#absolutely thriving in other parts of my life - things that involves others

[estellaestella]

and sometimes you gotta laugh at your debilitating tendencies. like i went out to a party or something in july and i still have a jewelry box (that i took out then) on one end of my bed. I have been sleeping in a fetal position for two months rather than removing the box and putting it in a safe place.

it's actually open. has been for two months.

it even contains earrings inherited from my mum, so i'm terrified of pushing it over the edge in my sleep.

still dont know why i cant just be normal and put things away like a normal person.

real life; shitsville. online: omg, i have never posted stuff to insta this regularly like e-v-e-r

[headspace-hotel]

The USAmerican imagination cannot consider land that is multi-purpose.

A corn field is Corn, an endless monoculture, and all other plants must be eliminated. A residential area is Houses, and absolutely MUST NOT!!! have vegetables or fruits or native plant gardens or small livestock. A drainage ditch is only a drainage ditch, and cannot harbor Sedges and native wetland plants, A sports field is for A Sport, and let no one think of doing any other event on that field, shops and storefronts must have their own special part of town that everybody has to drive to, which requires parking lots...and God forbid we put solar panels on roofs or above parking lots or anywhere they can serve an extra purpose of providing shade, instead of using a large tract of perfectly fine land as a "solar farm."

Numerous examples. But it is the most annoying with agriculture. The people who crunch all the numbers about sustainability, have calculated that a certain percentage of Earth's land is "Used up" by agriculture, which is troubling because that leaves less "room" for "Wilderness." It is a big challenge, they say, to feed Earth's humans without destroying more ecosystems.

Fools! Agriculture is an ecosystem—if you respect the ways of the plants, instead of creating monoculture fields by killing everything that moves and almost everything that doesn't. Most humans throughout history, and many humans today, sustain themselves using a mixture of foraging and agriculture, and the two are not entirely different things, because all human lifestyles change the ecosystem, and the inhabitants of the ecosystem always change themselves in response.

Even if you are a hunter-gatherer that steps very lightly in the forest and gathers a few berries and leaves here and there, you are being an animal and affecting all other parts of the ecosystem. By walking, breathing, eating, pooping, drinking, climbing, singing, talking, all of those things affect the ecosystem. If you gather leaves to sleep on, that affects the ecosystem...if you pile up waste, that affects the ecosystem...if you break a tree branch, that affects the ecosystem...if you start a fire, if you create a small shelter, if you cut a path, that DEFINITELY affects the ecosystem.

This idea, that human activity destroys the ecosystem and replaces it with something Else, something Not an ecosystem, is so silly. "But you just said that even the earliest most technologically simple human societies altered their environment!"

Yes, I did. Because we believe that "pre-agricultural" humans could have no effect on their "wilderness" environment, we ALSO believe another false idea: That when humans affect an environment, they destroy "Wilderness" and change it to something else, like Agricultural Land, that can never have biodiversity and never benefit many life forms.

I think it is the European idea of agriculture that it always involves people settling down and relying on a few special plants that are domesticated intentionally and grown in specially dedicated fields. After all, this idea of an agricultural lifestyle, is in contrast with the "hunter-gatherer" lifestyle, which is assumed to be what humans do before they "figure out" agriculture. The European mind imagines "pre-agricultural" folks ignorantly bumbling about, thinking plants and animals conveniently pop out of nothing for their benefit.

Bullshit! I shake my head in disappointment when I see websites describing Native Americans using wild plants as if those plants just-so-happened to grow, when those same wild plants just-so-happen to thrive only in environments disturbed by humans in some way, and just-so-happen to have declined steeply since colonization, and just-so-happen to be nonexistent in unspoiled "Wilderness" locations, and (often) just-so-happen to have an incredibly wide range where they either once were or are incredibly common, making it very...fortunate that they just-so-happen to have a wide range of uses including food, medicines, and materials for clothing and technology.

Accidentally of course, without any human impact from the humans that were impacting everything. /s

"But if it wasn't an accident, how did it happen?" Here is how to understand this idea: Look at the weeds! The weeds will teach you.

Look at the plants you always see growing without being planted around human buildings and roads, and learn their history. Often you will learn that these plants have many marvelous properties, and have actually been used by humans for thousands of years.

In fact, some of the most powerful and difficult to control weeds, were once actually some of the most essential and important plants for human civilizations to depend on. The dreaded Kudzu, in its home in East Asia, was one of the main plants used for clothing for over 6,000 years, and not only that, it has been cultivated for food and medicine for millennia. You can make everything from paper to noodles out of Kudzu! And Amaranth, the most expensive agricultural weed in all the USA, produces edible and healthy grains as well as several harvests of greens per growing season, and several species of the genus have been fully domesticated and formed a staple crop of Mesoamerica.

Meanwhile...some people have come up with this neat "new" idea called Polyculture, which is where you plant a field with two crops at once and somehow get better yields from both of them. WITCHCRAFT! Unrelatedly, there are other ideas like "Cover Crops" and "Agroforestry" that for some reason have the same beneficial effect.

Wow...It turns out, sterilizing the whole environment of every plant except one crop...isn't actually a good way to do agriculture in many places in the world.

Just think about it from an energy point of view...

We have some places used for "Agriculture," where we wring the land as violently as possible to squeeze green vegetation from light energy.

And we have other places for Other uses, where we spend massive amounts of fossil fuels mowing, chopping, poisoning and trimming to STOP the land from producing its incredible bounty of green vegetation.

And in the agricultural fields, we spend even MORE resources killing the unwanted plants that grow spontaneously

This system is hemorrhaging inefficiency at both ends. It simply isn't a one-to-one conversion of land and fossil fuels to food energy. The energy expenditure of agriculture is mostly going into organizing the vegetation's energy into the shape and configuration we want, not the food itself.

In the Americas, indigenous agricultural systems involve using the plants that exist in the environment to construct an ecosystem that both functions as an ecosystem and provides humans with food, clothing, and other important things. This is the most advanced way.

Most of our successful weeds are edible and useful. A weed is simply a plant that is symbiotic with humans. My hypothesis of plant domestication is that it was initiated by the plants, which became adapted to human environments, and humans bred them to be better crops in response. Symbiosis.

Humans did not pick out a few plants special to intensively domesticate out of an array of equally wild plants, instead they just ate, selected, and bred the plants that were best adapted to live near human civilization. That is my guess about how it happened.

Just think about it. Why would you try to domesticate teosinte (Maize ancestor?) It sucks. Domesticated plants in their wild form are usually like "Why would you put hundreds of years of effort into cultivating this?" Personally I think it's because the plant grew around humans and humans ate and used it a lot because it was abundant. So we co-evolved with the plant.

Supporting this hypothesis, there are many crop plants that mutated and evolved back into weeds, like "weedy" rice, "weedy" teosinte, and "weedy" radishes. Also weeds develop similar adaptations to crop plants to survive in the agricultural environment.

Consider Kudzu. Everyone in the USA knows it as an invasive weed, but since ancient times in China, it was a crop that provided people with fabric from its bast fibers, food from its enormous starchy roots, and many medicinal and other uses. Kudzu is not evil, it simply has a symbiotic relationship with humans, and just as any other species might serve as a biological control, the main biological control of kudzu in nature is the human species.

Think of the vast fields and mountain sides of the South swallowed by thick mats of Kudzu covering lumps that used to be trees. Think of the people toiling away to clear the Kudzu, while wearing clothes made of cotton that was grown in a faraway place using insecticides and depleting fresh water, using energy from their bodies that came from crops grown in fields far away.

Now imagine people working to harvest the Kudzu, to cut the new vines and dig up the starchy roots and use the plant the way it is used by the people who know its ways. Imagine the people using the starch from the Kudzu root to make flour and noodles and sweet confections. Imagine workers processing the vines into thread which is woven into fabric. The hillsides and fields flourish with plants that used to be suffocated, and hillsides and fields in faraway places also flourish with their own plants, instead of being made to grow cotton and crops to provide for the needs the Kudzu provides for.

Imagine the future where we accept our symbiotic relationship with the plants!

[goldfades]

★ YOU AND ME, WE'D BE A BIG CONVERSATION─── PB⁵ (part 1/3)

❪ requested -> "paige x famous!reader (singer, actress, up to u) inspired by endgame by ts where p reveals that r is her celeb crush in an interview and a few days later theres a vid of r responding to it saying shes been obsessed w paige lately / its such a big deal bc r has been involved in a lot of romantic drama lately so everyone is kinda iffy abt her rn, causing her to put up a tough guard. but p sees thru the facade when they start talking and allows her to be herself, making r fall even harder 🥹 " ❫ for my disco nonnie!

─ warnings | gossip, a lot of drama and random ass names (sorry i get confused when i don't name them), mention of panic attacks, hurt to comfort, pretty sure nothing else?

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my wcbb masterlist!

"Y/N L/N, ONE OF the biggest names right now in the music industry has found herself at the center of yet another romantic scandal involving her ex and now, reportedly a new lover."

The 22-year-old pop sensation, who recently topped the charts with her latest single, was spotted last night leaving an upscale Los Angeles restaurant with actress and heartthrob, Camilla Harrison. The two were seen getting into the same car, sparking rumors of a budding romance.

This sighting comes just weeks after Y/N's highly publicized breakup with fellow musician Lauren Marie, with whom she had a tumultuous on-again, off-again relationship for over two years. The split was reportedly mutual, with both parties citing busy schedules and the pressures of their careers as contributing factors. However, sources close to the couple suggest that Marie was unhappy about Y/N's close friendship with Harrison, which began on the set of her recent music video where Marie made a cameo appearance.

"Y/N and Cam have undeniable chemistry," says an insider. "They've been spending a lot of time together, and it's more than just a professional connection. They're trying to keep things low-key, but it's clear there's something more than friendship between them."

Despite the drama, Y/N continues to thrive professionally. Her upcoming album set to release in the next couple month, is already generating significant buzz. Critics are calling it her most mature work yet, with deeply personal lyrics that reflect her recent experiences.

Meanwhile, Harrison, 26, known for her roles in blockbuster films and her good looks, has remained tight-lipped about the rumors. Her publicist declined to comment, stating that Marie is concentrating on her upcoming film projects.

──

"Okay, next question," the reporter smiled as she scrolled through her phone as Paige gave a tight-lipped smile toward the camera. "Oh! Found a good one, okay. Who is your celebrity crush right now."

"That's easy!" Paige laughed as she glanced toward the reporter. "Y/N L/N, she's beautiful and insanely talented,"

The room filled with laughter as the reporter raised an eyebrow, clearly delighted by the response. "Y/N L/N, huh? That's a popular choice these days, a lot of people are big fans. Have you met her?"

Paige shook her head, her cheeks slightly flushing. "Nah, I wish. But I'm a huge fan of her music. Every song is a masterpiece and I'm not usually into pop,"

"Interesting," the reporter leaned forward, intrigued. "You know, there are rumors about Y/N's love life all the time. How do you feel about all the speculation surrounding her personal life?"

Paige shrugged, maintaining her relaxed demeanor despite the stupid question. "I think it's tough being in the spotlight like that. People forget that celebrities are human too. Everyone deserves a bit of privacy, I'm more interested in her work and what she brings to the music industry rather than whoever she's dating."

The reporter nodded, appreciating Paige's perspective. "Absolutely. It's refreshing to hear someone focus on the artistry rather than the gossip!"

──

"Okay, quick. Who's your celeb crush right now, other than Cam," Bowen Yang, grinned at you, raising an eyebrow as the audience laughed, eagerly awaiting your response.

You laugh (and decide to ignore the comment about Cam), feeling a slight blush creep up your cheeks. "Oh, come on, Bowen, you can't put me on the spot like that!"

Bowen leaned in, his grin widening. "Come on, Y/N, the people want to know!" He pointed to the crowd as they cheered, causing you to put your face in yours hands.

You then take a deep breath, pretending to think hard. "Fine, if I have to choose... I'd say Paige Bueckers. She's incredible on the court, and I've seen some interviews with her ─ she seems like such a cool person."

The audience erupts with loud cheers, causing both you and Bowen to laugh. Bowen's eyes widen, clearly delighted by your answer as he clapped. "Ooh, scandalous! Paige Bueckers, I love that! Have you met her?"

You shake your head, smiling. "No, not yet. But I did see a clip of her saying some really nice things about me recently. It was super sweet."

Bowen's face lights up with excitement. "She was practically gushing over you, this is perfect, we need to make this happen. Maybe you could collab, I don't know how but uh, if anyone could make it happen, it's you."

"Thank you, I think?" You laugh, nodding. "Totally, we'll see what happens."

Bowen turns to the camera, his enthusiasm infectious. "You heard it here first, folks! Y/N and Paige Bueckers, the crossover we never knew we needed but now desperately want!"

The audience erupts in applause and cheers, and you can't help but smile at the idea. Bowen turns back to you, his tone shifting slightly more serious. "Alright, before we wrap up, I have to ask ─ how do you deal with all the attention and rumors about your personal life? It seems like you're constantly in the spotlight."

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, caught off guard by the serious question. "It's um, definitely challenging at times, but I try to focus on the positive aspects. I love making music and my fans. As for the rumors, I just remind myself that I can't control what people say or think. I stay true to myself and the people who really know me, and that's what matters most."

Bowen nods appreciatively. "Wise words, Y/N. And that's why we love you so. Thank you so much for being here tonight."

"Thank you for having me," you reply, genuinely touched by the support.

"And that's Y/N L/N!"

The crowd erupts in cheers as you genuinely smile, happy for the support, waving toward the audience.

──

"Hey everyone, welcome back to the podcast I'm Lila, and today we've got a lot to talk about. Y/N L/N is at the center of yet another romantic scandal, and there's even a new twist involving basketball star Paige Bueckers. Let's dive in!" Lila said, her enthusiasm palpable.

"Yaya, so excited," Maya chimed in, adjusting her headphones. "So, Y/N was spotted last night leaving an upscale LA restaurant with actress Cam Harrison. They got into the same car, which has everyone buzzing about a possible new romance."

"Yeah, and this is just weeks after her very public breakup with Lauren, I think that's her name? It's been a whirlwind, to say the least. But honestly, I think Y/N is handling it all pretty well. She's focused on her music, and she's just living her life. What's your take, My?" Lila asked, leaning in slightly.

Maya sighed, her skepticism evident. "I don't know, Lila. I get that she's young and living her life or whatever, but it feels like there's always some new drama with her. First Lauren, now Cam Harrison? It's starting to look like a pattern."

"But that's thing, with being in your early twenties. Figuring out what you want, who you want to be with? I mean, she's also incredibly talented and driven. Her new album is generating a ton of buzz and it hasn't even been released yet," Lila countered, her voice full of admiration.

"Sure, but it seems like she's always entangled in some romantic drama. Maybe it's just the nature of fame or whatever, but it can also come off as messy. And now, with Paige Bueckers gushing about her in that interview, it adds another layer. I just hope she’s not stringing people along," Maya replied, her tone annoyed.

Lila nodded, annoyed at Maya's words but maintaining her supportive stance. "I get where you're coming from, but did you see Paige's reaction? She was genuinely excited about Y/N. It was sweet. Plus, Y/N responded so positively on the SNL interview. I think it shows she's got a good heart and she's just navigating her way through a complicated life!"

Maya hesitated for a moment as she glanced at the camera, then continued. "I mean, look at Taylor Swift. She's known for her string of high-profile relationships and breakups, and it hasn't always been received positively. It feels like Y/N is heading down a similar path- What?"

"Come on, Maya!" Lila glared at her, clearly displeased. "Comparing Y/N to Taylor Swift isn't fair. Taylor's faced a lot of unfair criticism for just living her life and expressing herself through her music. Y/N is her own person, with her own journey. She's navigating her twenties in the spotlight, and that's not easy."

Maya just shrugged as she glanced toward the camera, before adjusting her mic. "Well that got awkward, moving on..."

──── COMMENTS

sela 🐾 | is she wrong though... love her music but why'd paige gotta get involved too? ♡ 108

↳ l/nslover | cause they like each other???

↳ 🦕 | has bro ever heard of a pr relationship 😭

↳ ari! | THEYRE NOT EVEN TOGETHER YET BROOO😭😭😭

sarah™️ | LILA GET THE HELL OUTTA THERE BROOOO 😭😭 i never liked maya tbh this is just a weird ass take ♡ 1.7k

kayla 🎀 | listen as a y/n girly i also understand maya's point of view cause.... shes kinda for the streets ♡ 879

↳ ™️ | dont call yourself a """"" y/n girly """""" if ur gonna say she's for the streets??? the fuck??

⭐️ | i was understanding maya's pov up until she started saying all that taylor swift bullshit, they're two separate artists LET US LIVEEEEEEE ♡ 2k

josie may | hardest watch of the day 🥲 maya u let us down with that dumb ass take

──

"I just kinda... wanna disappear for awhile," you confessed, your voice quiet as you pressed the phone to your ear. "Don't know why this keeps happening, you're the only that can... help me through it. Sorry if I woke you up-"

It happened again ─ over the last couple of months (ever since you'd broken up with Lauren) you'd gotten pretty severe panic attacks. You were told by everyone on your team to just stay off social media and what had you done... exactly the opposite of that.

"No, no, I was awake anyway, promise," Paige's voice echoed through the phone. You heard shuffling through the phone as you sniffled, sighing. "And I don't mind, like at all. I meant what I said, I'm always here for you,"

Your heart swelled as you managed a smile, as tears began to build in your eyes. You and Paige had only been talking a month and she already understood you more than anyone had in what felt like forever. Her steady presence was like an anchor in the storm of your life.

The constant media scrutiny and the aftermath of your breakup with Lauren had left you feeling alone, but Paige’s calming influence was slowly becoming your safe haven.

"I just... I don't know how to deal with all of it. The rumors, the pressure, it's all so overwhelming," you admitted, wiping away the tears that had started to fall. "Half of it, it isn't even true."

"Hey, it's okay, I know, I believe you," Paige's voice was soothing, almost like a warm embrace over the phone. Even the smallest affirmation from Paige made you feel all okay again, even if it was just for the moment.

"You're not alone in this. We can figure it out together, step by step."

That part made your lips twitch up in a smile, feeling yourself relax again. You took a deep breath, feeling a bit of the tension ease from your shoulders. "I just feel like I can't breathe sometimes. Like the walls are closing in, y'know?"

"I get it," Paige replied softly. She'd know about it all too well, she'd been through it herself plenty of times. "Sometimes it helps to focus on the small things. One step at a time, remember? Have you tried any of those breathing exercises I taught you?"

You nodded, even though she couldn't see you. "Yeah, a little. They help, but it’s hard to remember in the moment."

"Next time you feel a panic attack coming on, call me. Anytime, okay? We'll get through it together," Paige's voice was firm, reassuring. "You don't deserve the shit they give you, like at all."

"Thank you," you whispered, feeling a surge of gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without you, P."

"You don't have to thank me. I care about you, and I wanna help. Plus, I like hearing your voice," Paige added with a light chuckle, trying to lift your spirits.

You couldn't help but smile at that. "Me too, especially your cute tired voice."

"Cute, really?" Paige laughed through the phone and you swore you felt like your whole world felt even again. "But uh, if you do really wanna disappear you can always come to Connecticut."

The thought of escaping the relentless spotlight, even for a little while, sounded like a dream. "Really?"

"Yeah, you can stay with me for a bit, if that's uh... what you want." Paige explained through the phone. "My friends are super chill and it's always a fun time, if you ever wanna come. Think about it?"

The idea of spending time with the basketball player you'd quickly become enthralled with, seemed almost like a dream. And getting away from LA and all the madness that came with it sounded heavenly, you were going to give Connecticut a thought.

You sighed, feeling a warmth spread through you that had been absent for far too long. "Yeah, I will. And Paige?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. Really."

"Anytime, Y/N. Sweet dreams."

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[runningfrom2am]

the wedding // LTPF

summary: the wedding of the year, i can see it now.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.7k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. she's a bridezilla for REAL and i wish i included more of that energy, protective!coryo, idk people are drinking alcohol? (its a wedding, so duh), also TW for Livia and r's dad just existing p much.

based on this ask and this ask!

series masterlist // playlist

Everything was perfect. Absolutely everything you had dreamt of your whole life when it came to your wedding. Coryo had told you money was no object, and therefore, you spared no expense. You had a strong theory that your father was being sent every last bill, since you knew neither of you had anything more than what the Plinth's were providing for school, but that was the farthest thing from your problem. It was the least your father could do.

The hardest part of the whole thing, even before deciding who would give you away without your father, was deciding on your maid of honour. You didn't have many good friends, or friends at all, outside of your new husband. At one point, you wondered if had things gone differently, would you have chosen Lucy Gray?

Clemensia Dovecote was a fine enough choice. "Let me just say," Her speech began, hitting the side of her overfilled wine glass with a fork. "I have called this wedding for years, and no one believed me." She shot a smile over to you at the head table. "For anyone who doesn't know me, I'm Clemensia. Y/N's Maid of Honour." She had just thrived on the title since you offered it to her which, while annoying, was good because she took her position very seriously. She was the perfect choice- she looked nice, presentable in a dress you had picked out, but the colour clashed with the yellow in the whites of her eyes and the few scales that were yet to fall off after the snake bite. She looked fine, but she also made you look better. "But like I said, I knew this would happen."

She was drunk, repeating things in a way that made you cringe internally but nevertheless, you had to watch. The lights spread across the large backyard of the Plinth's mansion lit up the night beautifully, bouncing off every white and red rose you had spread about. You were very grateful to them for allowing you to host the reception there. They had done a lot for you in the last year since you returned from Twelve.

Mrs. Plinth was very involved with planning the wedding- she loved the winter wedding and leaning into it as a theme. It worked out nicely because it gave her something to think about other than the death of her only child, and she was a tremendous help and support to you. You were truly grateful, but this day was hard on them without Sejanus there. She had mentioned on more than one occasion that Sejanus would have been the best man, and you only slightly doubted that. You wouldn't want it to be anyone else- but Coryo would have had different thoughts, you're sure.

"How much longer will this go on for?" Your now husband whispers in your ear, fake smile on his face as he also has to listen to Clem's rambling.

"I really don't know." You reply with the same fake smile, knowing that eyes were on you just as much as her.

"Some choice for a maid of honour." He chuckles.

You roll your eyes, a playful smile on your lips. "Oh, well, I would have gone with Arachne Crane but, you know..."

"Fair enough." He mumbles, sitting back in his seat. "Are you really the only woman in the Capitol who isn't insufferably annoying? You should have been your own maid of honour."

"Well it was her or Tigris, and Tigris is prettier than me so she wasn't really an option." You hum, grabbing his hand under the table as you keep your eyes focussed on Clemensia, not paying attention to a word she says.

Coryo laughs. "Tigris is not prettier than you."

"She's your cousin, your opinion is invalid." You shrug it off.

"Doesn't change the fact that I'm right." He argues, squeezing your hand.

You don't reply, and you let his hand go to clap once Clem is finally finished. You had already eaten, so now it was supposed to be the "fun part", as Clemensia so aptly put it in her speech. You found it rude, yes, but it wasn't a big deal and after tonight you wouldn't have to see her again for a while.

It was brisk out, being a winter wedding you should have expected that, but you still had another dress to change into so you excuse yourself from the table, kissing your husband goodbye as he gets up as well.

You hadn't allowed him to see any of your dresses, and this would be your third one today alone. He loved every one, and did not expect to be disappointed by the next. Or the one after that.

"Hey, congrats, Coriolanus." He tears his gaze away from your retreating figure to whoever was talking to him.

"Thank you, Hilarius." He nods, smiling politely at him and reaching out to shake his hand.

"I saw this one coming miles away." His classmate laughs. "You remember that though, right?"

"When you said that if I wasn't going to go after her you would?" Coryo asks, eyebrow raised. "I do remember that. It makes me wonder who let you in..." It's meant as a joke as he makes a point of looking past him toward the security they have at the entrance.

He furrows his brow when his eyes catch on your father standing there, arguing with one of the security guards, his wife by his side.

"If you would excuse me..." He says, walking toward them before Hilarius could even respond.

"Ugh, I know. Why did you even invite her, Y/N/N?" Clemensia complains as Tigris helps you step out of your gown.

"Who?" You ask, unsure what she was even talking about.

"Livia." She states, yet another glass of red wine in her hand.

"Oh, I kind of had to. Connections and all that." You shrug. You weren't Livia's biggest fan, she had a "greater than thou" attitude that drove you up the wall, but who in this city didn't?

