #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #avengers x teen!reader #avengers reader insert #Whispers

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irondad-creator-awards · 3 years

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Nominations List (Updated)

This will be the final update before the nominatons have closed, but only a few nominations are missing now. I’d do it sooner, but it takes days each time and so wouldn’t be finished in time anyway.

Remember: Voting begins Saturday April 10th. The link to the form will be posted here.

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More Peril In Thine Eye by Iron—Spider

Mr. Parker Declined To Comment by Apisdn

Pain Will Always Come Back To Haunt You by Kevy_Grayce

Permanence by Theexhaustedalchemist

Petey And The Hermit by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Pieces Of Echoes by Geekymoviemom

Proof Spiderman Loves Clickbait by Mauvera

Rise From The Ashes; Just To See You Again by Mintstream

Silent Screams And Surprising Saviors by Normalisoverrated

Sins Of The Fathers by Geekymoviemom

Spider-Man: Avengers (And Midtown High) React by Gayplums

Stop, Look, Listen by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

The Definition Of Family by Queen (Ramble)

The End Of Infinity by Friendlyneighborhoodfangirls

The Haunted by Emily_F6

The Lost And Forgotten by Lizcraz

The Rattle Of Their Hearts by Iron_Spider

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle

Transitions by Neuropsych

Turn Back The Clock (And I'll Try Again In The Morning) by Madasthesea

We Accept The Love We Think We Deserve by Polaroid15

We Will Foresee Obstacles by Blackwatchandromeda (Avenris)

We're Gonna Have To Do This Together by edibna,

3. THE ONE-SHOT THAT THAT HAD YOU HOOKED — Some writers can cram more greatness into less words than a 100k monster. What’s the one-shot that did it for you?

5 Times Peter Sleepwalked And The 1 Time He Pretended He Did by Losingmymindtonight

A Different Kind Of Surprise by Winterturtle

A Little Gray Area (Where I Can Keep You Safe) by Divineprojectzero

A Lot Can Happen In Approximately Two Years by Soverysesual

Adventures In Babysitting by Victori

Blessed Be The Boys Time Can’t Capture by Killerqueenwrites

Born Anew From Dust And Blood by Superherotiger

Countless Ways To Say I Love You by Hopeless_Hope

Disappearing Bruises by Happyjuicyfruit

Everything I Wanna Say About You Is More Than Enough To Write A Novel by Magnetichearts

Familiar Faces by Happyaspie

Fitting In (Tiny Spaces) by Aloneintherain

For Good by Madelinedear

Give Hime The Life, That I Couldn’t Give You by Superherotiger

Guess How Much I Love You by Jack_Hunter

Hear You Me by Starryknight09

I Can Hold The Weight Of Worlds (If That's What You Need) by Bluesweatshirt

I Did It All For You (So I Can’t Lose You Now) by Another_Introvert

I Didn’t Ask To Be In This Family by Webtrinsic

I Have A Nephew! by Zimnokurw

I Just Wanted To Protect You by Sunflowerspideyy

I Promise I'll Do Better by 221broadwayiron

I Promise You Kid, You're Safe Now by Bstarship

I Will Soften Every Edge by Losingmymindtonight

In My Heart There Was A Kind Of Fighting by Iron_Spider

It’s The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year by Freyaatterton

Keeping Watch by Oreoluvr13

Let Sleeping Heroes Lie by Attackonomelas

Move Back Home Forever by Chasingflower

New Dream by Writerllofllworlds

Of Flying And Falling by Polaroid15,

Parallels by Kianisabitch

Peter's Ghost And One (1) Obnoxious Orange Stone by Bean_Reads_Fanic

Petey And The Hermit by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Physics Class by Fictionalworldsareexquisite

Place In Your Heart by Potrix

Quantum Mechanics 5010 by Pipgraham

Quaranteens by Blueh

Someone To Want Me by Fritokays

Something Here Will Eventually Have To Explode by Madasthesea

The Case Of The Missing Museum Bea-Storer by Ironmum

The Lightning Strike by Covo728

The Primary Reason Tony Stark Would Throw Down With An Anti-Vaxxer In The Street by Caraminha

The World Is Not Kind by Trickster88

There’s A Fine, Fine Line by Faerialchemist

Til The Fight Is Done by Jinxquickfoot

To Be Like You by Polaroid15

Unauthorized Field Trip by Duskblue

Voices Carry by Ferretshark

Waste Not, Want Not by by Mttraspberrypie

What Do I Look Like To You, A Clearance Rack? by Peterstank

What You're Feeling Is Probably Normal by Finny3120

You Got Lost While Getting Older by Kuragay

4. THE BEST THINGS COME IN SMALL PACKAGES — A drabble (under 1k) can pack in all the goodness that you need in a coffee break read. What’s that story for you?

A Scene In Space by An_Odd_Idea

Asthmatic Spider by by Inkinmyheartandonthepage

Buttering Me Up by Iron_Spider

Cramps by Thisrosehasanothername

Cuddle Bug by Marvelous_Writer

Food At Home by Aimaim94

I Feel A Filth In My Bones (Wash Off My Hands Til It's Gone) by Madasthesea

Insomniacs In The Dark by Littlemissagrifina

Irondad Cuddles by Lilacsoulw

Nice To Meet You, Peter by Loubuttons

Nothing Like A Fresh Cup Of Humiliation In The Morning by Madasthesea

Of Christmas Lights And Car Chases by Marvelous_Writer

Of Masks And Memories by Littlemissagrafina

Outsider by Pinkeastereggs

Place In Your Heart by Potrix

Quentin Knows Best by Undercover_Royalty

S.O.S. (Somehow Obtained Son) by Madasthesea

Safety Net by Baloobird

You’re Always My Kid by Cyn_Writes

Let The Mind Games Begin Ironmum

Outsider by Pinkeastereggs

F.R.I.D.A.Y, When Did I Get A Son by Iwritesometimes (Orphan_Account)

Sleeping At Last by Webtrinsic

I Don’t Want To Rule My Own Country, I Just Want To Pass 10th Grade by Andromath

Patterns by Nokurde

The Dangers Of Sleeping On The Upside Of The Bed by Honorable_Mention

Dressing Up As A Hero by Madam_Sunflower

Carry Me by Shitforbrains

Spider Cooties by The_Forgotten_Nobody

Home Is Where The Heart Is by Wentrinsic

5. THE BIODAD THAT TOUCHED YOUR HEART — Some of the greatest stories flip canon and make Tony Peter’s biological father. Be it baby Peter taking his first steps or Tony dealing with the fact his son is following in his superhero footsteps as Spider-Man, which is the one you loved most of all?

A Gift Of Blood by Theeclecticsoul

An Abstract Concept by Iron-Spider

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Blood And Iron by Aliciamirza

Built From Scraps by Peter Stank

Congratulations, It's A Boy by Capiocapi

Happy Birthday - And Merry Christmas by Thequeenofwhump

Happy Hogan Never Forgets A Face by Jen27ny

Hardest Lessons (Softest Results) by Mainstreamelectricalparade

I Love You More Than Anything by Iron_Spider

I Told You To Be Better(And You Became The Best) by Haru_K

If They Knew All About You by Mshermia

Little Demons Like To Play by Raccooncati

My Little Bambino by Maicaly

Return To Me, The One I Love So Endlessly by Superherotiger

Slow Down, Start Again From The Beginning by Cassiecasyl

So Many Things Left To Say (Series) by Sarcasmismyweapon

Sound Logic by Aytheria

Spiderson by Emily_F6

Stars, Hide Your Fires by Yellowdistress.

The Gift by Uskblue

The Less Than Secret Life by Yellowdistress

The One Where Peter Is Related To Tony by Marvel_Cinematic_Universe_Fan

The Ties That Bind Us by Winterturtle

They Say Boys Don't Cry (But Your Dad Has Shed A Lot Of Tears) by Tempestaurora

Tomorrow And Tomorrow by Yellowdistress

What We Are (Series) by Yellowdistress

What’s In A Name? by Geekymoviemom

Twist Of Fate by Karenninaaa

I Hold You Closer Than I Ever Knew I Could Do by Yourgaydad

Hydra’s Not A Home (Series) by Tempestaurora

Premature Love by by Seeingthoughtsthroughwords

Move Back Home Forever by Chasingflower

Rest Your Head Close To My Heart, Never To Part (Baby Of Mine) by 14million_Constellations

Let Me Pave The Path Until You Come Back (Series) by Elliahrose

Coming Home by by Inkinmyheartandonthepage

Made Of Iron Born Of Fire (Series) by Savvysass And Imgoingtocrash

Tony Stark Vs. Babies "R" Us by Mainstreamelectricalparade

Rest your head close to my heart, never to part (baby of mine) by 14million_constellations

6. THE ONE WITH THE FIELD TRIP — The field trip trope is one of the most popular in the fandom. What’s the story that you think pulls all the elements together to make it great?

A Different Take by Cyberwolfwrites

Academic Commitment by Underoosstark

Bullies, Interns, And Secret Things by Thecuriousclockwork

Constant Internal [Spider] Screaming: Semi-Connected Scenes From A Graduating Senior’s Life by Isadancurtisproduction

Everyday Superhero by Stoneage_Woman

Field Trip by Inkinmyheartandonthepage

Field Trip Flip by Happyaspie

From Your Perspective, The World Is Flat by Blueh

I Don’t Want To Talk About It Anymore by Bees_And_Wasps

It's Above My Clearance Level by Tsk

Living With Superheros? Not Cool by Groot_Is_God

Mr Stark Enough For You? (Another Field Trip Fic Bcs We Dont Have Enough) by Livinei

Neon Liar (Hiding In Plain Sight) by Isadancurtisproduction

No Reason To Go by Pokegeek151

One Fall Weekend by Marvelous_Writer

Patterns by Nokurde

Peter-Man - Oh, F*Ck - I Mean Spider-Man by Orphan_Account

Tower Of Donuts And Doubts by Platinumdollz

Who Is He? by Velarisstars

You're What? by Shewritesall

It's Above My Clearance Level by tsk

Peter and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Field Trip by cazei

Field Trip to Home, Joy by Every_Fandom_Trash

The Field Trip: Tony and Peter Reunion Edition by moreofareaderthanawriter

Ned Leeds and the Best Field Trip Ever by AriPotter

7. THE TIME AFTER TIME ONE — There’s some great time travel stories out there, but which is your favorite?

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Breathe, Then Repeat by Thesecretuchiha

Every Beautiful Lie (Always Has An Ugly Truth) by Da_Moose

Hero by Lady_Oneder

I Have Time by Peterparkr

I’ve Learned To Lose You by Peterparkr

It’s Me, Remember? by Nanixerka

Oh, Take Me Back To The Start by Theregularwriter

Peter And Morgan's 40-Year-Long-Day by Thismarvelouslife

The End Is Just A New Beginning by Tytach

The Other Mr. Stark by Jelly_Pies

The Time Traveler’s Mentor by Iamirondad

Time To Pretend by Rowan_M

Turn Back The Clock (And I'll Try Again In The Morning) by Madasthesea

We Will Foresee Obstacles by Blackwatchandromeda (Avenris)

Whatever It Takes by Starryknight09

8. THE ONE WITH ALL THE OWIES — Another massively popular Irondad trope is hurt/comfort, and there’s some amazing stuff out there. Which is the one that you love most of all?

A Beautiful Lie by Rayrox360

A Different Take by Cyberwolfwrites

A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99

A Scare In The Stark Household by Marvelous_Writer

Air I Breathe by Heartofcathedrals

Apartment 43B by Ironfamjam

Atlas by Polaroid15

Be Weak by Fluencca

Broken by My Own Hand (Put Back Together by Yours) by Gwenoakley

Built From Scraps by Peterstank

But What Is Grief? by Odd_1

Caught In A Lie by Krystalpomme

Contentiously Ambiable by Ktoon

Cycle Through by Ambivalentangst

Danger Pizza by Alice_In_Ink

Darkness Will Be Rewritten by Marveal

Dude, Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You? by First_Page

Five Times Peter Said "Sorry" To Tony Stark by Agentnerd

Follow The North Star Home by Fallingforbees

Foolish, Fragile Spine by Plnkblue

For Want Of A Dad (In Need Of A Son) by Ghostinthebau

Funeral by Mjscorner

Held On As Tightly As You Held On To Me by Itsreallylaterightnow & Killerqueenwrites

Lazarus, Come Forth by by Iron_Spider

More Peril In Thine Eye by Iron—Spider

Of Flying And Falling by Polaroid15

Outnumbered by Heartofcathedrals

Peaches by Peterparkr

Peppermint Allergy by Carpediem369

Peter's Ghost And One (1) Obnoxious Orange Stone by Bean_Reads_Fanic

Project Pride by Thesleepingowl

Seeing Without Sound by Astronomical_Alien

Shelter by Unluckyolive

Sometimes It’s Easier To Just Swim Down by Mjscorner

Stab Me In The Back (I'll Catch You From Behind) by Lansfics7

Statistically Speaking by Foolscapper

Stop, Look, Listen by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

Stuck by Jelly-Pies

The Adventures Of Spidy-Son And Iron-Dad (Series) by Eva7673

The Past Is Knocking On My Door by Maicaly

The Room Where It Happens by Notapartytrick

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle

The World Is Not Kind by Trickster88

Thirteen Minutes by Solstice

Wandering Child (So Lost, So Helpless) by Almond_Blossoms

We All Chase After A Few Dying Stars by Losingmymindtonight

What I Have, I Give To You by Aatticsaltt

What If There Is No Tomorrow? by Iron_Spider

When My Body Won't Hold Me Anymore (Where Will I Go) by Madasthesea

You Better Watch Out by Ciaconnaa

You’ll Always Get There First by Crowkag

Your Heart Changed (Mine Stayed The Same) by Loisselina

9. THE ONE THAT HURTS SO GOOD — We all like a bit of angst sometimes, so what’s the story that you wanted to hide from but you had to keep reading to get to the happy ending?

... And When You Can’t Crawl ... by Jolinarjackson & Shoyzzart

5 Times Tony Forgot Peter Was Just A Kid by Parkrstark

A Beautiful Lie by Rayrox360

A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99

Built From Scraps by Peterstank

Caught In A Lie by Krystalpomme

Cycle Through by Ambivalentangst

Dear God by Krystalpomme

Don't Worry About Me by Chvotic

Ever In Your Favor by Iron_Spider

Fifteen Years In The Making by Potts89

Goodbye Mr. Stark, Thanks For Trying by Jelly-Pies

Held On As Tightly As You Held On To Me by Itsreallylaterightnow & Killerqueenwrites

I Need You (To Be Free) by Marveal

I Promise I'll Do Better by 221broadwayiron

I Want Go by Chvotic

I Will Carry You (Always) by Thestarvingwriter

If They Knew All About You by Mshermia

If You Can't Catch A Breath (You Can Take The Oxygen Straight Out Of My Own Chest) by Losingmymindtonight

If You Listen You Can Hear The Ibis by Yellowdistress

Inevitable by Annie_Walker

Its Always The Little Things by Uncertainty_Principle

Jealous? by Chvotic

Let's Get On With Living (While We Can) by Almond_Blossoms

Love Leaves A Memory No-One Can Steal by Ironmum

May Parker's Complete Guide On How To Raise Your Spiderling by Embarrassing_Myself

More Peril In Thine Eye by Iron_Spider

Not So Friendly by Ramble_On

Oceans (Where Feet May Fail) by Myglassesaredirty

Of Drizzly Skies And Saltwater Taffy by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Of Flying And Falling by Polaroid15

Peter's Ghost And One (1) Obnoxious Orange Stone by The-Reverse-Mermaid

Please, Understand by Jipseebree

Protect by Watermeloness

Reviving Peter Parker by Yellowdistress

Stab Me In The Back (I'll Catch You From Behind) by Lansfics7

Standing On My Own Two Feet by Minigigi

Stop, Look, Listen by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

Stuck by Jelly-Pies

Sunlight by Ardenskyeholmes221

The Art Of Losing by Fluencca

The Missing 92 Days by Yellowdistress

The Room Where It Happens by Notapartytrick

The World Is Wide (But I Feel So Small) by Buckets_Of_Stars

Thunder And Attrition by Magniloquentchanteuse

Turn Back The Clock (And I’ll Try Again In The Morning) by Madasthesea

We Will Find Our Way Through The Dark by Ashleyparker2815

What You Were Then I Am Today (Series) by Madasthesea

When My Body Won't Hold Me Anymore (Where Will I Go) by Madasthesea

When Trauma Comes Knocking by Kevy_Grayce

10. THE ONE THAT SOOTHES THE PAIN — What’s The Story That You Go To When You Need A Pick-Me-Up After The Angst?

5 Times A Spider-Baby Got Dad Smooched by Buckets_Of_Stars

5 Times Peter Made Tony Laugh Out Loud by Grilledcheesing

5 Times Tony Calls Peter Baby by Madasthesea

5 Times Tony Stark Protected Penny Parker by Emily_F6

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Bedside Stories by Wildwaveswhist

Bitch Better Have My Money by Neicy286

Career Day: A Short Story by Shewritesall

Congratulations, It's A Boy Capiocapi

Cuddle Bug by Marvelous_Writer

Early Childhood Education by Thedisneyoutsider

Five Times Peter And Tony Chaotically Cleaned by Ironmum

For Want Of A Dad (In Need Of A Son) by Ghostinthebau

Hardest Lessons (Softest Results) by Mainstreamelectricalparade

I Can Hold The Weight Of The Worlds (If That's What You Need) by Bluesweatshirt

Instant Kill Mode by Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

It's My Party And I'll Bite If I Want To by Whumphoarder

Leave Me Where I Am (I'm Only Sleeping) by Hopeless_Hope

Macho Macho Man by Iron_Spider

My Boy by Thisisnotourlasthunt

No More Lonely by Shewritesall

Peter Revs His Engine by Punkybunny

Petey And The Hermit by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Research And Disaster by Blueh

Storm by Parkerxheart

That's How You And I Will by by Frostysunflowers

The Reinvention Of Tony Stark by Losingmymindtonight

The Road So Far by Nicolemoon8

The Sun's Starting To Rise (These Are Beautiful Times by Jelly-Pies

Titan's Lullaby by Starstepper

What You're Feeling Is Probably Normal by Finny3120

Whatever It Takes by Starryknight90

Where You Never Would Have Looked by Jwriter819

You And Me Lying On The Tile Floor (Trying To Keep Cool) by Madasthesea

11. THE ONE WITHOUT A HOME TO GO TO — There’s some wonderful homeless Peter stories out there, so which is the one you were blown away by?

A Difference In Husbandry by Happy_Cloud

After The Landslide by Freyaatterton

Distracted by A Dime by Happyaspie

Hope Is The Strongest Power by Sarayin

I Told You I Had Issues by Bergen

I’m Lost (I Feel So Very Found) by Cold_Nights_Summer_Days

In The End by Annie_Walker

Is It Too Much To Ask For Home That Lasts? Ft. Peter Parker by Wakandaforever2357

Living With Superheroes? Not Cool by Groot_Is_God

Make Way For Tomorrow by Hopeless_Hope

One Step Unto The Lonely Road (Has Scarred Me For Life) by Hopeless_Hope

Paradise by Last_Of_Her_Kind

Reintroducing Hope by Fernandidilly_Yo

The Art Of Publicity by Xmypandabear

The Little Things (That I Miss) by Da_Moose

The Lost And Forgotten by Litcraz

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle

Thunder And Attrition by Magniloquentchanteuse

To Find A Home (Series) by Aceofstars16

Unexpected (Everything I Never Knew I Wanted) by Moonchild2593

Unexpected Finds by Snarkymuch

Unwanted by Agib

12. THE ONE THAT’S A WHOLE NEW WORLD — There’s lots of imaginative AUs in Irondad fic. Whether it’s Steve and Tony as baseball players or Pepper being Peter’s mom, which one is your number one?

A Beautiful Lie by Rayrox360

A Guardian Among Us by Superherotiger

A Just An Honorable Hand by Friendlyneighborhoodirondad

A Little Monument Of Stones by Yellowdistress

A Long Way Forward by Rxcrcfllptrs

A Soul's Best Friend by Superherotiger

Ain't My Blood; Still My Boys by Parkrstark

And The Band Played On by Bobee

Archetype by Bean_Reads_Fanfic

Blood On My Hands (Beast In My Heart) by Baloobird & Buckets_Of_Stars

Can’t Erase What I Wrote In Ink (Tell Me How Can I Change The Story) by Littlemissagrafina

Dear Fellow Traveler (Series) by Superherotiger

Ever In Your Favor by Iron_Spider

Have Patience, A Quick Wit, And A Gentle Heart by Ironfamjam

I Battle My Jerk Step-Dad by Andromath

I Will Carry You (Always) by Thestarvingwriter

In A Galaxy Far, Far Away (Series) by Madasthesea

It’s A New Life But Always The Same Love by Wisterispidey

Moulded Mind by Wingswithoutstrings

Never Tear Us Apart by Imeanthatsprettysnazzy

No Matter What (You Keep Finding Something To Fight For) by Rejectedmarvel

No Matter Where You Are, I'll Be There For You by X_Writingn_X

Nothing Left To Lose by Notapartytrick

Oh, Bite Me by Nanixerka

Once Upon A Reality by Bean_Reads_Fanfic

Only For A Little While by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Petey And The Hermit by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Pilot by Cold_Nights_Summer_Days

Quantum Mechanics 5010 by Pipgraham

Return To Me, The One I Love So Endlessly by Superherotiger

Sea Spider by Bean_Reads_Fanfic

Spidey Tot by Kevy_Grayce

The Boy Who Would Be King by Writerreadsstuff

The Day Peter’s Name Finished With Stark by Skyrocket25

The Phoenix Project by Geekymoviemom

The Will Of The Force by Madasthesea

Though Everything Is A Miracle by Overtures

To Continue Being by Censored

Tony Built A Son (Series) by Footloose_Poets

Until It Disappeared From Me by Ashleyparker2815

Unto The Breach by Melissabosquez

What If We Never Were? by Ladylangst

What Occurred In Raychester Castle by Fictionart

What We Grow To Be by Killerqueenwrites

When I Am On Your Shoulders by Ladyblackwater

Where Life Begins And Love Never Ends by Kitkatwinchester

You Got Lost While Getting Older by Kuragay

You Mispronounced Spider by Lliblo

13. THE TWEAKING THE SETTINGS ONE — There’s things we all wish we could change in canon — *cough* Endgame *cough* — so which canon divergence does it for you?

