#anyways uh. i’m the only person on the planet with the correct opinions on the characters and story and it is literally torture that

[killstreak-kritzkrieg]

wanting to watch a hansel and gretel adaptation vs the mortifying ordeal of actually doing it

[peternureyevplsdontbetraythecrew]

Wait, I'm listening to season 2 and what happened with Captain Hijikata?

" KHAN: You got spaghetti in those ears, Loo? Don’t they teach you curiosity in diaper-school anymore? Captain Hijikata! Of the One-Five-One, our goddamn precinct! It was the case of the damn decade and this walking pile of nitroglycerin decided to—

JUNO:

We really don’t need to get into the details, thanks.

KHAN:

We can’t trust him. Especially when it comes to taking down someone really big. Steel’s a glory-pig. Honor-hound. Whatever."

What more info do we have on this? Is that the case that made Juno leave the HCPD? Glory-pig would imply that he would've taken a win that wasn't his? Or tried to get under the spotlight at the expense of others? But that doesn't really seem like something Juno would do? (Even though we don't really know how a younger Juno would've acted in the HCPD). So maybe the bad reputation he got is based on a misunderstanding? Or him covering for someone?

An important point of this story is that it's linked to Diamond is some way.

Because then in The Stolen City we have this :

"And I’ve got a lot of excuses, sure. My mother, my brother, all that junk that happened in the HCPD with Diamond and Captain Hijikata... but if I’m being honest with myself I’ve always been this way. From minute one."

How is it linked to Diamond? What did Juno do?

I think I saw people talking about how the person Juno goes to see on Io at the end of season 3 could be Hijikata and honestly that would be awesome, I'd kill for some backstory, (but a part of me feels like maybe Hijikata died?? Idk that's just a feeling I have nothing to back it up)

Actually, there are 3 people I'm very interested in from the HCPD time : Diamond, Captain Hijikata and Puck Falco.

When Juno meets Rita he tells her :

JUNO: 

This can’t be happening. Is this a joke? You’re a prank, right? Falco set you up for this. Or Diamond, maybe. 

I'm not sure of what we know about Falco but I'm pretty sure they're important.

We know they were Juno's colleague, I think they had the same rank since they were both detectives?

JUNO: 

Sure, Rita, that sounds great. Hey, you mind bothering Detective Falco for a few hours? Got twenty pounds of paperwork and a serial slasher to deal with, so I'm, uh. Kinda busy. 

And idk why I thought Juno had been in the HCPD for a while already but no they met quite early in his career :

RITA: 

Okay, "Juno Steel." I get it! You've only been outta the Academy for a few months

So that means multiple things :

1. Juno either knew Puck Falco and Diamond from the academy, or they just met quite recently.

2. Juno was either already in a relationship with Diamond in the Academy or it happened later and both possibilities are very interesting.

ANYWAY

I'm also interested in knowing the amount of time between Juno and Rita meeting in the HCPD until them both leaving and Rita buying the new PI office :

RITA: 

It ain’t a gift. This is where I work, too. 

JUNO: 

What about the HCPD?

RITA:

Not anymore. I like doin’ good things for good people. An’...Detective Falco’s good people, but it just ain’t the same. Not after all that... y'know. I work for you, Boss. That's just how it is. 

Because that gap in the time-line could mean A LOT OF THINGS.

Anyway again,

We know Puck Falco was good since Rita liked them (I've also seen people saying THEY'RE the one Juno's gonna go meet on Io and honestly, I'd love it too, I just wanna know more PLS ESPECIALLY since they've transferred to another Planet I think? I'm pretty sure) so Juno and them were probably close, maybe friends?

But once again, the incident is mentioned "not after all that... y'know", that's definitely mentioning the Hijikata thing? But WHAT?

We know it was a case, we know Juno got his bad rep from it, we know from Khan it was about "taking down someone big".

(OK, sidetraking here but I'm thinking, it could've something to do with the Kanagawas? That may seem a bit random but I'm sure we've not heard the last of them sooo why not?)

But that's just guessing, we don't actually have any info on who that "someone big" could've been.

Anyway,

Going back to Diamond, we know from Rita that she was apparently gone before Juno left the HCPD so I'd say that case wasn't what caused the relationship to stop, maybe Juno did what he did during that case after the failed wedding??? But Juno very clearly links whatever happened with Hijikata and what happened with Diamond so who knows? But, that's all just guesswork and I have no clue if it would even make sense with the timeline

I don't even know if my rambling makes any semblance of sense but I wanted to spill all of this somewhere, you're free to correct me if I made any mistake or to add more info or your own hypothesis, I'd be very interested to have more opinions on these topics!

[blush-and-books]

i am always yours

canonverse juke one-shot, light angst with a happy ending :) as a part of the effort to get juke back on the tumblr fandometrics ship list! title from the end of all things by p!atd. again, fuck brendon urie, but i’ve had this hc about luke for awhile (you’ll see what i mean) and had to get this out! <3 enjoy!

When Julie told Luke about Panic! At The Disco, she didn’t just give him a list of songs to check out. She advised to listen through entire albums. 

“You have a lot to catch up on,” she said, grinning over a mug of steaming tea. Her smile could convince him to do anything. “And these guys were a phenomenon. Despite… A lot that has happened with their lead singer, you’ll appreciate the music. Just give it a try when you feel like it.”

Julie never rushed him on anything. It was one of the things he loved most about her -- she only really insisted he know how to use her phone and the internet and maybe know some memes, but the rest was up to him. She loved him -- he hoped -- even if he wanted to stay in 1995. 

However, whenever she told Luke to do something, like “look into it if you’re interested” or “check it out if you’re ever bored,” he would jump on it in an instant. 

He wondered if she ever noticed. Acts of service was one of those love language things that Flynn was always talking about, right? Does making the effort to show an interest in the other person’s life by listening to every album by a band they like count?

He would ask Reggie or Alex, but Reggie doesn’t have much experience in the love department and Alex and Willie are much better at communicating than he is with Julie. 

To be clear: Luke doesn’t have experience either. In fact, Reggie probably has more romantic experience between the two of them. 

But none of it was as serious. This weird thing he has with Julie; this undefined, label-lacking supernova of passion and emotion that he has curled up in his chest is so strong sometimes it hurts. When Julie was upset at him and ignored him, it felt like the time his mom took his guitar and locked it away for a week. 

But when Julie is around, and she’s smiling at him, he could swear that not even a roaring audience could spark the kind of nirvana he feels. 

So, the day after she gives him the name of every Panic! album to date, she goes to school for six hours and he sneaks her laptop down to the garage and starts his deep dive. 

(Yes, Julie gave him computer privileges. He knows boundaries. She’s just broadened hers.)

Blissfully and with few interruptions from his other bandmates, he goes through the first albums quickly. He skips most of Pretty Odd -- Julie should have warned him about that one -- and is enjoying himself until he gets to the later projects which are significantly less his sound. 

But he keeps going. He reaches their album from 2013, which has this neon-angsty-alt-pop vibe that he honestly has a neutral opinion on. The songs are all good until he realizes that half of them have a painfully romantic overtone that ropes his mind back to Julie every time he tries to stray. 

Fuck, one of the songs is literally titled Girl That You Love. How is he not supposed to have a montage of Julie in his head?

And then some shit called Far Too Young To Die comes on, and yes, he agrees, he was far too young to die. He also vows to never listen to it again in the next 24 hours because he is ultimately tempted to loop it until Julie comes back and kiss her breathless the second that she walks through the door. 

Moving on, Collar Full doesn’t make things much better. He is sick and tired of waiting and dancing around his feelings for her, and every time they are together he is filled to the brim with lyrics and love from just minutes in her presence. 

(“If you’re gonna be the death of me, that’s how I want to go” definitely shatters him. But only briefly. He wants to soak up every ounce of love he can get from her before the world catches up to them and he’s crossing over without his consent.)

Luke thinks that he’s out of the woods when he hits the album-ending ballad, The End of All Things. 

And then he sees that he’s still in the thick of it. 

The way it hits him is nearly indescribable -- but every line hits like a read-aloud of his diary. 

No matter where he is, or where he ends up, his soul will always belong to Julie Molina. And that’s the truth of it. He can cross over or the band could break up and he could wander the planet as a lost ghost for the rest of eternity, but his soul will linger; tied with Julie’s in an unsolvable knot. 

He is hers. 

He is hers, he is hers, he is hers. 

And he’s in love with her. 

He can’t ask her to love him back. But he can hope, right? For just a single moment where they can lay together and be Julie and Luke like they should have been.

The tears on his cheeks and under his eyes don’t register until they are streaming down his neck and onto the pillow that he’s laying on. 

He doesn’t deserve Julie, he knows that. And he knows how fucking selfish it would be to even try. But sometimes the wanting reaches inside of him and individually snaps each and every one of his ribs, and that feeling keeps him pushing and pulling like the tide. Get close to her, make her smile, make her laugh. 

Leave her alone. Stop flirting. Don’t you dare hurt her. 

Think about somebody other than yourself. 

This song, he ends up looping. Over and over and over until his emotions are exhausted and he doesn’t have any tears left to cry. He’s on his… Probably his ninth listen when the doors crack open, and the piano music is leaking out of the garage as Julie slips in. 

“Luke! Hey, uh… Oh! You’re listening to Panic!”

He guiltily allows his heart to skip at the pleasant surprise in her smile. Clearing his throat, he swipes his hands viciously across his cheeks to rid of the tear stains and shoots her one of his classic smiles. “‘Course, Boss. You told me to.”

Her backpack hits the coffee table as she slowly approaches the couch to settle next to him. “Yeah, well… I didn’t actually expect you to. People normally just say ‘yeah, I’ll check it out!’ and then no one talks about it again.”

Something rubs him the wrong way about her not thinking that he would actually follow through with her recommendation. Does she doubt him? How does she not know that she could say jump and he would ask how high?

“Well, I’m not normal people. I care about what you care about.”

He knows he got her when she averts her eyes to Alex’s drums across the room; giving Luke a perfect view of her blush. Maybe he lets himself revel in it for a moment longer than necessary. 

“Anyways, how was school? Did you have a good day?”

“It was fine,” she shakes off her previous flusteredness, tucking her leg under her body so that she can turn to fully face him. “But there's nothing to tell. I would much rather hear about what you thought of Panic! And you have to tell me why you were wiping tears off of your face when I came in.”

Luke mirrors her position and gives her a joyful grin, trying to ignore the fact that she clearly noticed him trying to clean his face and wants to talk about it. The two of them have been so good at communication, and if it were about anything else, he would tell her. 

But he was nearly sobbing because of how much he loved her and couldn’t have her, so… 

“They were pretty cool, I’ll give it to you. I liked the album… Vices and Virtues?” Julie nods her head. “Yeah, that one. I was finishing the Vegas one when you got home.”

“Did you like it? The album you just finished. It sounded like End of All Things when I came in.”

With wide eyes and an exaggerated nod, Luke is praying internally that she will move on and go on a tangent about her favorite albums and songs because he just wants to listen to her talk and quietly love her instead of dodge questions about his emotions. 

“Okay, and did you like it? Is that-” She chuckles. “Is that what got you emotional? I mean, I get it, that song hits different sometimes, but-”

Luke stays quiet. If he keeps his mouth shut, and just smiles and stares and nods, it won’t slip. 

“... Luke? Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, of course!”

“... So? Are you… Are you okay? Did it remind you of your mom?”

It reminded me of you, he instantly corrects her with the little voice in his head. 

But the voice sounds louder than usual, and then Julie’s eyes widen, and Luke couldn’t even smile and nod well enough to cover this up. Since when is he so bad at bottling up his emotions?

Right. Since he couldn’t write songs about his feelings. Because if he did, Julie would see them, so every word of affection toward her was shoved into an overflowing filing cabinet in his brain that was probably waiting to explode at any moment. 

“It- Really?”

Mental checklist: She isn’t running away. She isn’t crying. She isn’t running away while she’s crying. 

She isn’t slapping him, or screaming at him, or expressing any negative emotions. 

Maybe he can push another inch… Just for some relief.

“Y- Yeah.” The single word takes considerable effort to stutter out, but he says it. 

Julie formulates her next move. “And… Like, what about it? What reminded you of me?”

Is Luke imagining things, or did she just shift closer to him? Oh, God. The selfishness has already done it’s damage. He’s initiating something that he definitely shouldn’t for both of their sake, but-

God, why does she look so pretty?

“Y’know,” he scratches the back of his neck, “the… The lyrics.” 

“The lyrics?” “Yeah.”

“Which ones?”

She’s leaning in. Her fingers are trailing up the side of his leg, and he wants to poof himself out of this conversation but what would hiding do? Just create a bigger gap between them?

His mom always told him he was selfish. He really, really doesn’t want to be selfish to Julie. He wants to protect her. He wants to put her health and happiness and life before his. Hurting her will never give him peace. 

Is he being selfish either way? Telling her his feelings to make himself feel better, and avoiding his feelings because he thinks it will be better without talking to her about it -- neither are ideal, are they?

His hand, which was previously resting in his lap, inches down to brush against hers. “The first verse…” Their index fingers wrap around each other. “And the chorus, and the second verse…”

Both of their hands tangle until Luke doesn’t even remember what his hand looked like before, because all he sees is a bronze-ivory marble of skin and he knows he doesn’t ever want to see his hand without hers again. 

“Luke…”

“Yeah, Boss?” “Why were you upset?”

She really won’t let it go. She clearly knows him too well, because he would hope any other person would be distracted by the fact that they were about to kiss, but this is Julie. They’re friends first. Family first. 

He owes her honesty, doesn’t he?

“Because the song was right,” he answers, staring deadlocked at their joined hands. “No matter where I am, or how much time goes by… It’s gonna be you. On my mind. My feelings will never change.”

He can’t tell, but Julie’s heart ignites in her chest. 

“Feelings? What-”

Somehow, the words still don’t want to come out. The eight letters are resisting every opportunity she has offered him, so he resorts to actions and cuts her off by raising their joined hands to kiss the back of her hand. 

His lips linger before their union drops back into the space between them.

“... Oh.”

“Yeah.”

In a moment of courage, Luke peeks up at her, just to see how she looks. If he can read everything she’s feeling in a millisecond of a glance. 

There are tears in her eyes. 

“Whoa, Jules, why are you crying?” “Why were you crying?”

“Because I’m afraid of doing this!” Her hand tightens around him at his volume. “Julie, I- I don’t want to do anything selfish. I can’t have you thinking I’m selfish. I’m afraid of-” He has to take a deep, shaky breath. “When we hold hands or when you smile at me and I just feel so much and then I tell myself that I can’t, because you have so much ahead of you, and I don’t even know what’s in my future.”

The tears well in her eyes. “What would you be doing that’s selfish, Luke? You have a second chance at life. You should fucking live it. You have a future, and it has the boys, and the band, and me. I’m in your future.” 

There’s a beat, because he’s looking at her, and he wants to cry but he wants to say it so badly. 

He still doesn’t know how much time he has in the future, but Julie is telling him that she’ll be there. And he needed that more than anyone would understand. 

“Well, aren’t I?”

Julie’s question shocks him a little because he hadn’t realized that he had been quiet for so long. Her bottom lip trembles the smallest amount when she sucks in a deep breath, and it sets him off to do what he had once deemed to be the most selfish act of all. 

His free hand tucks itself in the hair on the base of her neck and tugs her towards him before he covers her mouth with his in a kiss that he has furiously dreamed of for a long time. For such a sweet moment, there is an overload of passion behind it. All of his fantasies were rushed and adrenaline-fueled after shows before he would talk himself down; and now, that is translating to this kiss.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps as he pulls away. “That’s the selfish thing I was worried about. Fuck, I-”

Her hand wrestles free from his, and suddenly, two hands are on his cheeks like the night after the Orpheum and the love of his life is pulling herself into his lap. On autopilot, he untucks his leg from underneath him and shifts to sit normally on the couch while Julie’s legs hold her up on each side of his hips. 

And she’s kissing him again, touching him again, before he can let the panic set in. She moves her lips against his like she has her own overflowing filing cabinet of feelings and fantasies and lyrics just for him.

Her hands wondrously drain every jolt of worry and anguish from his nervous system as they run from his face to his arms to his chest and back again. Kissing Julie Molina is a thousand little feelings and it’s own feeling  in itself.

When you get cold water from a water fountain and it’s so refreshing that you insatiably want more. When the set ends and Luke is taking his bows and watching people scream and clap for their performance, knowing once again he’s succeeding in the one thing he’s ever wanted to do. 

Only now, making music is now tied with making Julie happy on that list of priorities. 

Holding her under his hands is stupidly one of his favorite things, and in this context, it is leaving him clawing for more. He applies more pressure against her back to try and press her closer, but it never feels like enough. 

Julie is an endless fountain of fervor, and he can only drink up everything he can get. 

She’s the one who pulls away this time; but she keeps her fingers knotted in his hair because she plans to not stray far. 

“You’re not selfish,” she sighs, chest heaving with deep breaths. “If you think that’s selfish, then I’m selfish. And we can do this together. We deserve it.”

Hearing the words tumble from her lips cancels out every fight he’s ever had with his mother. 

She’s right -- they do deserve it. She shut the world out for a year, he was locked away from the world for 25, and by some miraculous turn of fate, they were brought to each other. 

“We deserve it,” he repeats, a little distracted by her blown pupils and delirious smile. “We deserve it.”

They lean in at the same time to fall back into one another like it’s a new routine they’ve set. Luke doesn’t say the words, not yet, at least-

Because like she said, they deserve this. Julie Molina is on his lap, in his arms, playing him with her soft hands like his skin is the ivory keys she’s been playing since childhood. He loves her, and he’s pretty sure that she loves him -- so maybe, even though the future is uncertain, he can just wait a little longer to tell her. There’s simultaneously less of a delay and less of a rush. 

Later, when they’re in her room and staying up way too late for a school night in deep discussion, he mumbles it against her forehead while she has her head tucked into his shoulder and their shared earbuds are playing The End of All Things. 

Any concerns of selfishness fade when she wastes no time in reciprocating his declaration and punctuating her feelings with a cripplingly soft kiss above his collar bone. 

If any of this is selfish, they can be selfish together. Luke can find himself to be content in that if Julie is right there with him. 

--

tags: @lydias--stiles @bluefirewrites @willexx @moreflowersthanweeds @ruzek-halstead @xxprettylittletimebombxx  @unsaid-emily

[searchingforstarss]

you held your pride like you should have held me

by @searchingforstarss for @irondad-is-cannon-bitch, written for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange - i took your argument prompt, added in a little whump and here we are! i hope you enjoy this <3

rating: teen 

relationships: peter parker & tony stark, peter parker & tony stark & james rhodes

characters: peter parker, tony stark, james rhodes, bruce banner

summary: “I had to take the risk!” Peter snaps. “I saved your life.”

Tony’s stare hardens. “Yeah, and nearly ended your goddamn own. This isn’t a trade-off. It wasn’t your call to make.”

You would have done the same thing to protect me,” Peter points out. Tony just seethes at the statement.

“I don’t care about what you think I would have done. You are not me. And I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself."

or, as the timer ticked down, Peter knew his only option was to take things into his own hands. He just didn’t expect Tony to be mad at him for saving his life.

read on ao3

“What’s our game plan for tonight?”

“Our what?”

“Our game plan.”

“Kid, I don’t think I’ve ever had a game plan in my life,” Tony says as he tips blueberries into the blender. “I kind of just… do.”

He looks up towards where Peter is perched on the benchtop, letting himself be distracted for a moment. Almost the entire punnet of blueberries ends up in the blender and he curses, reaching in to scoop a handful back out.

“I was talking to FRIDAY earlier-”

“Oh, were you now?”

Peter nods his head, completely ignoring Tony’s snark. He’s learned to let it all roll off his back by now. “Yeah, she was telling me all about the guys we’re going after and well, I was thinking that since I’ve seen Chitauri tech up close and all - not that you haven’t, with the whole New York thing-” Peter cuts his ramblings off, stopping short when he realises that was probably the wrong thing to bring up. Tony’s leaning up against the bench, watching him carefully. His face remains carefully schooled, but Peter’s quick enough to catch the slight wince that flashes across his face for a second. The two of them don’t really talk about New York. That day was distressing enough for Peter, being separated from May and Ben in the midst of the panic, let alone for Tony who flew a literal nuke through a hole in space. “I, uh, anyway,” Peter resumes awkwardly, “what I mean is since I’ve seen what they do with the weapons, surely that means I should go in first and scope out the-”

Tony turns around. “No.”

Before Peter can open his mouth to speak again, Tony switches the blender on, the room filling with noise.

Okay. Rude.