"Ah, yes. Of course." She hums. "She had a lot of audacity to show up in that dress though..."

Your head whips around to look at her. "What dress?"

"You haven't seen her?" She gasps. "I thought you saw her! It's this white-based floral, really questionable for someone else's wedding. Looks like a tablecloth." She accentuates the statement with a sip from her glass.

Your jaw ticks and you look toward the door, already seeing red.

"Hey, Y/N, it's okay." Tigris rests her hands on your shoulders, prompting you to look at her. "We'll tell security, they can escort her out if that's what you want."

You take a breath, forcing a smile on your face. "Let's not bother them. I'll just go chat with her." You smile, stepping out of the dress in bare feet, quickly grabbing Clemensia's overfilled wine glass from her hand on your way out the door.

"Y/N, Wait! Don't!" Tigris calls after you, well aware of your notorious temper by now, but you don't listen.

You're in your white slip when you storm back out to the reception area through the back patio, immediately and quickly scanning the crowd for the guest in question. You know you have seconds before Tigris likely tries to stop you, but you know Clemensia won't. Then, you see her.

You're seething already. That's practically a wedding dress on its own. You would kill her.

You stomp across the ground, tunnel vision locked on her as she raises her glass to her lips, laughing, and talking with other guests, completely careless to what she had done wrong. Well, she would learn today.

"Livia Cardew!" You grin, walking up to her. "I don't recall sending you an invitation, but here you are!"

Immediately, she's taking in your appearance, giggling at your lack of appropriate attire and shoes. "Y/N! Congratulations." She says, eyes finally locking with yours again.

"May I have a word?" You ask, already grabbing her arm and pulling her away.

"Is there a problem here?" Coriolanus asks, addressing only his security as your father stands there, red-faced with anger.

"Yeah, they've got no invite." He nods, showing Coryo the list in his hands which he quickly pretends to look over.

"Oh! Sorry, yes. There you are..." He says, pointing down at the bottom and your father visibly relaxes. "Under the title there that says 'not welcome under any circumstances'... Well then." He looks at your father now for the first time, tilting his head at him.

"No, this is my daughter's wedding and we will be let in!" He demands, raising his voice.

Coryo clicks his tongue, slightly shaking his head. "No, sir, I thought we were clear on this."

"No, you said the wedding. This, if I'm not mistaken, is the reception. I made my sacrifice. Now, I'm here."

"And only about two hours late." Coryo hums uninterestedly, looking down at his watch. "Father of the year."

Your father's fuming, and it's hard for Coryo to not laugh in his face. "I paid for everything here! You can't deny us entry!"

"I can." Coryo says. "Well, actually, my apologies. Mrs. Y/L/N, you are welcome to come in, if you'd like." He smiles at her, polite demeanour flicked back on like a light switch.

Your father quickly pulls her back behind him. "It's both of us or neither of us. Go ask our daughter." He states, gripping tightly on her arm.

"Oh, no. I won't be ruining our wedding." Coryo shakes his head, firm in his decision. "I'll tell Y/N you send your love, Ma'am. Have a good night."

"No! You will let us in right now or-" Your father's tantrum is interrupted by a commotion across the yard, drawing Coryo's attention. People gasp in shock, and then he sees you, about to absolutely lay into Livia Cardew, who now has red wine all over her face and the front of her dress.

"I must be going, now." Coryo tells them, turning back to the security guard and adjusting the cuffs of his shirt to be able to roll up his sleeves. "If you don't mind, call for peacekeepers to escort him from the property. Thank you."

He doesn't have time to hear your father's angry disagreement as he walks away.

"So," You drop her arm, turning to face her. "I'm not sure if you are aware, but this isn't your wedding." You spit, gesturing to her dress. "And listen, I get it! You're jealous. That's fine, but it's extremely tacky and honestly embarrassing for you to wear a white dress to a wedding that's not yours."

Livia's lips fall open in shock, looking down at her dress before she laughs. "Y/N, come on. It really isn't that serious, you realize that, right?"

You stare at her for a moment, weighing your options. You could smash the glass over her head like you wanted to, demand that she leave immediately, or, you could 'accidentally' spill the glass on her. Before you complete the thought, you're throwing the contents of Clemensia's glass at the front of her dress, smiling as it splatters up over her face and in her hair, dripping down the front of her expensive-looking gown.

"Oops."

Livia gasps, wiping the red substance from around her eyes and flicking it off. "I thought that for one day you could be normal! God, you are vile!" She's practically screaming now.

"This is entirely your fault, you do realize that, right?" You tilt your head at her, a slight laugh under your tone. "If you wanted my husband just say that."

"I- ugh!" She groans in frustration and anger, swiping her hands over the liquid on her chest and flicking it all at you, staining the perfectly white satin of your slip. You look down at it, and then back at her. You were about to go through the roof.

The amount of people watching in the immediate vicinity is the only thing keeping you from grabbing her hair and shoving her head into the dirt. You decide to scream instead.

It turns into more of a wail, pumping angry tears into fake sad ones. Coryo is there in a second. "Darling, what's happened?" He asks, horrified as he looks between the two of you, grabbing your shoulders.

"I-" You sniff, pointing to the girl in front of you. "I just came to offer her something to change into because that is out of dress code and I tripped and-" You hiccup as he's rubbing up and down your bare arms. "It was an accident, and then she... It was just an accident! Now my dress is ruined and, and-"

He turns his gaze to Livia who just looks pissed while you ramble on about having had a little too much to drink, that was all. He's sure that's not what happened, he knows his wife better than that, but this show was not for him. He looks her up and down, visibly disgusted by her choice of dress. It honestly looks better now.

"Coriolanus that's not-" She chuckles with the shock of the accusation, shaking her head as she pleads with him.

"It's time for you to go." He tells her, looking toward a member of security who's not busy with your father, quickly waving him over.

Livia looks at the approaching security man in shock. "I didn't do anything!"

"That dress and causing a scene over it is more than enough." He states, wrapping an arm around your waist and wiping your tears from your cheeks. "Let's get you some water, Darling. It's okay..."

"It's not!" You cry, gesturing to the few small drops of wine on the front of your dress. "It's ruined! She ruined everything!"

Just as she's about to be escorted out, you make eye contact with her, offering a smug smile. She scoffs, which earns her a grab on the arm and a more forceful expulsion from the reception.

"Y/N!" Tigris is rushing across the lawn toward you, careful not to stumble in her shoes and bridesmaids' dress. "What happened?" She asks, addressing her cousin now.

"She's okay, there was just an accident with a glass of wine. We're just going to take a few minutes. I'll help her change." He explains to her.

She nods, looking worriedly down at the small stains in your dress. "I should be able to get this out, alright?" She assures you, rubbing a clean spot of the fabric between her fingers to make sure.

"Okay, thank you." You sniff, leaning into your husband's side as he guides you back up to the house.

You get inside and upstairs to what has become your dressing room and secondary bedroom over the last year. As soon as he shuts the door behind you, you can't hold your laughter back anymore. You're practically doubled over with it, and immediately Coryo understands. He chuckles, shaking his head at you.

"What a show..." He grins fondly, pulling you into a hug which you happily return.

"Oh, you liked it?" You giggle, coming down from your laughing fit.

"It was wonderful." He agrees, kissing the top of your head. "For a moment I was worried about you."

"Aw, really?" You look up at him, jutting your lip out in a pout.

"Definitely." He hums, kissing you softly. "Now come on, let's get you changed, huh?"

"Please." You nod, kissing him again before pulling back to pull your next dress from the closet. "I was supposed to wear this underneath, but now I can't." You sigh, hanging the full dress on the door before pulling the wine-stained one over your head.

"Just that will do, I suppose." Coryo mumbles, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind as you toss the slip onto the ground.

"Oh, you suppose, do you?" You chuckle, reaching up to pull the new dress from its hanger.

"Mhm." He nods, planting a kiss in the crook of your neck. "Makes my job easier later."

You laugh, blush spreading over your cheeks and flushing your chest while you unzip the back. You carefully balance as you step into the opening in the fabric, pulling it up around your waist.

"Don't rush, Darling. It will probably take you a while to recover before we can return to the party." He says, watching you adjust the skirt before you plan on zipping it up.

"Good point." You agree, but make no effort to stop until Coryo places his hand over yours.

"What should we do with all this time we have to kill, hm?" He's already leaning down to kiss over the back of your neck.

"I feel like you have an idea..." You mumble, tilting your head to adjust to his presence.

"Have I told you how much I love you?" He asks as he gently pushes the fabric back down to drop in a pool around your ankles.

"You may have mentioned it..." You turn under his palms as they land on your lower back, gently pulling you closer. "And I love you too. More than you could ever imagine, Coryo."

taglist: @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @klplynn , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @gloryekaterina , @andrewgarfieldsbitch , @queenofspades6 , @pepperonipastas , @ladybug0095 , @lunamothwrites , @sbrewer21 , @mus-tbe-a-weasley , @splxtscreen , @unclecrunkle , @karmaswitch , @coconut-dreamz , @nekee-lilac02 , @ooooglymoooogly , @riddlerloveb0t , @lovedbalances , @notyourwildestdream , @snowlandson-top , @too-lit-for-fanfic , @utopiakys , @deafeningballoonnacho , @roosterschanelslut , @chmpgneprblem , @cosmoetik , , @urvampgfsworld , @carolanns-world@nan-nie , @shakespearseclipse , @iovemoonyy , @notyoursweetheart-honey ,  @xyzstar , @eatpizzasass, @slytherinholland , @queenofshinigamis , @elodiebeau , @soulessjourney

[obey-moi]

I wanna imagine that the cards are a real thing in-universe. Like, the brothers, royals, Solomon and Thirteen all get put into a trading card game just because they’re all very popular individuals with their own fanbases Everyone’s card art is a little different from their actuall looks bc the actual people aren’t involved in the art production, so everone gets washboard abs and clear skin. It’d also be considered defamation of any of them are portrayed with a single blemish lol.

Of course Asmo collects ONLY his own cards and MC’s cards, even if some of them look off. “This one’s hair is too brunette but I love the SHINE they put in my lipgloss!” Or something silly like that. They go into a photo album binder where he gets other pieces of fanart.

Leviathan collects SO many card and knows the rules and decimates everyone at the games, but he absolutely refuses to collect his own cards. “Can you imagine if I played my own card as if I were actually cool? Like I had those powers, or l-looked as dashing a-as they portray me?? None of my cards would actually be good?? I’m JuSt An OtAkU??” Never plays the holographics of MC. Those get framed but never displayed. (MC finds them and they do the same to him since they both avoid their own cards. In fact they do a daily dropoff where if there’s an envelope under their door they can usually expect it to be the others’ cards.) He’s also a master of making different decks, like he has a deck for every sin, every person, etc. The Royals+Angels deck and the Envy deck are his favourite ones.

Mammon thrives on the Devildom TCG market. Rare cards go for a ton of Grimm! And also you wanna know why he keeps trying to sell pics of Lucifer, right? He knows one of the official card artists. “This was the outfit this card was based on, yeah? Here’s the followup of him rolling his sleeves and loosening his tie! And I bet you’re gonna love THIS one! Nobody can ever seem to get his angry smile just right until they see it in person, but this picture comes pretty close. Doesn’t it give you shivers? I can start at 1500 grimm. Also, could you tell whoever is making THESE cards to stop whitewashing the GREAT Mammon? Plzkthx :)”

Satan’s not much for card games unless a friend challenges him to a different, more classic game, like rummy or liar. But he does keep the trading cards he likes the most. Art is art, what can he say? They’re also perfect bookmarks. His fave is probably one of MC that captures them perfectly in his vision.

Lucifer thinks the whole TCG is just silly and doesn’t really participate in any of it........... But Priddy Boy’s gotta be ✨Perfect In Everything✨. The man has canonically been stated to be good a video games for the simple need to be good at everything, you think he wouldn’t study strategy and play like it’s chess or smth? That and in his Dad Wallet where he keeps pictures of his brothers (and MC), he keeps his favourite cards of them behind each respectful photo.

Beel doesn’t really collect or know how to play, but Beel has autographed many a card after fangol games, so he can at least understand it’s a collectible item. He tried learning from Leviathan how to play this one time, and it made sense to him for the most part. Card has Life Points, Attack Points, and Special Skills. Beat up opponents' cards and win. Not too different from most other card games. But there are complicated rules to it that he forgets or mixes up. He’d much rather use the cards like dolls and make them “talk” to each other.

Belphie also doesn’t play or collect, but he does enjoy getting his hands on the holographic cards. One day Levi was sent to look for Belphie to tell him it was dinner time. He found the youngest in the attic cutting up the cards into shapes and gluing them back-to-back, hanging them up like a mobile. Levi fainted backward down the stairs and refused to look at Belphie for two months straight.

Solomon really likes these cards! Like Satan he uses them as bookmarks, but specific Sin Colours and People get paired with certain books. Green Satan cards are used on cursed tomes or books about curses, blue Satan cards are used in art history books. Pink Asmo cards are left in Seduction Spell books, while yellow Asmo cards are for books about venoms from creatures. Etc. Makes categorization much easier!

Barbatos doesn’t collect, but he does know how to play. He referees for the Young Lord sometimes whenever Diavolo gets a chance to have fun.

Y’all know ya homeboy DIAVOLO is one of the biggest collectors! He and Levi are both DAUNTING on the “battlefield”, though Dia doesn’t take things so seriously like Levi does sometimes. He’s even commissioned actual paintings of himself and everyone so that those portraits can be made into cards. They’re the rarest ones, there only being one of each person out in the world. As much as Dia would have loved to keep those cards, he likes to watch the chaos of others scrambling desperately try to obtain an Ultra Rare Royal Painted Holographic. Besides, he still has the original paintings! (Also he likes to collect the DevilWendy’s kids meal toy versions of those “cards”, which are actually those plastic “gold” plated cards inside of “”””pokéballs””””. Adorable!)

Some Thirteen cards have special abilities based on real traps of hers. Some of Thirteen’s traps are based on some of the cards. She likes to tape some cards up like stickers to some of said traps as decorations. Or as part of the trap. She once tried to entice Solomon with a card, but Levi fell for it instead and nearly got impaled in a tiger trap she called “Super Duper Rare Double Dare #106”.

Mephistopheles says he doesn’t care about such childish playthings. But once the Diavolo released those Ultra Rare Royal Painted Holographic, and ‘Phisto got highest bidder on the Diavolo card, SUDDENLY he’s become Maximillion Pegasus and his signature deck is the Diavolo deck.

Luke isn’t really one to play, but he does like the art of some of them! He’ll put some in a scrapbook! It’s also another bookmark technique, where certain people’s cards get bookmarked on their favourite recipes. He got the idea from Solomon’s method of bookmarking.

Simeon also doesn’t play but mainly collects. Got a little hooked on it before Raphael moved in and the room was being used for Levi’s spare collection stuff. He was even given many of the Common ones for free (what Simeon did with common cards, Levi didn’t nearly care as much, and trusted him more with cards than he could trust Belphie with holo’s...). He’s collected all the Seven Lords themed ones. It’s a nice, low-key hobby, like stamp collecting. He donates the ones he doesn’t need to MC or Levi.

Raphael neither plays, collects, or knows anything about them really. But he does still have an annoying familiarity with them, thanks to Michael wanting him to buy several packs, nay, BOXES of packs. Michael needs to be the number one Lucifer Card collector. Bro misses his bro... ;(

[awkward-walking-potato]

Can I request part 2 of your Of Broken Glass and Red Spandex (I absolutely love it 😍) where Reader called Wade to treat him a meal together as thanks for helping please?

Broken Glass and Red Spandex: Part 2

The city had a strange way of making its millions of inhabitants feel small and insignificant, but you had always found comfort in its sprawling chaos. After the harrowing experience with the mugger, the city seemed both familiar and alien, like a place you knew but had to learn to navigate all over again. And there was one thing—well, one person—that you couldn’t get out of your mind.

Wade.

Ever since that night, you'd been trying to find him. You didn't know much about him beyond his name and the fact that he wore a red suit and had a penchant for dark humor. But you wanted to see him again, to thank him properly for saving you. It wasn’t easy tracking down a man who seemed to thrive in the shadows, but you were determined.

After what felt like weeks of dead ends and frustration, you decided it was time to move on—literally. Your old apartment had too many bad memories now, so you found a new place in a different part of town, hoping for a fresh start. The apartment was nothing special, but it was cozy and, most importantly, yours. As you unpacked the last of your boxes, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever see Wade again. Maybe it was foolish, but a part of you still hoped.

A few days later, you were heading out of your apartment, balancing a grocery bag in one hand and fumbling with your keys in the other, when you heard a familiar voice.

“Need a hand, butterfingers?”

You turned around so quickly you nearly dropped the bag. Standing there, in all his sarcastic glory, was Wade Wilson—minus the red suit, but unmistakably him. Your heart skipped a beat as you took him in, the same scruffy face, the same glint in his eyes.

“Wade,” you breathed, more a statement than a question. Relief and something else—something warm and hopeful—washed over you.

He grinned, looking impossibly pleased with himself. “Miss me, did ya? Figured I’d pop by to see if the neighborhood’s gone to shit since you moved in. Turns out, it’s actually improved. Weird, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound full of relief. “You live here?”

He nodded, leaning casually against the wall. “Yeah, just next door, actually. Small world, right? Or maybe I’ve been stalking you. You’ll never know.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “Well, since you’re here… I was actually planning to make dinner tonight. How about you come over? As a thank you, for, you know, saving my life.”

Wade’s expression softened, though he still maintained that air of playful nonchalance. “Dinner, huh? As long as it doesn’t involve any weird health food. I’m not much for quinoa or kale.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “No quinoa. Just good old-fashioned comfort food.”

Wade pretended to think it over, but you could see the excitement in his eyes. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. I’ll bring the cheap wine.”

That evening, you found yourself nervously adjusting the table settings for the third time. You didn’t know why you were so anxious—after all, it was just dinner. But something about Wade made your heart race in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. There was a connection there, something undeniable, and you weren’t sure what to make of it.

When the knock finally came, you took a deep breath before opening the door. Wade stood there, holding a bottle of wine with a cheap, gaudy label. He was out of his usual suit, dressed in a casual button-down and jeans, but there was still an air of unpredictability about him that made your pulse quicken.

“Hope you like red. It’s the only kind they had at the bodega down the street,” he said, holding out the bottle.

You smiled and took it from him, your fingers brushing against his for just a moment longer than necessary. “Red’s perfect.”

Dinner was a surprisingly easy affair. Wade was, as always, full of stories—half of which you suspected were exaggerated, if not completely made up. But it didn’t matter. He made you laugh, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a genuine sense of happiness.

As the evening went on, the conversation became quieter, more intimate. You talked about the mugging, about how much it had shaken you, and Wade listened without interrupting, his usual sarcasm taking a back seat. When you finished, he reached across the table, his hand covering yours.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “Most people would’ve fallen apart after what you went through, but you’re still here. That counts for something.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing past the bravado and the jokes to the man beneath. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

Wade gave you a half-smile, squeezing your hand. “Nah, you would’ve found a way. But I’m glad I was there to help.”

The room was silent for a moment, the only sound the soft hum of the city outside. Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized what you wanted to do, what you needed to do.

Slowly, you stood up, moving around the table until you were standing in front of him. Wade looked up at you, something unreadable in his gaze. You hesitated for only a second before leaning down and pressing your lips to his.

The kiss was soft, tentative, and you could feel Wade’s surprise before he melted into it, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. It was as if the world stopped spinning, and for a few blissful moments, it was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. Wade stared at you, his usual witty retort failing him for once. You smiled, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest.

“Thank you, Wade,” you whispered.

He grinned, his eyes twinkling with something you couldn’t quite name. “Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime.”

And as you stood there, the world outside forgotten, you knew that this was only the beginning of something beautiful.

[sarcastictissy]

Hola :D I just wanted to thank you for being so positive lately and looking at things regarding the qstudio situation with nuance. It feels like people have been so stressed and angry after all of the admin stuff came that they began to take every bit of news we hear as some sign that bad things are to come . I think a lot of people underestimated just how long this process can take, there a lot of factors to be considered here, including: q's lack of experience, the union, the laws, the admins. And unfortunately there is no way to satisfy everyone when it comes to stuff like this. This was never going to take a week or two, I feel like people didn't fully understand that.

Some admins are going to be pushed out of the project due to the lack of funds and the fact that this is a legal issue first and for most. It's unfair but it's the law. Not everyone understands that and because of that people are going to say things without understanding the situation. Not every thing is black and white and sometimes things aren't going to work out the way we want them to. Nobody is perfect and we shouldn't expect people involved in this situation to act like that. Which is why you should always look at the situation from multiple perspectives before forming an opinion.

It makes me feel tired to see the same takes over and over agian with no nuance. So your post have really helped me feel better :) I've seen people from both qsmpblr and qsmptwt act like every ccs involved in this is a war criminal or like this is a admins vs quackity or french/brazil vs quackity. It's kinda drove me off most social sites and forced me to only watch YouTube and stuff (on the good side of things, I've been watching quackity's discord videos and some dsmp vods :D it's been fun)

What I am trying to say is that, scrolling through your blog feels like a breath of fresh air and has made me feel 8× more calm about this situation. I don't think doomposting is necessarily bad but after seeing so much of it, sometimes you just need to distance yourself and look at the good parts of life. No matter how much I complain, I am never changing the course that qstudio is headed and neither can any one else, The only one who can do that is quackity. I hope that he does the right thing and the studio gets better. I love the characters that qsmp has brought us and the community it has formed, qsmp is a beautiful project that I want to see thrive. For now the only thing I can do as a viewer is hope for the best <3

I'm sorry if this came off as a trauma dump, I just really wanted to thank you.

So, this has been in my askbox for a while because I was so grateful and happy to hear I've helped someone!! Thank you sm anon that means a lot to me and knowing I'm keeping others optimistic, helps me feel optimistic too! :D

This is a very complex situation with so many moral grey areas mixed with black and white. It's not simple, it's not easy. These things cannot be fixed in a matter of weeks, you're absolutely right about that.

I also agree doomposting isn't necessarily bad! It's a good way to get off some steam and vent/ rant for a bit. There's nothing wrong with that. We all need it at times. For me, personally, it becomes toxic when that's ALL I'm seeing in social media. When I go on my phone and all I see is negativity, that's when I need to call it quits and start blocking people or start taking time away (which is why I deleted twt off my phone) everyone's tolerance levels are different ofc, so, not everyone is affected by that negativity, but I certainly was. This is why I want my blog to be positive and uplifting and you know what? Each and every time I get a ask or a message thanking me for that, I gain faith in humanity and it just encourages me to keep being positive! I'm so thankful for your ask and dw it wasn't trauma dumping at all!! :D I hope you're doing well anon! Take care of yourself. You matter

[percheduphere]

something I've been wondering about is how others will react to Loki's new power/position. I constantly joke about it, but it could be a serious question. So, how do you think people like the Avengers would react to this? I used to think they would just continue to be untrustworthy towards him but like...How would they feel realizing one of their former enemies could (maybe?) erase them from existence but chooses not to. Scared? Or just confused?

Ooo... I LOVE this question! Thank you for asking it! Let's go through some characters one by one, starting with my favorite:

MOBIUS - I imagine he would be very proud and impressed with Loki, but a part of him would also feel insecure about his place in Loki's life. His primary motivations were to provide Loki with a second chance, an environment in which he could thrive, and friendship and support. In terms of plot, Mobius has served his purpose. He might feel Loki no longer needs him but would hide this feeling with self-deprecating humor about being a "washed up analyst". I think he would be in awe of Loki's power, genuinely delighted by it, but also feel personally obsolete by comparison. Once he sees that Loki is lonely, however, I think Mobius would be happy to serve a new purpose in keeping Loki company at the end of time. That is, if Loki confirms he wants him there.

SYLVIE - She will absolutely make a snarky comment about Loki's new clothes. It will be the first thing she says to him with a perfectly expressionless face: "Nice pyjamas", "Cool slippers", "Do your giant horns get tangled up in all those branches?" In front of others, she would treat him no differently than she's always had because omnipotent, omniscient power doesn't impress her. Unless she's enchanting, Sylvie isn't the touchy-feely type either. I think she would make an effort to thank Loki in private, though. Between the two of them, Loki is the one more likely to initiate a hug, and she would hug back awkwardly.