5 Times Peter Made Tony Laugh Out Loud By Grilledcheesing

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It By Savana_Marlark

Beautiful Boy By Emily_Davison

Before, After, And Beyond By Mainstreamelectricalparade

Bittersweet By Kevy_Grayce

Breathe Again By Gwenoakley

Built From Scraps By Peterstank

Dear Mr. Fantasy By Iron_Spider

Exploding Head Syndrome By Foolscapper

Found Family By Thedisneyoutsider

Home By Patrochilles_Trash

I Did It All For You (So I Can’t Lose You Now) By Another_Introvert

I Will Restore All That Was Broken By Killerqueenwrites

I’ll Make This Feel Like Home By Ashleyparker2815

Invulnerable By Imgoingtocrash

Keeping Watch By Oreoluvr13

Like You'd Know How It Works By Mshermia

M&M Paradise (Series) By Galaxythreads

May Parker's Complete Guide On How To Raise Your Spiderling By Embarrassing_Myself

Moulded Minds By Wingswithstrings

One In A Million By Inkinmyheartandonthepage

One Thing I’ll Never Know (Is How You Could Be A Ghost) By Gwenoakley

Peter's Ghost And One (1) Obnoxious Orange Stone By Bean_Reads_Fanfic

Pieces Of Echoes By Geekymoviemom

Stop, Look, Listen By Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

The Battle By Oblossom

The Burning In My Bones By Happyjuicyfruit

The End Of Infinity By Friendlyneighborhoodfangirls

The More You Say, The Less I Know By Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

The Rattle Of Their Hearts By Iron_Spider

The Returned By Nicolemoon8

The Thrill Of Hope By Chasingflower

Titan's Lullaby By Starstepper

Up Came The Sun (Series) By Whimsicalethnographies

We Got Lucky By The_Muses_Summer_House

We Will Foresee Obstacles By Blackwatchandromeda (Avenris)

What If: Peter Had Been Injured In The Ferry Scene By Wolf5bane

What Makes A Family By Doctornineandthreequarters

What Was Missing Was You By Happyaspie

What Were The Words I Meant To Say Before You Left By Madasthesea

Whatever It Takes By Starryknight09

When Peter Forgot What Day It Was By Goldenambedo

Where He Belongs By Asherkoyal

14. THE ONE YOU GO BACK TO AGAIN AND AGAIN — Some fics deserve a re-read or ten. What’s the story you go find yourself going back to?

5 Times Peter Fell, And Tony Caught Him. And The 1 Time Tony Didn’t By Eva7673

A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood By Ambivalentangst

A Guardian Among Us By Superherotiger

A Parent Apparent By Happyaspie

Age Regression Was Impossible... Right? By Chvotic

All The Devils Are Here By Yellowdistress

Am I Just A Shadow You Drew By Ironxprince

Apartment 43B By Ironfamjam

Archetype By Bean_Reads_Fanfic,

Avengers Vandal By Awesomesockes & Whumphoarder

Baby's Firsts By Mainstreamelectricalparade

Back To Bed By Eccentric_Artist_221b

Beautiful Boy By Emily_Davison

Built From Scraps By Peterstank

Dreams Don’t Scare You (They Ain’t Big Enough) By Jumpfall

Ever In Your Favor By Iron—Spider

Family Is More Than Blood (It Is Light) By Moonchild2593

For Want Of A Dad (In Need Of A Son) By Ghostinthebau

Ghost Of Christmas Past By Ciaconnaa

Golden Boy By Sticksandinfinitystones

I Just Wanted To Protect You By Sunflowerspideyy

If They Knew All About You By Mshermia

I'm At One By Patrochilles_Trash

Into A White And Soundless Place By Weatheredlaw

Kangaroo Care By Tonystarkissist

Keeping Company By Whumphoarder And Xxx_Cat_Xxx

Keeping Watch By Oreoluvr13

Lean On Me By Parkerxheart

Let This Moment Be The First Chapter By Ephemeralstark

Moulded Minds By Wingswithoutstrings

Move Back Home Forever By Chasingflower

Mr. Misunderstood By Parkrstark

My Boy By Thisisnotourlasthunt

Never Gonna Let You Down By Emily_F6

Patient #2252 By Thesoulofstrawberry

Play By Losingmymindtonight

Reviving A Spiderling By Eccentric_Artist_221b

Rules Are Made To Be Broken By Ironmum

Sins Of The Fathers By Geekymoviemom

Spider-Man: Avengers (And Midtown High) React By Gayplums

Superheroes Get Scared, Too By Little_But_Mighty

The Darkest Hour Is Just Before The Dawn By Starryknight09

The Lost And Forgotten By Litcraz

The One Where Peter Is Bucky’s Weakness By Jinxquickfoot

The Rise And Fall Of A Spider By Spidersoning

The Spider-Man Conspiracy By Tempestaurora

The Stars The Moon They Have All Been Blown Out (You Left Me In The Dark) By Madasthesea

The Third Option By Uncertainty_Principle

The World Is Not Kind By Trickster88

Webcams And Webshooters (Series) By Losingmymindtonight

What You Were Then I Am Today (Series) By Madasthesea

With Great Care By Giggles96

15. THE SERIES THAT SWEPT YOU AWAY — Some of us love to go on a long ride with a series, so which is the world of multiple stories that you binged or waited anxiously for each update?

A Hero's Journey By Annie_Walke

Another June Day By Skeeter_110

Chaotic Peter Parker By Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

Dear Peter Parker, What To Say To You By Littlemissagrafina

Family Business- Supernatural Au By Killerqueenwrites

Home By Glwilliams97

Hydra’s Not A Home By Tempestaurora

I Love You More Than Anything (Bio Dad Au) By Iron_Spider

Identity Saga By Kitcat992

In A Galaxy Far, Far Away By Madasthesea

Irondad NSAP By Chvotic

Lactose Intolerant Peter By Whumphoarder

Learning To Parent By Bowtiez

Lights To Guide You Home By Jolinarjackson

Like You'd Know How It Works And What Comes After By Mshermia

Movie Aus By Imeanthatsprettysnazzy

Mr. Stark & His Kid By Writerstrash

Nice Work, Kid By Madasthesea

Once Upon An Adoption By Kevy_Grayce

Out Of Darkness By Starryknight09

Paint It Black Verse By Queen Of Crystallopia

Peter Parker: Future Hearts By Xseshatx

Pieces Of Echoes By Geekymoviemom

Single Parent Peter Parker By Prettymalfoy

Soul Stone Realm By Marvelmusicmystery

The New Normal By Baloobird

The Room Saga By Iamirondad

Tony Built A Son By Footloose_Poets

Tony Stark Is A Good Mentor By Happyaspie

Under Influence Writerstrash

Was That A Star Wars Reference, Dr. Stark? By Jen27ny

We Forgot Peter By Inkinmyheartandonthepage

Webcams And Webshooters By Losingmymindtonight

What Makes A Family By Doctornineandthreequarters

What You Were Then I Am Today By Madasthesea

Whumptober 2019 By Iron_Spider

16. THE IN-PROGRESS ADVENTURE — What’s the story that has you checking your email each day, hoping for an update?

- Is He Or Is He Not? By Omenthia_Arc

A Beautiful Lie By Rayrox360

A Difference In Husbandry By Happy_Cloud

A Perfect Storm By Grilledcheesing

A Stark Contrast By Melodicrunes

Ain't My Blood; Still My Boys By Parkrstark

All The Stars Align By Ashleyparker2815

And The Band Played On By Bobee

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It By Savana_Marlark

Beautiful Boy By Emily_Davison

Come Undone By Capiocapi

Contentiously Amiable By Ktoon

Dream In Colors Borrowed From The Sea By By Buckets_Of_Stars

Every Beautiful Lie (Always Has An Ugly Truth) By Da_Moose

Fifteen Years In The Making By Potts89

Fire With Fire By Agentianlegend

Found Family By Thedisneyoutsider

How To Repair A Broken Heart By Influentialpineapple

If They Knew All About You By Mshermia

If You're Going Through Hell, Keep On Going By Baloobird

In Unlikely Places By Looneylizzie

Lets Get On With Living (While We Can) By Almond_Blossoms

Mr. Stark, Something Is Wrong By @Simping-For-Peggy

Not So Friendly By Ramble_On

Only Going Over Home By Eccentric_Artist_221b

Outnumbered By Heartofcathedrals

Permanence By Theexhaustedalchemist

Peter’s New Step-Brother By Bowtiez

Priorities By Jlmonroe1234

Return To Me, The One I Love So Endlessly By Superherotiger

Rewind By Losingmymindtonight

Sleeping Through A Rogue Winter Storm By Pogokitten

Spider-Man: Avengers (And Midtown High) React By Gayplums

Survivors Guilt By Ember_Darla And Marvel_Cinematic_Universe_Fan

Tech Of Nondestructive Yakking By Wabisabi

The Case Of The Missing Museum Bea-Storer By Ironmum

The Hero Of Our Own Story By Kingdomfaraway

The Many Adventures Of Iron Dad And Spider Son By Lbigreyhound13

This Warm Repair By Peterstank

Unforeseen Dangers By Starryknight09

Unto The Breach By Melissabosquez

Wanting To Be Better by Mz_Supermanfan

We Can't Have Faith For Everybody By Hale13

Webcams And Webshooters (Series) By Losingmymindtonight

What If We Never Were? By Ladylangst

What Occurred In Raychester Castle By Fictionart

What You Were Then I Am Today By Madasthesea

With Great Care By Giggles96

You Are My Sunshine By Iamconstantine

You Stay, I Go By Cinnamonrollstark

17. THE COMPLETE FIC THAT YOU CHERISH — Whether Or Not You’ve Got The Patience For An In-Progress Or Not, There’s A Wealth Of Complete Stories You Can Devour At Leisure Or All In One Coffee-Fuelled Binge. What’s Yours?

5 Times Peter Fell, And Tony Caught Him. And The 1 Time Tony Didn’t. By Eva7673

5 Wishes Peter Didn't Ask For And The 1 He Did By Alice_In_Ink

A Peter Parker Problem By Spagbol99

A Soul's Best Friend By Superherotiger

Always Silent, Peter Darling By Lliblo

And You’ll Blow Us All Away By Losingmymingtonight

Because I Said So: Adventures In Parenting (With Commentary By Peter Parker) By Teamironmanforever

Come, My Darling, Homeward Bound By By Iamirondad

Coming Home By Inkinmyheartandonthepage

Darkness Will Be Rewritten By Marveal

Engine 12 By Bethy_277

Five Times David Didn't Understand What Was Going On With His Girlfriend's Nephew By Bumblie_Bee

Five Times Peter And Tony Chaotically Cleaned By Ironmum

Five Times Peter Was Tony’s Son And One Time Tony Was His Dad By Zojnks

Five Times Tony Stark Got To Be A Normal Dad By Captainstarsong

Good Publicity By Bergen

Heart Made Of Glass, My Mind Of Stone By Princessironspider

HYDRA'S NOT A HOME (Series) By TEMPESTAURORA

I’m Here, Always By By Rosesandribbons

Identity Crisis By Kitcat992

If You’re Gonna Love Someone, Let It Be Me By Ianalystark & Scooter3scooter

Intern Spider By Emily_F6

Let Me Pave The Path Until You Come Back (Series) By Elliahrose

Man In A Can By Jinxquickfoot

On The Other Side Of The Door By Iron_Spider

Only For A Little While By By Eccentric_Artist_221b

Only For A Little While By Eccentric_Artist_221b

Pupper Parker By Bean_Reads_Fanfic

Starlight, Star Bright By Mainstreamelectricalparade

Stars, Hide Your Fires By Yellowdistress

Stop, Look, Listen By Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

The 5 Times Tony Stark Helped Peter Parker’s Reputation. (And The One Time Peter Helped His.) By Deductioniskey

The Darkest Hour Is Just Before The Dawn By By Starryknight09

The Guardian By Emily_F6

The One Who Made It Out By Tiaylasglass

The Root Is Expectation By Yellowdistress

The Stars And The Moon They Have All Been Blown Out (You Have Left Me In The Dark) By Madasthesea

The Third Option By Uncertainty_Principle

Too Pure For Your Own Good By An_Odd_Idea

What Do I Need? By Scooter3scooter

Your Heart Changed (Mine Stayed The Same) By Loisselina (Loisselina)

18. THE ONE THAT GAVE YOU ALL THE LOVE — We all love Irondad, but some stories come with bonus bonds that give us just as much. Do you have a Peter & Bucky, or a Peter & Steve working alongside which delivers all the found family goodness?

5 Times Happy Hogan Nearly Had A Heart Attack Because Of Peter Parker By Thespydersargon

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It By Savana_Marlark

Between How It Is And How It Should Be By Frostysunflowers

Brighten Up, Sunshine By Iron_Spider

Give Him The Life, That I Couldn’t Give You By Superherotiger

I Have A Nephew! By Zimnokurw

It Must Be Nice (To Have Mrs. Potts On Your Side By Sdottkrames

It Takes A Village (To Make Sure You're Okay) By Baloobird

Keeping Watch By Oreoluvr13

Kingdom Come Undone By Killerqueenwrites

Let Me Pave The Path Until You Come Back (Series) By Elliahrose

Parallels By Kianisabitch

Perfectly Parental By Bergen

Project: Get Bucky Barnes A Dog By Ruxian

Road Work Ahead By Toniwilder

Rules Are Made To Be Broken By Ironmum

Sea Of Expectations By Astro_Cat13

The Darkest Hour Is Just Before The Dawn By Starryknight09

The Definition Of Family By Queen (Ramble)

The Missing Lego Piece By Thedisneyoutsider

The Puzzle That Is Peter Parker By Neuropsyche

Titles By Aimaim94

When In The Dark By Kevy_Grayce

Will You Be My Found Family? By Frostyqueen

Worst Summer Vacation By Mysterycyclone

19. THE PROLIFIC WRITER AWARD — Irondad has some amazingly prolific writers. Which are the ones you’ve subscribed to get at that fic-wonder goodness of 10 works or more?

14million_Constellations

Aimaim94

Ashleyparker2815

Baloobird

Bean_Reads_Fanfic

Bowtiez

Buckets_Of_Stars

Capstar98

Cold_Nights_Summer_Days

Doctornineandthreequarters

Duskblue

Eccentric_Artist_221b

Emily_Davison

Emily_F6

Fictionalworldsareexquisite

Frostysunflowers

Grilledcheesing

Happyaspie

Hold_Our_Destiny

Iamalystark

Iamirondad

Icylightning

Imgoingtocrash

Inkinmyheartsandonthepage

Ironfamjam

Ironmum

Iron-Spider

Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

Jelly_Pies

Jen27ny

Jolinarjackson

Joyful_Soul_Collector

Jwriter819

Killerqueenwrites

Killerqueenwritws

Kitkatwinchester

Littlemissagrafina

Losingmymindtonight

Madasthesea

Magicalyss

Maicaly

Mainstreamelectricalparade

Marvelous_Writer

Marvels_Blue_Phoenix

Mshermia

Myglassesaredirty

Nanixerka

O0citrusee0o

Parkrstark

Rosesandribbons

Sandyk

Scooter3scooter

Sdottkrames

Softdadironman

Starryknight09

Summerwolf

Superherotiger

Tempestaurora

Thedisneyoutsider

Thedumbestavenger

Turtle_Bean

Webtrinsic

Whumphoarder

Wisterispidey

Wolfypuppypiles

Xseshatx

Yellowdistress

20. THE NEWBIE — New writers are joining the fandom all the time. Who’s the newbie (posting for 12 months or less) that’s delivering the good stuff for you?

107thinfantry

Anoddidea

Asherkoyal

Baymax_13

Bung

Canonismybitch

Carpediem369

Da_Moose

Eemolu

Emily_Davison

Fallingforbees

Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

Freyaatterton

Frostyqueen

Imeanthatsprettysnazzy

Ironmum

Jinx_Frost

Just_Ppeachy

Kittybellestark

Krystalpomme

Lilacsoulw

Maicaly

Marvelousbutterfly

Omenthia_Arc

Patrochilles_Trash

Penny4yourThoughts

Peters

Peterspajamas

Polaroid15

Punkybunny

Revengewitch

Rosesandribbons

Silverdraconyx

Skiesbluetoday

Spagbol99

Sunflowerspideyy

Thedisneyoutsider

Theexhaustedalchemist

Theweirdpersonnextdoor

Thisisnotourlasthunt

Winterturtle

Wolf5bane

21. THE OG — Who’s the writer that’s been around for a while (12 months or more) that keeps you captivated?

Aceofstars16

Aimaim94

Almond_Blossoms

Ashleyparker2815

Baloobird

Bean_Reads_Fanfic

Blueh

Bowtiez

Buckets_Of_Stars

Caraminha

Cold_Nights_Summer_Days

Doctornineandthreequarters

Duskblue

Eccentric_Artist_221b

Emily_F6

Evotter

Frostysunflowers

Geekymoviemom

Gremlinsr

Grilledcheesing

Happyaspie

Iamirondad

Imgoingtocrash

Inkinmyheartandonthepage

Iron_Spider

Ironfamjam

Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

Jelly_Pies

Jen27ny

Jolinarjackson

Karenninaaa

Kevy_Grayce

Killerqueenwrites

Little_But_Mighty

Losingmymindtonight

Madasthesea

Marveal

Ms Hermia

Myglassesaredirty

Parkrstark

Rejectedmarvel

Scooter3scooter

Shoyzzart

Snarkymuch

Spooderboyandtincan

Starryknight09

Summerwolf

Superherotiger

Tempestaurora

Tonystarkissist

Trickster88

Webtrinsic

Whumphoarder

Wolfypuppypiles

Yellowdistress

22. THE WILD CARD STORY — The story that does (or doesn’t) fit into the above categories but you believe deserves the prize. Which one is that for you?

5 Times Peter Sleepwalked And The 1 Time He Pretended He Did By Losingmymindtonight

A Beautiful Lie By Rayrox360

A Fic Where Superior Iron Man Gets DECKED By Nanixerka

A Peter Parker Problem, By Spagbol99

A Pressing Emergency By Whumphoarder

Aliens Really Are Out To Get You Aren't They? By Some_Sort_Of_Trash

An Uncomfortable Issue By Summerartist

Bank Robber By Purplecat7

Born To Cherish By Ironfamjam

Career Day By Superhusbands4ever (Potterwatch97)

Chickpea And Bleach Curry By S0lstice

Doing Good By Thestubb

Everyday Superhero By Stoneage_Woman

Father’s Day Troubles By Willienillieflys

Five Time Faculty Members Had To Call Peter's Emergency Contact + 1 Time He Shows Up Anyway By Kingdomfaraway

Five Times Tony And Peter Chaotically Cleaned By Ironmum

From Mr. Stark To Tony By 1minute

Glittering Green By Aimingarrows

Guess I’m Not Good Enough By Freyaatterton

I Can Hold The Weight Of Worlds (If That's What You Need) By Bluesweatshirt

I Will Soften Every Edge By Losingmymindtonight

I’m Not Telling Him. Period By Scooter3scooter

Inimitable By Ephemeralstark

Irondad NSAP (Series) By Chvotic

Irondad NSAP By Chvotic

Kids Suck, But You're Great By Gymlily06

Long Gone | Marvel Au By Strangerlyparker

Nothing Wrong With Being Yourself By Kitkatwinchester

Play By Losingmymindtonight

Research And Disaster By Blueh

Secret By Aimaim94

Tall Skies By Black_Briar

Tech Of Non-Destructive Yakking By Wabisabi

The Case Of The Tyrannical Two By Ironfamjam

The Ghost Of Heroes By Enigmaris & Scarletnightfury

The Long Way Round By Undeerqueen

The Peter Parker Conspiracy By Tempestaurora

The Real Hero By Jilycslove

The Reinvention Of Tony Stark By Losingmymindtonight

The Right Call By Boleyn13

The Stark Family, By Tonystarkissist

Things That Make It Warm By Dredfulhapiness

This Ride Is A Wild One By Just_Ppeachy

We Are Family By Icylightning

What You're Feeling Is Probably Normal By Finny3120

Winterturtle By A Different Kind Of Suprise

Wrong Number Kid By Blackshadow030930

iexist in two places, here and where you are by mindshelter

ART 1 — DIGITAL MEDIA - Who has those PhotoShop skills, who makes the best mood boards? We have some wonderful artists in the Irondad fandom, and we’re here to celebrate them. Who's your favorite artist?

@blackchessknight (tumblr)

@broskepol (tumblr)

@itsybitsyspiderling (tumblr)

@kitcat992(tumblr)

@monireh (tumblr)

@spidey-art (tumblr)

@steviesboy (Tumblr)

@superherotiger (tumblr)

ART 2 — SKETCHES — Who has the skills with the original medium of art in sketches? Whose pencil can create the characters we love best?

@broskepol (Tumblr)

@dakt37 (Tumblr)

@monireh89 (Tumblr)

Ellarie.png (Instagram)

@dchanberry (Tumblr)

ART 3 — CARTOONS — Chibis, Manga, Anime, who can create the very best?

@Maryo274 (Tumblr)

@yes-i-am-happyaspie (Tumblr)

@maryo274 (Tumblr)

@akira-akatsuki (Tumblr)

@mjscorner (Tumblr)

Ellarie.png (Instagram)

Ironkrispies (Instagram)

ART 4 — FANVID — Some of the greatest creators are the ones that match the music to the mood, find the perfect scenes to make us laugh and cry. Who does that for you?

Emsxworld

all my life || tony & peter (father/son au) by akapotatogirl

tony stark & peter parker | ashes by mythicalroyalty

mblaqminoz

My Dad's a Hero to Me by MsMorganStark

You Are The Reason l Tony Stark & Peter Parker by Chocolala

Tony Stark & Peter Parker (Adoption Au) || Home by andrea d

Ellaire.png (Instagram)

Tony Stark & Peter Parker | A Stark Family AU | Home by Ineffable Films

ART 5 — BEST IRON FAMILY FANART — Who can create those feeling of Ironfam with their art? Who captures the characters we love in that iconic family.