“What do you mean, no?” Peter asks as soon as Tony turns the blender off again. Tony turns to him, a tired expression settled into the lines on his face like he’s been expecting this argument.

“When I said you could come along, I meant to get a feel for what’s going on. Get a little bit of field experience under your belt. But from a distance. I don’t want you in the middle of anything.”

Peter tries to school his features into a neutral expression and not let them fall into the petulant frown he can feel coming on. “How is it field experience if I’m stuck outside the whole time?”

Tony’s been hesitant about letting Peter come along on these types of things, so when he finally agreed to let Peter tag along with him and Rhodey to bust an illegal Chitauri weapons ring, this wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. He can be useful, he knows he can - especially since he’s seen these weapons up close, he knows what they can do.

“You gotta learn teamwork, kid. We always need someone out there watching our six.”

Tony turns to get a couple of glasses out of the cabinet above him. Peter slips off the counter and steps closer to him. “But I can do more than that! I'm practically an Avenger!”

“An honorary one at most, maybe. More like the team mascot.”

Peter frowns. “You did offer me a place on the team, you know, just in case you forgot.”

Tony tenses almost imperceptibly. “Yes, we are forgetting. That was irresponsible of me and I’ve since retracted said offer. My terms are that once you finish high school, then we’ll talk Avengers. You know this, Pete.”

Peter sighs. He knows that Tony worries. The older man is still meticulous about making sure he picks up Peter’s every phone call and insisting that he pops into the tower to check-in after each patrol (okay, maybe that one only came about after Peter tried to hide a broken arm for a couple of days but he really did have it all handled), even though it’s almost been a year since Toomes.

They’re closer now. Peter always thought the closer they got the more trust Tony would have in him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not qualified to save the world until high school has provided me with the necessary skills, like reciting the entirety of Shakespeare’s discography and knowing how to list everything in my backpack in Spanish, got it,” Peter grumbles.

“Did you just refer to Shakespeare’s plays as his discography?” Tony looks incredulous, his eyes widening almost comically, but Peter just groans again, tipping his head back in frustration.

“Of course that’s all you got from that. I was trying to show you that high school is pointless in the grand scheme of things, Mister Stark. I could be useful! You know I could.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Pete. You finish school, get the piece of paper and let me take at least a dozen photos of you wearing one of those stupid-looking graduation caps. That’s my price for putting in a good word for you with the Avengers.”

“You basically are the Avengers.”

“I’m sure the others would be very offended to hear you say that.”

Peter shrugs, unbothered. Tony takes a moment to turn around and divide the smoothie up between the two glasses before speaking again. “Look, I’m going to be totally honest with you right now, okay Pete? This is something that Rhodey and I are doing for SHIELD, and-”

“You can’t not let me come,” Peter interjects. It’s taken him months of wheedling to convince Tony that he’s finally ready for the big stuff. Peter twists a few fingers into the fabric of his hoodie, suddenly nervous that Tony might change his mind completely.

Tony sighs. “I’m not going back on my word. I just don’t want you involved with SHIELD before you have to be. Which means for a little while, you’ve just gotta lay low and watch and learn. I need you to trust me on this one.”

Peter knows that it’s time to drop it as soon as he sees the pleading look on Tony’s face - pleading with Peter to just listen to him. He gives Tony a small smile. Tonight, he’ll just have to try and show Tony that he can be useful. That he can listen to directions. That he’s worth keeping around.

“Plus, if I let you get hurt May will probably kick my ass all the way from, where is she with her college buddies this weekend? Ohio?”

“Oregon, Mister Stark,” Peter corrects.

“Exactly. That’s what I meant. Now drink up,” Tony says, pressing a smoothie into Peter’s hands. All the purple from the blueberries has been lost in amongst the green from the spinach and kale that Tony undoubtedly shoved in there when Peter wasn’t looking. It’s disappointingly healthy-looking. “Oh, don’t look at it like that,” Tony chastises good-naturedly. “You need your energy for tonight.”

“I’m not even doing anything but sitting there.”

“You’re gonna keep an eye out. That’s an important job, kiddo. Real high stakes.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Just count your blessings it’s not a school night, otherwise your ass would be doing nothing apart from sitting at home.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re the lamest person on the planet?”

---

“And you’re both totally sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”

Tony shoots Peter a sharp glance. Peter thinks he hears Rhodey stifling a laugh.

“We’re sure,” Tony says firmly.

Night has fallen to give them a cover of darkness as they stand in front of the warehouse. In Peter’s opinion, he’s not sure it looks particularly like a dangerous criminal hideout. This whole place looks like nothing more than a regular old warehouse district, the type that you would never look twice at when driving by on the highway.

“We shouldn’t be any longer than half an hour, kid,” Tony promises. He eyes the run-down looking side door they’re standing in front of. “All we have to do is get the weapons out of here, and I don’t think we have a whole lot of security to contend with.”

As if proving his point, he takes aim at the rusty lock and chain over the door and blasts it with his repulsor. The whole thing unravels and falls to the ground with a dull clunk.

“I was right. As usual.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes, but his military instincts keep his eyes trained firmly on the door, watching in case something - or rather, someone - that they’re not expecting comes to greet them. Tony, on the other hand, is much more relaxed.

He turns to face Peter, “You know what to do?” he asks.

“Yep. Watch the perimeter. Tell you straight away if I see anything sketchy,” Peter answers, repeating what Tony drilled into him on the way here.

“And?” Tony prompts. Peter groans.

“Stay out of trouble.”

“That’s right,” Tony nods, satisfied. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Be careful,” Peter says after them, “and good luck!”

Tony shoots him a cocky grin. “Always, kid. And keep your luck, I don’t need it. Never have. I’m Tony St-”

“Get your ass in here, Tony,” Rhodey calls over his shoulder, voice echoing from where he’s already disappeared into the warehouse. Tony’s smile widens and he turns away from Peter, ducking through the doorway.

Peter watches them as they disappear into the darkness of the building. The door creaks shut slowly behind them, and for a split second, he considers following after them. They won’t notice, especially if he’s as quiet as possible. Plus, if he manages to take down a few of the arms dealers then Tony could never be mad at him for not listening. It would be awesome.

He lets himself revel in the glory of his daydream for a moment longer before he shakes himself out of it. He’s being stupid. He knows what his mission is. It’s to keep watch - nothing else.

He shoots a web up towards the roof of the building before he can change his mind and swings himself up.

---

Peter tries his hardest to patrol diligently for the first thirty minutes.

He paces the roof back and forth, watching out for any suspicious activity, but the warehouse district remains empty. The most exciting thing he sees is a racoon walking along the fence line. He jumps to alert at one point as a metallic sound catches in the wind and echoes through the night, but it just turns out to be a stray soda can being blown across the concrete.

A small part of him almost hopes that a nefarious looking figure slinks out of the shadows and tries to take their raid down just so that he can do something. How is he ever going to impress Tony if all he can say he’s done is hang out on a rooftop and watch cars go past on the Long Island Expressway?

---

After forty-five minutes, it all starts to get a bit dull. He’s not sure what’s taking Tony and Rhodey so long.

He tried to count the cars whizzing by on the expressway briefly, but all the bright lights gave him a headache after a while. He practised a few of the new web-shooter combinations that he and Tony dreamt up last week, and then once there’s webbing sprayed across a section of the roof he spends a good ten minutes with solvent trying to dissolve it all just to give him something else to do. 

Now, he’s resorted to having Karen help him practice for his Spanish quiz on Friday just to pass the time.

“How would you describe your family, Peter?” Karen asks him. Peter kicks at a bit of gravel mindlessly as he walks along the roofline, thinking.

“Uh,” Peter pauses, “Mi familia es pequeña. Mi tia se llama May. Mi tía es muy… amable? La quiero mucho.”

“That’s right, Peter,” Karen praises, but he’s startled out of his practice by his comms crackling to life in his ear for the first time tonight.

“Peter?” It’s not just Tony checking in like Peter guessed it might be, but Rhodey instead. His voice is tense and Peter’s on alert immediately. “Come in, Peter. Are you still outside? We-”

“Of course I’m still here, ” Peter rushes out, almost offended that they thought he might ditch. “I’m on the roof. What’s happening?”

“We need you to get down here.”

Peter pauses. Is this a trick? Some kind of test? They told him to stay out here, to keep watch. But Tony wouldn’t do this to him, surely?

“But, Mister Stark said-”

“Tony is not in a position to be calling the shots right now,” Rhodey says firmly.

“Is he-”

“Peter. Please,” Rhodey says, more steel in his voice than Peter has ever heard from the man. “Just get in here.”

Okay. No more questions.

He can do that.

“Got it.”

Peter vaults off the roof, jogging around to where he vaguely remembers the entrance being. Anxiety buzzes through him. Tony is not in a position to be calling the shots right now. What does that even mean? Peter’s brain runs away from him before he can help it. What if Tony’s been hurt? Images of him lying on the ground, bleeding and broken, flash through his mind but he tries to shove them down as he heads inside.

The warehouse is just a series of vast empty rooms, high ceiling and rickety walls which don’t look very structurally sound. Peter makes his way through a few of them, each one just as deserted as the last. He can hear hushed voices though, Tony and Rhodey, so he follows the sound.

They’re arguing, Peter realises when he steps into the room. They’re backed into a corner, neither of them looking in his direction. Rhodey’s back is turned and Peter can only just catch a glimpse of Tony from over his shoulder. He looks like he’s standing upright, which instantly lays some of Peter’s anxieties to rest.

“I’ll burn you if I repulsor it off,” Rhodey hisses. “Just wait for Peter to get here.”

“Oh, don’t get me started on that. Peter shouldn’t even be here in the first place, you know he’s safer outside where-”

“He was on the roof, Tony. He would have been just as screwed as you and me.”

“Uh, hey, guys?” Peter says cautiously. As he makes his presence known, he sees Tony’s eyes whip up towards him, face paling significantly at the sight of him. “What’s going on?”

Peter isn’t exactly sure what he was expecting to find when he was called in - but as Rhodey sidesteps slightly, finally giving Peter a proper view of Tony, he realises it definitely wasn’t the Iron Man suit in a heap of metal on the floor, and Tony handcuffed to a drainpipe.

What the fuck?

He hurries over to their sides, trying not to feel sick at the sight of the thick metal clamped around Tony’s left wrist. He can’t stop staring at it though. For someone who apparently never needs a game plan, Peter’s pretty sure this wasn’t how Tony intended the night to go.

“How did this happen?” Peter blurts out before he can stop himself.

“That’s not important right now. You can’t be here.” Tony turns to Rhodey. “I told you, he can’t be here. I need you out of here, Peter, please.” The panic in Tony’s voice sends an uncomfortable shiver down Peter’s spine, despite how dramatic it feels. He’s not that incapable - he’ll be fine.

“Is anyone still here? Do you need me to go after anyone? Who chained you up? How did they even do that to the suit? What-”

“Peter,” Tony cuts him off sharply.

“You can't just expect me to walk in here and be totally cool with the fact that the suit is smashed up and you're chained to a wall,” Peter stresses, voice pitching slightly higher with confusion and maybe just a little bit of hysteria.

Tony huffs out a frustrated sigh. “Look, there a few of the guys running this place were still hanging around when we got in here. I split off from Rhodey and they caught up with me before I could even get a goddamn look at what sort of operation they’ve got going on. They told me to get out of the suit-”

“And you did?” Peter interrupts Tony incredulously, looking towards Tony. He never parts with his suits on missions like these, never.

“They had weapons - all their Chitauri shit would have fried the suit in a second - in fact it did,” Tony snaps, gesturing with his single unchained hand to the pile of charred metal. “It’s not exactly like I had a choice. And then they chained me up here while they made a getaway with all the illegal weapons we were supposed to be getting out of their hands.” Tony’s face crumples into one of defeat. “There you go. You’ve had your story. It's time for you to run along and put yourself to bed. Rhodey and I have got this handled, trust me.”

“Yeah, except you left out the part about the present our charming friends left us,” Rhodey deadpans. “We’re wasting time here, Tony. We just need Peter to give it a crack and then we’re out of here.”

God, there are so many things for Peter to unpack right there in that sentence. He focuses on the first thing that caught his attention, that makes foreboding simmer in his gut. “A present?”

Peter follows Rhodey’s eyes towards the centre of the room, noticing something that he hadn’t seen when he first walked in. It looks like a hunk of metal at first glance, a mess of wires snaking across the surface. It’s emitting an uneasy blue glow with Peter instantly recognises as Chitauri, the timer strapped to it flashing in the same hue.

It’s a bomb.

Tony’s earlier panic suddenly seems a lot less like dramatics and more so grounded in a situation that, in Peter’s mind, has grown very serious very quickly. He watches the numbers tick down.

3:03… 3:02… 3:01

Three minutes.

“Can’t we just... move it?” Peter asks. The suggestion sounds sort of stupid even to him because surely that would have been the first thing they thought of - but three minutes is more than enough time to get it far away enough that when it detonates, none of them will be in the hot zone.

Rhodey shakes his head grimly. “There’s no way to tell whether it’s rigged to blow if it’s moved. It’s not worth the risk.”

“What do you need me to do then?” Peter asks, suddenly hyper-aware that their time is dwindling with every second that ticks by.

“He doesn’t need to do anything,” Tony growls. “I told you, just repulsor them.”

“I’ll burn your damn hand off, Tony. I’m not doing that.” Rhodey turns to address Peter. “We just need you to try and pull the cuffs off. I couldn’t get it, but with your strength, if you can get them off then we’ll all be home free.”

No pressure then.

“I do not need Peter’s help, I need him to get the hell out of here,” Tony repeats. He sounds more frantic now but Peter just ignores him. Tony’s insane if he thinks he’s going to leave him here, cuffed in a room with an active bomb.

“Tony, you’re literally chained to a drainpipe. I don’t think we have any other options,” Rhodey says, before addressing Pete

“So I’m just your last resort? Jeez, thanks for the confidence boost guys, means a lot,” Peter mutters, joke falling flat as he takes a few steps closer to Tony, Rhodey moving out of the way to let him. Up close, Tony doesn’t look too banged up, or like he even put up a fight at all. The only sign of struggle at all is a pale bruise, just beginning to bloom underneath his right eye.

Two minutes.

Peter wraps one hand around Tony’s wrist - stomach twisting at the sight of blood from how furiously he’s been trying to get himself free - and the other around the chain of the cuffs. Tony eyes him warily. The only thing Peter can hear from this close up is Tony’s unsteady heartbeat and erratic breathing.

He yanks at the chain not yet quite daring to use his full strength out of fear of hurting Tony. It’s not enough. The cuffs don’t budge.

Peter tightens his grip on the metal. He pulls again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” Peter instructs Tony.

“You hurting me is the least of my worries right now,” Tony forces out.

Gritting his teeth, Peter channels as much of his strength into his arms as he can and he pulls and pulls and pulls.

Nothing. The chains don't budge or give even just a little. Peter’s not strong enough.

The realisation hits him like a freight train. He can’t do it.

“Vibranium,” Tony mutters darkly, “of fucking course.” The only metal Peter wouldn't be able to pull apart with his bare hands. Tony yanks at the cuffs as Peter steps back, guilty, embarrassed. The chain rattles against the metal of the pipe, echoing around the room.

There’s silence for a moment.

The resolve on Tony’s face breaks. He looks defeated, shaking his head to himself. He knows what’s coming for him. “I need you two to go. Now. Please. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“We’re not leaving you.”

“Rhodey. James,” Tony’s voice is desperate now, pleading. “I need you to take Peter and go.”

The timer ticks over again.

One minute.

Peter makes a decision. The only one there is left to make.

Even in the suit, he knows that Rhodey can’t move as quickly as him, and Tony, well, he can’t move anywhere at the moment. It has to be him.

As Tony continues to plead with Rhodey, Peter makes a few tentative steps towards the device, holding his breath - Rhodey’s words echoing in his head. There’s no way to tell whether it’s rigged to blow if it’s moved.

Two more steps closer. The timer continues, numbers flashing threateningly up at Peter. Fifty-one seconds. Fifty-one seconds left of all the rest of their lives if he doesn’t act now.

Peter’s hands are shaking as painstakingly slowly, he leans down to place a hand on the outside of the device. It’s hot to the touch, but the timer just continues counting down. Nothing happens. Tentatively still, he scoops the device up towards his chest. It doesn’t explode. 

He’s got a bomb in his arms. His heart thunders against his ribcage.

“Just shoot the cuffs with it, you complete-”

“Uh, I think I’ve got a better idea,” Peter offers, “turns out it doesn’t explode if you move it.” Both Tony and Rhodey’s eyes widen, turning towards him. “I’ll see you guys in a minute.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” Tony gasps. “Don’t you dare. Put that down. Right now.” His voice shakes with pure fear in a way that cuts right to Peter’s core. He yanks against the cuffs again, this time in Peter’s direction.

The metal of the bomb is growing hotter in Peter’s arms. He shakes his head.

“Peter,” Tony grits out, "no, no, no." He’s shaking uncontrollably now - whether from fear or anger, Peter’s not sure - as he turns to Rhodey. “What the fuck are you doing, just standing there? Get that thing off him.”

Forty seconds.

Peter’s eyes widen. Without a second more hesitation, he turns on his heel.

There’s an anguished yell from behind him, the distinct rattling of metal Peter’s gotten so used to over the past few minutes. He wants so desperately to turn around and tell Tony that it’s okay, that he knows what he’s doing, that he’s just trying to protect him.

But he doesn't have time.

He sprints.

Peter was always the slowest kid in class at elementary school. His asthma never helped - all the times that he was doubled up after running a couple of laps of the track didn’t exactly earn him many status points.

Since the bite, that’s never been a problem. Now Peter has to play down his abilities in gym class. He doesn’t play them down right now though. He can’t afford to. His legs move rapidly beneath him as he weaves through the rooms he distantly remembers coming through on his way in here, feet pounding against the concrete.

He’s outside now. Night air fills his lungs as he gasps for air, desperate for enough oxygen to sustain him at this pace.

He needs to keep going.

Warehouses, ones that he distantly hopes are unused, blur past him. He’s not far away enough yet. He knows what damage these weapons can do, he’s seen them with his own eyes. Tony isn’t in the suit. He doesn’t want him to be hurt.

He’s got to do this.

He doesn’t know how much damage this thing will do when it goes off. He needs to keep running. Peter pushes harder, further.

Twelve seconds.

He slams to a halt in the middle of what looks like an empty parking lot. Maybe companies used to keep trucks here. If they still do, they won’t for much longer anyway. Not as Peter lowers the bomb down onto the ground just as carefully as he picked it up. Six seconds flashes up at him.

He turns and runs.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The countdown in Peter’s head finishes. He’s early. For a split second, there’s silence. Blissful silence.

Then, it's shattered by the inevitable arriving with a sharp bang from behind him, piercing through the night air. It’s a horrifying, deafening sound, one that’s punctuated with the sound of splintering metal shooting outwards through the air. The heat from the vivid orange flames that dart up into the sky engulfs him.

The force hits him not even a split-second later. It knocks all the air out of his lungs, throwing him through the air.

The warehouse he can see in the distance, hazy through all the smoke and debris, is still intact.

If Mister Stark is okay then all of this is worth it - he’d do it a million times over.

He’s unconscious before he can even hit the ground.

---

“-Peter? Kid? You have to hang on, buddy. You think you can do that for me?”

A voice. It floats vaguely around Peter’s periphery but his ears are ringing and he can’t work out what they’re saying. He thinks maybe he recognises the voice. He tries to turn himself towards it but his whole body screams in protest at the movement.

It hurts. Everywhere hurts.

“God. No, no, no, don’t do this to me. Peter. Peter. I need you to stay with me, please.”

The voice sounds upset. There’s a hand holding his. He thinks he can feel it but he can’t squeeze back. He doesn’t have control of his body.

He’s in pain.

Everything is on fire.

He doesn’t want to stay. Not here. He slips back into the darkness.

There’s no agony in the darkness.

---

Peter’s head is throbbing when he wakes again, every muscle in his body aching. He cracks his eyes open to try and figure out where he is, what’s happening, but the bright light that slips through his eyelids feels like it’s burning straight into his skull. He whines, burrowing into the pillows behind him as though that will allow him to escape it.

His head is pounding. Why is it pounding?

He lets his eyes slip shut again to alleviate some of the relentless pain and tries to sort through his muddled thoughts. He casts his mind back as far as he can.

The illegal weapons ring. The warehouse.

The drain pipe. The vibranium cuffs.

The decimated Iron Man suit.

The bomb.

Mister Stark.

Mister Stark.

