#good thing Jameson was there to keep them company!

[victorluvsalice]

-->And, as Victor replanted his oversized crops (which I’m not actually intending to make oversized this time! Smaller ones make a bit more sense to sell in the store), Smiler scheduled a weenie roast for the next day! They hadn’t thrown a party in a while, and I figured that would be appropriate for it being summer, especially with SimCity Founding coming up. They invited their friends Heath, Aleah (the Hermit from Granite Falls), Cecilia, Nalani, and Grace, and had the whole thing start at 3 PM, as that felt like a decent start time for me for a cookout. And I just crossed my fingers and hoped that it wouldn’t be as chaotic and glitchy as some of my OTHER weenie roasts had been. . .

-->And with that, all that remained was for Victor to finish up his planting and for Smiler and Alice to have a little bonding time (including synchronized showering in the rain -- Erratic Sims *sigh*) before it was back off to the store! Smiler of course made another flower arrangement while Alice started making more cakes and pies for the bakery and Victor began doing bulk bread processing -- and then I discovered two things:

A) The new update, which added slots to the tops of a bunch of the toilets and sinks? It has a dark side, and that dark side is that Sims WILL put random shit on those slots. As seen with Victor putting his bread on top of the toilet in the bathroom stall. *facepalm* I moved it out of the bathroom with haste and quickly put -- I don’t recall what it’s called, I think it’s related to the menstrual cycle stuff in Wonderful Whims, which I don’t use, but it’s like a little spray bottle that you MIGHT find in a bathroom like this, and it took up one of the slots on top of each toilet, making them less of a good place to drop baked goods.

B) Smiler actually didn’t have that much to do, as the flower arrangement shelves were full, and there was no more room for any of the baked goods from the cupcake machine in the bakery section. Whoops. ^^; Fortunately, there was another protest going on nearby in the little square, and when Smiler batted over to say hello, who should they encounter but Jameson, the guy they met over in Henford-On-Bagley on fair day! :D Smiler promptly renewed the acquaintance, and they had a nice chat together. Them being the most social of all my Sims DOES make keeping them occupied easier. XD

-->And while THAT was going on, I decided it was about time I had Victor test out his Copypasto skills! Now, as I reported back in the Finchwick Fair update, there was no way for me to have him Copypasto any of the cans and boxes from the Simsonian Canning Factory mod (you know, like the canned peas and such). . .but he COULD Copypasto the various sauces and preserves, since those are the same as the ones you get from Cottage Living itself! And so Victor set about copying as many jars of jam and sauce as he could. . .

[x-liv25-jamieswife]

people's reaction to avery getting kidnapped head canons

the person who requested the jameson kidnapping head canons also requested i do this for avery so here it is! this is my only post today cause i had no time to write last night (i write them at night but post in the morning). hope you like them <3. @never-enough-novels asked to be tagged and also inspired some of these hcs.

jameson:

he'd immediately get out his emergency alcohol stash for situations like this. it contains all of the strongest, most expensive alcohol on the market.

he is looking for clues day and night. he does not stop to eat, drink, sleep, talk (unless it has to do with clues or smth), breathe, etc.

at some point, though, he faints due to overworking himself and shit and he wakes up in nash's arms. he starts wailing and nash is there stroking his hair comforting him cause he can't breathe.

he would literally murder the person who kidnapped her the second he found them. he'd probably plunge a knife into his dick and electrocute his balls (if he's a guy).

he'd kiss her all over and cuddle her the second they got her back. he would literally not let anyone touch her and he wouldn't let go of her (not even to let the doctors and professionals give her a check up to make sure she’s alright, he’d insist on doing it himself with the doctor’s instructions).

grayson:

has literally hired all of the best private investigators/police officers in the world to help cause he knows that the longer it takes to find her, the more chances there are she's already dead (and he doesn't like knowing she's suffering)

he'd be thinking up the worst case scenarios in his head (jamie too). torture/murder/SA, etc.

he's being reminded of emily the whole time and how he lost her. he thinks the same is happening to avery

he's clinging onto xander the entire time bc he's freaking out and running around everywhere, and someone needs to make sure xander doesn't accidently fall out of a window.

ends up stealing from jamie's emergency alcohol stash bc he's dying on the inside.

xander (he's extremely worried and sad but im gonna make some slightly funnier hcs cause yk):

it happens so often he created some sort of emergency alert system that goes off on everyone's phone when she goes missing (dont ask me how this works).

actually considers buying cocaine to loosen up (and actually buys it). nash catches him coming back home though and runs around after him trying to smack his head whilst xander is also running and swinging himself off of tree branches to escape his scary ass brother.

the entire situation in my last head canon convinced xander to try to act like a monkey for an entire to day to see what it would be like and note the differences between how humans and monkeys act (although he doesn't do it while avery is gone cause he's too scared about her dying and shit)

doesn't actually end up doing drugs though and gives it to the police officers cause they are being run dry by grayson and he pities them.

he's creating a gift bag/care package for avery for when she returns. he's gaslit himself into thinking there's a 100% possibility that she is returning (the one time he's allowed himself to calculate smth wrongly)

trying to pretend this is an episode of keeping up with the kardashians (even though he hates the kardashians) to lighten things up.

nash:

steals cocaine from the police officers bc he needs it too. he is completely freaking out.

in a corner holding libby in his arms, rocking her back and forth, telling her everything will be ok, and that he'll do anything in his power to get avery back.

literally puts the handcuffs on the kidnapper himself and drags his ass to jail (not before giving him a good beating)

he's cleaning up all of the branches that xander ripped off of the trees somehow when he was running away from him.

after the kidnapping, he literally does not let avery out of his sight. he's is constantly following her and keeping oren company during his night shifts.

libby:

literally crying in the corner having a panic attack. she's trying to curl in on herself and make herself small in order to not bother the officers and stuff. (sad ik but i think this is in character)

she's binge eating bc that's when she does when she's nervous but can't bring herself to bake stuff.

at some point tried to go bake but thought the huge bag of cocaine xander got his hands on was flour and she ended up ruining the batch of cupcakes (this was close to when they found avery so it didn't mess with the investigation. also they realized not long after they were baked so..)

helping xander create the gift bag/care package bc he offered and she needs a distraction.

the second they find the kidnapper, she bashed this guy so hard he ended up crying. people just stared at her in shock bc they did not know she could talk to someone like that (but also impressed)

max:

she is considering taking the drugs xander bought but is scared her mom will somehow find out.

she's trying to convince xander that he is not capable of playing in the next tarzan film just bc he's capable of swinging on tree branches

when they find the kidnapper, she swears so hard (not her fake swearing) people are terrified. she looks like she'd be capable of killing everyone in the room in one sweep. (even grayson and oren are scared)

she's knitting a blanket with nan in order to get her hands to do smth other than shake and shit. nan tries to get her to talk about all of the gossip at her school and stuff to distract her.

she adds the kidnapper's name to her burn book.

alisa:

she is literally having an aneurysm trying to stop grayson from getting the entire hawthorne family canceled cause he's treating the officers like shit.

actually hugs and kisses avery's cheek when they find her. she was terrified but would never admit that to anyone.

oren:

he is constantly on coffee runs trying to keep everyone awake so they can find avery.

hooks up with zara after they find her bc he needs to unwind somehow.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 21: Jameson's Threat

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: Captivity, mind control, hypnosis, abusive language, dehumanization

"Oh, he's much too rich for me. I just wanted to take a look at him, see how the ultra-wealthy eat."

"It's nice to see such a high-quality thrall. I'll admit, I'm impressed."

"I think he'd be a bit wasted on me. The sort of thrall you only bring out when there's fancy company, if you catch my meaning."

"I'm always on the lookout for a thrall that can be trusted with household matters, and I think he'd get along well with my Daisy."

Oliver spent what seemed like an eternity being poked and examined and remarked upon by vampire after vampire, all dressed in their Sunday best (not that vampires, he supposed, went to church) and all eager to catch a glimpse of the marquee merchandise. He bowed and introduced himself and tried to make himself appealing and subservient, and every time he wavered even slightly, Miss Lily was there to quiet him. He couldn't count on Lord Alexander, and he had to be sold, or risk a worse fate. That much was more than clear to him.

He derived at least some small comfort by the fact that he was in such high demand. He'd never experienced anything like it, always being the sort of person who was small and quiet and overlooked, even as far back as grade school.

"So this garbage is what passes for a luxury thrall in this city?" The vampire was pale as a ghost, with watery brown eyes and an expensive looking suit.

Distress shot through Oliver at the growled question. "I'm -- I'm sorry, sir, if I've offended --"

"Ugh, the thing talks," he said with a look of utter disgust. "I don't know why they allow this at a high-end auction. I don't need my livestock begging for their lives."

"Many of the patrons of our auction are looking for thralls capable of handling household chores, so we always offer some with their minds intact," said Miss Lily, in a tone that didn't fully mask her annoyance. "You're welcome to look at some of our other offerings if you're interested in fully erased humans."

"All the erased here are low grade, barely fit for a gutter leech. I'm not paying good money for bad blood. I could just have this one erased after I buy him," said Lord Jameson.

No level of trance was going to keep Oliver from panicking at that. "Sir -- but --"

"Quiet," said Lord Jameson, and the word sank Oliver -- not like when Miss Lily did it, but like being pulled under quicksand, chest constricted, struggling to breathe. "You'll be erased, rendered mute and illiterate, and live in my pens, and you'll be grateful for it. Dumb cattle."

Oliver gasped for air, the room spinning around him. He thought he'd escaped that fate. He'd consoled himself that was going to end up a servant, not necessarily the life he would have chosen, but a tolerable one. He thought he'd avoided having his precious intelligence stolen from him, being turned into nothing more than an animal. He was a fool. He'd always be in that sort of danger as long as he lived among vampires.

His knees hurt. He realized the reason why a second later -- he'd hit them on the wooden floor as he'd collapsed.

"Lord Jameson, I'm going to have to ask you to refrain from traumatizing the merchandise until you've paid for it!"

"As if he --"

Oliver's head was swimming. The voices around him became muffled. He felt as if he was outside his body, watching himself faint. Then everything went black.

"Oliver. Oliver!"

His eyes snapped open. Miss Lily was pulling him to a sitting position. He looked around frantically, but --

"I saw Lord Jameson out. He's gone," she said. "Damn him! You were doing so well."

"Is he --" said Oliver, coughing, his mouth dry. "Is he going to -- is he going to buy me, sir?"

"Here. Water," said Miss Lily, offering him a cup. She rubbed his back soothingly as he drank. "He may try. I can't promise you he won't. And he is rich. But there are others interested in buying you as well."

"I'm sorry, Miss Lily, but I don't want him to -- "

"I know. I understand. Take a deep breath for me, Oliver, and be quiet."

He did as she instructed and welcomed the blankness that invaded his mind.

"Oliver, dear, look at me," she said, and her fingers were fluttering in front of his face. "Watch. Back and forth. You're so tired. Sleepy. Watch my fingers. Making you sleepy," she said in a rapid patter. "Relax. Sleepy. Back and forth. Eyes are closing. Watch my fingers. Getting sleepy. Shut your eyes. Go to sleep."

The hypnotic commands overwhelmed Oliver's already overwhelmed mind, and his eyes fell shut, his head resting on Miss Lily's shoulder.

"That's it, Oliver. Just take a little nap and you'll feel so much better. Forget about what just happened. Let it grow hazy in your mind. Sleep and forget, dear, sleep and forget."

There wasn't any real comfort here, just a vampire hypnotizing him into complacency, but even an artificial peace was better than none. He allowed his thoughts to slip, the memory of what had just occurred to dull. He curled against Miss Lily, who patted his hair with a cold hand and whispered suggestions of sleep in his ear.

"Oliver, Oliver dear, are you feeling better now?" Miss Lily's voice sounded like it was coming from far away. "I have an old friend who wants to see you. Wake up."

He rubbed at his eyes, wondering how long he'd been out for. He was still in a showroom, Miss Lily holding the chain of his handcuffs, and he wasn't... quite... sure what had just happened, only that it had been awful.

Miss Lily helped him to his feet. "Thanks for waiting, Ruth. He's normally a doll, but we ran into a little trouble with Jameson."

"Oh, it's no trouble!" The nearby vampire was wearing a well-tailored suit and had a fashionable bob cut. "Jameson also makes me wish to curl up into a ball and die, so I fully understand." The two laughed.

Lord Jameson. Yes. That had been it. He had threatened Oliver with a fate far worse than death. Thanks to Miss Lily, it seemed further away, bearable. After all, Lord Jameson was only one of several people who were interested in buying him.

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Oliver said, bowing to Miss Ruth.

"How polite and dapper," Miss Ruth said. "Let me take a good look at you." She took Oliver's chin and turned it back and forth, looked him deep in the eye, then grasped his arms to have him turn around in a circle, his ball gown swishing. "Fine stock. Excellent blood. And you say he has his intelligence still?"

"Yes, his mind is well-preserved, if I do say so myself," said Miss Lily. 

"Excellent." Miss Ruth had an odd gleam in her eye as she addressed Oliver. "I'm a lawyer, boy, and my thralls pull double duty as my clerks. If I buy you, I'll work you to the bone. Paperwork up to your neck, filing as far as the eye can see. You won't get that with any other vampire here. What do you think of that?"

So, effectively the opposite of Lord Jameson -- but the normal unappealing prospect of spending the rest of his life doing unpaid clerical work for a vampire seemed like paradise compared to having his mind wiped and living in an animal pen. "I'd be honored that you appreciate my intelligence, sir."

She nodded approvingly. "Good answer, boy. Let's see how well trained you are. Eyes on me. Name and date of birth."

"Oliver Pines, July 1, 1899, sir."

"What's the capital of Vermont, New York, Florida?"

"Montpelier, Albany, and uh -- Tallahassee. Sir."

"Three branches of the government."

"Legislative, executive, judicial, sir."

"Stand on one foot and hop three times."

He dutifully did so, thankful that he hadn't been given women's shoes to wear as his stockinged foot thumped on the floor. There was something strangely nice about being commanded like this, of having his simple obedience rewarded.

"Well done. Now go to sleep." She snapped near his ear, and Oliver was out like a light, caught in Miss Ruth's arms. "Awake." And he was up again, blinking.

"Yes, he'd do, he'd do quite well. I'm sure he'd easily pick up the training he needs," she said. "Shame about the price, but we'll see."

"I hope I can be of service to you, sir," said Oliver. Any option in the mix that reduced his chances of being purchased by Lord Jameson was fine by him.

Part 20 >> Masterlist >> Part 22

Thanks for reading this story of Oliver's distress.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @snakebites-and-ink @sl33py-pup @diamond-blade-blog @ivycloak @ladyjaye13 @irregular-book

[slytherheign]

WORTH THE PAIN | tasm!peter parker

PART 4/5 OF WORTH: THE SERIES.

PAIRING: tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

SUMMARY: trusts are broken and tensions rise as everyone’s secrets start to reveal themselves.

WARNINGS: sexual assault, character death, manipulation, stalking, cursing, violence, and canon-typical injuries. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: 17+]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: please remember that this is fan fiction and so some characters here will not act exactly the same way as their original material. this is my own twist and take of those characters.

DESTINATION: Angst Avenue | GO TO SERIES MASTERLIST or GO BACK TO THE STATION.

"Peter, please calm down,” Charlene pleaded with worry evident in her tone.

To say that the apartment was a mess would be an understatement. 

Peter spent the last 15 minutes frantically trying to find his missing phone while Charlene tried to calm him down. Carlos merely stared at the mess, completely frozen. It was the first time the couple had seen Peter like this. And him crawling around the place with his spider-like abilities made the situation more intense.  

“Oh, for the love of Go–PETER!” she bellowed. Peter stopped for a moment, glancing at her before going back to making a mess. Charlene had enough; she knew Peter was not in his right state of mind, and panicking would not help them make any progress on the case. She slightly nudged Carlos for help, but her partner was glued to his place, still shocked by the sudden change in Peter’s behavior. 

And to think that all it took was a name for Peter to behave like this.

“Peter, please,” she tried once again. “We can’t draw conclusions immediately. I know you’re really worried about her right now, but we have to be smart about all of this.”

Carlos seemed to be back on track. “She’s right. Come on, Parker. Let’s talk about what you know first, and then we’ll worry about your phone later, okay?”

Peter stopped all at once, drawing a long, shaky sigh. They were right. He had to calm down. He turned around, facing the couple, only to see them staring at what was once their living room. Confused, he followed their line of vision only to see the chaotic result of his trance earlier.

Every single cabinet door was open, with the stuff inside disorganized. The center table, its centerpiece, and the books Charlene kept under it were also not spared. And the couch… well… the pillows were out of their pillowcases, which were now on the floor along with the cushions. To keep things short, the room was not looking good.

“Shit–sorry,” he apologized, feeling embarrassed. How could he let himself act like that?

“We’ll fix it later,” Charlene reassured him. Peter looked at her like she had grown a second head. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she smiled, a hint of sadness in her voice that did not go unnoticed by her husband. Carlos knew damn well why Charlene was so kind and understanding to Peter, and it made him feel a little sad for his wife. “So, what do you know?” she asked Peter.

“Y/N works at a marketing company, and she once mentioned her HR manager was named ‘Mitch.’ If I’m correct, Mitch is Mitchell Gargan, who just happens to work at Greta Marketing Co.”

“That makes sense. But again, he’s innocent until proven guilty. We need proof that it’s really him. Besides, there’s also his twin… Mac Gargan. MG could be him,” Carlos added.

“Where’s Mitch now?” Charlene asked.

“I don’t know,” Peter’s shoulders slumped. He was beginning to think that maybe he wasn’t much help to them. He desperately wanted to help more, but even his knowledge was limited. And because the case was extremely personal to him, he wasn’t exactly the best person to lead the team. He was left with one last option now: to let Charlene and Carlos lead the entire thing.

“Then let’s start with who we know. Mac Gargan. You said he was hired by Jonah Jameson, right?” Carlos asked.

He nodded. “A private investigator hired to inspect me. But I have no idea where he is now.”

“That may be true,” Charlene started to think of another way, “but we know where Jameson is.”

“There we go. A starting point,” Carlos agreed. “Let’s start planning.”

DAYS LATER.

“I still have no idea how we got past the guards so fast,” Carlos mumbled. The three were walking down the hallways inside the Daily Bugle building.

“We’re in New York. People don’t really care about you as long as you look decent. Plus, the fake IDs helped a lot, too,” Charlene retorted. The married pair wore security guard outfits, their fake IDs stapled on the chest pockets. 

“Remember the plan,” Peter reminded them. He was wearing his usual outfit with glasses and his camera. He didn’t need to wear a disguise. He had worked here before as a photographer, and some people still recognized him enough to let him in. He brought a fake ID, too—an edited and updated one to make it seem that the company decided to hire him again.

The plan was simple. Carlos would look out from the first floor, round the halls, and check the people who got in and out from the entrance. They had memorized Mac’s face before leaving the apartment, and Carlos was in charge of checking if that particular face entered or left the building. Charlene would accompany Peter to the 7th floor, but she would stay outside Jameson’s office, looking out for whoever or whatever hindered their plan. Lastly, Peter would enter Jameson’s office, ask him where Mac Gargan was, and leave once it was answered. He hoped there would not be a need for interrogation or threats but only a simple answer to their simple question.

However, Peter and the word ‘simple’ never had a good relationship. Jameson did not care that Peter was in the room. In fact, he mindlessly believed Peter’s story and didn’t even get suspicious that the company decided to hire him back. But as soon as Peter asked the question, Jameson was quick to reach towards the telephone and call security, only for Peter to grab it first and cut the wires with the scissors he found atop his desk.

“Do you know where Mac Gargan is?” he repeated.

Silence.

Jameson suddenly stood up and decided to run out of his office, yelling for security to get Peter out of the building. Unfortunately for him, Charlene was waiting on the other side and caught him before he could even get past the door. She pushed the man back inside the room; this time, she stayed inside the room and decided to join Peter in handling him.

Once Jameson knew that he had no chance against the tough woman, he stopped resisting and faced Peter—only to see that it was now the Spider-Man in front of him. Unbeknownst to them, when Charlene was struggling to get Jameson back inside the room, Peter took the opportunity to put the Spider-Man suit on. If being Peter was not intimidating enough for him to answer, then he was sure that being Spider-Man would do just the job. He wasn’t scared that Jameson knew his identity now because the information he had on Jameson relating to Scorpion would threaten him enough not to speak about his real identity to the media.

“You’re Spider-Ma—” Jameson could not believe that the answer to the mystery he had been trying to solve for years was right in front of him. It made sense to him now. The reason Peter had so many interesting shots of Spider-Man was because they were one.

“Look, I’m not gonna repeat this again,” Peter started slowly, “where the fuck is Mac Gargan?”

Jameson was scrambling through his mind on ideas how to escape the man in front of him. It was evident that he was feeling uneasy. It seemed that the mere thought of Spider-Man knowing that he had something to do with Scorpion was intimidating him. 

“I have no idea who Mac Gargan is,” he tried to play dumb, but Peter had enough of his bullshit.

“C’mon, man,” he scoffed. “We all know that’s bullshit. Remember when you hired him to investigate me before?”

Silence.

“Alright. Let’s change the question, then. Where the fuck is Scorpion?” he was staring daggers at the man. If looks could kill, Jameson would already be buried 6 feet underground right at the moment.

“What do you want?” 

“For you to let us know where Scorpion is. It’s really that simple.”

“I don’t know,” he stepped backwards as soon as he saw Peter grabbing the scissors again.

“You don’t know?” Peter mocked him, walking towards him at a slow but threatening pace. “Really?”

Carlos, on the other hand, realized that he was not making progress just walking down the halls and looking at people’s faces. He decided to go against the plan and went straight to the room where they monitored the cameras in and out of the building. Thank God that he did though, because as soon as he entered the room, he saw a glimpse of his wife and Peter in his suit at Jameson’s room interrogating the man. He had to do something and act on this fast, but the problem was two guards were monitoring the cameras. Thankfully, one was sleeping, and the other was distracted by playing Candy Crush on his cell phone. It wasn’t hard for him to convince them to leave the room.