@superherotiger (Tumblr)

@broskepol (Tumblr)

ellarie.png (Instagram)

@moonestaly (Tumblr)

@spidey_art (Tumblr)

@peterokii (Tumblr)

ART 6 — MOST HEARTBREAKING FANART — Art can move us to tears. Who captures those moments and brings tears to your eyes?

@cottoncandyofterror (Tumblr)

@eccentric_artist_221b (Tumblr)

@spidey-art (Tumblr)

@superherotiger (Tumblr)

Artinggrace (Instagram)

Ellarie.png (Instagram)

ART 7 — BEST HURT/COMFORT — Who captures the pain of the moment best for you?

@broskepol (Tumblr)

@chocolala

@spidey-art (Tumblr)

@tonystarkissist (Tumblr)

I will always love you (no matter what...) by @monireh (Tumblr)

ART 8 — THE WILD CARD ART— The art that does (or doesn’t) fit into the above categories but you believe deserves the prize. Which one is that for you?

@cainternn (Tumblr)

@Iwritedumbshit (Tumblr)

@rhymewithrachel (Tumblr)

Hannssm (Instagram)

#Irondad Creator Awards #irondad #spider son #irondad and spiderson #art #writers #fanfic #fanart #artists #fandom awards #spider-man #peter parker #iron man #tony stark

54 notes · View notes

liberty-barnes · 4 years

Text

Letters To A Stranger

Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Summary: The story of a girl who loved a boy, but couldn't talk, so she wrote.

Warnings: fluff for a bit, but then massive angst, and i mean massive, STOP READING HERE IF YOU DON'T WANT ANY SPOILERS BUT I WOULDN'T FEEL OKAY WITHOUT LISTING ALL THE ANGST FACTORS

(mentions of ED, mentions of self-harm, implied character death, mentions of social anxiety)

Word Count: 1.3k words

Estimated Reading Time: 5 minutes

A/N: did you miss me?

Masterlist

February 21st, 2024

Dear Cute Boy On The Subway,

Are you new? Or was I simply too oblivious to your presence until now? I've never seen you before, you're really pretty.

I don't think I've ever used the word "pretty" to describe a man before. Well, boy, but my point stands.

But you really are. With your caramel eyes, and artistically tousled hair. You're cute. Kind of like a puppy. Not that I'm attracted to dogs, of course, but there's really no better way to describe you. Your face lights up when you talk on the phone, like an excited golden retriever who'd just been told he was going for a walk. I wonder who you're talking to. Is it your partner? Please, say you're single.

You get off after me apparently, so I guess I'll just keep my pining to my letters and hope to see you again tomorrow.

Kinda wishing I was yours,

Your secret admirer.

February 22nd, 2024

Dear Cute Boy On The Subway,

You're back! Is this a simple coincidence or are you a regular?

From the backpack on your shoulder, I'd say maybe you're a student. I don't go to school. You make me wish I did if only to see your face every day for more than the short ten minutes of our joint ride.

I wonder how old you are. You look old enough to be in high school, but which year are you? I know I'm only nineteen, but I'd feel a little bummed about crushing on a fourteen-year-old.

You're smiling again today. I'm glad. I don't see a lot of smiles at the diner. Mostly glares, impatient huffs, and tired, distant expressions. It's a nice change.

I have to go now but thank you for making my day.

Hoping to see you again tomorrow,

Your secret admirer.

February 23rd, 2024

Dear Cute Boy On The Subway,

I'm starting to think that smile is permanent. It's the third day in a row that I've gotten on the train and was immediately greeted with your beaming smile as you watched some video on your phone. It made me smile too.

Your sweatshirt's pretty. It says "Midtown Tech" on it. Is that a school? Is it your school?

I may have to do some digging later.

Please don't think I'm a stalker.

Your totally not-stalker secret admirer.

March 1st, 2024

Dear Cute Boy On The Subway,

I was late this morning so I didn't get to see you. My boss was not happy about it, I felt like I was walking on very thin ice.

And then this guy grabbed my ass while I was taking his order. I acted on instinct, tried to remember everything they taught me at my self-defense class. I ended up accidentally punching him in the face.

So yeah, I lost my job today. Which is why I'm here so early. I might stay on the subway just to see which stop you get off on.

Yeah, maybe not, that'd be weird and I should start job hunting as soon as possible.

Thank you for making me smile on a bad day.

Thank you for being you,

Your secret admirer.

March 17th, 2024

Dear Cute Boy On The Subway,

I got a new job! I'm working at this coffee shop/bookstore and it's honestly the greatest thing in the world. I get to be around books AND get free hot chocolate, how much better can life be?

You looked a little down today, I wonder if you're okay? Is everything well at home? Maybe school's the problem? Maybe you got a bad grade, but you look really smart so I don't know.

I hope you're feeling better tomorrow,

Your secret admirer.

March 19th, 2024

Dear Cute Boy On The Subway,

I wish I knew your name, that way I'd know who to address this to. But I guess Cute Boy On The Subway will have to do.

You were smiling again today, that's nice. I haven't seen you smile in a while, I was starting to get worried. The sweater you were wearing looked a little too big to be yours, the collar slipped down a little when you moved. It looks like there's a massive bruise on your upper chest. Does it hurt? Are you okay?

I wish I was brave enough to ask you in person.

Get better soon,

Your secret admirer.

March 25th, 2024

Dear Cute Boy On The Subway,

You're back to not smiling today. I don't like to see you frown. Not at all. I want you to tell me what's wrong. I want to help you get better, see you smile again.

I want to talk to you.

I'll do it tomorrow,

Your secret admirer.

March 26th, 2024

Dear Cute Boy On The Subway,

You were sad again today. But that's okay, cause I said I'd talk to you.

Except I didn't.

My stomach started doing uncomfortable flips and I had to get off the train earlier than usual so I could throw up. It was not fun.

Maybe I just have the flu?

Hopefully, I'll be better tomorrow,

Your secret admirer.

March 30th, 2024

Dear Cute Boy On The Subway,

I've tried talking to you for three days, every time I had to get off and empty my stomach's content. I started to see a pattern so after a half week of that vicious cycle, I went to see my doctor.

Turns out I have social anxiety tendencies and you simply trigger them a bit. So, basically, my body won't let me talk to you.

I'm a little sad but also kind of relieved. At least I know I'm not voluntarily letting you slip through my fingers.

Not that I ever plan on doing that, you've become too important.

I hope you smile tomorrow,

Your secret admirer.

April 7th, 2024

Dear Cute Boy On The Subway,

I'm worried about you. Your sleeve rose a little when you held onto the pole. There are scars there, familiar ones, ones that I recognize as scars left by one's own hand. Physical marks of a person's suffering.

Why are you doing that? It hurts to know that you feel down enough to resort to that. I want to help, but I can't bring myself to talk to you.

Please stop this,

Your secret admirer.

April 12th, 2024

Dear Cute Boy On The Subway,

Your eyes were red today. You've been crying. There are dark circles under your eyes, how long has it been since you've last slept?

A lady asked you if you were alright. You said you were just a little tired. I've never heard a more obvious lie.

I wish I could talk to you,

Your secret admirer.

April 16th, 2024

Dear Cute Boy On The Subway,

The dark circles haven't gone away, if anything they've gotten darker. But now there's a bruise on your cheek. You seem to be getting thinner too.

What's going on?

Your secret admirer.

April 28th, 2024

Dear Cute Boy On The Subway,

How much weight have you lost? Your cheekbones are more prominent, and your arms are getting thinner by the second. Why don't you eat?

The bruises are more frequent now. Cheek, eyebrow, lip...

Who's hitting you?

Who's making you suffer?

Your secret admirer.

May 6th, 2024

Dear Cute Boy On The Subway,

I haven't seen you in a few days. I wonder where you are.

Are you okay?

I'm sorry, that's a stupid question, you probably aren't.

I've decided that next time I see you I'm gonna talk to you. Ask you what's wrong. Force you to tell me if that's what it takes.

I hope you're safe.

Your secret admirer.

May 27th, 2024

Dear Peter Parker,

I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough to talk to you when I had the chance.

I hope you're in a better place now.

I'm sorry you were alone when you did it.

I'm sorry you had to do it.

With love,

(Y/n).

yes, i'm one of those authors that post something an then disappears for two months, i'm sorry. i've been super busy with school and i haven't really had the motivation to write lately but i got this idea and i just needed to get it out.

also, i may be getting a new computer in like 1 or 2 weeks, so that's cool! it'll be better to write and stuff cause this one's getting kinda slow and sometimes it's hard to post stuff cause it won't load lmao.

anyway, i hope you liked it and if you did don’t forget to reblog/comment/like

love you all!

-Miah

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Taglists: (if your name is striked through it means for some reason tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you)

PERMA TAG

@jeezkiddo @officiallyunofficialperson @beananacake @theunderlier @harrysleftchelseaboot @averyfosterthoughts @onebigolemess @samoney69 @agirlwithpointlessideas @ddaawwssoonn @inhumanwithpowers @imagineshere-forall @stiles-banshees @orowit @spideynut @deathofmissjackson @parkersbliss @ephemeral-limerences @write-from-the-heart @cardboard-ben @my-alignment-is-bisexual @mendes-marvel @timotayswriter @inthecornerchair @lovelynerdytraveler @niallssweetheart22 @incorrect-things @lost-in-the-stars03 @harishaanne @ellamw04 @bisexual-disappointment @onelovesr @ellyseveronica @sovereignparker @notsosmexy @theamazingtomholland @lozzypoz321 @peterspideyy

PETER PARKER TAG

@dreaming-lia @markleehee @juliebean247 @quechulitaaa @bubblegumbarnes @sofiaconlaz @bellaaa321-blog @parkerpetertingle @emily-louise-hynes @clara-licht @ekelly2015 @inlovewithmobtom @quaksonhehe @danicarosaline @tutuabby28 @sovereignparker @spn67-sister @t-monosapiens-h @kayleypaige2233 @galaxystern08 @highlydisfunctional1 @jillanaholland @zeusmyster @sirtommyholland @a-singleboat @allthisfortommy @middevil456 @kdotcxz @drishtisikarwar

MARVEL TAG

@dreaming-lia @emily-louise-hynes @arts-ismything @peachyafshawn @cathwritestragediesnotsins @spn67-sister @t-monosapiens-h @galaxystern08 @highlydisfunctional1 @jillanaholland @hyluas @ravenagrimes @captainbuckyy @kaylig02 @crazyassbitch-things-blog @sharenaloveyouX @tacobacoyeet @andycanbeemotional @angelicromanoff

#libby writes #libbys stuff #peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #marvel #avengers #spiderman x reader #mcu spiderman #spider-man #mcu

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blackchessknight · 3 years

Text

Ever Blue And Red

By @blackchessknight for @michellejones-stacy

This was really fun to write, I hope you like it. The premise is not what I expected to write from your prompts but that’s how creativity works I guess.

This is for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark,

Summary: To be fair to Peter, he had never planned to become an Enhanced individual that protected people by being bitten by a radioactive spider and becoming Spider-Man. Really, it made perfect sense that even if he hadn’t planned it, he would turn into a siren at the splash of water by eating a weird-looking fruit he found on patrol.

If anything, it was Mr. Stark and Aunt May’s fault because they made him eat something healthy every two hours. If the rule wasn’t there, he wouldn't have touched the fruit. Ok, that was a lie, he might have tried it just because it looked weird, but maybe somebody would have stopped him from consuming it if he didn’t have the eating rule.

On the bright side, keeping this a secret from them wouldn’t be as hard as keeping Spider-Man a secret, he has experience this time.

Spoiler Alert: He doesn’t even last a week.

Read on AO3

First chapter under the cut

Tail As Blue As The Sky Enveloped In Light

Peter wants it known for posterity's sake that it wasn’t his fault.

The case could be made that it was, indeed, his fault, but no judge had made the ruling and he was sticking to that fact. Not that it does anything to persuade the jury from condemning him to being grounded for two weeks after.

It all started that fateful day on patrol, spring break only a few days away. Sure, Peter had a lot of assignments to turn in, but not anything that couldn’t be done just before it was absolutely necessary. The most annoying were the essays for English and History, but hey, even STEM schools needed their students to course them. Anyways, since Peter would be spending the break over at the Compound with Mr. Stark while Aunt May took the week with her coworkers at the Caribbean-very likely being joined by Ms. Potts at some point- the last weekend hadn’t been a Compound weekend. It’d worked great for Peter, he got to hang out with Ned before the break where the other boy would go see family, and also to spend time with May.

It's a bright April afternoon as he swings from the buildings with not much happening when Peter comes across a small playground area with a few trees and some grass parts. The little park wasn’t rundown or badly taken care of and the trees were already a bright green. A few children call him over and he swings down to greet them. He even takes a few pictures with them.

On his way out of the park he sees it. Lying on the grass under a tree is a weird-looking acorn, it's purple with an orange stripe. Peter walks over and kneels down to pick it up. The texture feels closer to a peach and just as squishy. His senses weren’t going off in danger but it wasn’t like any fruit he’d ever seen in his life.

“Karen?” Peter asks.

Karen takes a few seconds before responding. “I haven’t found a match for it, but it appears to fall under the category of fruit.”

Hhmm. Well, that just made it more intriguing. There wasn’t much that Karen couldn’t identify. If the unknown fruit lasted long enough he could even ask FRIDAY or Mr. Stark about it, maybe run a few tests on it, perhaps he just discovered a new type of fruit. That sets it, Peter’s taking it with him.

Peter sets off to where he left his backpack webbed to an alley wall. He reaches the alley and his backpack is just where he left it, which is great-it wouldn’t be good to ask for another so close to the break, it was already his second one this year. Peter changes to normal clothes and proceeds to set the weird acorn inside the backpack, he doesn’t think anything in his back will squish it. With his backpack set, he begins making his way home in no hurry.

On the way, Peter plans all the assignments he needs to do for the week. It’s still early, he can go home to eat, do some homework and go out again to patrol another hour or two before curfew. There’s that calc and chemistry homework due for tomorrow that he’ll work on today. He’ll eat whatever May left for him, hopefully, she left money for Thai. May isn’t coming home until late, they were spending extra hours at the office before the break, half leaving things prepared for their vacation and half coordinating it. His mind travels to the movie Ned and him saw that weekend and the new Lego set they built. Then it takes him to his break at the Compound where he’ll get to train with Rhodey and work on his web-shooters, he’s also gonna work with Tony on the arc reactor and their prosthesis project. By the time Peter became aware he was already in the front of his apartment building.

Inside their apartment Peter finds out May hadn’t left money for Thai, instead there was a nice healthy meal waiting for Peter to warm up and eat. He supposes he should have known better. Peter shuts the fridge door and turns to his room. When May wasn’t able to ensure Peter ate, and ate something healthy at that, they got him these nice meals prepared from a nice restaurant that Pepper had found near their apartment. They all had him about being in a routine for eating healthy, he hadn’t eaten anything they thought wasn’t good for him in weeks. He was able to have a treat once or twice on the weekends if he had followed through during the week. Peter thought it wasn’t necessary anymore, he was perfectly fine now. He’d learned since his eating disorder started, but just try and get that through to them. Apparently, they had to trust the diagnosis more, which to be fair was really accurate, but still, he thought he was already past that.

Peter sits in front of his desk and takes out his chemistry book and worksheet. Maybe he’ll get hungry after working his mind a little, he begins to work.

The alarm on his watch startles him, a big contrast to the quiet room that makes it sound louder than it is. The alarm is a constant beeping that doesn’t cease until Peter presses the shut button twice, once to know there’s an alarm and a second to acknowledge what it's for.

Mr. Stark set the alarm for him to eat something healthy every two hours. They’d also been on his back about eating often and he usually ate a fruit or a bar. Peter looks around his desk, then his room, and notices there’s nothing of his usual stash. He doesn’t want to get up to get something, usually, there are always things nearby but he probably ate them all.

Peter remembers the weird fruit in his backpack from earlier, sure he wanted to research it but his priorities changed. He still has the analysis from Karen to ask FRIDAY with. Peter opens his backpack and fishes the fruit out, it looks exactly as it had when he found it. He doesn’t know what it is, but Karen said he could call it a fruit and he was allowed to eat fruit, since he also had to eat something he saw no flaw in his logic of eating it. Besides, if Karen said that he didn’t eat anything because he was too lazy to get up he would have Happy babysitting him again. No one wanted that. To Peter, the ends justify the risks.

Peter smells the unknown fruit and it gives no distinctive smell. Before taking a bite, he searches within himself for any signs of danger but when he finds nothing he bites it. It tastes good, feels softer than an apple but not quite like a peach as he’d thought. Oh well, it's still good, really good actually. He goes back to doing homework.

Minutes after his little snack break Peter begins to feel weird, not in a Spidey Sense tingling weird, nor it feels like something is happening to his arm weird, more like the insides of his body feel funny. Peter hasn’t ever felt like this before.

At first, Peter thinks it will go away and continues with his homework, but after he finishes his chemistry workout sheet the feeling has only increased. He doesn’t feel anything wrong though, just... different. He starts feeling a little sleepy, not in the sense that his body is tired, it feels like his own body is telling him to close his eyes and rest a little. So that is exactly what Peter does, he puts away his work, goes to his bed, and rests his eyes. It will only be for a bit, he still has time to go patrol a bit after resting a few minutes.

Those few minutes turn out longer than he thought. A lot longer. By the time Peter is opening his eyes feeling rested and just… different, the sun has already set and the night has fallen. The only source of light in the room is the lights coming from the streets through the closed window of his room.

Darn it! He probably had missed his dinner time! Peter looks wildly until he finds the digital clock on his nightstand that reveals he was still just within his time frame before Karen would alert Tony, or May. He’d been asleep far longer than he'd planned.

Peter is starving like he hasn’t in months, so much so he would eat that flavorless mush of food they’d made him eat that day at the Medbay after their “intervention”. He sets for the kitchen, takes out the plate with his food, and sets it in the microwave as the instructions show in the note.

You would think that Aunt May and Mr. Stark would be lenient that he missed his meal because he was sleeping but that was actually a very important point to them. Once he’d been awoken by a blaring alarm, it had almost given him a heart attack, he had thought it was an emergency, maybe the sky had been falling. It hadn’t been anything alarming other than him missing his snack. And not even mentioning that one time in class where he’d been called to the principal’s office for forgetting his snacks at home and Mr. Morita personally getting him a protein bar. That had been a horrible day. He still couldn’t really look Mr. Morita in the eyes.

The microwave beeped and Peter went to pull out the dish. He grabs a fork and napkin on the way to the couch. Karen may tattle about his food consumption but never where he eats. To be fair, Karen only has eyes in the suit mask, the rest of her input comes from his Starkwatch and Starkphone. Peter’s little humanoid golden robot, that he built with Tony’s help, C3PO, comes forward and sets his little arms up for Peter to place his plate on. Peter turns the TV on and settles back to continue his current series on Netflix.

Peter had been starving and food had never tasted so good in his life. He basically inhales it. Something not as good as he had been told but he was hungry. C3PO leaves with the napkin, the fork and the plate to the kitchen and Peter finishes his episode as he digests his food.

When the episode ends he gets up from the couch and walks to his room. As he walks in he sees R2D2, the little robot he’d made by himself at the lab in the Compound, having what seems his own little party in his room. R2 even has some music to dance with as he moves around the room.

Peter’s idea was to change again into his suit and patrol until his curfew but he feels a tug towards the water. He already did a patrol today, it had been a calm day. Peter decides he’ll settle for the night, finish some homework, and do more time on patrol tomorrow, he’ll make up for today then. Right now he will take a shower and finish his homework for Monday, be free for the entirety of the weekend.

C3 enters the room as Peter exits it to go to the bathroom. Peter might have programmed them with some personality traits reminiscent of their movie counterparts, and it usually ends with a bit of a friendly argument between the two. The good thing is Peter will be away while they do it, the bad thing is he’ll probably still hear them while he showers.

Peter takes off his clothes and sets his hand under the spray of water to feel its temperature. Once it’s to his liking he clambers inside headfirst. The water soaks his brown curls then covers his back. Peter backs his torso so his legs get sprayed with water and the change is fast, so fast it would probably be pretty seamless for anyone else. Peter doesn’t have time to react to the sudden feel of his legs knitting together and turning scaly before he loses balance with a startled yelp. Peter reaches out to the shower wall with a hand and sticks, stopping his fall but the momentum sends his back to hit the wall and Peter slides down, landing on his butt.

He blinks several times as he stares at his legs. Or more importantly, where his legs should be. In their place is a mermaid tail, just like the movies. It's a light blue like a clear skyline in New York mornings, with shiny scales that turn white when the light hits them and see-through red shaded fins. The tail seems to start at his hips but it fades up into his stomach with smaller scales, not a clear cut. Peter can feel the tail, he can feel it as if it were his legs but they feel different.

This isn’t normal, is it? This isn’t some long overdue side effect of the spider bite, right? This shouldn’t be happening, should it? There’s no way this is normal. This has got to be in the Top 10 weirdest things to happen to him. It fights for dominance right up there with the spider bite.

Peter takes a deep breath, he feels the fins and wills one to move as if it were his foot. In front of him, the fin moves. Peter shoves himself back startled, his head hits the other wall of the shower with force and he winces. He brings a hand to rub at his head, even if it doesn’t really make the pain lessen. He makes the other fin move, makes them both move at the same time, makes them move in opposite directions.

Peter stops playing with his fins. Wow, he has fins now, he has a tail. He can move the tail too. He has full control of it. It’s rather flexible too, more flexible than he’s become with his enhancements. Okay, so, he has a tail. He has a mermaid-merman?- he has a merman tail. He has a tail that is blue, and he can move it. It is right in front of him. Peter reaches for the middle of the tail with his finger and pokes it, sure enough he feels the poke, both in the tail and with his finger. It's real.

Alright, cool. So now that the shock has worn off it’s time to figure this out. Does this mean he can breathe underwater? Is he a merman now? Does he have to live in the Ocean? Would a lake suffice? His powers stayed, he was able to stick to the wall. Does that make him a Merman-Spider? Spider-Merman? Siren-Spider? Is he no longer allowed to eat fish? Do mermaids eat fish? Does this mean mermaids are real?