Peter shoves himself upright suddenly, his ribs protesting and sending a sharp jolt of pain through his chest. Instinctively, he sucks in a gasp of air, but all that does is exacerbate the pain more. He’s hardly concentrating on that, though.

He’s in the MedBay, he realises. He recognises the white-washed rooms and sterile scent like the back of his hand by now.

Tony. He needs to find Tony.

His eyes dart around until they land on a blurry figure propped in a chair at his bedside. He blinks a few more times, his eyes finally adjusting to the light.

Relief. Some of Peter's panic eases. It’s Tony.

It’s not an uncommon sight, Tony at his bedside. It’s almost concerning, maybe, the fact that Peter wakes up in these situations so often that he’s no longer fazed by it. What is unusual is the fact that Tony isn’t looking at Peter. His eyes are glazed over slightly, focused down on where he’s picking at the corner of a stark white bandage on his wrist - his left wrist, the one that had been cuffed, Peter realises in his hazy mind. The image of Tony chained to that drain pipe, skin bloodied from the way he’d been yanking at those cuffs, works its way to the front of his mind and burns itself there.

“M’ster Stark?” Peter struggles to raise his voice to anything above a rasp. At the sound, Tony looks up, snapping out of whatever daze he was in. His expression is impassive, but there’s something brewing behind it that Peter can’t quite work out.

“You’re awake,” he says simply. There’s no fussing. No rearranging of the pillows, or gentle one-armed hugs or are you okay?’s

He just reaches for the call button on the bedside table instead.

Peter’s still struggling to connect himself with reality, but the feeling that something isn’t right floods through him. He’s slightly less blinded by the sharp ache of pain now, so when he Peter looks at Tony, he sees things he didn’t notice before. He sees how tightly hunched his shoulders are, the deep lines in his face - only exacerbated by the harsh overhead lighting, eyebrows furrowed, drawn into a scowl.

But he’s okay. He’s breathing.

He’s alive.

Peter opens his mouth to say something - what exactly, he’s not sure - but he’s cut off by a voice that disappointingly, isn’t Tony’s.

Peter and Tony glance up at the same time to see Bruce passing through the doorway and crossing the room to Peter’s bedside. “Good to see you awake, Peter.” Bruce places a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder, and Peter realises that he’s still hovering at the same awkward angle he had been when he shot up to look for Tony. He lets Bruce push him back towards the pillows behind him. A tiny breath of relief puffs past his lips when the pressure is taken off his aching chest. “You gave all of us a pretty nasty scare.”

All of us. That must include Tony as well, who has returned to resolutely not looking at Peter.

“I, uh, I didn’t mean to,” Peter croaks out. His throat is horribly dry, but Bruce seems to be prepared because he pushes a glass of water into his hands. Peter grips it carefully, trying his best not to let his hands shake - with what he’s not sure. Anxiety? Pain? Leftover adrenaline? He tucks the straw in-between his lips and takes a sip just to try and alleviate some of the awkwardness he feels, not saying a word and pretending not to see the probing looks Bruce is sending Tony’s way.

“It’s okay. I’ve learnt to expect the unexpected when it comes to you, Peter,” Bruce tells him. Peter watches warily at the way Bruce’s eyes flit between him and Tony. He feels like there’s something unspoken going on that he hasn’t been let in on.

“How long have I been out for?” Peter asks, suddenly noticing the light filtering in through the darkened windows.

“About fourteen hours,” Bruce tells him. “It gave your healing a chance to give everything a good crack. It’s three-thirty on Saturday afternoon.”

Peter swallows. The last he remembers clearly is the panic etched so deeply onto Tony’s face as he sprinted from that warehouse, bomb cradled in his arms. Everything after that is a bit of a blur, a haze of freezing night air and the darkened sky above him and then fire, the reverberation of the bang, being tosses backwards like he weighed nothing - like he was nothing. That’s what people are to those kinds of weapons. Destructible. Nothing.

Peter couldn’t have let it go off anywhere near Tony. That was never even an option.

“Mister Stark, I really wasn’t trying to-”

Tony shakes his head, the movement sharp and jerky. “Just let Bruce do his job, Peter.” Peter barely recognises the tone. It’s not warm, or smooth and reassuring, the one that he’s gradually taken on as he spends more and more time at Peter’s side. This is cold and impersonal, the type of tone that makes a shiver run down Peter’s spine involuntarily. He hates it immediately.

Bruce shoots Tony a confused look, “It’s okay, I can focus just fine with you jabbering on. I’m used to dealing with the two of you.”

Tony doesn’t budge, just giving another shake of his head. “We’ll talk afterwards,” Tony says, letting himself sink back into the chair again instead of sitting ramrod straight. The movement is less relieved and more defeated. Exhausted. Worn down.

Bruce looks taken aback for a second before he regains his composure and focuses his attention back on Peter. “Are you in any pain?” he asks, feeling around Peter’s ribs. He’s gentle, but Peter flinches back anyway as he brushes over a particularly tender spot.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter sees Tony’s eyes dart up to fix on him at the movement. Concern flashes across his face but it’s gone as quickly as it came. By the time Peter can turn his head to catch Tony’s eye properly, the man is staring out the window, stony expression set back in place.

The knot of discomfort in Peter’s stomach grows.

“I see your healing hasn’t quite gotten the whole way there yet,” Bruce hums. “You broke five of your ribs,” he explains when he sees Peter’s thinly-veiled quizzical look. “A few second-degree burns on your arms. You’ve got a pretty nasty head wound as well, but with a few stitches, it will be as good as new in no time. You’re lucky that’s all it is. It looks like you took a pretty big hit when you landed.”

Peter winces, noticing for the first time the thick white bandages covering his upper arms. He’s used to this, listening to Bruce reel off a laundry list of injuries that he’s had to tend to for him. But this seems bad - even for him. He reaches up for the back of his head, feeling around. His fingertips brush over the stitches and he hisses before Bruce can wrap a hand around his wrist gently to tug him away.

“Is it bad?” he mumbles.

Tony scoffs almost inaudibly at the question. Bruce just gives him a softened smile. “Nothing a few days in bed won’t let your healing take care of.”

“A few days? But I feel-”

“Don’t argue with him,” Tony mutters, speaking up again.

That’s more than enough to shut Peter up. He bites down on his bottom lip, chewing on it anxiously as Bruce bustles around Peter for a few more minutes. He gives Peter another dose of pain meds when even shifting against the pillows makes the angry aching in his ribs flare-up, makes sure that he’s got enough liquids to keep him hydrated and checks all of his vitals once more.

“Are you going to be okay if I leave you to it?” Bruce asks once he’s finished. He’s looking directly at Peter but before Peter can even open his mouth to answer, Tony nods stiffly. “We’re fine.”

Bruce glances back at Peter, conflicted, but Peter keeps his mouth shut. He needs to grow a pair and just explain himself to Tony.

As Bruce closes the door behind him, Peter realises all of a sudden that he actually would have quite liked Bruce to stay. Especially as Tony turns to him properly for the first time since Peter’s woken up. His face is still set firmly, emotionless, but there’s a new fury that’s been let loose, burning behind his eyes.

Peter can only hold eye-contact for a few moments before he ducks his eyes away. Neither of them speaks for a minute.

“Care to tell me what the hell you were thinking?” Tony asks lowly.

Peter looks up again cautiously. “The bomb... I, I had to get it out of there.”

“And you had to do that by running out of there with it like a football?”

“I didn’t mean to get hurt, or get in the way, I promise,” Peter rushes out quickly, trying to make Tony understand. “But you were stuck and that thing was going to go off and I know I’m faster than Rhodey in the suit, it had to be me, it had to.” Peter watches as Tony sucks in a sharp breath at his words. “I was just trying to be helpful.”

“Trying to be helpful?” Tony repeats incredulously. “Is it lost on you how completely reckless you were? I don’t give a damn about what you were trying to do, not when your own actions end with you in a hospital bed,” Tony growls. “Do you know that Rhodey had to be the one to come out and find you splayed out on the concrete like a fucking ragdoll after the bomb you were carrying imploded in your arms? Or that I had to sit there, holding your hand wondering if you were about to die on me in the back of a medevac, of all places? Does any of that even matter to you?” Tony stops and sighs, burying his head in his hands for the briefest of moments. Peter wonders what he’s trying to conceal. “God, Peter. I just wish you’d put the tiniest bit of value on your own fucking life for once.”

“Of course it matters. I care about my own life” - just maybe not more than yours. Maybe I’d rather die protecting you than live with the guilt of not being able to save you - “and I was careful, I promise.”

“I don’t care how careful you were, Peter. My problem is with the fact that you picked up the damn thing in the first place. It’s the first rule of bomb safety. You don’t touch it. Ever.”

“I was never taught bomb safety,” Peter mutters, for no real reason apart from the small spark of satisfaction of talking back. He can feel his hackles rising a little as he’s dismissed so carelessly. He was just trying to help. That thing would have blown Tony to pieces.

“You shouldn’t need a fucking SHIELD standard bomb safety course to know not to pick up an active bomb and run with it. What if the bomb had gone off when you picked it up, huh? How did you know that wasn’t going to happen? Then all of us would have been done for. Even if we’d somehow survived the blast, the building would have collapsed on us. Did you think of any of this?” Tony accuses as if he thinks that in that moment, Peter had room for any other thoughts in his mind apart from the constant chant of, keep Mister Stark safe, keep Mister Stark safe, keep Mister Stark safe.

“I had to take that risk!” Peter snaps, voice raised as he loses his cool slightly. “I saved your life.”

Tony’s stare hardens. “Yeah, and nearly ended your goddamn own. This isn’t a trade-off. It wasn’t your call to make.”

“You would have done the same thing to protect me,” Peter points out. Tony just seethes at the statement, shoving his chair out backwards to stand, suddenly towering taller over Peter.

“I don’t give a flying fuck about what you think I would have done. You are not me.” Tony paces, back and forth at the foot of Peter’s bed, releasing some sort of frustrated tension that’s emanating off of him. “I let you come along because I thought I could trust you to listen to me, Peter.”

I thought I could trust you.

The words hit Peter harder than anything else. Tony can trust him. He wasn’t purposefully trying to go against orders. He was trying to save his life.

“You would have died,” Peter says, the words soft as he struggles to force them out. All his anger has disappeared now, replaced with the memory of fear pulsing through him as he remembers what went down in the warehouse. Tony would without a doubt been blown apart if someone hadn’t gotten that bomb out of there. He really, really doesn’t want to think about that. “I don’t know what I would have done if you-”

Tony shakes his head, dismissing Peter’s weak attempt at building bridges between them before he could really even say what he needs to. The movement is sharp enough that Peter’s mouth snaps shut, words dying on his tongue.

“You’re a kid, Peter, Tony thunders, the word kid flying out of his mouth with more vitriol than Peter has ever heard it from him. He’s used to the word escaping Tony’s lips when they’re pulled in a warm smile, reserved just for him. It’s not like that today. It’s the furthest away it could possibly get. “I don’t need your help. I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself. I thought you’d be able to work that out for yourself but apparently I have to spell a few things out for you. You’re not an Avenger. I just want you to survive goddamn high school - and it seems like even that’s too much to ask of you.”

Peter can feel tears burning in his eyes but he blinks them away desperately, willing himself to not let them spill down his cheeks. He’s already being spoken to like a child, he doesn’t need to give Tony any more reason to believe that he’s nothing more than that.

“I think you’re being a bit harsh, Tony,” a new voice says firmly.

Tony, clearly having been so engrossed in his tirade, jerks around to face the door. Rhodey is standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. Tony’s scowl just deepens.

“Shut it, Rhodes,” Tony snaps. “If he can handle a live bomb then I think he can handle hearing the truth.”

“You’re not going to do this. Not right now. Peter’s hurt.”

A ghost of something unreadable crosses Tony’s face. A tiny bit of the fight eeks out of his posture and his shoulders slump. His voice still has the same hard edge to it though, as he says, “I’m very aware of that, funnily enough.”

Rhodey steps forward and wraps a firm hand around Tony’s elbow, despite the protests, and all but hauls him from the room. He halts in the doorway and turns around for a second. Peter eyes him hesitantly. “It’s good to see you awake, Peter,” he says. It’s solemn but genuine.

Peter nods. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s run out of words. The two of them disappear out the door, leaving Peter alone.

Peter thinks he’d rather have just stayed asleep. At least this way the ache of his bones wouldn’t be competing with the void of regret growing inside of him.

He was just trying to protect Tony - but now all Tony sees him as is an incapable kid, and worse than that, someone that he can’t even trust.

---

The room stays empty all afternoon.

Maybe a little naively, Peter keeps waiting for Tony to reappear.

He doesn’t.

The closest he gets to any affection is from Bruce, who gives him a comforting squeeze on the shoulder as he ups his dose of painkillers before he goes to sleep.

Tony doesn’t come in to say goodnight either. FRIDAY tells him that Tony is still awake. She asks Peter if he’d like her to tell Tony that he’s asking for him.

Peter shakes his head, curling up under the blankets. “I, uh, no, no thank you, FRIDAY. I’m okay. Totally fine.”

He goes to sleep trying to believe his own words.

---

By the next morning, Peter’s head has stopped giving him grief completely, and according to Bruce, the stitches have dissolved. The burns are on their way to healing as well. The pain in his ribs is the only thing he’s really still contending with but he’s still not allowed to leave the MedBay.

Bruce hangs around for a while, listening to Peter’s weak arguments about how he feels great and how he’s sure that he’ll be totally fine if Bruce would just discharge him to go home. Tony must have told Bruce that May is away for the weekend because that particular request gets shot down extremely quickly.

After all, Peter knows Bruce doesn’t believe a single word that he’s saying, and isn't even considering his arguments for a second - but he’s indulging him anyway. It’s his way of keeping him company, at least for a little while, without making Peter feel pitied. It’s nice.

Especially since it’s the only human contact he gets for the morning - if you don’t count FRIDAY. He spends the rest of the morning scrolling aimlessly through his phone, chatting to her. Peter thinks maybe he can count her as human contact. She’s always felt real enough to him anyway, such a source of comfort in times like these that it almost feels like an insult to think of her as any less.

By the time the afternoon rolls around, Peter tells himself that he hasn’t just spent the entire morning tentatively hoping for a visit from Tony.

He was stupid to even think about it. Of course, he was never going to show. Peter learnt that yesterday.

---

A few hours later, as Peter’s making his way down his Instagram feed for what feels like the hundredth time today to try and keep his mind off everything, there’s a voice in the doorway.

“Hey, kid.”

Peter’s head shoots up at the familiar words, hope blooming in his chest for a moment before his eyes meet the person’s in the doorway. Rhodey. The hope withers and dies.

He forces his lips into what feels like the barest shadow of a smile. He doesn’t know why he thought it might be Tony. Of course it isn’t him.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Unlike yesterday, where he appeared briefly to all but haul Tony out of the room, Rhodey appears to be intent on staying this time. He crosses from the doorway to Peter’s bedside and sinks into the chair that Tony had been occupying yesterday.

“How’re you doing?” he asks once he’s settled, watching Peter carefully like he’s trying to pick up on any tells. Peter attempts a smile again. If this was Tony he might be worried about his poor acting skills giving him away, but it’s not. As much as he likes Rhodey, he doesn’t know him like Tony.

(Not many people know him like Tony.)

Peter shrugs. His ribs have been aching all morning and he’s got a splitting headache that just won’t leave. It’s probably too much phone time. Tony would tell him to put it away and let his eyes rest if he was here.

“M’fine.”

“Did you sleep okay?”

As Peter shrugs again in answer, Rhodey seems to cotton on to the fact that Peter doesn’t feel much like talking about his ailments, so he changes his tack. Peter’s grateful - it means he doesn’t have to think too much about his own issues. He’s sick of feeling sorry for himself.

So they talk about nothing for a little while. Rhodey’s last deployment that Peter hasn’t caught up on. How Peter’s doing at school. What he’s been working on in the lab.

But eventually, Peter just can’t help himself. He chews on his lip for a second, before he bites the bullet and just hopes the answer isn’t something that he doesn’t want to hear. “I, uh, do you think Mister Stark might come down today? I get he’s probably super busy and, y’know, mad at me, but I just thought… maybe...”

Peter knows what the answer is going to be as soon as Rhodey’s facial expression folds into one of distinct regret. “Tony’s a little busy today, Pete,” he says, before pausing. Peter can tell he’s thinking on his feet, trying to cover for his friend. Peter curls further into the blankets he’s lying under. “He had a few meetings come up. You know how it is.”

That’s exactly the problem. Peter does know how it is - and it’s not like this, whatever this is. Tony will drop anything business-related in a second to take care of the people he loves. That’s who he is, Peter’s discovered, after months of texts and dropping by and late nights in the lab, chipping away at his walls.

Peter doesn’t know which is worse. Tony telling Rhodey to lie to him about where he is, or Tony actually deciding that meetings are higher on his priority list than Peter as he lies alone in the MedBay.

He hates me. He hates me. He hates me.

Rhodey obviously sees the look on his face that Peter’s trying so hard to hide because he sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m sure he’d be down here as soon as possible if he could.”

Liar. He wouldn’t. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near me.

“He hates me now, doesn’t he?” Peter asks, voice small and resigned. He doesn’t want to hear the answer, not really. Not when he’s pretty much already accepted that he knows what it will be. 

Rhodey’s eyes widen. He flounders for a second, looking lost. Peter’s once again reminded that he’s not Tony. Kid doesn’t sound the same when he says it. He doesn’t know how to settle Peter when anxiety wraps itself around his chest, all-consuming. He doesn’t know that a hand run through Peter’s hair will make him go soft and that if you scratch right behind his ear he’ll lean into the touch automatically. 

Tony knows all these things.

“Absolutely not, he doesn’t hate you,” Rhodey says, finding his voice. “He’s just busy, I-”

“I know you’re bullshitting,” Peter mumbles. He knows it’s rude. He knows he shouldn’t talk like that to Rhodey - Rhodey’s just trying to help, he’s here, which is more than anyone else. But he’s tired and sore and frustrated and god, he just wants someone here to love him. “He hates me. He does. Otherwise he'd be here."

“Tony could never hate you, Peter,” Rhodey says. “I’ll talk to him, okay? He’s just having a tough time.”

"All I was trying to do was help. He didn’t have the suit. Otherwise, he was going to… he could have…” Peter trails off, the words lodging themselves in his throat.

Rhodey doesn't seem to have an answer for this. He knows as well as Peter does what would have happened if Peter hadn't gotten that bomb out of there. The two of them fall into quiet.

Even still, Rhodey doesn’t budge from his bedside for an hour or so after that. It’s company, it’s something, but it’s not the same.

Peter will take what he can get.

---

May phones that night when he’s alone, again. The room is swathed in darkness, lit only by the glow of the TV. There’s an old rerun of Jeopardy! playing that he isn’t watching.

Peter shifts in bed, trying to make himself more comfortable as he answers her call. His chest aches as he props himself further up the pillows. Bruce has told him it’s totally normal to expect some discomfort as they heal but it’s been getting steadily worse all throughout the afternoon - maybe speaking to Rhodey took it out of him more than he thought. In the back of his mind, he reminds himself to call Bruce down for another dose of painkillers before he goes to sleep tonight.

He has FRIDAY put May on speakerphone. This way, her voice echoes around the room, filling the empty space that’s been threatening to suffocate him all evening.

He tries to ask her how her trip is going, but apparently, she’s not so interested in pleasantries tonight.

“You want to tell me why I had to wait for a call from Colonel Rhodes to let me know that my nephew is in hospital?”

Peter swallows. “Technically it’s just the MedBay,” he offers weakly.

May makes a slightly unimpressed sound at his answer. “Peter,” she says, “I’m serious. You can’t just, not tell me these things.”

“I dunno,” Peter says, shrugging even though she can’t see him. “I was going to eventually, I promise.”

(He does know why he didn’t tell her. She’s having a nice getaway with her friends. She doesn’t get many of those, not with Peter around. He doesn’t want to get in anyone else's way this weekend.)

“Is Tony okay? I was so worried about you I didn’t even think to ask, which I feel terrible about but-”

“He’s fine,” Peter interjects. “Totally fine. It was, uh, mainly just me.”

“Is he with you? Can I speak to him?”

Peter casts an eye around the room, almost like he’s looking for the man that he knows isn’t here - it just feels like he should be. Peter lying in the MedBay alone feels wrong. “He’s not, actually. Not right now.”

“He has been though, right?” May asks, though there’s no worry in her tone. She says it like a given. Like there’s nowhere else Tony would be rather than at Peter’s side, especially when she can’t be there herself. She trusts Tony to look after him.

He wonders whether she would understand that Tony can’t stand to be around him if he told her what happened.