“Hey, man! Why don’t you all rest for a bit? I think I saw a couch there outside. I’ll go watch over these,” Carlos suggested happily.

“Are you sure? Wait—I haven’t seen you before,” one guard stopped in his tracks.

“Oh! I forgot to introduce myself,” he replied. “I’m new here, sorry–I just noticed you getting bored and your friend here sleeping and thought you might want some rest, you know? I’m Carl, by the way,” he smiled.

“Well, Carl,” the guard tapped his shoulder, “we’ll accept that offer. I’m Chip,” Chip nudged his friend to wake him up, “Dale, let’s go.”

Carlos smiled while the two left the room, muttering ‘thanks’ on their way out. As soon as they left, he wasted no time and manipulated the footage. This was all he could do for now, deleting and manipulating all footage of the three of them being suspicious. He prayed Peter and his wife would be done the moment Chip and Dale returned.

Jameson still managed to stand his ground despite being terrified of him, but Peter knew he would soon break. “So?” he taunted, playing with the scissors by spinning them around his finger.

They soon played a staring game that neither wanted to lose. That was until Peter threw the scissors just inches above his head, and Jameson finally broke. “Wa-wait! Fine! Mac is in my basement. He’s staying at my house. I-in the b-basement,” Jameson had his two hands up in surrender.

“I have a feeling that’s not the only thing you know,” Peter pushed. Jameson stared at him—almost begging. But Peter had no intentions of backing down. He flicked his hands, webbing the door handle and the windows shut. If it wasn’t clear to Jonah before that there won’t be any chance of escaping the circumstance, it was clear as air to him now. “Okay! Okay! I’ll tell you everything when w-we get t-there,” he bargained. 

“Lead the way,” said Charlene as she cleaned up the webs Peter had so graciously put on almost everything. Meanwhile, Peter took the opportunity to put away the suit and dress as an employee yet again. On the other hand, Carlos was still monitoring the cameras, observing their every move. As soon as he saw the three exit the building, he made sure to corrupt the footage before leaving and following the other three.

Jameson was a fucking maniac. He had to be—because no sane person would keep a lab underneath their house. Oh, and to make things even worse, a large glass cylinder cell stood in the middle—and alas, Scorpion was inside it. 

Peter observed the passed-out entity before immediately turning to Jameson. “Explain. Now,” he demanded.

“MacDonald Gargan,” Jameson pointed at Scorpion. “When he failed to find out how you obtained those Spider-Man pictures years ago, I decided to hire him as a subject of an experiment. I wasn’t alone. With the help of Dr. Farley Stillwell, the goal was to give him the beneficial traits of a certain animal—a scorpion. We were aiming to create someone powerful enough to be capable of defeating Spider-Man. Defeating you.

“But the mutagenic treatment was too much for him; it began to affect his mind. The entire process was barely tested. We should’ve known it would happen.”

“How long ago was this experiment?” asked Charlene.

“3 years ago. Right after he failed to do the initial job we hired him for.”

“If this was years ago, why is he only attacking now?”

“Stillwell and I spent the majority of time developing the mutagenic treatment. We had no means to test it, so we just went with our guts to continue developing and developing until we thought it was perfectly done. And then, not until weeks ago, I remembered this guy right here,” he glanced at Mac. “I remembered this man and how eager he was to prove himself to anyone. So I decided to call him up and hire him for a new job. And because he had failed me before, he was so eager to prove himself to me and accepted instantly.

“For a while, everything was going well. We believed it worked. And it did work—only it made him insane. Stillwell and I tried to contain him, but we failed. The next thing we knew, he was on the news attacking a neighborhood. So Stillwell and I created this cell—one that’s strong enough to contain him—and with the help of some trusted friends, we were able to lure him inside. But we lost people in the process.”

“You mentioned ‘trusted friends’, who are they?” Carlos asked. Jameson was skeptical to answer. These ‘trusted friends’ were highly important and powerful people who could kill him at any moment if he decided to reveal their identity. But at the same time, he knew that these three people were no different. They may not come in many numbers, but he knew that Spider-Man and his two friends could also kill him. He had no other choice.

He sighed exasperatedly. “They’re really powerful people. Some people are from the government, the military, the media, the news, and the police. It’s a secret group that wants to kill Spider-Man. They cover up the mess that Stillwell and I make.”

Carlos and Charlene eyed each other. If what Jameson said was true, some of their colleagues at the station were a part of this secret group too.

“You haven’t talked about his suit. Can we remove it? Maybe make him weaker by removing it?” Peter asked this time.

“No,” Jameson shook his head. “He’s stuck in the suit. You can’t remove it, he can’t remove it, we can’t remove it. Mac and his suit are permanently bonded.”

“How long has he been contained here?”

“He’s been in here since his first attack.”

Now, everyone was confused.

“If he's been here since the first attack, and the first attack was back in the neighborhood, then who did I fight on that street?” asked Peter.

“Why can’t the city cameras see him? He always disappears,” asked Carlos.

“What happened to Dr. Stillwell? Where is he now?” asked Charlene.

“Dead,” a hoarse voice spoke from the cell. In an instant, Carlos and Charlene’s guns were raised and pointed at him. “Stillwell is dead. I killed him when they contained me here,” Mac smirked.

Peter, being the one who fought Scorpion on that street, was the only one in the room who realized that his voice was different from the Scorpion he had fought before.

Mitch was starting to make you uncomfortable. 

When you started your day and decided it was time to visit the Greta Marketing Co. building in the country, he started to ramble and admitted that work would not begin until next week.

You were not aware of that.

He then went on to say that the reason he had you leave New York a week early was to get you used to the country and the new environment. He even showed you a list of activities to do for a week with him before starting work next week.

That alone was already suspicious. But you still gave him a chance. Maybe he meant well, you thought.

Only he didn’t. Little did you know, everything would turn even worse. And spending a couple of days more with him would prove it.

Mitch has changed. He was not the same person you knew. Or maybe you never knew him all along.

It started with weird glances. 

The plan was to take a week-long tour to see the famous tourist spots in the country. You must admit, it was pretty exciting. There was so much fun in discovering cultures and getting enlightened by their traditions. Mitch glanced at you every once in a while, but you let it go. You thought that he was just checking up on you.

Which turned to staring.

He was definitely not just checking up on you. You realized that when you noticed it took him at least 4 minutes to get his eyes away from you. You knew because you felt it every time. He was also eyeing you up and down and checking you out.

Which then turned to forcing you into holding hands with him.

He would try to hold your hand and intertwine his fingers with yours. Of course, every time, you would reject it, but that never stopped him as he still kept on trying it every moment you two were in a room—which was every fucking moment because he simply would not leave you alone.

And now, stalking.

You were able to convince him to take the third day off by yourself. At first, he was hesitant to let you wander off alone, but you eventually got him to let you go. You went to the Greta Marketing building once and for all, to ask some questions about your new position and inquire about the adjustments you need to make to get settled. However, along the way, you started to sense that someone was following you. When you turned around, you were able to get a glimpse of someone with a white shirt and khaki pants behind a utility pole texting or pretending to text someone on their phone. You decided to let it go for a while; you didn’t want to immediately point fingers. What if that man was just a normal guy going to work and stopping to rest on a pole to text his family or friend? Besides, he was gone after you crossed a road.

You were fucking pissed when you left the building—you couldn’t believe what you just discovered. Suddenly, you found Mitch running towards you as soon as you stepped out of the exit. He was breathing heavily but you couldn’t care less. “What happened to you?” you asked.

“I just ran,” he answered. 

“Why?” 

“I-uh–well-uh, it’s not important,” he shook his head. “Did you go in there? Who did you speak to? What did they tell you?”

You debated on whether to tell him the truth or lie. You decided to lie, just as he did to you. 

He lied. He fucking lied. That’s why you were pissed the moment you left the building. There was a branch of Greta Marketing in Japan—that part was true—but they did not need you. You were made aware of that the moment you went there and asked for your position.

“I just spoke with the receptionist. The person I was hoping to talk to wasn’t there, so I didn’t get to know anything,” you lied. Mitch let out a breath of relief he tried to hide with a yawn. He thought you didn’t notice, but you certainly did.

And that wasn’t the only thing you noticed. You observed his outfit. He was wearing a white shirt with khaki pants.

“Let’s go back to our apartment?” he offered his hand.

You were disgusted, but you hid it with a smile. You had a plan. “Sure.”

You immediately went straight to the bathroom after entering your apartment. He joked about how you were so desperate for a pee, and you faked a laugh, saying it was because you were holding it in for quite some time. 

You didn’t pee. What you actually did was open your phone and try to book the soonest flight back to New York. You were hoping there was a flight today so you could leave as early as possible, but luck was unfortunately not on your side as you discovered that the last flight from New York to Japan and vice versa was actually yesterday. So you instead booked the next one. It was tomorrow. You flushed the toilet before leaving the bathroom.

And the waiting game began—only one more day.

“Do you know someone named Mitchell Gargan?” asked Peter.

Mac Gargan chuckled hoarsely. “My twin brother.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Everything.”

“Go ahead then,” Peter dared.

“Mitch and I used to be inseparable. We played the same games as children, watched the same cartoons, went to the same school and stuff, even fell in love with the same girl once—you know, the usual twin things. We were partners in crime. We protected each other, we cared for each other, and we lifted each other up. But everything changed when our mother died, and we were left to live with our father. We were still in school at that time, Mitch wanted to be a scientist and I wanted to be a detective or an investigator.

“We were always at the top of the class but he has always been the smarter one. That’s why he always excelled in his subjects. He was forced to stop it, though, because our father wasn’t very into the idea of science. He didn’t believe in any of the science shit and did not want to support Mitch in his dream of becoming a scientist, so he didn’t have any choice but to pursue a business-related course. He started changing after that. He rarely talked to me and started being reclusive. He always preferred to be alone and would only get out of his bedroom when it was time to eat. Our father didn’t care. He never fucking cared about our well-being. 

“When our father died, Mitch started talking to me again, but he was not the same. I started my investigation and discovered that he had a made-up lab in a secluded area where he was mixing chemicals and experimenting on animals. It turned out that he still continued living his scientist dreams despite not getting education for it. I let it slide. I thought that he was just doing that to compensate for the dream he would never accomplish. 

“Everything got worse when we graduated. He was jealous and angry because I graduated my dream course and he didn’t. To be fair, it was understandable that he felt that way. His way of coping was downing countless bottles of alcohol. One time when he had been drinking too much, he let it slip that he fantasized about stalking women, trapping them, and doing things to them—the worst part was he imagined that they would eventually end up dead. From the way he spoke about assault and murder in such a calm way, I didn’t recognize my twin brother anymore.

“I planned on informing the authorities about his fantasy, but I had no proof that he said it, and he then threatened me when he found out that I knew. He had a knife in my throat, threatening me that if I ever told someone he would do much more than that. That was the moment when I outsmarted him. You see, I learned my lesson that night when he was drunk, so I always wore a hidden camera just to catch him the next time we would talk. And guess what? I recorded the entire conversation of him threatening me. He was sentenced to prison, and we never talked again.”

“Is he still in jail?” Peter asked. He thought that if this Mitch was still in prison, maybe the Mitch that was with you in Japan wasn’t the same as Mitchell Gargan. It was a possibility that even Peter himself found it hard to believe in.

“No,” Mac coldly admitted.

“And how are you sure?” Carlos interrogated.

“Because the son of a bitch once paid me a visit. I thought he was going to break me out of here but no. He wanted something else.”

Peter held his hand up, causing everyone in the room to look at him. By this moment, Peter immediately knew the next words Mac would say, so he needed to act fast. He pulled Charlene and Carlos into a corner, instructing them to leave the city and get to you as soon as possible. Once the couple had left, Peter turned back to the creature behind the glass.

“What did he want?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

“The formula.”

Mac then glanced at Jameson with a knowing look. 

“He got it. And with his science background shit, I assume he was able to modify it to make him turn from human to Scorpion and from Scorpion to being human again.”

You should’ve known to run the moment he planned this entire trip and kept it a secret from you.

The moment you stepped out of the bathroom, you knew you weren’t safe anymore. Your choices were limited, and time was running out fast.

Only a day had passed, but it was excruciatingly long because Mitch started to get touchy. He was adamant about invading your privacy to the point that it was hard to pack your bags without him noticing. And every time you asked for space, he would turn the tables figuratively and make it seem that you were being impolite and ungrateful for his efforts.

So now here you were, at your shared apartment, having that same argument over again. Only this time he actually apologized. Like sincerely apologized.

Or so you thought. 

He stepped towards you, asking for a hug, which you did not want to give him at first, but he proposed a deal that if you gave him one last hug, he would be gone in your life forever. And for some reason, you agreed to do it.

Your mind has once again failed to stop your ever-kind heart as you proved to be a fool of his calculated offenses.

He was hugging you too tight, you couldn’t even breathe anymore. While his left arm was suffocating you in a hug, his other hand started to roam your body before it settled on your clothed ass and squeezed it. You froze entirely while his hand continued to feel your body until it stopped at your crotch, and he started rubbing it with his fingers.

You managed to push him away, and with all your might, you grabbed your bag under your bed and headed towards the door. You successfully passed the bedroom door, hoping to get to the main entrance as fast as possible, but you were stopped when a hand threw your whole body away from the door. You had never seen Mitch this angry and powerful before. 

Mitch was not the type of person who worked out. He was lean, tall, and he wore glasses. His hair was always a ruffled mess, and he talked in such a slow and soft cadence.

You should’ve been wiser not to let yourself be deceived by appearances.

You stood up with shaking knees and a trembling body, hoping to get through the door, but you were interrupted once more when he caught your throat with his hand. You soon found yourself getting lifted up by the throat every passing second. Your eyes were closed as you tried kicking him and scratching his arm, but he was unbelievably strong. You opened your eyes to look at what was once your friend, but you were met with the sight of him turning into the monster you saw on television.

You gathered every last bit of strength you had as you screamed as loud as you could, forcing him to release his hold of you and cover his ears. 

And you did the only thing you’ve known to do for years—whether from your problems, from threats, or from love…

You ran.

TASM!PETER PARKER TAGLIST:  @mymilkducts @i-am-woman-strong @lauraneedstochill @jeanettexkillian @ms-mandalore @enaraism @alessandralol @sad-darksoul @sincericida @mentallystablepotato @mich0731 @writingstoraes @logolepsic-insomniac @k0miiki @dreamsarecloserwithyou @jumilzzz @primroseparker @preciousbabypeter @myheartonthemove @rebecca-johnson-28 @silkholland @ellievickstar @okkulta @geekygamerchick @starqwerty20​ @the-quiet-observer

THANKS FOR PATIENTLY WAITING FOR THIS PART! SEE YOU SOON FOR THE FINALE :)

[technofinch]

Okay! Mulligan time!

The crew found themselves on a tiny escape ship with two dead xenomorphs, three live xenomorph eggs, and fifty colonists in cryosleep. The nearest inhabited colony six hours away and run by Weyland-Yutani, the very company that they've stolen from and are attempting to avoid. No plan, no options, no way out.

We have Mulligan, our captain, incredibly traumatized former alcoholic who has already located the ship's bar. Miranda, the psychologist, who is so over dealing with every part of this situation and would very much like to go back to her well-paid and safe job. Mr Cuddles, her trained therapy/guard dog. Karina, the disgraced scientist who finally got proof of the alien life she was looking for only to realize how dangerous they truly are. Bink O'Heron, the space marine, who wears a landmine strapped to his chest and is itching to reenlist and go far away from here. And the NPCs - Jack, engineer and first mate; Reed, the other space marine; and Julio, the mysterious surgeon & ex-marine.

Immediately Mulligan gets into a fight with Miranda about how to deal with the xeno eggs. She wants to destroy them, he wants to keep them for leverage/cash. Karina sides with Mulligan, Miranda turns on her & starts psychoanalyzing her & being generally a dick (this is a theme with Miranda, she's the worst and we love her for it). More fighting ensues. Mulligan reveals his plan for dealing with the situation, which is to claim full responsibility for stealing the ship & everything else and say that he threatened the rest of the crew into compliance.

"Wow. You're really stupid." -Miranda

Miranda tries to take the gun out of his hands but it slides across the floor & gets wedged under a panel. Mulligan is not amused. Miranda starts ordering people around, so Mulligan takes his leave and goes to the kitchen, with Mr Cuddles following to keep an eye on him. He tries to bribe the dog with beef jerky before pulling out the liquor, but it doesn't work and the dog alerts Miranda.

She's well past the point of having any interest in dealing with any of his bullshit, so she leaves him to wallow in his misery (with mr cuddles babysitting) and alerts the rest of the crew that the captain is drinking on the clock.

Mulligan asks to talk to Reed, and gives him a message to pass on to Jameson (the former crew member who turned out to be Mulligan's son) about a storage locker on New Constantinople with various photos and family effects and such from Mulligan's mother.

"Reed, I was never going to be a good father. I'm just trying to be a decent son." -Mulligan

Julio overhears and takes it as an opportunity to impart wisdom about fatherhood, Reed takes the opportunity to "borrow" the bottle from Mulligan. Miranda and Julio get into another spat (they REALLY don't like each other), Jack gets involved, it's a whole thing.

MEANWHILE, IN THE SCIENCE LAB...

Karina has locked herself in the science lab with the two xenomorph corpses, one of which is still partially embedded in a human corpse, with Bink standing guard at the door.

"Uh…. everything alright in there?" "…please don't tell me you fucked with the eggs." -Bink

After too many concerningly wet noises and silence, Bink summoned the rest of the crew for help.

Miranda was able to make contact with Karina and bust down the door after Bink gave up, gave her his rifle, and went to take a nap. She found Karina & the lab covered in chemical burns from improperly dissecting the xenomorphs. Acid blood, yay <3

Everyone scrambles into action to deal with All That, except Mulligan (who saw the desecrated corpse of the guy he shot and Is Having A Bad Time About It) and Bink (who's just a sleepy boy) who retreat to the corporate suite and crack into a bottle of whiskey together.

Once the acid is dealt with & Julio has stabilized Karina, Miranda goes and collects Mulligan's gun & the bomb Karina made earlier (don't worry about it) then finds a quiet place to type away on her spipad (space ipad (that she also uses to spy on people))

By this point, Mulligan has passed out. He's taking a lil nap. It's the first time he's slept in several days. Don't worry about it <3

Miranda goes to check in with Karina, where they establish that there is still no plan for how to survive upon landing at the spaceship, but Miranda seems..... suspiciously optimistic.

"I never expect mercy from W-Y. I expect them to know how much I'm worth." - Miranda

After their conversation, Karina (who is still in massive amounts of main and a non-zero amount of high on pain meds) gets on her personal comms and sends an encrypted message offering to sell her research to get safe passage for all of us. Including the fact that it was based on xenomorphs... She did get an answer, however, from someone taking her up on the offer. Or claiming to, anyway..

We arrive at the habitation ring and dock. Jack, Julio and Reed take defensive positions. Mulligan is still asleep. We're immediately greeted by a crew of corporate guards with pulse rifles.

"FORMER CREW OF THE OPHELIA YOU ARE UNDER ARREST BY ORDER OF HEAD MANAGER DUMOIS FOR THE KIDNAPPING OF MIRANDA KESTRA AND THE DOGNAPPING OF HER ASSISTANT MR. CUDDLES, LAY DOWN ALL YOUR WEAPONS AND APPROACH THE DOOR WITH YOUR HANDS UP, DR. KESTRA PLEASE APPROACH THE DOOR WITH YOUR ASSISTANT AND ALLOW US IN."

Miranda walks casually over to the door and opens it. She hands over the guns she's collected, and makes her way with her dog into the protective circle of soldiers. Who are still pointing their guns at the rest of us.

At this point Mulligan stumbles into the scene, still half drunk, and immediately gives up. Karina is apoplectic with rage at Miranda's betrayal, the rest of the crew are still in defensive positions. The scientist Karina contacted eventually steps in. It's one of her old professors, though none of us but her are aware of this. He's able to take custody of Karina and up to one other person to go with her as a guard/negotiator given the fact that Karina is... still covered in chemical burns.

She's not happy about this, given that she was promised safe passage for the whole crew, but when there are 8 very scary people with guns, your options are very limited. She holds a gun to his head - then drops it, unable to go through with her threat. Mulligan urges her to take Bink, so she has some muscle and bc Bink doesn't need to be involved in the whole "arrest" situation, but they're running out of time and Karina can't make the choice. Julio tells Mulligan to go with her, and ends up physically dragging Mulligan over to the soldiers.

Mulligan resists Julio, sandbagging him and remaining firmly on the floor. "I'm not leaving my crew." "I'm not fucking leaving them, okay? I'm not going to run off like Reese did. This is my mess, I'm gonna fucking deal with it." Mulligan is still half-drunk and almost belligerent. He also very much does not have a plan.

Mulligan gets handcuffed, and he and Karina are led away from the ship, leaving the rest of the crew to the mercy of the Weyland-Yutani goon squad. As he's dragged off Mulligan calls out one last time for Jack, despite being too far away to hear any response.

Aaaaaand scene! tldr; Miranda sold out the rest of the crew and we all got Super arrested and will probably be put on trial, Mulligan & Karina have been separated from their friends, Miranda is no longer going to be a player character 😔 but! we'll be getting a fun new player character next session :D

[rockislandadultreads]

2022 Contemporary Romances: a reading list

American Royalty by Tracey Livesay

Sexy, driven rapper Danielle "Duchess" Nelson is on the verge of signing a deal that'll make her one of the richest women in hip hop. More importantly, it'll grant her control over her life, something she's craved for years. But an incident with a rising pop star has gone viral, unfairly putting her deal in jeopardy. Concerned about her image, she's instructed to work on generating some positive publicity... or else. A brilliant professor and reclusive royal, Prince Jameson prefers life out of the spotlight, only leaving his ivory tower to attend weddings or funerals. But with the Queen's children involved in one scandal after another, and Parliament questioning the viability of the monarchy, the Queen is desperate. In a quest for good press, she puts Jameson in charge of a tribute concert in her late husband's honor. Out of his depth, and resentful of being called to service, he takes the advice of a student. After all, what's more appropriate for a royal concert than a performer named "Duchess"? Too late, Jameson discovers the American rapper is popular, sexy, raunchy and not what the Queen wanted, although he's having an entirely different reaction. Dani knows this is the good exposure she needs to cement her deal and it doesn't hurt that the royal running things is fine as hell. Thrown together, they give in to the explosive attraction flaring between them. But as the glare of the limelight intensifies and outside forces try to interfere, will the Prince and Duchess be a fairy tale romance for the ages or a disaster of palatial proportions?