You’re getting distracted, Peter. Focus.

Was he a merman forever now? How did he even become one?

Yeah, focus on that. The how.

This isn't alien tech, that's for sure. He hasn't encountered anyone with alien tech in a while. That’s one out. So then… magic? Was magic real? Were there wizards? Was there actually a school for wizards? Oh gosh, that would be so cool. Like, Wanda Maximoff had magic, right? That's what she used? Or was that something else? It could have been magic, or maybe kinetic energy manipulation, that was also a possibility; but the idea of that being magic was always an option. Wait, he's getting sidetracked again.

Right, what caused this.

Ok, well, it couldn't be the spider bite either, it'd been far too long since and it didn’t make logical sense to be a result of it. Or... it could be if this was the product of a second reactant to the DNA alterations caused by the bite. Like, sure it would be weird to get a tail as a reaction, but so had gaining the powers of a spider through the bite of a radioactive spider; maybe they wanted to gain the powers of a fish and it mutated into a tail. Peter hadn't gone swimming recently and definitely hadn't been bitten by a fish but maybe he had, or eaten the radioactive fish by accident. He shouldn't have trusted that fillet, it had tasted too good. It could also just be a coincidence from another substance, really if this was a reaction he needed to know the second reactant.

Peter sees the water fall and splash on his tail and continue down the drain as he thinks. Water! Peter snaps his head to look at the showerhead. That was the reactant, water! The moment his legs got wet he got a tail!

Ok, so it wasn't a late side effect from the bite. That was good to know. It didn't rule out a reaction from the after-effects of the bite but it did give less evidence in its favour. So far the contenders are radioactive fish, reaction to his spider DNA, and magic. Only one of which Peter actually had knowledge of.

Peter sits up and moves forward to shut the water off. The tail was cool and all but he was kind of stuck in the tub. Peter lifts the end of his tail and moves the fins with narrowed eyes. He moves the fins close to the wall and then touches it, he wills them to stick and they do. Ok, he has better mobility than he thought he would. Feeling excitement fill him, Peter uses only his tail to lift his body and it works. He balances himself on his tail. He is definitely a Spider-Siren. He can stick, has strength, he assumes it also has his superhealing.

Peter grabs a towel from the rack and sits back down in the tub, he starts drying his upper body. The scales shimmer as he moves and Peter wonders if they would look the same dry. He sets the towel around his neck. Peter lifts himself from the tub and sits on the toilet lid, splaying the tail across the bathroom floor in all its glory before he grabs the towel around his neck. Peter starts drying his tail and the feeling is weird, he feels the towel through the scales and it’s closer to feeling something through his nails.

Peter has the sudden urge that his legs come back so he could experience the difference in them. Peter is scrubbing where the body of the tail meets the fins because it feels really good when the change happens. Peter senses the change a second before it happens but he is too confused at his Spider Sense telling him about it to notice what the change is . He lifts his head, dropping the towel, and looks around. Nothing is amiss and the sensation leaves. Peter turns back to pick up the towel and continue, now to try out the feel on his fins when he stops dead on his way to pick it up. His legs are back. His legs are back as if the tail was never there.

Peter pokes his legs, and just like the tail, they’re there. He moves them to make sure he has control over them, he does. He sets his palm on his leg and is surprised to find them completely dry, not even moist.

Peter looks back towards the shower, then he looks to his recently regained legs and back at the bathtub. He turns his head to his legs then the shower. Legs, shower, legs, shower. Peter bites his lower lip.

Like yeah, it could be a fluke and he may get stuck with a tail, but it could also be like his spider powers that he has control of. The tail disappeared when he dried it, it could be that if he gets his legs wet again the tail would return, and then it would disappear when he dries himself again.

What kind of scientist would he be if he didn't test out his hypothesis? He had to try. Besides, the worst thing that can happen is he has a tail, he'll figure it out later if he can’t dry it out. He has a feeling it will work anyways.

Peter fills the bathtub around three-quarters full. This is insane and just the type of experimenting he likes, trial and error. Taking a deep breath, he positions himself above the water holding himself by his arms, legs stretched out in front of him, parallel to the water below. All he needs to do is lower his arms and he will get his legs in the tub filled with water.

Peter lets out a little nervous laugh as he looks at the water. Like ripping off a bandaid. Peter takes another breath, releases it, and lets himself fall in one motion that splashes water over the tub’s edge.

The tail returns and this time Peter knows what he’s feeling. He realizes it's his legs morphing into a tail. It takes his legs a second to become a tail and it doesn’t hurt. It’s not a feeling he can put words to, other than from now on he can call the feeling his legs morphing into his tail. A part of the tail shimmers under the translucent water and his fins stay between water and air near where he thinks his knees would be-his tail is far too long to fit in the tub- while Peter moves it a little. He lifts the end of the tail and lets it smack back into the water, making a big splash that brings a joyous laugh from him. It worked as he’d suspected, the tail appears when his lower body gets splashed with water. Peter lifts himself from the bathtub and sits on the toilet seat.

Peter grabs the towel he first used to dry himself and begins to redry his tail. The same weird feeling of drying his scales returns. Willing his legs back as he dries Peter lifts the towel and grins. Where his blue tail had been are his legs once more.

Peter grins at the water, a rush of excitement cursing through his body. He has a tail now.

Just as abruptly his grin comes it falls and his heart begins to beat loudly in his chest. Oh god, he has a tail. He can't tell Aunt May, she'll freak out and ground him. And he can't tell Mr. Stark because he'll reprimand him, then tattle to May who will freak out and then they'll ground him together.

Ok, ok, ok. He can’t tell them, no big deal. He’s Spider-Man, he’s kept that a secret, he can keep this a secret. He has to figure this out first, then maybe he’ll tell them. If this is reversible they might never find out.

Does he want to reverse this? Food for thought.

He’ll figure all that out later. Right now Peter is going to take a bath, experiment a little, and then him and Karen will have a conversation about how much of a snitch the Babysitter Protocol makes her before starting his investigation.

#the friendly neighborhood exchange #my writing #irondad #mcu #peter parker #tony stark #lab shenanigans #spiderson #facfic #spiderman #iron man

17 notes · View notes

tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

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2020: A [Fandom] Summary

2020 was a pretty rotten year, let’s face it, so now I’m safely away from it for good I’m stealing something @gumnut-logic mentioned to me and summarising all the things I managed to make this year! Let’s start 2021 on a nice positive note... look at all the things I managed to do in the world of fandom!

FANFICTION:

In 2020...

I published 69 works, 66 of which are complete - all for Thunderbirds Are Go

Which came to a total of 268,863 words (Tumblr-only scenes and short stories came to a further 29,764 words which put my grand total up to 298,627!)

My most popular fic on tumblr was Out Patience with 60 notes (wow!!)

My most kudos’d fic on AO3 was Bedtme (Should Not Be 4am) with 62 kudos!

My most favourited fic on FFN was Grounded with 13 favourites!

My longest fic was Long Way From Home, which is incomplete but on 30,902 words published so far (longest complete fic was Grounded on 21,100 words)

(I have not included Tales From The Heart as everything that was posted this year on my blog was written and archived on AO3/FFN in 2017-2019)

FANART:

In 2020...

I posted 12 completed drawings, across 6 fandoms (and across 3 blogs...) - Bleach, D.Gray-Man, Marchen Awakens Romance, Naruto, One Piece and Thunderbirds Are Go

My most popular was “Return of the Dragon” with 114 notes (over a hundred!!! How???)

In conclusion, Tsari has been one very busy bee this year! Links to everything are below the cut if anyone’s looking for a refresher, or thinks they missed something!

And because I am only human and love validation - if you have a favourite thing I’ve written (or drawn) this year, tell me what it is! Can just be the name (although if you want to tell me why that would make my night, I can’t lie), I’d just love to know what people particularly loved :D

COMPLETED WORKS:

Phobos John looks at his brothers, and worries. Rated: Gen/K+. Family. John, Scott Words: 1k; published January 2020

Treasured Family Scott’s day hadn’t gone well, and was about to get worse. John doesn’t care for that, and Alan makes a good accomplice. Episode tag: 3.22 Rated: Gen/K+. Family. John, Scott, Alan, Gordon Words: 2k; multichap - completed January 2020

Wax and Feathers Sometimes limits need to be broken. But a limit is there for a reason, and breaking them has consequences. Episode tag: 3.20 Rated: Gen/K+. Family. Scott, Gordon, Virgil Words: 4k; published February 2020

Hero They say you should never meet your heroes. Failure to comply may result in getting tongue-tied, or a failure of the brain to mouth filter. Episode tag: 3.24 Rated: Gen/K. Friendship. Outsider PoV, Scott Words: 1k; published February 2020

Fall He’s not there, until he is. Episode tag: 3.25 Rated: Teen. Angst/Hurt/Comfort. Scott, Jeff Words: 900; published February 2020

Bedtime (Should Not Be 4am) The first night home should be relaxing, but for Jeff it’s anything but as he readjusts to being back on Earth, and five sons who’ve grown up without him. Episode tag: 3.25/26 Rated: Gen/K+. Family. Jeff, Gordon, Scott, John Words: 3k; published February 2020

Blank Slate Jeff finds that there’s one relationship he can build from scratch. Episode tag: 3.25/26 Rated: Gen/K. Friendship. Jeff, The Mechanic Words: 1k; published February 2020

Apple Juice How hard is it to get a drink? Harder when younger brothers insist on interfering. Rated: Gen/K+. Family. Scott, Virgil, Tracy brothers Words: 1k; published February 2020

Firelight For Buddy and Ellie, camping is a beautiful way to live. Rated: Gen/K. Romance. Buddy, Ellie Words: 500; published March 2020

An Important Part John’s care packages sometimes contain a very special box. Rated: Gen/K. Family. John, Tracy brothers Words: 1k; published March 2020

Grape Juice or Wine A function that serves alcohol and a teenage brother. Just what Scott needed. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Scott, Alan Words: 700; published April 2020

Chess Master Gordon has a prized possession. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Gordon, John, Tracy brothers Words: 700; published April 2020

Heroes Made of Gas A spaceman and his stars. Rated: Gen/K. Family. John, Jeff Words: 700; published April 2020

Caretaker Scott’s week from hell couldn’t just finish without throwing him a final twist. Rated: Gen/K+. Hurt/Comfort/Family. Scott, Tracy brothers Words: 1k; published April 2020

Riding the Dragon | Return of the Dragon Part 1: Scott was excited, and John was not, but who really got the last laugh? Part 2: Ten years later they’re back, and this time Alan’s up for the challenge. John isn’t about to let Scott forget about their last adventure, though. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Scott, John, Alan, Tracy brothers Words: 4k; multichap - completed April 2020

Fresh Air When the standard methods of dealing with Scott don’t work, Virgil has to resort to something a little more creative. Rated: Gen/K. Hurt/Comfort/Family. Virgil, Scott Words: 2k; published April 2020

Unexpected When it came to the next generation, Scott didn’t think it would happen quite like this. Rated: Gen/K+. Family. Scott, John, Gordon, EOS Words: 1k; published April 2020

Awe The Shelbys were probably expecting a certain beautiful Lady when Gordon asked to bring a plus one, not an older brother. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Virgil, Gordon Words: 1k; published April 2020

Thrill Seeker “Launching a rocket into space most days not enough of an adrenaline kick for you, kid?” Rated: Gen/K. Family. Alan, Grandma, John Words: 1k; published April 2020

The Tale of Scotty-Bear When Lee Taylor bought a bog-standard teddy bear for his best friend’s baby, he probably didn’t expect it to be quite so popular. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Scott, Tracy brothers Words: 1k; published April 2020

I Just Can’t Wait To Be Free When Scott gets stuck, Gordon’s the only one around - too bad he can’t stop laughing. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Gordon, Scott Words: 1k; published April 2020

Splatter Scott was going to regret leaving him to handle Gordon alone, especially when paint got involved. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Virgil, Gordon, Scott Words: 2k; published April 2020

Revenge (Should Be Piping Hot) The only aspect of his appearance Virgil cared about was his hair. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Virgil, Scott, Tracy brothers Words: 1k; published May 2020

The Rules of Engagement Even acts of immaturity between brothers have to follow rules. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Scott, John, Virgil, Gordon, Alan Words: 1k; published May 2020

Night At The Opera Surely an invitation to the opera was better suited for Virgil? Or one of his other brothers? No? Okay, then. Wait, what do you mean he had to wear a suit? Rated: Gen/K+. Friendship/Family. Scott, Lady Penelope, Parker, Tracy family Words: 10k; published May 2020

Nothing See: Was space supposed to be this dark? A mission to rescue the crew of a freighter goes horribly wrong. Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Angst. Scott, Tracy Family Words: 8k; multichap - completed June 2020

Strays Her Ladyship collects strays. Rated: Gen/K. Friendship. Parker, Penelope, John, Gordon Words: 1k; published June 2020

Pulse Touch: Earthquakes suck. Badly. Especially when you’re still in an unstable building when the world crashes down. Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Angst. Scott, Gordon, Tracy Family Words: 11k; multichap - completed June 2020

Melt Smell: Snowy rescues are always the worst. Always. Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Angst. Scott, Virgil, Gordon, Tracy Family Words: 11k; multichap - completed June 2020

Silent Taste: They say you should ask for help when you need it, but what can you do except suffer in silence when asking for help will destroy your family? Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Angst. Scott, Tracy Family Words: 12k; multichap - completed June 2020

Tremor Hear: Not everyone worships the ground International Rescue walk on. Rated: Mature. Hurt/Comfort/Angst. Scott, Hood, Tracy Family Words: 14k; multichap - completed July 2020

Hollow Sixth Sense: Two teenagers and a night hike in the middle of nowhere is a recipe for disaster. When trouble strikes the clock starts ticking, but there’s no International Rescue around to pull off a miracle. Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Angst. Scott, John, Jeff, Tracy Family Words: 11k; multichap - completed July 2020

The Six Foot Club Outgrowing Gordon was an inevitability, but Alan hadn’t given much thought about the respective heights of his other brothers. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Alan, Virgil, Gordon Words: 800; published July 2020

Out Patience There are three Tracys in the hospital and only one of them should be out of bed. Rated: Gen. Family. Alan, Scott, Virgil Words: 4k; published July 2020

Grounded Scott didn’t enjoy the trash mine rescue at all, but he enjoyed the consequences of it even less. Episode tag: 3.22/23 Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Family. Scott, Tracy Family Words: 21k; multichap - completed July 2020

Human Scott needs to stop taking his helmet off first chance he gets - one day, his luck will run out. Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Family. Gordon, Scott, Grandma Words: 4k; published August 2020

Not Alone John makes a miscalculation with unexpected consequences. Rated: Gen. Family/Friendship. John, Scott, EOS Words: 4k; published August 2020

Cracks Under The Surface History likes to repeat itself and the human brain likes to find patterns. Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Family. Scott, Jeff, Virgil Words: 4k; published August 2020

Divided, United Waking up bound in a dark room is never good news, but the absence of the brother he saw shot in front of him just makes it worse. Rated: Teen. Angst/Hurt/Comfort. Scott, Virgil, John Words: 6k; published August 2020

For A Brother When it came to protecting family, there were no limits. Rated: Teen. Angst/Hurt/Comfort. Virgil, Scott, Kayo, John Words: 7k; published August 2020

The Only Course of Action John’s job is to watch and listen, but sometimes he’s also the last resort. Rated: Teen. Angst/Hurt/Comfort. John, Scott Words: 4k; published August 2020

Noise Was that racket supposed to be blaring from their comms? Alan hoped not. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Alan, Virgil, Tracy brothers, Kayo Words: 1k; published August 2020

His Collection The Hood knows what he wants, and will stop at nothing to get it. International Rescue have other ideas. Rated: Teen. Humour. Hood, Scott, Virgil Words: 1k; published August 2020

3am A desire for water in the early hours of the morning leads Sally Tracy to a revelation. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Grandma, Scott, John Words: 600; published November 2020

Liminal After the rain comes the sun, but there’s a special moment in between. Rated: Gen/K. Friendship. Parker, Scott Words: 1k; published November 2020

One More Stuffed Toy The arcade is loud and chaotic, but John doesn’t care, because his brothers are with him. Rated: Gen/K. Family. John, Tracy Brothers Words: 1k; published November 2020

After Sundown Scott didn’t let Alan help with the big things, but he didn’t say no to the small things. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Alan, Grandma, Scott Words: 1k; published November 2020

Same Old Song and Dance Dealing with a sick Scott was a challenge that Virgil had honed into an art. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Virgil, Scott Words: 1k; published November 2020

First Time It should be Dad, but it’s John instead and he wouldn’t change it for anything. Rated: Gen/K. Family. John, Alan Words: 800; published November 2020

At The End of The Day After a long, tiring rescue, Virgil just wanted coffee, a shower, and his bed. Gordon had a better idea. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Virgil, Gordon, Scott Words: 1k; published November 2020

Deserving Who looked at the world and said “this deserves to be saved?” A family of youngsters who’d lost too much already. Rated: Gen/K. Family/Friendship. Colonel Casey, Tracy Family Words: 800; published November 2020

His Sons Jeff had been gone eight years. He’d missed his sons growing up into young men, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still the same boys he’d left behind. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Jeff, Tracy Brothers Words: 900; published November 2020

Faulty It was supposed to be a pleasant, quiet evening. Then the multilingual tirade started in the kitchen. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Virgil, John, Tracy Brothers Words: 1k; published November 2020

Indescribable The sky is blue, the grass is green, Scott Tracy is a big brother. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Scott Words: 700; published November 2020

Simple Success Any success is worth celebrating, even if it isn’t one of the biggest, most impressive feats in IR history. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Scott, Tracy Family Words: 1k; published November 2020

It Calls Me Scott was born to fly. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Scott Words: 700; published November 2020

Words Not Said (But Still Heard) Gordon didn’t remember much about his time in the hospital, but he remembered the song. Rated: Gen/K. Family/Hurt/Comfort. Gordon, Scott Words: 1k; published November 2020

Unexpected, Not Unwanted It might not have been her intention to end up with five sons, but that didn’t mean she loved them any less. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Lucille, Tracy Family Words; 1k; published November 2020

Snap There was a whole mountain of paperwork, but a certain annoying younger brother refused to leave him in peace long enough for him to get it done. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Scott, Gordon Words: 1k; published November 2020

The Box In The Locker Reuniting families is one of the best feelings in the world, especially when one of the ‘family members’ is the child’s best friend. Rated: Gen/K. Friendship. Virgil Words: 800; published November 2020

Night Out Gordon learnt two things that night: Scott was an affectionate drunk, and sometimes people throw bar stools for no good reason. Rated: Teen. Family. Gordon, Scott Words: 2k; published November 2020

In Your Shadow “Tomorrow, they’re not gonna say ‘that’s Gordon Tracy, the Olympic Champion!’ Tomorrow, they’re gonna say ‘that’s Scott Tracy’s little brother!’, and I’m gonna say ‘damn straight I am.’” Rated: Gen/K+. Family. Gordon, Scott Words: 2k; published December 2020

The Sound of Thunder(birds) The sound of a Thunderbird should be a sound of hope and reassurance, but not everyone hears it that way. Rated: Gen/K. Friendship. Scott Words: 1k; published December 2020

Too Far It’s not normally Virgil that Scott has to pull up for misconduct. Episode Tag: 3.06 Rated: Teen/K+. Hurt/Comfort/Family. Virgil, Scott Words: 2k; published December 2020

Steady Hands One boat. Two brothers. A life-or-death game of Jenga. Rated: Teen. Family/Friendship. Virgil, Gordon, Scott, Chaos Crew Words: 8k; published December 2020

Get Some Sleep, Scott There was no cure for self-destructive idiocy, but Virgil still had a trick - or rather, a last resort - up his sleeve when Scott went too far. It hadn’t failed him yet. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Virgil, Scott, Gordon Words: 1k; published December 2020

ONGOING WORKS:

Desert Sands On the way home from a rescue Thunderbird One and Scott disappear from Thunderbird Five’s sensors, leaving International Rescue scrambling to both discover what happened and find them. Rated: Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Family. Scott, John, Tracy Family Words: 13k; Chapters: 7/?; updated September 2020

Long Way From Home His brothers are missing. In their place is a family of strangers, the only explanation that makes any sense is beyond comprehension, and the only solution is impossible. Scott Tracy’s never been so far from home. Rated: Teen. Family/Friendship. Scott, Tracy Family Words: 30k; Chapters: 7/?; updated November 2020

Toffee Gordon is a lover of many things. Toffee is not one of them. Rated: Gen/K. Family. Gordon, John, Grandma, Scott Words: 8k; Chapters: 4; updated November 2020

TUMBLR-EXCLUSIVE WORKS:

Dream A FabFiveFeb2020 ficlet using the prompts Scott+Dream Characters: Scott - February 2020

Short Snippet An abandoned wip with implied character death Characters: Gordon, Scott - April 2020

Heavy Metal A short ficlet inspired by the episode of the same name. Characters: Alan, Scott - April 2020

Random Scene A short scene with dark!John and EOS Characters: Jeff, John, EOS - May 2020

Random Scene A Thunderbirds/Detective Conan potential idea Characters: Gordon, John, Scott - May 2020

Random Scene A Thunderbirds/Percy Jackson potential AU Characters: Percy, Gordon - May 2020

Random Prologue Where Scott ends up in jail for murder Characters: Col. Casey, Scott - July 2020

WIP #46 Scott gets caught in an avalanche. Characters: Virgil, Scott, John, Grandma - November 2020

WIP #47 Scott gets caught in a serious plane crash. Characters: Gordon, Scott, Virgil, Alan, John, Col. Casey - November 2020

WIP #48 The original, and terrible, version of my published work Grape Juice or Wine. Characters: Alan, Tracy Brothers - November 2020

WIP #55 A post-series fic focusing on the aftermath of Jeff’s return home Characters: Jeff, Gordon, Grandma - November 2020

WIP #56 A sequel to my published work Hero. Characters: Neil (OC), Henry, Bee, Scott - November 2020

WIP #59a | WIP #59b | WIP #59c A squabble between brothers results in a whole pile of angst. Characters: Scott, Alan, John, Gordon, Virgil - November 2020

That One Scene | That One Scene #2 Two scenes from a movie rewrite Characters: Jeff, Hood, Scott, Gordon, Virgil, Alan, John - November 2020

Is- Is That My Blood? Scott’s trapped in a cave-in, and there’s too much blood Characters: Scott - November 2020

Random Scene AU Crime drama-esque scene with canonical character death Characters: Grandma, Scott - December 2020

Random Prologue Where Scott is Not Okay and just wants to go home Characters: Virgil, Scott - December 2020

Crack When a storm gets too intense for Thunderbird One to fly, Scott has to hunker down and wait it out. Characters: Scott - December 2020

Holey Scott There is a hole in Scott where there shouldn’t be Characters: Virgil, Scott - December 2020

FANART:

Dragon!TB1 A dragonified drawing of Thunderbird One, based on a Flight Rising fandragon - January 2020

Return of the Dragon A snapshot moment from my fic of the same name - July 2020

Night Out A snapshot moment from my fic of the same name - November 2020

The Missing Hair Gel An imagining of Scott without any hair gel - December 2020

Six Boys, Six Fandoms A collection of six drawings of six favourite boys from six favourite series! - December 2020

Dragon!TB2 A dragonified drawing of Thunderbird Two, based on a Flight Rising fandragon - December 2020

#thunderbirds are go #2020 summary #fanfiction #fanart

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corancoranthemagicalman · 3 years

Note

💜🌻💜🌻💜🌻💜🌻💜🌻💜

It's been a rough day and I can't words but please accept these flowers 🌻 I look forward to continuing our slow bromance tomorrow if work doesn't destroy me again

-🐧🌻

Hey!! Sorry that today was so rough for you dear :(( I hope tomorrow is better on your spirits. Please, take this as encouragement:

💕🌺💕🌺💕🌺💕

Sighing, Dean dropped his keys into the small glass dish that rested in the hallway. Sam had been adamant about them having a damn key dish. Dean half thought it was ‘cause Sammy only ever knew about domesticity outside of the bunker from films. Not that Cas and Jack were any better.