“Yeah, he has been…” he says, hoping the uncertainty in his voice doesn’t give him away.

“Good. I'm looking forward to seeing both of you. I’ve booked the first flight home, I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.”

Peter shoots upright, ribs twinging. “No, no,” he rushes out, suddenly feeling extremely guilty. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh hush,” May tuts, “I want to, don’t be silly.”

Peter opens his mouth to refute her again but he finds that he can’t. He wants her here. Now more than ever.

May keeps talking and Peter lies back and closes his eyes. If he tries hard enough, he can almost pretend that he’s lying sprawled out on the couch back in their apartment and May’s just in the kitchen, somewhere nearby where she could step over and give him a hug as soon as he broke and admitted that, god, he really needs one right now.

Only almost, though. Because the room still smells sterile rather than of May’s favourite cedarwood reed diffuser and the sheets underneath him are soft, too soft, so unlike the worn, slightly scratchy fabric of their own couch.

He lets himself drift off pretending anyway, clinging to the daydream of comfort.

---

By the time Peter’s let May’s voice lull him into a deep sleep, he’s completely forgotten that he didn’t call Bruce in for any more painkillers.

---

It’s dark when Peter wakes next, and he can barely breathe.

He has no idea what the time is. He can barely remember where he is.

All he knows is pain.

It burns from deep inside his chest, emanating everywhere, cutting right down to his bones. His breathing is coming in heavy, painful pants and every gulp of air he sucks in sends a jolt of pain through his ribs. He doesn’t know what’s going on - he’s still stuck in a half-asleep daze but he feels like he’s dying.

It hurts. It hurts. Everything hurts.

He screws his eyes shut. It wasn’t like he was seeing much anyway, his vision blurred with tears and the room spinning dangerously around him.

Someone whimpers. It’s whiny sounding, like a wounded animal. Peter hates it. He tucks his knees to his chest - more pain - and buries his head in his knees to try and block out the sound. It doesn’t work.

A few minutes later, still curled up in the same cramped position, still lost inside his world of pain, Peter’s hazy mind comes to the conclusion that it’s him whimpering.

Pathetic. Pathetic.

He needs his pain meds. He needs something to numb this, to numb everything. In the back of his mind, he distantly remembers that he needed to ask Bruce for more. He doesn’t think he did. Or at least, he doesn’t remember the man ever coming to administer them.

It’s your own fault, Peter.

Something else to add to the list.

He twists in agony as another strike of pain hits, his ribs flaring up again. He could ask FRIDAY to get Bruce for him. He knows that she’d wake him up. But he doesn’t want to disturb him. If he needed his meds he should have remembered to ask at a reasonable hour.

You’re already in everyone’s way. Mister Stark hates you. Bruce has been having to deal with you all the time.

Stop being a baby.

Mister Stark doesn’t want a kid on the team.

Prove it to them. Show them that you can be strong.

He tucks his limbs closer to his chest, curling up tighter. Everything hurts, and he can feel tears starting to burn in his eyes. He feels a few hot tears drip down his cheeks before he can contain them and he shifts a hand up to wipe them away.

“F-FRIDAY?” Peter starts, quietly. He stumbles over the word, voice hitching.

“Yes, Peter?” FRIDAY replies. Her voice is soothing, and Peter wants to lean into its familiarity.

"I..." Peter falls silent. He doesn’t know what he’s asking. He just wants.

---

Peter's not sure how much time has passed when he hears footfall outside his door. He thinks maybe he’s imagining it. The pain is ebbing now, rising and falling like the tide, returning every so often just to crash over him and drown him in it.

The door creaks open, a sliver of light falling across the room. Peter’s breath chokes in his throat

I’m fine. I’m fine, I’m fine.

Don’t make a sound. Don’t be a bother.

Don’t get in the way.

“Peter?”

That’s his name, spoken in such an unsure way and shielded behind a cold demeanour. Peter immediately knows exactly who it is. His breathing ratchets up because oh god, it’s Tony and he sounds exactly the same way as he did last time they spoke. Peter’s meant to be showing that he’s strong, that he’s capable. And yet here he is hyperventilating and trembling in pain under the covers. He stays as still as he can, eyes screwed shut. Maybe if he lies here for long enough, Tony might leave.

He doesn’t want Tony to leave - not really. But there must be some mistake. Tony can’t mean to be here. If he meant to be here, surely he would have been a whole lot earlier.

“Do you need something? FRIDAY said you were in pain.”

Oh. He doesn’t even mean to be here. FRIDAY called him down. Peter doesn’t remember asking FRIDAY to fetch him.

“Peter?” Tony questions when he doesn’t reply, voice now less hostile and laced with confusion.

Peter doesn't know what he needs. But he knows he wants someone to stay. 

“H’rts,” Peter mumbles before he can stop himself. “Please make it stop.”

And then before he can stop himself, he’s crying, embarrassing loud, ugly sobs because he’s so sore and so lonely and Tony is just there, only a few feet away and yet he feels so impossibly far away. He wants someone to hold his hand and push the strands of sweat-soaked hair off his forehead. He wants someone to tell him he’s going to be okay because right now all he knows is pain, burning through his veins, and he can’t see the way out.

He wants May. He wants Tony.

He wants someone to hold him.

Quiet footsteps tread towards his bedside. Peter doesn’t dare open his eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tony soothes, and the way he speaks so gently only makes Peter sob harder. It’s hard to breathe with the lump in his throat and crushing ache of his ribs. He gasps out without realising it, and then tries to quieten himself. Tony’s still there though. He hasn't left. Peter feels him lower a warm hand down onto his back, rubbing in circles gently.

“Shh. Breathe, Pete, you just gotta breathe. Do you think you could do that for me?”

Why is he being so nice? Suddenly, Peter wonders if he deserves it. He can’t even remember if he apologised to Tony.

“‘m sorry, I tried not to get in the way but it hurts,” Peter whines. He sounds pathetic but he can’t help it. “I can’t breathe. M’ster Stark, make it stop, make it stop, please.”

“You need to talk to me, buddy. What hurts?” Tony asks. His voice is quiet and reassuring. Peter likes this Tony better than angry Tony. He lets his eyes slip closed. “No, no, I need you to look at me. Just for a second, okay?”

Look at him? At Tony? Peter can do that, he thinks. He blinks his eyes open, eyelids heavy. He wants to close them again so badly, but Tony’s got this concerned look drawn all over his face while he’s looking at him, which Peter’s so confused about. The last time he saw Tony, the man had looked like he thought Peter was the worst person on the planet. Like he hated him.

Tony grabs the medicine chart off the clipboard above Peters’ bed and Peter watches through tear-blurred vision as he scans his eyes over it. “That'll do it. Your ribs are probably throwing a fit since you haven’t had any meds since midday, Pete, that was well over twelve hours ago” - Peter tries to do the math to figure out what time it is, what ungodly hour he’s dragged Tony out of bed to run around after his sorry ass, but his brain is too addled to figure it out - “didn’t Bruce dose you up before bed?” Tony asks. He knows the answer. He has the chart in front of him. Bruce is meticulous, he never forgets to tick these things off.

Peter gives a pitiful shake of his head, a barely noticeable movement. “M’fault. Didn’t ask.”

Tony sighs, biting down on his lip like he wants to get into it but he knows he can’t. Peter’s glad. He doesn’t have the energy for any of this. He feels like his brain is still trying to play catch up. Every time he blinks, Tony is still there when he opens his eyes, standing in front of him, concern pulling his face down in a frown.

“Well, I’m gonna dose you up now.”

“The good stuff?” Peter mumbles, turning his face into the pillow to try and hide a wince as another wave of pain arrives, lapping at his toes before surging forward to wash over him. Tony doesn’t miss it, and his movements grow hurried as he fumbles to pull out a dose of Peter’s pain meds.

His fingers are gentle as he takes Peter’s arm in his grip to keep it steady. Peter didn’t realise how badly he was still trembling - from the panic or pain he’s not sure. Tony slips the syringe into the IV catheter and plunges down slowly. Peter watches him lazily, eyes cracked open. He’s seen Tony do this so many times, hell, he’s even seen the man do it to himself. He trusts him.

“Yeah, bud, the real good stuff.”

The familiar sensation wraps Peter in its hold not long after. He lets his eyes flutter closed, but tries to blink them open again when he hears a voice above him. “Yeah, there we go… no, shhh, close your eyes.”

Peter does as he’s told because the voice is gentle and he trusts it. He doesn’t think it would lead him astray.

“There we go. Nice work, kiddo.”

The room floats away, but there’s a pressure against his scalp, a hand running through his hair, grounding him to reality. It’s nice. A much nicer reality than the one he was trapped before. That seems like such a long time ago. Maybe Peter dreamt it?

“‘m sorry I didn’t listen,” Peter mumbles out. He turns, pressing his face into the palm of Tony’s hand like a starved animal seeking out the barest scraps of physical attention. Tony curls his fingers gently, blunt nails scratching against the tufts of hair around Peter’s ear.

“You’re okay, bud, you’re okay. We can talk later when you’re not so loopy. Just try and get some sleep.”

Talk… later? What if Tony leaves again? What if there is no later? Peter wants to talk now. Ben always used to tell him that you should never go to bed angry and he and Tony have broken that rule the last two nights now - he doesn’t want to do it again. But whenever he tries to open his mouth, his tongue feels too heavy to force out any of the right words.

“Sleep?” Peter slurs out quietly.

Tony nods. “Yeah, all you need right now is a good night’s sleep. I’ll be right here in the morning,” he says, words soft and genuine. Peter believes them - but he makes sure anyway.

“Right h’re?”

Tony nods again, settling further into the chair he’s sitting in as if to physically demonstrate to Peter exactly what he’s saying. “I promise.”

That’s good enough for Peter. Sleep does sound pretty good, on second thought. There’s a floaty feeling flowing through Peter now, dissipating the pain. He’s comfy, and the weight of Tony’s hand against his cheek where he’s still scratching at his hair feels so nice. He rolls over, trapping Tony’s hand there between the pillow and his cheek. He can’t leave now, even if he wants to.

---

Hours later, Peter only remembers a few things from the night before when he surfaces from his sleep, memories blurring together in the back of his mind.

Burning pain and then nothing. Someone by his bedside maybe? A hand in his hair. A quiet voice.

Close your eyes, you’re okay.

Peter knows that voice. It sounds so achingly familiar, even as it echoes through his thoughts.

You’re okay, buddy. You’re okay.

Peter rolls over onto his side at the sound of an exhale from beside him, the smallest of yawns like someone trying their best to be quiet. It’s Tony, he realises, the comforting words whispering through his mind suddenly making much more sense. He clearly managed to get his hand free from underneath Peter’s cheek last night but he’s still here anyway, in the chair by his bedside, the one that’s remained largely unoccupied over the last couple of days. He’s dressed in an old t-shirt and faded jeans - Peter dreads to think what important lab work he pulled the man away from last night.

“Hey, bud” Tony mumbles. His voice is rough with sleep and he stretches his arms out above his head, poorly hiding a wince as he does.

A rush of shame floods Peter almost immediately. He can’t believe that Tony had to spend the night down here last night just because he kicked up a fuss about a little bit of pain.

He stares stupidly for a moment, willing the words to work their way out of his exhausted brain but he doesn’t know what to say. Tony shouldn’t be here. He probably doesn’t want to be here.

“You can go,” is the first thing that works its way free from Peter’s mouth. Tony raises his eyebrows.

“Good morning to you too,” Tony says, looking equal parts bemused and a little taken aback by Peter’s greeting. “Am I allowed to at least ask you how you’re feeling before you kick me out?

“I’m not kicking you out,” Peter mutters, the slightest bit defensive. He doesn’t know why Tony would think that he’s the one that wants him gone. He’d love Tony to stay - he’d have loved Tony to stay the second he woke up in the MedBay and they had their blowout. But it’s not about him. He doesn’t want Tony to stay if he doesn’t want to. He’s just making it easier for him - he’s made it abundantly clear that spending time with Peter isn’t exactly at the top of his priorities list, after all. “I, just, uh, I’m sorry you had to come down here. I don’t really remember much from last night.”

“That doesn’t exactly surprise me, you were pretty out of it,” Tony says easily. He shifts in his seat, but he seems to be making himself more comfortable than preparing to get up out of it and walk out the door again. The longer he sticks around the more it’s going to hurt when he leaves.

“I know you're mad at me and I know you don’t really want to be here. You can go, I won’t mind or be offended or anything, I promise,” Peter says, words catching as he says them because of their mistruth. He does mind. He does want Tony here.

But not if he doesn’t want to be.

“I think this means we need to talk about the other day, huh?” Tony says simply. Peter’s brows furrow together in confusion. He wonders if Tony is expecting an apology. He didn’t exactly give him one the other day - didn’t think that saving someone’s life warranted an apology. But obviously he went wrong somewhere along the way because if he hadn’t, maybe Tony might have stuck around.

“I’m sorry, Mister Stark,” he starts, a little nervous. He doesn’t know what he’s expected to say. What do you say to make someone want to stay? “I promise I wasn’t trying to not listen, or put any of us in a dangerous situation, or-”

“You don’t need to do the apologies, kid,” Tony says with a wave of his hand and a strained expression on his face as he listens to Peter’s words. Peter snaps his mouth shut.

“But I really am sorry,” Peter tries again after a beat of silence that Tony doesn’t fill. “I was just trying to protect you, that’s all. You were trapped and the whole place was going to blow and I couldn’t let anything happen to you… I couldn’t.” Peter watches Tony’s face carefully - he’s struggling to read his mix of emotions. “I’m only apologising for not thinking it through. I’m not apologising for trying to protect you,” Peter finishes determinedly. He won’t say he’s sorry for trying to save Tony’s life. Never. He’d do it over and over again in a heartbeat.

“That there, Pete, that’s the problem,” Tony says. He scrubs a hand down the side of his face roughly. “I can’t handle the idea of you protecting me, it’s-”

Peter frowns, a tiny stab of betrayal shooting through his chest. Despite the last few days, somewhere deep down still, he really thought that Tony still believed in him, at least a little bit. Maybe that was stupid of him.

“You let me come to Germany and let me loose against Captain America and the Winter Solider and now suddenly you don’t even trust me to protect you against a few guys with guns and explosives? I handled it, Mister Stark, and I know you think what I did was stupid and reckless, but I handled it.”

Tony shakes his head. “You’ve got a couple of things a little twisted, not that I can exactly blame you, I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly the other day,” - he huffs humourlessly. Peter thinks there might be regret in his eyes. “I know what you can do - I’ve known that since before I even really knew you. You’re capable of dealing with what you did the other day, you showed us that.”

“So what’s changed?” Peter asks. He knows he should keep the edge of frustration out of his voice but he can’t. If Tony really trusts him as much as he claims to then why won’t he just accept that Peter is capable of so much more? “Why did you freak out the other day?”

“What’s changed is that now I do really know you.”

Peter’s confused. This whole conversation feels like a roller-coaster of emotions that he’s a little too tired and dozy from the residual drugs pumping through his system to process. “I… what?”

“Now I know you,” Tony repeats. “When I took you to Germany, I didn’t know any more than Spider-Man, really. But you’re still a kid behind the mask, buddy-” Peter scowls weakly, “-and I know you’re gonna tell me that you’re not a kid and all that, but you are and I know you’d guard my life with your own if you’re given the chance and I trust you but that right there? That’s the damn problem.”

“The problem?” Peter repeats incredulously. He’s grown up watching movies and reading comic books under the bed covers with a torch after his bedtime, enamoured with the idea of the action hero choosing to do the right thing - even at the expense of themselves. He’s always thought that laying your life on the line for someone is the most selfless thing you can do for someone and that’s what Tony’s upset about?

“It’s… oh, I don’t know,” Tony mutters. He pauses, thinking for a second. “I was the one who screwed that mission up in the first place. I let my guard down and those idiots got a hold of me. My bad-”

“That wasn’t on you,” Peter says firmly. At this point, it’s becoming unclear who’s trying to comfort who.

“Uh, uh, I’m not done,” Tony chastises. “I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. And not just because your Aunt would skin me alive. I’ve, uh, I’ve grown kind of fond of you, kid, I don’t know if you can tell. And the idea of anything happening to you - anything at all, let alone something happening because of me doesn’t sit particularly well.”

Oh.

Oh.

That makes more sense than Peter was expecting. He suddenly feels bad about even rising to the challenge of Tony’s argument in the first place. He knows that Tony tries to cover up the way he feels with a mask of sarcasm and sharp words - Peter just never thought that he’d be on the receiving end.

“I didn’t know I scared you,” Peter says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Tony admonishes with a half-hearted scoff. “I don’t think I’d go that far.”

“Sure,” Peter says conspiratorially. He shifts closer to the edge of the bed, closer to Tony. Tony brings an arm up to rest on top of the bed, brushing against Peter’s leg under the covers. It’s nice - the sort of grounding they both need right now. The sort of contact they’ve both been sorely missing.

“Okay, so maybe I was a little worried,” Tony concedes. “I’ve never really been one for kids, never thought I would be. But with you, I just, I don’t want you to grow up too soon. And if I know you half as well as I think I do, then I know that you won’t be hanging up that suit for a long time. Just do both of us a favour and stick to giving old ladies directions for a while, maybe? You’ve got all the time in the world for all the traumatising, hardcore stuff, I promise you.”

“So… you're saying I should skip the traumatising stuff and just stick to traumatising you instead?”

“You’re already doing a pretty damn good job of that, kid.”

---

“May’s on her way from the airport,” Peter says distractedly, later that day as he types out a reply to her text.

Tony is still by Peter’s bedside, his legs kicked up on the bed as he scrolls through his StarkPad. Peter looks up when Tony doesn’t reply. “Hey, Mister Stark?”

“Huh?”

“May’s on her way. Happy just picked her up.”

“Okay, good.”

“What’re you working on?” Peter asks, abandoning his phone as he wonders what’s got Tony so distracted.

“Just going through Rhodey’s report on the other day. Adding in the details, trying to make myself sound cooler, all that good stuff.”

Peter laughs. “Can I help?”

“Pete-”

“You said you trust me!

“Well, this is paperwork, it’s boring-”

“I want to learn! I could help!”

Tony lets out a long-winded sigh. “You really like to make me suffer, don’t you?” He turns fully towards Peter and raises his eyebrows expectantly. “So, hit me then. What’s your take on how the other day went down?”

Peter looks up towards Tony, the beginnings of a grin tugging at his lips.

“Well, I saved the day for starters, it’s really important that you put that in there.”

Tony’s face twists in conflict for a second before it smooths out again. He gives Peter a smile, tired and a little worn but genuine all the same - “yeah, yeah. Sure, kid. We’ll work it in.”

[mittensmorgul]

It has to be done.

It Has To Be Done

This was the excuse Dean gave to Cas. It's also just one more variant on the Absolute Worst Thing it's possible to say on Supernatural.

"I did what I had to do."

"I don't have a choice."

“It has to be done.”

In a show where Free Will is the ultimate ideal, and where giving in to Fate is not only the ultimate failure, but has consistently been framed as a metaphor for depression, for giving up, for despair and even suicide, I'm incredibly disturbed by some things I've read today about Dean's state of mind, his intention to lock himself in the Ma'lak box, and Sam's actions undertaken to stop him from this.

I’m putting this under a cut, because it actively discusses depression and suicide, so please bear that in mind before reading. The TL;DR of what’s beneath the cut is my view of how the narrative has condemned Dean’s current mindset about his only choice being to throw himself into the deepest part of the ocean to suffer eternal torment, locked in a box with the metaphorical representation of his own worst opinions of himself, is being used as a direct metaphor for depression, self-harm, and suicide. So if this is triggering, please read at your own risk.

The show has even consistently put the actors’ own Meta Narrative Terms into the characters' mouths-- 

Sam: You have one card today! But we'll find another tomorrow. But if you quit on us today, there won't be no tomorrow! You tell me, uh, you don't know what else to do. I don't either, Dean. Not yet. But what you're doing now, i-it's -- it's wrong! It's quitting! I mean l-look what just happened. Donatello never quit fighting. So we could help him because he never gave up. I believe in us, Dean. I believe in us. Why don't you believe in us, too?

They essentially had Sam deliver the Always Keep Fighting motto to Dean here. Because like Cas's experiences with the Empty, like Dean's experiences with the Mark of Cain and then the Darkness luring him with the promise of complete annihilation of self and the end of suffering, like Demon!Dean unable to feel either pain OR joy, THIS IS ALL A METAPHOR.

For anyone who feels that Dean is actually CORRECT and RIGHT that this is the only way, to lock himself into eternal torment at the bottom of the ocean with the metaphorical representation of his daddy issues and self-worthlessness, I humbly suggest you might wish to seek professional help. Because that's just... horrifying.