Booked on a Feeling by Jayci Lee

Lizzy "Overachiever" Chung, Esq. has her life mapped out neatly: * Become a lawyer. Check. * Join a prestigious law firm. Check. * Make partner. In progress. If all goes to plan, she will check off that last box in a couple years, make her parents proud, and live a successful, fulfilled life in L.A. What was not in her plans was passing out from a panic attack during a pivotal moment in her career. A few deep breaths and a four hour drive later, Lizzy is in Weldon for three weeks to shed the burnout and figure out what went wrong. And what better place to recharge than the small California town where she spent her childhood summers with her best friend, Jack Park. Jack Park didn't expect to see Lizzy back in Weldon, but now he's got three weeks to spend with the girl of his dreams. Except she doesn't know of his decades-long crush on her--and he intends to keep it that way. She's a high-powered attorney who lives in L.A. and he's a bookkeeper at his family's brewery who never left his hometown. He can't risk their friendship on a long shot. Can he? When Lizzy decides that the local bookstore needs a little revamp, of course, Jack is going to help her bring it back to life. But the more time they spend together, the harder it becomes to ignore there might be more than just friendship among the dusty shelves and books... Sometimes the path to the rest of your life has been in front of you all along.

The Accidental Pinup by Danielle Jackson

Photographer Cassie Harris loves her job—her company Buxom Boudoir makes people look beautiful and feel empowered with her modern twist on classic pinup photography. Cassie’s best friend, Dana, is about to launch her own dangerously dreamy lingerie line and wants Cassie to shoot and direct the career-changing national campaign. But company politics and Dana’s complicated pregnancy interfere, and Cassie finds herself—a proud plus size Black woman—not behind the camera but in front of it. Though she’s never modeled herself, Cassie’s pretty sure she can handle the sheer underwear and caution tape bralettes. She’s not sure she can work so intimately with the chosen photographer, her long-time competitor in the Chicago photography scene, Reid Montgomery. Their chemistry is undeniable on set, however, and feelings can develop faster than film…

Can't Resist Her by Kianna Alexander

Two very determined women—in love, at odds, and risking a lot on a second chance. After years away from home, Summer Graves is back in Austin, Texas, to accept a new teaching position. Of all the changes to the old neighborhood, the most dispiriting one is the slated demolition of the high school her grandmother founded. There’s no way she can let developers destroy her memories and her family legacy. But the challenge stirs memories of another kind. On the architectural team revitalizing the neighborhood, hometown girl Aiko Holt is all about progress. Then she sees Summer again. Some things never change. Neither can forget the kiss they shared at their senior-year dance. Neither can back down from her unwavering beliefs about what’s right for the neighborhood. For now, the only thing Summer and Aiko are willing to give in to is a heat that still burns. But can two women with so much passion—for what once was and what could be—agree to disagree long enough to fall in love?

[kudosmyhero]

Untold Tales of Spider-Man (vol. 1) #1: To Serve and Protect?

Read Date: January 29, 2023 Cover Date: September 1995 ● Writer: Kurt Busiek ● Penciler: Pat Olliffe ● Inker: Al Vey ● Colorist: Steve Mattsson ● Letterer: Richard Starkings ● Editor: Tom Brevoort ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers

Reactions As I Read: ● newbie Spidey ● web air cushion ● I didn't really need a visual of how sweaty Peter gets under his mask…

● Hey, it's George Stacy, not yet retired! ● the highlight on Spidey's mask just makes the front of his whole face look pink. it's… odd ● Spider-Man asks to become a cop but then realizes it won't work ● nice panel of Captain Stacy gazing out the window after Spidey has left

● hmm, Spidey name-dropped Benjamin Parker, and now Capt. Stacy is asking his sergeant to bring him the files for Benjamin Parker and for Spider-Man. will he start piecing it together? ● Spider-Man goes after the Scorcher to bring him to police to prove himself a "good guy" ● but Scorcher sets the building on fire, and Spider-Man realizes that people could be hurt by his actions; he webs a water tower to douse the flames ● Spidey is so small in this run--hasn't fully grown yet ● he turns in the Scorcher, but he gets yelled at by a cop. Stacy intervenes and explains to Spidey that he disrupted a very carefully planned operation; the Scorcher was actually supposed to have escaped, because he's working for a bigger fish (or maybe an Octopus, hmm?) that the cops want to catch ● poor Spidey. just trying to help ● aww, and now Peter is sick ● 👏👏👏

Synopsis: Spider-Man has finally found a new costumed criminal known as the Scorcher, who has been using his flame-throwing armor to steal experimental electronic designs from various research and development companies. The Scorcher is unhappy that the novice hero has come to interrupt his mission. As the wall-crawler battles his new foe, the authorities and a crow gather below the building. Thanks to the editorials J. Jonah Jameson has written against the wall-crawler, the mob begins to get upset that the web-spinner is involved. Ultimately, the Scorcher manages to burn through one of Spider-Man's web lines, sending him falling to the ground below. In order to save his life, Spider-Man quickly webs up a cushion to break his fall. However, the angry mob tries to attack him, prompting the young hero to flee to the rooftops. There he discovers that the Scorcher and his army of minions have escaped in the confusion. After recovering his camera, Peter Parker pulls off his mask so he can give himself a moment to breathe. Thinking about all of his recent troubles, he wonders why this all has to happen to him.

The following day, Peter goes through his daily routine fraught his mind fraught with problems in both his personal life and his career as Spider-Man. When he wakes up in the morning, his Aunt May is worrying over the bills that have arrived in the mail. When Peter offers to do something to help, May tells her nephew that he is already spending too much time on his part-time job at the Bugle and fears that further time away from his studies will impact his grades. At school, Peter tries to keep his mind on his schoolwork. In chemistry class, Flash Thompson and his friends huddle together and make fun of Peter for being so focused on his education. Later, when Peter turns in his photos to J. Jonah Jameson, who is delighted to have pictures of the battle between Spider-Man and the Scorcher. Much to Peter's dismay, Jonah intends to use them to spin his opinion that the two were working together. This latest bit of depressing news makes Peter reflect on the direction his life has taken. He recalls how simple things were when he was being raised by his Uncle Ben and Aunt May. His life all changed on the day he was bitten by a radioactive spider. Gaining the proportionate abilities of a spider, Peter developed the identity of Spider-Man in order to make a career in show business. This came to a tragic end when Peter refused to stop a thief from getting away. That same man later murdered his Uncle Ben. This caught him that with great power comes great responsibility, and from then on, Peter used his powers to fight crime. Since then he had a number of run-ins with various super-villains. His thoughts are interrupted when Betty Brant gives Peter his check for the photos. He is about to muster up the guts to ask her out on a date when J. Jonah Jameson comes bursting into the office with an idea on how to spin his recent batch of Spider-Man photos. When Jonah mentions the warrants out for Spider-Man's arrest, Peter thinks to himself that these warrants wouldn't exist if it wasn't for Jameson's influencing authorities with his negative editorials. However, this suddenly gives Peter some inspiration and he tells Betty that he'll talk to her later. She is surprised when Peter suddenly kisses her on the cheek before rushing out of the office.

Changing into Spider-Man, Peter swings down to the local police precinct. There he sneaks into the office of Captain George Stacy. He tries to convince Stacy to make him an official police officer, pointing out that he helped capture villains like the Vulture and Sandman, and how he helped solver the Ben Parker murder. When George points out that the wall-crawler would have to go through the proper channels -- which includes revealing his true identity and going through the police academy -- Spider-Man realizes that he cannot do that for fear of what the revelation will do to his Aunt May. Without any explanation, Spider-Man says he can't do that and leaps out the window. Curious about this encounter with the wall-crawler, George calls his sergeant and asks him to bring the file they have on Ben Parker's murder. As he swings away from the police station, Spider-Man thinks about how unfair this situation is, confident that he would have made a great police officer. When he returns home and shows Aunt May the check he got from the Bugle, the elderly woman is delighted by the money as it will help her make her mortgage payment for the month. That's when Peter overhears a radio report about the Scorcher attacking and East Side Chemical Warehouse. Making up an excuse about leaving his homework at the Daily Bugle, Peter rushes off to change into Spider-Man and face the Scorcher.

By the time Spider-Man arrives at the chemical warehouse, he overhears the Scorcher reassuring one of his men that they will pull off this robbery even though the police have surrounded the building. Although Spider-Man has the element of surprise, things quickly being going south when the Scorcher lights the building on fire. While he and his minions are protected due to their fireproof outfits. At Scorcher's mercy, Spider-Man quickly notices that a hole in the roof has revealed a water tower on the roof. Dodging one of Scorcher's flame blasts, the wall-crawler fires a web line at the water tower and yanks it down on the burning building. With the inferno put out, Spider-Man quickly knocks out Scorcher and drags him outside. Instead of being celebrated as a hero, the police are upset that the web-slinger has interrupted their operation. As it turned out, they wanted the Scorcher to escape so they could track him to his employer. As Spider-Man is being scolded, not far from the smoking remains of the Osborn Chemical plant, a mystery man holds onto the case of chemicals that the Scorcher had come to steal. Not knowing what to say, Spider-Man makes a meek apology and swings away. Although the other officers are furious that the wall-crawler is getting away, George Stacy is convinced that despite his interference, the young man is just trying to do his civic duty. Later, Peter has been brought to bed as he has developed a cold after his battle with the Scorcher. He is watching the news about Spider-Man's battle, unhappy how it was received negatively by the press. That's when his Aunt May enters the room and turns off the television, suggesting that watching such violent stories will impede his recovery. As she leaves, Peter laments on how everyone is even more angry at Spider-Man than ever and wishes that -- just for once -- things would go his way.

(https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Untold_Tales_of_Spider-Man_Vol_1_1)

Fan Art: Spider-Man Unmasked Profile Upper body by Nightwing780

Accompanying Podcast: ● Amazing Spider-Talk - "Revelations"

[spideyboyjay]

so how did we get to be so different? || self-para

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“So what… you’re keeping tabs on me for him now too…?” Jonah’s voice comes out harsher than he means it to. He casts a glance Peter’s way. He knows it’s not Pete’s fault, he has nobody to blame but himself. Of course, his father would ask how he was doing. It was only a matter of time. How was his father supposed to know that this was his way of trying to protect them? They’d never seen eye-to-eye, and he knew if he told his father about any of this now it would only end in pain for everyone. After all, hadn’t his father instilled into him that things like this… Crossing the line in this way was a dangerous slope. That despite having the best of intentions you would always end up paying. And had he not paid dearly? How much more would Jonah lose before he learned his lesson and hung the mask up for good?

“Jay. Come on man. He’s worried, John is missing and you refuse to answer his calls. I get that he’s not the best person, hell he barely pays me a livable wage for the photos. But he’s your dad man, and he’s trying. Maybe things are different. He might feel like he’s already lost one son, and who knows that could have put things into perspective.” Tossing a pillow his way Jonah swats it away.

“I get that Pete but… I don’t have to like it, dude.” Raking his hand through his hair he tosses his glasses on the table. “Once he knows it’s over. You see what he says now, it’ll be a thousand times worse when he knows it's me. He’d…tell everyone as a way to get me to stop.”

Shaking his head Peter stands slowly. “Or, he’d stop demonizing Spider-Man. Tell everyone he’s just a guy trying to do the right thing. It’ll change everything when he knows it’s his son Jonah.”

“You don’t know him as well as I do. He’ll use it as an opportunity to try to control me. God, he hates what I’m doing now… Says I’m going to end up a drunk on the streets…” Jonah trails off picking at the skin of his thumb with a heavy sigh.

“Jonah. Look I can’t pretend to understand what’s going on. I mean… The Jameson family is certainly unique…” A dry chuckle escapes JJ’s lips as his eyes meet Peter’s. “But, despite it all. You know if the worst-case scenario happens I have your back. We could sell the apartment, and I’m sure my Aunt May would love the company until we can find a better place. Come on man. We’re brothers, right? That’s what you're always saying.”

“You’re impossible Parker.” He can’t help the smile that settles on his face when he leans against the wall.

“You’ll get through this dude. Just like you did with Kiri, just like I did with my uncle. I’m here for you. And no matter what, even if things get dangerous. I will not leave you alone. We’re in this to the end Jameson. I’m your guy in the chair, until the very end.” Clapping his shoulder Peter glances at the clock. “Now I gotta run, Aunt May wanted me to stop by for lunch. If you have the time I’m sure she’d love to see you.” 

Jonah nods half-heartedly as he watches him head out the door. He counted himself lucky that he was friends with Peter. He was one of the only things that never changed. The only thing he hated was when Peter brought her up. It had been years sure, but it still felt like an open wound that hadn’t closed. His fingers find the small box in his pocket and he tugs it out slowly. Turning it over as he moves into his room. The box was starting to wear from the years of him constantly messing with it. He slowly sets it on his nightstand, fishing his phone out of his pocket with the other.

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Υ𝗈𝗎 Һ𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗐 ⴸ𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂ǀ

His fingers hover over the notification before he clicks it moving the phone to his ear. At first, all he can hear is static, and he shuts his eyes imagining his father. Was he at home when he called? Was his mother in the other room working on dinner, or watching her favorite show? Was his father at work, sitting behind that stupid desk with a cigar in between his fingers? And then he hears it, the first sign of life. A long tired sigh and he can almost picture it. His father sitting at his work desk, after everyone has gone home calling him in some vain hope he would answer.

“JJ, it’s… your father calling. I suppose you could see that though.” His voice sounds hoarser than Jonah remembers. He remembers the last time he’d heard his father call him JJ and he tenses. It had been years, he had been a child the last time his father used that nickname. He can feel a chill spreading down his spine, and he shakes his head slightly. He hears his father clear his throat, and his brows furrow. He’d never heard his father like this. The realization comes suddenly and his eyes open as he slowly sits on his bed. He wondered what had been going through his mind, how he was feeling and he feels guilt tumble into his throat. 

“It’s been a while since we’ve heard from you.” He catches the tremor that finds its way into his father's voice and he shuts his eyes. Trying to imagine it all, to pretend like they were having this conversation face to face. “I’m not blaming you, Jonah, I understand…we haven’t always seen eye to eye.” There’s a silent resignation to those words. To the admittance of how different they were. He wonders briefly if his father had rehearsed this, or if he thought it was a better idea to just call. JJ rationalizes that it’s the latter, his father's voice would be more steady if he’d planned everything. When did he make this call he wonders? He can feel the guilt weave a web within his chest. 

If he were there would he apologize, or would he have gotten frustrated? He finds himself suddenly glad that this rare moment of vulnerability wasn’t face-to-face. That his father was able to get out everything he needed to say uninterrupted. He’s almost startled when his father's voice breaks the silence again. Each pause felt like hours, despite only being seconds. “I just wanted to…” his father trails off again. He was never good with emotional conversations. 

“I wanted to… hear your voice. Make sure you’re okay.” There’s another tremor in his voice, and the realization sends cold chills shooting through his bones. He’s holding back tears, trying to sound as strong as he can. It’s a desperate last effort to protect his pride. He finds his eyes opening, terrified that his mind would paint the picture of his father alone in his office. Not the office sitting high above the city where he can catch glimpses of Spider-Man as he soars past his building. No the office that sat adjacent to the living room in the home he grew up in. With the high bookshelves, filled to the brim with books his father would never read. With the small globe sitting on the chestnut desk, and the antique rug his grandfather gave to his father. His father's voice sounded hoarser because he was trying to stay quiet so he wouldn’t wake his mother. 

His hand rubs at his face briefly covering his mouth as he listens to his father trying to steady his breathing. “I…I remember when you were a toddler. You used to run around the Bugle with my vest.” His father lets out a rare laugh, and he finds himself searching for the memory. “Said you wanted to take over after me… I think that’s why I pushed you so hard.” His eyes shut tightly and he rests his head against the wall. “So how did we get to be so different…?” He’s not sure if his father is asking him, or if he’s asking himself. He wishes he could recall the memory. Recall the time he looked at his father with admiration, and the desire to be just like him. 

He hears his father sniff and clear his throat again, and finds himself doing the same. Was he crying? When had he started crying? He brings his hand to his eyes and brushes the tears away. Had he been missing them more than he thought? Maybe Peter had been right. He shuts his eyes again as his father's voice cuts through the air. “I don’t…we don’t say it a lot Jonah but… your mother and I.. we’re proud of you. Prouder than you’ll know. I’m sorry I waited this long to tell you.” His voice sounded steadier and JJ found himself relieved at that. Opening his eyes slowly he glances out of the window. 

“You’re going to do amazing things one day Jonah, and I just… I want us to be there for it. To see the man you grow into. Hell even if it is just as a bartender. You’ll… you’ll be amazing one day Jonah.” His father shifts in his seat and he finds himself mirroring it. The bed creaks in protest as Jonah sits up fully and swaps the phone to his other hand. “Jonah I… don’t know what’s going on but I hope you know that you can tell us about it when you’re ready. If you ever are. Maybe I don’t deserve that, you’re a better man than I’ll ever be. But I’d like to earn that trust from you again.” 

Jonah rests his head in his hand, he can feel his leg anxiously moving up and down as his father continues. “I’m going to let you go now. We… we hope to hear from you soon kiddo.” He opens his mouth to protest, forgetting for a moment that the moment had already come and gone. That it was a moment he’d probably actively run from. He silently curses himself, his hand clenching into a fist as he lowers it from his head. He had nobody to blame but himself, he’d been doing it to himself. Isolating everyone who didn’t know. Keeping his loved ones at arm's length terrified of what could happen. How stupid was he?

Did he really think any of this was protecting them? What would happen when someone found out who he was under the mask and went after them? He was putting them in more danger, wasn’t he? He’d been doing it for years now, missing important dinners. Ignoring calls and texts, to swing around New York playing the hero his father so desperately hated. Was this the consequence of his actions? For putting himself above the law to defend the powerless? Was that just some justification he told himself late at night to sleep easily? Was his father right? Tossing his phone on the bed he exhales deeply. Hadn’t he lost his soulmate because of this mask? Was he destined to die in this costume with nobody but Peter knowing it was him?

His breath comes out in a shaky exhale, and he can feel the burning in his eyes. He’d been lying to them for years, if he told them now would they hate him? They’d have every right to hate him, he would deserve it. He’d risked his life every day without telling them. He’d seen their worry each time John left on a mission to explore the cosmos. Jonah saw how they were falling about now that John was missing, and yet he stayed away. Was it to protect them, or him? It was wrong, wasn’t it? To keep doing this without telling them, especially since they’d already lost John. The police had said it didn’t look good, hadn’t they? That missing people normally didn’t show up when this much time had passed. Clearing his throat he glances at the clock. His hand searches for his phone as he lays back on his bed.

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

His thumb hovers above the call button and he shuts his eyes as he presses it bringing his phone back to his ear. He listens with bated breath as the phone rings, his stomach sinking. What if he was busy? He was calling in the middle of the day, he was probably in a meeting about an article. He begins to move his cell phone away from his ear when the ringing stops. Was it the voicemail, or did his father pick up? JJ finds himself pushing his phone against his ear sitting up slowly. 

“Hello…?” His father’s voice is hesitant and he finds his throat locking up. He hadn’t planned for him to answer. He hadn’t even thought about it at all. It was as if he were on autopilot. “Jonah..? Are you there?” 

His voice cracks slightly when it passes his lips. “Y-Yeah dad I’m here…”

There’s a soft exhale that almost sounds like a laugh, and he can almost picture his father smiling. “How have you been…? It’s…been a while…” 

“Yeah… I…I know dad. I’ve been… busy. Y’know with the freelancing and bartending.” The lie comes too easily and he almost wishes it didn’t. Wishes that his dad would be able to sense the lie. But if he does he makes no note of it.

“I keep telling you if you want steady work come to the Daily Bugle. It’s better than what you’re making now.” He laughs softly imagining his brows furrowing, his father always looked so stern when talking about this.

“I know, it’s just nice to try to make it on my own y’know?” He pushes off his bed and leans on the window. “So I got your message… Sorry I missed it. How have you guys been?” 

“Well, you know us. Nothing really stops us, you should have seen your mother the other day…” His father chuckles and Jonah finds himself smiling.

“Maybe we can all go out sometime… like old times..” 

“I’d like that kiddo…” His father clears his throat. “Did you see that Spider-Man fought the Vulture the other day…?”

Jonah exhales through his nose turning his head to the ceiling. “Yeah, I… heard about it from Peter.”

“I heard he saved everyone this time.” His father sighs before speaking again. “I know it’s been a while since it happened… but Jonah if you need to talk about it you know we’re here for you? And your mother knows an excellent therapist…”

The words stir the memories he’d been pushing down and he rests his hand on the window. “I…I don’t blame him. I mean… from what Peter said it was a difficult fight. He tried his best, but he was too slow. He…He can’t save everyone. For every person he saves there’s someone he might not be able to.” He clears his throat before speaking again. “But uh… thanks dad I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Have you spoken to the Clarke’s at all lately..?”

“I can’t bring myself to, after the funeral… I just couldn’t look them in the face. They probably think I’m awful.” He lets a dry laugh out.

“Nobody could think that JJ.” His father cuts him off, sounding suddenly stern. “Everyone grieves in their own ways, and for however long they need… I’m sure they understand that. You can’t blame yourself for not being there when it happened. Nobody knew it was going to happen. Death has a way of sneaking up on you like that…” His voice trails off and Jonah nods despite himself.