“Honey, I’m home,” Dean called out, moving further into the house. He peered into the living room and saw it empty. His shoulders felt heavy as he dragged himself over to the couch.

Dean untied his boots, joints aching from work. Maybe he was on the healthy side of forty, but a long life of brutal work made his back pop and his bones creak like an old house. In a sense, Dean thought he was an old house. Creaking, moaning, and filled with ghosts.

Dragging a hand over his face, Dean stood up after he finished removing his boots. He carried them back into the hallway before making a beeline toward the kitchen. The lights were still on, though Cas left them on often for him when he knew Dean would be working late.

The tension in his shoulders eased at the sight of a yellow sticky note plastered to the front of the microwave. Cas’ neat scrawl informed him of a plate placed in the microwave and ready for reheating. Dean was supposed to be home for dinner this time, dammit. He had been working late nights all week. He missed his family.

Swallowing thickly, Dean set the plate to reheat. He didn’t even check to see what Cas had prepared. Dean rolled his shoulders, stretching his neck as the plate slowly spun on its course. Before the timer called out, Dean ended the microwave’s cycle. He didn’t know if Cas and Jack were already in bed. No need to wake them from the microwave’s blaring.

The plate was warm in his hands, a small helping of vegetables and something Dean could identify as pork loaded on top. Smiling to himself, Dean grabbed a fork and knife from the drawer beside him and carried his small dinner over to the table.

It was lonely. Dean hated that thought. He was sitting in his home that he bought with his husband for them and their kid. But he was sitting beside an empty chair and looking across at Jack’s obnoxiously painted chair. Cas insisted the kid pick out his own, and it was horrendous to look at. The entire kitchen was mix and matched from their own taste to the housewarming gifts but it was theirs.

And here Dean was, looking at it alone.

Sighing, Dean pushed his plate aside and rested his face in his hands. God, he couldn’t even eat. Couldn’t even with his family. He wouldn’t trade this life for the world—and hell if he wasn’t afraid that sometime in his future he would have to make that choice. He was a damn lucky son of a bitch to have this. To have a family waiting for him at home and a job that he wasn't afraid he’d never make it back from.

But Harry was working him like a horse, and the shop had been non-stop all week after that accident on the highway. And Dean was fucking tired. He wanted to eat dinner with his fucking family. Didn’t he deserve that? Hadn’t he earned that?

Steps sounding from behind Dean drew his attention. He raised his face from his hands and turned to see Cas moving toward him. There were bags under his eyes and his hair looked ragged. His smile was soft and gentle like April rain. He was still beautiful; still Castiel Winchester.

“Hey,” Dean whispered, holding his hand out for Cas to take. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No,” Cas answered quickly, taking Dean’s hand and drawing closer. Stepping into his space, Dean moved his legs apart to accommodate Cas. He took the invitation and stepped even closer until his form was towering over Dean. Cas took Dean’s face in his hands and Dean felt any remaining tension melt away as if Cas still had some grace stored up for just this occasion.

Humming, Dean closed his eyes. “Couldn’t sleep?” He teased lightly, peeling his eyes open to look into that ever startling blue gaze.

Cas’ lips quirked into a smile. “I can never sleep without you.” He whispered back just as gently.

Dean snorted a quiet laugh. “I know that’s a damn lie. You sleep like the dead and snore like a tractor.” He quipped, quirking his brow up at Cas.

The roll of Cas’ eyes and the twitch of his lips was what Dean had wanted anyway. Cas nodded his head, conceding to the point. “Perhaps,” he eventually said, “but I always sleep better with you near.”

“Me too,” Dean’s throat felt dry, clenching around his words. He was surprised anything came out at all. “Cas,” he looked up at his husband, pleading, “I’m so sorry. I wanted to be home tonight. I did. I swear to God, Cas, I tried—”

“Dean,” Cas stilled him, rubbing his thumbs soothingly against Dean’s cheeks. “I know.” He leaned forward, gently kissing Dean’s forehead in a fluttering kiss. “We know.” Cas’ reassured him, speaking exactly what Dean needed to hear. He always knew what Dean needed to hear.

Smiling, Cas captured Dean’s lips gently, soothing the ache in Dean’s heart with the firm pressure of his lips against his own. He pulled back, still wearing that same smile. “When you get the weekend off, we’ll go up to Sam and Eileen’s. Take a breather.” Cas offered.

“Sounds damn near perfect,” Dean inhaled slowly. “As soon as I get the damn weekend off.”

“You will,” Cas spoke confidently. “This too shall pass.” He raised that dominating eyebrow, eyes filled with mirth. “You have faced off against worse things than an all-nighter.”

Dean sighed, nodding. “I know, but,” he chewed at his lip. He knew Cas would never judge him, but being vulnerable like this? It was something he was still working on. On communicating. On being open. “Usually with all of that shit I had you right beside me.”

Cas hummed, combing his fingers through Dean’s hair as his right hand moved to rest on Dean’s shoulder. “You might recall that there were several occasions in our lives where I was not beside you in the physical sense.”

Dean felt his eyes burn at those memories mixed with the sensation of Cas’ palm against his shoulder. His throat clenched and he swallowed harshly again. “Cas,” he began but to no avail.

“It’s true,” Cas spoke firm but gentle. “However, that does not mean there was a moment where I was not beside you.” Taking his usual seat at the kitchen table, Cas reached out. His palms were warm as they captured Dean’s hands in his own.

“We walk this life together now, Dean.” Cas finished this statement by bringing Dean’s ring to his lips, pressing the softest of kisses right there on the cool metal. “Through the bad and the good. And if that means you miss dinner and I have to cook, then so be it.” His voice was so factual, so sure. Dean couldn’t imagine Cas’ confidence in him ever wavering, since Dean could not recall a moment where Cas’ confidence in him ever had.

Dean pulled Cas’ hand to his lip, returning the kiss to Cas’ band. “I know.” His voice felt like it scraped against the roof of his mouth. “I love you so damn much, Cas.”

Cas smiled, small on his face but bright in its illuminance. “And I you.” He whispered, sighing with what Dean damn well hoped was content.

“Daddy?” A small voice called to them and an even smaller figure appeared in the entryway of the kitchen. Jack’s sleepy voice rumbled with a yawn before his eyes caught sight of Dean. He blinked in an attempt to fight off the sleep, blue eyes widening with delight. “Poppa!”

He raced over the tile floor of the kitchen, nearly sliding in his socks. Dean could hear the admonishment Cas had yet to say. Instead, Dean held out his arms for Jack and took the five-year-old in his grasp.

“Heya, slugger.” Dean grinned, kissing the top of Jack’s head. “What are you doing up, little guy?”

“I was thirsty.” Jack yawned, hugging his arms around Dean’s neck. “I didn’t know you’d be home or else I’d have waited up for you!”

Cas hummed under his breath, looking doubtful but no less adoring at Jack. He turned to Dean’s forgotten plate of food. “Why don’t I reheat this again and get Jack that glass of water?” He offered, grabbing the plate and standing.

Dean smiled gratefully at his husband before Jack’s chattering drew his attention again.

“And Mia said there was no such thing as angels but she’s wrong. She doesn’t even think vampires are real, Poppa.” Jack huffed, fiddling with the hem of Dean’s dirty shirt.

“What have we said about talking to your friends about monsters?” Dean furrowed his brow, looking at Jack.

Jack sighed dramatically. “It’s my secret. Like I’m Peter Parker.”

“Just like that.” Dean pinched his cheek, watching Jack squirm in his lap. “What did Leo think of the drawing you gave him? That happened today, right?” He worried at his cheek, fearing that he would have lost himself to the job. God, had that ever been his fear. Losing his family to the fucking job. He just hadn’t thought that job could ever be a normal one.

“Leo loved it!” Jack clapped his hands, taking the cup of water Cas carefully handed to him. “Leo said that he thought it was awesome. I think Leo’s awesome too.”

Dean smiled, watching as Jack drank some of his water slowly. He was growing up too damn fast. “Leo sounds like a good friend.”

The microwave beeped and Cas set the plate in front of Dean before taking his own seat again. “Leo’s mother asked if we had any plans for Memorial Day. Her husband is planning on doing a barbeque, and they’re inviting a few neighbors and friends over.”

“Do we need to bring anything?” Dean grabbed his fork, shoveling some of the green beans into his mouth. He took care not to disturb Jack on his lap.

“She said that’s not required, but it would be appreciated.” Cas hummed. “I know you are traditionally opposed to offering vegetables to our neighbors, but the tomatoes have just begun to ripen and I think we could make something nice with them.”

Dean attempted to hide his smile with another shoveling of food. “Sounds good to me, Cas.” His heart fluttered within his chest, the ache of today completely forgotten in the warmth of his husband and kid. Even if he didn’t get to have dinner with them, this was his damn family. “Sounds perfect.”

#ask c #🐧🌻 anon #anon #destiel #spn #ficlet

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monologue-database · 4 years

Text

(Most Of) Bojack Horseman End Scene

Bojack Horseman - Male - Mid 50s and Diane - Female - Late 30s

Bojack: You ever miss the mess?

Diane: No, miss is the wrong word.

Bojack: Sorry, Ms

Diane: I’m glad I lived in LA, but I’m not nostalgic for it. I’m glad I knew Mr. Peanutbutter, even though he’s not in my life anymore

Bojack: Yeah?

Diane: I think there are people that help you become the person that you end up being, and you can be grateful for them even if they were never meant to be in your life forever. I’m glad I knew you too

Bojack: “Knew”, huh?

Diane: Mm

Bojack: Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if this night was the last time we ever talked to each other?

Silence

Bojack: Um, anyway, I-

Diane: I need to tell you…

Bojack: No. You don’t have to/ You don’t owe me anything.

Diane: /No, I need to tell you: Thank you. And it’s going to be okay. And I’m sorry. And… Thank you.

Diane gets up to leave

Bojack: Wait.

Diane: Why?

Bojack: I know. I know. But can I just tell you a funny story?

Diane: Sure. But it better be very funny.

Bojack: I don’t wanna lie to you, it’s only kind of funny. So we have this movie night at the prison, right? And we get to vote on what movies we wanna see. But of course the whole thing is rigged because Big Andy’s favourite movie is The Family Stone, so Big Andy gets his guys to vote for it every week, and so every week we watch The Family Stone.

Diane: Hold on, whose favourite movie is The Family Stone?

Bojack: I mean, yeah, it’s a fine movie…

Diane: But every week?

Bojack: That’s what I’m saying! So, one day I’m like, “If I see Luke Wilson teach Sarah Jessica Parker how to let her freak fly one more time, I’m gonna snap.”

Diane: I don’t understand, is movie night mandatory?

Bojack: No.

Diane: So why don’t you just not go?

Bojack: What am I, a philistine? I support the arts, sue me.

Diane: Okay, sorry.

Bojack: But I know a guy who volunteers in the library, which is where they keep the DVDs. So I make a deal with him. “I’ll give you my Jell-O for a month if The Family Stone goes missing.”

Diane: I feel like this doesn’t end well.

Bojack: So, movie night comes around, time for another Christmas in Connecticut, but then, uh-oh, the DVDs gone, what do we do? So Big Andy’s getting really upset, and his guys are all riled, and then I go, “Fellas, fellas, fellas! Why don’t we watch Pieces of April this week? Change of pace. Patricia Clarkson’s in it and…”

Diane: And?

Bojack: Prison riot.

Diane: Oh, shit, really?

Bojack: No. Worse. Big Andy falls in love with Pieces of April, so now we watch Pieces of April every week.

Diane: You kind of made your own bed on that one.

Bojack: Story of my life.

Diane laughs

Diane: I’m sorry, that sounds awful.

Bojack: Yeah, well, what are you gonna do? Life’s a bitch and then you die, right?

Diane: Sometimes. Sometimes life’s a bitch and then you keep living.

Bojack: Yeah

Diane: But it’s a nice night, huh?

Bojack: Yeah. This is nice.

#scene #tv scene #tv two hander #two hander scene #male and female scene #mid 50s #late 30s #tv #bojack horseman

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duck-duck-me · 5 years

Text

A bit of an endgame fix-it bullet fic

Two years pass, and Bucky and Sam have been saving the world while old man Steve Rogers watches from the sidelines. It’s good to have him around but its not the same.

In april of 2025 Steve Rogers dies in his sleep. He was 98, it was more than his time to go

Bucky doesn’t speak for 3 days, and Sam isn’t really much better.

The first time Bucky does speak its in Gaelic (a language nobody knew he spoke) It takes 4 more days for him to start speaking in english again.

Wanda comes back to mourn her friend and stays

The funeral is pretty small, but the murals, the pop culture is prolific. There is a mural that would put the one at the Smithsonian to shame painted on Bucky’s apartment building

A year passes, and things kinda go back to normal

Peter Parker, journalism student at NYU kinda becomes friends with Bucky and Sam.

And on an unrelated note, that dude Spiderman has been seen kicking it with Captain America and the Winter Soldier

Captain marvel and King T’Challa swing by when they can, even Thor comes back to earth to check in every now and again. After all Steve was one of his favorite midguardians.

Bucky accidentally meets a teenage girl who calls herself Ms Marvel in the sewer and becomes her mentor (Look Wolverine isn’t in the MCU so having Bucky as Kamala Kamm’s mentor makes the most sense)

They have an Avengers again

And Suddenly Those avengers find themselves fighting the KKK (Still Banking on Son Of Serpent) and they are scrambling. Former members of Hydra, people who didn’t quite come back right, and a whole new bread of racism that sprung up in the time between the break up and the snap are attacking citizens with full force, and the avengers can’t handle it.

They need Steve Rogers.

Wanda suggests that they go back in time to get him, “We bring him back for the mission then drop him off right where we found him. It shouldn’t mess up the timeline too much”

Bucky and Sam begrudgingly agree and decide that its best to send Wanda and Peter back to get him.

Look everyone is going to know who Bucky is, and Sam never wants to experience being a black man in the 1940s

Later that night Bucky confides in Sam. “I don’t think I will be able to handle watching him leave again”

“I don’t think any of us will, but between you and me, I don’t think anybody would fault you for going back with him.”

“I really don’t think I would be able to handle that either”

Sam swings an arm around him and says “I’m sorry bud”

The next morning Scott Lang helps them find Steve Rogers in time. He’s pretty hard to track considering he exists at every point in time for a solid 100 years. Turns out that 37 year old Steve will be at a lunch counter in June of 1945 at about 3 pm.

Steve did go back to see Peggy. He got that dance, he warned her about what would happen to SHIELD, told her to be there for Tony in December of 1991 because he was going to need somebody to love him. He got his chance to say goodbye, because he hadn’t when she died in 2016 and that had been eating away at him for 7 fucking years.

Steve was going to go back to the pad. He really was, BUT first he was going to get something to eat from his favorite lunch counter that got turned into a starbucks while he was in the ice.

And when he walked in who should he see but an old friend and a kid from queens

He doesn’t even have time to ask questions before Peter says “Look cap, sir we came from 2026 and things are a little crazy. We need your help. After we stop King Serpent we can totally bring you back to live out your days with Agent Carter.”

“So I can do what? I was just about to head back to Bruce and Bucky and Sam.”

Wanda looks at him. She has seen that memory of Steve on the bench in Bucky’s dreams. She held his hand while he cried about it once. But Steve isn’t lying. “You didn’t come back to Tony’s funeral. A way older version of you met Sam and Bucky there. He was waiting. You passed on your shield to Sam. Told them you got a life. That older version of you died. You stayed in 1945 with Peggy. You had a wedding ring, and you refused to tell us about it”

“Peggy has a husband and Kids, I would never take that away from her… And I would never abandon you guys without at least talking about it before hand.”

And then it hits Peter (Look he doesn’t have a 4.0 in college and a swanky internship at the daily bugle for nothing) “Shit we are the reason you don’t come back to the funeral. We are going to bring you back 3 years later. You don’t stay in the 40s, you just kinda experience time out of order.”

Wanda is quick as they come too, “That means the older version of you didn’t come from the past he came from the future. We have an extra vial of pym particles. Peter take him to sam right now, I need to go to 2024. I am so going to regret leaving you two alone together”.

It is a terrible idea really, but somehow Steve and Peter manage to not get in trouble for the 5 minutes that they aren’t supervised

In fact steve Spends all of that time asking Peter what the hell happened and how Bucky and Sam are doing.

Wanda finds herself in Bucky’s house in 2024. She bursts into the room saying “I just brought you back from 1940”

Steve grins “I remember. I bet you have a few questions.”

“Understatement of the year really” She decides to ask. She could just look into his head. That would be the easy option really, but Steve is her friend. He wouldn’t lie. “Do we bring you back to 1940”

“Nope, I came back from 2086 during the funeral and waited on that bench.”

“Who has the matching wedding band?”

“Really? You don’t want lottery numbers or the winners of the next 60 superbowls? You don’t want to know how we beat the serpent?”

“I think we’ve messed with time enough”

“Who do you think?”

She grins, “When do you guys actually get married?”

“2028, once we get back together, which I guess is soon for you, we stay that way. We fell into our old habits and this time we never had to let go.”

So she has to grill him “Who officiated, and who are the best men?”

“T’challa officiated, Sam was Bucky’s best man and you were mine.”

“What made you want to come back, or stay back”

“Bucky died. It was peaceful, and we had been married for 58 years. I’m not really meant to live without him.“

She gives him a huge hug then zaps herself back to 2026

Wanda actually gets back to Bucky and Sam before Steve and Peter do. “Peter and I were the reason that Steve didn’t come back.”

Bucky doesn’t even have time to blink at her in confusion before he has an arm full of time traveling super soldier. He can barely breathe when he hears Steve say “She told me its been 3 years since the funeral… I’m so sorry Bucky. I never wanted to leave”

And suddenly Sam is hugging them both, and all 3 of them are crying while Wanda is whispering something about Starbucks to Peter.

Look he has enhanced hearing, but he isn’t really paying attention right now, he is too focused on telling Steve how much he missed him

It takes a minute, but Wanda, Steve and Peter are able to explain everything, and Bucky, still crying just hugs him again “Thank you for staying”

“Buck, I wouldn’t give you up for the world… Any of you”

They fight the serpent, and they win. And they keep on being the Avengers. And Steve stays with them the whole time.

Steve is more than happy to let Sam be Captain America. The Captain is a champion for the underdogs, and Steve doesn’t really fit that bill any more. PLUS The nomad suit that fury’s personal costume designer (Agent Armani he called her?) is actually really cool, and its nice to have a low profile. He still saves the world, but now he has more time to draw (His online comic about a bunch of superheroes all living together in a tower is actually very popular, and all similarities between his characters and existing superheroes is purely coincidental) , and to show Bucky the modern world, his modern world.

Steve also takes the time to hang out with his niece Morgan, she is a smart kid, and she makes him help her fill out her WWII study sheets.

A number of things make Bucky want to tell Steve that he is in love with him. but the thing that finally pushes him over the edge is watching peter parker propose to his childhood sweetheart Michelle.

Bucky has barely said the words “I love you” before steve kisses him within an inch of his life.

Life goes on, and for once, Steve, Bucky, and Sam actually get to enjoy it (Even though they still get shot at a lot)

#Stucky #captain america #Steve Rogers #falcon #sam wilson #Winter Soldier #Bucky Barnes #Marvel #wanda maximoff #peter parker #mine

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innaminitus · 5 years

Text

No more lies

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Request: Hello girl🤗How you’re doing? Hope you’re fine If you don’t have a lot of request going Could you take this request with Peter Where Peter and reader are best friends, the kind that gets confused with a couple, reader discover that he’s Spider-Man and she’s terrified of something happening to Peter but saw it coming and then they really start dating Plus, nobody noticing the change until they see them making out or something XD (can be a lot of months later) just all the flufff 💞 Hope you can (from anon)

Warnings: Star Wars references

Word count: 1582

EVIDENCE #1 THAT PETER PARKER IS IN FACT SPIDER-MAN

You rang the bell to Peter’s flat, hoping to find him there. He didn’t answer your texts nor calls and he promised to help you with chemistry. The test was tomorrow and you had no business in getting another F, so you really looked forward to his help.

May opened the door for you.

“Hi, Mrs. Parker, Is Peter here?” You asked, smiling at her.