Yeah, I confess, I am a Dean girl. But in the sense that I actually care about him, and want the best for him more than I need for him to be Always Right, you know? Because... he's definitely not right here.

He’s incapable, trapped in his current mental circumstance, of seeing the light. The same way he was incapable of seeing the reality of his situation while he’d been trapped in the eternal loop inside Rocky’s Bar. The view out those blurry windows was only the darkness of the inside of his own mind, you know? From where he’s sitting, there isn’t even metaphorically a door. Trapped inside the Ma’lak box already even in his own nightmares. That’s not a mindset from which one can find the way out on their own.

That’s depression.

I also do not see anything Sam has done in the last two episodes as abusive or in any way infringing on Dean's agency. Because people who are showing all the symptoms of suicidal depression don't actually HAVE agency. And I would've been DISGUSTED with Sam if he'd sat back and just accepted Dean's choices and actions over the last two episodes.

Everything Dean has done in 14.11 and 14.12 (and even trapped inside his own mind in 14.10, where Sam and Cas had to navigate a space that was identical to The Empty, and served the same function metaphorically as Dean having been "locked away" into this tiny box in an endless loop unable to truly find happiness and only surviving disconnected from reality in every way) has functioned as a metaphor for depression, hopelessness and major warning signs that people who are seriously contemplating suicide exhibit. Sam's reactions bear this out, and everything he does follows the playbook of someone who truly cares about Dean literally helping talk Dean down off the ledge.

Sam saw into Dean's head in very literal ways in 14.10. He heard Michael-- the embodiment of the worst thoughts trapped in Dean's own head-- attempting to convince Dean to give up because they were all doomed by his monsters coming to kill them all anyway. And that NEARLY happened, yes! They were tricked into bringing a monster into the bunker, who let in a flood of other monsters to attack the unprepared hunters. In a horrifying turn, Jack burned up a piece of his own soul to save them all, which allowed Sam, Cas, and Dean working together to lock Michael up, albeit in a temporary fashion.

But Dean is absolutely convinced that the only way to stop Michael from escaping again is to lock himself up in a magical box and fling himself to the bottom of the ocean. At this point, my brain refuses to let me go on unless I add the line, "And I would've gotten away with it too, if it weren't for you meddling kids!"

The plan Billie gave Dean isn't some sort of Safety Measure in case of Last Resort. It was portrayed as the easiest way out. It was the whisper of the void stroking Dean's brow and telling him he can lay down his burden and allow himself to quit fighting, to quit trying, to give up on everything he's ever stood for. It's HORRIFYING.

It’s horrifying in the same way Sam nearly giving in to Death in 9.01 was. Horrifying in the same way Dean going all kamikaze for a large part of early s3 was, knowing he was doomed to die he was reckless with his own safety.

Sam immediately started researching on ways to save Dean and defeat Michael, but Dean refused to even engage with that rational course of action. He'd already succumbed to the seduction of annihilation. He flat-out LIED to Sam about why he was leaving-- I mean yes, he did wanna visit Mary, and the side-trip to see Donna was nice, but Donna did call him out on his motives for seeing her. So did Mary, who was suspicious of Dean from the outset the way Donna had been. But it was that stupid awkward hug Dean gave Sam that he CORRECTLY INTERPRETED as a sort of farewell. It was a WARNING SIGN that Dean was hiding something incredibly dark and selfish, and self-destructive.

What Sam did as a result was ENTIRELY UNDERSTANDABLE. He didn't try to confront Dean directly. He treated him like a man on a ledge. He began setting up safety nets, alerting the people with Dean to his fragile state, even urging Cas not to confront Dean directly yet despite telling him-- because they are WORRIED about Dean-- what Dean's plans were.

This is what family who loves you DO when their loved one shows all the signs of severe suicidal depression.

This is what Cas did for Dean in 12.09, where Dean had textually been suffering torment “worse than Hell” in that prison, to the point where he’d dealt his own life away with Billie to help him and Sam escape. Cas took matters into his own hands, killing Billie to spare Dean from his own stupid choice. Because it was a stupid choice.

You don't just... go along with the depressed person or validate their suicidal ideation, you know? What madness is this that I've actually read with my own two eyes that Sam should've just... actually helped Dean effectively and metaphorically commit suicide? On what planet has this ever been something the show has said would be okay?

Everything Sam has done from that point forward-- from tentatively agreeing to stand by Dean at the end of 14.11 right through punching him in the damn face at the end of 14.12-- has been a textbook approach to supporting someone suffering through a major depressive episode.

His acknowledgement and surface level agreement with Dean in 14.11 was literally his foot in the door. If Sam had attempted to defy Dean in that moment, Dean would've packed up his box and left, and his final memory of Sam would be this feeling of betrayal. Sam needed Dean to accept his presence in order for him to have any hope of getting through to Dean.

I know from personal experience that depression lies. The hopelessness isn't real, but there's nothing more unhelpful in that state than the people around you just agreeing with you as if it is. It's a difficult balance to strike, though, between sympathizing with the depressed person and gently beginning to peel back the curtains they've shrouded themselves with, and revealing the hope and light outside. Just ripping it all down is just as horrific and untenable as letting the person suffocate inside their own hopelessness. So Sam takes the seat beside Dean and begins slowly chipping away at the literal tomb he's built for himself.

Sam tries logic, while Dean faces the horror of what he's condemned himself to in his nightmare-- clawing up the wall of the motel room enclosed in chains (the motif on the wallpaper formed a cage of chains around Dean, while Sam was framed in the doorway of light. Dean tore up his hands clawing at the wall in his subconscious drive to escape the fate he’d built for himself, and yet he keeps his back to that lightened doorway which is the obvious route to escape. He can’t even acknowledge it yet because he’s still bound in those wallpaper chains.

Sam tells him it's likely that Dean wouldn't die, that his suffering would never end, and that what he's suggesting isn't an escape from that torment that he's actually hoping to find. And Dean's mind seems to see this as fact already, demonstrated as exactly that in his own nightmare just moments before-- he's alive in that box that's already developed a crack where the water is drip drip dripping in. He knows the box cannot hold, and that he will not die as a result.

He was terrified of "drowning" inside his own mind when Michael took him over before, yet he thinks the rational solution now is to drown himself literally and in reality, for all time. I mean... this is not the thinking of someone who is behaving rationally. He's chained to his fear, and that fear is dictating his actions now. Should his loved ones simply accept that Dean is right and encourage him to self-destruct? Especially when we've been discussing all season how Dean's possession by Michael, his experiences drowning, his metaphorically locking Michael away, and his earlier drive to kill Michael before he could destroy the universe ALL as metaphors for Dean's own self-worth, his Father Issues, his guilt, his suppression of his whole self?

Dean’s been sharing reminiscences of childhood for a while now-- his story about Winchester Surprise with Mary, his confession to Sam that John had often sent him away and his fear ever since that Sam believed Dean had just abandoned him during those times are clearly the sorts of Dark Thoughts that are weighing on him now. Knowing just a little of the inciting factors we’ll see play out in 14.13 are giving me serious hope that Dean will find the catharsis he’s been unable to get regarding some of his long-standing, incredibly complicated feelings about his father. The fact that Dean will go in thinking his Deepest Desire (a phrase he’s used before to describe his temptation to self-annihilation, in 11.13) is to rid himself of Michael, but apparently manifests John alive instead is extremely telling since Michael has been a direct John parallel all season long.

But back to all the other metaphors and parallels that Dean’s possession by Michael has been used for all season long. How does all of that careful construction of mirrors collapse just because Sam punched Dean in the face? Suddenly none of that stuff matters because on a surface level, Sam Did A Mean Thing. That must be ABUSE! TERRIBLE! Because honestly that sounds just as nihilist as buying into Michael's deluded lies, which preyed on Dean's fears to sustain his belief in them.

Yeah, Sam realized he'd reached the end of his rope in letting Dean continue walking down the self-destructive path. Throughout the episode that Ma'lak box just dragged along behind them, always visible in Dean’s rear view mirror, silently reminding us of what would inevitably await Dean if he couldn't find a way off that path. It functioned as the specter of death, the shadow, boxed up so you couldn't see the Ma'lak box itself, but you just know it's right there under that thin surface.

Sam and Cas both tried patience. They both explored other metaphorical alternatives to active suicide. The situation with Tony Alvarez turned out terribly, but it was just one consequence of their previous mistake in letting soulless Donatello read the demon tablet. If they hadn't done that, then Tony would've fully awakened as a prophet instead of being driven to madness by the half-awakening he was doomed with because of the state they left Donatello in. And sure, they couldn't have foreseen that, but in the end the solution wasn't just to kill Donatello, but to find a way to save him.

Dean had been CONVINCED that "letting him go" would be the solution, and he acknowledged that parallel to himself in text.

Castiel: The natural order's been upset. Perhaps Donatello's state has created a prophet who's not only premature... but malformed. Sam: Okay. But if Tony was wired wrong because of Donatello, then the next prophet will be wired wrong, as well, and then the next, and the next and the -- the next and... How do we end this? Dean: You know how.

But from his position, Donatello was unable to save himself, despite his mind even unconsciously trying to do so. Just like Dean alone can't see a way out of his situation, which is why he NEEDS the help and support of his loved ones. Team Free Will, they're just better together.

This is the narrative the show has been building on in one way or another since the start. When they go their separate ways, they doom themselves. When they stick together, they at least have a fighting chance.

And after Cas provided the help to heal Donatello and break the demon tablet's hold over him, performing what they'd all previously believed impossible, Dean couldn't face that his own metaphor for what he wanted to do himself had completely fallen apart. He was already shaky on wanting to go into that box. He'd essentially spent the entire episode goading Sam into talking him out of it.

He doesn't WANT to go through that eternal torment, but he legitimately is unable to see another way out. Like Donatello's muttering what amounts to a cry for help through the next prophet, Dean was doing the same by harping on the "it's the end of the line!" nonsense that Sam repeatedly had to ask him to stop. He was also goading Cas with the "if you were my friend" garbage, challenging him to do something to stop him. Cas turned it around in the most painful way possible, laying out on the table the ONE THING Dean had said he was unable to do-- say goodbye.

Dean’s harping on the whole “last hunt, end of the road” stuff was the equivalent of a depressed person talking about themselves negatively as if there was something “honest” about romanticizing their depression. It’s fatalistic, and does nothing to help recover. It’s wallowing.

In episode, this was directly contrasted with Nick, who insisted his emotional pain had been the result of his wife never getting justice for what happened to her, but when faced with his wife actively holding out her hand and telling him “this is the way to salvation,” he rejected it, because all he wants now is to drown himself in Lucifer’s false salvation. He could’ve gone into the light, and let go, but he refused. Sam and Cas spent the entire episode trying to break through to Dean and bring him a spark of hope, and he’d been refusing and refusing. Nick was never really sorry. He was only playing sorry. Just like Dean until his final confrontation with Sam, where he finally called Dean out with that exact turn of phrase.

Dean wanted to run away, alone, and off himself. Cas was pressing him into dealing with it, demanding Dean acknowledge what he was really asking for. I think if there hadn't been an attack of Moosus Interruptus there, Dean would've cracked right there in the hallway, but of course they had to save Donatello first, making the metaphor complete.

That left the final confrontation to Sam.

Dean: Well, I would call this a win. Kind of nice. We're going out on a high. Sam: 'Going out' being the operative phrase. Dean: Sorry. Sam: 'Sorry.' How sorry are you? Sorry that you fight to keep Donatello alive, but when it comes to you, you just throw in the towel? Or are you sorry that, after all these years, our entire lives, z-after I've looked up to you, after I've learned from you. I-I-I've copied you, I followed you to Hell and back, are you sorry that all of that -- it -- it -- it means nothing now? Dean: Who's saying that? Sam: You are, when you tell me I have to kill you. When you're telling me I have to throw away everything we stand for, throw away faith, throw away family. We're the guys that save the world. We don't just check out of it! Dean: Sam, I have tried everything. Everything! I got one card left to play, and I have to play it. Sam: You have one card today! But we'll find another tomorrow. But if you quit on us today, there won't be no tomorrow! You tell me, uh, you don't know what else to do. I don't either, Dean. Not yet. But what you're doing now, i-it's -- it's wrong! It's quitting! I mean l-look what just happened. Donatello never quit fighting. So we could help him because he never gave up. I believe in us, Dean. I believe in us. Why don't you believe in us, too? Dean: Okay, Sam. Let's go home.

When the show is actively putting Always Keep Fighting language into Sam's mouth, is there really another way to interpret any of this than as a direct depression metaphor? Dean yells that he has tried everything. But... he’s literally tried NOTHING. He hasn’t tried one single other thing. He hasn’t even cracked another book or done a jot of research beyond the one Billie specifically put in his hands. Dean is just as trapped as Donatello was before Cas intervened to heal him. And he’s so trapped that he actually BELIEVES that he’s exhausted all his options. Because he can’t even begin to SEE any other options with his back turned toward the door focusing only on the wall he can’t seem to scratch his way through.

Suggesting that Sam was violating Dean’s agency in this circumstance is akin to suggesting that Sam violated Dean’s agency in forcing the demon cure on him, or akin to suggesting that Dean violated Sam’s agency when he shoved Sam’s soul back inside him. And yet... Sam and Dean both expressed gratitude after the fact, acknowledging that they couldn’t see just how badly they each needed help while in their respective compromised states. And that’s exactly the same framing they’ve given us to interpret Dean’s current mental status.

Sam had reached the end of his rope, and out of frustration and his own sense of failure to appeal to the part of Dean that should want to survive, he broke down himself. It hurt to watch, both for Sam’s sake because of the frustration of desperately trying to save someone intent on destroying themselves, as well as Dean’s sake because OUCH to have to face his self destructive impulse head-on like that... Sam’s punch hug forced that confrontation in ways none of their words had been able to.

It was the equivalent of Dean brushing the board game off the table in 7.21 and yelling at Cas that he wasn’t sorry, but only playing sorry... It was the sort of shock and shakeup Dean needed. He needed to see how badly his current state was affecting the people he loved, and the people he was deludedly trying to protect through what he felt was his own self-sacrifice. He needed to see first-hand just how wrong an assumption it was that they’d be fine if he went through with this effective metaphorical suicide.

and then when Cas returned, Dean confirmed that he'll let them help him, but he's holding that box in reserve.

Dean: Maybe Billie's wrong. Maybe. But I do believe in us. I believe in all of us. And I'll keep believing until I can't. Until there is absolutely no other way. But when that day comes -- if that day comes... Sam, you have to take it for what it is -- the end. And you have to promise me that you'll do then what you can't do now, and that's let me go. And put me in that box. You, too.

“Maybe Billie’s wrong,” is the metaphorical equivalent of “Maybe this depression is lying to me...”

He's still struggling with this big depression metaphor, but he has stepped off the ledge. He's acknowledged that there might be another way, even if he doesn’t really have much hope that he’ll be able to find it. But he’s accepted Sam and Cas’s help to guide him there.

And it's only one small step in the right direction, but it is a step. I'm betting it's a step big enough for at least a few of those books on Billie's shelves to have begun rewriting themselves. Because when has this show ever taught us to accept that giving in to Fate was the Good and Correct choice?

[scientifically-strange]

OwO what’s this? Hullo darlin~ How’s about something to do with Bruce Banner meeting up with Danny? Maybe before the first Avengers movie? A pleasure to find you~!

Danny was a big fan of astronomy. So much so that he studied it in college, got a doctorate, and was now a professor. He wanted to originally be an astronaut, but with the complications with his anatomy he decided it was probably best if he didn’t try out and expose himself to the world. So instead, he teaches college kids about space, and occasionally goes and visits it himself when he’s got a free night. It’s peaceful, and he could stay there for hours. And thanks to his ghost anatomy, he didn’t need a suit, so that was a plus.

Because of his studies he had needed to dabble in gamma radiation, and its effect on the planet to compare it to its effects in space. Mostly it was for fun research and an excuse to go to space, but he was also sure that he was on to something.

Needless to say, when he met the world’s leading scientist in gamma radiation scientist, he was a little excited.

The circumstances, however, could have been better.

He wasn’t sure how they ended up there. Maybe through a natural portal or something, but it was pretty jarring to wake up in a town-village, really-surrounded by locals that were leaning over him as he sat up.

From the crater.

That he had made.

Okay.

He groaned as he sat up, noticing the way the locals started backing away, with looks of both fear and curiosity on their faces. Slowly, he got to his feet, wobbling for a second, before fully straightening up. His back and joints popped horribly, tense and in pain from the impact. He rolled his shoulders and sighed, climbing out of the crater he made.

The villagers parted like he had a disease, which was understandable. Judging from the looks of them, they were a Third World country that probably didn’t have a television or a newspaper, and have therefore never seen anyone like him. Hell, he was literally glowing.

He hadn’t shaken off the impact as well as he hoped he had, so when he finally made it out of the crater he stumbled, and fell down. Everything hurt. His head was pounding, his back was aching, and his muscles were screaming at him. And now he was laying with his face in the dirt, and unrecognizable people swarming around him.

He needed to get up. He needed to get back to Amity. Or get to a computer and cancel his classes tomorrow because there was no way in hell he was going in to work.

He took a few breaths and got his arms under him. He pushed, slowly but surely. His arms were shaking violently from the weight, and it took Danny a second to realize that his legs needed to do some work to. But as soon as he tried to stand up, he fell again. He was panting, now, and his vision was getting more blurry by the second.

He coughed a couple of times, and his ribs cried for help.

He rolled over to his side, and a man, the only man with a pair of shoes on his feet, came running up to him. Danny didn’t get the chance to look up, however. He passed out before he got the chance.

------

When Danny woke up again, he noticed that he was in a dark room that was lit mostly by candles, but there was a lamp casting a dull, yellow light across the room. There was a cold rag on his head, and a thin, torn blanket draped across him.

In the bathroom the water that had been running shut off, and a second later the man with the shoes walked out.

“Oh, you’re awake,” he said. He was simply stating a fact. He was a nervous man, Danny could tell. His hands were in a constant cycle or wringing together and he moved quietly. Danny had to strain to hear his footsteps.

The closer he got, the more the light shined on him, and the more he recognized the man.

He was much older than the last time he was seen in any sort of city setting. Last time he had seen a report it was about the man destroying Harlem. His curly black hair had a few strands of grey, and his clothes didn’t quite fit right.

“B...Bruce Banner?” Danny croaked out. His voice was rough from the lack of use, and his head was hurting a little less.

“In, a, in the flesh,” he said. He was nervous. This was the one place he knew nobody would recognize him, and Danny, of all people, was the person who did.

“Big fan,” Danny said. “Science.”

Those three words was not how he wanted to tell Bruce Banner that he was one of his biggest fans, and used his research for everything, but he just woke up, and everything still hurts.

“Oh. Thank you. You had a pretty hard fall. Came from the sky, had a little light show, and now you’re...Human, I guess.”

“What?” Danny asked. He reached up and pulled a lock of hair in front of his eyes. It was pitch black. “God damn it.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but you left a little bit of blood at your crash sight. Correct me if I’m wrong but was that...Ectoplasm?”

“Yeah. You know your stuff.”

“It’s similar, in terms of radiation effects, to gamma rays. Now I have to ask you, are you here for me?”

What? This guy really thought that Danny was here for him? And now he’s helping him out? And Danny thought chivalry was dead.

“No. Accident. Went through a portal.”

“Ah. See, there is a part of my research that I have refused to share with anyone. It brought me to ectoplasm, and it’s effects. From there I thought, well ins’t ectoplasm what makes up ghosts? Innevitably I went down that rabbit hole, so I have to ask you. Are you a ghost, possessing your own corpse?”

“Dude, what the fuck?”

It was all Danny could ask, and definitly not his shining moment. But he didn’t care. That was fucked up. What the fuck.

“Uh, no. I’m a half. Half ghost, half human.”

“Hm,” Bruce hummed, looking Danny over once more. “Interesting.”

“Uh, I guess. Um, anyway, I should get going. I need to get back home.”

Bruce hummed again and nodded. “Yeah, I suppose so. But I’m trying to keep a low profile here, so I’ll show you the way out of the village. Then you can leave using your powers.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Getting there was harder than Danny expected. The edge of the village was about three miles away. Everything was still hurting, but he knew it wouldn’t be much longer. His healing factor worked wonders.

Most of their trip was in silence, save for the occasional comment Danny would make on the stars. He could, and really wanted to, go on and on about them, but he held himself back. He doubted the great Bruce Banner had any interest in them.

“Are you an astronomer?” Bruce suddenly asked.