“I know. It doesn’t make it easier though. Sometimes I wish…” He trails off with a soft sigh. “I guess it doesn’t matter, it happened and nothing can change it. But talking helps sometimes I guess… I uh… have to get going.” 

“Ah… so soon?” He can hear the disappointment in his voice even as he tries to mask it.

“Peter’s aunt invited us over and I said I’d try to make it. I’ll talk to you later…”

“We’ll have to plan a dinner one of these nights… catch up.”

“I’d like that dad…” He rubs the back of his neck glancing at the clock again. “Alright, I’ll call you later. Love you dad…” He hears his father mumble goodbye before hanging up. Setting his phone down Jonah exhales deeply. It wasn’t going to change anything immediately, he knew that. But it was a nice start at least…

[chuckbass-love]

Hi! I know you only just posted it but would it be possible to request 33&36 from the prompts with Ransom please?❤️

A/N: Thank you for your patience on this one, i really hope when you read it that it was worth the wait. Also thank you for requesting in the first place, it means a lot that people ask me to write fics for them.

Prompt #33: "Pushing back against my fingers already? How pathetic"

Prompt #36: "You'd better watch your fucking mouth"

Disclaimer: My work is not to be translated or to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Warning: Smut! Unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, swearing, daddy kink, implied alcohol consumption and use of the word slut/degradation. 18+ everyone....

Word Count: 2,191

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @twerkforambrose go check them out 💕

Your Filthy Addiction

Five more minutes, you’re going to give that arrogant son of a bitch five more minutes before you toss the food you’d made earlier. You’ve spent all dam day slaving away in that kitchen of yours to make sure Ransom had a decent home cooked meal to come back to after a long day working with Harlan, and what does he do? He doesn’t even show up.

You might love him but if you didn’t get annoyed at least once a day with him then life wouldn’t be right. He’s always doing something to mess you around.

And today is testament to that, it’s testament to the fact that no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t help but let you down. Maybe now you’ve had enough of sitting idly by and letting him walk all over you.

So when he eventually stumbles into the house, his tipsy state as clear as day, your cage is well and truly rattled.

“Where the hell have you been?” you snap, standing in front of him with your hands placed firmly on your hips as you take in his flustered cheeks. He’s very drunk indeed, probably due to the bottomless Jameson supply at the bar across town.

You’ve tried your hardest for years ever since the night you first met Ransom to help him with his obvious drinking problem but to no avail. And now you see why your solutions to his problems never worked, it was because despite his constant complaining about said problems, he loves having just a tiny bit of conflict in his life. Mostly with his good for nothing family who only treat him like dirt. But he gives as good as he gets, always has and always will.

“I was just out with Harvey” the way his shoulders move up as he shrugs only seems to bother you all the more. His lack of care for his actions have always created issues for your relationship but this takes the cake.

To some, your pouty and bratty behaviour may seem pathetic and unnecessary, but to you it’s more than him missing dinner. It’s about the fact that he always seems to let you down, over and over.

“Oh so you prefer his company over mine then? Because i made us a lovely meal so that we could eat together after a week of not being able to and this is the thanks i get? For my so called boyfriend to be swanning off with the master of one night stands” your voice is low, your stare dark and angry, your stance even more so and he can definitely see how badly he’s fucked up.

However, if you know Ransom well enough, then you can certainly see his change in attitude coming a mile off.

“You’d better watch your fucking mouth” he barks, his finger pointed directly in your face as he stalks closer to you. You find yourself stepping back, intimidation controlling you.

“Or what? You gonna make me? Judging by the way you’ve been acting you don’t have a leg to stand on” you say matter of factly as you shake your head in disgust at his nerve. How dare he boss you around when he’s the one who’s been out of line all this time.

“Maybe i will” he pokes his chin out as he stands tall, hands by his sides. He looks awfully confident as he inches closer. His index finger slips underneath your chin as he forces you to look directly into his menacing eyes.

You feel your breath catch in this moment. The knowledge of him doing whatever he wants to do to you just because he can is causing your entire body to shiver with anticipation. Despite how he makes you feel sometimes, you’re a sucker for him and everything he does.

He says jump, you say how high.

“What?” you murmur, wanting him to use his words just like he always makes you do.

“I said, maybe i will make you. Bet you’d love that, slut” you wince at the horrid nickname. It’s moments like these when you always try your hardest to avoid thinking about how his degradation of you makes you feel, your mind is objecting but your body is giving him the green light.

How is that?

How does he always manage to do that?

Must be some kind of mind control as you absentmindedly follow him through to the kitchen, his hand barely holding onto your own.

Before you can even make sense of things, he pushes you over the kitchen counter forcefully.

His hands splay across your ass cheeks as he lifts your dress up, bunching it at your waist before yanking your ruined panties down your bare legs. Next thing you know his fingers are toying at your dripping wet hole.

“Would ya look at this...you can try all you like to act up sweetheart, but you and i both know why this cunt of yours is soaked”

There he goes again, spewing filth to get you to give up the jig. You know you have to remain strong and stable but it’s so hard to do that when he....wait! Is he inserting his fingers? Fuck, they are so thick inside of you and two already? He must be a mind reader to know how this makes you feel, he must know what gets you keening because now here you are pushing back on them like a needy little brat.

“Pushing back on my fingers already? How pathetic” he tuts, his tone mocking as he chuckles a little. Still, his fingers remain as they twist and turn inside of you, scissoring you open before he adds a third.

Fuck, this is delicious torture. The man you’re supposed to be mad at but you can’t bring yourself to be when he makes your body feel so good.

The undeniable and powerful pleasure that he provides is just too good to quit. You could never let him go even if you actively tried to which by the way, you’ve attempted it a hundred times at least.

But every time you try he just lures you back in with his sexual prowess, his high libido and those dashing good looks. His sweet talk isn’t too bad either.

When will you ever learn to strengthen yourself up and walk away? Because he’s never going to change but oh shit, the way he’s pumping his fingers in and out rapidly is enough to cause the coil in your stomach to tighten one last time.

You move to meet his fingers, hips gyrating in circular motions slowly as you reach your hand between your legs.

Of course he pushes you hand away, insisting on using his own. His thumb presses down on your pulsating clit and the breathy groans that are escaping him let you know that he can sense your impending orgasm.

“Come on, baby. Cum for daddy” he urges, rubbing firm circles on you clit as his fingers curl inside of you, pushing against that spongy spot deep within. The one that will have you seeing stars in, 3...2...1.

“FUCK RANSOM” you scream out, hands gripping the kitchen counter so hard that it turns your knuckles white, his fingers continue to drive into you over and over as he rides you through your intense high.

“That’s my girl, just like that. Let go, baby” you can hear the smirk in his voice, the smugness he feels knowing that yet again he’s prevented you from walking away.

He’s convinced you to stay just by pleasuring you with his filthy touch, his sinful thick digits.

You may be weak, but with a man this good, a man capable of making your pretty little pussy cum over and over, why would you want to be anything else?

As soon as you come down from the high, you stand up, straightening your posture as you turn around to face him. The proud look covering his face lets you know that it’s all a game to him.

You pull your dress back down so that it’s covering up your modesty before pulling your panties up.

“What’s wrong, sad eyes?” he pokes, his hands resting either side of the counter, caging you in.

“You know what. You can’t just keep using sex to keep me around, Ransom” you huff in defeat, bothered by your lack of strong will.

“Sure i can, and what’s more, you’re gonna enjoy it too” he raises his eyebrows as he spins you back around, keeping your back arched by yanking your head backwards.

Every inch of your skin turns to gooseflesh as he trails his finger down the curve of your back before reaching your tail bone and pushing your dress up. He undoes the belt around his slacks before popping open the button and slipping them down along with his boxers, freeing his erection from its tight confines.

He slips your arousal covered panties to the side before smothering his eager red tip in your mouth watering pussy juices. Once he catches on your entrance he slams inside of you, but before you can jerk forward he hooks his arm into both of yours as he holds them behind you firmly.

You can never leave him, even if you truly wanted to, you’re stuck in an ongoing loop of orgasms and rough sex.

A frantic whimper slips off your tongue as his pace now renders on animalistic, hard and fast, just the way you both like it.

Of course the real pleasure comes from the slow and hard thrusts, the ones where he gently pokes at your g spot as he lays on top of you. Your legs wrapped around him, his face in the crook of your neck. But now is not the time for gentle and slow, now is the time for rushed and needy.

He’s desperate to achieve that orgasm just as much as he is to provide one for you. To feel your legs shaking as your head lulls back to rest on his chest, eyes rolling to the back of your head, it’s something he can never and will never get enough of. The way your walls are clamping down on him right now should be illegal as he can feel his balls tighten with the impending release.

“Fuck. Keep tightening those walls baby, let yourself go. Just. One. Last. Time” his voice desperate as his breathing turns ragged, matching yours. Your chest starts to rise and fall before your head falls back to rest on his chest just like he loves. He can feel your entire body tremble in his hold as he loosens his grip and pushes you over the counter.

“Gonna fucking cum, deep inside of this pussy. Gonna fill you up with my cum, baby” he growls, his voice deeper than before. He’s so painfully close, as are you.

And as you flutter around him one last time, he spills his load inside of you, causing you to stand up onto your tip toes with your head pressed into the marble counter.

He paints your walls with thick white ropes before twitching as he slows down his thrusts, then he stills his hips.

All that can be heard in this kitchen is heavy panting before the sound of your pussy squelching as he pulls out distracts you. He pulls his slacks back up, making quick work of his zip, button and belt whilst you toss your panties into the hamper by the laundry room and pull your dress back down before heading up to your bedroom.

New panties are a must.

“Now do you get it?” he asks, leaning on the open doorway to your room and causing you to turn and face him once your fresh panties are on.

“Get what?”

“Your mine and you always will be, until i say otherwise” he states, shocking you.

“I’m not your property, Ransom”

“Oh but you are, those soaked panties in that hamper prove it. So get used to it, because you’re never leaving me, especially not now”

You’re well and truly fucked... held captive by his intoxicating smell, intimidating demeanour and his undeniable skills in the bedroom.

Guess you should have known from the day you first met Hugh Ransom Drysdale that you’d never make it out alive if you were to run.

But the real question is, do you even want to leave him? He’s everything you detest but still you stay and continue to crave more of him.

And the answer to that question would be no, no you wouldn't want to leave.

He may be a prick, an arrogant asshole and a cocky son of a bitch but he is an addiction...your filthy addiction, and you wouldn’t have it or him any other way.

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

General Tags: @deadlymistress24 @coffeebooksandfandom @chris-butt @holtzkinnon @mychemicalimagines @llamadelreyx @haus-of-bitch-talk @buckstaybucky @thewinchestergirl1208 @chrissquares @patzammit @dummiesshort @cevans-fics @americasass91 @toni9 @aaliferous @bradfordmyworld @thereisa8ella @candlefics @yassspose @randomsevans @fanficforfun

Just Chris & Characters Tags: @onetwo3000 @sheofthegarden @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @mrsbbarnesrogers @princess-evans-addict @stxvercgersslut @chris-evanslover @bval-1 @thejemersoninferno @denisemarieangelina @janeyboo @evansphnx12 @dwights-new-plague @whxre4cevans @cherry-gemz @chvntelle-99 

LMK if you want to be added to my tag list...

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~sixth chapter rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!reader

Synopsis: you are Peters greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Series Masterlist

Two months later, you sat outside The Daily Bugle and impatiently bounced your leg. While waiting to see if your boss liked your first draft of the Cleatus Kassidy article, you reflected on your past two months in New York.

It was now June. You and Venom had fallen into a routine. You’d work on the Cletus article by day and go patrolling at night. Of course, being Venom wasn’t a nightly occurrence. You’d only go out eating once or twice a week. Still, you managed to have 11 run ins with Spider-Man.

You and Peter had become significantly closer in that past two months as well. You’d help him with his homework, though you secretly thought he was smarter than you, and he helped me with your story. Some nights, he’d visit you on your fire escape and watch the sun go down. You had no idea how he got there, but you didn’t care.

You’d send him science puns while he was at school and he’d bring you food and keep you company when You had writers block. Your favorite was the long talks on the roof. You would sit there for hours and tell each other everything. You knew all his secrets and he knew yours.

Well, not all.

But the best part of all was that every now and then, you’d catch the other staring. Then, the other would stare back until someone, usually Peter, started to lean in. Every time you thought you were finally going to take the next step, something would interrupt you. Whether it was May knocking or Ned barging in or Peters phone ringing. That was another thing about Peter. His damn phone was always ringing and then he’d have to dash off somewhere, leaving you with a random excuse or something about an internship. Sometimes, you’d wish he’d just throw his phone aside and kiss you already.

“Great work so far, L/n.” Your boss tore you away from your thoughts. “I knew you’d be right for the job.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jameson.” You stammered as you stood up. “I really appreciate you giving me this job. I was kinda blackballed back in San Francisco.”

“I know.” He shrugged. “But you ask the hard hitting questions that people want to hear. Once this article is out, I want you to write one on Venom.”

“Venom?” You gulped at her name.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “You know that scary black monster that’s been fighting Spiderman? I’m thinking an exposé on that menace webhead and his latest enemy, and I think you’d be perfect for the job.”


“I would love to.” You said quickly. “I’ll start researching right away.”

With that, you turned on your heel and left the building before Venom caused a scene.

“Monster?” Venom roared once you got in your car. “Scary?”

“I know.” You whined. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was gonna call you that.”

“His whole job is reading about the most dangerous criminals in New York. If he thinks we’re scary, what’s Peter gonna think?” Venom asked. You laughed in dismissal until you thought about what he said.

What would Peter think? What if you told Peter who you really were and he ran away? He was sweet and understanding, but how understanding could he possibly be when you tell him you can turn into a flesh eating monster?

That’s when you realized you were scared. You were scared of letting Peter in and him letting himself right out. You were scared of repeating the mistakes you made with Andy. No, not scared.

Petrified.

What if Peter didn’t like what he saw? What if he realized you were too messy to be with? Or had too much baggage? Peter deserved a nice girl. One with a normal family and friends. One without depression. One without a flesh eating symbiote attached to their immune system.

“What’s wrong baby?” Venom asked with concern. She cuddled around your neck and nuzzled into your cheek.

“I can never be with Peter.” You whispered, mostly to yourself. Hot tears of frustration filled your eyes so you looked up to keep them from falling. Admitting it felt like a fatal blow to the stomach. Venom tied your hair up with one of her arms and wiped the tears from your face.

“Why do you say that?”

You thought about it for a moment before answering. You didn’t want to tell Venom that you were feeling insecure. She freaked out on you whenever you said something negative about yourself. You didn’t wanna another 100 slide PowerPoint titled “why Y/N L/N is the baddest bitch in the galaxy”. Especially since forty of those slides were just pictures of your butt. You appreciated Venom wanting to help but you were feeling the kind of insecure that a pep talk couldn’t fix. You needed to figure it out on your own. So instead, you told her a different fear you had.

“Because. Look at us. We’re the only thing keeping each other alive.” You reasoned. “What if we get separated and die? I can’t become one of those people in Peters life who loved him and then left him. His mom, his dad, his Uncle Ben. I don’t want to die and leave Peter behind. He’s been through enough. He’d be so much better off without me.”

“We’re not gonna die. You protect me and I protect you. Nothing will hurt us as long as we have each other.” Venom assured you.

“I can’t protect you like you protect me.” You said softly. “I’m just a human. What if something happens to me and you die because of it?”

“Nothing will happen to you, Y/N. I promise. I won’t let it.” Venom swore. You looked at her and gave her a sad smile.

“I won’t let anything happen to you either.” You said, but you didn’t promise it. You knew you couldn’t promise it.

“And you can be with Peter.” Venom insisted. “On Klyntar, we mate for life. And we think you’ve found your mate in Peter.”

“What does that mean?” You wondered.

“It means we’ve become attached to him and will never be happy with anyone else.” Venom said. You let out a shaky breath as that wasn’t what you wanted to hear. You needed a reason to shut your feelings for Peter down.

“Like soulmates?” You asked.

“Exactly like soulmates.” Venom answered.

“Well what happens on Klyntar if someone is your soulmate but you’re not theirs?”

“Then we go into a cave and mourn until we die alone of heartbreak.” Venom said simply.

“That sounds about right.” You laughed sadly as you took a second to think.

“I’m gonna call that guy back.” You said suddenly.

“What guy?” She asked.

“They guy who asked me out at the coffee shop this morning.” You reminded her.

“The one with the stupid hair? Why would you call him?” Venom asked angrily.

“What was wrong with his hair?” You laughed.

“It was blonde. We like brunette.” Venom said with a devilish grin.

“His hair was fine.” You rolled your eyes. “And I’m gonna call him to say yes to the date.”

“Why would we do that when we like Peter?” Venom whined.

“Because if Peter doesn’t like us, I don’t want to die of heartbreak alone in a cave.” You admitted.

“He does love you.” Venom protested.

“We don’t know that.” You shook your head. “It’s just one date. I need to get back out there anyway. I haven’t gone on a date Andy and I broke up.”

“Fine.” Venom grumbled. “But this is a terrible idea and I’m going to complain the whole time and sing the Les Mis soundtrack in your head.” This was one of those moments where she felt more like your toddler than your symbiote.

You gave the guy a call before driving back to your apartment. As fate would have it, you ran into Peter in the hallway on your way to your room.

“Hey Y/n!” Peter greeted you. “You want to come over later and help me with spanish? I’ll amo you mucho.”

You wanted so badly to say yes but you had to stick to the plan to squash your feelings for Peter.

“Aw, I’m sorry Pete. I wish I could but I have a date tonight.” You frowned, instantly regretting it when you saw the look on his face.

Peter’s heart sank to the floor as he emotions went from feeling devastated to feeling white hot anger in a matter of seconds

“A date?” He sputtered. “With who?”

“Some boy I met at the coffee shop.” You said weakly, knowing you were hurting him.

“Oh.” He said dully. 

“Some boy.” He thought angrily. “Some freaking dirty ass sissy coffee boy asked my girl out.”

Peter felt like hunting the man down and smacking the shit out of him. Or at the very least, webbing him to a wall leaving him there until he missed the date.

“What’s his name?” Peter asked suddenly, wanting to put a name to his new mortal enemy.

“Matt.” You nodded slowly.

“Freaking Matt.” Peter thought. “Freaking dirty ass bitch ass Matt. Was Matt Spider-Man? No. Could Matt treat you as well as I could? Probably. But did he like you as much? No. Did he have inside jokes with you? No. Could he make you laugh your beautiful laugh just by doing a Captain America impression? No. He wasn’t good enough for you. He couldn’t do the things I could do. He was trash. He was a trashy dirty ass rat boy.”

“Interesting.” Peter said, keeping his thoughts to himself.

“I’ll text you when it’s over and maybe I can help you then.” You offered. That sound okay, guapo?”

Peter nodded sadly, not even acknowledging that you called him handsome. Actually, he probably had no idea that you did. He was smart, but only in English.

“That’s fine.” He nodded glumly. “I’ll see you later.”

You watched Peter trudge into his apartment and felt a pain in your heart. He seemed so upset all the sudden. It couldn’t be from your date, could it? It’s not like you told him you got engaged or something. It was one little date. And it’s not like Peter even made a move. He had no reason to be upset. You brushed it off and went into your apartment to get ready.

Just as Venom predicted, the date went horribly wrong. You drove back to the apartment in silence afterwards, leaving Matt to clean himself off back at the restaurant.

“Why did that happen?” You asked her after a long drive in silence. You were mortified from the events of the night but you needed to know why they happened.

“Because he wasn’t your soulmate.” Venom said simply.

“We defiled that boy.”

“It happens.” Venom stated.

“It shouldn’t.” You said, shocked at how nonchalantly she was being.

“But it does.”

You rode the rest of the way in silence, shooting Peter a text before asleep on your couch. You woke up a few hours later in a cold sweat and in tears. You didn’t know it, but Peter was listening to your breathing from his apartment. He had picked up the small cries of his name in your sleep with his superhearing and stayed up to see if you were okay.

You weren’t, by the way. You had had a nightmare that shook you deeply and left you shaking. It was about Peter, but not in a good way. In this dream, he laid injured on the ground after a fight. You were separated from Venom and bleeding out near Peter. You couldn’t do anything to save him. You couldn’t scream for help. And worse, you couldn’t protect him. It caused you great agony to not be able to reach him.

Without giving it another thought, you got off your couch and made your way to the door. You needed to see Peter and tell him how you felt.

You didn’t care about your insecurities anymore. You didn’t care about all the things keeping you apart. You only cared about him, and that was enough. He needed to know that and you couldn’t wait another second.

You swung open your front door, only to find Peter Parker outside it in pink Hello Kitty pajama bottoms and a tight white t-shirt. His hand was raised, like he was about to knock.

“Hey.” you breathed. His hair was tousled and sticking up in random places. He looked heavenly.

“Hi.” He said shyly.

“I was just about to go to your door. I had a bad dream.” You told him. You were anxious to skip the semantics and cut right to the chase. 

The chase being, “I love you and I’m yours if you’ll have me.”

“Yeah, I heard. That’s why I’m here.” Peter explained. That’s not what he wanted to say. What he wanted to say was, “I’m always here if you need me. I’d go to the ends of the earth for you. I love you. It’ll be okay.”

Peter looked at you funny for a moment, like he was seeing something beneath the surface.

“She looks so beautiful.” He thought. Makeup free, hair a little messy, and nothing but an oversized sweatshirt to cover you. Peter recognized the sweatshirt as his own, one you had swiped from his laundry basket because you had been freezing while watching Alien in his room. He felt so honored to know that you slept in it. Peter wondered how many times he could fall in love with you in a short span of time. In the past few seconds, he’d fallen about 15 times. Once for every breath you took. And you were breathing quite heavily.

“You heard?” You asked, wondering how he

had possible heard from his apartment.

“My hearing is excellent.” He said quickly. “Are you alright?”