“Y/N! Come in.” She let you in and closed the door. “He’s in his room.”

“Thank you!” You walked in the direction of his room and as always didn’t bother knocking. “Pete, why are you-“

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY SWAMP?” He shouted and all you could see before he slammed the door was that he was undressing from some sort of a red onesie.

You shook your head and leaned on the door.

“I’ve seen you naked before, you know…”

“Only because Ned slid my swimmers down!”

You giggled at the memory of your last year’s trip to the beach.

“Are you done?” You sighed. “You know what, I don’t care, I’m coming in…” You opened the door and saw him tucking the red onesie to his closet. It looked weirdly similar. “What’s that?” A sleeve was poking out of the closet and you immediately recognized it. “Is this Spider-man’s suit?” You furrowed.

He quickly tucked it back.

“N-no, that’s just my… Halloween costume! Yes. Halloween costume.” He nodded as if he was confirming it to himself.

You raised your eyebrow.

“It’s April.” You sat on his bed and took out your books and notebooks.

“I want it to be perfect.” He sat down next to you. You wanted to say something, but he covered your mouth with his hand. “No more talking about the costume.” You furrowed and licked his hand. He jumped with disgust and tied to wipe the hand on your t-shirt, but you escaped him, giggling. He eventually wiped it on the bedsheet and took the chemistry book. “What are you too dumb to understand here?”

EVIDENCE #2 THAT PETER PARKER IS IN FACT SPIDER-MAN

You were going home with Ned and Peter from school, Peter’s arm swinging around your shoulders. You decided to go for hotdogs and were waiting in a line to get some.

You ordered first, Peter was after you.

“You’re not paying for your girlfriend?” You heard the salesman say and widened your eyes.

“She’s not my girlfriend…” Peter laughed nervously and poked your ribs.

“You wish I was.” You rolled your eyes, but blushed slightly.

It wasn’t the first time someone had mistaken you for a couple.

“To be honest you two would fit together,” Ned said when you left the stand. “You act like an old marriage already.”

“N- no, we don’t.” Peter shook his head and took a bite, his arm was once again around you.

You raised your eyebrows and lifted the hands you unwittingly joined on your shoulder.

“I think we actually might,” you said and shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter, because-“

“Help!” A scream of an elderly woman made you stop. “Thief!”

You saw a man running from her with a yellow bag in his hand. You turned to Peter to say you should call the police, but he was already gone. You opened and closed your mouth like a fish pulled out of its tank and looked around.

“Where is Peter?”

Ned shrugged.

“I- I don’t know-“

“Hey, it’s Spider-man!” Someone shouted and you turned to the direction everyone looked at.

Spider-man came out of nowhere, swinging on his web. He shot the web to the back of the thief and pulled him up. The thief was swinging now from the streetlight and Spider-man tied him there tightly before returning the bag to the woman.

You wished Peter was here, he was a fan of-

“Ned…” You looked at him. “Where is Peter?”

“I just told you-“

“Bullshit. Why is he always gone when Spider-man is near?” You raised your brow. “Ned, is he Spider-man?” He smiled nervously and you grabbed your sides. “Ned.”

“These are not the droids you’re looking for.” He waved his hands in a Jedi manner and backed himself before clumsily turning and running in the direction of your home.

These two idiots.

EVIDENCE #3 THAT PETER PARKER IS IN FACT SPIDER-MAN

EVIDENCE #4 THAT PETER PARKER IS IN FACT SPIDER-MAN

You waited for Peter in his home. May let you in and went shopping and you were sitting on the backrest of the couch.

You wanted him to admit that he’s Spider-Man. He was doing stupid, reckless things and you wanted him to stop. You hated the thought of him getting hurt…

You heard the lock in the door and Peter entered the house. When he reached the living room he jumped at your sight.

“Y/N, you scared me-“

“The floor is lava!”

You’ve never, ever, saw anyone do a backflip that fast. He landed on the armchair and you gasped, quickly standing up on the cushions.

“I knew it!” You shouted and pointed finger guns at him, as always when you were fighting. “You’re Spider-Man!”

“Y/N, that’s not what you think! Put the guns down!”

“How could you keep that a secret?!” You pretended to reload the guns.

“PUT THE GUNS DOWN!” He raised his hands in the air.

“You lied to me!”

“You are very reckless with your weapons, Y/N!” He jumped on the coffee table and then onto the couch you were standing on.

“Just tell me the truth,” your voice was shaking. “Are you Spider-man?”

He took a deep breath to say something, but closed his mouth.

“Yes.”

You clenched your teeth and hit his chest.

“How could you?” You kept hitting. “How could you not tell me? I thought we were friends! We were supposed to tell each other everything! No secrets, remember? You pinky swore…”

He seized your wrists and you had to look at him.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t want you to know because I knew you would try to stop me. And… I thought that the less you knew the safer you would be.”

“You were damn right. I don’t want you to do it.” You shook your head. “It’s too dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“But it’s alright, Mr. Stark makes sure my costume is as awesome as possible and-“

“Tony Stark takes part in this? A grown man lets a teenager do all of this?”

His hands slid from your wrists to your palms and he wrapped his fingers around yours.

“Please, don’t worry.” He tilted his head. “I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt it, just…” You couldn’t find words, so you just pulled him for a hug. “Don’t you ever lie to me again,” you muttered in his chest when his warm arms wrapped around you.

“I promise.”

You moved away slightly, so you could see his face.

“Pinky swear?” You moved one hand so you could stick out your little finger, the other one was still wrapped around him.

He did the same and entwisted his finger around yours.

“Pinky swear.” He kissed your palm and you kissed his. He looked you in the eyes when he slowly lowered your joined hands and within a second pressed his lips onto yours. You were so shocked you didn’t move at all, you only widened your eyes. He stiffly moved away. “I- I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking-“

You almost jumped at him, your lips met his again, but this time you weren’t so passive. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he deepened the kiss. After a few seconds you moved away, but still held him close.

“I… Um…” He was stuttering. “Maybe you would like to… You know…“

“Yes,” you laughed and he smiled with relief. “I’d love to date you.”

He moved away.

“Wow, that’s totally not what I was going to say… Awkward…” Your smile faded and you were sure you got pale. You were so stupid- But then he laughed. “I’m just joking! Just joking!”

He tried to kiss you again, but you threw him off the couch.

“It’s over, Anakin. I have the high ground.” You threw pillow at him and he laughed. “Die in lava, asshole.”

He took something from his pocket and before you could realize what was happening, his web was pulling you to him. You landed on his chest and laughed with him before placing a soft kiss on his lips. It felt so good to kiss him-

“And what are you kids doing here?”

EVIDENCE #1 THAT PETER PARKER IS IN FACT YOUR BOYFRIEND AND NO ONE NOTICED

You were sitting on the bench at the cafeteria, Peter’s arm wrapped around you.

“Why are you not eating the veggies?” You asked, watching him push them aside.

“Watch your own plate.” He murmured.

You speared a piece of carrot on your fork and waved it before Peter’s face.

“Eat.”

He just rolled his eyes and obediently ate the carrot, then took the opportunity of lowering his head and pressed his lips onto yours in a sweet kiss. You heard someone choking and you moved away with raised eyebrows.

“What’s wrong with you?” You asked Ned as he tried to breathe.

He pointed a finger at you.

“You just kissed! Like a couple!”

Peter furrowed.

“Ned… We are dating for at least a month now.”

“What?”

#peter parker x reader #spider man x reader #spiderman x reader #peter parker imagine #spider man imagine #spiderman imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #avengers #avengers imagine

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ramseyandrys · 5 years

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Fluffy Alphabet: Ethan x MC

Hi! When I read @isabella-choices ‘s take on this (read it here!), I knew I had to write it for Ethan and my MC Tilly. I’m also thinking of doing one for Liam x MC, Beckett x MC, Mr. Sinclaire x MC, Cal x MC, and/or Adrian x MC. Let me know which you’d prefer!

Tag List: @isabella-choices @lilyofchoices @x-kyne-x @universallypizzataco

A = Attractive. What do they find attractive about each other?

Ethan is attracted to Tilly’s mind. There are times when he’s brought to his knees just by listening to her explain a rare blood disease. Superficially, Ethan is in love her tight brown curls. He loves to run his fingers through it. Tilly says it bothers her because he tangles it, but, truthfully, she loves it.

Tilly is also attracted Ethan’s mind, but, more than that, she’s attracted to how much he cares. Ethan puts his heart and soul into his work because he cares deeply about all of his patients even the ones who prove to be more than a little difficult. She loves him for that. His appearance is just an added benefit. Tilly’s often mesmerized by his light blue eyes, so much so that she occasionally forgets her train of thought while staring into them.

B = Baby. Do they want a family? Why/Why not?

Ethan never thought he’d have children. It wasn’t that he didn’t want them, but that he couldn’t imagine forsaking his job long enough to find someone to settle down with.

Tilly, however, has always wanted children. She used to want four, but, after doing a round in the pediatric ward for a week, she lowered it to one or two.

In the end, they have two children: a son named Parker and a daughter named Eli. Read about them here.

C = Cuddle. How do they cuddle?

Ethan claims he doesn’t like to cuddle. He puts up a fit whenever Tilly wraps her arms around his waist while he’s cooking or snuggles close to him in bed. Tilly can tell by his small smile that he secretly loves it. She can also tell because, every night, Ethan inches closer to her in the bed, making it easier for her to wrap her arms around his torso.

D = Dates. What are dates with them like?

Working in a hospital is exciting. It’s fast-paced. It’s an adrenaline rush. Going out to dinner and a movie just feels boring to Ethan and Tilly, so they don’t. Instead, every date they go on they do something different. It can be as simple as trying a new restaurant or riding in a hot air balloon. Ethan’s content with just going to a new restaurant, but Tilly likes to keep him on his toes.

E = Everything. You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…)

For Ethan, Tilly is his heart. She’s at the center of it and always will be.

For Tilly, Ethan is her giraffe. She insists it has nothing to do with his long neck, but they both know that’s a lie.

F = Feelings. When did they know they were falling in love?

They both knew for sure in Miami.

G = Gentle. Are they gentle? How so?

Neither Ethan nor Tilly are gentle with each other, particularly in the bedroom. They both love to push each other to their limits. When Ethan started to coddle Tilly when she got pregnant with their son, she all but screamed at him.

H = Holding Hands. How do they like to hold hands?

They don’t hold hands. Instead, Tilly always loops her arm through Ethan’s.

I = Impression. First impression/s?

The first impression Ethan had of Tilly was on paper. He knew she was an intelligent, ambitious doctor who an immense amount of potential.

Tilly’s first impression of Ethan was also on paper. She read an article of his on JSTOR. She googled his name, expecting him to be a stuffy, old man, but she instead got a stuffy, young man.

J = Joker. Are they into pulling pranks?

Ethan hates pranks. He tries to take off of work every April Fool’s Day, so he won’t fall victim to his coworkers and patients’ jokes.

Tilly, on the other hand, loves pranks. The best part about pranking Ethan is his reaction. He lets out an exasperated sigh and an aggravated, “Matilda Louise Ramsey!”

K = Kiss. How do they kiss?

They kiss passionately, holding nothing back.

L = Love. Who says ‘I love you’ first?

Ethan does.

M = Memory. What’s their favorite memory together?

For Ethan, it’s when Tilly says yes to his proposal. Read it here.

For Tilly, it’s when she sees Ethan meet his son for the first time.

N = Nickel. Do they spoil each other?

Neither Ethan nor Tilly are materialistic people. They value experiences more than they do things. So, Ethan will gladly spend a thousand dollars on a bottle of wine just for the few seconds of pleasure, and Tilly will just as eagerly splurge on a vacation to Santorini.

O = Orange. What colour reminds them of their other half?

Blue reminds Ethan of Tilly. When he first met her, she was in blue scrubs, and, from that day on, he’s associated her with that color.

Blue also reminds Tilly of Ethan. It isn’t just because of his eyes, but it’s also because of how calm the color blue makes her feel. When Ethan wants to be, he can be a very calming person. When he puts both of his hands on her shoulders and tells her to breathe, she swears she’s on a white sand beach.

P = Pet names. What pet names do they use?

Ethan doesn’t use pet names besides the occasional “love” or “sweetheart”. He doesn’t consider “rookie” to be a pet name. To him, that’s just another way to pronounce Tilly.

Tilly is the complete opposite. She loves the pink tint that appears on Ethan’s ears and cheeks when she calls him “snuggluffagus” when they’re cuddling or “Ethan the Grouch” whenever Ethan is pissy they ran out of coffee.

Q = Questions. Are there questions they’re always asking?

Ethan is always asking Tilly, “Are we out of coffee already?” Tilly doesn’t drink coffee, so she’s always amused when he gets grumpy about it. He also often asks her, “What did you do?”

Tilly is always asking Ethan, “Have you seen this?” She asks the question then shoves her phone in his face, showing him a meme (or me-me as Ethan pronouns it) or cat video.

R = Rainy Day. What do they like to do on a rainy day?

Ethan loves to sit at the kitchen table and do paperwork as the rain falls. When it’s not raining and he has work to do, he turns on an app that has white noises on it. Rain helps him focus.

Tilly also loves the rain. Whenever it rains, her inner child comes out. She’ll take Ethan’s hand, put Jenner on his leash, and drag them outside. She’ll play fetch with Jenner or watch as Ethan grumbles about his wet sweater vest. Tilly loves bursting into songs from Singin’ in the Rain. Sometimes, Ethan will join her… as long as no one’s there and he’s had his coffee. The day Sienna visited and found Dr. Ethan Ramsey singing “Good Morning” in the rain with Tilly is one she’ll never forget.

S = Sad. How do they cheer each other up?

Whenever Tilly’s sad, Ethan will turn on her guilty pleasure: Scrubs. If they’re somewhere a TV is not, Ethan will hug her close to him and gently whisper in her ear the vows he said on their wedding day, promising again and again to never leave her.

Whenever Ethan’s sad, Tilly asks for his help with a patient she has. Tilly’s found that the best way to cheer him up is to distract him, to bring his mind elsewhere. Whenever that doesn’t work, she walks over to their children, leans down in front of them, and whispers, “I think Daddy needs a hug.”

T = Talking. What do they like to talk about?

Ethan and Tilly, of course, talk about medicine. More than that, they talk about the one TV show they both like: Game of Thrones. They also talk about the latest hospital gossip. Ethan tries to act uninterested whenever Tilly starts a sentence with, “Did you hear what happened?”, but she always notices how his ears perk up.

U = Unencumbered. What helps them relax?

In addition to rain, Ethan’s also relaxed by nature shows. He’s relaxed by the narrator’s often British accent and watching ocelots play with each other in the wilderness. Around the holidays, Ethan likes to sew, but that’s his and Tilly’s secret.

Tilly’s relaxed by baking. She isn’t much of a cook (or baker for that matter), but she likes baking cookies and cupcakes. Ethan always tries her sweets even when he thinks he’s about to eat a piece of coal only to find out it’s a sugar cookie.

V = Vaunt. What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?

Both Ethan and Tilly are proud of their intelligence and their ambition. However, that’s little in comparison to how proud they are of their children. Every piece of artwork of Parker and Eli’s goes on the fridge. There’s also a trophy case dedicated to all of the awards they’ve won from Parker’s soccer participation trophy to Eli’s national spelling bee trophy.

W = Wedding. When, how, where do they propose?

Read that here.

X = Xylophone. What’s their song(s)?

Their first dance was to “At Last” by Etta James.

Some of their other songs include: “Baby, I Love Your Way” by Peter Frampton and “More than Words” by Extreme.

Y = You. You are the ___ to my ___ (e.g. the cookies to my milk, the macaroni to my cheese).

According to Ethan, Tilly is the angioplasty to his coronary artery. Ethan isn’t exactly known for his romantic abilities.

According to Tilly, Ethan is the Kanye to her Kanye. Ethan has no idea what on God’s green earth that means, but he uses context clues to determine Kanye is someone who likes himself an awful lot.

Z = Zebra. If they wanted a pet, what would they get?

Ethan and Tilly have two pets: Jenner and a cat named Cat.

More of My Work

#open heart #playchoices #choices #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc

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momentofmemory · 5 years

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fictober - day four

Prompt #4: “I know you didn’t ask for this.”

Fandom: Spider-Man (All Media Types/Tom Holland Movies)

Warnings: None

Rating: G

Characters: May & Peter Parker

Words: 2269

Author’s Note: part iii of a may & peter series, but can be read as a standalone.

>>The Mary Month of May

Peter is five years old, and May’s going to be late picking him up from kindergarten (again).

This time she has a good excuse, however, as after eight long months of Peter living with them, she’s finally holding a manilla folder with an official-looking seal from the New York Office of Child and Family Services. The OCFS logo stares up at her, and May feels a mixture of joy and heartache as she runs her hand over the folder. Joy, because it means she can keep the promise of forever she made to Peter; sorrow, because she wishes she didn’t have to.

She still catches Ben starting to text Richard sometimes, when something Peter says or a random science joke reminds him of his brother, before he remembers.

May shoves down her feelings and slips the folder into her purse without opening it—she doesn’t want to run the risk of losing any of the long-awaited papers in the crowded, jostling mailroom—but also because it’s 2:40, and she needs to catch the E train in time to pick Peter up from kindergarten.

Fortunately for May and Ben’s sake, Mary had already enrolled Peter in a fairly prestigious school long before that night. While updating all the paperwork to show the change in guardianship had been a nightmare, not having to find a place for Peter during the day had been a small godsend. The first few weeks of adjusting to their new lives had been tough on all of them, especially Peter, but time has a way of smoothing things over and by the spring semester they had all settled into a routine that while still not quite comfortable, at least feels familiar.

Which is why, when May finally reaches the pickup area—3:06, not really late—and finds Peter sitting by himself with a laser focus on the ground, she immediately knows something is wrong. It doesn’t help that the remaining kids, though there aren’t many at this point, seem to be giving Peter a wide berth, too.

She worries at her lower lip and keeps an eye on him as she signs them out, exchanging halfhearted pleasantries with the secretary. Finally, she’s free to make her way over to him—he still doesn’t seem to have noticed she’s here—and the weight of the folder in her purse feels like it grows heavier with every step she takes.

“Find a new species on the tips of your shoelaces, Tiger?”

Peter’s head rockets up in confusion, and then when he sees who it is, lets his head fall back down and resumes his staring contest with the floor. “They’re called aglets.”

“…What?”

“The tips of shoelaces,” Peter says, though the explanation sounds more route than his usual levels of exuberance. “They’re called aglets. There’s a song for it.”

“There’s a song for everything,” May agrees. “Including ones for getting out of school.”

She holds out her hand. “You ready?”

Peter’s gaze remains downcast for a moment longer, then he shifts his backpack onto his shoulders and stands up, slipping his hand into hers. May doesn’t ask him how his day went. She’s learned that he’ll tell her when he’s ready.

“Come on,” she says instead, squeezing his hand. “I need to tell you about the ridiculous buskers on the subway this morning.”

It takes three stories, slightly embellished, one mad dash to the market before closing, and two uneventful train stops before Peter rouses out of his stupor enough to start giggling at May’s bad jokes again.

He doesn’t mention what was bothering him, which May finds a little disconcerting since Peter normally fesses up pretty quickly, but by the time dinner is over he’s laughing with Ben and making a mess with his Lincoln Logs, and she wonders if maybe it was nothing in particular after all.

The folder is still waiting in her purse, so May wipes dry the last plate and walks over to the counter to retrieve it. Her phone is sitting on top, and she notes that she has an email waiting from Peter’s homeroom teacher. She unlocks the phone as she pulls the folder out, intending to show it to Peter.

“Ben, can you and Peter—”

The email opens and May’s heart lodges in her throat, preventing anything else from getting out.

—regret to inform you that, as it’s nearing the end of April, Peter’s class has started allotting time to make gifts for parents. Some of the children may have been insensitive to Peter with some of their remarks, and I hope that—

May swallows her heart back down into her chest, and twists the folder under her hands.

“You okay, May?” Ben calls from the living room.

“Yeah,” she says, hoping her voice doesn’t sound as strangled as it feels.

May isn’t as smart as Peter, but she’s not dumb, either. The teacher could dance around the topic as much as she wanted. There’s only one holiday in May that kindergarteners pay attention to: Mother’s Day.

And Peter doesn’t have one.

“What’s that?”

May whirls around at the sound of Peter’s voice. His eyes are glued to the folder, slightly warped as it is from May’s fretting, and she instantly knows that she can’t lie to him.

May sits down at the kitchen table and Peter follows suit, his hands clasping in front of him even though the table’s too tall for him to do so comfortably.

“I got a very important letter from the government today,” she begins, unsure if she’s delivering good news or bad news, considering.

“They’re taking me away?” Peter gasps, his eyes filling with tears.

May all but leaps out of her chair to wrap Peter in a hug. “No! No no no, honey, of course not, I wouldn’t let them even if they were. I promised, remember?”

Ben skids into the room, having heard Peter’s outburst. His eyes fall on the distraught boy, then May’s frazzled appearance, then the folder. He softens in understanding. “Why don’t you have Peter open the file, May.”

Peter sniffs, clearly still distraught, but accepts the folder from May. She winds up having to help him with the fastener, but eventually they manage to pry it open and a very official-looking document slides out onto the table.

Peter carefully reads out things he recognizes, like Secretary of State and May Parker and Benjamin Parker (“That’s Uncle Ben, honey”), and phrases he doesn’t quite know like permanent legal custody, before he gets to the most important name on the list:

Peter Parker.

May watches as Peter’s brow furrows, and then his mouth drops into an “Oh.” The tension on his face doesn’t fully leave.

May’s smile wobbles.

“Is this okay?” She has no idea what to do if he says no.

“I…” Peter looks down at his hands, and Ben slides quietly into the chair next to him. “Does that mean I should call you Mom now?”

May’s brain freezes, because she... she can’t. She loves him and he’s her kid now, but she loved Mary, too, and the idea of replacing her feels impossible.

Ben picks up the conversation. “Do you want to, Peter?”

Peter bites his lip and looks down. Safe in the view of his shoelaces, he shakes his head. No.

“Then you don’t have to,” Ben says, and May sighs in relief because Ben’s so good at making big things feel so simple.

“But Taylor says that means you’re going to leave me.”