THOR - Poor Thor. He's been jerked around by multiple fake deaths. The first one was unintentional on Loki's part; he didn't intend to survive falling from the bifrost. The second one was intentional, and left Thor feeling betrayed yet again. The third was final. On first sight, he will likely accuse Loki of being a pretender. To avoid this, Mobius is the best person to provide an explanation before formal introductions. Failing that, I anticipate yelling, ugly crying, then hugging, followed by ALSO making fun of Loki's new clothes. I think Thor will be very proud of his brother, stunned (but pleased) that Loki can lift Mjolnir. That on its own should be enough proof for the other Avengers.

HAWKEYE - Hell no. Not having it. Will call bullshit on Yggdrasil even though it's true. Of the remaining Avengers, he has the most to be angry about when it comes to Loki. He'd be terrified of Loki's new powers (cursing about it every step of the way) and would accordingly arm himself to the teeth. Doesn't matter how much Loki proves himself trustworthy and apologizes. Being mind controlled by him was a traumatic experience. Even when working as allies, he'll park himself as far away as possible from Loki and make snide remarks about "free will".

BUCKY - Has had no real interactions with Loki, but would likely have heard stories from Steve and Sam. Having had a dark history himself, I think he'll be more open to welcoming Loki and giving him a chance. He may even present himself as an example (although others will say "brainwashing" is different). Chryo-freezing and everything he's been through with Hyrda and Thanos has likely blunted his ability to feel surprise in the face of raw power. Overtime, I think he'll come to like Loki, especially if Loki offers him the opportunity to talk to Steve again.

SAM - Was not involved in 2012, but Sam has a great sense of humor. I think he'll be shocked and cautious, but willing to give Loki a chance with the right precautions in place. I don't think he'd be mean about it, just practical. I think he'll find the Yggdrasil quite beautiful and poetic, and articulate it as such, then note that with kind of power, Loki could have easily destroyed them all by now but didn't.

FURY - Pissed as hell about these turn of events. He'll complain that all this goddamn fucking nonsense is bad for his heart. He'll side with Clint and enforce maximum security, which is useless against Loki's powers, but Loki would play along until people stop freaking out.

BRUCE - 2012 Bruce would Hulk-out. Post-Endgame Bruce knows Loki fought on their side and did what he could to protect Thor and buy both of them time before dying. Bruce's personal experience fighting his own demons will provide him with additional empathy. As for Loki's powers, he would be absolutely giddy for the opportunity to study it. Once he makes friends with Loki via Thor, Loki will be his favorite test subject and Loki will humor him for Thor's sake and his own curiosity.

DR. STRANGE - While he won't blink at time powers, he would highly doubt a universe with a good Loki exists. He's the most able to test Loki's abilities and can verify if Loki is indeed using his powers for good. Doesn't mean he'll ever trust him, though.

[lilacstro]

Hello, I have read your career post but absolutely don't understand how to apply it to my own birth chart. Can you help me to find out?

hey! no problem, id help you. if you read the first part of the post, i have mentioned 5 ways to check your career in your birth chart. I could have mentioned one single way, but I have seen this go multiple ways so I mentioned most of it so you can decide how you want to go with it.

Infact, if you find some kind of common element between all the 5 ways, you can have more clarity about your career prospects. however, even if you check it from any one methods and find it resembling what you wanted to do, you can take it as a confirmations. This was the purpose behind creating this post this way.

I will illustrate with example on each of the 5 ways I have mentioned and how the information in the post can be used !

1st: checking your 10th (career)and 6th house(your working style, your coworkers) planets and sign

let us say you have your 10th house in Leo and 6th house in Aries. Let us say your 6th house has sun while the 10th has Mercury. You would see the careers related to Leo for 10th house and check Aries for 6th house. Now check careers related to Sun and Mercury. And among all of this IF you find some kind of commonality, you should find your answer, let's say, a common occupation between mapping this out could be being an author or a publisher or a CEO.

2nd: checking where does Sun(leadership and power), Saturn(where are you dedicated and disciplined)

let us say your sun is in 1st house in Aries and saturn is in 5th in Leo. You will now again try finding the answers through how i mentioned before. If you want to lead your career, you would see your Sun, if you want to see where would you find motivation and discipline to be able to do it, you would see your Saturn. You can then find a common ground between them, if you find.

3rd: aspects//house//signs //degrees for the Asteroids fama(408)(what can you get famous for) and industria(389) (longterm career, something we might purse out of nature, zeal and passion)

lets say you have fama in 11th house and industria in 2nd, you could find fame for careers related to the 11th house while you can thrive in ones related to the second house. Let's say you want to find a career that would give you both, see something common that occurs between themes of these two houses, even if it isnt on the list I have mentioned, you can try doing it yourself. Example, here, would be starting a business (collaborative;11th house) related to wealth management or stocks(wealth and finance;2nd house).

4th: where does ruling planet of Ascendant(our main themes and interests throughout our life)

i think its clear, but lets say you are a Taurus rising, you would check where does Venus(Venus rules Taurus) lie in your chart. Lets say Venus is in 7th house, so themes related to 7th house could be important to you, or you may find them to involve with your life in some way or other. It is important to check aspects too.

5th: Checking where is lord of your 10th house.

Example if your 10th house is in Aries, you would check which house is Mars in. Let us say your Mars is in 1st house, you would check careers related to Mars and 1st house, both.

I hope this was helpful and I could explain you well, if you still have doubts please let me know so. Also, aspects we have in our chart can also affect our career related choices. Let's say someone has Sun conjunct Uranus, they make like doing new things, and usual 9-5 may bore them off. So they need to look at all the factors comprehensively.

Remember you dont have to subscribe to how I view astrology personally. If you find better ways that seem better and tangible, please use them :)) astrology, thats why gets subjective based on interpretations. Sending love your way <33 and i hope you find success in whatever you do :)

[aro-culture-is]

Aro culture is being asked about your life goals on your job application and just wondering what you even put there because like, it wouldn't be relevant at all to the description and I don't want to just. Work at this place for the rest of my life. So like. What do I even put?

genuine answer:

look at it from the POV of the employer and not your actual life

for example, for someone working in customer service, they might be looking for personality traits and goals that involve you not leaving within the time period they consider their "investment" in training you to have not yet been fully paid off. Most "inexperienced" jobs are looking for a minimum of a month, but most likely they'd really prefer 3 months + a possibility you'll return if the job is seasonal (ie, a summer job to pay for college), or 6 months to a year in any other type of position. Add more time if you are part-time.

so, for example, say you're in schooling of some sort: you'll want to emphasize that you're looking to make money to help pay for schooling expenses while working towards getting a degree. If your degree is in anything but fine arts, you probably can list it; if it's in fine arts and not relevant to the job - rip my dude, lie and evade. you're still deciding, you're taking gen eds at the moment and like [these courses], anything. the idea is to show that you want a job and hours for a reason that shows you have drive/motivation. fine arts, despite being absolutely grueling degrees that absolutely fucking require more work imho as an engineering major than most majors, are just super devalued by a lot of folks.

if you're in a non-schooling period of life: try to lay out something that shows you're a motivated, practical, or in some way capitalistically "valuable" type of person. do not force yourself to be totally truthful. say whatever will get u the job that u can bullshit. "I'm looking to pay the bills" is probably not the best - spin it so that you show some sort of hobbies, volunteer work, community work, anything that teaches on personality. just do what u gotta to sound like you have something you do other than work and sleep, most of the time they just wanna get a read on you having passion and some sorta drive for something. probs don't mention caregiving for elderly or children though - some hiring managers are trained to look at that as a detriment, since it means you could more easily be called away for emergencies/urgent situations.

there's a lot of advice about like. using the direct words from the job description in these things, but imho i'd be careful. it can get u through automated computer checks, but a real person is probs gonna be like "cool but like. who tf are you." try to think about what/who will see it

some specific examples: "I plan to graduate with a degree in engineering and work in providing industrial solutions." / "I want to be able to spend time working with local gardening groups to make a community garden." / "I hope to further my skills in sewing so that I can make and mend my own clothing."

again: show passion, dedication, and knowledge/skills when possible. if you can find something relating to the position, that's usually best, but... sometimes you just gotta show that you're not reading off "10 best interview answers" and that you're a real person who cares about something. whatever it is, be prepared to get some basic questions/comments like, "Your application says you have an interest in gardening - can you tell me about that?" and respond with 2-3 sentences at a layman level. ie, "I've always enjoyed hands-on work, and it's always wonderful to see my plants thrive from seed to fruiting. I grow tomatoes, and my wife and I can our own tomato sauce each year. I'm hoping to grow peppers next year so we can make our own salsa." I've bolded things that would tell an employer things I think they'd like to hear - you like hands on work, you reliably do a fairly hands-on task without it being a requirement, and you have plans for improvement.

Genuine note though: I'm 23 and currently a barista at a local-ish coffee chain, due to dropping out of engineering as a result of developing a disabling chronic illness. Your mileage may vary; try to think "If someone had trained me to be the most discriminatory, law-avoiding asshole I could be while hiring someone, what is the best and worst I could read from this?". Don't disclose specifics on your personal life around children, elderly parents/grandparents that live with you, plans for future children, disabilities, anti-capitalist leanings, or any political opinions that don't specifically align with the company's expressed home-page level values. Like, if you had to click a button off of their front page on their website to find "we value diversity", try to not to say "I sell queer merchandise" as much as "I run a small online store in my spare time, with merchandise like pins and stickers."

[hairstevington]

i can't tune you out (part 3)

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley x Chrissy Cunningham

Summary: Eddie and Chrissy become friends. Robin and Chrissy bond. Eddie and Steve strike a deal.

(part 1, part 2)

Word Count: 4.8K (it's a long one!)

Warnings: Rockstar!Eddie/Musician!Steve, modern day AU, enemies to lovers STILL very much enemies sorry I love a slow burn, Chrissy x Comphet, allusions to Chrissy having body issues, Hellcheer being wholesome, angst upon angst baybeeee, this chapter is very fun just bear with the boys absolutely despising each other lmao

A/N: Hello friends! From here on out, this fic will only be posted to my Ao3. If you're digging the story so far, go ahead and follow along here! To those that don't have accounts, I might be able to finesse some sort of system where I let you guys know when I've updated. Also, for those in need of Soft Steddie (tm), more "Flowers and Ink" is coming soon! Love y'all &lt;3

Eddie got to the bar before Chrissy did, but he kind of preferred it that way. It gave him a chance to sit down, order a drink, and settle into the environment before being thrust into more chaos. 

Sometimes, even though he thrived in insanity, he needed a moment to breathe. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud, of course. 

“Hey, stranger!” Chrissy’s voice rang from behind him. He spun around and was surprised when she threw her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. He’d thought that she’d been extra sweet and friendly the night before because of the alcohol, but apparently that was just her vibe. It was actually really nice. 

“H-hi, Chrissy,” Eddie replied, hugging her back. She pulled away after one last squeeze, then plopped herself beside him. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty good,” she answered. “I was up all night, so I slept most of the day. Now, I’ll probably be up all night again. Such is life.”

“Been there,” Eddie replied, taking a sip of his drink. 

“Can I get a vodka soda and two shots of tequila, please?” Chrissy asked the bartender.  

“Tequila?” Eddie asked, attempting to hide the disgust on his face. He hadn’t touched the stuff in years, after one fateful night involving a playground. Helpful tip - being drunk on a swing set is not the move.

“Tequila,” Chrissy confirmed with a smirk. “I’m invested now, and considering this is our first of potentially many drinks together, I figured we should start off with a bang.”

Eddie stared at her, blankly. She wanted to see him again after this? But he hadn’t even really done anything!

“Why are you so invested in this?” Eddie asked. 

“I dunno,” Chrissy replied with a shrug. The bartender put the vodka soda down in front of her, and she started mixing it around with the thin plastic straw. “I guess I’m just kinda…bored?”

“Bored?” Eddie repeated. “How could you be bored when you’re doing all the shit you do? Going to parties and photoshoots and - I mean, you barely know me.”

“My life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” she responded. There was a flicker of sadness in her eyes, but it left as quickly as it had come. Chrissy sipped her drink, then thanked the bartender as she set the shots down. “Come on, let’s commemorate this!” 

She took out her phone and gestured for Eddie to hold his drink up so they could take a picture. He was blown away by the whole thing, honestly. He almost texted Carla just to be like - can you believe this shit? 

It all seemed too easy. She was too open to being his friend, and he didn’t know why. He’d worked hard and all that, but he didn’t feel like he was decent enough of a person to get any sort of karmic reward. So this all felt a little suspicious, but he tried to enjoy it anyway. 

They did the shot. At least Chrissy had sprung for the high-quality liquor. It was still kinda nasty. 

“How was the rest of the party?” he asked. 

“Good,” Chrissy responded with a tight-lipped smile. She didn’t add any details, which was odd, but she spoke again before Eddie could ask any follow-up questions. “So, what’s the deal with you? People say you’re dating Steve, but you didn’t even know what he looked like last night, soooo…”

Alright, here we go.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie began. “I’m not dating him, clearly.” No sense in lying to Chrissy when she already knew. 

“But you want to?” Chrissy asked. Eddie shrugged. He would have flat out told her the truth, but he was hesitant to give everything away immediately. Steve was the one with the power, and Eddie hated that. “Do I need to order us another shot?”

“Please, no,” Eddie shot back instantly. When Chrissy laughed, he realized she’d been joking. “Sorry, it’s just -”

“It’s okay,” Chrissy assured him. “Talking to people in this business is hard. You never know who you can trust. I used to be a lot more open, and then you kinda just learn that you…can’t be, most of the time.”

Eddie furrowed his brow, wondering what exactly Chrissy felt she couldn’t tell people. Even moreso, he wanted to know who had broken her trust in the past. Then, he felt a pang of guilt, since he’d been mostly excited about this drink because it would boost his fame. Everything about all of this was corrupt and morally ambiguous. He sighed. 

“I’m just trying to make it out there,” Eddie admitted. “And I - I mean, I don’t know what to do, or how anything works.”

“Yeah, I remember what that’s like,” she empathized. She took a sip of her vodka soda, then turned back to Eddie. “Do you ever feel like -? I mean, do you ever feel like you’re losing your mind?”

“Uhhh, just on a daily basis,” Eddie replied. He and Chrissy smiled at each other, and he could feel her authenticity. Maybe it was stupid for him to open up to her, but he was going to do it anyway. “Chrissy, have you ever, uh - like, have you ever done one of those PR relationships?”

“Oh, yeah,” she replied, unfazed. “I can’t really say anything, but yeah. It happens a lot around here.” Eddie nodded, then sipped his drink. “Wait, are you trying to do that with me?”

“Not quite,” Eddie mumbled, his lips pressed to his glass.

“I thought you were gay,” she continued. 

“I am.”

“Oh, okay.” She thought about it for a moment, then her eyes widened. “Oh.” 

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” she repeated. “Ohhhh!”

“Got any other letters?” Eddie teased. Chrissy giggled, then shoved him playfully. 

“You’re funny,” she said. Eddie wasn’t used to people enjoying his often wicked sense of humor. This was refreshing. “So, who’s idea was it?”

“My manager, I guess,” Eddie answered. “Well, she told me to use what the fans were saying and to meet up with the guy. But it, uh - it didn’t go well.”

“No?” she asked, surprised. “What happened?”

Eddie wanted to keep talking to Chrissy. He didn’t care that she was famous anymore - he wanted her perspective as someone who’d been through it. He also knew that Chrissy could tear him down just as quickly as she could build him up. 

“Did you mean what you said about us getting drinks more often?” he asked. 

“Yeah!” she replied, smiling brightly. “Like I said, you’re funny. And I - hmm. Okay, um. This next part might sound really bad at first, but I can explain.”

“Okay…” Eddie said, feeling his walls come back up. 

“I don’t really have a lot of male friends,” Chrissy admitted. “It always feels like - like they’re just waiting for their chance to strike.”

“Like, try to sleep with you?” Eddie asked. Chrissy nodded. “Oh. Christ, that sucks.” 

“Yeah,” she replied with a half shrug. 

He skipped the part where he doubted whether or not what she was saying was true, because it was clearly affecting her whether it was true or not. Eddie also had an urge to diffuse the tension with a joke, because that was kind of his thing.

“Chrissy Cunningham,” he stated, “- are you trying to make me your gay best friend?” She bit her lip, fighting a guilty smile. “Cuz like, I’m down, but I’ve never really done this before so I don’t know what the role entails.” She stopped fighting the smile, so Eddie continued. “I mean, is there a rulebook out there? I think there’s a movie about this on Netflix. Should I watch that first?”

“Eddie!” She interrupted, fully laughing now. Eddie joined her, feeling accomplished that he’d lightened the mood and set her at ease again. “I’m in the modeling industry, I’m surrounded by gay men all the time. It’s not just about that, I promise.”

“Okay, then what is it?” Eddie wondered. She sighed, her body much more relaxed than it had been before.

“It’s just that everybody I’m around talks about their looks all the time. I mean, it’s our job to be beautiful, I know that, but it’s tiring to just constantly hear about new diets and calories and what I should and should not eat. It’s just - it’s nice to get away from that, sometimes. You’re nothing like them, and I like that.”

“Nothing like them, huh?” Eddie smirked. “Are you saying I’m not beautiful?” She laughed and shook her head. 

“Okay fine, you have one thing in common,” she teased back. “You’re not mad?”

“Nah,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “But while we’re coming clean, I definitely was excited to come here because I hoped I’d get more followers if we hung out.”

“Well, obviously,” Chrissy responded, flipping her hair. “Okay, so that’s out of the way. Can we stick together, then?”

She asked it so sweetly it made his heart ache. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” he replied. He thought back to what Chrissy had said earlier about her model friends and decided to commit to being the opposite. “So, uh, I dunno about you but I could really go for some fries right now.” 

Chrissy’s eyes widened. 

“I’d kill for some fries right now.”  

“Great,” he said, grinning. “Who are we killing?” They laughed together, and then he got the bartender’s attention so he could order.

-

“For the record, I’m not doing this for you.”

It took Robin less than two seconds to agree to going to the bar with Steve. Now, they were walking down the street so that they could spy on two people they barely knew but were somehow entangled with. 

“I know, I know,” Steve replied. 

The bar was in sight. Chrissy hadn’t tagged the location or anything, but he recognized the place because he went there often. So often that it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to show up with Robin. They’d done it before and they’d do it again. 

The plan was for them to discreetly sit at a table in the back. But then they were at the door, and then they were opening the door, and then they were immediately being stared down by a blonde and a brunette at the bar. 

Shit. 

“Steve, what do we do?” Robin muttered rapidly. 

“Uhhh,” he said, glancing over at the table he imagined they’d sit at. He thought about ignoring them and just sitting down, but they’d all already seen each other so that would have just been rude. “I think we just have to own it.”

“Own what? That we’re psychopaths?” Robin hissed. 

And then, Chrissy was waving them both over to join them.

“Just follow my lead,” Steve said. 

In hindsight, this plan had been really, really stupid. 

Steve knew that his cover for all this was to get Robin and Chrissy in the same room again. But truthfully, Steve didn’t know Chrissy’s deal or if she wanted anything other than friendship. Steve could say this had nothing to do with Eddie all he wanted, but that wasn’t true. 

He’d been wracking his brain all day to make sense of this. His fight with Eddie the night prior had been a little fuzzy, but one part of it really stuck with him. 

Just a few years of King Steve bullying the school freak.

Well, that comment plus Eddie saying that Steve’s music sucked. That stung, but he wasn’t expecting someone like Eddie to appreciate his music anyway. The truth was, Steve had left high school behind, and he’d moved on, and he’d forgotten the shit he’d done back then. All that bystander crap, the teasing, the little comments that Steve didn’t understand the impact of at the time. 

Steve didn’t like Eddie. He still thought Eddie was a dick. But that didn’t mean Steve hadn’t also been a dick back then. 

All of this was very complicated, and the residual headache from the hangover made his head spin. Actually, the dizziness was probably also from the hangover. The thought of drinking made him want to hurl. Good thing he was at a bar, right?

“Hey!” Chrissy said as they approached. “What are you guys doing here?!” She jumped up to hug Steve, then Robin, and Steve watched as his friend acted as if the physical contact with her crush didn’t affect her. 

“We, uh -” Steve began. “We come here a lot, actually. Well, I do. I live just down the road.” 

His gaze drifted to Eddie, who gave Steve a knowing smirk. 

“Oh my god, Robin, I’m actually so glad you’re here,” Chrissy said. “Your style is just - I mean, wow! Where do you get your clothes?”

Robin’s eyes landed on Steve’s for a nanosecond, but it was enough for him to know exactly what was going through her brain. Basically just the embodiment of a bunch of exclamation points. 

“I - I usually thrift them, actually!” Robin responded. 

Then, Chrissy continued asking where Robin thrifted, and whether she could come with sometime, and Steve figured they’d be at it for a while. 

Huh. Maybe there would be something there after all.

Of course, while they were talking, this left Steve to either stand there awkwardly or interact with Eddie. He probably would have chosen the awkward standing, had Eddie not chosen the opposite. 

“Well, if it isn’t HARVEST in the flesh. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Eddie began. He was smiling, but his tone was biting. Steve looked at Eddie, nodded his head toward Chrissy and Robin, then looked back at Eddie. He shrugged. “Ah, I see.”

“Yeah.”

“No other reason?” Eddie prodded, playing dumb.

“Nope,” Steve said. “Like I said, I live right -”

“Down the road,” Eddie interrupted. “So I heard.” Steve swallowed. He kinda felt like he was being interrogated or something. Eddie was making this extremely uncomfortable. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Steve wondered, desperately wanting this interaction to be over. Unfortunately, Chrissy and Robin were still chatting eagerly. 

“Like what, HARVEST?” Eddie asked. Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Steve is fine.”

“Hmm, is he though?” Eddie retorted. “I don’t think you want me to treat you like I treat Steve.”

God, Eddie knew how to push Steve’s buttons. His heart was racing, he was so mad. He clenched his jaw and considered how bad it would be to smack the smug grin off Eddie’s face.

Really bad. He knew that. He took deep breaths instead and relaxed. His hands had balled into fists at some point during the conversation. He extended his fingers out, flexing them. He was trying to leave this version of himself in the past, not bring him back. Another deep breath. 

“Whatever, Munson,” Steve sighed. “I just -”

“Hey, guys?” Robin said, diverting the attention to her. She pointed to the window, where a crowd of people had gathered. 

Some of them had cameras. 

“Shit,” Chrissy said. “How long do you think they’ve been there?”

“I dunno,” Steve responded. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Yeah,” Chrissy agreed. Eddie and Robin looked at each other this time, both outside of Chrissy and Steve’s shared understanding. 

Good thing all of them looked nice. Those pictures were gonna be all over the place tomorrow. 

Steve was here a lot, so he knew the bartenders and the owners, and he also knew how to sneak out when things like this happened. 

“Come on,” he said, urging Chrissy to follow him. With Steve came Robin, and Eddie sure as hell didn’t want to be left there alone, so he came too. Oh, joy. 

The four of them walked past the bar and through a sign marked for employees only. They wandered through the kitchen and left out a black door that led to an alley behind the building. 

“So, what now?” Robin asked once they were outside. 

“I’ll give them about two minutes until they find us,” Steve replied. 

“Is there somewhere else we could go?” Chrissy wondered. “I kind of don’t want to go home yet.”

“Well, I know HARVEST over here lives nearby,” Eddie said. 

“Will you quit it with the HARVEST thing?” Steve complained. 

“Sorry, do you prefer Harvey?” Eddie shot back. Steve groaned. 

“You’re impossible.”

“Oh, boy,” Chrissy mumbled. 

“I know, right?” Robin agreed. “Steve, can we go back to yours?”

“All of us?” Steve asked, knowing the answer already. It was his apartment. He could have flat out said that Eddie wasn’t allowed in. But he saw the look in Robin’s eyes, and he knew that if they all went back to the apartment, she could spend more time with Chrissy. “Alright, fine. Let’s go.”

-

Steve’s apartment was nice. It was huge, spacious, and all the utilities worked. It was also minimalist in that Steve hadn’t put up any decorations. He had the essentials - a couch, a TV, a table. Not much more. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to have people over,” Steve said as they walked in. 

“It’s beautiful,” Chrissy said. 

“It’s empty,” Eddie noted. His apartment was a lot smaller, but it also was a lot more filled up. This place had nothing, basically. Eddie almost made a comment about Steve not having any money to decorate after paying what he assumed was an absurd rent, but he held his tongue. 

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Robin agreed. “I keep throwing ideas his way, but he’d rather live in an asylum, basically.”