“Please be alright.” He thought. “I’d stop anything that tried to hurt you. I’ll protect you from the storm. Don’t shut me out. Don’t turn me away. Let me love you.”

“Um…” You trailed off and looked behind you at your empty apartment. The darkness looked anything but inviting. You couldn’t go back in there just yet.

“No?” It came out as more of a question.

“No? Do you want to talk about it-“ Peter was cut off when you rushed into his arm and hugged him tightly. He seemed taken aback, seeing as you nearly knocked the wind out of him. But as soon as he found his footing, he wrapped his strong arms around you and held you close. You relaxed in Peters embrace and let out a sigh.

“I had a nightmare.” You croaked. “You died and I couldn’t save you.” 

“I know. It’s okay. You’re awake now. I’m here.” Peter said soothingly. 

“I’ve been here the whole time.” He thought. “I will never abandon you. You are safe in my arms. Nothing can hurt you now. I won’t let it.”

You pulled away a little and looked at his face, seeing how tired it was.

“Would you stay with me?” You asked timidly. You didn’t want him to go. Not now, not ever.

“Always.” Peter answered with a smile. “As if I could ever leave you.”

Your lips lit up in a smile as your eyes fell to his lips. They lingered there for too long, or maybe just long enough. Peter took the hint and slipped his hand behind your neck and began to pull you closer. As your lips were about to touch, your door slammed, causing you to jump out of each other’s embrace.

“Shit balls.” You said immediately, letting out an annoyed sigh.

“What?” Peter asked, giggling a little at your choice of profanity.

“I just locked myself out.” You realized as you jiggled through door handle. Peter laughed louder this time and put a hand on your shoulder.

“Come on. You’re sleeping over.” He said, leading you back to his apartment with his hand on the small of his back.

You entered Peters room for the millionth time, but it felt the first time. Sure, you’d become good friends in the time you’ve lived in the building, but bedrooms were intimate places. The context of you being in Peters bedroom after going to him for comfort changes how you saw the place. After all, bedrooms were windows into the soul. Oh wait, that’s eyes. Still, the room was different. You didn’t feel like you were entering it. You felt like you were returning.

You looked around with a content smile on your face. He still had his academic decathlon posters on his wall, along with a few Avengers posters. Peter was pretty neat, but he was still a teenage boy. Socks and sweaters were strewn across the room. You saw him kicking a pair of boxers under his desk out of the corner of you eye. His room was so cute. It was so…Peter. You noticed a first aid kit on his desk next to his chemistry textbook and wondered what on earth he could be using it for.

“I’ve always liked your room.” You complimented as you touched a decathlon trophy on his dresser.

“Oh thank God.” Peter sighed in relief. “I thought you’d take one look at my nerdy ambiance and run.”

“Star Wars bedsheets?” You asked when you noticed the Death Star poking out under his duvet. You definitely hadn’t seen those before and found them endearing. Peters ears reddened and he fixed his duvet to cover them up.

“Those aren’t mine.” He said quickly.

“Are they Mays? As in May the force be with you?” You played along and he gave you a defeated smile.

“That was the worst thing anyone has ever said. Ever.” Peter joked. You laughed and he gave you a shy smile.

“Fine. They’re my bedsheets. Star Wars is cool, okay?” Peter defended. You took a seat on his bed and shrugged.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me Peter. I just didn’t know you were a loser, is all.”You said simply. Peter sat down on the bed next to you and rolled his eyes.

“Very funny. You’re the funniest person I know.” He said sarcastically. You nudged him with your elbow and he and hit you with a Yoda printed pillow.

“Mm. Good with the force you are.” You commented. Peter groaned loudly and told you to shut up.

“Enough playing around. How was your date?” Peter asked as he turned to face you. You could hear the pain in his voice and regretted ever telling him about the date.

“Oh, you know.” You shrugged. “Terrible.”

You weren’t going to let him off the hook that easy. If Peter really did like you and want to be with you, he needed to say it. He couldn’t just grumble and wallow in self pity when you were with another boy. You wanted to test him to see if he’d ever actually admit his feelings, but a part of you was still scared there were no feelings to admit to.

“Really?” He said excitedly. He cleared his throat to cover it up and grunted. “I mean, really?” He asked calmly.

“Yeah it was awful. I definitely won’t be seeing him again.” You sighed sadly, but you weren’t actually sad. You were just putting on a show for Peter. Peter bit the inside of his cheek to stop the smile from emerging.

“That’s terrible.” Peter lied. “What went wrong?”

His acting was equally as bad as your own. He had a shit eating grin on his face, pretending to be sad when he was clearly over the moon.

“It was going fine all night until the kiss.” You sighed dramatically, looking longingly out the window. You might as well have thrown yourself onto the balcony and cried out for Romeo. Peter, however, was buying every second of it.

“You guys kissed?” He asked, his voice heavy with disappointment. He looked miserable. All you wanted to do was throw your arms around his neck and tell him he was the only one for you. Instead, you kept your feelings to yourself and nodded slowly.

“Almost. He leaned in and…” instead of finishing your sentence, you just shrugged. You could tell Peter was on the edge of his seat so you dragged it as long as you could.

“And?” Peter practically begged. You let out another long, dramatic sigh as Peter took a slow sip of his water bottle.

“And I threw up on him.” You said simply. Peter spat out the water in his mouth and burst out laughing, doing his best to cover it up. You gave him a fake angry look but ended up laughing as well.

“What?” Peter laughed.

“He was such a tool.” You whined. “He talked down to me the entire night and then had the audacity to try and kiss me. I don’t know what happened but all the sudden he was leaning in and I was throwing up. He deserved it though. He treated me like was an idiot. I’m almost glad I threw up on him.”

Peters was overjoyed. He was about to say something when we heard a straggled cry of your name.

You and Peter rushed to his peephole and saw a familiar blonde haired boy standing in the hallway.

There he was, Matt, outside your apartment door with his phone on full volume playing “Hungry Eyes” from Dirty Dancing.

“What the actual hell?” You wondered out loud. “I better get rid of him.”

“Y/nnnnnn. I’m sorry I was a jerk.” Matt slurred. “Please talk to me. I told the doorman we were cousins. Then I told the elevator guy that I was your husband. You may need to move now. Y/nnnn.”

“You definitely can’t go out there.” Peter shook his head. “He could have a knife.”

“Or worse.” You whispered, making Peter looked at you fearfully. “He could have the same loser bedsheets you do.”

Peter scrunched his nose at you and picked up you swiftly to threw you onto the couch.

“Since when are you so strong?” You laughed in shock. Peter shrugged and held out a hand.

“Let’s go to bed.” He said. You raised an eyebrow and he quickly added, “In a non-sexual, platonic way.”

He was always so cautious of offending you or making you uncomfortable. You appreciated how much of a gentleman he was and knew Aunt May had implemented those qualities in him.

“You can take the bed.” He offered. “I’ll sleep on the couch. Let me know if you need anything.”

You nodded and climbed into his bed, patting the the space next to you.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You told him. “Get in.”

Peter looked at you with wide eyes, looking very unsure of himself as he toyed with the hem of his shirt.

He was torn. He wanted to get into the bed, but he also knew you were vulnerable right now and he didn’t want to take advantage of you. He didn’t want to do anything you’d end up regretting in the morning.

“Get in, in a non-sexual, platonic way.” You added. Peter relaxed but stayed standing. You pretended to splash Peter and twirled your hand around the bedsheets as if they were water.

“Come on in Parker. The waters warm.” You said in a low voice.

“I am…repulsed.” Peter deadpanned. In reality, he was dying to get in the bed. He wasn’t gonna try anything, he just wanted to feel you close. He wanted to comfort you and take the pain of the night away. Finally, he got into the bed and pulled the covers up. He shut off his lamp and we fell into comfortable silence.

“Good night, Peter.” You whispered, turning your back to him and cuddling into his pillow.

“Night, Y/n.” He whispered back. You felt his eyes on the back of your neck still. He didn’t want to close them and fall asleep. He wanted to stay in this moment as long as he could.

You soon felt hesitant arms wrap around your waist. Peter was very unsure of himself and kept his hands loosely on your hips, barely touching. You turned your neck around and looked at him quizzically.

“What the hell are you doing?” You demanded. His hands flew off your waist and his eyes widened with fear. He looked so apologetic, you thought he might cry.

“Do you not know how to cuddle?” You asked before he could blurt out an apology. You grabbed his arms and pulled them tightly around your body. You held his hands in your own, flush against your chest. Peter felt really tense at first and a bit stiff, but he soon relaxed and nestled into your hair.

“You smell really good.” He muttered. You laughed softly against his body, prompting Peter to hold you even tighter.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, Y/N.” He whispered. He said it so quietly, you figured he thought you had fallen asleep. “Sweet dreams.”

You woke up the next morning in Peter Parker’s arms. Subsequently, you wanted to wake up every morning for the rest of your life in Peter Parker’s arms. You were a mess of tangled limbs and hair but you found yourself firmly in his embrace, inhaling his cologne.

Peters eyes fluttered open suddenly and you were nose to nose.

“Hi.” You said softly, a playful smile resting on your lips. He was so pretty in the morning. He didn’t even have to try.

“Hey.” He chuckled. “This is new.”

“It is new. Is it okay?” You asked him, not wanting to overstep his boundaries.

“Is waking up next to the actual sun okay?” He teased. “Uh yea, Y/n. It’s okay. You can sleep over anytime you like if it means more mornings like this.”

Of course he said that. He held all your strings and knew just how to tug them.

“Did you really not enjoy that date?” He whispered, but in his head thought, “Do you want to be with anyone else?”

You didn’t know why he was whispering, but the look in his eyes told you he was dead serious.

“Not in the slightest.” You answered honestly. What you wanted to say was, “Because it wasn’t with you.”, but you didn’t.

“Would you…would you want to go out with me sometime?” He asked shyly. “I promise I won’t throw up on you.”

He said the second part as if it was the only way you’d say yes to the date, which made you laugh.

“Peter Parker, I have waited exactly 64 days for you to ask me that question and you just had to ruin it by promising you won’t throw up on me?” You playfully scolded as Peters eyes lit up.

“Is that a yes?” He asked excitedly.

“It’s a yes.” You nodded, holding his nearest hand. “It’s always been a yes.”

“Can I-“ He began.

“Don’t ask.” You whispered. “Just do it.”

Peter leaned in slowly and you did the same. His lips had just ghosted yours when Aunt May knocked on the door. He bolted out of bed as you sat up.

“Breakfast is ready. Did you clean your room?” Aunt May called from the other side of the door.

“Yes.” Peter called back. You looked around. No he didn’t

“No you didn’t.” She said knowingly. She didn’t even have to see his room to know it wasn’t clean.

“I’ll clean it after.” He groaned.

“I’m coming in.” She said suddenly, making you and Peter look at each other in fear.

“Don’t! I’m naked.” He screamed.

“Fine. But it better be clean after breakfast. And put some clothes on. You should not be naked at 7 am.” Aunt May said. You heard her footsteps walking away and knew it was safe to speak. You got out of Peters bed as he got up to lock the door, his back still to you as he did it.

“Alright.” He sighed. “That should buy us some ti-“

The second he turned around, he was met with your lips on his. You had your hands on the sides of his face and your head tilted to the left. You felt Peters eyes flutter shut as his eyelashes tickled your cheeks. He was frozen at first, but slowly wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer. You melted into him and he melted right back into you. The kiss was short and sweet, but absolutely perfect.

When you pulled away, Peter gave you the softest eyes ever. A grateful smile was on his lips.

“I am so over these interrupted moments.” You laughed softly as you shook your head. Peters eyes twinkled in agreement. The sun was coming through the window and made his brown eyes look like pots of honey. You could stare at them forever.

And then he kissed you again, with confidence this time. He wasn’t ready for the last one since you caught him off guard. You let your fingers tangle in the messy curls at the back of his neck, something you thought you’d only get to dream of doing. Peter groaned slightly into your mouth as you tugged on his hair, indicating that he liked it. He put his hand under your neck and slipped his toungue in your mouth. Who knew Peter Parker knew how to kiss? He tasted like morning breath, spearmint chapstick, and something you could only identify as being exclusively Peter. When you pulled apart, he looked up at the sky and sighed.

“If I wake up and this is all a dream I’m going to fight you.” He said menacingly.

“Did you just threaten God?” You laughed.

“For you? Anthing. I’ll fight anyone for your honor. Our Lord and Savior can catch these hands can square up.” He promised.

“You’ve gone to far.” You joked. “We need to break up.”

“Don’t even joke. I’ve waited too long for this.” Peter said as he wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m only teasing. I’ve waited my whole life for you Parker. I’m never letting you go.” You told him. He burst out in a smile and kissed you swiftly, then promptly got down on one knee.

“Will you please be mine, darling? Officially?” He pleaded softly. There was so much hope in his eyes so you pretended to think about it.

“Sorry.” You shrugged. “I’m pretty busy with Matt.”

Peter stood up and gripped your hips, pulling you closer while you let out a small gasp.

“I never want to hear his name again. He had the privilege of taking my girl on a date and treated her poorly?” He raised an eyebrow. “He’s a deadman if I ever see him around here. Now, I need you to tell me you’re my girlfriend before my heart explodes. Tell me you’re mine. I won’t believe it until you say it. ”

You nodded yes as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his lips.

“Peter Parker, I always have, and always will be, yours.”

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things-Something There

Warnings: Mentions of murder. Canon-typical violence.

Word Count: 2.5k

a/n: i am so beyond sorry that it has taken this long to get another chapter out. this doesn’t follow my post schedule that i had previously given, but hopefully this can be a good place holder till later this week. 

The Purest Things Masterlist

May 2008

Bookend: "It took me quite a long time to develop a voice, and now that I have it, I am not going to be silent." -Madeleine Albright

"There's no way I'm doing that," you rebuttal, "Hotch? Tell them it's a ridiculous idea." He stays silent, but his mouth twitches slightly.

Oh, you son of a-

"Richards is a classic narcissist. The challenge of facing a tough, fearless, and intelligent woman will give him his high. Narcissists are drawn to goal-oriented women, women who are resilient, adaptable, yet decisive. Show him that you are a good listener, but don't praise him."

"Think of him like a wild animal," Spencer adds, "You don't feed zoo animals because they are unpredictable. Remember, narcissists have an extraordinary sense of self, and when you praise his ego, you enable his unstable and feeble mind. He doesn't hear praise; he hears how much better he is than you. If you don't feed the beast, he won't have the stamina to combat your confidence later."

"Once you disarm him, I'll come in and challenge his confidence," Hotch concludes. 

Could you have said that less attractively? That would have been more helpful.

Aaron cheekily smirks as if reading your mind but quickly looks away. You wish you didn't blush so fast-that you had some sense to keep your emotions to yourself. In a second, your cheeks are rosy, and you are convinced that everyone in the room can perceive your feelings as if you wrote them on little notes and passed them around.

You grunt and roll your eyes, "I hate all of you."

Derek snaps his fingers at you, "Lose the jacket."

"All men are pigs," you spit while removing your blazer, leaving you in a fitted tank top and your tight-legged jeans that hug your curves in all of the right places.

Derek wolf whistles at you, and you hurl your jacket at him.  Aaron lets his eyes slide up and down your body, his gaze lasting longer than it should. He swears that as you stride into the interrogation room, your hips swing a bit farther side to side than usual. It is the very action that radiates courage, a mind coupled perfectly with itself and the world around it, concentrated and solemn.

Typically, Hotch would divert the task of adulating a narcissist to Prentiss, but he knows if anyone can take command of someone's attention, it's you. How does he know? Because you captivate him far more often than he cares to admit, defying his very being with every interaction. You are a secret weapon that he wants to keep concealed until you can allow your talents to shine genuinely. Aaron knows that now is your moment. ++++ "What is it that I am being accused of? Fraud? Embezzling?" The sharp-dressed businessman questions; his gaze is straying further below your eyes than you care for.

Pig.

You throw a file down on the medal table, and it slides across, stopping right in front of the man, successfully redirecting his stare somewhere other than your chest.

"Try murder."

His eyes widen, "You're joking. Come on, where are the hidden cameras? I'm ready for you to yell candid camera now! I am Milton Richards, for god's sake!"

"I don't know!" You shrug your shoulders. "Why don't you explain this to me, Mr. Richards. I'm just as confused as you are. What reason could a successful, charming, handsome, wealthy business mogul like yourself possibly have to kill someone?"

"Oh please," Richards scoffs, "This isn't an interrogation. You've already pegged me as guilty."

"I don't agree, but you have the right to feel how you feel."

He purses his lips, leaning as far away from you as physically possible while handcuffed to the table.

"Milton, why did you try to escape a moving vehicle when my team apprehended you?"

"Just felt like it, I guess," he shrugs mockingly.

"So, something just randomly compelled you to flee the custody of a federal agent?"

Richards leers at you. You stand up and walk around the table, leaning down next to him, "I get it. I do. You're a suave, wealthy, and ruthless business tyrant. You have to cover your tracks-do what it takes to survive."

He raises his eyebrow, turning to face you, your faces mere inches from each other. I got you now.

"Trust me. I know probably better than anyone what it takes to maintain a position you fought your entire life for. I'm a woman; I had to claw my way into the F.B.I. Do you think it's easy being surrounded by a team filled with uncontrolled testosterone? Womanhood requires balls; I see you keep your balls in your pants, cool, cool. Mine are on my chest, up top. As you've so duly noticed."

His eyes flicker to the aforementioned area, and you restrain yourself from gagging.

"And you know what, Richards? I use them every day of my life. Because in my line of business, sometimes I have to take the backdoor to get things done. Why do I get the sense that you were the same way before you became Mr. Wolf of Wall Street? How else does a kid who grew up in the projects become a multi-millionaire mogul by 27?"

"We both know what the other is capable of. C'mon, let's show each other a bit of respect here. No games, let's be upfront with each other," you appeal. ++++ Aaron watches as you work the room like it is your stage. You play the part perfectly.  He admires your ability to absorb things and then responded rather than immediately react to douse firey circumstances rather than add to the flames.

Derek finds himself next to Aaron, smugly observing Aaron's visible fascination with you.

"She's fantastic, Hotch," Derek beams with pride. Hotch holds his breath behind pursed lips in an attempt to barricade himself from the feelings of foolish jealousy he feels creeping up.

I know she is. I think I recognize it a little too well.

Aaron knows that Derek will be scrutinizing his reaction to the commendation and refrains from responding.

Of course, Derek reads this lack of a reaction as a response itself. And he finds it strangely amusing. ++++ "Here's what I think happened," you twirl your finger around the manilla file, "I think you were having some money troubles and your top investors caught onto your little games. When you sat down, you volunteered the crimes fraud and embezzlement as reasons you assumed we brought you into custody. You listed them like they are apparent reasons for us to charge you. Those are two areas you are clearly willing to take the fall for and have cause to oblige by."

Opening the file, a photograph is revealed within of a murder victim. Richards shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stifling a cough.

"Do you know this man?"

"N-no," he claims as his eyes flutter from the photo to his hands.

Surprised by his blatant tell, you glance back at the two-way mirror.

Turning back to the suspect with a newfound spark in your eyes, you press harder, "Strike one. Try again."

"Excuse me?"

"The man in the image is Walter Barone, the C.E.O. of Jameson Whitely Associates...your accounting firm. Your company was going bankrupt, Milton. There was nowhere left for you to turn. So, do you want to try that again? This time, answer my questions directly and honestly."

"Walt had a reserve saved for me worth $5 million. Last week when I approached him about dipping into the fund to keep the company afloat, he withheld it. I wouldn't kill him for it, though."

"Well, see, that's the problem here, Milton. When he was found, that little reserve of yours was nowhere to be found. Naturally, you can assume where my mind goes when I try and put two and two together, right?"

"I told you," he says, clearly provoked by your accusation, "I wouldn't...didn't kill him."

"Wasn't it you, in your book, right? Who said, 'It's surprising what a man will do when properly motivated?' I don't know about you, but losing everything you'd ever worked for and having your one saving grace held from you seems like pretty good motivation."

Silence. "Oh, come on, Milton, now is not the time to act so arrogant!"

He slams his fists on the table; you abstain from being startled in an attempt to show him no fear.

Wild animals can smell fear. 

"Arrogant, huh? Why don't you step up and prove me wrong? Prove you're better than me. You despise me for being successful; I despise you for your assumption that you could waltz in here like a tramp and seduce me into giving myself up. What? Too harsh? I'm not sure you and I are even the same species."

Hotch bursts into the room, and you quickly signal for him to stand down. I've got this.

He gives you a prideful wink. I know you do.

Somehow Aaron being in the room gives you that last little push to conclude this grand performance of yours. Slowly, you begin clapping dramatically for his little one-person comedy act. He certainly knows how to play the fool.

"Is that a dare? Challenge accepted. Your entire life, you have suffered from a disease... a fragile ego. You have built these walls of detachment so that you can conveniently solicit status to hide your true, weak self. You lash out because you feel it compensates for your insecurities."  

"The truth is, despite being at the top of the corporate chain, every day you lead the life of a loser. You are willing to destroy people psychically, emotionally, and mentally. And you view that as a cause for celebration. You are the embodiment of a loser and abject failure."

Hotch touches the small of your back; you shiver at the sudden warmth that fills your body in reaction to it. He hands you a piece of paper, one that seals Richards' conviction.

"Milton Richards, you are under arrest for the murder of Walter Barone, Hank Simmons, Frankie Lisbon, and Jillian Ryder."

Hotch motions for you to do the honors.

"By all means, lead the way."

Holding yourself proud and tall, you waltz over to Milton and hoist him out of his chair. Inclining your lips to his ear, you tell him contemptuously, "You lose."   ++++ "Way to go, superstar! You had us all on the edge of our seats," Derek says, wrapping his muscular arms around you. You breathe in his cologne and savor the sensation of being in his arms.

Since the day you met Morgan, you've felt a draw to him. Not in a romantic way, though you proudly admit he is hands-down one of the most gorgeous men to set foot on earth. He gives you the feeling of safety, warmth, and brotherly love. His hugs rejuvenate you after a long day of work, and you see to it that neither of you leaves the office without receiving your signature embraces.