“Taylor said what—”

Before May can finish her sentence, the dam that Peter’s been holding back all day breaks. Peter explains how he was going to make a card for Aunt May for school, but then Taylor had said the projects were only for people’s mothers and aunts didn’t really count anyway, and that because an aunt could leave him at any time, she’ll just get bored of him and then he’ll be all alone and—and—

Peter’s monologue is cut short when both May and Ben pull him into a hug.

“Peter Parker,” May says, suddenly sure of exactly what she needs to say. “We are not leaving you. Okay? I told you forever. And I meant it.”

“We love you, Peter,” Ben adds. “That’s what this document is about, and even if we didn’t have it, that wouldn’t change how we feel. What the government calls us or other people call us doesn’t matter. We’re family.”

May tilts back so she can see him better, her hand firmly wrapped around his shoulder.

“You don’t have to call me Mom or give me things or celebrate holidays or whatever. I wouldn’t ask you to, not unless you wanted to. I would never want to replace your mom, who I also loved dearly.” May pauses as she tries to figure out how to give a five year old a sense of permanence. She glances at the names on the document, and it clicks.

“It’s also okay if you don’t want to call me Aunt,” she says, watching his reaction. “Aunt or Uncle or Mom or whatever, they’re just titles. And they can change—but I’m me either way. Just me. So you can call me just May, if you want.”

Peter’s brows knit together, trying to determine how he feels about this new idea. He looks from May to the document, and then back to May again.

“Just May?” he asks.

“Yeah,” May says, fondness washing over her as she sees light sparking in Peter’s eyes. “Just May and just Peter, and just Ben, if you want.”

Peter picks at his shoelaces, and then nods once, decisively.

“Okay, May.”

_____________________________

On Mother’s Day, Peter doesn’t go to school.

Instead, May takes the day off work and they both wake up whenever they want to, and May tries (and fails) to make chocolate chip pancakes. They watch Peter’s favourite Disney movie and play with his train set and get lunch at the bodega down the street, and then finally, when Peter is ready, they carefully roll up his Mother’s Day letter and place it in a bottle, and take the train to the stop by 69th and Metropolitan Ave.

It’s after the lunch hour but before most kids are out of school, which means there’s no one around when they make it to the imposing iron gates surrounding the public cemetery. Peter hesitates and May moves forward to open the gate for him.

“It’s okay,” she says, giving his hand a squeeze. “Just follow me.”

Peter does, and they wind their way through the stones and flowers until they reach the one marked Richard and Mary Parker.

It’s a simple affair: Peter places the bottle carefully next to the stone, and they both stand in silence for a moment.

Peter sniffles and drags his sleeve across his nose. “May?”

May hums, caught up in her own memories.

“Can we go to the park?”

May is startled by his request, but warmth steals back into her chest as she nods. “And ice cream after, I think.”

Peter all but vibrates next to her the entire walk to the park, chattering endlessly about different ice cream flavors and which store has the best in New York and how he’s heard that ice cream in Wisconsin is really good, too, but he bets New York’s is better anyway.

He doesn’t let up his one-man argument until they reach the park, at which point he becomes suddenly reticent again.

“Um… May?”

May turns to look at him, and is surprised to see he’s not looking at her, but at a rock he’s toying at with his foot. “Change your mind on the park?”

“No, I just—” Peter kicks the rock away, and reaches into his backpack. He pulls out a letter, smaller than the one he’d left with his parents, but decorated with every bit as much gusto.

May frowns. “Did you mean to leave that one too? We can go back—”

“No,” Peter interrupts, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “I—you said I could make a card for mama so I know you didn’t ask for this, but I—I mean—”

Peter gives up on whatever he was trying to say and sticks out his hand towards May instead, the letter held tightly in his grasp.

May blinks in stunned silence, and then hesitantly takes the note from his hand. He waits just long enough to make sure she’s going to open it, an embarrassed blush creeping up his neck, and then rockets off towards the playground the second she breaks the seal (a yellow smilie face sticker) on the envelope.

May suppresses the urge to roll her eyes and carefully unfolds the piece of paper.

It’s been painstakingly decorated with flowers, records, and chocolates—the things Ben always buys her for Valentine’s—and there’s a message down the center written in blocky, childish letters that must have taken Peter ages to look this presentable.

Happy May’s Month of May! Your so cool one day wasnt enough, so they had to gave you all of them.

Love you forever,

Just Peter Parker

May reads it slowly, once, then twice; the words blurring near the end each time. She folds it carefully away in her bag for safekeeping, right next to the copy of Peter’s adoption certificate.

Today was hard, and days like this probably always will be. But Peter is tough, and so is she. And more importantly, they have each other—forever.

May sits on one of the benches and looks around until she spots Peter, who seems to have made friends with a Filipino boy about his age. She smiles.

They’re going to be all right.

#fictober19 #peter parker fic #peter parker #may parker #mcu fic #fanfiction #may&peter #memsfic

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rhetoricandlogic · 6 years

Link

The Thought That Counts By K.J. Parker

Issue #250, Special Double-Issue

, April 26, 2018

AUDIO PODCAST

EBOOK

“...wanted me to marry Logo the tanner. He’s got a beautiful home, she said, and you soon get used to the smell. Mother, I said, I don’t want to get used to the smell. I don’t ever want to be the sort of person who doesn’t notice the stink of sheep’s brains. She just looked at me. That’s when I knew I had to leave.”

I decided I didn’t like her mother. Priorities all wrong. Egging her on to marry defenceless tanners when she should have been teaching her not to talk to strange men in stagecoaches. Which raises the incidental question; am I a strange man? I guess, on balance, yes. Decide for yourself.

“So I went home, slung all the stuff I needed into a bag, and here I am, on my way to the big city. My name’s Sinneva, by the way.”

“Constantius,” I lied. “Pleased to meet you.”

Another lie, but she smiled. “Are you a priest?”

Two reasons why a man might be wearing ecclesiastical vestments in a coach on the four-way to Sempa Sacona. One, he’s a priest. Or two, the lock on the vestment cupboard at the Blue Light monastery is so pathetic a blind man could open it with a sprig of damp heather. “Yes,” I said. “Sort of.”

“Are you going to Sempa?”

“Stopping off,” I said. “On my way somewhere else.”

“It’ll be my first time in the big city,” she said, “I’m looking forward to it so much. All my life I’ve wanted to go there. Is it really as wonderful as they say it is?”

“Depends on what you like,” I said.

“I’m going to be an artist,” she said. “Somewhere like Sempa, you can make a living as an artist. I do portraits. I’m not terribly good at it.”

That would explain the bag full of little pottery jars nestling between her feet. I’d sort of looked at them sideways when she first got on the coach. Worth money to somebody, but rather a specialised market. Besides, I’m through with all that sort of thing.

“Funny you should say that,” I said. “I’m interested in paint.”

“Painting.”

“Paint,” I said. “I dabble a bit in alchemy, and I reckon it might be possible to make synthetic blue. Instead of having to grind up ruinously expensive lapis lazulae in a pestle and mortar.” She didn’t say anything, so I went on: “There’s definitely a demand for it. A genuine deep royal blue at a fraction of the price. A man could make a nice little bit of money that way.”

“I’ve never used blue.”

“Too expensive?”

She nodded. “That’s why I started doing portraits, you don’t have to have any sky.”

“There you are, then,” I said. “When I’ve perfected my synthetic blue, you can do portraits of people outdoors. You could corner the market.”

She looked at me. Strange man, she was thinking. At this point, her mother’s awful warning should have leapt into her mind and shut her up like a vault, but no such luck. “People like to be painted in their houses,” she said, “surrounded by all their possessions. It’s the convention. That way, you can see how rich and powerful they are, and what exquisite taste they have. Outdoors, they could be anybody.”

“Ah,” I said gravely. “I see.”

“Not that I want to be constrained by conventions,” she said, looking out of the window. “I want to paint what I really see. Does that make any sense to you?”

“As opposed to what other people see? Or what’s actually there?”

I was starting to get on her nerves. Well; it had taken long enough. “What I see,” she said. “Which may not be the same thing as what you see.”

“Because I’m not particularly observant, and may have missed something.”

“Because I see the world as it could be.”

“Ah.” I pulled a couple of walnuts out of my pocket and cracked them together in my palm. I have very strong hands. “In that case, maybe you should consider religious subjects. The spiritual dimension.”

“Women aren’t allowed to paint icons. You should know that, being a priest.”

“Sort of a priest. And I didn’t specify icons.”

“If it’s a portrait and religious, it’s an icon. So I can’t do those, it’s illegal.”

“I read somewhere,” I said, quoting myself—well, I sometimes read my own books, when all else fails— “that the object of portraiture is to capture the soul of the sitter.”

“That’s an interesting way of putting it.”

Thank you, I nearly said. “I reckon you’d have to know a lot about human nature. Do you?”

“Everybody does, don’t they? Like fish know about water.”

And still thirty miles to go until we reached Sempa. But you don’t get to choose your travelling companions on the public coach. Next time, if there’s any justice, I’ll get a couple of rich tallow-chandlers who think they’re good at playing cards for money.

Actually, I was telling the truth about blue paint. I came across the tantalising possibility a few years back, when I was making my living as a fraudulent alchemist, and I dream of the day when I can settle down and do the thing properly, in peace and quiet, not always having to jump out of windows in the middle of the night to avoid creditors, disillusioned investors, or the Watch. It’s a sad thing to say about yourself, but I’m not the most honest, upright citizen you’re ever likely to meet—which Sinneva the would-be portrait painter should’ve noticed at first glance if she was in any way suited to her chosen profession. I won’t tell you my name, because you’d recognise it immediately; and either you’d say, My God, it’s him, or, Oh God, it’s him, depending on the context in which you’ve heard of me. But you will have heard of me. Everybody has.

The reason I’d come to Sempa was to see the Polyglypton brothers. If you know Sempa, you’ll know their stall; it’s under the lime tree in the old Bird Market, and you’ve probably spent far more money there than you care to admit. They have their warehouse and scriptorium (rather a grand name for a long, draughty shed) out back of the stockyards, where the air is always heavy with the stench of blood. You get used to it, so they tell me, but I can’t imagine how.

As I walked there across the Victory Bridge I amused myself with the thought of Sinneva the aspiring artist; suppose she managed to land the job of her dreams, doing the illustrations for the extra-special-deluxe editions (no, not those ones, they don’t let women work on those). She’d turn up for her first day at work, and the smell would hit her like a hammer—a tannery is roses and lavender compared to what the breeze wafts down from the slaughteryards—and someone would grin at her and say, it’s all right, you get used to it. I stopped at the outer gate and splashed a fat blob of attar of violets onto the lapels of my coat. It helped, but not very much.

Sivia and Massimo Polyglypton receive visitors in their office, which is more a sort of hayloft over the warehouse; you climb up a ladder, for crying out loud. I’d never met them before. Sivia is tall and thin, Massimo looks like the sort of man they hire to throw undesirables out of brothels. They told me to sit down and offered me ginger tea.

“We liked it,” Massimo said, “very much. But—”

“But?”

They looked at each other. “I mean, it’s very clever,” Sivia said. “Well argued and very well written. It’s just—”

“What?”

Awkward pause. “I think,” Massimo said, “the word we’re looking for is ‘derivative’.”

Derivative. Good word; not one you’d expect to hear in a loft downwind of an abbatoir. “Derivative of what?”

Massimo pursed his lips. “You’ve read the Metaphysics, obviously.”

The book he mentioned wasn’t called that. I’ve changed the name. Why shouldn’t I? I wrote the damn thing. “Well, yes.”

“And Reflections on the Abyss and Sunrise.”

“Oh yes.”

“That’s what we’re getting at,” Sivia said apologetically. “Frankly, if He’d written this, we’d be all over it like ants on a dead donkey. Coming from you, though—”

“Someone nobody’s ever heard of,” Massimo added.

“It’s a question of authority,” Sivia said. “Credibility. To get away with the sort of thing you’re saying here, you need to be—well, someone like Him. You think all this is very startling and original, but if He says it, obviously there must be something to it. No disrespect, but you don’t carry that weight. You haven’t earned that right to be listened to. It’s not the same.”

Annoying, because the Him they were talking about was, of course, me; universally respected as one of the greatest philosophers of my generation but wanted in all the major jurisdictions for every crime in the book short of actual murder. “I see your point,” I said. “So, you don’t want it.”

They looked at each other. “We didn’t say that.”

“Ah. So what are you saying?”

They said it, and then we haggled a bit, and the upshot was, I settled for thirty angels instead of the seventy-five we’d originally agreed. Annoying, because I needed the money, but thirty angels was twenty-nine angels ninety kreuzer more than I had in the whole world at that time (that’s putting the value of one set of stolen ecclesiastical vestments at ten kreuzer), so I was, of course, pleased to accept.

Not, I reflected as I scrambled back down that ridiculous ladder, that I had much to complain about. Writing the wretched thing had kept me mildly amused through the long dreary months I’d spent holed up in a half-derelict sawmill in the hill country north of Copis City, waiting for the fuss to die down after one of my more misguided indiscretions; the parchment and ink had cost me maybe two kreuzer, so nobody could pretend I wasn’t well ahead of the game. Even so. To be fined forty-five angels for not being me when I really am me is a bit hard. And since being me is such a wretched, troublesome business at the best of times, it sort of rubs salt into the wound, if you see what I mean.

But never mind. There I was in Sempa Secona, a place where there were no outstanding warrants for my arrest and no extradition treaties with either the Eastern or Western empire, with thirty gold angels in my pocket. For once in my life, I could walk down the street without looking for places to run to if I heard someone yell my name. That set me thinking: artificial blue paint. Well, a man has to have a dream. The fact that mine is so utterly prosaic is neither here nor there.

I hired a shed not far from the bone mills, for thirty kreuzer a week. One unfortunate by-product of alchemy is the smell (you get used to it, but...); my neighbours at the bone works would be in no position to get stroppy about a few noxious fumes, except on the grounds of breach of monopoly. I managed to buy the glassware ridiculously cheap from someone’s gullible widow, with enough left over to keep me in stale bread and no-longer-perfectly-fresh salt fish for several months, by which time I was absolutely certain I’d have cracked the last few remaining problems. A life of honest endeavour; well, why not? Everyone ought to try it at least once before he dies.

I won’t bore you with the results of my researches. Suffice it to say, I proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that making artificial blue paint using certain specific ingredients and a certain method, which I won’t specify here, is absolutely impossible. As a scientist, I was pleased to have added to the sum of human knowledge. As a moral philosopher, I was able to conclude that living a pure and upright life doesn’t of itself lead to happiness or even peace of mind. The day before the money finally ran out, I did come across a tantalising possibility which, one of these days, I really must get around to following up, since it might just be the missing ingredient that would make all the difference; but of course I was in no position to do anything about it at that time, so I sold the glassware for even less than I paid for it and wandered into the centre of town, trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.

A number of rather unpleasant things have happened to me over the years in and around law courts, so I really can’t tell you what possessed me to drift across Haymarket and down the Snailshell into the Forum of Justice. But I did, and sure enough, it being a week-day in Middle Term, the court was sitting. I guess the novelty of the situation—a court of law in session, and me not being the unwilling centre of attention—piqued my interest; anyhow, I sat down on an empty seat in the back row, next to couple of fat rich women eating apples, to watch the show. It was a fairly slow day, interlocutories in disputes over shipping manifests and bills of lading, and I was just about to leave when the magistrate banged his little hammer and four grim-looking gaolers led out, in chains, my annoying young friend from the coach; yes, her, the would-be portrait artist.

Four gaolers; in my prime I only ever merited three, and I was pretty hot stuff, though I do say so myself. True, she was taller than average and no willow-wand, but four kettlehats, for crying out loud. What could she possibly have done? And, come to that, was it something so awful that the authorities might be interested in her known associates? I kept perfectly still and started paying attention.

It was a simple short-form arraignment, rather than the actual trial. The prisoner Sinneva was accused of treason, attempted murder, and grievous bodily harm. She had entered a plea of Not Guilty, and the prosecutor was asking the magistrates to commit her for immediate trial.

The magistrate asked if the prisoner had a lawyer. The prosecutor didn’t actually grin; none of the accredited public defenders were prepared to represent her. And therefore -

Remind me, when I’ve got five minutes, to have my legs cut off. They’ve come in useful over the years—running away, they’re really good at that—but on this occasion they got me into serious trouble, and I can’t risk them doing it again. They stood me up—I swear, I had nothing to do with it—and there I was, on my feet and listening in horror to my own voice, asking permission to approach the bench.

The magistrate looked at me, took in the ecclesiastical gown, and nodded. So, feeling incredibly bewildered and stupid, I waddled slowly down the main aisle until I was practically nose to nose with the magistrate, a small, red-faced man with thick wavy white hair. I cleared my throat. “This woman,” I said, “has no representation.”

“That’s right.”

“On a capital charge.”

He peered at me. “I don’t know you,” he said.

“I’m from out of town. Is this how you do things in Sempa?”

He sniggered. “No, not in the normal course of things. Are you a lawyer?”

“Yes,” I said—truthfully, as it happens; at least, I have four degrees in civil and criminal law, though most of my experience has been on the other side of the fence, so to speak. “Constantius of Beloisa. I have diplomas from the Studium, the Imperial Institute in Mavortis, the Purple Chamber in Scona—”

“Mphm.” He was impressed. “You don’t want to get mixed up in this, trust me.”

I gave him a polite scowl. “I make formal application to defend this prisoner.”

“Don’t you want to know what she’s done?”

“Is alleged to have done. No, not particularly.”

A gentle sigh. “All right, mister Out-of-Town, and on your own head be it. Duly accredited.” He looked at me. “Give your address to the clerk, you’ll be notified.”

I hesitated. “The fee,” I said.

“Ah.” He looked at me again, taking in the frayed cuffs of the robe, the sweatstains inside the collar. “Standard rates, one angel twenty a day. Want me to cross you off the docket?”

“It’s not about the money,” I said.

“Of course not. Dismissed.”

Naturally, I asked around. Information wasn’t hard to come by; it was the scandal of the month. This weird female had blown into town, nobody knew where she’d come from, and set up a stall in the market; your portrait painted, one angel. No takers, naturally; so she started doing portraits for free, and actually they were really rather good; you know how crazy fashions suddenly spring up out of nowhere, suddenly she was the new big thing. You had to have your portrait painted by the little peasant girl, or you were nobody. Soon she had a waiting list long as your arm.

Naturally, the best people wanted to jump the queue, started offering her good money. She refused; one angel, no more, no less. Now an angel is a tidy sum in some contexts; you could buy the farm I was raised on for three angels, including the live and dead stock, the standing crops, and my kid brother. In Sempa, you could live elegantly on one angel for a month, or any-bloody-fashion for a year. But the high class portrait artists, who were suddenly finding themselves with time on their hands ever since Sinneva showed up, routinely charged fifty angels for a cameo, three times that for a regular canvas. This curious reluctance on her part to make out like a bandit had been duly noted as significant, in the light of what followed.

The first case was Governor Scaevola, just back from three years in one of the northern provinces. There’s a saying in revenue circles; the good shepherd shears his sheep, he doesn’t skin them. Scaevola flayed his sheep alive, and was therefore nicely set up for life when he came home. He was one of her first high-class commissions; and three days after his portrait was delivered—he was delighted with it, by all accounts, and so was his wife—they found him in his study late one night, sitting in the dark, not moving at all, staring at the wall.

After that, Senator Juppito, the Friend of the Poor; the Lady Iphianassa, patroness of the arts and Sempra’s leading society hostess; Genseric, the banker; Mediobarzanes, the playwright; Massimo Polyglypton the bookseller (oh dear, I thought, never mind), and half a dozen others—all the same, struck dumb and motionless, empty-eyed and living-dead, soon after the little peasant girl had painted their portraits.

Sempa is a rational, secular sort of place. They repealed their witchcraft laws about seventy years ago, and people only go to Temple to be seen in their new clothes. Be that as it may. There’s only so much weird stuff people can take before they start jumping to conclusions. Poor little Sinneva was arrested and slung in jail, while they tried to figure out what to charge her with.

First, they had a go with administering a noxious substance, arguing that she must have poisoned their drinks. But she always painted her subjects at their houses—she didn’t seem to have a studio or anything like that, and she lived in a nasty little garret over a fishmonger’s, where presumably she was in the process of getting used to the smell when they took her away. They examined her paints and solvents, but all they found was the usual stuff that every artist uses; besides, if it was something she was using that had done the damage, surely she’d have poisoned herself in the process. The debate moved up to the Senate, where Juppito’s mob, the Optimates, tried to ram through a new witchcraft law, applicable retroactively. But the Popular Tendency talked it out of time, simply because it was the Optimates who’d proposed it, and so nothing could be achieved that way. Meanwhile, the families of the victims were howling for something to be done, and the attorney general was up for re-election. He resolved to charge her with treason, attempted murder, and grievous bodily harm, on the strict understanding that anyone who defended her would never work in Sempa again, and trusted in Justice to run its ineluctable course.

As accredited counsel for the defence, I had the right to make certain investigations. So there I was, with two kettlehats making me nervous, climbing the stairs to Sinneva’s rotten little lodgings and wishing, really wishing, I’d never got involved.

The kettlehats were along to make sure I didn’t touch anything or interfere with evidence. They had a really quiet morning. It was a tiny little room under the eaves; bed, chair, second-best dress hanging behind the door, plain plank table with half a loaf of stale bread and a pitcher of badly gone-off milk, and a copy of Human, All Too Human open at the bit about the immortality of the soul (which nearly made me smile; I remember writing it, with a murderous hangover and the rain dripping through the roof), and that was it, nothing else whatsoever. Evidentially neutral; no hit list or subversive literature, correspondence with fellow-conspirators, jars of poisonous chemicals; no evidence that the stupid girl had been spending her new-found wealth on anything nice, which is what any normal, innocent person in her circumstances would surely have done. No money, come to that. Her known commissions must have netted her at least forty angels; the rent on the garret was three kreuzer a week—she was robbed, if you ask me—and bread and milk, ten kreuzers a month, tops. Where was the rest of it? In a bank? Or was she sending it home to her poor impoverished parents? Unlikely, I thought, given the terms on which she’d parted from them, but I wasn’t going to tell the prosecutors that. Even so; I felt like I’d been dealt a piss-poor hand with which to defend the stupid child. Served me right, I suppose, for sticking my nose in.