“I’m not here that often,” Steve explained, shrugging. “Sue me.”

“It definitely could use some color,” Chrissy agreed. “Art on the walls, maybe a rug -”

“Yes! Exactly!” Robin exclaimed. “I even have a Pinterest board.”

“Oh my god, can I see it?” Chrissy asked. Robin nodded, and then they were both sitting across the room looking at decor or some shit. All of the logistical stuff related to interior design was beyond Eddie. He just bought things that he liked and then put them where they best fit. He didn’t know anything about color-coding, and he didn’t even know what Pinterest was. 

Anyway, Robin and Chrissy bonding so aggressively and so immediately (which was interesting, to say the least) left Eddie semi-alone with Steve once again. 

“Can we talk?” Steve asked, surprising the hell out of Eddie. He had given Steve zero reason to want to talk to him, he’d made sure of it. Like, Eddie had been at his maximum asshole level for a few reasons. First and foremost, it was payback for high school. Second, it was fun. And third, because Eddie didn’t like Steve, and because he currently didn’t have anywhere else to direct his anger. 

He didn’t say they were good reasons. 

“Uh, suuuuure,” Eddie replied. Steve gestured for Eddie to follow him down the hall so they could have some privacy. 

Oh, great. Now we’re fully alone.

-

Chrissy was amazing. She was wonderful. She was everything Robin hoped she’d be. It was almost too good to be true. No, it was definitely too good to be true. 

They were huddled over Robin’s phone, talking about color theory and decorations which turned into art and hobbies which turned into a discussion about college (Robin went, Chrissy didn’t) and then finally their conversation settled on music. 

“Have you listened to their stuff?” Robin asked, gesturing towards where the boys had gone. It had been a few minutes and no arguing or fights breaking out yet, as far as she could tell. Of course, she hadn’t been listening that intently. 

“Sure,” Chrissy responded. “Corroded Coffin not so much, but that’s just because I’m not into that sort of music.”

“Very fair.”

“Yeah. But HARVEST I hear all the time. That one song is literally impossible to escape from.”

“Oh, we know,” Robin replied with a laugh. “Steve secretly can’t stand it’s that song that blew up.”

“What do you mean?” Chrissy wondered. 

“Like, it’s definitely his most commercial song,” Robin explained. “I’ve been listening to Steve’s music since we met, and it’s a little out there sometimes, but now that I’m used to it I’m all for it. Anyway, his favorite songs are the ones most people haven’t heard. That’s why his new album is - I mean that’s why he -” 

Robin stopped herself from saying the rest. Chrissy was great, but Robin wasn’t about to spill all of her best friend’s secrets.

“That’s why he what?” Chrissy teased, nudging Robin in the shoulder. 

Dammit. It was really hard to avoid temptation when temptation was someone as vibrant as Chrissy Cunningham. 

“That’s why he’s so excited about it,” Robin concluded. 

Thank god. I can keep my best friend card.

“Oh, okay,” Chrissy said, nodding. “I’ll have to listen to his other stuff then.”

“Let me know what you think,” Robin replied. 

“Of course I will.” Chrissy smiled, then pulled out her phone. To Robin’s surprise, she handed it to her with an empty contact open. 

Holy shit.

Robin typed in her name and number, then triple checked to make sure she put it in correctly before handing the phone back to Chrissy.

“There you go,” she said, doing her best to remain calm. 

“Thank you,” Chrissy said. “Wow, it’s so crazy. First with Eddie, now with you. I just feel like we’re all going to be really good friends.”

Friends. GOD. Ouch. 

Robin probably should have expected that. She had expected it, really, but it stung nonetheless. That was okay. They could be friends. Robin cleared her throat and hoped she didn’t sound too disappointed. 

“Yeah, if the two idiots in there can get their shit together,” Robin joked. 

“I know!” Chrissy agreed. “Like, what’s going on with them?”

“I honestly have no idea.” She looked down the hall, still not hearing any arguing.

If she’d been alone, she would have pressed her ear to the door and listened in, but she had to be on her best behavior. You know, for her new friend.

-

“Sooo, what the hell is going on?” Eddie asked once they were in a different room. It looked like an office. There was music equipment everywhere. 

“I’m just gonna go ahead and tell you a bunch of shit, okay? Because the last hour or so has been crazy and I’m still kind of hungover and I’m not interested in doing a whole dance with you.”

“Yeah, you made that clear last night when you didn’t dance with me,” Eddie deadpanned. 

“Jesus,” Steve exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could you just -���

“You wanna tell me something, so skip the preamble and tell me -” 

“I’m sorry, okay?” Steve snapped. “I’m sorry for - I’m sorry about high school. I was an idiot.”

Oh. Well, shit. 

“Past tense?” Eddie teased. 

“Go to hell.”

“Okay, okay, point taken,” he relented with a light chuckle. “Thanks. I appreciate the apology.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, really,” Eddie confirmed. “Don’t worry, I’m still iffy about you for a bunch of other reasons.”

“Great,” Steve said, returning Eddie’s sarcastic tone. 

“Cool,” Eddie replied. “So, is that it?”

“No.”

“No?” Eddie prodded. 

“Wait, what are the other reasons?” Steve asked, losing his train of thought. Eddie scoffed. 

“You want me to tell you why I don’t like you?” Eddie rebuffed. “Are you into that or something?”

“No, I just -”

“Come on, spit it out,” he demanded. “The quicker you say what you’re gonna say, the less time we have to talk to each other. What is it?”

Steve took a deep breath. 

“I want my album to do well, and ever since this whole steddie thing happened, people have actually started talking about it, and -”

“Waaaait a goddamn second,” Eddie drawled. “Are you saying you want to actually, like, do the fake relationship thing?”

“No, I just don’t want to deny it,” Steve responded. “Let them talk, you know.”

Eddie almost laughed. Jesus Christ, this was rich. Eddie thought he’d be the one begging for scraps, yet here he was, in Steve’s apartment, listening to his high school bully ask him for a favor. 

Eddie weighed his options. If he said no, it would feel great in the moment, but then this would be over. 

The tables were turning, and he wasn’t going to let a bit of his power go to waste.

“Hmm, very interesting, Harvey,” he said. “The King’s come crawling back to the freak.” Steve scoffed. 

“Our fake relationship benefits you more than me, you do realize that, right?” he reminded Eddie. “I’m just fine on my own. You get a popularity boost from this, so maybe you should try not to be a total asshole for once. I could find literally anyone else to do this with.”

The thing was, Eddie knew that wasn’t true. He could see right through the bullshit. 

“You’re bluffing,” Eddie stated. 

“What?”

“You’re bluffing,” he repeated. “Lest we forget you’re the one who asked me to go along with this.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Ugh, ‘lest we forget.’ Why do you talk like that?” 

“You’re avoiding the question,” Edde said, his eyes boring into Steve’s. 

“What question?”

“Come on, Harrington. You want me. Why?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, but didn’t break away. 

“Okay, calm down with the whole ‘I want you’ thing, alright?” Steve’s agitation was just too cute. It was so easy to rile him up. “I’m doing this for my album, just like you are.”

“Yeaaah, I don’t buy it. What else is it?” Eddie couldn’t help it. He had to keep pushing. 

“There’s nothing else, Eddie.”

“Don’t tell me, then,” he teased. “Let me guess. All those years ago when you laughed at me in high school, you were really just harboring some hidden crush on me that didn’t fully come to fruition until you saw me at Frolique?”

Steve’s face went pale, and for a moment Eddie wondered if he’d gone too far.

“Oh my god,” Steve scoffed. “Could you not be a jackass for literally one second?”

“Wait, was I right?” Eddie took a step forward, intrigued by the idea. 

“No, you weren’t right, Munson,” Steve insisted. “I didn’t have a crush on you, I was just a dick.”

Ah. So much for that. Eddie shook his head and smiled. 

“And now you’re just so goddamn pleasant, huh?” He turned to look at all the expensive shit Steve kept in there - high-tech recording equipment, instruments, microphones, sheet music. 

“Usually, yeah,” Steve replied. “I’m actually nice to most people.” Eddie’s eyes were still focused on the sheet music, an increasing curiosity within him, but he held back and returned his focus to Steve.

“Aw, so I’m the exception? See, I knew I was special.”

If being a dick was so bad, then why was it so fun?

“Seriously, what’s wrong with you?” Steve asked.

“Oh god, sooooo many things,” Eddie replied. He meant it, too. He knew he had issues, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to talk to Steve about them. “And for the record, I can be pleasant too. Just ask Chrissy.”

“When did you get so close with her, anyway?”

“Since about an hour ago,” Eddie answered. “Anyway, I’m an absolute delight, Harrington. I only bite when it’s fun.”

“Then you must be having the time of your goddamn life,” Steve remarked. 

It wasn’t not true, but once again, Eddie needed to be unpredictable. He just had this compulsive need to throw Steve off, to keep him guessing. Yeah, being an asshole to Steve Harrington was fun, but Eddie didn’t forget how much he hated the guy and everything he stood for. 

“God, I wish,” he replied. “I hate this, but I’ll have fun when I can. I mean, my career is important, too. Why do you think I made a big fool of myself at that party? I fucking danced in public so that I could talk to you. I already told you - I don’t like your music, or your weird persona, and I don’t really care for you off-stage either.”

“Yeah? Well, the feeling is mutual,” Steve shot back. 

Eddie smirked, a fire within him that somehow bloomed and burned at the same time. Matter is neither created nor destroyed right? Eddie was never that good in school, but that phrase always stuck with him. The fire - the anger, the pain, the hurt - it fueled him and it broke him down. An endless cycle. What he loved. What he didn’t. All of it was the same.

“Let me be fucking clear,” Eddie said. “I’m not doing this because it’s fun. I’m doing it because I get something out of it, got it?”

“Got it,” Steve replied. The air between them was tense, and it made Eddie feel alive. 

“Okay,” he said at last. “Then we’ll let them talk.”

----------------------------------

@paintballkid711 @abraca-fxckyou @allbimyself26 @jellybabiesforall @allbymyselfexceptformycactus @justaloadofgarbage-blog @alliemunsonsstuff @undreamingnscatworld @hobbitnarwhal @calivanus @wreckmyplans-thatsmyman @antheia @goodolefashionedloverboi @lillemilly @missmagillicuddy @steviesbicrisis @gamerdano @menamesniall eyeslikewildflowers111 @callmesirkay @stringischeese @eds-trashmouth @mnl-enuh @redfreckledwolf @itsanarrum @soulsofstarsliveinyourveins @gregre369 @stevesbipanic @momotonescreaming @aryakanojiaa @wrenisflying @comicmadlover @lilacrobin @itch-my-b0nez @anonymousbandgirl @disastardly @dangdirtydemons @daisyellsong @val-from-lawrence @starryeyedpoet17 @taikawaiteatea @clumsiluni @hollysimone @swimmingbirdrunningrock @witchofhawkins @steddiegarbage @suddenlyinlove @ricekristytreaty @eddielives1986

[childrenofthelightcomic]

Hello! I wanted to share some thoughts about the comic so far. I took some time to skim through the story and have a fair idea of what it's all about. There were certainly a whole myriad of feelings I had for the cast, but I wanted to share the most relevant ones currently.

I will warn in advance, it is very long!

I found the introduction of Kua to be a very pleasant turning point for the story! :) I connect with them very well since they seem like a being that truly respects Ru as someone with thoughts, feelings, and genuine motivations. I too, am someone that strives to treat people with kindness and understanding no matter their condition so long as they're not hateful or scornful people. Even if some are, I do my best to stand my ground and evaluate them as people who make their own choices or have their own ideals.

I look at the rest of the Family and see how poorly they all treat each other :( even if their hearts are (apparently) in the right place. I can see, through their characterizations in the chapters and QnAs, that most of the Family are simply holding to their own creed of life & living, and seem to know no other way to live, and that is why they treat children like Ru and Tashi the way they do. However, it is very sad to see how deeply it blinds them from seeing them as 'people' that feel and think and understand the same way they do. It is even sadder to see how absolute they hold to these ideals of having to be "perfect" and to mold to the 'ideals' of the Spirit Tree, even if the Tree is only doing so out of a desire to survive, to establish an environment of peace and safety. It is ironic then, how turbulent and unwelcomed our poor friends Ru and Tashi have been in their own home and depsite being Children of the Tree (and probably Ashi too if/when we ever learn more about them). Seeing a character like Kua, someone who lives and thrives outside of these ideals and the society of the Spirit Tree, reminds me that nothing about neurotypical society (relative to this world) should be absolute like the Tree believes it is. Why? Because it reminds me that there are people out there who have the capacity to see through one ideal, and to welcome other views and synthesize them into a greater understanding of the world at large, the great diversity of the people that live in it, and *how* they go about doing so. I look forward to seeing how the story unfolds now with their involvement in Ru's life.

.....Thank you for reading to the end if you have done so! Seeing your openness to public opinion encouraged me to write out this message. I have always found myself reflecting on life and the human condition whenever I read your material, especially as someone who majored in psych and have always had a strong affinity towards the understanding of people in general. Hope you enjoy the rest of your day/evening what have ye :)

Hi, thanks so much for writing all of this! I love big comments, so receiving this was such a treat. A lot of people seem to feel like Kua is a breath of fresh air in the comic, a lot of other characters are jerks so I get that. XD I love her, so I'm very happy the readers seem to like her too! She's a major part of the cast so y'all get to enjoy her presence from now on!

The situation with the family sucks, def. I think family can OFTEN suck. We gotta write fiction that explores these stories because as a society, we are so ready to ignore that the family is so commonly a place of pain or trauma. It's not like CotL is anti-family propaganda or anything, family is also a very sacred and important thing, and that will be explored in the story as well. But with how common familial abuse is in our society, especially parental abuse, it just has to be spoken about. It's important.

Enjoy the rest of your day as well!

[rachi-roo]

--------------{ }--------------

Black Clover: New High score!

Yaaaay! I'm so happy to see Black Clover thriving on this platform again ^^

Summary: Tiggle fic. Luck and Magna have had an ongoing contest with each other to see who has better endurance, and Asta wants in. Even though he doesn't know what he's gotten himself into.

Characters: Lee Asta, Ler Magna, Luck and ler Vanessa.

Tw: None

--------------{ }--------------

"That was not half an hour! It was twenty-nine minutes and fifty-eight seconds." Magna grumbled as he and Luck shoved each other through the main doors. Both looking out of breath and scruffier than usual.

Luck grinned, bouncing on Magnas shoulders. "Was not! It was half an hour! Three minutes longer than you lasted, Maggie."

Upon hearing their voices, Asta poked his head around the corner, pouting as he noticed their messy clothes. "HEY! Don't tell me you've been working out without me!"

Magna plopped down on the couch, rotating his shoulder in its socket as it ached. "Working out? Not really. We've just beeeeen, uuh, testing out each other's endurance-"

"Endurance training!? Without me?!"

"Well, no it's just-" The ex-punk wasn't sure, this was a sort of inside joke that he and Luck had been doing for ages now. Over Asta's shoulder, he spotted Luck giving him a nod as he grinned. He wanted to let Asta in on their little game, just for a laugh.

Magna's uneasy expression changed into a smug grin, as long as Luck didn't mind, he was down for getting Asta involved. "I don't know, little guy, it might be a bit too much for someone as inexperienced as you." He shrugged, watching Astas face twist into one of absolute disgust.

Luck chimed in with a grin. "What if we went easy on him the first time?"

"I bet I can take it! I'm tough! I'm strong! I've been working out every day of my life! Look at these guns! Look. At. Them!" The small wizard flexed his arms in an attempt to impress his friends, desperate to get in on the action.

Magna held up his hands in defeat. "Okaaaay, okay buddy. But you need to be prepared for a rough ride. And we won't be held responsible for whatever happens."

"You can't scare me! Let's do this! I'm pumped! YEEEEAH!" He was vibrating with excitement. Magna and Luck exchanged smirks, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

"Uh-huh, yeah, woohoo. First things first," Magna started, standing from the couch and stretching. "Lose the jacket and cloak. And hand over your belt-"

"Done!" Asta practically threw his clothing at Magna, standing like a pokemon sprite, all poised and ready to fight. "C'mon, c'mon!"

"Haha! He's so hyper!" Luck giggled.

"You're one to talk." Magna huffed, taking Asta's wrists and binding them together with his belt, earning a confused look from the short boy.

"What, uh, are you doing?" He asked, tugging slightly on the belt before yelping as Luck shoved him onto the couch.

"Not to worry! All part of the test." The electric blonde chuckled. "C'mon, arms up! Up!" Magna and Luck took their positions. Asta laid on the couch whilst Luck held his arms up, Magna sat on his waist.

"Alright, last chance kid. You sure you want to do this?" Magna smirked, cracking his knuckles, smirking at Luck.

"Yeah! Wait what are we do-IHIHIIII!" Asta's body suddenly spasmed as he felt the unmistakable feeling of fingers shaking into his tummy, instinctively yanking his arms down to defend himself. Magna tutted as Luck shook his head.

"Damn, not even a second. I thought he'd be tougher than you, Magna. Guess not." Asta pouted, looking at Magna as he shrugged.

"Doesn't look like it, oh well, maybe when he gets stronger we can-"

"No! No, I got it! I just wasn't expecting you to tickle me! Start again!" Asta puffed his chest, putting his arms back over his head, bracing himself for the ticklish onslaught.

"Alright," Magna chuckled, flexing his fingers over Asta's clothes stomach, the flesh trying to hide away from the digits as Asta sucked inward. "My longest time is twenty-nine minutes by the way." And with that, the attack started again, the white shirt Asta wore offered little to no defence as Magna scribbled and squeezed the puppy fat on his tummy.

"Pffff-! Ahahaha! Oho gahahad!" The ticklish wizard managed to resist the urge to defend himself this time, trying his best to leave his arms up in Luck's grip. "I-Ihihi! I got thihihis!" He beamed, his heels digging into the couch as he tensed.

"Oh yeah? What iiiiif we move on up a little?" Magna hummed, moving to pinch at Astas lower ribs, rubbing his thumbs in circular motions on the protruding bone. Asta's hips bucked, that spot surprisingly more sensitive than the other.

"AAAH! Ah! Geheheez!" He shook his head, twisting his torso back and forth.

Luck giggled at Asta's reaction. "Oh wowwie! He's so loud!" He said in a raised voice so he was heard over Asta's ridiculously loud cackling and yelling. Happy yelling. But loud, contagious yelling.

"He sure is. I wonder what noise he'll make if I do this! Coochie, coochie, coo, loud mouth." And so began the teasing as Magna shoved his hands up inside Asta's shirt, vibrating his fingers into the front of his ribs, just below his pecks. The noise that followed caused a flock of birds to scatter in the nearby trees outside. You'd think someone was being murdered.

"GYAAAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAA!" After completely emptying his lungs, Asta took in a sharp breath, laughter falling silent for a brief moment. Magna and Luck couldn't help but laugh with the boy and be amazed by how he was holding up. He did need to breathe though, Magna thought.

"I think we should stop for now, you're going to loose your voice kid-"

"NOHO! No! I-IYAHAHA! Icandothis!" Asta blurted out before falling into a bout of giggles. Magna shrugged, continuing the tickling tournament. He looked up, feeling the weight on the couch behind him shift, then smiled upon hearing the voice.

Vanessa's silk tone greeted them with a chuckle as she sat on the couch, crossing her legs and trapping Asta's ankles between her thighs. "Well, well, what are we doing in here?" She asked, already knowing exactly what they were up to. She had seen Luck and Magna do this to each other before. "Say, Asta, want me to help? A big strong wizard like you can surely take more than just Magna's training." She chuckled, playfully slipping Asta's boots off, all whilst he's still in hysterics.

"Gihive me your wohorst!" He blurted out, of course, he could take more than this! He's going to be the wizard King! With the okay given, Vanessa started slowly dragging her nice pointed nails up and down Asta's soles, making his little toes curl as he tensed his legs up.

"AHAHAAAA!"

"Ooh, I think he likes that." She smiled. Through all Asta's squirming, his headband had slipped over his eyes, deepening the tickly sensations as his other senses were heightened. A flurry of warmth filled his belly. His cheeks and nose a soft pink, along with the tips of his ears.

He was indeed holding up very well. Between Magna mercilessly switching between Asta's tummy and ribs and Vanessa now scratching on the paw-pad-like toes, surely he would break soon.

Some time passed when Asta finally felt at the end of his rope. His breath getting shallow and his throat became dry. "Okahay-! Ah-AHA! OKAHAY! I GIVE! STAHAP!" And instantly, the tickling stopped.

Luck untied Asta's wrists, Magna and Vanessa removed themselves from their Asta-shaped seats, allowing the tuckered-out boy to curl up on himself, still giggling like a loon. He slowly peeled his headband from over his eyes, smiling at his friends.

"That was impressive kiddo, lemme get you some water." Vanessa smiled, fetching a glass of cool H20 to rehydrate the shrivelled little man.

Asta graciously took the glass, sipping between giggles. "Hah..... ehehe.... H-How long..... Did I last?"

Magna petted his hair, sympathetically. "That was eighteen minutes and forty-four seconds. Not beating us this time but, hey! At least you got a score higher than zero." He chuckled, prodding Asta's cheek.

The boy sighed. "I need to get better! Let's go again! Right now!" He moved to lie down again when Vanessa stopped him. "I don't think so, kid. You're tired enough as is now. Maybe another day. Right?" She asked, looking at Magna who nodded in agreement. They didn't want to burn him out completely.

Asta nodded, he was pretty tired after all that. He'd have to think of a way to strengthen his core maybe. Work on being able to turn off his tickle receptors as well as his pain ones then the time needed. As he sat thinking of how to improve, he found himself starting to doze, leaning back into the couch cushions.

This new tool that could be used against him and needed to be dealt with. After a long nap that is.

[kitcat992]

│Identity Saga │Narrative Discourse (The Parker's)

One More Day? No Way Home?

Oh, you mean Anti-Aunt May content. Nah bro, we don't do that here. We love, support, and thrive off May Parker's involvement in Peter's life, and we celebrate her presence with an abundance of inclusion in this series.

Prior to the MCU, my absolute favorite version of May Parker came from — you guessed it — the ultimate comics. To this day I've gotta say, Marisa Tomei's version in the MCU is the closest adaption we've gotten of that iteration, and very quickly became my new favorite. In my eyes, she's the perfect mash up of "responsible legal guardian" and "big sister" while still feeling like the aunt she is. She and Peter are the tried and true Found Family, and I've had such a blast writing them in the Identity Saga.

We aren't over yet, but here's some of my favorite highlights in the journey so far.

Identity Theft │ Chapter 18: Homecoming

Tony hadn’t moved in hours.

Moving took energy, something he was severely lacking.

He simply sat, catatonic. Motionless.

Time passed, first by the minutes and then by hours, but he didn’t bother checking a clock or asking FRIDAY.

He didn’t care.

He needed nothing but solitude, to be alone. At this point, it was a must. Once he found it, he clung to it, letting the strange silence echo each pounding beat of his migraine.

Exhaustion coursed through his every muscle, weighing him down. His eyelids were heavy, and he held his face in his hands, hunched over in the chair that took his weight.

The crash from adrenaline was powerful, a vicious anchor that nearly took him under. Had it not been for the fear, Tony would have surrendered. Fear kept him going, fear of the unknown, fear of the uncertain outcome. It was like poison, infecting him, festering in his mind.

Tony didn’t know when he got in touch with Happy or how long it had been after they arrived back at the compound. All he knew was that the phone call was short, sweet and to the point.

Get the kid’s aunt. Bring her here. Quickly.

That was the last time he spoke. It was the last thing he did, possibly hours passing as he sat and waited.

And waited.

For what, he wasn’t too sure.

It was nothing short of a miracle that he staved away another panic attack. The very thought of that woman saying goodbye to her nephew made his chest constrict under the crushing pressure of an ocean he had escaped from. But it was a possibility, a real one, and it was one he couldn’t bear to entertain.

If anyone deserved a proper goodbye, it was her. He owed her a goodbye. He owed her a lot of things, none money could buy for him but this...this at least was within his control.

Right now, Tony needed to do what was in his control.

It was quiet, for the most part. He was spent, emotionally and physically drained, unable to do anything but sit still in a chair outside of the compounds medical wing.

The area was interesting, if he had to choose a word to describe it. It was more a waiting room than anything else; TV’s hanging on the wall that he hadn’t turned on, magazines shelved in a short rack at the corner beside a potted plant. It was an area of the compound they almost never utilized. They had no reason to.