Aaron observes you and Derek's shared embrace from the shelter of his office. Before he can comprehend his movements, his legs carry him to the terrace overlooking the bullpen.

What do you think you're doing, Hotch? Pull yourself together. They’re friends. Just like you and her are.

Dismissing his inner voice of reason, he calls out to you, "Y/L/N. See me in my office."

You grimace at his tone of voice but abide by his request.

Derek chuckles, "Green is not that man's color."

"What?" You turn to him, confused.

"Goodnight, superstar."

"Night, handsome," you blow him a kiss, trying to brush his comment out of your mind.  ++++ "You summoned?"

Aaron's whiskey-colored eyes meet yours. The tempo of your heart quickens like a metronome.

"You did a phenomenal job in there."

"I've learned from the best." You. I've learned from you.

He clears his throat, "Those things you said...a-about the men on this team. Is that how you truly feel?"

Shocked by his willingness to believe such a misleading statement, you gasp and close the distance between the two of you.

You must have some nerve to believe that I would ever view you as anything other than the most upstanding man I've ever met.

"Aaron, what I said in there is further than the truth than I would have liked to have strayed. In fact, it was with you that I finally felt equal as a human being-like someone recognized me for my intellect and self-worth. A woman can't acquire that regardless of how 'equal' this world claims to be."

Aaron finds himself lost in your eyes, absorbing every meaning behind your words.

"It was a freeing feeling having someone I respect so highly show me similar respect."

No. Don't stop talking. Please. Hotch blushes at his inner monologue, incapable of comprehending precisely what kind of influence you hold on him.  

"Anyway," you laugh, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen in your face, "Sorry for my little tangent."

"No," Hotch interjects firmly, "Never apologize for expressing your feelings. I assured you last year that I'll always be available as a sounding board for you. That offer still stands."

Your gaze softens as you study him, his intentions, his mannerisms. He notices your pupils dilate, and it commences a chain reaction within his veins. To him, it's not the fact that you radiate beauty on the outside. Sure, you are physically fit and put in the effort to maintain your appearance. Naturally, that would be why someone like Derek Morgan would have you on his radar.

But, Aaron has gradually grown accustomed to the kindness that you seem to reserve just for him. He sees the differences between how you act around the team versus when you step inside his office or are alone in the car with him, even the way your confidence elevates when he walks into the interrogation room.

These differences aren't unique to just you, though. Aaron notices the same changes in himself when he is around you. Never did he expect to go home from work and lie in bed thinking about the way your eyes strayed on his for a moment too long, or how as he completed paperwork at his desk, he'd replay in his mind a cheesy joke you told the team. He knows how you like your coffee from observing you in the break room one too many times.

One cream, two sugars.

Your laughter warms his body from the inside out. When you talk about your favorite comic book with Prentiss and Morgan, the twinkle in your eye never fails to bring a smile to his face. He knows that you hate getting out of the car when it rains because your perfectly straightened hair that you spent god knows how long on will undoubtedly curl.

His changes were less evident on the outside. But, he knew that deep down, there is something there that wasn't there before.

Tag List:

@chellybear98 @destiny-tsukino @wanniiieeee @sweetiecake180 @vampiracontessa @weexinling @spaghetti-dad187 @hothskies @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos @mac99martin @clairedragonessbaker @cecemariee7302 @halloweenwithreid @megans-txmblr @theoldestguard @purpledragonturtles @chazubagi @frogrrylovebot @agentaaronhotass @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @ssagube @enilledam @yougottalovefandoms @kenzies-mr-j @chazubagi @softhetixx @peachyotps @cat11-2 @prettylittlemoonlight @ravenmoore14 @gubs-boobs @spencerreidsoulmate @totalmess191 @yoshigguk @hopelesslylosttheway @britishspidey @timelesstay @averyhotchner @kyliesalvatore

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Misread Details: Robert

CW: Dehumanizing language, BBU blanket warning, serial killer/death talk, descriptions of death/abduction/murder, blood, whumper death, some real vague implied noncon references, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper

Part One: Nanda | Part Two: Brute | Part Three: Robert

The Dark Discovery in Robert Weber’s Basement: Box Boy Killer, Part 3

r/LetsTalkTrueCrime

•Posted by u/oshaycanyousee

3 days ago

After Part One, where we learned about the mysterious, but possibly entirely natural, death of Nathaniel “Nanda” Benson, and Part Two, where we saw Henry “Brute” Hanlon’s double life lead to his untimely gruesome murder, you see the single thread that connects these two men who otherwise never met, interacted, or even shared a single person in common… a nameless Box Boy, present at the death of Nanda even if he isn’t responsible for it, and the proven killer of Brute.

It’s my theory that this Box Boy may have accidentally killed his legal owner, Nanda, and then picked up a taste for the act and moved on to taking shelter with those he turns into his victims.

With Brute, he simply didn’t know the man had a wife and children and entire other life, and may have assumed no one would come looking for him or recognize his death. With our third individual, Robert Weber, it seems like our Box Boy Serial Killer got in over his head.

I give you… the Accidental Vigilante death of Robert Weber.

You decide if our unknown killer is simply the unluckiest guy in the world or a killer who even now may be somewhere living with - and earning the trust of - his next victim.

-

One bright and sunny day in the quaint, old-fashioned California town of Rancher’s Rest, Robert Weber was late for work.

Weber worked in a vehicle repair business owned by lifelong “RR” resident Randy Niles, who had known Weber since his childhood and had been his boss since Weber was eighteen years old and fresh out of high school.

Niles, who is now nearly seventy-five and still spends his days in the shop with an Australian Shepherd named Cody and a blind pit bull named Sue keeping him company everywhere he goes, stated that Weber had no living family he knew of beyond his sister in Vermont, and he was just about the closest thing Weber had to a relative just from having known him so long.

“He didn’t have too much to do with his sister,” Randy said in an interview with Unsolved Mysteries. (You can see the interview on the new Netflix reboot of the show! It’s a really good episode, definitely recommend. It’s how I got into this case in the first place.) “Or nobody, really. Just us at work, the guys at the bar, that kinda thing. He was quiet, kept to himself really. You’d never just strike up a chat around town or anything. But he got on just fine with the boys here in the shop. He was a bit of an egghead, too, always going on about this thing or that he’d seen on the news. Little… odd. Little bit off, you might say. But really, who isn’t? In any case, you know, I’d known him since he was a little boy, so he was just Bobby Weber to me.”

Then, of course, one day Robert Weber didn’t show up to work. Randy Niles immediately felt that something was very wrong.

“When nine, nine-thirty came and went and he wasn’t there,” Niles said, “I knew someone needed to go check on him. Bobby showed up for work right on time or ten minutes early, rain or shine, for twenty years. My first thought was maybe he’d had an accident at home, or some kind of, you know, health thing. Almost never called in sick, took one vacation a year, that kinda thing. So I drove right on over there. This would’ve been, oh, probably ten or ten-fifteen when I got to the house. Had my dogs with me, and they never did like Bobby much, but as soon as I opened my door and got out of my truck they just lost their damn minds. Barking, growling, Cody’s hackles were up like you wouldn’t believe. I know it sounds damn crazy, but I’m sure those dogs could smell that evil had been done in that house.”

On camera, Niles goes quiet, here, his gaze slipping away from the interviewer as he scratches at the side of his nose. When he looks back, the hint of good humor that seems to be an eternal part of his expression is gone.

“I didn’t know what Bobby had been up to all this time. None of us knew. I’ve known Bobby Weber his whole life, and I… I had no idea.”

Randy Niles was unable to convince his two dogs to exit the truck, and eventually rolled down the windows to give them some air and a way out if they chose (he is insistent on this point in the Unsolved Mysteries episode - “don’t you dare say I left my dogs locked up in a truck on a sunny day, I sure didn’t - Cody even knows how to pull a door handle if it’s the right kind”) and got out to knock on Robert Weber’s front door.

No one answered.

Niles knocked again. Still no response.

The front door was locked, but Niles was able to locate an unlocked back door into the garage, where he found Weber’s car neatly parked and nothing out of place. However, once he used an interior door in the garage to enter Weber’s home, what he found was so shocking he still struggles to describe it today.

“The, uh. The first thing I saw,” Niles says in the Unsolved Mysteries episode, wiping at his mouth with a handkerchief, “was a cage. Big old cage in the living room. Like a kennel for a big dog, Great Dane or something, except… except, you know, kennels’re usually mostly wire, not that heavy. You can fold ‘em up, put ‘em away. This was… geez. This was pure metal. Bunch of blankets all piled at the bottom, too. Here’s the-... you know, my mind just didn’t want to even make the thought, but I just, I looked at it and-”

In the episode, Niles has to take another moment, here. His eyes grow wet, and his voice is hoarse when he speaks again. “People cage. Bobby had a damn man-sized cage in his living room. That’s when my stomach just fell out. Even then, though, I couldn’t-... I just thought, oh, well, what people get up to in their own homes is their business. But still, I just. I just decided, find Bobby, figure the rest out later. So I kept walking around looking for him.”

Randy Niles continued to call out, hoping to hear Weber’s response, but received none… at first. The radio in the kitchen was playing a local public radio station (“Bobby always hated the country western and classic rock we played at work, he was a big news man, big into classical, jazz, you know.”)

Niles noticed, he says, that the cage next to the couch had a wooden top, as though it were meant to act as a side table, and on that table was a small woven basket. Inside the basket appeared to be several State IDs and Driver’s licenses. Niles took note of this but his first assumption was maybe that Robert Weber had stolen some IDs or something.

Which was technically true, just… not quite the way he thought.

The kitchen, hallway, and all three bedrooms were equally empty of life. Every room was clean, everything neatly in place. Empty bottles of Jameson whiskey, Weber’s favorite brand, were lined up like décor along the mantel, and one half-full bottle was next to two clean, empty glasses on the kitchen table.

Even the beds were perfectly made.

The only thing missing was any sign of Robert Weber himself.

The question of Weber’s whereabouts was answered when Randy Niles heard a sound coming from the open door to Weber’s unfinished dirt basement.

“Like a ghost,” Niles said in his interview. “Just this low moaning sound. Hardly even thought of it as human, you know. But I just-... I called out, ‘Bobby? That you?’ and the moaning got a little louder, like whoever it was was tryin’ to answer. I could still hear my girls in the truck just going nuts, probably worried about me knowing what they maybe could smell even out there. I figured… I figured I’d best call the cops and get them out here. Seemed like a plan. So I picked up my phone and dialed, and then I headed down those basement steps.”

What Randy Niles discovered in Robert Weber’s basement was a dying man, battered and stabbed eight times, lying in a half-dug grave.

Robert Weber had been beaten with the very shovel that had done the digging. The shovel lay off to the side, caked in dirt and blood. Police would find some of Robert Weber’s hair on it, too. Then, the individual who had beaten him had gone back upstairs - blood smears were found on the railing to the stairs - and taken a kitchen knife out of the knife block on the countertop. A bloody fingerprint was found on the side of the knife block. They had then returned to the basement where Weber was stabbed, almost entirely through the stomach and chest, twenty-six times, until the cheap knife simply broke from the force.

Randy Niles admitted in his interview that he became very ill at this time. “From the shock,” He elaborated. “I haven’t been able to smell much since I was in a car wreck when I was young, so I didn’t smell what-... what my girls prob’ly smelled from outside, and what the cops smelled. To me, it was just… just a little off, is all. It was the sight of it that got to me, not the smell. The sight of the-... the hand.”

Behind Robert Weber’s body, the hand of another person was sticking up out of the loose dirt, as though someone was trying to dig their way out.

“I remember… I remember her nail polish was pink. That’s when I got sick, actually, was when I saw that hand with the painted nails. That’s when it just hit me all at once what Bobby had done.”

Randy Niles went back up the stairs and waited for the cops to arrive. Rancher’s Rest is a small town where everybody knows just about everybody else, and Niles was on a first-name basis with every single police officer he spoke to that day and in the days after. He would learn alongside the investigation that Robert Weber was not simply the quiet, intellectual car mechanic he had always seemed.

Instead, Robert Weber was a serial killer whose potential final victim had managed a miraculous, deadly escape.

Robert Weber never answered a single question about his own murder - he never fully regained consciousness and died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. His injuries were simply too severe. His autopsy showed that the cause of death was a stab wound that went deep into his chest and that he was first stabbed only after the beating with the shovel had taken place. Like Brute, most of his stab wounds were applied post-mortem in a rage rather than as part of the killing itself.

Medical examiners also found scratches on Weber’s face and arms, indicating that he had attempted to defend himself - or someone else had attempted to defend themself from him.

So why was Robert Weber killed, and why was there already a body in his basement? Investigators would piece together the story over the following days and weeks from a crime scene that only seemed to become darker and more baffling as time went on.

Excavating the basement was originally thought to be something that would be brief, but after the first body was removed, another one was found beneath it. Then another off to the side of that. And another, although this was simply bones.

Every time the forensics team thought they’d found the last human bone, they dug a little deeper or in a new spot and found more.

Eventually, the remains of twenty-two individuals would be removed from the basement of Robert Weber’s home, not including Weber himself. The oldest located victim was identified as Melinda Traxson, an Iowa woman reported missing by her family after she ran away in March of 1996… more than two decades before Robert Weber didn’t come to work one day.

Investigators are still working to match up every body with a missing persons’ case. For nearly all of them, the cause of death could not be easily ascertained due to the deterioration of the remains, but some showed signs of skull fractures. Identified individuals so far include:

Melinda Traxson, 19, from Iowa, ran away from home in 1996.

Billie Mortimer, 21, disappeared from a day out with friends at Lake Tahoe one year later in the summer of 1997. Her friends went to get lunch from the car after a swim and when they returned, she was gone.

Matthew Ranger, 22, went missing during a road trip to Yellowstone National Park in 1997 (only five months after Billie). His car was found abandoned by the side of the road with a flat tire.

Karl Janssen, 24, a tourist from the Netherlands who was also visiting Yellowstone, disappeared a month after Matthew. Last seen by an employee of the park who witnessed him speaking with another young man and getting into the man’s car. The employee said that the two seemed to be friendly with one another and did not seem like strangers.

Hannah Pointer, 26. She was reported missing in 1999 by her mother after failing to return home from work in Reno, Nevada. This disappearance occurred more than a year after Karl Janssen’s. Investigators would later discover that during this time period, Robert Weber dated a young woman from his hometown and he may not have wanted to risk her finding out what he was doing.

Isaac Jackson, 26, a Rancher’s Rest resident who disappeared after going out to a local bar to see his friend’s band play in 2000. His car was found submerged in a small pond two years later. This is the first time Weber apparently killed anyone close to home. He was actually briefly suspected in Jackson’s death, as he was the last person noted to see Jackson alive, but was cleared of suspicion at the time.

Dustin Swill, 21, who was driving from Colorado to California to visit his sister who had moved to Berras to work for WRU in 2001. He was last seen in a gas station near Yellowstone, where employees noted he spoke to a man who was smoking outside, who gave him a cigarette. When Swill left, employees saw the man put out his cigarette and leave shortly after. They did not find this unusual or noteworthy at the time.

Maria Vargas, 25, a Rancher’s Rest resident who was reported missing in 2002. Her family is intensely private and have shared few details about her, but it is known that her boyfriend at the time suspected Weber, who had attempted to convince her to leave the boyfriend for him and had apparently threatened her. He remained a suspect but there was never enough evidence to charge him.

Jennifer Striker, 28, from who never arrived for an appointment with a realtor in 2011. The long pause between Maria Vargas’s murder and Jennifer’s appeared to be due to Weber keeping a man named Finn Schneider within his home for more than a year after abducting him, as well as Weber serving five years in prison for a violent assault on a man he believed had sold him a defective vehicle. (Schneider was no longer in the home before the assault and prison time.)

Riley Nievelt, 25, was staying at the Big Meadow Campground with six friends during a weeklong vacation in 2012. She vanished while on a trip to purchase supplies. Her cell phone was found on the ground in the parking lot of the Food Lion in Rancher’s Rest, a short and easy drive away. At this time, with multiple individuals vanishing after being seen in Rancher’s Rest or being residents of the town, police begin to suspect and start hunting for a possible serial killer.

Alexander Peterson, 29, was a long-haul driver who vanished while working. He was last seen at a rest stop in 2014 on the California/Nevada state line, and would likely have passed right through Rancher’s Rest on his journey. He was reported missing by his ex-wife in South Dakota when he did not return as scheduled for a custodial visit.

The most recent victim, and owner of the hand that Randy Niles saw sticking up out of the dirt, was Yolanda Pierce, 26. She was a Rancher’s Rest resident with a troubled relationship with her husband, who had stormed out after an argument and was never seen again. She is believed to have died the same day as Robert Weber.

More remains exist but have not yet been identified. If you or anyone you know has a friend or family member who went missing during this time period in or near Rancher’s Rest, Yellowstone National Park, or Death Valley, it may be worth looking into, as those appear to be Robert Weber’s “hunting grounds”.

Disappearances in Yellowstone and Death Valley almost always matched up with Robert taking one of his rare weeklong vacations from work.

When investigators located three large diaries hidden inside a locked box in Weber’s closet, the first two fully filled up and the third nearly two-thirds finished, they found an exhaustively detailed record of Robert Weber’s crimes.

In these records, they discovered Weber’s first three victims were killed within 24 hours of abduction, with the rest being kept alive for longer and longer time periods. It is believed all of them met their end in Robert Weber’s basement.

Diary entries included records of two victims who were not a part of the bodies buried in Weber’s basement, both of whom may still be alive:

Finn Schneider, 19, a German tourist who disappeared in 2003 during a visit to Death Valley. Until Weber’s journals were found, it was believed he had perished in the park and had simply never been found. Robert Weber also visited Death Valley during this time. No one linked the two together. Evidence found in Weber’s home after his death, including the aforementioned diary entries and photographs, shows that Schneider was alive in Weber’s home for nearly sixteen months. It is believed Weber purchased the “human cage” that Randy Niles noticed around this time. The last diary entry that mentions Schneider states that he was “traded” on June 16th, 2005, to an individual only referred to as “Mouse.” What Weber received in exchange is unclear, but he was seen driving a new, custom-painted truck around this time, which he said he bought “from a personal ad” when asked by Niles about it. Schneider has never been found. However, his mother did receive a phone call in 2013 from an individual she believes to be her son, telling her that “Finn” was okay and to stop looking for him.

Our Box Boy, 334235, purchased by Nathaniel Benson years prior, whose whereabouts had been unknown since he murdered Brute Hanlon. Weber believed the Box Boy to be in his early twenties, according to his diary entries, and mentioned that he had picked the Boxie up hitchhiking and had intended to kill him before seeing the barcode on the inside of his left wrist and changing his mind. His diary suggests the Box Boy remained in his possession for roughly a fourteen months prior to Weber’s murder. Police have not released the details of what the Boxie was subjected to during this time, stating only that it is not the public’s interest for this information to be known, and they would like to locate the missing Boxie and interview him about certain details.

Four murders occurred during the time the Boxie was kept by Robert Weber. Weber noted that “the dog helped” with either murder or burial, suggesting that he may have worked as Weber’s accomplice in his terrible crimes.

Is it possible that they bonded over a shared urge to kill? Did the Boxie start a captive and become a companion?

Weber’s diary contained other disturbing facts, as well:

Weber also noted three failed abduction attempts in detail, in 1998, 2004, and 2017. In each he described with incredible precision of memory the appearances and descriptions of each person he failed to capture. He also appeared to do intensive research using their license plates and other information to find out where they lived and who they were. The names of these individuals have been kept quiet for privacy reasons.

Other failed abductions were noted, about one per year, without much detail. Or at least not enough for police officers to know who they were. Nearly all these failures were in one of three locations: Yellowstone National Park, Stanislaus National Forest and nearby campgrounds, and in or near Death Valley.

The last entry in Robert Weber’s diary was penned the day of his death.

NOTE: Weber referred to the Boxie as “the dog” in nearly all his journal entries. His last entry went:

May 6th, 20XX: The dog is pissed about something again. He’s always pissed about something. I think the thing in the basement probably kept him up all night with her caterwauling. He never gets used to the noises they make. God knows I can’t sleep either, at least not well. I’ll handle her tonight, have a drink with the dog after, see if that shuts up his nonsense for a while. Note: missed NPR interview with Senator Carlotta Grant on new leg. about the bb prohibition act. Find that on website later.

Found in Weber’s home, in boxes under his bed, were a series of restraints made of leather, high-quality items that appear to be custom-ordered to specific measurements. These included “gloves” intended to keep someone from being able to claw or scratch in their own defense, five sets of cuffs, a body harness, a leather half-face-mask that police referred to as a “muzzle”, several gags, some of which were deemed to be “designed to cause injury to the inside of the mouth”, and “other assorted items for use in torture and torment”.

You can find some leaked police docs online that go into more detail, but suffice to say they pretty much match the kinds of “toys” found in Nathaniel Benson and Brute Hanlon’s homes, too. And apparently, if you really know where to look, you can find some blurry low-quality photos Weber took, too.

While the items are a bit salacious, they aren’t entirely uncommon in consensual relationships, too, so it’s really not clear if they’re evidence of the Boxie being held against his will or not.

The investigation of the crime scene suggests that at some point after writing his final diary entry, Robert Weber made himself a pizza, which he ate half of and put the rest away in the fridge. His shaving cream and razor were found out on his sink, and Weber’s body was clean-shaven, suggesting he shaved shortly before his death.

He then watched three episodes of Law & Order: SVU. We know this because he texted during this time with his only living relative, the sister in Vermont. Little is known about Weber’s family and childhood, beyond his sister’s recounting of a quiet, strained home life with an overbearing mother and her mention that Robert endured several head injuries as a child and adolescent, including one that hospitalized him for days.