“Yeah,” Danny replied. “That obvious, huh?”

It was a dumb thing to say, in Danny’s opinion, but Bruce smiled at him.

“I’ve read some of your work. It’s all pretty impressive, especially considering how young you are. Have you ever considered working for NASA?”

“Yeah. I actually wanted to be an astronaut as a kid, but the whole half-dead thing kind of got in the way. But that’s okay. I can still see space in my own free time.”

“If you ever want a different job at NASA, maybe on the engineering or research side of things, I do have a few connections. If you’re interested.”

Danny’s breath left him, and he turned around to face Bruce.

“Really?”

“Yeah. They might even have some positions where you could work from home. That way you won’t have to leave your town.”

Tears pricked the corners of Danny’s eyes as he grinned. This whole mess actually did some good, and he couldn’t be more estatic. He rushed forward and pulled Bruce into a bone crushing hug, aware that Bruce was grunting from not being bale to breathe, but he let out a small laugh just the same. When Danny let him go, Bruce pulled out a piece of paper and scrawled some information on it. Then he handed it to Danny.

“He’s a good friend of mine. You can tell him I sent you. Now do me a favor and go home.”

Danny looked around. He hand’t even realized they made it to the edge of the village. Danny smiled at Bruce and held out his hand. Bruce shook it.

“I’ll see you around,” Danny said, letting the rings wash over him. Bruce let out a chuckle.

“I hope under better circumstances next time.”

Danny nodded, and with that he was off.

[spiders-hth-is-an-outlier]

So I’ve been kinda snide about the GoT finale, and that’s -- not entirely fair, because it was, I mean, fine.  It was fine, for what it was -- for what the show wanted to be, which it turns out was, “Will the Stark Kids make it out of these troubled times okay?”  And they mostly did, and it was fine (sorry, Robb).

And just so I don’t feel like the last living human without a Hot Take on Game of Thrones, I thought I’d take a shot at why, in spite of having a number of strengths and being sometimes pretty great, the overall arc and particularly the ending made me unhappy as One of Those Annoying Book Fans.  (I’m going to say all this like it’s Objectively True, which surely we all understand nothing is, so insert all the relevant in-my-opinions and all that.)

So I *love* the books, the books were a life-changing revelation for me when I started reading them back in 1997 when I was a slip of a 21-year-old lifelong fantasy fan.  And yeah, I know the reputation now is “ooooh, aren’t you a grimdark edgelord, so impressed with your gritty fantasy faux-realism,” but -- uh, I’m not sorry.  Because the thing is I wasn’t reading for “realism” in the sense of “this is like reality” -- I like *narrative,* which reality unfortunately noticeably lacks, and ASOIAF was very clearly a crafted narrative that was trying to say extremely specific things *about narrative* and about the cognitive dissonance that arises when narrative-loving human brains have to cope with narrative-indifferent reality.  That may seem like slicing the distinction pretty fine, but I think it matters.  The books weren’t just a bunch of shit happening because “in real life, that’s what would happen, just a bunch of shit.”  The specific shit that happened, and its ramifications and the way people processed said shit according to their distinctive needs and perspectives and hang-ups, was all extremely deliberate, and aimed straight at a Serious Thematic Point, which is that fantasy novels are obsessed with exactly the most irrelevant shit possible, and maybe that’s a problem.

These are books that revolve around a crisis in succession and legitimacy of kingship, like practically all high fantasy does (even more so back then, but it still seems pretty common).  An usurper sits on the throne and two legitimate heirs are in exile, and there’s this constant sense of unease, because from the perspective of our main viewpoint character, that’s -- good?  Because even though the Baratheon dynasty took over illegitimately, Robert is a better king than the last one, and Ned supports him.  Only Robert himself is uneasy and paranoid, his reign totally dependent on the goodwill of a family of rich assholes he hates and constantly haunted by the idea that the Targaryen children might come for their revenge, which by the cultural logic of Westeros, they’ll pretty much deserve.  So here you have all this palace intrigue and political skullduggery, and it’s immediately interesting because instead of being about restoring the Rightful King, it’s about propping up the guy who had the Rightful King killed, because he’s not great but the first guy was worse.

But the deeper you get into it, the more you start to realize that above and beyond the “subversive” flipped script of the idea of royal legitimacy, there’s a second and *far fucking better* subversion happening.

The point of the books is that IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER who sits on the throne.  That the entire “game” is not just flipped in the sense of “you thought this person should be the king, but really it was a different person who should be the king” -- the game itself is illegitimate, and destructive, and fundamentally absurd, a bunch of assholes wreaking limitless chaos out of their fixed ideas about cosmic order, which are, every single one of them, wildly wrong.

It happens on two prongs simultaneously -- first, the Iron Throne doesn’t matter because *whoever* is “in power” is immediately hamstrung.  They can’t actually do anything of any significance, because they’re 100% occupied from the moment they step into the bullseye with fending off eight hundred other assholes who want to be king of the hill, so no succession in the entire series can happen in an “orderly” or “legitimate” way -- every one of them is bedeviled by uprisings and invasions and civil wars and assassination attempts and legal challenges, and the point is that this will continue to happen forever, while the world just kind of trudges on.  The second arm of IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER is the long game, because Winter Is Coming, and not one person on the entire planet is remotely prepared to put their personal bullshit aside in order to figure out what to do with an ice zombie invasion.  People are just going to keep offing each other for imaginary honors and getting knocked off in their turn, and one day they’ll wake up and realize they rule a world that’s uninhabitable and NONE OF IT FUCKING MATTERED.

That was the point of ASOIAF to my reading, and that’s what I loved about it.  Its “realism” was that it drilled down hard into the brutal reality that we saturate ourselves in stories about how great it’s going to be when the Good Leader is on the throne at last, but *that’s never going to happen,* because leaders are regular humans who run the gamut between “pretty all right” and “just the fucking worst,” but they change pretty regularly, and waiting for the Good Leader to fix it all is a sucker’s game anyway, because people don’t just show up and save the world and establish The Good Times and then the story is over.  That’s *not a real thing,* and maybe we should tell at least the occasional story that doesn’t end that way, so we won’t all be so goddamn obsessed with pinning our hopes on saviors who don’t pan out.

The thing is...I don’t know how you end a story like that.  I more than a little bit suspect that GRRM also does not know how you end a story like that.  When the whole point is that politics is an endless game with no real winners and that even the putative winners aren’t really capable of stopping the tides of history, when do you ring the curtain down?  I actually have no idea.

What I was not hoping for was a final season that is entirely, uncritically, about making sure we all feel good about who gets to be kings and queens and who doesn’t.  That -- DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER.  I mean, I almost love having Bran take the throne, because there’s this weird subtextual kind of “lol, who cares, have that guy do it I guess” baked into the meaninglessness of Bran, who doesn’t want anything or, mostly, even feel anything.  But all the literal and figurative chair-shuffling at the end of the episode about who’s going to serve on the council and who’s in charge of what, I just....  It seems like the writers really thought that was the payoff.  That what we all needed to know about the Game of Thrones is who ends up winning it.

And that’s such a baldly, drastically, jaw-droppingly bad payoff for the ASOIAF that I loved.  The suggestion that the realm will be brought to some kind of peace now that the Correct, Better Dynasty is enthroned in the allied Six Kingdoms/North is completely ass backwards from the entire point of the books.  Winter coming and going harmlessly, the Others (White Walkers, whatever) dispatched in one single-night battle, just betrays the source material so audaciously that it feels like it had to be deliberate.  That was the whole goddamn story!  That Winter Was Coming!!!!!  And then the show just -- didn’t do that, and instead built its climax around A Good Leader dispatching A Bad Leader, whereby the realm is saved, yay.

Only the point was that power operates systemically, and power itself takes in the people who would wield it, and power replicates itself in the forms that are familiar, and that the problem isn’t that we need to keep searching for the Rightful King, because *power doesn’t suddenly become benevolent when it’s invested in someone with good intentions.*  I know there are still people who will argue with me about that, and -- I mean, fine, that’s a matter of differing political philosophies, but Team Great Man Theory of History can rest assured that basically every other epic story will back up their worldview, because that worldview makes for better, more satisfying stories.

ASOIAF was written for the rest of us.  It was a big, rich, plotty, absorbing epic story about a world where people were only human and things were only ever going to get put right to the degree that the world has ever been put right, which is...not especially.  But still, the characters were *human,* and what they chose to do mattered.  At least, it mattered to exactly whichever degree you personally believe that the things people choose to do matter, and it kind of challenged you to answer that question for yourself: if you knew you were never going to win the game and never going to save the world, because it’s not that kind of a world, what would you do?  Would you still try to be a hero?  Would you take the world for everything you could get?  Would you just keep your damn head down?  Would you just chase what you loved instead of the fate of nations?  Would you try all those things at different times, as seemed right to you in the moment, and then live with the consequences?

I don’t know how the hell you make that into a tv show, or if it’s even remotely possible.  I just know that the show they made needed an ending, and the one they went with just felt a lot like every book I’ve ever read in my life *except* these books.  Which might have been inevitable from the beginning, but it’s still disappointing.

[haxorus-imp]

Alien Affections - Villainous/Reader - Chapter 2

You had climbed out of the crate some time ago. Now, you were just watching the strange bag-wearing man pace the...roof? You looked around at your surroundings, seeing burnt metal and singed mechanical equipment, and that you were on a roof of some kind. And was that a plane sticking out of said roof? You shook your head side to side at the ridiculousness of what you were seeing. Not only that, you don't really understand how you got here. One moment you're going out to get your mail right before heading to bed, the next thing you know, you got enveloped in a glowing green light and saw yourself get pixelated and broken apart before your very eyes. It was horrifying, yet exhilarating at the same time. You could only think of one thing at that moment in time, that you were being abducted by aliens. I mean, after you were broken down, you were sent on a wild ride through a psychedelic tunnel of light. You were everywhere, yet nowhere all at once. You were floating and falling. Flying and standing. In pieces, yet whole. Then, when a bright light engulfed you, there was a large explosion that caused your ears to ring. It was one of the trippiest things you have ever witnessed in your life. Now you know what drugs are like. It wasn't a great experience. Mostly because it was unexpected. Then, the next thing you know, you're in a hard and dark place. Yet, you knew you were anywhere but home. After being broken apart and sent through a loop like that, it wasn't surprising that you felt sick and disoriented. All you knew at the time was that something happened. Yet, even then, you wanted to at least meet your abductors. At first, you were thinking of little green or gray beings. You weren't really expecting a human-like man wearing a paper bag that had goggles strapped over them. You were prepared for a lot of things. But, not him. When you both made first eye contact, the guy just...stared. It was kinda creepy, honestly. Yet, your joke and relaxed attitude managed to shatter the awkward silence and staring contest that got started between you two. Much to your gracious gratitude. But, in your silent opinion, the guy that's pacing the roof looked like a weirdo. But, hey! He hasn't scooped your brain out yet. So, that's a plus! It was just...you were expecting so much more than a dude wearing a bag and goggles. Least to say that your were kinda disappointed. . . . Okay, you were VERY disappointed. But, I mean...this is kinda unexpected and...nice, you guess? You shrugged and refocused on the man, as he seemed to have stopped pacing the roof like a lion in its' cage. You tuned back into his quiet muttering. "Okay...Okay...we can make this work! We...have to make this work." You heard the man mumble, as he seemed to place his finger on the area where you figured his mouth would be underneath the bag. "I just...gotta...explain what happened. That's it!" He muttered to himself. "Um, hello?" You cautiously said, yet, you kept the caution out of your voice. It seemed to grab the mans attention. "Can you tell me what's going on, dude? I mean, I'm kinda in the dark here..." You explained. The man stayed silent before going back to quiet mutterings. 'Okay, rude.' You mentally stated. He then stopped once more after a few curious minutes of you watching him, he turned to you and cleared his throat, then approached yourself. "Y-Yes. Hello! Greetings!" He said, holding out his gloved hand, to which you stared at and took it in your own. "I know that you're about as lost and a-as confused as I am. But, we need to get going." He then gripped your hand and opened a hatch that lead down some stairs. You were quite startled at the sudden change of events. "H-Hey! Wait! Where are we doing, dude?!" You dug your heels in slightly on the stairs, still following along, just not fast enough to break your neck on the stairs if you fall. "U-Uh, I need to...report to my boss...about the experiment. You also said 'Take me to your leader', right?" The man dragged you along, until you both reached an extravagant hallway. "Geeze! I was joking!" You exclaimed, yet followed along. "Regardless, you're gonna have to meet him anyway." The man explained, dragging you along. You watched as you both passed by rooms and various different decorations. Many of them looked very expensive. I mean, even the hallway floors were made of tile! So...this must either be a funded lab, seeing from the paper bag dudes' lab coat, or a museum that showcases alien lifeforms. To which, you hope it's not. Because you're not gonna be taken away from your home, just to be a showy little trinket for an entire alien race to peek at. Like in the movies! Then, both of you seemed to reach a pair of closed double doors that had intimidating patterns carved into the wood. It also seemed to be a place of grand importance, as there were two gargoyle-looking statues hovering above the doorway entrance. This boss is obviously very edgy and shouldn't be trifled with. The masked man then released your hand and turned around to face yourself. "This is his office and I'm about to knock and ask to come in. Just please, for the love of science, do NOT make this man angry with any rhetorical comments or insults! Let me do the t-talking and only speak when you're spoken to! Don't t-touch anything and don't break anything! Do anything to make him mad and we'll both pay!"The masked man spoke, his voice low and it held a tone of warning. You just nodded, feeling a slight rush when the man turned around and gave a few low-key knocks on the door with his knuckle. "S-Sir? Permission to come in, please?" The man asked. To which a deep rumbling voice responded from some place behind the door a few seconds later. "Come in." The voice ordered, to which the masked man turned the knob to the double doors and opened them. Allowing you both to walk inside the dreary office. -- Flug and yourself were currently walking into a dimly lit office-like space. It was a place that spelled danger at every darkened corner. You even found yourself walking closer to the masked man for a faint feeling of security. Yep. Whoever lives here likes the gothic feel that these creepy items and trinkets give off. As there was statues of gargoyles lining the walls and pillars that paralleled each side of the red rug that lead further into the room. The rug that lead to the desk in the center even had the design of a top hat stitched into it. Strangely enough, there was a lot of top hat oriented items that were littered around this building. It was on the suits of armor, the wallpaper, the rugs, and even on the furniture! The person that owns this place has an obsession for top hats and gothic styled things apparently. Further and further into the office you both walked. The atmosphere rang of gothic elegance. Lit by seemingly faint candlelight. Yet, both of your journeys came to an end when you both stopped in front of a dark wooded desk that had a large chair behind it that was currently facing away from you both and was facing toward the large rose-tinted window behind the desk. You could tell that someone was occupying the chair. As they were holding an empty wine glass in their hand, void of any liquid whatsoever. Which was also concealed in a glove, like the masked man you were with. Except they were more elegant then the masked mans' pair and a darkened black. Said man then approached the desk, dwindling his thumbs. You both jumped when the voice spoke up. "So. How's the project going, Flug?" The voice hissed, causing the man, now named Flug, to quiver. "Uh....w-well. We got more than we expected to get, sir." Flug explained. To which it seemed to catch the mans' attention. "We got...more than we were expecting? What are you going on about now, Flug?" The chair then turned around, yet you weren't prepared for the visual of the...'man' that was in front of you. You wanted to just blurt out 'What the fuck?!', but you held your tongue. Probably due to...Flugs' plea. The chair had a strange demon-looking man sitting in it, who was currently pinching the bridge of his non-existent nose, as he opened his one visible eye that wasn't hidden behind a monocle, his sharp gaze then landed on you. To which he snapped all of his attention to you. You felt kinda nervous under his threatening gaze, but you kept your calm outer appearance. The demon snarled. "I see what you mean now, Flug." He gestured to yourself. "Tell me. How did this person get past my defenses?" He placed the empty wine glass on the table, then sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. Giving you a deadly leer while he was at it. "Well, you see sir..." Flug started. It took a lot of explaining from Flug to get his 'boss' to understand what was going down. He told him some science mumbo-jumbo, results, data, and various other things that you didn't understand. Some things about meteorites and a particle gun? Also, he explained about a collision, probably mentioning you, and explained what went down on the roof. "And that's what happened, sir." Flug finished, nervously twitching every now and then. The demon man took a nice long and deep breath, then exhaled. Yet, it was anything but satisfied. "So. Let me revise what you just explained, Flug." The man growled, addressing the shuddering scientist next to you. The poor guy was sweating bullets that were leaking through his bag. Which was pretty gross. "You managed to succeed in making the particle gun." He paused for effect. "You managed to get the beam into space...and it collided with, what you suspect was a distant planet, and not an asteroid." "But, you didn't anticipate this type of outcome. That you might accidentally bring back some form of foreign life from a distant galaxy?" The demon growled, gesturing to yourself. Flug gulped. "T-That is correct sir. I did preform a s-successful launch, but I-I didn't make the prototype able to p-process bio-particles well." Flug confirmed. "And where IS the prototype?" The evil-looking man leered. "It....e-exploded." Flug jumped at the sound of the dark man smacking his face and growling. "I knew something went wrong the moment I heard that loud ruckus coming from the roof. Figures." He snarled. Then, he turned his leering attention to the alien in the room, who didn't flinch at all under his gaze. A few seconds passed, with Flug looking nervously over to the newcomer, who was looking at the demon in a confused manner. "WELL?! Are you going to tell me who you are or not?!" The vile creature snapped, causing Flug to flinch and the guest to jump slightly. They merely just cocked their brow and blinked. "Dude, Chill. You could of just asked." The alien said lamely, while waving their hand carelessly, ignoring the glare they received from the vile man in return. "My name's (Name)! (First) (Last)! Nice to meet ya!" You smiled, while waving at the leering demon. "Well, (Name)." The finely dressed man said snidely. "I am Black Hat! The head of this evil corporation!" Black Hat cackled as he posed slightly. But, when nobody did anything, he placed his hands back down onto the table. Brushing off the awkwardness like it was nothing. Still, that little 'Evil Corporation' bit DID have you kinda worried. I mean, were they gonna experiment on you? You hope that they don't do that. That wouldn't be healthy for you. Especially if it involved cutting you open and stealing all of your entrails. That REALLY wouldn't be okay with you. "Now, tell me. Where did you come from?" Black Hat questions, while folding his gloved hands together on the desk and leaning back in his chair, keeping his gaze on the newcomer. You looked lost in thought for a moment. Seemingly pondering what he meant. "Where I'm from? Do you want just the planet or details?" You asked. "Full information." Black Hat replied shortly. "Oh. Well, I'm from Earth. I lived in (Country) and in a house. Which is located in a solar system, which is also located in a southern arm of the Milky Way Spiral Galaxy within the Virgo Galaxy Cluster." You Answered. Black Hat hummed in slight boredom, while Flug appeared to be intrigued with the new information. Curiously staring at you as he seemed to be calculating something from within the safety of his own mind. Yet, you paid attention to Black Hat when he began to size you up. Hopefully judging your character and NOT how much meat was on your bones. Because those sharp teeth are giving you unwanted horrible flesh-tearing-involved thoughts. 'Please don't be THOSE types of aliens.' You mentally hoped. "Any useful skills?" Black Hat asked in a business-like tone, as he sat up and began to gather some papers. Huh. Well, that caught you off guard. This...demon-man-thing does own a corporation. "Uh. Well, I attended a high end technology-based college for about 4 years. I have bachelor degrees in robotic engineering and computer sciences." For some reason, it kinda feels like an interview to you. Oh well. This is better than having a luau with you as the main course, right? You heard Black Hat hum in slight interest. "An alien robotics engineer and a computer technician. Interesting." Black Hat muttered as he put away some of the papers and sat up straight. "Well. As you can already guess that your way home is currently. . .compromised." Black Hat made eye contact with Flug, before he focused on you once more. You nodded in understanding. "Yeah. Heard what, uh, Flug said. The machine that brought me here blew up, right?" You reply, while looking over to the too quiet scientist. Who scratched his neck in a nervous way. "Correct." Black Hat affirmed. "Which means, you will have to stay with Black Hat Inc until we can return you home." Black Hat said, as he tightened his gaze when he saw you grin a little. "HOWEVER." Black Hat grinned smugly, just as your face fell into slight confusion. "Being allowed to stay here means that you have to do your part and fair share while you're living here." Black Hat warned. "It's either you stay here and assist us or you leave and never come back." Black Hat explained with a cackle. You were kinda confused at the choices, but the attitude REALLY threw you off. Black Hat just shifted, placed the palms of his hands together, and tilted his head down. Giving himself a much more menacing posture and aura. "So. What will it be?" Black Hat asked, looking at you from under the brim of his hat. You placed a finger on your chin. After about a minute of thought, you sighed. The choice was horribly one-sided. It was a wonder at why he gave you a choice anyway. It was quite obvious which one you were gonna pick! "I guess, I'll do my part and help in any way that I can." You caved. Suddenly, much to your surprise, Black Hat reached a hand across his desk. "Welcome aboard." He grinned, yet you could tell there was an underline menacing tone to the friendly gesture. But, for the sake of not being rude, you placed your own hand in his. Once your hand made contact with his, a shock went through your body, it was fast and painful, but over in a second. Your hand was released from his as you tried to shake the lingering pain off of the inflicted hand. Black Hat just sat back in his chair and had a Cheshire grin on his face as he observed the spectacle. "Ow! I didn't take you for the prankster type!" You exclaimed, while shaking your hand to get rid of the tingling feeling that still remained. Black Hat just let out an intimidating chuckle, then waved his hand. "Go out into the hall and wait. Flug will be with you shortly to escort you to his lab." He ordered. You looked at Black Hat in confusion, before you turned around and made your way to the double doors to the room. Leaving a nervous Flug to stand in front of Black Hat's desk alone. Only when the doors closed shut with a quiet 'click!' did Black Hat lock gazes with Flug again. Which made the poor mans' heart quake. "The only reason that you're not being beaten right now is because of the unexpected fruits that we reaped from this mistake, Flug." Black Hat growled, putting Flug on an anxiety-ridden edge. "S-Sorry, sir!" Flug squeaked. "I'll let this incident go unpunished, just this once. But, let me make myself clear about something." Black Hat sneered as leaned over and grabbed Flug by the neck and  pulled him down to his level. Causing Flug to shriek in surprise. "You better make a good use of of our 'new recruit' or else!" Black Hat snarled, as Flug recoiled and nodded rapidly. "Good. Now, leave." Black Hat released Flug, who scrambled for the door the moment he was released. "And don't fail me again!" He cursed after the fleeing scientist, as Flug opened the doors and scrambled out into the hall before closing them again. Once he was alone, Black Hat turned around to face out the window. Mulling over some invention ideas for some weapons, now that he has an engineer and scientist, he can make more than just rays and a few devices. He silently wonders what the new recruit can do to broaden his own corporation. -- Flug had to control his breathing, now that he was visible to yourself. Black Hat's unfortunate new recruit, to their unknowing knowledge, was looking slightly concerned for him. Much to his, slight, comfort. Yet, he needed to compose himself. Flug straightened up and cleared his throat, taking steady deep breaths to even out his rapidly beating heart. "So, uh, I guess you're gonna be working with me, in m-my lab while your here. We'll get you an assigned room soon, so don't worry about that!" Flug asked as he took deep and steady breaths to finish evening out his heart rate. The last thing he needed to do was have an anxiety attack in front of you. They smiled at him, worry temporarily sedated. "I guess so. You can lead the way and I'll follow you." They said. Flug nodded and waved his hand in a 'follow me' motion as both of you headed down the maze-like hallways. While leading the way to the lab, and also giving a half-hearted tour of the manor, Flug couldn't help but pity the human-alien being. 'They had no idea that they were ripped away from their home and took a deal to work with Black Hat for an indefinite amount of time.' Flug thought, grimly. Flug had to shake his head to clear the guilt away from his conscious. He'll worry about that later. You were looking at the artifacts that decorated the halls and walls as they walked. Pointing at things, 'ooh-ing' and 'aah-ing' in interest at some objects. He did have to admit, it was nice to have another person other than his boss, Dementia, and 5.0.5 around the house. Like a breath of fresh air after being in a confined space for a long period of time. He wonders if Black Hat noticed the differences in the newcomer like he did when they first met. Flug rethought that and scoffed. He probably did. Black Hat notices...a lot of things. Not only that, but the information that you spoke of in Black Hat's office intrigued him greatly. A completely different galaxy? Fascinating! What is the Virgo Cluster and what's in it? What is the culture of their people? Do they have Heroes and Villains too? What technology has been invented that can't be found here? What makes humans evolve on a planet so different from his own? Flug felt a strong surge of giddiness go through him. He couldn't wait to interrogate them! --------------------------------------------------------------- Next> <Previous