If a team member were ever injured, they typically gathered in the lounge. It was their spot, their go-to for them and only them.

This was created more for formalities, for other staff, other departments. Not for Tony Stark.

For a long time, it was quiet. No one dared to bother him, not the team, not security, not Rogers. So when Tony heard what seemed to be an argument taking place down the hallway, it quickly caught his attention.

“Mrs. Parker, please wait —”

“I’ve waited an hour in that damn car. I’m not—”

“It was an forty minutes. I broke speed limits getting us here. If you just hold on, I need to get you a badge and —”

Tony stumbled out of the chair, heavily leaning against the armrest to straighten his back, his muscles throbbing at the sudden movement. He looked down the hallway just as May came storming through, her purse swinging violently by her hip.

Happy followed closely behind.

“Mrs. Parker —”

“Happy.” May spun around to face him, a stern finger pointing in his face. “Cram it.”

Tony tensed. What little energy he had left began to boil into anxiety, his breath hitching while watching the two approach him.

Vivid memories of Miriam Sharpe flashed before his eyes, a reminder of a mother who lost her son, a child who lost their life — all because of him.

It was history repeating itself.

May was going to lose it, and she had every right to. She could slap him, punch him, kick him, spend all her loathing on dragging him down until he was nothing. Because that’s what he was — nothing. He let this happen to her nephew, to Peter. He deserved whatever came his way.

Happy sprinted to keep up with her, already slightly out of breath. “Tony, I tried getting her to —”

Tony held his hand up, stopping him from saying anything else.

“May, I...” his voice broke from disuse, his throat red hot and tender. “Listen, I —”

She narrowed her eyes, and her feet stomped up to him. “Where is he?”

“He’s here,” Tony reassured. “He’s in surgery. They’ve — he’s — he’s been in surgery. May, I’m —ofph!”

Tony let out a nearly inaudible gasp, the sound gruff and husky.

May leapt forward, grabbing him tightly in an embrace that stole his breath.

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft, shaking with a strength he was envious of. Yet any sense of composure she tried to retain was washed away in the blink of an eye as she splintered under the force of her tears. "Thank you, thank you, oh god, thank you.”

Her cries were heavy, wails that were smothered in his chest. Tony stood still, his arms dangling at his side, unable to comprehend the moment.

May repeated the same words, the same gratitude until she couldn’t anymore. Her words became messy, incoherent sobs.

He looked up at Happy, who only shrugged and gave the saddest, smallest smile he had ever seen. Tony decided to ignore the tears were glossing in the man’s eyes, reflecting from the overhead lights. If he acknowledged that, he’d crumble himself.

“He’s all I have. He’s all I have left,” May cried, heavy and ugly sobs leaking onto his shirt. “Thank you...thank you, thank you...you brought him back, you brought him home, you saved him— thank you.”

Tony's arm twitched. For a moment he considered wrapping it around her, only deciding against it when he felt the tremble that shook against his hip.

When May pulled away, both her hands gripped his face, forcing him to look directly at her as she asked, “Are you okay?”

The question made Tony's head stutter still.

“Tony, are you okay?” she impossibly repeated.

Tony tried to look away, look anywhere that wasn’t at May, but her grip was strong and he felt uncomfortable that his bloodshot, puffy eyes were so openly exposed to her. Not even in his rawest moments did he let Pepper see him so broken, so demoralized.

“I...”

The words died on his tongue. He was confident he had heard her wrong. She wasn’t asking how he was — she couldn’t be asking that. He was the cause behind this. He was the one who put her under the impression that she’d have to bury her boy with no closure to grieve with. Why would she care about him?

And yet here she was, pulling his face back to her, soft brown eyes locking with his.

“God, I can’t even imagine. Everything you’ve done — Happy told me you’ve been at this for days. This must have been hell for you.” May crinkled her nose, patting his cheek softly. “You should shower, you smell like rotten fish.”

Tony blinked, looking over at Happy and back at May, unsure if he had finally gone mad and began hallucinating.

“I’m...I’m sorry, what’s going on here?” The words tumbled out of his mouth. “Why are you not yelling at me?”

It was the least eloquent question he could ask, so blunt that any other day Tony would berate himself for failing at the basics of being more articulate.

May didn’t seem to mind. Her expression softened and she let go of his face. One hand reached under her glasses to dry her cheeks while the other moved to grip his shoulder tightly.

“I’ve done my fair share of yelling at you, more than I’m proud of. But anger won’t help either one of us right now. You’ve dealt with a lot —”

“You don’t know that,” Tony interrupted, cut and cold.

May’s frown lingered. “I might not be your biggest fan, Tony. But I’m also not your enemy here. And if you freak out, then I’m going to freak out, and that’s...that’s the last thing any of us need right now.”

Tony found it hard to look at her. He stared over her shoulder at the pale blue walls, occasional sparing a glance at Happy, too tired to argue and too tired to reflect. She was hanging on by a thread and quite frankly, so was he.

But if he was made of iron, May Parker was made of steel. Easily, hands down, there was no doubting it. It had become very obvious to him where Peter got a lot of his strength from.

He flicked his thumb over his nose, sniffing hard. “Happy will get you where you need to be.”

Tony was beyond his comfort zone of vulnerability in front of her and luckily for him, she was eager to leave. May looked over her shoulder and at Happy, who nodded while pointing straight ahead. There was no hesitation to follow the direction she was told to go.

Identity Theft │ Chapter 20: Family Ties

The cynical side of May wanted to do nothing more than disregard the conversation she had with Pepper, chalking it up to false pleasantries she’d be lucky to receive again. Even after Happy returned to show her Peter’s private bedroom at the compound, and even after she took in the enormous amount of effort Stark clearly put into the living space for her boy, she refused to let herself believe it was anything more than basic courtesy.

So when she returned to Peter’s hospital room and found a gift basket awaiting her, she couldn’t help but be surprised.

And it wasn’t just because Captain America was the one there to give it to her.

“Mrs. Parker,” he greeted. “Pepper personally wanted to make sure you got this tonight.”

“Oh.” May reached out to take it from him. “Thanks.”

It wasn’t until she had it in her hands that May realized how comically large the woven wooden basket actually was. Held against Captain’s America’s chest, it barely looked to be the size of her purse, his admirably large physique easily downplaying its size.

She barely managed to get it across the room, setting it down on the bay window ledge with a muffled grunt. While she would wait to open it, many items laying on top caught her attention. Most were the basics; toiletries, essentials, food and water bottles of brands she never recognized and was sure she could never afford. Deeper inside she caught sight of unexpected items; blankets, a bottle of wine — was that a Starkpad?

“That’s one thing Pep and Tony have in common.” His voice caught her attention. May turned to look at him as he casually shrugged. “They both like to go all out on certain things.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” May huffed, pointing to the basket with a quirked eyebrow. “How much do you think I could sell this all for?”

Steve grinned, the whites of his teeth shining brightly from the overhead fluorescent lights. “Please, use it. You need to take care of yourself too, Mrs. Parker.”

“It’s May,” she corrected. “Please, if one more person calls me ‘Mrs. Parker’ I might actually start to feel my age.”

As she settled into the over-sized upholstered armchair at Peter’s bedside — ‘Stark really does go all out here’ — across from her, Steve chuckled and leaned his hip against the footrest of the hospital bed.

“Fair enough. It’s good to see you again, May.” He gestured to the open chair across from her. “Would you mind if I sit with you and Peter for a while? I might become...a little tied up here soon. I would like to...”

Though his words trailed off, she understood his intention.

“Of course. But we can never tell him you were here. At least not while he was like...” May motioned to the bed with a somber expression. “...this.”

Steve slowly sat down, his gaze softening. “Why’s that?”

For a moment, May looked dumbfounded. She swiveled her gaze between Peter and Steve, ultimately settling on the latter with high arched eyebrows.

“He’s a teenager. This right here — it’s the be all and end all to embarrassment. He’ll be mortified.” She slouched wearily in the chair, managing a faint smile along the way. “I can hear him already. ‘May, god! I can’t believe you let Captain America see me in nothing but a hospital gown. Ugh, god, blergh, eck, hashtag why didn’t you just let me die’.”

Her voice was absurdly exaggerated, and though Steve seemed to be slightly confused and extremely horrified, May carelessly waved him off.

“Kids have gotten more dramatic these days,” she explained. “Don’t think I understand it. I swear it’s like they have own language.”

Steve nodded, chuckling. “Sounds about right. Me and an old friend of mine were similar back in the day. Our parents couldn’t seem to keep up with the lingo.”

May found herself curling up further in the chair, to the point where she was hugging her knees close to her chest.

“Then I guess there’s no turning back for me. I find myself using Urban Dictionary way more then I’ve ever wanted to.” A beat passed, and she didn’t need to look at Steve to see his lack of understanding. “Don’t look it up. I’ll save you the horrors, just come to me if you need anything translated, got it mister?”

He laughed, his smile so amiable and natural that May was sure it could melt even the hardest of hearts. She liked him better in person, his compassion much more authentic, more substantial than the old war posters and videos she watched growing up.

“Duly noted.” Steve’s laugh faded away, and he looked towards Peter affectionately. His expression was soft, strong, but it was impossible not to notice the crack forming underneath the surface.

It was different from the night he arrived at her home to break the news of Peter’s then-assumed-death.

It was a glimmer of remorse, reflecting vividly in his eyes.

It reminded her of Happy, of Clint, of Tony — so many people she had come to find out would give their lives to defend this boy. She thought she had been alone in protecting Peter, her sole responsibility, her burden to carry. Come to find out she was terribly wrong about that.

“You know, I have to say...Peter reminds me a lot of that friend.” Steve looked up, forcing a smile that held more sadness than anything else. “Looking out for the little guy? It’s a very noble thing to do. You should be proud of him.”

She was, but it never hurt to hear it again.

May’s hand reached out for Peter’s, a swarm of butterflies rolling in her stomach from the sheer amount of maternal pride. Sure, this wasn’t the life she ever expected to live, not after taking Peter in and not even after losing Ben. It wasn’t her normal, and she wasn’t efficient at letting others help, that much was clear.

But hearing about how much Peter had changed, how he was flawlessly growing into such a heroic man behind her expectations — May started to believe she could manage some change as well. It was hard, change always was, but having others around to help would make a little easier.

She cleared her throat a few times. “That friend of yours...he make it out okay?”

Steve didn’t answer right away. Instead, he dropped his head, slowly crossing his arms over his chest in deep thought. The topic seemed to be troublesome for him, and she almost apologized for bringing up what was clearly a sore subject.

“He’s getting there,” Steve finally answered, right before she could say anything. “And so will Peter. Consider this nothing more than a bump in the road.”

May nodded, her thumb absentmindedly caressing around the clear tape sticking to Peter’s skin.

Suddenly, it didn’t seem so threatening — it was just tape, she remembered. It was just tape keeping IV’s in place, of which were simply there to make Peter better. The monitors weren’t as scary anymore, the beeping a pleasant reminder that he was alive, that his heart was beating in a similar rhythm as theirs.

‘It’s all just a bump in the road’, she told herself.

She could handle that.

“You know, speaking of bump in the road.” Steve awkwardly cleared his throat. “Pete here told us he’s working on getting his driver’s license?”

May practically choked on her snort. “Yeah, and I promise to give plenty of heads up when that happens. Whenever Peter Parker hits the streets, you will be rightfully notified to stay on the sidewalks.”

Steve’s laughter guided her into a gentle state of relaxation, one she let saturate her every nerve. Somehow along the way, he encouraged May to tell him what was later dubbed as the ‘Whole Foods parking lot disaster’, a story she was sure Peter would straight up murder her for repeating.

She could still hear his defense ring in her ears. “May, c'mon, you are such a drama queen. I didn’t hit seven shopping carts. It was six and a half, everyone knows the tiny carts don’t count as full carts.”

She lost count of time after that, the sun that had been beaming in through the bay window now nothing but dazzling stars across the compound’s acres of land. Her time wasn’t spent listening, rather telling, her stories reminiscent of an easier time in their lives.

Steve sat and took it all in, smiling and laughing along the way.

It didn’t take long for May to realize there was something different about him, a unique trait that made him stand out from the others. While it seemed everyone wanted to tell her a story about Peter, Steve wanted to hear what she had to say. It was as if he wanted to get to know Peter better, treating him more than just some kid who had gotten in over his head or someone he felt responsible for having gotten hurt.

May had a feeling that after all was said and done, Peter wasn’t going anywhere in these people’s lives. It was funny in retrospect; she had been worried he was a nuisance to them all. Yet they couldn’t seem happier to have him around.

She had just finished telling Steve about Peter’s ninth birthday party — “I swear if we had the money, he would have been both Iron Man and Captain America. But those costumes are expensive, and he had to pick between the two. If it’s any consolation, I remember the Iron Man costume being significantly cheaper.” — when Tony came strolling through the room’s automatic doors.

“Rogers,” he curtly greeted. “Treating the woman well, I hope.”

Identity Theft │ Chapter 21: Sins of the Father

“It’s okay, Pete. You can let go.”

In and out. It was all he knew — the voices would come in and out, his mind would go in and out, and he wasn’t even sure where he would go when it happened. He felt detached, muddled, a wandering soul with no terrain to land on.

“You’re safe now. It’s okay to let go.”

He clung to those words. For the longest time, it was all he had to hold onto. For the longest time, he floated between the then and now, unsure of what was a dream and what was real.

When his mind finally re-connected with his body, it happened all at once. It felt like a crashing meteor plummeting to the earth, hard and fast, and the lack of control smothered him.

Peter felt trapped.

Not under a building, not to a wall, but trapped within a body he couldn’t move or function. Every breath he involuntary breathed sent agony radiating down his core to his every muscle, each inhale causing a scorched inundation of red pain to simmer in his stomach.

Peter moaned. He could feel it taper off in his chest, the keening never forceful enough to part from his lips. One after another they came, a string of groggy sounds loud in his own ears.

Distantly, he remembered when he first got his spider powers. After the mutation took place, after he was violently ill and swore up and down that he would die, he proceeded to spend two very long days locked up in his room. He jammed his earbuds tightly into his ears though no music played; he was just desperate to block out the noise, adding a pillow over his head and wishing — praying — that the world would go quiet.

Before he learned how to control his heightened senses, they controlled him. And it was hell.

This was like that. Only five hundred times worse.

Beeping, whirring, dripping, hissing — the sounds, the smells, the sights — it was all a constant presence. Each beep felt like a screw drilled into his head, the smell of chemicals burned his nose and he couldn’t open his eyes without the lights stabbing into his retinas. He felt as if he could taste the colors in the room, each and every one making him overwhelmingly sick.

He had once told Mr. Stark that his senses were dialed to eleven. This had to be eleven hundred. It wouldn’t stop, it wouldn’t go away.

Peter felt helpless to it all.

“You’re safe now.” The words were his only lifeline. He clung to them, tighter than ever.

Peter jerked awake, or at least jolted in the bed, unsure if he had ever fallen asleep in the first place. His back jostled off the bed and — shit that hurt — the uncomfortable feeling of something up his nose began to bother him. It left a tickle in his nostril that made him want to sneeze.

His hands lazily reached up for it, sloppily attempting to yank on the intrusive tube.

“Don’t touch that, kid.” An exhausted voice slithered into his ears. It was familiar. Safe. “Trust me, you don’t want to pull it out. Been there, done that. It’s not all that fun.”

A painful groan rumbled in his chest, constricted, restricted. His hand reached for his face and callous fingers gripped his, the rough skin coarse against his own. He focused on the feeling. It was better than the persistent fire that lanced up and down his body, shock-waves controlling his every twitch.

The pain came and went in waves, in tides, some moments more pronounced than others. Things were moving. He felt dizzy, like he was floating, spinning around on a fast-moving Tilt-A-Whirl. A sheet of sweat sat on his body, feeling both hot and cold at the same time. The smells were raw, too clean and they set fire into his nostrils, or at least the one open nostril he had. The invading object sliding into his other made him want to throw up every time he dry swallowed.

God, just make it stop.

Memories came back to him in chunks. He was wet at one point. Drowning. Or was that a dream? His dreams blurred together with reality, forming a nightmare he couldn’t escape from. He was never sure if he cried in those dreams or in real life.

"...'m here, sweetie, it’s okay.” He heard May’s reassurance over the piercing machinery around him, soft around his ear. “Cry all you need to, I’m right here.”

Her voice came with a nervous energy, the type of worry that made him anxious. His intuition told him that her being upset was a bad thing, that she shouldn’t be so worried about him. But he wasn’t sure what he could do to fix that.

So he drifted. It was easier that way.

Time passed in scattered moments and Peter wasn’t sure how long each separated from the other. There was a lethargic feeling in his bones, a film behind his eyelids that told him he had been sleeping for a long time, that things weren’t happening all at once. It was the only grounding thing he could feel. Everything else happened in splintered stages.

He went to swallow and the dryness caused him to cough, no saliva resting in his mouth for him to work with. Without warning, the pain he had been feeling flared up to anew. The pounding in his ears went in sync with each beat of his heart, sometimes a steady flutter, other times a frantic throbbing.

“....hh, shh, it’s okay, honey. It’s okay. Here.” Something cold rested on his tongue. At contact he sunk into the mattress of the bed, unaware of how good the wetness felt in his mouth. “There you go, baby. You’re okay.”

His vision came in fragmented pictures, too bright to make out details. The lights burned the shadows out and it felt like his eyes were lagging, like the damaged computer monitor with broken pixels that he once found from the dumpster. He’d make out one thing, one image and it’d freeze on a frame, surrounded by a blistering white light.

It was usually faces.

May. Doctor Banner. Many other people he didn’t know.

Mr. Stark.

“Easy Petey, easy.”

It was always pain that drew him back into awareness. The next time he moved, he let out of a guttural cry. The callous hand found his again, gripping it, tethering him to reality. Though the contact on his skin hurt, causing nerves to scream at the slightest pressure on bruises and broken bones, it also brought comfort.

“You’re safe, Underoo’s. No one’s going to hurt you, not on my watch.”

The voice penetrated any fear he had pullulating inside.

Identity Theft │ Chapter 22: Sweet Sixteen

“I didn’t know he had a knack for photography,” Tony softly stated. “I’ve seen him take photos with his phone but...never anything like this.”

“That’s because he stopped when Ben died.”

Tony froze, his finger mid-swipe when he heard May speak. Almost immediately, his stomach dropped.

“Oh,” he managed.

It was one thing to see photos of Peter and his mother; after all, Tony knew first-hand everything that had happened with the kid’s parents.

Ben, though, was always a subject Peter never wanted to talk about. 

Being that Tony could relate, he never pushed it.

It had always been clear Peter and his uncle were close, even more clear that the wound was still fresh.

But suddenly, looking through the old Instagram photos was less enticing, each holding a story of a much happier boy, one who held more sunshine to offer the world.

“I don’t think he wanted to touch the camera again. Too many memories,” May explained, suddenly hugging herself tightly. “Plus, you know...the whole Spider-Man thing.”

“Right.” Tony cleared his throat, placing the tablet down to sit in his lap. “Maybe we can, uh...we can work on that. I’ve been thinking... it might help if I take a step back. Get him to focus less on the superhero-ing gig and all.”

“Take a step back?” May raised her eyebrows and quickly shook her head. “Uh, that’s not the agreement we had with this, mister.”

Tony looked studiously through the pages of photos down on the screen below him, pretending they interested him when in reality, he simply struggled to find the right response to say.

“I know," was the best he could start with. "But he needs to be a kid again, May. He needs to go back to this stuff, not...galloping around with self-sacrificing suicidal idiots like us.” Tony licked his lips, looking up at her with a dry smirk. “The idiot part applying to them, obviously. The self-sacrificing suicidal part me.”

May couldn’t find it in her to smile at his weak attempt at humor. She gripped her cardigan tighter around herself, sitting up taller in the plush armchair.

“I don’t disagree that he needs to prioritize, Tony. Pick and choose his battles, for sure, get a little better at following curfew, take a few weekends off. But we both know you’ll never be able to rid him entirely of this." May cocked an eyebrow at his insistent need to not look at her. "I’ve spent the better part of this year learning to accept that — you wanted me to accept that. So where’s this all coming from?”

Tony looked down to his lap, barely lifting the Starkpad high enough for her to see over the guardrails of the hospital bed.

“This,” he dryly replied. “He was safer doing this kind of stuff. We’re not going to be the reason—...I’m not going to be the reason he doesn’t get to see his college days. Besides, he’s... he's a teenager. He’ll get over it.”

Tony brushed off the subject with a nonchalance that could only be obtained from having had the conversation multiple times before. Rhodey, Pepper, now May — the latter of which currently stared at him as if he had grown four heads and started speaking a foreign language.

She raised one eyebrow high in the air and squinted her other eye, all while slowly letting go of the tight hold on her cardigan.

“Okay..." May slowly started. “Then can I ask why the sudden change of heart? Why stop him now and not before?”

Tony kept his head bowed, and his eyes focused on the tablet, easily deflecting with a flat-toned statement of, “It’s for the best, May.”

“Mgmmghh...” Peter moaned, his head lolling against the pillows.

While May all but shot up from her chair, Tony kept his head bowed low, lifting only his eyes to make sure everything was okay. Even that proved to be a punch in his gut. They both had very, unfortunately, become accustomed to the occasional abrupt groans and whimpers from Peter.

Still, the timing seemed to mock him, like the kid was listening in on the conversation himself.

“Shhh, shh, you’re okay sweetheart. It’s okay,” May reassured, her voice a low whisper as she brushed Peter’s hair away from his forehead. “Try and go back to sleep, baby. Shh, just sleep.”

It was truly a miracle that Tony bit his tongue and didn’t snap at her. Listening as Peter choked a cry against the cotton of his pillow, seeing as the kid grimaced so hard the oxygen mask resting against his face practically fell down — how the hell was he supposed to ‘just sleep’ like this?

Tony settled on shaking his head, returning his focus on the tablet. It was easier that way; keep his mouth shut and there wouldn’t be a problem.

As he did, May readjusted to a more comfortable position in her chair, all the while keeping one hand on Peter’s forearm.

“You know, losing Ben was hard on him.” May was quiet when she spoke up. Tony almost didn’t hear her, needing to look up and confirm that she did indeed say something. “It changed him, it took something from him.”

She gently caressed Peter’s arm, small circles to avoid the tubes and catheters, and Tony waited patiently for her to continue. He couldn’t help but notice that she seemed to have aged ten years since this whole ordeal started, the lines around her mouth more profound, the bags under her eyes darker.

“But I have to admit, ever since you came into his life — really came into his life, ‘ice cream after his finals’ sort of thing...”

May gave him a look, one that saw past his front and made him vastly uncomfortable.

Tony made a mental note to chastise Happy’s big mouth at a later date.

“He’s been more like himself again. There’s a side to him that’s returned, something I haven’t seen since Ben passed. It’s been nice.”

And then she said what Tony would have paid millions of dollars not to hear.

“He’s been happy with you around.”

Identity Theft │ Chapter 23: Bridge Over Troubled Water

Happy swiped his employee badge to gain access to the compound, the chirp chirp that followed unlocking the door.

“After you,” he insisted, holding it open for May.

She gave him a sloppy salute. “Why thank you, good sir.”

It was early morning by the time they both arrived back at the compound. The sun was rising over the large facility, and the light mocked them in unflattering ways, highlighting the dark bags sitting under their eyes.

May couldn’t be blamed for the entirety of their late-night outing; though she easily spent longer than anticipated digging through Peter’s belongings for what she needed, the drive alone was a couple hours round trip and the spontaneous stop to Happy’s favorite diner only added to their time.

She didn’t mind. It was nice finally seeing something besides the same four walls.

“Are you sure you don’t want to hit up the cafeteria before going back to the infirmary?” Happy asked, as if reading her thoughts. He pointed his thumb behind his back, the two of them already starting to go their separate directions. “If you get there early enough before the SHIELD trainees ran-sack the place, you can get the bagels while they're still fresh out of the oven. ”

“Happy.” May shook her head with a laugh. “I’m good, really. I think I just want to curl up in a chair and take a nice, long nap.”

Happy shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll save you one, just in case.”

His wink didn’t go unnoticed. May chuckled, pulling up the strap of her purse as she walked away.

“And they said chivalry was dead.”

It had been a long enough week that, despite how large the facility was, she now knew the way to areas like the cafeteria and, of course, Peter’s personal quarters. Still, her feet took the same path she had memorized back to the med-bay.

May didn’t have any need to go elsewhere; at least, that’s what she figured at the time.