After he finished watching TV, Weber entered the basement and murdered Yolanda Pierce. It is believed he took the Box Boy downstairs with him, either as accomplice or witness. At some point while he was disposing of Yolanda Pierce’s remains, the Boxie became enraged for one reason or another, beat him with a shovel, got the kitchen knife from upstairs and stabbed him to death, and then left the house.

A neighbor remembers hearing odd noises around 3:30 AM and looking out their window to see a shadowy figure walking quickly down the road, but they weren’t able to see well enough to say whether or not the individual matches the description and WRU-provided photos of the Boxie. It does seem reasonable, though, to assume that the neighbor witnessed the Boxie fleeing the scene of the crime.

The Box Boy has never been seen again.

Police are pretty mum about the active investigation into the Box Boy’s whereabouts. I was able to get ahold of one source closely related to a member of the investigative team who said that there’s just not a lot of urgency. “Weber killed nearly two dozen people, just that we know of,” The source said. “The cops are a little bit ‘good riddance to bad rubbish’ about the situation. Unless the Boxie comes back to RR, they’re just inclined to let sleeping dogs lie.”

The sense of “let it be someone else’s problem” would be understandable… if this Box Boy weren’t responsible for one other direct murder, possibly two.

Police believe the Boxie has not left California, and is likely to be continuing to survive by engaging in prostitution or perhaps panhandling or some other hidden way of making money. Unconfirmed sightings have been located in three cities in central California, but all of these are unverified and should be taken with a grain of salt.

It’s also possible he hooked up with a pet liberation movement group, in which case he may be hiding out in a safehouse, protected from the consequences of his actions by the pet lib movement’s understandable insistence on total secrecy and anonymity for the Boxies they take in.

If he’s an innocent victim of circumstance, that’s fair.

If he’s a burgeoning serial killer with three victims under his belt and a taste for inflicting terrible violence on those who take him in… well… anyone who gives him shelter may be next.

Is our Boxie a purposeful killer or just supremely, almost incomprehensibly unlucky? Will he kill again? Was he Robert Weber’s accomplice or his victim?

Will he strike again?

Should there be an audit of WRU’s psychological testing on potential sign-ups to see if, perhaps, a Box Boy-wannabe with an urge to kill slipped through the cracks?

What do you think?

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @raigash @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @outofangband @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @endless-whump @cubeswhump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumpiary

[avatarvyakara]

Strands of Webbing

A Spiderverse Fanfic

Prompts 289-300

“Taking it Easy”

First | Previous | Next

289. Lineage

“Now just stay close to Uncle Pete, and you’ll be just fine,” soothes Peter.

“Um...I already have an Uncle Pete,” says Charlie through the modulator. “You know him. You’re more like a crazy deformed-mandrill grandpa.”

“Oh. Huh! Well.”

“Not that that’s a bad thing! Anyway, I never knew my real grandpa, Grandma ate him a few months before my mom was born. So it’s kind of nice.”

“...okay? Thanks, I suppose...”

Doing Spider-training usually involves fewer existential crises. (Usually. That time with Miles doesn’t count.) But Charlie’s learning fast, considering the fact that he and his siblings are all out as Spiders-Man for the first time.

Plus, Peter’s world is a decent training ground, given that it doesn’t have too many really bad villains left after all these years.

“Show me what you got, kid.”

Just annoying ones, mainly.

Charlie is good at swinging, surprisingly—well, the twenty or so spiders operating the web-shooters are good at swinging. But combat is an area where he still needs a lot of work.

“What’s wrong, Spider-Man?” taunts Tarantula, holding Charlie down with the sole of his boot. “No quips today?”

“Spiders-Man.”

“¿Qué?” says Tarantula distractedly, swiping near the neck of the suit with a razor-sharp claw.

Which is promptly blocked by a hand that doesn’t quite seem to bend right.

“Spiders-Man, not Spider-Man. Also, Seamus suffers asthma attacks and you’re squishing him. Could you remove your boot, please?”

Whatever the terrorist was expecting, over eight hundred seemingly indestructible cartoon spiders crawling out of a quickly-deflating Spider-suit is apparently not among them

“AAAARGH!”

He tries to stamp on one. It doesn’t have the desired effect. It’s like kicking a brick.

“AAAAAH!”

wHat dId wE JuST SAy, hums a shrill voice in the air, as the spiders crawl up the villain. sEaMUs hAS bOOkmArk lUng, aNd You tHInk stEppIng oN hiM Is goINg to hElp ClEaR HiS COnGesTIon? GOod grIeF tHeRe’s nO ResPeCT foR PeOple wiTh DISabiLitiEs theSe DaYs.

Tarantula faints.

The spiders mill about for a while, then start to crawl back into the suit.

Peter watches the whole thing in horrified fascination.

“Er...nice work, kid. Kids.”

tHaNKs grANdPA pEteR, say the spiders.

“Um...you didn’t bite him or anything, right?”

Someone kicks the modulator back to life as the suit fills up.

“Nah.”

“Oh. Good.”

Next week, Peter gets news that Tarantula has apparently moved to Argentina. He’s tempted—slightly—to book a flight for himself too.

Although it is a lot quieter in New York for a while after that.

290. Mulaney

“But we’ve got to keep checking the news, right? All this stuff with the new President, it’s like having a hospital in a horse. A living, normal-sized horse, and a normal-sized hospital that might be functioning. What is a hospital doing in a horse? Well, how are we supposed to know? All we know is there’s a hospital in a horse, and it’s really [bleep] hard not to wonder what the [bleep] is going to happen next.”

Comedy nights over the Web-chat are a bit of a mixed bag when Ham gets involved.

291. Public

Fine, you really wanna do this one last time? We’ll do this one last time. And then you get the hell out of my office.

My name is J. Jonah Jameson, Junior. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, and what did you think I was going to do, put on a mask and my whole life on hold to start using these insane powers? What do you take me for? No, what I did was, I finished up that report on our soldiers in the Korean War, came home...found out that my wife had...had been mugged and killed while I was away...and went back to the press. Made some decent investments using my newfound Good Sense, started up a company (the Joan Darling, J.D. Foundation), kept the Bugle running smooth as silk, got married again and technically adopted my wife’s niece, fostered another kid from a family who took me in during the War while we worked on getting her family out of Pyongyang, saw my son Jon land on the Moon...

And that’s been the last twenty-odd years of my life.

Look, if you’re looking for me to tell you that I became a masked hero and went around making a mess of things, you won’t get it. I don’t like masks. I don’t think heroes are heroic all the time. So I might be handy in a fight, I might have hunches that make me the envy of the world of journalism, but I’m not going to go out and make an alter ego. Anything I do, it’s gonna be as J. Jonah Jameson.

That said...with a company dedicated to buying and selling stocks that produces tens of millions of dollars in revenue, a newspaper that’s the pride of New York, and a network of agents trying to find kids with superpowers and help them learn to control them, J. Jonah Jameson can do a lot.

Done? Good. Get out.

292. Theory

“You getting any of this?” Peter asks Porker, who shakes his head.

An angry mixture of Spanish, Japanese, and Hindi technical terms flies through the air. Peni has SP//dr to translate, Miguel has Lyla interpreting a little behind real-time, and Roshni’s mask contains a built-in Rosetta function in the eyepatches. None of which is available to Peter, who is from 1930s Manhattan and barely speaks passable English (“Be nice to yourself, Gray”).

“Far as I can make out,” says Porker’s future counterpart, “they’re all trying to find a way to explain holographic technology, but the physics in each world is different enough that it shouldn’t actually work. Something to do with the nature of light in each universe.”

—which is interesting because I seem to work in all of them despite my quantum-locked photonics array being fairly unique to Miguel’s world—

—Roshni thinks I might be a reincarnation of someone, like that stock market computer in her world which successfully proved in court that it had been a Vietnamese fisherman in another life—

—Miguel doesn’t believe in reincarnation and Peni believes it wouldn’t have any effect on my projections even if I were—

—so basically they’re comparing quantum theories and screaming at each other—

—which is fun to watch—

“Lyla? Aren’t you supposed to be translating?”

The hologram gives Peter a wry look.

—I can multitask, you know—

293. Sling

As it turns out, the Hudson Valley is actually a great place to try this out.

“You ready?” Peter asks, cautiously—

“Whoooooo!”

Man, if he’d known giving Mary Jane her own web-shooters would make her this happy he would have done it years ago.

“Uhhhh, Peter?!”

“Here we go!” he says, catching her just before she falls and landing on a tree branch. “Just, you know, thwip, and double-tap to release. Here—” He takes her left hand. “How about we go together for a while?”

She nods and smiles and squeezes that hand and he tries not to float off the branch. “So! Where to?”

“Hmm. Ladies first?”

She grins. “Right. Onward!”

Thwip and release. Thwip and release.

Half an hour later they’re completely lost in the summertime woods and Peter cannot find a single reason to care.

294. Realize

Miles had a crush on Gwen right from the start. Gwen thought Miles was kind of cute until he gave her an impromptu haircut, but warmed up to him again fairly quickly. They’ve been best friends—among one another’s best friends—for years.

They’ve also had a kind of on-again-off-again relationship for most of that time. Not quite committed but...well, there have been opportunities to see other people and they haven’t really used them even when they’re on a break.

Nothing formal. It can’t be. Stay in either dimension too long, even with proper food and rest, and they start glitching. Moving it past a certain stage would mean acknowledging the very real possibility that they risk effectively pulling their partner into a death-trap, regardless of advanced healing abilities.

But Gwen makes Miles feel fearless, and Miles makes Gwen feel soft, and that’s something both of them both of them need almost as much as they need the other.

295. Credit

“Nanotech!” boasts Peni excitedly. “And I’ve got it set up to realign itself with the local universe—” she ignores the sotto voce cough of “*Already did that*” from Miguel— “so whatever the local exchange rate and computer software is will be mimicked by the card. Except in my dimension because they’d recognize it, and the pre-electronic eras are harder, but...”

“...we have money,” says Peter B.

Peni rolls her eyes, but chuckles. “That’s right. We have money.”

“Oh thank God.”

296. Siblings

Benjamin P. Parker is older than his sister by all of about eight months. He has also never met her before.

The three-year-old toddles across the floor to where Uncle Peter (always Uncle Peter, he looks like Daddy but he isn’t and he must remember that, says Mommy) is holding a small squirming...thing.

“Sorry, she’s still not used to this kind of travel—” he says.

Miles, who is babysitting, grins. “Hey, no sweat. Hey, Benjy, come and meet May.”

Benjy looks at the mewling...person, he thinks, and wonders why she is in his house—

—and then there’s a strange flash of BenjyMayUnclePeterMiles—

He blinks.

“She’s like me,” he tells his babysitter.

“That she definitely is, Little Bee,” says Miles, smiling. “Just don’t go climbing the walls with her yet, okay?”

“Awww...”

297. Tea

“So, that’s one Earl Grey for Billy, one Boba for Peni, two Green for Hida and Other Peni, one Black for Cindy, one Lemon Grass for Roshni, and one Masala Chai for me,” says Pavitr, taking notes.

“I feel like we’re inviting stereotypes here,” says Roshni.

“I don’t reckon so,” Billy replies, preemptively reaching for the sugar.

“For Peter...coffee. And a reminder of what civilization looks like when you don’t commit blasphemy.”

Pauker glares. “I told you, that was in Boston!”

“And a Peppermint for Addy.”

On her shoulder, Weying the spider bounces excitedly.

“...no, Addy.” That’s from both Peni Parkers at the same time, exasperated in different ways.

“Aw, man...”

298. Perceive

“...you wanna come see?” asks Goggles.

Cindy’s not quite sure how they got to this point.

“Pardon?”

The other Spider shuffles awkwardly.

“You know. The Hobbit. Don’t know much about this Jackson guy, but Peter B. seems to like the way he did Lord of the Rings, and it would help your catch-up plan, so...”

There are a million reasons that this is a bad idea, not least of which is that this sounds remarkably like a date and she’s not entirely sure dating is on the cards for her just now. But then Goggles is trying to be more modern, right? And in the modern day people go to the movies with other people and it’s not necessarily a date. And they’re friends, or at least “fellow Spiders with self-made webbing and a mild disconnect from modern society”. And it’s not like there’s any other connection, because despite checking again and again the pheromones don’t seem to go off around him like they do with some of the others. (We speak not at all of the Incident on Earth-65, thank you.) So if there are any ulterior motives...

If there are any ulterior motives, which again given Goggles’ general nature is unlikely, then they’re caused by biology that’s slightly more regular than whatever happens because of their respective spider-bites.

Silk grins.

Not that that’s a problem. (Because it’s not a date.)

“You know about popcorn?”

Goggles snorts. (It’s a friendly sound.) “Probably.”

“Heh. Just checking. So...maybe this Friday?”

Cindy has a mild panic attack on the bus, and they end up swinging there, but Goggles doesn’t seem to mind. (“You wanna head back?” “No, it’s okay, I got this. Just need a minute.” “Take your time, sweetheart.”) There’s a moment of very slight confusion about paying “Dutch”, but that’s smoothed over soon enough. (“You know the card covers it no matter what, right?” “That’s not the point, though...” “It kind of is, though.”) The story is a little strange, the love triangle confusing, the battle scenes mildly preposterous to two crime-fighters, and the idea of turning a children’s book into...well, basically a war film is absurd for both someone who treats the original books like a second Torah and someone who actually quite liked the original three films. They spend a good two hours afterwards complaining (“kvetching”, in Goggles’ words) and laughing about it as they swing back to Cindy’s apartment and get mildly distracted by an attack from the Lizard. (Who apparently is not a genius time-travelling dinosaur in Goggles’ world, who knew?)

And then Peter tips his hat and says thank you and goodnight, and smiles pretty warmly for someone in monochrome, and pulls a loaf of what looks like homemade cornbread out of a pocket. (“It was Peter B.’s idea, I know it’s a little squashed...” “It smells really good. Thank you.”) And says goodnight again, which she echoes back. And leaves.

(And no pheromones. Not a sniff.)

It’s not a date.

Which neither of them thought it was, obviously.

(And the next time she sees him she is definitely not inviting him over to watch the extended edition of Fellowship of the Ring on DVD. Because that would be much easier for him to interpret as a date. But then, it would only be polite, right? Plus, her home, so less chance for a sudden attack of agoraphobia. If she were doing that. Which she isn’t.)

Somehow the cornbread actually tastes good.

299. Sweet

Everyone from the Spider-Gang—the Original Six—is a little tense when Miles logs on.

But he’s beaming wide.

“I’m a big brother!”

The cheers and whoops at the birth of one Mirasol Erin Morales echo across the multiverse.

300. Midnight

Another year, come and gone.

The city is still standing.

And it’s so, so nice to know they’re not alone.

[birdmitosis]

General Opinion over said character: Tinkerer (TSSM)

AH, MY #1 SSM BLORBO ♥ okay i will do the entire meme bcs i can't help myself Sexuality Headcanon: Has considered himself gay for a long time; is into men and nonbinary people. Gender Headcanon: I have, like, Two Ways of seeing him that I go back and forth between and nothing else. 1)Trans man, 2)Thought he was a cis man for like 50-some years before somehow realizing that he instinctively wants to answer gender questions with "mad scientist" and he's not really sure what the significance of that is (ie, recently and unofficially exploring demiguy). A ship I have with said character: I mean. I mean. My OTP remains Beck/Mason and that's never gonna change. I've brought up a few other ships I have for him before, but I guess if I'm going to name a rarer one/one I don't note as much also Mason/Menken? (And I am 100% convinced that he'd flirt with Jameson.) A BROTP I have with said character: When I'm not outright shipping Beck/Mason/Chameleon, I super love him having like. A longstanding and very tight friendship with Chameleon. I also think he'd become really good friends with Vulture. ETA: I could also either ship or BROTP Tink with Electro. Pretty much equally. And I have a semi-random headcanon that, with the way Electro seems to like to give nicknames based on others’ aliases (”Doc” and “Vulch”), Electro actually does 100% call him “Tink.” He likes it; he thinks it’s cute. A NOTP I have with said character: Tinkerer/Black Cat, I guess. Also Osborn/Mason but I don't think I've ever seen that. A random headcanon: Oh my god I have so many.

Hispanic and an only child but from a large family (lots of aunts and uncles and cousins)...

...and also because of this he'd be one of the most suited of the Sinister Six to actually deal with a baby (along with Kraven).

Isn't exactly one of the Sinister Six but is more loyal to them and to Doc Ock than he'd like to let others know just yet.

Absolutely programs failsafes into all of his inventions that could even possibly be used against him or his, because while he's actually kind of a risk-taker he's not stupid.

Kind of an adrenaline junkie and nearly as theatrical as Chameleon and Beck, even if he won't fully admit it.

Used to do theater stuff in high school and college, actually, but 99% as a stagehand.

Loves dancing and knows quite a few ballroom dances.

Was bored out of his mind working for an IT company in his 40s until Chameleon broke in to steal proprietary information while he was there late and he was just immediately all in on helping this strange smooth criminal.

Gets cold very easily and that's why he dresses like that (the yacht job sucked).

Doesn't have a criminal record and wants to avoid having one as long as possible because it allows him to help his companions in more ways...

...and he also knows how to make the law work for him; among other things, he actually legally owns the barbershop, prophouse, and the building that Doc Ock's "lair" was under.

I could keep going because I have so many of these but this is way too long already! General Opinion over said character: As... you may have noticed... I love this guy. Absolutely love. He is one of my favorite characters from this show somehow. A++ deserved more than 7 minutes of screentime.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Breathe

Dean x Castiel

Word Count: ~2580

Warnings: Dean feels. Angst with a happy ending. 

A/N: This is my finale fix-it to tie up some loose ends and patch some holes. 100% canon compliant, but... better! 

Thanks to @rockhoochie​ for the read and @thoughtslikeaminefield​ for all the cheerleading. 

Dean wants to scream, wait. 

Wait, Cas. 

Just a minute. 

I need a minute to breathe, Cas. 

I need more time. Please. 

It’s all too much, too much to process, too much to feel, and then the Empty is sending tendrils of black oozing nothingness up Cas’s face, smothering him, taking him away, and… 

There isn’t any more time. He’s gone. 

Dean is out of time, and he can’t breathe, let alone speak, and Cas is gone before Dean can say, I love you too. 

—

Of course Dean loved him, but… 

Family, they’d always said. It never occurred to Dean that it could’ve been… that. That it could’ve been more. Something new. 

Whenever he starts thinking about it, trying to examine his feelings a little closer, he feels like he’s drowning. The loss is so big, right now. There’s no room for anything else, and it’s terrifying, how easily it could pull Dean under. 

Dean tells himself there will be time. After they get Chuck, after they end this thing… yeah. He’ll have time. He’ll figure it out. 

Later. When it doesn’t hurt so much. 

— 

Dean’s not really sure what to do with his free will, now he has it. He doesn’t feel any different. He thought it’d feel different somehow. 

He’s tired. He’s not a goddamn hero any more; there’s no all-powerful asshole putting cosmic Tiger Balm on his sore muscles for the sake of the fucking narrative. He aches, now, and some mornings he wakes up feeling like he’s been holding the actual weight of the world on his shoulders. 

All that loss is a heavy thing to carry around. He’s getting too old to play Atlas. 

It gets easier, but not by much. There are still things that Dean can’t say out loud. He hasn’t even said the name. 

His dad always said it was selfish to waste time on shit like that. Can’t be sittin’ around feeling sorry for yourself when there are people to save, things to hunt… 

Plenty of things to hunt, that’s for damn sure. It feels mundane after what they’ve been up against, but there are plenty of monsters; they keep Dean busy enough that he doesn’t have time to dwell. 

No apocalypses. No gods, no angels. Just Sam and Dean and their dog, and one hunt after another. 

—

“I know you’re not telling me everything,” Sam says quietly, over breakfast one morning. “You gotta talk about Cas at some point, Dean.” 

“Soon.” He clears his throat. “Soon. I need some time before I can talk about… him.” 

“Dean.” 

“Cas. Before I can talk about losing Cas. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

It’s quiet for a few minutes as they eat their eggs. 

“How’s Eileen?” Dean asks quietly. 

Sam sighs. “We’re taking it slow. Maybe it’s stupid. I know she’s alive, but…” 

“You lost her.” 

“I lost her. And that’s all mixed up with… with how much I love her. I don’t know how to feel one without the other right now.” 

Dean almost laughs at that. Trust Sam to find exactly the right words for what Dean hasn’t been able to admit to himself. 

Love isn’t just love, it’s loss, and the fear of loss, and the knowledge that most people leave. They leave, and it hurts like hell. Dean doesn’t even remember what it’s like to love someone without expecting to lose them. Loss goes hand in hand with love, especially if you’re a fucking Winchester. 

“Like I said,” Dean tells him. “You need time. We both do.” 

Something shifts in Sam’s expression, like he understands, and Dean looks away. 

—

Dad always insisted that Dean make his bed in the morning. It had to be neat, everything tucked in tight… his dad learned it in the military. He taught Dean in turn, beat it into him until the lesson stuck, and Dean’s never been able to shake the habit. 

Until now. 

His dog is ready to go out and chase a frigging frisbee for a while. Dean doesn’t want to spend another five minutes making sure his bed is up to goddamn military standards. He wants to throw a frisbee and drink some coffee and hit the frigging road. 

So that’s what he’s going to do. 

It’s scary, but in a good way, like the last moment when a rollercoaster pauses before it drops. 

What’s the use of free will if he’s still following orders from a memory? 

—

That night, when he comes in and sees his rumpled sheets, Dean can’t breathe. He grabs the bottle of whiskey from the nightstand and heads right back out again. 

He knows Jack talked about being everywhere, but it feels better in the open air. Easier, somehow. The knot in Dean’s chest loosens slightly when he turns his face up to the moon. 

“Jack?” he says tentatively. “Jack, I dunno if you’re listening, buddy, but… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for… all of it. Being a fuckin’ hardass. Treating you like you weren’t part of the family. You were always part of the family. You hearin’ this?” 

There’s no real answer, but Dean didn’t really expect one. He takes a slug of whiskey, wipes his mouth, takes another, and for a second he thinks it’s the alcohol, giving him that funny warm feeling.  