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

Revenge (extended edition)

So I’m sorry it got way longer than expected. You don’t have to publish it if you think it’s bad :)

(Warning: 18+ language.)

Revenge

Honestly, Agni’s always felt like he’s not really good enough for you. It’s nothing you or anyone else did; it’s just that he thinks you’re pretty much the most amazing person in the world, too amazing, and he… doesn’t think that he’s good enough for someone who’s the most amazing person in the world.

You’re the proclaimed “ genius-billionaire-philanthropist-player”. You had your first Ph.D at 14. You cured three type of cancer, one of which was how you two met- because your cure saved him. You made your fortune in tech - “real life Tony Stark” was on your Time magazine “Person of the Year” cover headline. You negotiated a peace between the two Koreas. You cured AIDS! For goodness sake. Peoples may have their opinions about how you seem to be, but your fuck-all attitude is so impressive, the Kardashian pays to go to your parties that were hosted without you ever showing up.

But him? He’s nothing.

No wealth, no fancy degree, no family worth speaking of - other than Soma. He’s just a kindergarten teacher for a private school where the tuition per year is almost more than his own salary. You saved his life, the reason why he’s not six-feet under but towering over most people at six feet five inches.

“Palpable eye-candy.”

“He’s exotic, we’ll give him that.”

“A kindergarten teach? Fo’real? That’s what The She IRL Tony Stark is into. Damn. I’m better than that and I can’t even find a date.”

“Pfft. probs keep that blond mop-head as a philanthropy trophy.”

“I wonder if he’s actually a pedo? Or a tranny, no real man is that pathetic.”

“Ay’yo ma, kill urself so I get a chance aye?”

“What do you call a male gold digger? A man whore?”

“Man-whore, man-slut. Whatev.”

And so on.

He hides these tweets, comments, gossips - whatever they are from you. Good thing that despite being the Tech magnate, you don’t care much for social media, other than what the trending memes is.

Until one day when he couldn’t. Even from all the loves and hugs and smiles he’s receive each day at school from his wonderful students.

“They’re funny!”

You insisted with a mouth full of strawberry starburst. It’s hard to imagine that the woman who brings fear on a world-stage level is his wife. Wearing long ebony hair in a messy bun, buried oversized sweater (previously his) stained with BBQ sauce, lounging around on the sofas, munching on chips, and cackling at memes he can’t understand, it’s hard to believe you’re the same person that walked out the door with butlers and guards trailing behind you.

That said, it’s moment like this that reminds him of how much in love with you he is - and the shame bubbles from inside him, clawing at his throat, threatening to spill over. The same feeling he’s been having since the media caught wind of the fact that you two are married.

He sat down behind you, surprising you with a hug. He figured that if he buried his face in your back long enough, he’ll regain enough composure to stop himself from crying from the sheer cruelty of people he’d never meet.

(You’re not surprised when he hugs you of course, he’s always been the more affectionate one. Correction, he’s the epitome of affection, love, goodness, and anything that’s GOOD^tm.)

(While you are, in short, an emotionless, semi-borderline psychopathic asshole and mostly an impatient bitch. If it wasn’t for Agni, you would’ve just blew North Korea off the maps with their own nuclear arsenal instead of spending months of planning with the joint forces of the South Korean government, the USA, and U.N forces.)

(You never once stop complaining during this time. And it was the God of Patience, personified as Agni, the only person who could manage to calm you down every time you’d wake up in the middle of the night, rambling about how much faster it would be to “Just. Bomb. The. Shit. Out. Of. Those. Commie.”)

(You still can’t understand why to this day, Agni refuses to accept his critical role in your so-called “peace negotiation” of the Koreas”.)

“What’s wrong?” You asks nonchalantly as you scrolls through your thousandth meme for the day. It’s one your way of keep yourself sane - the main way being Agni, obv.

“It’s nothing. Just work, nothing you should worry about.” He answers, resting his face on your shoulder, “but also, you promised me you’d drink less.”

“I did. I’ve only got two beers and half a bottle of mini-Jack Danny today.” You bit into a chip. Something’s off. He doesn’t usually brings up your shitty alcoholic habit unless it’s seriously too much, or if he’s deflecting.

“Uh, sure you did. I can still smell it on your breath.” He replies in a disappointed voice, his Teacher’s voice. The one he knew that you hate. Or at the most, mildly dislike. It is an impossibility to hate him.

“Whatever. Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know? Grading some kiddie finger painting or something?” You snaps back in a bored voice, , expecting him to muzzle you with your bowl of chips in return.

Instead, Agni pulls away, you turn back and his eyes are just spilling with hot tears.

You froze, unsure of what to do. Your computer like mind immediately rewind itself and methodically sort itself to all events within the past 72 hours to see where you might’ve gone wrong to make him cry.

“Why did you marry me?” He asks softly, refusing to meet your eyes. He withdrawn himself away from you, tucking his normally large body into the corner of the sofa, his fingers tugging at the hand-casted gold ring, “I..I was never good enough to deserve you.”

“Whoa. Um. Where exactly is this coming from? Who the fuck told you something like this?” Your eyes narrow dangerously. Agni wouldn’t just break down like this. You’ve been married for two years to him, and the news has only broken six-months ago. You’ve made sure to silence the press so that Agni can transition smoothly - apparently you fucked up somewhere along the line.

“What? No. I mean it. I’m serious. Between you and me. I’m nothing. I’m not even as great as Pepper Potts, and she’s Iron Man girlfriend.” He rambles on, his face still streaks with tears, “I’m just a teacher for a bunch of little kids who’re lucky enough to be born into wealthy families. They’re the best kids. I just.. I don’t know. Im not a professor for a prestigious college like Sebastian. I’m not the heir to a title like the Phantomhives twin. I’m not brilliant in any way comparable to Sieglinde. I’m..im..nothing.”

You stares at him. Wordless after hearing the words that came out of his mouth. A strange rage that you haven’t felt in a long time bubbles up inside your gut.

You haven’t felt rage in a long time because you have him.

A familiar desire to kill something uncoils itself from years in hibernation. You haven’t desire to kill in so long because he was next to you.

All that was bad and evil and rotten within your are locked away because he is the sun of your life.

The light of your days. The guidance in your path. The reason you haven’t drank yourself to death or overdosed on some concoction of drugs.

And here he is.

The most beautiful and perfect existence in this damn planet. Saying all these bullshit about himself. The audacity to believe his own words.

Someone will pay for this. You seethes. “Who? Tell me who.” You calmly asks as you yank him towards you for a tight hug. You’re stronger than he is after all.

“No one. But it’s true, isn’t it. You know that it’s true.” He hiccups, resisting your hug. You can feel the heat from his baseless shame radiating.

“All right. Don’t tell me.” You clicks your tongue.

“Tanaka! Show me all of recent Tweeter, Facebook, Instagram, and others relates to Agni in anyway.” You yells into thin air, moments later, the house AI, Tanaka, responded with all of what Agni has been trying to hide from you.

“Why? What?! No! No please. Stop it! Tanaka stop!.” Agni’s head perks up, frantically waving for the AI to shut up to no avail.

You skim through the flashing holograms, your blood boils at the comments, and tweets, and re-tweets and all the shits you’ve always been too busy to care about.

If these had been directed at you, you couldn’t give less of a shit. But no, they target the only thing, the only person you hold dear above all else. This calls for war.

And you’re very good at war.

Agni sees that flash of cruelty in you, the one where you beat a man twice his size to death because that man dared to kidnapped him. The one where you casually placed a bullet in the head of a former dictator in front of her rogue son. There’s a darkness in you. So dark and cold and cruel that he can’t believe he’d forgotten it still exists.

He begs you to reconsider, and try his best to muffle the black fire he can see is growing. The way your eyes darken. The way your nostrils flares. It terrifies him.

And so he begs you to calm down. To not let your anger gets to you. Try as you might, your sole vulnerability remains to be his puppy-dog sparkling eyes.

So tou calm down. You tell him him that it’s ok, you won’t do anything. If it’s all right, you’ll just block all of these nasty comments from his social media’s. Better yet, you suggest that he go on a “detox”. No more social media for him, none whatsoever. For a whole month until this all dies down.

Agni agrees feverishly. He apologizes for making you worry - something which still slightly pissed you off when he apologize for anything. You carried him to bed, he blushes, you made gentle love to him.

And when your beautiful Sun is fast asleep with his silky white hair resting on your top-grade silk pillowcase and his beautiful body cozied under your thick Turkish fiber blanket. You kisses his him gently and leave the room.

And you wage war.

You tracked down every single IP address of every single nasty commenters and tweeters and posts and retweets to their live owner. You made a list.

You commandeer their bank account, their stocks, their saving, their livelihood. Everything that are of value to them.

And you burned it all.

Temporarily of course. Agni would be devastated if he ever finds out what you’ve done.

You decided to let these fuckers suffer for a whole week, maybe a little more the worst of offender.

When you’re satisfied with all your doing, you return to your bedroom, where the light of your existence remains fast asleep.

He has the cutest snore

You smile as you snuggle next to him.

[radramblog]

Who should I vote for in the WA state election?

Full disclosure, this is directly inspired by this article, by someone from my high school as part of a youth newspaper he was working on. Considering said newspaper hasn’t updated since, oh, 2017, I think it’s fine to step on a few toes.

According to the ABC there are 19 parties vying for votes in the 2021 Western Australia State Election, which is coming up on Saturday. Some of them are good, some of them are very very not. Let’s go through each!

Animal Justice Party

The Animal Justice Party is a single-platform party masquerading as a multi-platform party, and while they have bland but reasonable positions on common issues everything, and I mean everything, on their page circles back to animals. Mental Health? Animal therapy and volunteering are good for that! Foreign Policy? We only care about trophies and wildlife trade! Domestic Violence? Abusers kick puppies, not just spouses! You get the idea. They mean well, but I don’t think they’re even close to a top pick, especially considering some of their odder platforms (banning processed meat sales to minors like they’re cigarettes, sure ok).

Vote for them if you’re the epitome of the obnoxious vegan.

 Australian Christians

I mean, obviously I’m not religious, but I’m pretty sure these folks don’t speak for all Christians. They’re first on the list of whackjobs, anti-abortion and same-sex marriage, pro “sexual morality” (read: puritanism) and have out-of-context bible quotes on their statement of intents. Oh, sorry, statement of beliefs. Clicking on this webpage made my skin crawl- protip, if a person or party claims to support “family values” or “Christian ideals” 99 times out of 100 they’re just using it to justify bigotry.

Vote for them if you’d feel right at home in Cromwellian England.

 Daylight Savings Party

This one’s website was broken for me, so I couldn’t really get a hold of anything beyond the name and what was on their facebook page, which is pretty much just what their mission statement is- Western Australia but we have daylight savings time. Despite being ridiculously sunny all the time. But….but why though….

Vote for them if you enjoy changing your clocks twice a year, like a weirdo.

 The Great Australian Party

There are two really obvious jokes here screaming at me to be made. The GAP wants to make Australia great again, and despite the name it doesn’t involve jeans. These guys think taxes are bad but it would be good if they were instead handled by corporations, which is the most laughably stupid idea that itd be enough to bottom-vote them just on that- fortunately, their stance on firearms (we’ll get to it later) and immigration (withdrawing from UN treaties, seriously?) make it pretty clear they’re just a bunch of cunts. Their policy pages complain about political correctness and want to make fucking with a flag a crime like it is in the US, so the comparisons to a certain US party keep going.

Vote for them if you’re the proud owner of a red hat that your children will burn out of shame.

 Health Australia Party

The fact that these people have an entire page dedicated to going “no, we aren’t anti-vax, we just have a lot of concerns” answers any questions you could possibly have. They also advocate for “natural medicine” to be placed on equal footing with, you know, medicine, which is obviously not a great idea.

Also, that they spell it “anti-vacc” and that their policy list is in fucking Calibri bugs me to no end.

Vote for them if you’re on a lemon detox.

 Legalise Cannabis Western Australia

Take a guess. Take a wild fucking guess what single issue these guys are about. I don’t even have anything against this idea, their policies aren’t awful or anything, but it’s a heck of a hill to spend so much of your time on.

Vote for them if you’re high off your tits, I guess.

 Liberal Democrats

What is this, libertarians? I’ll be frank, most of their policies are rooted in economics stuff I don’t really understand, but they’re against COVID lockdowns. You know, despite how effective they’re shown to be around here since we don’t fuck them up (mostly).

These guys seem to be one of the bigger of the small parties but their website is super unhelpful so ???

Vote for them if… I dunno?

 Liberal Party

The first of the two major parties. They lost power in the last state election, and I couldn’t be more thankful- they’d been doing nothing but cock up for years at that point, and the premier was a fucking joke. Considering that their leader has apparently already conceded defeat, I suspect they aren’t looking to repeat the process.

The Liberals seem to be the default for a lot of people, thanks to their incalculable media bias and being one of the big two. I suppose if you’re reading this, you aren’t voting for them anyway.

Vote for them if your mum voted for them and you’re proud of that for some reason.

 Liberals for Climate

If you voted in the last election, you might remember a party called the Flux network, which was a party where their policy was just online voting for everything. This is, uh them again? But they seem more concerned about climate than last time.

Vote for them if you haven’t watched this video.

 No Mandatory Vaccination Party

…no. just no.

Antivaccination is an opinion that makes my skin crawl. The fucker that effectively started the movement, Andrew Wakefield, effectively did so for the money, and as such is indirectly responsible for thousands of deaths. The people who believe this shit know nothing of chemistry or medicine but hear a few buzzwords and do a google or two and think they’re the greatest geniuses of our time. They think they’re soooo fucking smart. Confident incorrectness can be funny at times, but not when such a huge issue is at stake.

Vote for them if you want me to call you out on twitter dot com.

 Pauline Hanson’s One Nation

Oh christ she’s still trying this shit? For reference, in the last election these xenophobic cunts were rightfully punted out of our state, despite massive campaigning, proving that we aren’t the bogan capital of the country quite as much. Their policy pages make me want to vomit, but who the fuck voting for One Nation reads the fucking policy page?

Pauline Hanson was a fish and chip shop owner who made a political party to get her xenophobic bullshit out on the national stage, and was arrested for election fraud, yet still is allowed to run a party for some reason. She’s switched the target of her ire from China to the Middle East to reflect modern bigotry better, but it’s the same old shit. The only good thing ever to come about her was the Pauline Pantsdown song, and she obviously wasn’t involved in that.

Vote for them if you’re interested in joining the Proud Boys.

 Shooters Fishers and Farmers

Oh and the hits just keep coming. Funnily enough I don’t have an issue with their fishery policy, but that’s not the main one, obviously. Australia has harsh gun control laws on account of a mass shooting back in 1997, and we’ve stayed that way for 23 years with, shockingly, no further mass shootings (that I’m aware of). You can disguise your policy by saying its for the sport all you want, but I’ve got no interest in bringing guns back to WA.

Vote for them if you think the NRA having massive political sway in the USA is a good thing.

 Socialist Alliance

Full disclosure, I consider myself a socialist, so I’m probably a little biased here. But yeah, these look like good policies. They want to remove the USA military presence in Australia which I am personally very for, they support royal commission into the big banks which should have been done a decade ago, and they want to lower the voting age to 16 which considering that the youth are generally more politically minded these days seems fair enough to me. I’m for it.

Vote for them if you would have voted for the Greens, and don’t know which to put higher.

 Sustainable Australia

Despite the name, the policy of this party is more concerned about population than climate, an issue I’m not sure is especially pronounced in this neck of the woods. I’d put them fairly middle of the road, seeing as they have some policies I’m for (no new coal mines or fracking) and some I’m very against (increased police funding, lowered immigration).

Vote for them if you too don’t know the common usage of the word Sustainable in modern times.

 The Greens

Why everything is alphabetical until this and the next one are beyond me. Regardless, I suspect you already know if you’re voting Greens, but bluntly: They’re basically the only ones with a real, functional plan about Climate Change. And considering that’s the biggest problem facing humanity at large right now (yes, including COVID), that’s a pretty solid claim.

Vote for them if THERE IS NO PLANET BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

 The Nationals

The nationals end up in coalition with the Liberals basically all the fucking time so if you’d vote for the Libs you’ll vote for the Nats. They’re basically the liberals, but they pay lip service to caring about poor rural areas while continuing to suck big buisness’s cock like a kid with an icy-pole.

Vote for them if you’re a genuine country bumpkin.