Happy was half-way down the hall when he spun around, raising his voice to get her attention. “Hey, you wanted all that stuff in Peter’s room with you, right?”

May met his gaze. “Everything but the box,” she called out.

“Well, yeah, of course,” Happy said, remembering the conversation they had over hot coffee and greasy diner food. “I’ll take care of that tomorrow. Good?”

May nodded. “Good. Thanks, Happy.”

She hated leaving his company, but she wasn’t lying when she said that she wanted to sleep — sleep for hours, days if she could. Right now, she’d be grateful for just a nap.

A normal sleep schedule didn’t mean anything anymore, not with Peter here, not as long as he was injured and recovering. Sleeping while the sun rose over the horizon was a mere act of survival, unusual for most but now a necessity for her.

Nurses quietly greeted her as she walked the halls of the infirmary and May waved back, only failing to greet a few when she took the time to throw her hair up into a sloppy bun. She couldn’t remember the last time she had washed it.

The effort was forgotten when she turned the corner that led to Peter’s room, her hands dropping from behind her head and her long, brown hair falling back down with neglect.

She came to a sudden halt, frowning as she looked ahead with a cocked head and perplexed expression.

“Huh.”

May froze at the entryway, not even close enough for the automatic doors to slide open. The glass panels gave a clear sight to what laid inside, or, well — who laid inside.

While it had become normal to see Peter resting, asleep in the hospital bed within the room, seeing Tony lay side-by-side with him, her nephew using the billionaire as his own personal pillow — well, that was...more uncommon.

God, her life had gotten to be so bizarre.

It wasn’t long until she began to chuckle, her shoulders jostling up and shaking down the strap of her purse until she needed to fetch it from the crook of her elbow.

“Alright then,” she murmured to no one in particular.

She realized that after nearly a week in the compound, she’d finally be utilizing space outside of the infirmary. It was a good thing Happy had showed her Peter’s quarters after all.

Maybe it was for the best, she supposed. And not necessarily just for her.

May smiled, pulling out her cell phone and snapping a quick picture of the scene ahead of her. It was a close enough distance that, reviewing the impromptu photo, she could see Peter sleeping soundly against Tony’s chest as the older man used the crown of her nephew’s head for cushion.

It took two taps on her touchscreen to create a text message with the image attached, clicking the recipient she wanted to send it to from her contact list.

The message written was simple.

With the pad of her thumb she hit send, turning around to leave and let the two rest without any interruptions. Walking back through the hallways, she found that there was surprisingly less weight on her shoulders than when she first arrived.

Maybe she would stop and get a bagel after all.

Identity Theft │ Chapter 24: Grounds For Improvement

Tony flashed a hint of a smile, making for the exit and only stopping before the doors would open for him. He spun on his heels with a finger pointed squarely at Peter.

“Rest up, Parker — is that clear? I expect a full recitement of Pi next time I see you.”

The automatic doors slid open with another airy hum. Tony disappeared somewhere out in the hallway, his departure taking with him the ringing of his cell phone. Only his shadow was visible as he stopped somewhere a few feet away, having whipped out his phone to handle business like the busy man Peter knew he was.

Peter looked away from that shadow and back to May with knitted brows. “I...I don’t think I can —”

“He’s joking.” May ran her fingers through his hair with a shake her head. “And no, he’s not very funny. I’m telling you kiddo, the past week with that man has been—”

“Week!?” Peter’s shout fell out of his mouth as a croak, his eyes widening to impressive saucers. “Week? It’s — it’s been a week?”

“Hey hey, calm down,” May stressed, keeping her fingers in his hair and continuing to brush through the curls with slow, soft motions. “A few days, okay? Five, I think. But don’t go freaking out on me. You know I freak out when you freak out.”

Peter could see May had resorted to what she did best — mitigating. Her sloppy bun, over-sized cardigan, and puffy, swollen eyes told him a different story, though.

She had been freaking out, and he hadn’t even been around to witness it.

Even worse — he was the cause of it.

“Sorry. Sorry, sorry, I just...” Peter swallowed thickly, goosebumps fleeing up and down his arm. His hands bunched tightly in the sheets below him. “It’s been...been that long? I...I…”

Peter went to adjust himself again and was crudely reminded that his body did not want to be moved right now. He winced, trying his best to breathe past the pain, despite breathing being the very thing causing the pain.

“I’m so, so sorry, May,” he managed, hands fumbling to adjust the nasal cannula strapped around his face. There was a sudden need to feel the coolness entering his lungs, to believe he was breathing — to believe he was alive.

“Hey, whoa,” May interjected, calm and persuasive. “Why you apologizing?”

Peter bit his lower lip, hesitant to respond.

He always knew two things growing up — Uncle Ben stayed calm, always cool as a cucumber while Aunt May was tough as nails; a strong woman inside and out. He knew that for her to be crying, it had to come with the conjunction of something major.

Losing family. Losing a loved one.

He may not fully remember what happened to him, but Peter knew one thing for certain — an upset May was a bad thing.

“I can’t believe I...that I put you through so much. I put you through this. I — I let this happen, and I promised I’d be careful as Spider-Man and I wasn’t, I messed up — and now you —”

“Okay, take a breath there, bug boy.” May moved her hands to his shoulders, holding her grip firm. “It’s okay, this was way out of your control. I’m not mad. I’m just —”

She interrupted her own words to lean in and kiss him on the cheek, making an audible ‘mhpf!’ sound with it. “I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

Peter kept his head low, staring at the sheets rather than looking at May. Her words of reassurance meant little. Not with her appearance, not with how rattled she looked.

He hadn’t seen her look so rough around the edges since Ben passed.

Peter shifted uneasily, the need to sleep suddenly replaced with an overwhelming desire to hide away. To curl in a ball and let himself mope — cry — for days, weeks, months.

And yet he couldn’t even curl in a ball right if he wanted to. His own body was incapable of even shifting to the side, not without a blinding pain reminding him that he was hurt — that he almost died.

As irrational as the thought was, Peter found himself angry at that. At having that option taken away from him, at having limited movement to his own body. It was foolish, it made no sense — it wasn’t like him to think this way. This wasn’t like him at all.

‘Yeah, well, it’s not like you to get kidnapped and nearly killed either, Parker.' Peter pressed the heels of his hands firmly against his eyes, desperate to keep the burning, unshed tears at bay. 'Way to go on that one.’

God, he really screwed up this time. This was on a whole other playing field from the incident at Times Square, from letting Mysterio steal the chameleon helmet. This was embarrassingly huge — way beyond the Ferry.

Peter had no clue how he was going to prove himself again after this.

“Peter?” May watched him carefully, squeezing her grip. “Talk to me, you’re scaring me.”

He hadn't realized he'd zoned out, again, until May clenched his shoulder with colored nails that dug through the oversized hospital gown he wore. It had begun to slip down the front of his chest, and Peter went to adjust the gown, only to stop halfway there and shake his head with growing frustration.

“I’m just...really upset that I made you worry.” Peter hated hearing his voice waver with weakness, with wet with tears he hadn’t let loose. “I don’t like it when you’re upset.”

If his voice had grown any more quiet, the beeping of machines attached to him would've swallowed the words whole.

May heard, nonetheless. Peter had a feeling she would've heard regardless.

“I’m not upset, sweetie, But I think you are.” May couldn’t have been any softer, her tone delicate — reassuring. Everything Peter didn't realize he desperately needed. “What’s going on? Talk to me, it’s just you and me. Lay it out.”

Peter opened his mouth to respond — insist he was fine, that he was okay.

That there was nothing for May to worry about, that she didn't need to stress out over him.

That he was fine.

Instead, a harsh cry got caught in his throat, strangling his words on their escape.

May sighed. “Oh, honey —”

“I’m f-f-ine,” Peter insisted, his hands flying to his face and covering himself from view. “I’m fin—”

He wished he hadn’t tried to respond in the first place. Like a rubber band pulled back too tight, he found himself snapping — breaking. His cries were loud, smothered only by the palms of his hands.

“I’m s-sorry!” Peter sobbed, as loud as his voice would let him — yet his words muffled in the skin of his own hands. “I’m-sorry-sor —!”

He latched onto May’s voice as she brought him close to her chest, her familiar and old cardigan a grounding feeling against his skin.

“Shh, shh, honey it’s okay,” May cajoled, as if she had been prepared for the moment all along. “It’s okay. Let it out, you're okay."

Identity Theft │ Chapter 26: Building Blocks

“Ms. Parker,” Tony called out.

May shot her head up at the sound, removing one of the two hands she had gripping the gurney’s railings to wave him over.

At first unsure about getting any closer to the scene, Tony managed to wiggle his way through the crowd and stand at the top of the bed where Peter laid. He watched the kid’s hazy brown eyes drift back and forth like a loose ping-pong ball, eyeing the busy activity around with him both wonderment and confusion.

“...wha’s goin’ on?” Peter asked, his voice thick and mildly incoherent.

Tony smirked, following the moving gurney down the hall while May patted her nephew’s arm.

“They already gave him something to help relax him. He’s just a bit confused,” May whispered his way before she turned back to Peter. “You’re fine honey, we’re getting that super uncomfortable metal out of your leg, remember?”

Peter sluggishly blinked. “...’s my leg better?”

“Not quite, tough guy,” May chuckled, rubbing his arm with reassurance. “But Tony has something that’s way more comfortable for you, remember?”

Peter eyed May curiously. “He does?”

She nodded, giving him an encouraging thumbs up.

Peter lazily smiled, the grin all teeth. “...mr. ‘tark ‘s the best.”

May failed at suppressing her laugh, one that Tony hadn’t realized was because of him. It wasn’t until he noticed that his jaw was hanging loose and his openly exposed eyes had widened comically that he moved quickly to recover, looking away to where she couldn’t see him.

Still, May smiled in his direction.

“Yeah,” she softly agreed, walking along the gurney with her eyes set on Tony. “Yeah, he is.”

Tony ducked his head low, realizing that Peter was so out of it he didn’t even know who was standing near the top his head. He stayed quiet as they wheeled the gurney down the halls, only stopping as they came to the double doors that led down into the operating rooms.

May gave his arm one more supportive squeeze before calling out, “I’ll be there when you wake up sweetie, okay?”

Both were almost positive Peter didn’t hear her as they wheeled him away, the gurney eventually disappearing behind automatic doors that slid shut with an air hum.

Tony and May stood side-by-side as they watched through clear-glass doors.

“Helen says that after this he'll have another week in recovery, a few sessions in P.T and then he’ll be good to go.” Tony spared her a glance. “Back in your trustworthy hands once again.”

“Damn,” May cursed with a snap of her fingers. “And here I was getting used to not having to cook every night.”

Tony managed to stifle his laugh and disguise it under a poorly received cough. “You cook every night?”

“Ya know,” May went on to say, folding both her arms over her chest. “It’s amazing how you can follow a recipe to the tee and it still turns out bad.”

Tony kept his walnut date loaf comments to himself, deciding that no matter how carefree the conversation, there was no safety in joking about a woman’s cooking.

Pepper Potts lesson number fifty-six.

“So what's the deal, Tony Stark?” May asked, her tone more easy-going than he had heard in days, her hip playfully swinging into his. “We doing this or not?”

Tony frowned and blinked. “Huh?”

May arched an amused eyebrow, turning on her heels to casually and slowly walk away. Tony matched her pace, no hurry to leave and no other place to be.

"You pawning him back off to me or are we going to manage some poorly structured semblance of support in his life?” May’s question came with a quiet smile.

Tony shrugged, hands reaching deep into his pant pockets. “Be honest May, do you really want me in his life? After all that's happen?”

They walked down the hall together, one slow step after another. And though Tony appreciated her thoughtfulness and persistence — the drawings she gave him still sitting in his workshop as a harsh reminder to keep his pestering anxiety at bay — he couldn’t help but remain a skeptic.

It was in his nature, his blood. Even now, after all they had gone through, it was still easier to run away than stay.

Thankfully there were people like May nearby to put a stop to that. She hummed loudly, with exaggerated consideration.

“I don't know, you could be useful,” she drawled out, blithely. “Besides, I think he listens to you more than he listens to me.”

This time, Tony did laugh. “If that’s the case than I'm deeply disturbed by how little he listens to you.”

“Yeah, well, you know how it is.” May sighed, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “I honestly think it's just a woman thing. Even when Ben was around, he always listened to him more. I think he just needs that fatherly figure in his life, you know?”

Tony stopped suddenly and May cracked a smile, staring down at her shoes.

“God, you are not subtle, are you?” His smile bled out the bite in his words and May finally looked at him, losing her composure just as she thought she would.

“Tell you what,” she managed around the chuckling. “I’ll make an agreement with you.”

Tony bit his lower lip somewhat comically. “Mhmm, I’m not allowed to make those without Pepper around to pre-approve.”

May gave a half-roll of her eyes.

“You keep him protected, the best that you can — unforeseen circumstances aside, and I have no problems letting him continue...whatever this is.” May pointed a finger in the air. “On one condition.”

Tony arched his eyebrow expectantly, waiting for her to finish.

The finger she held up changed directions, gesturing emphatically towards his chest. “You are responsible for buying his backpacks from this point forward.”

Tony was momentarily stunned.

“That's...it?”

She gave a curt nod. “That's it.”

For a moment, he was at a loss for words. All things considered, her request was on the very bottom of things he’d consider unreasonable. Here he was ready and willing to get the kid a full ride through college — who was he kidding, he was still planning to do that, MIT or not. And all she wanted was a few school supplies?

Consider him getting off easy.

“Okay then,” he finally answered, hand extended out to her. “Shake on it, Mrs. Parker?”

She unwrapped her arms from around her waist, giving him a firm handshake that he accepted, patting the cusp of her elbow in return. Not even a few seconds later and they resumed their leisurely walk down the corridor.

Identity Theft │ Chapter 27: Growing Pains

“You going to put that down anytime soon?”

Peter peered over his phone to look at May. He blinked twice, not realizing how dry his eyes had become, stars dancing in his vision from the sun blasting through the window ahead.

Slowly he could make out May’s figure, bent over and stuffing items into her purse.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly apologized. “There’s so much I have to catch up on!”

“Uh-huh,” May hummed, swinging her purse over her shoulder. “I’m sure the nerd clique is just bustling with activity.”

Peter gaped, feigning melodramatic offense. “Hey!”

“Put it down soon, mister.” May wagged a finger at him. “You’re here to rest.”

“I am resting!” Peter defended, gesturing to the bed he laid in and the blankets covering him. He hadn’t even moved from the curled up position on his good side — the painful lesson of not messing with his right side one he wouldn’t forget anytime soon — practically wrapped like a burrito in the softest blankest he’d ever had granted the pleasure of using.

“Don’t get smart with me, tough guy,” May jokingly threatened, a lighthearted laugh in her tone. “Or I’ll take that phone with me on my way out to work.”

The smell of coffee hit his nostrils before the doors to the infirmary room even slid open. Peter was a hairsbreadth away from letting May know that Mr. Stark was arriving when — woosh — the man already strolling into the room.

Damn, his senses really weren’t up to par lately.

“Mhmm, smells like teenage discipline in here,” Tony greeted, handing May one of the two styrofoam cups he had in his hands. “One for the road. What’s going on with the pip-squeak?”

“Thank you,” she replied easily, as if it was a common experience to have a billionaire hand her coffee — which for all Peter knew had become the norm for her, what with a missing week in his life having gone by. She nodded her head over in Peter’s direction. “Gave him his phone back this morning. He hasn’t put it down since.”

Peter frowned, head jerking back at offense to May’s tattle-telling.

Tony crossed the room, taking a sip of his coffee as he passed by Peter’s bed. Or at least that’s what Peter assumed, half his face being pleasantly smooshed into his pillows.

“Listen to Aunt Hottie, kid. Or I’ll take the phone away myself,” he warned.

“Pssh,” Peter muttered, eyes locked on the screen of his device. “No you won’t.”

A large hand dipped into his frame of vision, snatching the phone right out of his grip.

Peter gawked, staring at his fingers that gripped only air. He looked up, seeing Tony walking away with the device and pocketing it into his blazer.

Did that just…? He spared a glance to May, who seemed equally humored, doing a poor job at hiding her laugh behind a clearly fake cough.

“Oh, damn.” Peter sat up straighter in bed, smiling ear-to-ear. “It gotta be like that?"

Tony snorted humorlessly, smacking the side of Peter’s leg lightly with the back of his hand.

Peter watched him head for the recliner chair nearby with a blank expression, worried for a moment that he may have said something wrong. Normally Mr. Stark was quick to engage in witty banter with him, always one to throw it back faster than he received it. This time though, he kept any wisecracks to himself, wordlessly opening the laptop he kept in the room and filling the silence with clickclickclicks of the mouse and keyboard.

Peter looked away, slowly but surely adjusting himself in bed so that he was sitting up. First and foremost, he gave himself a pat on the back for not crying like a baby in front of Mr. Stark when he moved, because damn that still hurt. Moving still equaled pain. Noted.

As Tony typed away on his laptop, Peter convinced himself that he had to be busy — he had stuff to do. He was Tony Stark. He really needed to stop taking everything so personally. 

“Alright sweetie,” May cut through his running-rampant thoughts. “I’ll be back later tonight. Behave.”

“Yeah,” Peter snorted, rolling his eyes. “Cause there’s so much trouble I can get into here.”

She stopped on her way to the doors, shooting him a glare that had him sinking against the cushions of his bed. “Mouth. Watch it.”

Tony let out a noticeable chuckle from his position across the room.

May shot him the same glare, an added finger wagging toward him thrown in the mix. “Don’t even, I think he gets some of it from you.”

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 1: Prologue

“Hey, May!?” Peter shouted — already in a sitting position on his bed, phone discarded at his hip.

Within a few seconds, May had popped her head in-between the door, shouting back,

“Hey, Peter!?”

“Whoa.” Peter cringed, one hand rubbing tenderly and dramatically at his ear. “Loud much?”

May cocked her head to the side, the smile in her eyes giving away her faux serious posture.

“I’m literally in the kitchen,” she sassed back, one hand smugly resting against her hip while a dishtowel dangled in the other. “You didn’t need to yell for me.”

“Right, right.” Peter nodded too many times for his own good, following up with, “Hey, do we have any tools to fix the bathroom sink? I can hear it dripping from my bedroom.”

May gave an incredulous laugh. “Of all the things those super-duper ears pick up on and that’s what’s bothering you right now? Didn’t you once mention that the Johnson's in 3.B play M.A.S.H about —”

“Five hundred times a day and yes, someone needs to introduce them to something new!” Peter gestured to the wall of his bedroom, arm extended fully. “Of all the amazing things Netflix and Hulu have to offer and they insist on playing those reruns day in and day out. It’s driving me insane.”

“You can’t beat the classics,” May said, grinning at his over-the-top theatrics, eye-roll included. “And regarding the sink, just fix it yourself. You know...”

She gestured her hands in a twisting motion — like she was tightening a pipe.

“Yeah..” Peter drawled out, inwardly cringing, “last time I did I...sorta broke the kitchen sink?”

May froze and her eyes squinted with realization. “So that’s how that happened.”

Sitting on his bed, Peter smiled sheepishly, somehow managing to make himself seem two times smaller than his physique actually allowed him to be.

“I’ll call the landlord," May wagged the dishtowel in his direction, "see what he can do.”

Peter's nod was enough acknowledgment for them both. May turned on her heels to leave, barely two steps out the door when she spun back around, the kitchen towel waving at the movement.

“Hey — last day of summer vacation. Any big plans?”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t think so. Mr. Stark’s road trip was enough, ya know?”

His eyes drifted to his phone, laying by his hip, face down across the ruffled blankets and sheets of his twin bed. The last stream of text messages from Ned stood out fresh in his mind.

“But there is this party —”

“You should go!”

Peter shot his head back to her with wide eyes and an expression so wild May nearly doubled over laughing. He couldn’t help it, beyond confused — practically bewildered at her uncanny encouragement to attend some random teenage party. Which, now that he thought about it, was a common experience before knowing about Spider-Man.

Things definitely changed after Homecoming though, even tenfold after his whole ‘death fake-out' four months ago. Some days he was still surprised she let him on the trip with Mr. Stark, though he was sure some smooth-talking was likely had before a yes was even given.

“I feel like you have an alternative motive here,” he managed to squeak out. “You know, Ned’s mom is taking him out for dinner —”

May threw the dishtowel at him. “Well I’m not Ned’s mother and you know I can’t stand that woman so why would you compare me to her?”

Peter laughed, catching the dirty rag before it could land on his face. He tossed it right back at her. “I’m just saying. Feeling a bit kicked out here.”

May softened, leaning against his door frame with a warm smile. Her demeanor seemed to change all at once, her shoulders dropping, her fingers fidgeting with the seams of the dishtowel.

Peter hated when she looked at him that way, her face conveying a sort of sympathy for all he had been through. It only reminded him that she’d been through so much herself, more than she needed to with him dragging her along for this crazy superhero ride.

At the same time, he didn’t know what he’d do without her.

“Seriously, go have some fun,” May stressed, lighthearted with encouragement. “You had a rough spring, you deserve to end the summer with a bang. Hey, I’ll even drive you there.”

Peter picked up his cell phone, tossing it between both hands as he stared ahead at nothing. If he was completely honest with May, he didn’t have much of a desire to go. Ned wouldn’t be there, he still got odd feelings when he was around MJ, and it was Flash’s party — which just meant all sorts of yucky things.

But the suitcase on the floor was still open with clothes needing to be put away.

“Actually...” Peter felt a grin pulling at his lips. “I might be able to catch a ride.”

May gave him a corny thumbs up and Peter stopped tossing his phone like a ping-pong ball.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 9: Gray Area

“Something tells me this brunch isn’t going to be all curfew talk,” she said, only briefly looking away once realizing a couple seated at the table nearby were gawking at them both.

Beneath his sunglasses, Tony rolled his eyes. The momentary distraction didn’t last long, the waiter of whom he had slipped a few hundred dollars quickly addressing the situation and saving them any headache. It had become as routine as his monthly brunches with May.

In fact, he was pretty sure that he had paid for the new shoes the waiter was wearing. Interesting choice in what to spend the extraneous tip money on. Tony would have gone for a savings or stock, but that was neither here nor there and —

He sighed, running his hand through his goatee. His mind always wandered when avoiding problems he didn’t want to deal with.

“Has Peter talked to you at all since Sunday?” Tony abruptly asked, looking at his water and pessimistically wishing it was something slightly stronger. Sobriety and him were still an ongoing tango most days.

May paused at the question, looking away with thoughtful consideration. Ultimately, she shook her head.

“I’m lucky to see him grab a frozen waffle on the way out of the door,” she chuckled slightly. “Still frozen. Boy rolls right out of bed, doesn’t give himself any time to throw something in the toaster. It’s truly amazing how he’s not all skin and bones.”

Despite her attempt at lightening the mood, Tony’s somber expression didn’t change. He continued to graze his fingers through the prickle hair of his goatee, his sunglasses unable to hide his far-off stare.

May frowned, her eyebrows dipping with concern. “What happened?”

The persistent tapping of his Louis Vuitton dress shoes filled the pause between them. The same dress shoes the waiter wore, walking by to fill his glass of water on the table. Tony squinted one eye, distantly wondering if it was a flattery thing or if the college-aged boy just wanted to buy the most expensive item he could get his hands on.

Distraction. Right.

Tony cleared his throat a few times, briefly considering taking a sip of his drink before deciding to just rip off the band-aid.

“We got into an argument,” he grudgingly admitted.

May’s demeanor softened almost immediately. She waved him off with a half-hearted smile.

“I told you not to let him eat whatever he wants. He gets irritable and gassy and —”

“He had a panic attack.”

May’s face dropped.

“What?” her words were practically spoken in a breath, confusion speaking volumes.

Tony sighed, shrugging with such force that his sunglasses slipped a little further down his nose. He didn’t reach to move them up.

“He’s...expectantly denying it now.” Tony scratched at his cheek, focusing on the sights from within the cafe as opposed to where May was seated. Somehow, it was easier to watch barista’s inside fumble with making a late. “But he did. Have one.”

It was the most he could manage without feeling uncomfortable, or more uncomfortable than what he already felt. Despite having a good four monthly ‘Co-parenting Catch-ups’ under their belt, Tony had yet to encounter a time where he and May needed to discuss something beyond surface level.

Grades, curfews, not to mention pushing her to allow him responsibility for the cost of school tuition and the likes that came with it — their conversations had yet to reach a level quite this deep.