It was what wasn’t there, of course, that interested me. For that, I could see no alternative but to visit my client, something I really didn’t want to do. Also, if the hypothesis I’d formed about five seconds after hearing the facts in the case was true, there was nothing she could tell me that would be any use to me in getting her neck out of the noose. No, the hell with that. I was going to have to wing it, make it up as I went along. So happens I’m good at that—very good indeed, which is how come I’m still alive and writing this. Actually, I told myself, I’d had so little experience with positive favourable evidence (because I’ve always been guilty as charged), probably this wouldn’t be a good time to start trying to learn how to use it. Stick with what you know, is my motto.

I took a deep breath. “Your honour,” I said, “I’ve listened with great interest to the facts in this case, so ably presented by my learned friend. Imagine my surprise, therefore, when he stopped where he did. I was expecting so much more. I was waiting patiently for evidence—hard evidence—connecting my client in any way to the tragic events we’ve just had described to us. Surely, I said to myself, there must be something. But apparently not. My learned friend has just told you that he rests his case. Being a fair-minded man, I would like to give him one last chance to add to what he’s just said. No? Sure? Very well. But please, don’t say I didn’t give you every opportunity.

“Let’s consider the facts. My client, an innocent country girl, comes to this great city to fulfil her lifelong ambition. She is a naturally talented, I may say quite brilliant, artist; entirely self-taught, I might add, she’s never had the benefit of any formal education—unless my learned friend would care to tell us about it, the schools she’s studied at, the masters she’s been apprenticed to. No? Are you absolutely sure? Very well. No formal education whatsoever. She grew up milking cows, churning butter, sweeping floors, and dreaming of a better life.

“After only a week or so in this uniquely cultured and appreciative city, her talents were recognised. Despite her disadvantages of class and gender, this plucky and determined young woman starts to make a name for herself. Clients besiege her door with commissions. My learned friend has tried to make her refusal to gouge her clientele for large sums of money into something sinister. I see it as evidence of the purity and integrity of her artistic nature. This poor innocent child, living only for her art, wasn’t interested in money, or status, or any of the glittering distractions of the world. All she wanted to do was the one thing she’d always wanted to do. What, I ask you, could be more natural?

“And so she painted portraits, at least forty of them that we know about. And of these forty clients, a dozen have—most unfortunately—fallen ill. I feel sure that nobody has more sympathy for them and their families than my client. But what the prosecutor has signally failed to do—because it’s impossible—is establish any faint thread of a connection between these misfortunes and my client. Unless and until he can do so, I honestly believe there’s no case to answer.

“Consider the so-called victims. All of them are in late middle age or older. All of them—how can I put it delicately?—have enjoyed to the full the delights of the table and the wine cellar. All of them are men and women of great spirit and passion, with a tendency—a perfectly natural, indeed laudable tendency—to express themselves fully, to take matters to heart, to get excited and passionate about things they feel strongly about.

“In my hand, I have a copy of the standard work on diseases of the heart and brain, written by no less an authority than—” Well, modesty forbids. “In the passage in front of me, the distinguished author describes the causes, symptoms, and effects of a stroke. I won’t take up the court’s time by reading it aloud, the matter is common knowledge. A stroke is an affliction of the brain, caused by an interruption of the blood supply. It leaves the victim paralysed, unable to speak or move. It is caused by excessive eating and drinking, combined with violent exertion of the body, mind, or spirit.

“Consider what you know about the alleged victims in this case, all prominent members of society. They all ate and drank to excess; they all were involved in public life, in politics, government or the arts; they lived passionate, stressful lives. They were, in short, prime candidates for the terrible illness I’ve just told you about. That this scourge should have come upon them, cutting them down in their prime, depriving us of their talents and their usefulness to our society, is to be deeply regretted. For once, the word ‘tragedy’ would scarcely be an overstatement. But to ascribe these disasters to my poor young client—on what grounds? I have heard none today, and once again, I call on my learned friend to enlighten me. Nothing more? Nothing at all? Well, then.

“Just in case you still aren’t convinced, let me point out a few more relevant details. This comprehensive and universally respected book in my hand contains no mention of any poison, drug, or artificial stimulant capable of deliberately causing a stroke. Leave aside the fact that no chemical apparatus was found in my client’s possession; ask yourself this: could this simple country girl have discovered or invented such a poison, on her own, uneducated, brought up among the cows and goats? I think not. As it happens, I know a little about alchemy. It would take a genius a lifetime of research to come up with such a complex toxin. My client is nineteen years old. Draw what conclusions you wish.

“As I’ve already mentioned; as the prosecutor himself admits; my client has painted at least forty portraits, almost certainly more. Twelve from forty leaves twenty-eight. If my learned friend’s allegations have any substance at all, there should be at least twenty-eight other helpless victims in this city, sitting in chairs, staring helplessly at the wall. If so, we haven’t heard about them, and their existence is therefore not admissible in evidence. In fact—I’ve made my own enquiries, since the prosecutor seems to have neglected to do so—all twenty-eight are in perfect health. Among them, please note, are senators, members of the aristocracy, leading figures in commerce, business, and the arts.

“My learned friend made a perfunctory effort to connect the status of the alleged victims to their dreadful fate, as though my client had sought to strike down the flowers of our society. The fact is, all her customers came to her clamouring to be painted; she didn’t choose them, they chose her. Twenty-eight rich, famous, influential, talented men and women were painted by my client and have suffered no ill-effects. Once again, the facts don’t simply speak for themselves, they shout at the tops of their voices.

“Recently, the wise and distinguished Senate of this city ruled unambiguously that there is no such thing as witchcraft or sorcery. But witchcraft and sorcery, I put it to you, are precisely what my client is accused of; tacitly, because to say so openly would be to invite ridicule. Therefore, for consistency’s sake, if for no other reason, I call on this rational, truth-loving court to dismiss these ridiculous charges and let my poor, long-suffering client go free. I rest my case.”

God, I’m good, though I do say so myself. The magistrate shook his head, blinked a couple of times like a dazzled rabbit, and said the magic words: case dismissed. You could have heard a pin drop.

I left, quickly.

Having done what I’d set out to do, I rushed off down West Street, through Absolution Square, short-cut through the Shambles, up Pin Street. I’d known from the outset that the wretched girl had to have a studio somewhere, or where else did she keep her paints, her easel and her money? I’m good at ferreting out stuff like that, so it hadn’t taken me long to discover where it was. I hadn’t gone there, because—well, like I said, nothing helpful to my case to be learned there. Now that I’d won, however, I had no such compunction. I wanted, make that needed, to know.

Stupid cheap lock, I don’t know why anyone bothers with them. Inside, I saw a chair, facing a shuttered window; two shelves lined with little pottery jars; two easels, on which rested two portraits of the same man, almost but not quite identical; a cheap earthenware plate; a pestle and a mortar; a tinderbox.

Oh God, I said to myself. Here we go again.

I thought; this time, I’m not involved. Nothing to do with me. True, I stuck my oar in, but even so, none of this is my responsibility, my job, my fault. I can just go a long way away and be free and clear. Above all, I owe no duty of care to the truth—me, of all people, perish the thought.

More to the point; if I interfere, what can I possibly achieve? Nothing.

I walked down to the Flawless Diamonds, where the stagecoaches leave for Mezentia and all points west. I had just enough money for the fare. The stage pulled in. Mezentia is lovely in the spring, when the cherry trees are in blossom. All aboard, they called out. It left without me.

Truth is, despite ferocious competition for the job, I am and always have been my own worst enemy.

Let me take you back a few years; I won’t specify how many, because I don’t suppose you’ll believe me. I was a student at what was at that time the finest university in the world, though it’s gone downhill a lot since then. I wasn’t the smartest kid in my year, not by a mile. I did my best to make up for my shortcomings through diligence and determined effort. You have faith in stuff like that, when you’re young.

I don’t know when I first noticed her. She wasn’t a student (no women at the university in my day) but she wasn’t a local’s daughter. She hung around in the square and the library forecourt, sketching in inks or charcoal; she wore a big straw hat which shaded out her face, and there never seemed to be anybody chaperoning her or keeping an eye on her, which was odd enough in itself. I can’t say I remember any of my fellow students making any sort of play for her whatsoever, which was stranger still. It was almost as though she was invisible and only I could see her. Now there’s a thought.

I have my faults, but chivvying unattached females isn’t one of them. Besides, in those days I was desperately earnest, and I knew exactly what I was going to do with my life: graduate, join a respectable Order, teach, research, write papers, win a chair, tenured professor by the time I was thirty-five. It was all I’d ever wanted.

But things weren’t going all that well. I was smart but not quite smart enough. I could feel the boundaries of my abilities, and I knew that what I wanted to achieve was just the other side of the rope. I could picture myself getting stuck somewhere in the middle, like a man stranded halfway up a mountain, unable to go further up or turn back. I could see myself scraping a doctorate; then what? Fine if I had private means; I could spend the rest of my life floating around the university, taking twenty years to write a modest paper on some peripheral issue, adding a footnote to the great book of human knowledge. But I had a living to earn, and for that I would have to be good enough, not just quite good, and there were so many better men than me. So, in due course, the scholarship money would run out and then it’d be back on the coach, back home, to the farm, or else a job as a clerk or a tutor to some rich man’s loathsome son. It’s a dreadful thing to be twenty-one and realise that you have no future after all.

Which may go some way to explain what I was doing on the bridge (not the famous one; the other one, about half a mile downstream), one foot on the parapet, staring down into the water. Whether I was thinking about jumping, or using the thought of jumping to force things back into perspective, I really don’t know; anyway, I was too preoccupied to notice someone walk up behind me until I eventually took a step back and trod on someone’s toe.

“It’s quite all right,” she said, grinning at me. “I’m just glad you decided not to.”

I looked at her. “That obvious?”

She had the enormous hat pushed back on her head, so I could see her face. Not beautiful exactly but striking. “You’d be amazed how many boys your age come and stand on this bridge, thinking what you were just thinking. Hardly any of them actually do it. What’s the matter? Debts, exams, girl trouble?”

You know how easy, how fatally easy, it is to tell things to a stranger you wouldn’t dream of telling anyone else. Also, unlike anyone I’d ever met in my entire life, she sounded interested. So I told her, the whole story, everything. She didn’t interrupt, and when I finally ran dry, she smiled at me. “Is that all?” she said.

I pulled a face. “I know,” I said, “it does all sound a bit stupid when you say it out loud. And of course there’s millions of people in the world far worse off than me—”

“I didn’t mean that,” she said. “You have a real problem, a very serious one. I’d be suicidal too, in your shoes, if there wasn’t a perfectly simple way out.”

She’d lost me. “What?”

And then she’d linked her arm through mine, and we were walking side by side, down the broad steps to the towpath. “You come here a lot,” she said.

“My lodgings are just down there,” I said, pointing vaguely. Poor Town. Well, she’d probably guessed that from the deplorable state of my shoes, if she was even remotely observant. “I take the short cut through Long Meadow to the Schools.” I stopped. She grinned.

“I’ve noticed you,” she said. Curious way of putting it, I thought at the time. “You’ve got an interesting face.”

Of course, she was an artist. “Interesting,” I said. “That’s not actually a compliment.”

“It’s a statement of fact.”

“Ah,” I said. “One of those.”

When I left my room that morning, I hadn’t decided what I was going to do with the day; either a short drop and a splash, or go to the library and read Psammetichus on essential transfiguration. What I hadn’t anticipated, one little bit, was a stroll along the riverbank with a girl in a straw hat. “What perfectly simple way out?” I asked her.

“I’ll tell you, if you’re good,” she said. “Later,” she added. “Right, here we are. Now stand under that willow-tree over there and look thoughtful.”

Out with the slate, the sheet of paper, and the stick of charcoal. Ah, I thought.

“You’re going to be Parthenius,” she explained, “and the river’s the Aurus, and somewhere over there out back of the charcoal sheds is presumably violet-crowned Olessa, though of course that won’t be in the picture. No, keep still, you’re no use to me if you keep moving about.”

Keeping still isn’t one of my strong points, as various law officers have discovered the hard way over the years. But I tried my best, and eventually she said, “All right, you can breathe now.”

My left foot had gone to sleep. “Can I see?”

She turned the slate to her chest. “It’s only a sketch.”

“What on earth is the point of a picture if people can’t look at it?”

“It’s not terribly good,” she said. “Now turn that way, and look melancholy. No, that’s not melancholy, it’s heartburn. That’s better. Hold it exactly like that.”

We ended up spending the rest of the day together, and the next day, and the day after that, but still she hadn’t told me the perfectly simple way out. I tried reminding her tactfully, but she changed the subject. Besides, I’d sort of figured it out for myself by that point. The simple way out of my frustration and despair was to fall in love with a wonderful girl, which apparently I’d now done. Silly me for not having thought of it earlier.

“What would you like,” she asked me, at some point, “most of all in the whole world?”

We were watching the swans on the river. Apparently they mate for life. “That’s a good question,” I said.

“Pretend I’m a goddess or a witch and I can grant wishes. Money?”

“Money isn’t everything,” I said. “No, what I’d like is to be clever.”

She pulled her poor-baby face. “You are clever.”

“I wish I was the cleverest, wisest man who ever lived.”

“Mphm.” She nodded. “You’re sure you wouldn’t rather have the money instead?”

“The wisest man who ever lived would never be short of money,” I said. “But a lot of rich men are idiots.”

“All right, then,” she said, and threw a crust for the ducks.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

She frowned at me. At that precise moment I was being Teudra dividing the upper and lower heavens, which is a confoundedly tricky pose to hold for more than ten minutes. “What?”

“It’s a very personal question. You may not want to—”

“Keep still. What?”

I couldn’t draw a deep breath without wobbling, so I just made myself say it. “Where does all the money come from?”

“Oh, that.” What had she been expecting me to ask? “I’ve got a rich uncle in Permia. I’m all he’s got, and he wants me to enjoy myself. What do you want to do most in the whole world, he said, and I told him, this. So here I am.”

“Ah.”

“Talking of which.” She appeared to be peering past my ear, looking intently at something that wasn’t there. Painters do that. “What do you want, most in the whole world?”

“Right now? To itch my nose.”

“Tough. What else?”

“To stay here like this, with you, forever.” Well, it seemed the thing to say at the time.

“I see,” she said clinically. “So as far as you’re concerned, this is the perfect moment.”

“Apart from the itch. Look, do you think I could just—?”

“No.” She took a step back and looked at me, or at the god creating the firmament through me his temporary proxy. “I once read that if there’s a moment so perfect that it couldn’t possibly be improved upon, it could never ever be any better than this in any respect whatsoever, then Time would stop still, everything would be trapped motionless like a fly in amber, and that would be the end of the world.” She squidged the end of her brush between her fingers. “That’s what made me want to paint.”

“To bring about the end of the world? A bit antisocial.”

“The perfect moment, captured for ever,” she said. “A painter can do that. No more old age, no more death. In a painting, you can be forever young, beautiful and happy. There would be no later, no decay, no decline, no consequences.”

“I don’t see a future in it.”

She clicked her tongue to acknowledge the wordplay. “All right, relax, before you fall over. Take the weight off your feet, I’ll make us some tea.”

She made the most wonderful tea, full of obscure, delicate scents and flavours. I sat on a chair, massaging the calves of my legs. She perched in the window-seat, with the light behind her.

“And that’s not all I can do,” she went on. “I can make people what they want to be. I can make old women look young, poor men look rich, sad people look happy.”

“Stupid into clever?”

“Piece of cake.” She turned the easel slightly. “See for yourself.”

She really was very good. Teudra, not only as the Creator, but in his aspect of bringer of wisdom; perfectly represented, a whole college of theologians couldn’t have found fault with it. And yet it still looked just like me; weird.

“Anyway,” she said, turning the easel back. “How are you getting on with Induiomarus?”

“Going through it like a knife through butter,” I said cheerfully, and it was true. Ever since I’d met her, the standard of my work had improved dramatically; all my tutors had commented on it. Hence Induiomarus; we weren’t supposed to get on to him until third year, but there I was, soaring through the notoriously obscure and elliptical Shadow Analects like an eagle. “Actually, I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

“Is that right?”

I nodded. “He says everything in this really cryptic, mystical, up-himself way, but actually what he’s saying is pretty obvious. And I think I’ve caught him out in a false premise.”

“Ooh,” she squeaked. She was alarmingly well-read. “Which bit?”

“Book seven, the clockmaker analogy. I don’t think it works, because if the clock is found lying on the seashore—”

“How’s it supposed to have got there? Yes, I wondered about that, too.”

I gazed at her. Talk about your perfect moment. “I’m so glad I met you,” I said.

She was excited. She’d gotten a commission to paint a portrait of the Professor of Alchemical Theory. I was stunned. As far as I was concerned, the man was a god. “How on earth did you manage that?” I asked.

“Through my uncle,” she said. “He knows all sorts of people.”

“All the best portrait artists do it,” she explained. “Move, you’re in my light.”

She was sitting in her studio, with her back to the window. Before her were two easels, on which stood two almost but not quite exactly identical paintings of an old man with a bald head and whiskers. “You paint two pictures,” she said, “precisely the same. But one of them will be perfect.”

“The one on the left,” I said.

“You see? It works. It’s an old trick. I read about it in a book somewhere.”

“Twice the work,” I said.

“That’s why the best artists get paid ridiculous sums of money.”

I studied the painting for a moment. “I’ve never met him,” I said. “But I feel like I’ve known him all my life.”

“Euphronius says the job of the artist is to capture the soul of the sitter.”

I smiled. “Well, you’ve done that all right,” I said.

“I’ll make us some tea.”

Three days later, the Professor suffered a devastating stroke. He was found in his study, surrounded by his books, mouth lolling open, eyes fixed on the wall. He never moved again.

“Just as well I got cash on delivery,” she said. “For the painting.”

That struck me as a bit insensitive. “At least his family will be able to remember him as he was,” I said. “Thanks to you.”

“When he was perfect.” She smiled at me. “That’s the point,” she said.

She went to bed early. I sat up finishing an essay. As I sprinkled it with sand to blot the ink, I remembered that she’d left the lamp lit in her studio. That would never do; smoke from a guttering wick, with all that drying paint. I went in to put it out.

There was a distinct smell of burning; not just the lamp. I noticed a little brass stove, the sort that elegant people use for making omelettes at the table. There was something in it, smouldering. I investigated. The charred ends of splintered limewood board, the stuff she used to paint on. I looked round and saw the two easels. On one of them was a finished portrait. I recognised it at once; my tutor, Lacasta, the most amazing likeness. The other easel was empty.

Three days later, Lacasta had a stroke.

(I only found out how she did it years later, in a digression in a book about witchcraft among the Permian nomads. To steal someone’s soul, apparently, you paint a picture of the victim, burn it and grind the ashes up fine, into dust, which you seal in a small pottery jar. When you want to consume the soul, thereby adding its wisdom, force of character and other virtues to your own, you mix the dust with certain herbs and make an infusion; a bit like tea. All complete nonsense, of course, said the book I read; there’s no such thing as sympathetic magic, and probably just as well.)

I was out of there like a shot, as you can imagine. I ran up the street in my nightshirt, hammered on the door of a good-natured friend, borrowed a change of clothes and two angels, and caught the night mail to Solitene. From there I wrote to my supervisor explaining that for urgent personal reasons I could no longer continue my studies at the university; however, I would be eternally grateful if he would write me a letter of recommendation to the faculty at the Golden Hook. The letter arrived by return, and it must have said something nice because the Dean of the Hook gave me a place on the spot. A year later I graduated top of the class, was awarded a fellowship, assistant professor eighteen months later, all the rest of it. Some bad stuff happened after that, but it’s not relevant to this story.

She was in her studio when I got there. She looked different. She reminded me a lot of someone I used to know. “Hello, you,” she said.

“You again,” I said.

She smiled at me. “I’ve missed you,” she said.

Behind her, the shelves were empty. On the floor, about a dozen little pottery jars, with their lids off. She had a little brass stove, on which sat a silver kettle. She’d just made a pot of tea.

“It wasn’t a coincidence, was it?” I said. “You being on that coach.”

“It was awfully sweet of you to defend me,” she said. “Did you know it was me?”

“No.”

“Fibber. Of course, they couldn’t have hurt me. Nobody can hurt me, physically. Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you.”

“I made it for you.”

I stood there rooted to the spot. “How did you find me?”

“Very easily,” she said. “I only started looking recently. You see, I was very much in love with you back then, and when you ran away I was heartbroken, but then I met someone else and we were very happy together for a very long time. And then he ran away too, and I remembered you. Sure you don’t want some? It’s good for you.”

I felt sick. “You ruined my life,” I said.

“Rubbish.” She had a nice smile. “I asked you what you wanted, and you said, to be the wisest, cleverest man who ever lived. And you said money wasn’t everything, and you’d always be able to get some from somewhere. I gave you what you wanted, because I loved you.”

I managed not to scream at her. “You made me a thief,” I said. “A con man. Some days I wake up and even I can’t remember which name I’m using.”

“You can be anyone you want to be. That’s another special gift.”

I looked at her. “I don’t think I’ve got anything more to say to you,” I told her. “I don’t ever want to see you again. Don’t come near me. Just leave me alone.”

She shrugged. “You don’t mean that.”

“Trust me.”

A little sigh. “You won’t know it’s me, the next time, and the time after that.”

“Yes,” I said. “I will.”

“You didn’t in Blemya.”

Oh God, I thought. But she’d died, surely. “Keep away from me,” I said. “Do you understand?”

She didn’t say a word, just carried on smiling like an angel. I reached the door.

“Cobalt,” she said. “It’s what you’ve been missing. For the blue paint. I love you,” she said.

“See you in Hell,” I said, and slammed the door.

Knowing her, I probably will. One day I’ll be sitting there, burning quietly, up to my manacled ankles in molten sulphur, and there she’ll be, smiling, holding a bunch of keys and a teabowl.

Draw your own conclusions about the doctrine of the perfect moment. For me, the world ended a long time ago.

#K.J. Parker #The Thought that Counts #short story #actually long story

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