 WA Labor

I’ll be frank, I don’t think there’s a single way Labor doesn’t win this election. Mark McGowan has developed a minor cult of personality, and they’ve handled the old COVID situation remarkably well. I don’t agree with everything they’ve done in the past 4 years, but their track record is certainly better than the Liberals. Still, they’re not going to be the top of my preference sheet.

Vote for them if you don’t know what small parties to preference first.

 WAxit party

I’ve admittedly entertained the idea of a Western Australian Secession, and provided it is handled well am not entirely against it. It does make me feel vaguely Texan, though, and that’s not a position I enjoy being in. This party wants to massively invest in defense so WA can protect itself from an invasion- one that will never, ever come, and I really don’t expect to eat those words. We don’t matter enough to target.

Vote for them if you think Brexit 2 sounds like a good idea.

 Western Australia Party

Look at this point I’m fucking sick of all these parties. They have Family Values on their policy list so I’m just taking that as a red enough flag not to vote for them.

Vote for them if you actually read their shit and were a fan of it.

 And that’s…everyone. Wait no not everyone hang on.

Independents

I must confess, I basically always forget to read about the independents prior to an election. This is going to be different in every district, so do your research- or just do what I do and stick them all smack bang in the middle between the parties I like and the parties I don’t like.

 Ok now that’s everyone. This took a long time and a lot out of me, so I hope you appreciate this shit. Hopefully you are now prepared for what may come on Saturday the 13th, and won’t be too disappointed when your minor party of choice doesn’t win the seat because everyone in your area votes Liberal for some fucking reason.

[meggannn]

@keelificent asked me about why i think earthborn!shepard would be wary of garrus in mass effect 1 and phew here i go *cracks knuckles*

obviously this is subject to everyone’s shepard, particularly paragon or para-leaning earthborn shepards, cause maybe interpretations of renegade shepards don’t give a fuck about this kind of thing. my eb shepard is kind of hardened but still (or tries to be) para-leaning, mostly come out of a self-driven desire to atone to make up for her frankly embarrassing past as a delinquent (in her own eyes).

so anyway. any gangster would obviously be wary of cops, even the ones who run mildly inoffensive crimes, like the lookouts, or participants in petty theft or vandilism. it sounds like space capitalism and classism are still huge in the me ‘verse (and i’m assuming racism is still kicking as well, even if most of the population is poc or mixed), so i don’t imagine humans will have solved their corruption problems by the 2170s. you don’t even have to be a felon or live on the streets to be wary of cops, but for a teenager in a gang, yeah, i imagine there’d be an instinctual urge to bolt at the first sign of a badge; bolt, or play the distractor/actor, the one stalling for time and pacifying while the others scram.

maybe earthborn shepard’s been arrested before, maybe not. but either way i don’t think they would’ve had to have been to develop an instinctual reaction to be wary of cops. and keeping in mind that this is still earth, it’s not just out of fear of being thrown in prison or a foster home -- but i imagine shepard is also well aware of the cops to avoid from rumors of police brutality and corruption. i don’t think that kind of wariness ever leaves someone after they grow up with it during formative years, considering their life relied on a) not getting caught, and if you can’t avoid that, then b) not getting caught by one of the bad ones.

fast-forward 11 years....... commander shepard walks to the top of the steps in the citadel tower. shepard is now a disciplined well-respected marine with a distinguished record. they fight to make the galaxy a safer place. they worked hard to be where they’re at. she meets a cop at the top of the steps. old habits can still die hard.

gonna just commit to using ‘she’ here to distinguish this is now my shepard’s reactions she meets a cop who introduces himself as the detective behind investigating the spectre-turned-possible-terrorist saren arterius. vakarian is polite and respectful, but frustrated. he’s got no evidence, no records, just working on instinct. he ‘feels it in his gut.’ shepards can have a lot of reactions to meeting garrus vakarian for the first time, but aside from the instinctual urge to be cautious of trusting a cop, mine mostly logs his presence away as a mental note to possibly contact later.

the next time she meets garrus vakarian, he uses her entrance as a distraction to take the first shot on a gang of thugs holding a witness hostage. it’s clear vakarian has now gone rogue to work the investigation on his own terms. you properly dispense the bad guys and he thanks you at the end. “perfect timing! gave me a clear shot at that bastard.” the fact that he made a pinpoint shot with a handgun and little time to prep is either exemplary skill, or complete luck. either way, it was still a dangerous move -- the bullet struck less than a hand’s breath from the witness’s skull.

so log him in her brain now as ‘skilled but reckless.’ not really the kind of qualities you want in a policeman. also: he has no problem playing judge, jury, and executioner. i mean yeah, she would’ve killed the thug too, cause he had a gun to the hostage’s skull and engaged them in a firefight, but again, vakarian made the first shot. (we, the audience, know that this random npc was dead anyway and garrus had the right of it, but shepard doesn’t know that when she walks into the room. maybe she could’ve interrogated them to find out more about their orders from the broker.)

so shepard can chew him out for risking the hostage’s life, and he says “there wasn’t time to think, i just reacted.” which imo is probably just sloppy writing, because you’d think think a turian policeman would have better discipline than that, though again, ymmv on how wide the gap is between turian and human socialization and discipline. (personally i feel it’s more in character to have planned out his moves during that waiting time before shepard enters and made a calculated shot, but still accepted the risk that he might hit dr michel nonetheless.)

michel talks about tali’zorah and fist, with officer vakarian filling in context and other details he found from his investigation. this guy is so antsy to lock saren down he’s practically vibrating. which is not a bad thing, because you want a policeman to be driven by a drive to put dangerous people behind bars. but again! reckless.

“this is your show, shepard. but i want to bring saren down as much as you do. i’m coming with you.” okay, vakarian, but i just MET you. what are your qualifications, or am i only bringing you on as an attaché for saren info? are you a good shot, or just lucky? can i count on you to reign in the excitement if civilian lives are at stake?

you can’t ask him any of this because bioware wasn’t thinking of these questions in 2007; you’re limited to “okay,” “hit the road josé,” and “why do you care so much, bro?” his response to the last two makes it pretty obvious that he’s driven by a sheer desire to see justice served: saren is a criminal. his actions have killed people, and his current freedom puts more lives at stake. and he’s getting away with it. also, “he’s a disgrace to my people.” if shepard has read her codex or talked to literally any turian for two seconds by now, she knows turians are a very proud, disciplined, and (theoretically) honorable people. that saren is a criminal and that he is using the system designed to help people to disguise his crimes, is eating vakarian alive.

at this point you could ask my earthborn shep “why take him at all if you don’t trust him to play by the rules?” the answer to that is

she believes in this moment that he is, at his core, genuinely driven by a desire to do good with his job, with casualties as an afterthought to the main goal. she still dislikes that attitude immensely, coming an earthborn background, it means she once was one of those ‘little people’ that police often disregarded in pursuing their targets, but she believes at least now that maybe she can get him to remember they’re not just chasing saren because he’s a Designated Bad Guy, they’re chasing him because his actions wiped out a colony and his plans clearly involve more bloodshed. in other words, it’s about protecting people, not winning against the bad guy, and she thinks he can be nudged back into that direction with appeals to his honor code, which he does seem to have.

if she says “no you can’t come,” she doesn’t put it past him not to leave c-sec and pursue saren on his own. maybe their paths would cross, maybe not, but she already has evidence he’s willing to go against orders, come armed to a clinic, and shoot up criminals without clearance from his boss. what if he decided to go chasing down saren on his own?

for however dangerous his move was, he does have good instincts. that ‘gut feeling’ was absolutely correct: he was right to come to the clinic, and was in the right place at the right time to make the shot. could’ve been luck, but just as likely could’ve been skill.

he’s a little aggressive and presumptuous, but still respectful of her and her command. turians are trained to defer to superiors, aren’t they? well, he did just defy orders to keep investigating, but that was because he knew saren was guilty and it was a bad call. honestly, she probably would’ve done the same thing. shit, okay, she just talked herself into saying yes.

and that was meeting two. i can’t help but think her opinion of garrus vakarian..... doesn’t really get much better until maybe the end of mass effect 1. i’m not gonna summarize every conversation they have in the cargo bay, but you probably remember the gist, and we know what me1!garrus is like: he’s eager to prove himself, constantly puts his foot in his mouth, is over the moon to work outside the law, and is kind of obviously projecting his spectre fantasy onto shepard. talks constantly about how he doesn’t see why the law should get in the way of doing what’s right.

okay, shepard can agree with that. she grew up in a literal sewer; she knows morality can (and if you’re para-leaning, should) be put above the law.

“and also!” garrus vakarian says, “also, these damn rules get in the way of doing my job. if my orders are to take in a suspect, why should it matter how i do it, so long as i do?”

“uh,” says shepard, thinking of the millions of corrupt cops back on earth who banged her head as they shoved her into the backseat of their car, pepper sprayed her friends -- not because she believes this of him, but because her mind jumps to the worst out of familiarity with seeing corruption from the bottom, and a fear that this is who he might become if she doesn’t handle this very, very carefully. vakarian seems to look up to her, for some unfathomable reason. he values what she has to say. she has to treat him respectfully, but she will make herself clear that collateral damage is not tolerated in her missions.

also, uh, it’d be stupid for her to ignore that compared to everyone else on board, this boy is like the most privileged one in galactic society. a turian cop (with a detective father well distinguished for his service) is already in a position of power over half of the ground team, but a turian who’s from the capital city of the turian home planet who lives at a station at the heart of the citadel with a badge and a lifetime of xenophobic microaggressions to learn to get over... like, no wonder tali and wrex weren’t fond of those elevator conversations, lmao.

i want to be clear, i don’t think my earthborn!shepard dislikes garrus in me1. she sees a lot of herself in him. they’re both disciplined but easily frustrated, driven by strong sense of duty and justice, don’t mind breaking a few eggs to get there -- imo a para-leaning earthborn!shepard has just seen more examples of what happens when higher ups cut corners. people like orphans suffer. people like who she was suffer. some of them don’t survive. so she tries to sort of.... nudge him into what she thinks is the right path without stomping all over his personality. i think she does value individuality and his opinions, more than blind obedience, so it is a dialogue, but she wants him to hear her. and when he tells her he’s going to reapply to spectre training and go back to c-sec in the meantime, and that he’s learned a lot, she’s genuinely glad to hear it.

anyway that’s my longass response to your prompt. i fully acknowledge this interpretation of garrus, even early-stage underdeveloped garrus (compared to me2/3), is probably an unpopular opinion, and possibly an uncomfortable one considering real-life parallels, so i apologize if i sound disrespectful. part of my attempts at broadening lore within this universe include addressing social differences that bioware mentions but drops the ball on (e.g., turians and asari having privilege over other races), so this is just like the result of some of those thoughts to bring a little sense of realism to this universe. and of course, ymmv with different types of earthborn shepards and how they would react to having a cop on board -- i’m not arguing this is is reflective of all, just how i see mine.

anyway it’s ok because they get much closer on the sr2. and after the war, things are good, until garrus offhandedly mentions his dad used to be deputy chief of one of the largest wards on the citadel, well known for gang and felon activity, and shepard closes her eyes, thinks of all of those ASBOs she racked up, knows with every fibre of her being that somewhere out in the galaxy castis vakarian has found out about their relationship and is scouring the extranet for her public history both after her enlistment and before, and while garrus continues talking unaware, she part of her dreads the day she does finally meet vakarian sr in person. buuuut that’s a story for another time.

[aliensmoocher]

SO! here’s some thoughts on ME:A now that I’ve finished it, spoiler heavy, not totally complete as I have a lot of thoughts and I can’t hope to remember them all in one sitting. 

Some things I liked about it: 

Many of the characters in your squad were likeable(which is a personal opinion and I could totally see why others would feel otherwise). (I think Drak got the most attention that actually felt worthwhile, and his story was the most enjoyable, kudos to his writer.) 

Most of the initiative leaders were also fairly likeable (this is very personal opinion based, wasn’t the biggest fan of Addison -but I don’t think you’re really supposed to like her. I don’t think you were supposed to be a fan of Tann either, but I like him in a love to hate him sort of way. It wouldn’t be the same without him.) I think the Initiative leaders were more memorable then some of the squadmates as far as dimensionality goes, but we’ll get to that later. 

I didn’t think I would like the open world they were going for since DA:I was sort of overkill with how many sidequests and places you could explore, but they handled it a lot better here in my opinion and I did enjoy the feel to it. 

Callbacks to the original series weren’t too heavy handed, but were enough to give me a smile every so often, remembering the characters from those games (I hope Liara’s voice actress was paid well lmao, and props to her for coming back to do so much voice work when her character wasn’t ever actually shown.) 

I romanced Vetra, the romance scenes with her (though there were not many, as is the way with the ME series) were pretty cute and enjoyable. 

The sibling dynamic introduced was a new spin! It’s pretty cool and I like that you can customize both siblings -even if the Dad will only really look like one of them(the player) if you design them very differently. 

The epilogue was a bit long, but much better than just ending it with the ending (because....we’ll get to that too). 

Speaking of the epilogue, as a Krogan Stan™, getting to be (one of) the proud godmother(s) of Kesh’s beautiful children is a dream come true and Ryder is living up to Jo Shepard’s expectations and she would be proud. I mean it’s not godmother and beloved savior to all little krogan babies, but it’s a start. Good job Ryder.   

Also as a Krogan stan, you know I took every god damn opportunity to stick up for the Krogan. (Not getting a pathfinder? Are you serious? The Krogan have gone through enough) 

The designs for the environments, 9/10 were beautiful and the lighting was great. 

Quarians, Drell, Hanar, Elcor, and Volus made it to Andromeda post main story, but are in distress and their pathfinder advises to not rescue. Worrisome, but at least they’re planning on bringing these species back if they make a next game. (Also, does every species get a pathfinder or just one? Given that for some reason they all seem to be on the same vessel.) 

Some things I wish weren’t in this game at all and I’m so mad about I’m not even going to bother going in depth with them: 

That queerbaiting lmao

The deadname drop, which was corrected later 

The Kill Your Gays Trope. Really? Come on now. 

The fact they didn’t even finish the visuals before releasing it. Fuck the game industry. I’m not spending another 50 hours just to see how you polished your game when you should have just done it in the first place. 

Some things I dislike (character based): 

Generally, as was typical in the previous games and something I would hope they would improve for this one, there was a limit on character interaction+dialogue. There was an obvious favoritism toward certain characters. ON THAT NOTE: 

For some reason Gil had an absurd amount of dialogue and reactions to situations but his romance is *fart noises* really short and from what I’ve heard forgettable. I really liked Gil, but some of his story was uncomfortable as in: I a gay lesbian couldn’t help convince my gay friend that he didn’t have to have a baby or that maybe it wasn’t the best time for that. Gay men having babies with their straight female friends is a nuanced issue, one that kind of needs a lot of care when you’re trying to tell the story; and honestly I don’t feel like it was given that care. It says in the character file in the codex that my Ryder “tried to convince him” but she got a line of dialogue, he said he’d do it anyway, and she said “okay! i’m happy for you then!” which is uh, not convincing anyone of anything. I don’t know, it was just, uuuuuncomfortable. 

Kallo got practically nothing toward the middle onward unless a salarian was involved. Which was a bummer, b/c I really liked Kallo and would have liked to hear....any of his opinions on....anything that was happening. Suvi practically always reacted, and thank god for her b/c if she wasn’t there to fill my life with her and Kallo’s banter I don’t think Kallo would have been heard practically at all. 

Vetra practically never had any reactions to situations. Which, considering she was a romance option and was a pretty cool chick imo , I wish she did. (Sid? is awesome and I love her. Her loyalty mission was great. But the lack of interactions was disappointing) 

Common complaint is that PB is a Liara clone. They do have similar motivations, but their personalities differ enough. PB gets more likeable as the game progresses but I didn’t like her at first. Sort of wish they introduced her ex seperately from PB so that you could actually hear both sides. It’s very obviously “PB doesn’t like her so you shouldn’t either! Oh wait, but she does care....” Which is boring. Speaking of, the loyalty mission was kind of *fart noises*. 

Jaal was momma’s favorite and you could tell. Seems very forcibly trying to get f!Ryder to date Jaal which wasn’t my steez thanks. 

Liam and Cora are both Straight and I am still amazed. Cora is fairly one dimensional. Liam is fairly one dimensional. They both have their “thing”. Out of the two I think Liam is more developed. Cora is ???A failed experiment at being progressive while cutting all possible corners to make it not progressive and I’m not sure what they were trying to do with her other than be clearly !!! SEE NOT ALL GIRLS WHO HAVE THIS HAIRCUT AND FEEL LIKE OUTCASTS AND WERE SHUNNED FROM THEIR FAMILIES AND SOCIETY ARE QUEER !!!! THEY CAN BE STRAIGHT TOO !!!! which like, yeah i guess thanks bioware

No complaints about Drak. I loved him. 

My dislike of Alec Ryder and the continuing attempt from the game to make you like and sympathize with him nearly caused me to not complete the mission focusing on his memories. The only thing that made me continue was being spoiled about the ending and wanting to make sure my Ryder was aware that her mom was alive. I didn’t like his character and no amount of in game “see, he did really love you and your brother, he cared about your mother! he sacrificed himself for you!!!!” can negate the fact that he just....didn’t raise his children or really give a fuck about them at all until it was too late!!!!!!!

Let me change Scott’s name please. 

The twin dynamic was interesting but offered nothing until the very end of the game. I got the same sort of thrill from playing as Scott during one of the final missions as when I played as Joker in the original series. (I would have preferred if Scott was saying Oh shit as much as I was given he had one grenade and 1 shotgun and I’m more of a biotics and sniper woman myself, but it’s fine). Would have liked to see the twin dynamic explored more in game or had more interactions even despite circumstances. But at least he played a part in the end. 

I constantly found myself being interested in what Kandros, Kesh, and Tann were up to -sometimes moreso than what my squad was up to. Which is a problem. I think your squadmates and the main villain should be the ones you are most interested in chatting with. But there is just a lot more appeal to me in the shady politics and in fighting between the 4 of the initiative leaders that was just always more interesting to me. (I didn’t play the dlc with the other Kandros and just found out they were related so that’s a sweet little shout out and something I do like) 

The archon had a bad face design homeslice. It’s just bad Jim.

The Archon felt so detached from everything that happened in the game to me. It never felt like -despite being the main antagonist -that i was fighting him. With the reapers, with Saren, it always felt like you were fighting someone specific. That through all the taking down of this foe or that one, the person in control WAS The Reapers (or...or Saren I guess in the first game despite the fact he wasn’t -but he was being controlled- whatever it’s....) Compared to trying to make the planets liveable for the people who risked their livings going to Andromeda as well as creating relations with the Angara : The archon felt like such an afterthought. Not in writing or development -but in the context of Ryder’s problems. The kett? Totally an issue! Absolutely a problem! But they’re still going to be a problem even without the Archon, that’s clear from the ending. Bring me the real leader of the kett -I don’t have time to deal with your shenanigans sir. -No I mean the REAL leader, the one back home, the one who’s clearly actually in charge. The Archon here struck me as just a leader of this fleet of Kett. Not an actual leader of the species. But one that had to be respected b/c of his title here in this area of the universe. 

tl:dr for the last part: Archon sucked as a villain and his death made me feel nothing. Saren’s death had me crying I felt so bad I couldn’t help save him from the Reapers. The reapers destruction made me feel victorious even if it was a hollow victory given the -hmmmmmm uh....- “ending” of Mass Effect 3. Give me something to feel toward the defeat of a or THE major villain, Andomeda, PLEASE. 

Some more dislike things: 

The ending was okay. As I said above. I didn’t feel anything toward the death of the villain. Which is,, an issue for me. When I was playing the mission, sometimes the activation of certian things in the gameplay just didn’t activate properly -glitches basically. Which was rough considering it was supposed to be a high stakes moment. 

If you’re going to do a fade to black sex scene for some of the characters, do it for all the characters. Blue ball all of us or none of us.

 The Angara designs are Uggo (unless it’s a female angara in a certain color, for some reason color makes a world of difference for this species. Jaal’s okay I guess but uh..nah... if he’s ur type that’s fine but NO THANKS)

The Kett designs are Uggo 

Nothing wrong with uggo alien designs- I, in fact, encourage them, but they didn’t go far enough to ugly town and not far enough to pleasant town so they’re just uncanny valley ugly and I’d appreciate if they would make up their mind which one they wanted thanks. 

Kept expecting a Kett squad member ala Legion being a Geth squad member. Another game maybe. 

The creaure designs are cool -but I’ve heard they recycled a lot from DAI which is a bummer and I didn’t notice. Given that in Credits it had stuff from the DAI time, I guess that’s true.