He looked down at his glass of water. Sobriety be damned, he officially regretted not getting a cocktail himself.

May appeared to have trouble letting the information sink in, her face twisting and contorting without ever settling on one specific emotion or the other.

“Are you sure —”

“Yeah,” Tony interrupted, straightening in his chair with faux pose. “I’m kinda the expert. Know one to call one, and all.”

May sat on the news. Though she seemed surprisingly less startled than Tony had expected to be, her moment of reflection hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“That’s strange.” She raised her glass to her lips, the action of her swallowing visible, followed by another mouthful done only to buy herself time. “He hasn’t mentioned that at all.”

Tony nodded. “Not surprised. I want to say he’s embarrassed — hell, I know he’s embarrassed. Stormed out on me, started ignoring my texts, won’t even give Happy much time of day. And you know something’s up when Happy’s questioning why the kid isn’t nagging him.”

It was going on four days, and as of five minutes ago, there was only one text message conversation between them. This was the same kid who spammed Tony’s phone with ridiculous questions and memes at all times of the day.

Now, radio silence.

The entire incident still seemed to boggle Tony’s mind. He wanted to think that it wasn’t like Peter to behave that way, that something had gotten into him recently to provoke such an outburst. But the further he looked back, the more he realized the signs were building up.

The kid was pissed a few weekends back when he'd been grounded.

And the panic attack — well, he had been waiting for that since the moment they rescued the kid from drowning waters.

“What was it about?”

Tony looked up, caught off guard. “Huh?”

May crossed her legs, making sure not to bump into the small metal table between them.

“The fight,” she specified.

Tony pointed a finger her way. “Argument —”

“I know you, Stark,” May said, the smile on her lips breaking any tension from her words. “It was a fight. Deets, now.”

Tony audibly groaned, rubbing at his forehead with his index finger and thumb, his eyes tightly pinched shut.

“Oh god, you talk like one of them.” He gestured his hand out to nothing in particular. “Is this contagious? Will I be next? Should I forewarn Pepper — oh God, don’t tell me I’ll pass it onto her. I cannot have a forty-three-year-old woman representing the company who talks like some Gen Z tween. Our stocks will tank.”

Tony cracked one eye open, not the least bit surprised to see May staring him down, the brown strands of hair that had fallen in front of her face somehow making her seem more intimidating. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Pepper was giving her lessons on the side.

Not fair. As if his fiancée wasn’t difficult enough to handle on her own.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 10: Something Wicked This Way Comes

Without another thought, Peter stood up from the couch. “Am I grounded?”

“What?” May blinked, and then blinked again. “I — I don’t know —”

“I want to go to my room,” Peter quickly interrupted, his voice growing flat. “Can I please go to my room?”

May stared at him for the longest time, as if searching for something that he knew she wouldn’t find. Maybe she was looking for a reason for his attitude, in which case he had no answer to give her. Perhaps it was a resolution to their bickering, which he knew wouldn’t come anytime soon.

And from the looks of it, she knew it wasn’t happening either.

Ultimately she caved, waving her hand down the hall while the other reached for her discarded cell phone.

“Okay, fine. I need to call Tony anyway.”

Peter’s knees buckled.

“What? Wait, no, why?” he panicked, almost diving for her cell phone before quickly realizing how incredibly stupid that would have been. “May, don’t tell Mr. Stark about this, please. I’ll – I’ll stay home this weekend, you can ground me, whatever you want. Please, just leave him out of this.”

May held tightly onto her phone, stunned at Peter’s outburst, at how red his cheeks had grown in a second’s time.

“Why? Peter, he wants to be involved —”

“Him being involved is exactly what caused this!” Peter’s throat started to burn, growing hoarse with each word that cracked and broke in pitch. He suddenly felt lightheaded, dizziness nearly stealing his balance. “People keep thinking he’s my dad — even you’re treating him like he’s my dad! He’s Mr. Stark, he doesn’t need to know about this! It wasn’t even a fight, it was nothing, really! I’ll go to detention, I’ll do what I have to do, it’s fine — just don’t tell him about this!”

May sat quietly during Peter’s explosion, patient as she waited for him to finish. Only once the detonation of his frustration began to clear away, only when he finally took a moment to let his chest heave in the air he so desperately needed, did she finally speak up.

“You know, he’s worried about you.”

Her calm did nothing to off-put his agitation.

“Yeah, because he’s freaking out over everything I do lately!” Peter could feel his arms begin to tremble as his anger boiled over, unearthed from his gut, quick to temper. “You can’t tell him about this, he’s just going to flip out —”

“He thinks you’re acting strange.” May was the one to interrupt this time, steadier than he expected her to be. “And I’m inclined to agree.”

“Mr. Stark doesn’t know what’s going on,” Peter stressed each word, dragged on each syllable. “May, please —”

“If he doesn’t know what’s going on,” May folded her arms across her chest, “then tell me.”

Peter spun around, unable to face his aunt anymore, worried that the tremble in his hands would lead to a hole in the drywall straight ahead of him.

“Nothing is going on, I’m fine —!”

“Cut the bullshit!”

Everything in Peter froze. His breath halted in his chest, his mouth ran dry. And as quickly as May stood up from the couch, she stormed over towards him, her heels dangerously forceful against the floor.

“I know you’re not sleeping. I know you’re not eating,” May’s voice was cold, steely. “I know that you passed out last weekend at the compound. That’s not fine!”

Peter blinked rapidly; whether it was to urge unshed tears back in their place or digest what May had said, he didn’t know.

He didn’t know what to say.

He vaguely realized May was staring at him, hugging herself tightly. Yet the corners of his vision were growing dim again, shadows invading the room. A darkening gray veiled his eyesight in a way that didn’t feel right, didn’t feel normal.

“Talk to me, Peter,” she begged him, a shuddering breath conveying a fierce concern that consumed her. “If what happened back...if it’s bothering you —”

Peter jolted away from May before her touch could reach him.

“It’s not!” His shout was sudden, grating, like a needle digging underneath his skin. “Why are you saying that? Why does everyone insist on bringing that up?! It’s not bothering me, I don’t care, and I don’t want to talk about it!”

If May had anything to say, Peter didn’t give her the time to respond. He stormed past her, each step he took pounding with the anger that flooded through his core, practically shaking the walls and picture frames where they were hung.

“I don’t need to talk about it! It happened, and it’s over. Why is nobody else just happy that it’s...over!?”

Peter stopped halfway to his room, suddenly grabbing hysterically at the roots of his hair, pulling so hard May could see his knuckles grow white — even from where she stood down the hall.

“And why is the bathroom sink STILL LEAKING!?”

Peter’s scream was only drowned out by the slamming of his bedroom door.

The wood near the hinges cracked and splintered.

It left an echo that swept through the apartment.

May stayed standing in the living room, unmoving, aghast to the moment that just occurred.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 13: Into The Abyss

Buzzzz.

Buzzbuzzzzz.

Buzzbuzzzbuzzz.

Buzz.

Buzzbuzzbuzzz —

“...wha the…?” Peter scrunched his face into something tight, rolling onto his side with a groan louder than the noisy streets of Queens that could be heard through his bedroom walls.

With one hand and both eyes closed, he blindly reached out to stop the persistent vibrating clattering against his dresser. It was annoying, going off every second, buzzing like a bee on steroids. Not to mention the sheer volume of how loud it was, piercing through his eardrums like a hot, scolding knife. His head ached something fierce, pounding ruthlessly from his hairline down into his neck.

It was official. He slept like shit last night.

Finally grabbing hold of his phone, Peter pressed his thumb hard on the mute button before he clumsily brought it into bed with him. In the process, his arm knocked down two plastic water bottles, a small desk fan that ran on high, and an old hard disk drive he found the other week in the dumpsters by Brooklyn.

There was no attempt made to clean up the clutter.

Peter flopped onto his back, wincing as even his bedsprings squeaked and rattled. The pull of sleep was tempting; he didn’t want to even open his eyes. An all-consuming urge to forget the day and call it a loss was every bit as overwhelming and enticing as it could get.

Buzzbuzzzzz —

“Oh my — ugh!”

So much for that.

One balled fist rubbed harshly at his eyes, wiping eye crust away until he saw dancing flares where there should only be darkness. A moment later and Peter peaked an eyelid open, testing the waters before doing the same on the other side.

His room was barely lit, dim, and shadowy without the use of artificial lamps. The soft glow of a fading sun was the only light seeping through his bedroom window.

It was still sunrise? Peter furrowed his brows. He didn’t remember going to sleep til late, long after Happy dropped him off and way past midnight. Sure, it wasn’t like he expected a good night’s rest, certainly not after what happened yesterday —

The thought stirred a sharp cramp in his stomach, his skin growing hot with a flush of sweat. The memory came bombarding back to him like a broken dam releasing floodwaters.

Yesterday.

Shit.

Peter shook the thought off. Still. Surely he should’ve gotten more than a couple of hours of sleep, regardless of what happened.

As his eyes came into focus, so did the yellow sticky note taped to the upper bunk of his bed, directly in his eye-line. Peter didn’t even bother reaching for it, reading it exactly where it had been placed.

"Sleep. You earned a day of laziness.

Pizza money on the counter. Working a double at the shelter tonight.

Please don’t beat yourself up. I know you’re upset.

We’ll talk later.

Promise.

Love love love LOVE you,

May."

Peter scanned the note, and then again, reading it until his groggy mind could comprehend what he was seeing and the words made sense.

Not a second later, and he tore it off from the bunk, crumbling it into a crinkled, messy ball.

Promise. Peter huffed, slowly sitting up on his bed until his back hit the wall with a thud. What good anyone’s promises did these days.

He leaned his head back until it pressed flush against the drywall, gently, careful not to aggravate his already pre-imploding skull. One wrong move and he was afraid the bomb rattling near his brain would explode. Both hands pushed back his hair, greasy at the roots and in major need of a shower.

None of this would have happened if May had just kept her promise. Peter set his jaw; this was exactly why he didn’t want Mr. Stark to know about the fight with Flash, about every single detail in his life. It always caused trouble, it always blew up into something way bigger than it needed to be.

And now...

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 16: Web of Lies and Deceit

“Talk to me. Please.” May begged, her voice cracking at the edges. “It’s just you and me here, no one else. It stays between us, it...it…”

The words froze Peter for a moment — brain, mouth, all the way down to his fidgeting fingers that locked up, bent at crude angles. His eyes crept over to May, lips still moving, still speaking.

“I need to know, Peter,” she finished with a shaking breath. “I mean it. Just you and me.”

Peter blinked. He stared at May, straight on, his gaze turning cold and steely. A razor-deep spike tore straight into him, without warning, with no caution.

If it was anger he felt, it was incapacitating; crushing any deliberate and clear thought he once had. All consuming, beyond the control of his unsteady, decrepit attempts at suppression.

“If I tell you anything, you’re just going to tell Mr. Stark.” His words sounded painful, and jarring – as he if were forcing them out of a throat that just refused to corporate.

May seemed taken aback. “Peter, I’m not —”

“You’ve been doing it all year!”

The shout tumbled out of his mouth, hitting the walls at full force — and May, who’s eyes had grown wider than the glasses on her face.

“Every time — every time we talk, you go and tell Mr. Stark. Every time!” Peter’s tongue dripped with disdain, his spine taunt with indignance. “I can’t tell him anything myself because you’ve already told him! I get bad grades, he knows. I get in a fight, he knows! I swear if I stay up too late he knows that too! Ever since that stuff happened months ago, it’s like you two don’t trust me to do anything anymore! You two are constantly looking over my shoulder like at any moment I’ll be snatched up, like — like I won’t be able to do anything about it and I can — I can protect myself, I can!”

Peter swallowed thickly, his throat raw, chafed. Feeling as if he had ripped apart his vocal cords with a yell that was foreign to his own ears. The outburst hit like an erupting volcano, destructive, devastating everything in its path.

His heart hammered against his ribs, his chest heaving desperately. Urgently sucking in a breath he’d wasted in a moment that made him dizzy, abruptly too light on his feet.

May stared at him, stunned and stuttering.

“I — I know that sweetie…” she tried, suddenly quiet, timid. “I — we never meant to make you feel like you were —”

“See? It’s we,” Peter croaked, stomping forward, barely noticing May instinctively take a few steps back. “You have to include him in everything, even when he’s not here!”

She shook her head, the crease between her forehead deepening. “Peter, what is your problem with Tony all of a sudden?”

“Nothing!” The crack in his voice did little to help his case. “My problem is you constantly involving him with everything in my life! I don’t need him to know everything, I don’t need him for everything — I did just fine before him!”

May opened her mouth to respond, but faltered. Her lips clamped shut a moment later, her eyes wildly looking Peter up and down, the grip on her cardigan growing so tight that her knuckles were turning pale.

“I thought...we thought you wanted that. I thought —”

“Not like this!” Peter’s shout thundered across the living room, and this time, he did notice May backing away from him. Somehow, it only added to his outrage, fuel to the firing pit of anger that simmered hot in his veins.

May shook her head, viciously, her expression growing stern.

“You can’t just pick the good things for people to hear, Peter,” she insisted. “If you want Tony in your life, he has to hear about the bad stuff too. That’s just how it works.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Peter firmly, coldly, insisted. “Not if you don’t tell him! Not if —”

“That’s not how it works —”

“Will you just let me talk!?”

A breath of air stuttered in Peter’s chest, oxygen suddenly too hard to come by. The feeling seemed to be reciprocal; May stilled, frozen in the wake of his outburst.

Peter swore, just for a moment — a fleeting second that passed by too quickly — that his vision went dark and his ears grew deaf. The brutal rage seeping through his very being coursed on like a rampage, dismantling him in ways that should have otherwise frightened him no different than before.

But the anger felt good. It felt better than the fear, better than the panic. He held onto it, unknowingly, clinging to the renewed energy it provided.

The breath caught in his chest escaped through gritted teeth. Peter set his jaw tight.

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice began to sound rough, abused. It almost didn’t sound like him, laced with so much untapped emotion that he was losing track of what there was to be angry about. “If I tell you, you’ll go running back to tell him. And then he’ll be on my case, and so will you, and no one will actually listen to what I have to say so what’s the point!?”

The only response to his yell was the dog barking across the hall.

Weeks of resentment had snowballed too big, built up a boil that had split over the pot and drenched the floor. Peter couldn’t help raising his voice, he didn’t care that his shouting had disturbed the neighbors and their pet.

It felt good to let it out. Like scratching an itch, like water that was too hot against sore skin.

It felt wrongfully good.

“Peter…” May slowly started, cautious to keep distance between them. “If I tell Tony anything, trust me — it’s for your own good. I swear, sweetie, I…” her voice grew quiet, close to impossible to hear. “I swear on...on Ben’s life. It’s only to help you.”

If the sound of his uncle’s name didn’t break him, the look on May’s face did.

Peter flinched, though he failed to realize it in the moment. He blinked, once and then again, realizing his eyes were suddenly burning with the fire he’d felt surging through his veins.

A chill swept over him.

Suddenly, he was tired.

Really, really tired.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Peter found himself muttering, unable to look anywhere but the top corner of the apartment, far away from his aunt and the tears that glossed over her eyes. Right alongside his own.

He didn’t want to fight anymore.

He didn’t want to have to lie anymore.

He just…

Peter rubbed two tightly closed fists against his eyes, pushing against his face until it hurt. He just wanted to forget any of this happened — go to sleep and figure it out tomorrow.

“Please, Peter…” May breathed deeply, frustrated and yet somehow something more. “Talk to me. Say something, anything — please.”

It was impossible to ignore the wetness that coated May’s plea, the raw sorrow that filled an otherwise cold and tense living room.

Peter scrubbed harder at his face, the fabric of his hoodie scraping into his skin.

He needed help, right?

Could May help?

Or wait, no...someone else was helping him. He didn’t need anyone else’s help.

Right?

He was confused. It was too hard to think, he was suddenly too tired to make sense of it all. Peter couldn’t remember what was what, exhaustion making it impossible to do anything but push his legs forward, his body absentmindedly heading right towards his bedroom.

“I’ve got nothing to tell you,” he mumbled, struggling to keep his knees from buckling as he dragged his feet across the hallway. “I’m fine. Really.”

He barely got halfway there before May spun towards him.

“Hey!” she shouted, sniffing hard past the tears, folding her arms tightly over her chest. “I’m not done talking to you, mister!”

Peter spun around, throwing his arms in the air. “Yeah? Well, I’m done, okay?”

There was no more heat to his voice, no more anger in his tone. The fury that lit him ablaze had quickly been smothered, extinguished to nothing but soot and smog.

Peter turned back around, his hand already on the doorknob to his bedroom when May spoke again.

“Peter!”

He went to respond — he wanted to say something, he really did. A crippling yell was on the tip of his tongue, his throat already constricted with a shout that burned in his belly.

But something clenched deep in his stomach, and his head fell til his chin touched his chest, swaying tremendously with vertigo that threatened his balance. Energy had all been but sucked away from every inch of his body.

Peter stayed quiet, stayed in place. Never once tried to search for his voice, never tried to turn and face his aunt. His back stayed facing her, even as her quiet sniffs made it abundantly clear that she was long past holding in her tears.

“The super came by this morning,” May managed to say, clearing her throat with a wet sound before speaking again. “He fixed that leaking pipe. The one that had been bothering you so much.”

Peter’s grip on the doorknob tightened as his eyes closed, and for a moment that felt like five lifetimes, he didn’t move.

Without warning, a wave of everything came crashing down on him. The guilt was paralyzing, and he let himself feel it — feel everything he was doing wrong, had done wrong — all of it.

It wasn’t right. No matter how right it felt, it wasn’t right.

That needed to change. With or without help.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 22: Welcome to Wakanda

Tony sighed, moving his hand off Peter’s knee and resting it on his own.

“While we’re on this little honesty escapade...I didn’t just pull the security footage from your school after the attack on your principal. I had access to it from the get-go.” Tony let his chest expand before he returned his attention to Peter. “Last year, after your whole...Vulture incident, I tied FRIDAY into the cameras on your campus. Last headache either of us need is anything Spider-Man related being tied back to some high-school in Midtown. This way, I’d have first-dibs on the footage, and I’d be able to safely tuck it away before your guidance counselor could lecture you on your questionable after-school activities.”

Peter frowned. Not mad, surprisingly, especially considering how angry he’d been at Mr. Stark’s apparent ‘spying’ as of late. It was more taken aback than anything else.

“Oh. O-okay,” he articulately managed. His fingers began to fidget with the seams of his sweatshirt. It didn’t feel like spying. It felt more like the Baby Monitor Protocol, than anything else. Annoying, but somehow helpful. “That’s...yeah, that’s – that’s fine. That’s...thanks. Thanks, that helps me. I think.”

Tony scoffed.

“Oh trust me, it does. For the love of God, you need to stop jumping out five-story-windows at your school. You’re bound to give some middle-aged calculus teacher a heart attack. And learn to tuck the suit inside the backpack if you insist on carrying it around with you.” Tony dryly said, before his voice softened. So much so that he almost sounded sad. “But the camera access is also how I found out about your fight with the Flash kid.”

Just like that, Peter’ face fell flat.

His heart didn’t stop — it couldn’t have, not according to the monitors stuck to his chest.

“...what?”

 But it sure as hell felt like it did. 

His back stood up straighter than a stiff board.

That meant —

“It wasn’t May,” Tony admitted. “She didn’t break her promise to you. She didn’t tell me anything. Actually, she called me that night and chewed me a new asshole for invading your privacy. Which I yielded to. I’ve said it once before, I’ll take a hit to my pride and say it again. I overstepped my boundaries. You don’t need me watching over your back —”

“May didn’t tell you?” 

Peter’s ears were ringing. He wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised to find out someone had set off a grenade in the Quinjet. Especially one that exploded right into his face. 

Because he didn’t catch a single word Tony said after the initial confession. 

He didn’t hear anything past ‘it wasn’t May.’

Tony gave a curt nod, but all Peter saw were his lips moving. 

“She didn’t say a word.” 

Peter visibly gulped.

It wasn’t May.

All he could hear was ringing.

“I know I’ve been overbearing. Rhodey’s always telling me I go one extreme or the other.” Tony kept talking. Peter didn’t register any of it. “Hell, here I am telling you to stick to the gray area but I can’t do it myself. Walking hypocrisy, thou be my name. I’m just trying to do right by you. I worry about you, kid, and —”

“Where’s my phone?”

The abrupt question — demand? Tony furrowed his brows. It came so suddenly, without warning, that he almost gave himself whiplash looking towards Peter.

“What?” Tony cocked his head to the side. “Come again?”

Any color that had managed to liven Peter’s skin quickly drained away, his complexion growing as pale as the white clouds outside the jet. It was unsettling how fast his cheeks grew ashen. A corpses gray. 

Tony noticed. 

He immediately didn’t like what he saw.

“Where’s my phone?” Peter asked again. He hastily — frantically — struggled to sit up on the cot, failing more times than not. “I need to call May.  Right now. I need to — Mr. Stark, I need my phone. Now.”

Peter swung his legs over the edge of the bed with force, planting them on the ground with a thud that startled Bruce. He briefly glanced at Tony, the look not returned. 

No, Tony was far too busy eyeing Peter up and down. Wondering where the hell this burst of energy was when they needed it back at the compound. It would’ve been far more useful on their escape route to the hanger bay, that was for certain. 

“Pete, it’s…” Tony’s frown deepened and he sighed, offering Peter the most apologetic look he could scrounger up. “I can’t do that, bud.”

“Why not?” Peter went to stand up. He didn’t get very far.

Tony quirked an eyebrow.

“Because I’m pretty sure May would rather you wait than deal with the roaming charges that come with a phone call across the Atlantic ocean.” He inched over on the cot, nearing closer to where Peter sat. One hand outward as if to catch the kid from falling flat on his face. “Listen, you don’t need to worry about this right now. I spoke with her not long ago. She’s —”

“I need to speak with her.” Peter turned to Tony and glared, beads of sweat beginning to glisten across his skin. The temperature in the jet hadn’t changed. Tony would’ve been the first to know. “Do you, or do you not have my phone?”

Both hands gripping the nearest monitor, Bruce stared at Tony, his thumb mid-push on a button that remained untouched. 

Tony barely gave him a courtesy glance. 

They were both thinking the same thing. Neither were in a hurry to acknowledge it.

“Yes, but —”

“I need it.” Peter wasn’t asking, and the look on his face wasn’t the cranky, pouty type of look Tony normally saw when he wanted something. It was a scowl. A heated, fervent glare. “Please. I need to talk to her. Where are you keeping it? Where are you hiding it? Where —?” 

“Whoa, whoa, okay, take a breath there, kiddo.” Tony went to lay a hand on Peter’s knee. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Peter threw that hand back. “Hey! It’s okay. I’m not hiding your phone. It’s somewhere safe, you have my word. You also have my word that I already talked to May. She’s in the loop. She’s not upset, she’s —”

“You don’t know that!” Peter’s shout quaked his body, and damn near the foundation of the jet. “You don’t know her like I do! You don’t — you don’t understand, Mr. Stark. You don’t know what happened, you don’t — you have to give me my phone. You have to let me call her.”

Bruce was definitely staring at them now, and Tony had no doubt the others upfront were as well. Surely questioning what the hell was going on.

They weren’t alone.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 33: Comes Great Responsibility

Peter ran the back of his hand across his face, smearing away her wet mark with his knuckles as his smile slowly, but steadily, began to drop a bit.

“I, uhm…” he cleared his throat, timidly, looking into the kitchen if only to avoid looking at his aunt. “I also met with Principal Morita. After school.”

May raised both her eyebrows.

“Oh?” The dishtowel began to slip down her shoulder and she reached for it, putting it back in place.

Peter delayed on any immediate response; the pot on the stove made gurgling noises that filled the place of any words he would’ve said. The sauce inside splashed in little bits, and he watched as it splattered the lid that covered the top, keeping the contents inside where it all belonged.

“He’s doing a lot better,” Peter finally settled on saying, a nod following suit. And he kept nodding, the bounce of his head speaking more to his nerves than anything else.

He never tore his eyes away from the stove, not even as he spoke.

May smiled at him, all the same time.

“That’s so great,” she said — genuinely, relief coating her tone. She leaned forward on the sofa, pressing her balled fist into Peter’s knee to get his attention. “How’d it feel? Talking to him?”

Even with May tapping him back to reality, Peter took a second before looking away from the kitchen. The burners still blazed with a reddish-orange color, and the pot still splashed sauce inside where it simmered to a boil, but it didn’t require anyone’s immediate attention. May was ‘babysitting dinner’ as she’d always call it. Keeping an eye on it while it cooked for itself.