“Hi, Jack,” he manages. “I’d pour one out for you, but… seems like a fuckin’ waste, if you’re… I dunno. In everything, or whatever.”

This is a happy sort of warmth; it lingers. 

“My dad would say I’m being selfish, right now. Feelin’ sorry for myself. Looking back. Wasting my time wishing things could be different. But…” 

Dean looks up at the stars again. They go blurry. 

“I just — fuck. Fuck it. I don’t know what to say.” 

He sits down on the ground, head in his hands, and takes a moment to be selfish. 

—

Dean feels a little thrill the first few times he leaves his bed unmade. After about a week, it starts to feel like a new habit. 

In the morning, he ignores his dad’s voice in his head. At night, he takes his fifth of Jameson outside and sits under the stars. 

It’s quiet, nothing but crickets and wind to keep him company, but he’s not alone. Jack’s right there, waiting, whenever Dean takes the time to listen. 

He gets that glow in his chest every night. It feels like Jack’s smile did, when he waved goodbye: warm and bright and pure. It feels like his mom’s hugs used to, back when he was a kid. It feels like comfort. 

Little by little, day by day, it gets easier. The kid’s always there, waiting for him, even if Dean doesn’t know what to say. 

What would happen if he prayed to Cas? 

No. No point in wondering. Dean knows that the answer is nothing. Nothing — abso-fucking-lutely fuck-all. There would be no answer, no rustle of wings, no raspy “Hello, Dean” — he would pray, and it would be silent, because Cas is gone. 

Dean missed his chance.

—

“You out there, Jack?” 

He’s out there. Dean’s starting to trust that he’ll always be there. 

“I’m trying, okay? I’m trying to be me, not him. I don’t want to be him. ” 

He has to pause and take a deep breath. He’s been thinking about how to say it all day, and the words still don’t come easy. 

“I want to be the person you thought I could be. You and Cas, you always thought —” He takes a long drink. “— fuck. My dad didn’t — he didn’t say that enough, and I wish he’d taught me how to — how to tell people. I love you, Jack. I’m sorry. I should’ve said that sooner. To you, and… to a lot of people, probably.” 

The tears start to spill over, hot and stinging, and it’s okay, Dean reminds himself. Jack’s still there. He’s not leaving. 

“It hurts too much,” he admits, and his voice breaks. “Thinking about what I could’ve had, if I hadn’t… wasted all that time. I should’ve told Cas.” 

Dean doesn’t fight the tears. He lets himself cry until there’s nothing left, until his eyes are puffy and his voice is raw. 

When he gets up, brushes himself off, wipes his cheeks, he feels lighter. It still hurts, but he feels lighter. 

“Love you, Jack,” Dean says quietly, into the silence. “Talk to you tomorrow.” 

—

Sam is watching a family — the mom and dad and kid all holding hands, their smiles bright in the sunshine — and he looks sad. 

Dean knows what Sam would say, if he asked. 

Someday, maybe. I wouldn’t mind having kids… someday. 

When Dean thinks about family, he thinks about the past: the childhood that he dimly remembers, when everyone he loved was under one roof. He doesn’t think, someday. Not like Sam does. Most of Dean’s family is long gone, and if they ever held hands at a pie festival, Dean doesn’t fucking remember it. 

Dean tries not to dwell on it, but he’ll always remember heaven, all those years ago. Dean’s heaven was going back home to be with his family again. Sam’s heaven was running away to try to find a home of his own. 

Dean wants to tell him to go. He wants Sam to be happy almost as much as he wants Sam to stay. 

“I’m thinking about Cas. You know? Jack. If they could be here.” 

Fuck. 

For a moment, Dean lets himself imagine: holding Cas’s hand, making him laugh, walking in the park, sitting on an old porch swing, eating pie. Maybe they would have beehives. Maybe Dean would get a guitar.

Maybe they could’ve had a life together. Maybe they could’ve been happy. 

“I think about ‘em too,” Dean says quietly. 

It still hurts. Fuck, it hurts. 

— 

It takes Dean a moment to process what he’s feeling. The rebar punched through skin and muscle, and at first it just feels strange. The pain hits later. The fight’s over by the time Dean really understands what’s happening. 

He considers his options. 

He could call an ambulance. He could call Jack. He could barter and bargain and claw his way back one more time. 

He could rest. 

It’s not gonna be pretty, this way. He can feel it in there, cold and intrusive, chilling him from the inside. It’s gonna get messy real fast. 

Dean closes his eyes and tries to breathe. It’s harder than it should be. 

Jack, he thinks. Jack, I need a favor, buddy. Give me a minute, okay? And… let me go easy, maybe. If we could just skip the coughing up blood, and… yeah. I don’t want Sammy to have to watch that. Can you do that for me? Just… let me go easy, and… give me a minute to talk to my brother.

He feels that now-familiar warmth. The pain recedes, and the chill with it. 

Thanks, Jack, he thinks, and then he opens his eyes. 

“Sam,” he says quietly. “I don’t think I’m going anywhere.” 

— 

So this is it.  

He wants to see Mom and Dad, of course. He wants to give his mom a hug. He wants to just… sit with his dad. No pressure, no hunt, no rules, no orders. Maybe things can finally be simple again. As soon as Sam gets here, they’ll all be together — all those people he never thought he’d be able to hold again, all in one place. 

Dean doesn’t have to worry about losing them ever again. 

They’ll stay. 

No more goodbyes. No more loss. 

And for the first time in his life, Dean’s not in a rush to get somewhere else. He’s got nothing but time. 

He’s going to wait for Sammy. He’s going to figure out what he’s going to say to Cas. He’s going to breathe. 

Dean goes for a drive. 

— 

“Hey, Sammy.” 

“Dean.” 

They breathe. They take their time. They’re in no rush. 

Eventually, though, it’s time to hit the road again. 

“You want to pick the music?” Dean asks. 

Sam laughs as the engine rumbles to life. “Man, you must’ve missed me.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I really fuckin’ did.” 

“Are we gonna talk about this?” Sam pulls out the mix tape Dean made for Cas, all those years ago, and holds it up with a knowing smirk. He pops the cassette into the tape deck and turns up the volume. 

“Dude, you have decades worth of shit to tell me about,” Dean grumbles.

“Yeah. And you’ve got some unfinished business to deal with. Let’s go find Cas.”  

“Bitch.” 

“Jerk.” 

—

Dean’s not sure how long they’ve been driving, but he knows exactly what he wants to say — he has a speech, he has it all planned out — by the time they round a corner and see the house. Dean just stops. If they weren’t in heaven, the brakes would squeal like a motherfucker. 

He stares for a moment. It’s the house where Dean grew up, but… better. 

It’s the only house on the block now; no neighbors, plenty of privacy. It’s surrounded by a big, sprawling garden, all fenced in, and the fence needs some repairs, he can see already. There’s a stream running through the backyard, big enough that there’s probably some decent-sized trout lurking in the eddies. 

There’s a garage, too, and a car inside under a sheet, surrounded by tools, waiting for him. It looks like Baby, and Dean does a double take before deciding that he’s not going to question the logistics here. It’s heaven. Of course he has one Baby to drive, one Baby to tinker with and detail endlessly. 

There’s a porch, a big wraparound one with a swing out front. The house itself needs a fresh coat of paint; it’s starting to look a little worn around the edges, but it’s surface damage, nothing structural. It’s like the laugh lines Dean sees in the mirror when he smiles, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He earned those lines. 

Dean can’t wait to spend long quiet days in the sunshine, fixing this house up, putting some love into it, making it his own. 

There are two whitewashed beehives tucked into a corner of the garden, under an arbor, and suddenly Dean’s heart is racing. 

“I think this is my stop,” he says. His voice is a little wobbly. 

“I’ll get out and walk the rest of the way,” Sam tells him with a grin. “I’ve got a funny feeling my place is just around the corner.” 

“Love you, Sammy.” 

“Love you.” He gives Dean a hug. “See you soon.” 

The gate squeaks when he flicks the latch and swings it open. I can fix that, Dean thinks absentmindedly, as a dog starts barking. 

His dog. Miracle. He recognizes that bark. 

Cas is waiting on the porch. He’s beaming, brighter than sunshine, just like the last time Dean saw him, but this time Dean’s smiling too. 

He had a speech. He forgets most of it, now.

Dean takes the last step too quickly. He almost stumbles, and Cas grabs him by the upper arm, laughing, holding him steady. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean’s so happy he can barely breathe. 

“I love you too,” he says, and before their lips meet he says it again, just because he can: “I love you, too, Cas.” 

He knows there’s more he wanted to say, but it can wait. They’ve got time. 

.

.

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog and/or leave a message! 

[lifeofkaze]

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 17

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N: Katriona Cassiopeia belongs to the wonderful @kc-and-oc

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning:

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell @thatravenpuffwitch

She's got a smile that it seems to me

Reminds me of childhood memories

Where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky

~ Guns N’ Roses - Sweet Child O’ Mine ~

On the morning of their charity gig, Lizzie woke to a blissfully cool morning and an overcast sky. She turned in her bed and indulged in another moment of sleepiness before sitting up.

She hadn’t slept as badly as last night in a long while. After their discussion at the pool, Orion had been restless and had preferred to keep himself busy with working, meditating or whatever else it was that he was doing to ‘find his balance again’. So Lizzie had left him to it and had spent her evening with the rest of her friends.

It wasn’t like Lizzie wasn’t used to sleeping alone anymore; since their tour had started, she had made sure to get back to her room instead of staying with Orion every night. The hotels they were staying in were busy and she didn’t want anyone to see her leaving his room first thing in the morning.

But still, going to bed without so much as talking to him had been strange; Lizzie was surprised at how used she had become to having someone to unwind with.

On the other hand, Lizzie knew how much events like the one ahead were affecting Orion. He usually had a good grip on the events of his childhood but being confronted with his memories in such a direct way tended to unsettled him. If he needed his space, who was she to deny it to him.

Lizzie yawned as she got out of bed and changed into her workout gear, glancing glumly at the alarm clock on her nightstand; it had gotten late last night and she hated early mornings as much as the next person. But Orion would already be up for his morning round of yoga and she had promised she would join him.

Lizzie couldn’t help but shake her head at this retrospectively stupid idea. She did enjoy doing yoga, and especially together with Orion; it worked wonders on her flexibility and chronically sore muscles. Could she have her way, though, afternoon yoga would be just as fine. If it cheered Orion up, however, she would just have to bite the bullet.

As it turned out, Lizzie could have stayed in bed for all that it was worth. Orion remained silent throughout the flow, but it was not his usual serene calm; instead, he surrounded himself with a melancholy mood that was uncharacteristic for him. Lizzie did manage to cheer him up with a little extended exercise after they were done, but even then she could tell a part of Orion’s mind wasn’t with her.

Much to her dismay, his restlessness had rubbed off on her as well. Lizzie felt a nervous energy course through her body, which usually only got hold of her right before a show was about to begin. Her fingers itched for a practice session on her drums, but those were lying dismantled in their boxes at the arena.

She was still wearing her workout clothes, so she decided to go for a run to channel her energy into something more productive than pacing around her room.

When Lizzie stepped out of the hotel and onto the private parking space, the sky was still clouded, but blue patches could already be seen here and there. Just as she was about to put her headphones on, the sound of her name drew her attention.

“Hey Jameson,” Skye’s voice sounded from across the car park. “Rath and I are going for a run. Wanna come?”

She motioned over to where Erika was standing at the exit to the streets, looking what Lizzie assumed was mildly impatient; it was always a bit tricky to tell with the blonde head of security.

It was nice of Skye to ask, but Lizzie wasn’t in the mood for company. Each of the girls was as competitive as they came in their own right; Lizzie usually never backed down from a challenge, but combined Skye and Erika were too much even for her taste.

“No thanks, go on without me,” Lizzie consequently declined the offer. “I already worked out with Orion.”

Skye grimaced and rolled her eyes. “Spare me the bloody details.”

“Yoga, Skye. We did some yoga,” Lizzie responded wryly. “Get your mind out of the gutter, will you?”

She did make a point to omit the second part of their workout routine, however. Skye didn’t need to know everything after all.

Unsure what to do after Skye and Erika had left, Lizzie turned around and marched back into the building. She couldn’t really go for a run by herself now, so she might as well go on the hunt for some much needed coffee and breakfast.

When Lizzie arrived at the breakfast room, most of her friends were already there. Orion was sitting with Merula at a table in the far corner of the room. He gave her the briefest smile as their eyes met. Lizzie returned it before walking over to the large table beside the window where some crew members were sitting.

She would have loved to sit with Orion but she didn’t want to get in Merula’s way. Where a confrontation with his past was unsettling for Orion, it turned Merula into a loaded gun. On days like this, it was better to steer clear of her; the only one who was safe from her moods was her foster brother.

Lizzie and the others were chatting about the shows of the day and the work they still had to do. Organising and playing two consecutive gigs in a row, and in such a short time span as well, was something neither of them had done very often. Lizzie thought wistfully about the hours of sleep she had missed last night by tossing and turning in her bed.

The topic of the discussion had just changed to the ever on-going debate about their favourite kinds of sports, when Lizzie’s attention was drawn from Murphy’s admittedly impressive case for basketball. Artemis was standing in the doorway, her eyes scanning the room, probably looking for Charlie.

When she saw that he was sitting with the rest of them, a small frown appeared between her eyes. She wasted no time coming over, but walked straight to the buffet laid out in the middle of the room.

Lizzie downed the remains of her coffee with one determined motion and stood up. As she tried to get past Charlie to get herself another cup, Charlie shot her a warning glance.

“Relax,” Lizzie rolled her eyes at him, “I’ll be nice to her.”

“That’s exactly my concern, rockstar,” Charlie snorted in response.

Ignoring his concerns, she stuck her tongue out at him and made her way over to Artemis. The pyro technician only briefly glanced up from the selection of food as Lizzie stood next to her, but she could have sworn to hear a defeated sigh coming from Artemis’ lips.

Not getting discouraged so easily, Lizzie flashed Artemis a cheerful smile. “Good morning! Did you sleep well?”

Artemis didn’t look at her but made a non-committal sound as she picked out an almond croissant for herself; Lizzie took that as a sign to go on.

“I couldn’t sleep at all,” she said. “The noise from the street kept waking me up.” At least, that was half the truth. “I’m going to need all the coffee to get me through the day.”

To prove her point, she put her cup under the outlet of the fancy coffee machine and waited for it to fill up again. Artemis wasn’t responding, so Lizzie just continued talking; maybe she wasn’t a morning person. Then again, who besides Orion was?

“The day’s going to be such a long one, too. I can’t even remember when we last played two full shows in one day. Okay, granted, the first one is an acoustic set and that’s a lot less fuss but it’s still pretty exhausting if you want to do it right. And if you ask me, those kids deserve the best show we can give them,” she smiled at Artemis. “Do you and Charlie have anything special planned?”

“No,” Artemis said, turning to the coffee machine. Lizzie stepped away to make room, looking at her curiously.

“Your display is great as it is, so no need to change that much. The children will love anything you do either way.”

“There won’t be much to love. We’re not doing anything.”

Lizzie blinked in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because,” Artemis said pointedly, “I don’t want no child anywhere fucking close to my igniters. They can’t be controlled. One of them might burn themselves or some shit,” she smiled, but it was without any humour. “Imagine what that would do to your publicity.”

With that, she downed her still steaming coffee, turned on her heels and marched out of the room, the plate with her breakfast all but forgotten.

Lizzie stared after her for a moment, confused by Artemis’ strong reaction. When she returned to her seat, Charlie shot her a glum look.

“I didn’t do anything, I swear,” Lizzie shrugged. “We were just talking about the gig this afternoon and she ran off.”

Something like understanding was showing on Charlie’s face. “Ah, that explains a lot.”

Lizzie looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on. “Why?” she said slowly, when Charlie made no move to do so.

“She’s not coming.”

“Why not?”

This time, it was Charlie’s turn to shrug. “She didn’t want to tell me.”

Lizzie sighed as she poured more sugar into her coffee, blatantly ignoring KC’s unhappy face. “That’s a pity. The kids would have loved some cool effects.”

“Don’t worry about the effects,” KC said. She reached over the table and gently but firmly took the sugar dispenser out of Lizzie’s hands. “Just leave it to me to make your stage look pretty. After all, what are pyros but fancy lights?” she winked at Charlie.

Charlie muttered something incomprehensible into his coffee that sounded suspiciously like “No idea, that woman”. Murphy must have heard it as well, because he laughed and put his arm around his wife’s shoulders.

“Trust me, with the boss on the matter your show has a 94.3 % chance of being the best thing these kids have ever seen.”

*

As usual, Murphy’s prediction proved to be correct. Even without the use of pyros, KC had worked her magic on the lights, giving their show that little extra touch that made it even more special.

Sometimes Lizzie wished she could see the full display from the crowd’s perspective instead of being the subject of the spotlights. The only thing she could see was the change of colours and the patterns scurrying across the stage, but not the full glory of the elaborate show KC had designed for them.

For the show today, the head of Aurora Tourealis had known exactly which effects to reprogram without even thinking too hard on it. Suited to their acoustic set, she had dimmed the lights, toned down all effects, making their show feel different and yet familiar at the same time.

Even Everett had caught one of his better days; his voice sounded like liquid honey as it rose over the soft sound of his and Orion’s guitars, accompanied by the clear melodies coming from Merula’s piano.

They were met with thundering applause when they were done. Even though the crowd they had been playing for was ridiculously small compared to what would be waiting for them later, seeing the excited faces of all those children warmed Lizzie from the inside.

After their show, the kids, who were being allowed to meet them, split into two different groups. While one of them was shown around backstage, the others stayed with them and were given the opportunity to hang out with the band for a while.

Not all members of Equinox were in as good a mood as Lizzie, however. The only one enjoying her time seemed to be Skye, who was joking around with a few of the older kids. Everett was smiling his best stage smile, but it was obvious that he wished for what he considered a chore to be over.

Merula was hiding her discomfort much less well than Everett did; her answers to the questions were brusque and no longer than they had to be. There were considerably less children gathered around her than with the rest of them, but knowing Merula, that was just fine with her.

Every once in a while, Lizzie’s gaze wandered over to Orion. He was sitting cross legged on the stage floor, surrounded by a group of very attentive children. He was explaining why he was using different guitars for different songs, and the kids were positively hanging from his lips. Lizzie could understand why; when Orion was talking about his music, he did so with a passion that was completely captivating. She could listen to him talking her through his songs for hours on end and not get bored.

To anyone not knowing him, he might have looked just as calm as he always did; but Lizzie knew he was putting on a show. It was the little things that were giving him away; the way he was repeatedly running his hand through his hair, how he turned the pendant of the necklace between his fingers, or absentmindedly plucked on the strings of his guitar without even realising it. All these quirks showed Lizzie that he was trying to keep himself in check.

“And what is that for?”

Her attention returned to her own little group of fans. They were standing around her drum kit and she had just finished explaining the different kinds of drums, toms and cymbals.

One of the kids, a little girl probably no older than eight, was sitting on her lap; she seemed to be the youngest of them all and apparently an avid fan of Lizzie. Her stream of questions about Equinox, playing in a band, and how to become a drummer seemed to have no end. Lizzie was happy at her enthusiasm and answered every single one of her questions diligently.

Right now, she was pointing at something fixed to the stand of her hi-hat. Lizzie smiled fondly as she looked at the small construction of wood, string and feathers.

“That’s my dreamcatcher,” Lizzie explained, “I always keep it on my kit whenever I play. It’s supposed to watch over me.”

“How did you get it? Did you make it?”

Lizzie’s eyes went to Orion, only for a moment. “A very good friend gave it to me.”

The girl looked at her sceptically. “But if it’s supposed to catch dreams, why is it on your drums?”

Lizzie laughed. “That’s what my friend said, too. But I like looking at it when I’m playing. It’s my lucky charm.”

She remembered when Orion had given her the dreamcatcher. She had spent the night at his place and had woken from a nightmare that had left her shaking. She had those very seldomly, but when she did, she found it hard to let them go again. Orion had helped her breathe until she had calmed down; afterwards, he had collected the dreamcatcher hanging from the window above his bed and had given it to her.

“To keep away the bad dreams.”

The memory made her smile.

When it was time for the two groups to switch and the chaperones were calling their charges to their sides, Lizzie was surprised to feel a timid tug at the back of her shirt. Turning around, the little girl was standing behind her, a very serious expression on her face.

“I have to ask you a question,” she said urgently, eyeing the other children suspiciously.

Lizzie kneeled down in front of her and smiled. “Of course, sweetheart. What else do you want to know?”

A faint blush spread on the girl’s rosy cheeks as she looked over to where Orion was taking pictures with a few of the other kids. “Is Orion the friend who gave you your lucky charm?”

“He is,” Lizzie said, “you’re a clever girl.”

The girl’s eyes widened and the red on her cheeks deepened. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Caught completely unaware, Lizzie just so managed to keep her face from slipping. “What makes you think that?”

“You’re looking at him all the time,” the girl explained matter-of-factly, “and he keeps looking at you, too. And you smile when you talk about him.”

Without meaning to, Lizzie’s eyes flicked to Orion again, and sure enough, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth when their eyes met. She felt the heat rise to her face and looked away again.

“No, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Are you sure about that? He looks like he might be your boyfriend.”

Lizzie took a deep breath. “We are just very good friends.”

“That’s good,” the little girl stated, clearly satisfied with Lizzie’s answer.

“Why’s that?”

The girl lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Because I’m going to marry him when I'm grown up,” she said, completely serious about her plan.

Lizzie tried to mirror her earnestness but had to suppress the urge to chuckle; that was the cutest thing she’d ever heard. “Well, Orion is a very lucky guy then.”

“But you won’t tell him, right?” the girl said, suddenly looking very shy. “You have to promise me!”

Lizzie knew Orion was watching them and she smiled when she caught his gaze. Turning her attention back to the girl staring at her out of big eyes, she held her pinky finger out to her.

“I promise. This will stay our little secret.”