Peter looked to his lap before looking back up at May.

“I...I still feel bad. About what happened,” he admitted. The nodding stopped, and instead he cleared his throat to get the next words out. “But, you know...staying guilty doesn’t fix things. I’m going to do better. Next time. This time? Present time. Not to say that in the future I won’t — either way. I’m going to do —”

“I know you are, tough guy,” May seamlessly interrupted him, opening her balled fist to lay her hand down on Peter’s knee, squeezing the jean material and the flesh beneath it. “You’re a good kid. Your mistakes don’t change that.”

Peter craned his head around, looking to his hip where the smelly-goat-cloth-covered-item sat on the couch. He went to pick it up, only to simply hold it in his hand.

It weight absolutely nothing to Peter, but lifting it was suddenly an impossible task. So he stared at it instead.

“I know I’ve said it like, sixteen thousand times so far...but...I’m really sorry,” Peter began, so quiet that the neighbors dog almost overtook his voice — shrill barking came from across the hall and easily leaked into their apartment. “For treating you that way. For scaring you.”

The neighbors Maltese was definitely louder than that last part.

Nonetheless, Peter was pretty sure May heard him. The expression on her face confirmed as much when he finally forced himself to look back at her.

He also had to force himself to ease the grip he had on the cloth-wrapped-item. He didn’t care how many backpack straps he ripped in two, there was no way he’d forgive himself if he broke this.

Peter threw his head back around, looking at it one last time.

“I wanted to give this to you when we first got back, but...I got…” Peter trailed off, a frown pulling harshly at his face. He shook it off. “I dunno. I got stuck in my head overthinking it, or something. Mr. Stark’s always telling me not to do that.”

Biting the bullet, Peter grabbed the object and twisted around on the couch, practically shoving it right at May.

“Here.”

He did shove it right at May — she startled back, the item so close that it nearly rammed right into her stomach. Luckily, she reached out for it before any harm could be done; taking the rectangle sized plank from Peter with cautious speed.

“What is this?” she asked, both curious and confused all in one go.

Peter sucked in his lips to the point where they disappeared somewhere inside his mouth.

May took that as ‘find out for yourself.’

The cloth that encased the item was heavier than both the material of her shirt and Peter’s combined. It was tied off with a thin, braided rope; frayed from top to bottom, tied in an unfamiliar bow that May easily pulled apart.

“Oh my gosh,” May breathed out, uncovering the item one fold at a time, until the cloth was completely unwrapped and she was able to lift the item off her lap. “Peter, this is beautiful.”

The little light still remaining from outside shined in through the living room windows, casting off the canvas that May held in the air. She turned it over in her hands to get a complete look, viewing it from front and back.

The portrait caught the sunset and reflected colors that both May and Peter swore they’d never seen before.

“Wakanda?” May turned to face him, her one hand pressing against her chest as the other kept the item in the air. “You got this in Wakanda?”

Peter gave a tight-lipped smile and a brisk nod. At the same time, May ran her fingers across the length of the portrait — the wooden canvas was smooth and sanded, and chiseled in many places that were embedded with twine. It was art that used only natures material for its paint. Hand crafted, with a design that would catch anyone’s eye.

May kept her gaze locked on it, even as Peter spoke.

“Before we left, they let me tour the city — well, I kinda begged to see the city, and Mr. Stark wasn’t cool with it at first but Shuri tagged along and King T’Challa even spent time with us and — anyway, there was this super small jewelry shop in their marketplace, ran by this woman and her daughter — I can’t remember their names but they were so friendly.” The only reason Peter paused was to take in a breath of air. “Everyone there was so nice, May, it was so cool, you would’ve loved it.”

As Peter rambled, May briefly gave him her attention — with her eyebrow arched, and a tug pulling at her lips.

“Anyway,” Peter caught on. So much for promising to slow down when he talked. “I saw this and told them, you know, it was really pretty. And they told me it had this meaning behind it — that-that all the details mean something.”

Nervously, Peter scooted closer to May on the sofa. What little distance between them no longer existed as Peter pointed to the bottom of the portrait — a slack of wood that had been polished and fashioned into something more.

“The, uh — the twine part, here, it represents roots.” Peter’s finger slid from the bottom towards the center. “And the disconnect in the middle, right there, its about — uhm, it’s-it’s about loss. And the way that this separate piece here comes in,” his finger followed the path he spoke of, “and wraps around the broken twine, it, uhm...its about how...another person, uh, comes in and...and takes-takes over the role that was left behind.”

As quickly as Peter scooted close to May, he pulled himself away — just a bounce backward on the cushion, enough space so they could both breathe fresh air, free of the residual goat fur that was permanently embedded in the material of the cloth.

His fingers, suddenly idle without a task to keep him occupied, clasped together as he closed his hands and squeezed tight.

“The mother and daughter who owned the shop, they were…” Peter stuttered over his words, in all the ways he usually did when nervous — just never when he was around May. “Uhm, the-the daughter was adopted. By her aunt. Her mother...her biological mother...passed away when she was a kid.” Peter cleared his throat, more than once. “Actually, her, uh – her aunt wasn’t even her aunt as in like, her mother’s sister. She was, uhm...married into it.” Peter forced a laugh — a very forced, and very nervous laugh. “We had a lot in common, we talked a lot — I can’t believe I don’t remember her name. Like, of all things to have in common —”

“Peter,” May gently interrupted.

With a sheepish smile, Peter looked back down at the portrait in May’s lap, some of the frayed rope having fallen to the ground — he’d remember to pick those up before either of them vacuumed over it and it resulted in another broken vacuum.

“I uhm, I don’t know if I’ve…”

Peter felt his voice give out. He tried clearing his throat, but it did nothing the second time around.

As May continued to study the piece of art, he fell quiet.

The strings of twine, looped in through chiseled sections of real wood from real trees of Wakanda, stood out to Peter — in both literal sense of how the art was forged, and how the story of its origin reflected back in the craft.

He wanted to look at May when he spoke. Yet the heat on his cheeks was too much to look anywhere but at the art, and her hands gripping it.

“I don’t know...if I’ve ever, actually...if I’ve ever actually told you this, May, but…” Peter couldn’t keep his foot from tapping on the floor. His socks beat against the carpet in a frantic, nervous pattern. “Thank you, for...for being that mom...to me.”

A hand laid firmly down on his knee, the same one bouncing hard enough to shake his whole leg off his body. Peter snapped his head over to May, no later than the moment her hand touched down.

“I promise I’m going to do better,” he swore, talking right over anything she had planned to say. May’s mouth closed shut, but her hand stayed on his leg. “I swear, this won’t happen again. I’ll do better — I’ll be better. I promise.”

May reached forward immediately, wrapping one arm firmly around his back and pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Peter…” she let out, so close to his ear that she had to move away and let his head rest in the tuck of her neck. One hand carded into his hair and stayed there. “You are so good. You are so good, here and now — you’re a good kid, Peter.”

Pulling him away, May laid both her hands down against each shoulder of his, her smile as wet as her eyes had quickly become.

“And your Ben would be so proud of you,” she had to whisper, but not by intent. Her words choked and she smiled the sound away.

Peter did her a favor and smiled in return. He didn’t need to argue her solace — he allowed her reassurance to be as contagious as her enthusiasm. Allowing her words of encouragement to spread towards him, even if he didn’t have all it took to believe in them that very moment.

He’d allow himself to believe it, slowly, as time went on. Day by day, sometimes second by second.

He’d get there.

With everyone’s help, Peter had no doubt he’d get there.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 2: R.S.V.P

Happy didn't even get a chance to open the lid of the cardboard pizza box before Peter whipped around on the couch, so fast it was a feat he didn't tip over the back of the sofa along the way.

“Angelo's? Heck no!” Peter couldn't have shot to attention any faster had he actually been shot, his voice easily reaching over the movie and Ned's obnoxiously loud cheese slurping. “Everyone knows the best pizza place in Queens is —”

As quickly as Peter had started to talk, words suddenly failed him.

He blinked twice to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

And then a third time, just to be sure.

“Hey, Hap...” Peter slowly drawled out, his eyebrow so high up his forehead it might as well have reached the apartment above them. “Since when did you need Nascar gear to drive a Rolls Royce?”

If it had just been the leather jacket, Peter may not have questioned it at all. The gloves, however, were a tip-off, and the helmet on the kitchen ledge — well, that was as odd things could get. The longer Peter stared at it and he began to wonder how Happy's head even fit into that helmet — sleek and stylish, full-faced and definitely not something he could picture the Forehead of Security, as Mr. Stark so elegantly nicknamed him, wearing around town.

Happy had already started to take off his thick and heavy-looking leather gloves when he went to answer.

“Happy's going through a mid-life crisis,” May beat him to it — still paying attention only to the screen of her laptop, even when Happy threw her a look normally reserved for the teenagers sitting across the apartment.

“I am not going through a — ”

“Oh my god!” Ned’s exclamation easily tore through any defense Happy may have conjured up. No different than Peter, he flipped over the couch at a speed that did nearly tip him over the back of the sofa. It was only with Peter's help that he regained balance, all the while excitedly asking, “Did you get a motorcycle, Mr. Hogan?”

Peter quickly shot his head towards Ned, and just as quickly back to Happy. The expression on the man’s face said it all, and if that didn't, the look of exasperation on May's certainly did.

“Not just any motorcycle,” Happy went on to answer regardless, the gleam in his eyes making him seem nearly as giddy as both the kids. “A Harley Cruiser, the best low rider on the market right now. Brand spankin’ new, too — custom-designed paint job, one of a kind.”

Ned squealed, easily out-doing Happy’s excitement.

“Dude, seriously?” Peter wasn't far behind them both — his grin grew large enough to see his back molars, and he was already jumping over the back of the sofa to hustle into the kitchen — literally jumping over the back, yet making sure his feet landed gracefully and without so much a thud to upset the downstairs neighbors. “You got a bike? That’s so cool!”

Taking off her glasses with one hand, May looked away from her laptop and craned her head up at Happy.

“Tell them what you originally wanted.”

A beat of silence fell over the kitchen. The movie kept playing in the background, even as Peter stumbled into the kitchen — the bottoms of his worn out but still very pink Hello Kitty pajama pants nearly tripped him up twice.

He looked at Happy, expectedly, the building curiosity in his eyes somehow louder than all the nonstop ramblings he could have for hours on end.

Happy tried making his shrug as casual as possible. “Technically I was looking for a sports bike, something more like a crotch rocket —”

“No, it was a crotch rocket,” May couldn’t help but interrupt, her words saturated with easy laughter as she leaned back into the kitchen nook. Folding both arms across her chest, and lifting her chin up high, she caught Happy’s gaze with a smirk. “And tell them why you couldn’t get one.”

At this point, even Ned had turned away from the TV, though he stayed put on the sofa as he picked for another slice of pizza to consume — reaching into the box blindly, not daring to tear his focus away from the conversation taking place.

Happy looked to Peter and back to May, and then back at Peter, before finally answering,

“It…it hurt my back.”

May scoffed and went right back to her laptop, already typing away before Happy could even consider gathering his defenses.

“Just a little, nothing major,” he eventually managed, turning away from Peter and right towards May — wagging a finger as if it bettered his case. “And you know, I still think I may have slept wrong the night before, I could’ve probably just gotten that Suzuki 650 —”

“So anyway,” May shot her head up and looked right at Peter, “Happy’s going through a mid-life crisis.”

Peter was already halfway across the apartment before she'd even finished talking.

“Is it out there? Right now?” Yanking up the blinds, Peter practically stuffed his face against the window, pressing his nose so hard against the glass it left puff marks with each breath he took. “The bike? Is it here?”

Happy rolled his eyes so dramatically, it was remarkable they didn't get stuck at the back of his skull. “No, I walked here — what do you think, kid?”

Completely unfazed by the sarcasm, Peter whipped around and pushed off the window — already five leaps across the apartment in the time it took to take a single breath.

“Can you show me how to ride it?”

It was hard to say if it was Peter's animated enthusiasm that caught May’s attention, or his rapid reappearance into the living room — both did the trick well, and May shot her head up at a speed that should've given her whiplash.

“What?” She tugged forcefully at her ear. “Say that again?”

Peter threw both his arms out wide.

“I’m a quick learner!” he insisted, realizing that his justification was a bit on the weak side as he went to yank up the waistband of his Hello Kitty pajama pants. Scrambling for a better defense, he practically jogged to the kitchen table to break the distance between them. “And what's the harm? I have my license now and everything!”

May brought down the screen of her laptop with a hearty chuckle. “You need a whole different license for that, bug boy.”

Though Peter's face noticeably dropped, he kept pushing on.

“Okay, but like, really, what's the harm?” Peter looked to Happy, as if hoping the man would join his side — only to find him busy with the different boxes of pizza laid out on the kitchen table. As he decided between pepperoni or supreme for his choice of dinner, Peter turned back to his aunt. “What if I need to know how to ride a bike? What if, one day, I need that information, May?”

May looked completely unpersuaded. “You can YouTube it.”

Peter's face dropped even more, and he pointed a finger at the man decked out in leather. “Happy can teach me now!”

“Tony Stark himself could barely teach you how to drive a car,” May reminded him, her head tilting so far to the side that her earlobe pressed up against her shoulder. “You just barely passed that driving test.”

Peter swung his finger from Happy right over to May. “But I passed.”

May met his smugness with her own. “Seven shopping carts, Peter.”

“Six and a half!” Peter argued, immediately. The small smirk that bled through his bite put a brief pause between them before he eventually clarified, “The small ones don’t count as a full cart.”

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 3: Something Old

“Is he losing things again?”

The voice came at a distance to Peter, but that was mostly because he’d stuck his head behind the file cabinet to see if anything happened to wind up back there.

When he looked back around, Happy was already inside the office, both hands stuffed casually inside his pant pockets.

“Of course he is,” May answered easily, watching with a straight face as Peter began looking through the bookcase pressed up against the wall. When he started pulling out books, going so far to open them up to see if anything were between the pages, she simply rolled her eyes.

“Not very responsible sounding,” Happy’s answer was just as simple, earning a honest chuckle from May — and a clap of her hands that followed suit.

“Alright Peter,” she said, clapping two times in total, “you’ve torn apart my office enough as it is. Happy’s here — go, get out, you don’t have time for this.”

“Give me a minute!” Peter shoved a handful of books back into the bookcase, standing on his tippy-toes to see the shelf that hung above it. “Just a minute — I’ll find it, I just need to…”

No sooner than Peter trailed off did he twist around, grabbing the cup of pens and pencils from May’s desk and dumping the contents out completely. When that gave him nothing, he went looking inside her box of tissues next.

Happy noticeably arched an eyebrow at the scene up ahead. Though he kept his comment to himself, he had to shake his head to look away — more than once, at that — but eventually, he turned to face May, all the while pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

“You know you’ve got a truck driver outside yelling something about limes…?” he drifted off, sounding confused at what he said.

May finally let out the sigh she’d been working so hard to hold back.

“Time,” she corrected him, rubbing forcibly at her temple. “He’s not yelling about limes, he’s yelling about time — he has an accent, and I told the guys they needed to bust their butt unloading that truck!” May marched forward towards her desk only to change her mind last minute, spinning around and already making it halfway out of her office. “I don’t have time for this — I really gotta get going to this parent-teacher conference before I’m late.” May threw her one arm in Peter’s direction while the other reached for her purse sitting on a nearby chair. “Peter! You also don’t have time for this —”

“I know, I know, I’m going!” Peter dropped the tissue box with a large sigh, going to scratch at his scalp with his eyes tightly clenched shut — racking his brain a mile a minute as he mused out loud, “I swear I left them around here somewhere…”

Happy just barely resisted a snort.

“Well, that sounds familiar,” he dryly mumbled instead — not quiet enough that May didn’t hear, but not loud enough that Peter could start a defense on how he was totally responsible with his belongings and definitely didn’t lose his backpack once a week.

Even if Peter had started that defense, it would’ve been negligible — there was no way of making himself appear responsible as he hurriedly made his way to the fake fig tree in the corner of the office, bending low so he could start digging through pebbles and rocks that filled the pot.

May shook her head as she swung her purse over her shoulder, giving Peter that look all the way out of the office — stopping short of the entryway where Happy stood.

“I gotta go,” she told Happy, suddenly grinning ear-to-ear with a positivity as fake as the plant that Peter was now tearing apart. “Hey, maybe I can find some reliable help on my way to the school since Dylan never wants to show up for his shifts on time.”

Happy met May’s false enthusiasm with his own genuine seriousness. “You should really fire that guy, you know.”

May looked like she wanted to say something witty, only to stop a second short of a snappy retort.

“Later,” she decided to say in lieu of anything else, laying a relaxed hand against Happy’s arm. “Right now I gotta make sure the school isn’t going to nail me for truancy with how many absences this kid’s ranked up this year.” May patted that same arm before lifting herself slightly high on her tippy-toes to reach him. “Be safe. Don’t have too much fun.”

The peck on the lips they both shared happened to come at the exact same time Peter stopped digging through the pebbles and rocks — and the expression that followed as he turned to look at them contorted his face into something he wasn’t sure his muscles were capable of.

“That’s…never not gunna be weird,” he flatly mumbled — a handful of pebbles still clutched in his fist, and the fake tree offering no success to his search.

Though she wasn’t looking at him, Peter could see May roll her eyes.

“Lock the door on your way out, Peter,” May said as she took her exit — Happy elected to turn away entirely, finding the situation as weird as Peter had. He cleared his throat multiple times as she left the office, with her holler heard down the hallway. “And I meant what I said about grounding you! Until graduation, mister!”

[thewormsarchive]

PSA: Scam "Donation" Warning:

Kathleen "Finch" Ladd AKA "Galahawk" AKA "Shining-Latios" (& other alts) has, for the past several months, appealed to many people for an accident fix via GoFundMe. In previous years, they also operated another GFM account aimed towards their student loan debts. *edits below*

They have shown that coasting off the hard work of others and indulging in simple pleasures is what they care for most. To hell with improving their own situation, KFL would rather be co-dependent on many other people with their own problems in life.

2023 was a very busy travel year in private for KFL; multiple trips all around several cities/states in the USA. A new residence is being setup along with their partner later in 2024. Appealing to others for financial help in the meantime. Choosing pleasure over being responsible yet scolding others for not helping enough so many times... not like KFL has actually truly thanked anyone outside of canned pre-written messages, mind you. Going so far as to trash gifts given to them because it was not to their personal liking is such a terribly selfish action. Indeed, it has been shown that KFL will trash those that have DIRECTLY DONATED MONEY to their various online accounts. Willingly tossing people under the bus, but KFL expects everyone to bend the knee to them.

Oh, well, there was the anon that dropped 4000 USD (!) on the second GFM. I suppose there was a very brief response to that...? It's a funny thing though: As those around KFL suffer, KFL ends up taking resources that could've gone to their "friends". It's okay to take from those lesser, apparently... as long as KFL is comfortable, no one else matters.

X X X X X

KFL is truly not living down the self-centered WASP allegations.

--

I advocated in the past for people to donate to their GFM, thinking that it would somehow lead this person to a more positive giving mindset after their car accident. Expecting those who already do not give towards others to suddenly do-so is also foolish, isn't it? Sadly, KFL has chosen to only give to themselves & take greatly from others. I can only apologize and offer this warning as a way to make up for such a terrible error of judgement.

In good conscience, I cannot recommend anyone else to give this person any money as of this post. They have declined not only to work their way thru life via online commissions, but also turned down an actual paid graphic position their military father found for them. Part-time at the grocery store was far more viable to them, yet they claim struggle. The art degree that was obtained with that large amount of debt is also rotting away. I'd imagine there are so many teachers out there so eager to have that document - eager to improve the lives of children currently growing up in worsening conditions.

If KFL is not choosing to improve their own life, why should others contribute their own livelihoods for someone that does not care? So many chances to find a way to thrive outside their current environment ... Hell, KFL insists on using their govt name for mail, not even having the strength to use their wanted name. Being an abusive lazy narcissistic thief isn't really a great look to have no matter how many lies they hide behind. The lies will be interesting, I'm sure, given how much someone like myself likes quiet/privacy after my own child abuse survival stories. It was easy for them to get away with it for so long; taking advantage of people who have private lives thinking they wouldn't say a thing.

--

Karma comes for everyone, so keep laughing while you can. It will come to each and every person involved with such selfishness - and there's a lot it seems! Each of them may keep hiding behind 'activism' (irony of that) and nonchalance all they'd like. While karma will not be swift, it will be brutal; best prepare for it.

--

E:::

Zero growth. Absolutely no remorse in their actions; almost sociopathic. "We're not a good fit" is all they've said to stealing from others; from stealing from those in far worse situations than they've ever experienced. ... Don't think they actually realize there are more people involved in the issue, too. Indeed, there were quite a few people to offer help - those are the people I speak of with this. ... If I were to actually count up the offensives & the WASP rudeness from KFL, there would be a lot. Not wanting to center myself though, because, well, there's such a thing as a ripple effect. Many other people feel down and awful because of this one completely toxic self-centered person.

The things KFL complains of is 100% the problems they face about themselves. They are their own worst enemy. Such a terrible pity to see so much waste as KFL has created. A total crybully created from a military couple from the USA - from the start they lie and ruin themselves immensely.

I suppose though, when those in charge create such a system for its people, what can be expected from such fruit they've bore?

(Ko-Fi mirror)

[oopsallmabari]

oh man id love to hear more about Jim!! how is he involved in da3??? what’s the history with arya… 👀

oooooh tysm for the question! tbh i'm still trying to figure quite a bit of this out lol

to start with the easier question first, his history with arya. jim is one of the older cousins-a yearish older than eric (eldest of the main trevelyans), so there's a 13 year age gap between jim and arya! there's not any particular animosity between the two of them but they didn't get as close as they could have as kids because of the age difference AND because jim and her brothers did NOT get along. arya had a lot of loyalty to eric as a wee child, so as time went on she stopped actively seeking jim out to play/hang out (mainly because eric would pull her away a la 'you don't need to hang out with that unruly unkempt thing we call a family member'). and jim wasn't interested enough to press it since she doesn't exactly like her family. they definitely had a quiet alliance at larger events, though--malik and eric thrived in large social gatherings where arya and jim didn't, so jim tried to make them more enjoyable for her.

jim is in her early twenties when she hears about arya getting taken to the circle--at that point jim is still in the noble life but is chafing at it a lot, so he's one of the most sympathetic to her when the rest of the trevelyans try to erase her presence in the family entirely. he's not unsympathetic to mages, but it's moreso that he hates the strictures that the chantry imposes on life (especially since jim's supposed to be committed to chantry service but is fighting it tooth and nail). she sends a very brief letter, once, to the effect of 'hang in there, kid', and shortly after leaves the trevelyans behind and takes to the seas.

as for how he fits in to DA3: i doooont know for sure yet, and part of that is because i can't decide what worldstate he's in! i think he could get more involved in my cadash or my adaar's inquisition (since they're a little less rules and honor-bound). also, if i make jim a significant part of arya's dai story i will have to write her into my longfic which has enough family complications lmaooo.

i think i'll go with this: in arya's worldstate jim hears that his little cousin is the herald of andraste, says 'huh good for her' and stays far away from the inquisition itself. happens to be in the storm coast looking for easy work post her crew's mutiny while trying to stay the fuck away from the blades of hessarian, encounters arya a couple times and there's a nice little 'glad to see things are better for both of us, kind of' moment, and arya says he's welcome to a room in skyhold if ever he needs a place to lie low. he does briefly encounter cassandra and send her into a confused gay panic but nothing else happens.

in rhea or ikenna's worldstate i think that jim becomes a semi-companion. he's still fucking around in the storm coast to start but is more inclined to ingratiate himself to inquisitors that are so clearly opposed to the chantry's ideals and ideology (arya's not a fan of the chantry and ya she's a mage but she's more andrastian that not. not the case for rhea or ikenna). jim, with no crew, no money, and no prospects says 'hey i'm really fucking good at killing things and am not particularly liquid at the moment, you should hire me' and rhea/ikenna are like 'hell yeah cmon'. cue every single interaction between cassandra and jim being deeply homoerotically charged and kind of antagonistic (jim and cass respect each other as warriors and hot ppl but cass is horrified by jim's general audacity and jim LOVES to fuck with the uptight devout hand of the divine). they are both meant for each other and also the absolute worst for each other <3