#he’s trying so hard to sound and be Spidey’s worst nightmare

[theshadowrealmitself]

Sandman: It’s just so hard not getting to see my little girl

Otto, who stole some of Spidey’s DNA to combine with his to make a kid to use against him, lex luthor style, but Spidey just kidnapped the kid immediately when he found out and got Matt to cover him legally: I know exactly how you feel, Spiderman won’t even let me have visitations with my kid :(

Sandman:

Sandman: That is not the same thing, our situations are not comparable at all, it’s important to me that you know that

[allegra-writes]

“Teeth”

Peter Parker x Anti-hero!Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Smut, chocking kink, rough sex.

Part XI of the "Mercy" series

SERIES MASTERLIST | MY MASTERLIST

"Something in the way you look into my eyes... I don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive"

Teeth - 5SOS

Peter was going to be sick.

He hadn't felt sick in years, ever since the spider bite, but he was sure his stomach was about to turn any second now.

It was all in front of his eyes, the darkest, most confidential of S.H.I.E.L.D's files. Project Lazarus. Nick Fury’s  unethical, insane scheme to get the original six back together, using the kree blood running through Captain Marvel's veins to reanimate the fallen ones. And you had been the ultimate guinea pig, the final test.

And Peter had been the one to authorize it.

The name on the files was your father's, but Bucky had only consented after Peter…

He ran, barely making it to the ensuite on time to empty the contents of his stomach into the sink. He let the water flow to wash the foul liquid away.

That wasn't even the worst. Oh no, that was barely the top of the iceberg. The most horrifying part, the part that was going to give him nightmares for weeks, was that protocol. The T.A.H.I.T.I. protocol, a machine wired directly to your brain, with your skull splitted open, erasing everything Fury considered you didn't need. There were even fucking reports about how much more docile and happier you were after forgetting your mother's death, and your subsequent murderous rampage.

And at least half of it was bullshit. They had told you about Natasha the very same day you had woken up, asking for your mommy in russian, breaking their hearts in a thousand pieces once they understood what was going on.

He sprayed some cold water on his face, trying to regain his composure. As bad as he was feeling, it was probably nothing compared to what you were feeling. He had to get it together, for you. He rinsed his mouth and dried his face with a towel, stepping back into his room.

But you were nowhere to be found.  

His heart fell to his stomach. He scrambled to put on a pair of sweats, cursing the valuable seconds he was wasting, before running at breakneck speed through hallways and flights of stairs until he reached your floor. By the time he barged into your room, he was out of breath.

“No” It came out as a whisper, a barely audible gasp at finding his worst suspicions confirmed.

There you were, fully dressed, a backpack open on your bed with a few clothes thrown haphazardly inside as you raided your bedroom for weapons.

“No” He repeated, more firmly, when you passed by him. He was met with more silence, as you took your small Glock 42 and checked the magazine. You wouldn't even look at him. You couldn't. You knew that if you as much as met those warm coffee eyes, bright with tears, you wouldn't be able to bring yourself to do it, you wouldn't be able to leave him.

And you had to. Peter didn't know, you were certain, he didn't mean to do so, but he was playing right into the role director Fury intended for him to play: A distraction and an anchor, something to stay for, to keep you loyal to the avengers.

Just like Hydra had used your father to keep your mother in line once, a long time ago. She had told you that story, told you about your dad's face, frozen inside a cryogenic pod. And she had taught you, with tears in her eyes, the motto you had lived your whole life by, up until now: ‘Your first and most important loyalty, must always be to yourself’

You counted your bullets, and tucked the gun into the thigh holster under your skirt. It was time to honor that law.

Peter stepped in front of you, halting your advances,

“Y/n, stop, talk to me, please!” He reached for your hand, but you avoided his touch. You knew what would happen if he touched you.

“It’s over, Peter” Your voice washed over him like a bucket of cold water, chilling him to the bone, “I’m leaving”

The words knocked all the air out of his chest, like a physical blow. He knew your first reaction would be to fly, your mother had raised you your whole life to make self preservation your first instinct. He had feared you would leave him behind.

But somehow, Peter had never pictured you would want to leave him.

He could feel his eyes burn, smell the salt of his own tears. He choked on the question that wanted to escape his throat, it was useless questioning why: He was still pretty much a stranger to you, all of them were. You weren't one to trust easily in strangers, and you had just been proven right. But comprehending didn't make it any less painful.

“Take me with you” He was conscious of the futility of his request as he said the words but he had to try. He had to.

You stopped your packing, meeting his eyes. But he found nothing in yours. No warmth. No trust. Nothing but the cold fire of your barely contained rage, algid and terrible. Peter had seen that look before, back in a barn on a stormy night. He regretted, for what was probably the thousandth time, not running away with you then, instead of asking you to stay with him.

“I was there” He tried again, “the night you tried to kill Clint”

“I know” You interrupted him, “I just read the file”

“I asked you to stay that night. You wanted to run and instead of asking you to let me go with you, I asked you to stay. I’m not making that mistake again. Let me go with you”

Unknowingly, Peter had just confirmed your worst suspicions. He had been the key piece in Fury's chess game from the very beginning, sending him after you over and over again despite his failures, he had set the bait. And you had fallen straight into his trap, forgetting all your training, giving up your own freedom… for a boy.

You weren’t making the same mistake twice either.

“Goodbye, Peter.”

He watched as in slow motion how you grabbed your bag and headed for the door, realizing then that the only way to stop you from leaving was to physically stop you. Desperate, he let his instinct take over in one last attempt to keep you there.

He tackled you, your body hitting the floor hard, all the air knocked out of your lungs at once. Your wrists hurt where his hands pinned them to the floor as he straddled you, a feeling of deja vu washing over him as he looked down at your furious face, but you weren't the same girl he had webbed down to the faded hardwood of that dingy apartment almost a year ago. Not anymore. Six months of training with the winter soldier, the handler of widows himself, had made you even deadlier than you already were.

You tangled your ankle around one of his own, bucking your hips up, pushing him out of balance as you rolled him over, landing on top of him, hand firm around his throat.

“You think you can stop me?” There was venom, and contempt, in your words, his spider sense flaring up. But tried as he may, he couldn't move, couldn't even look away. He was a fly, trapped and defenseless, in your web. He had always been. How foolish and conceited of him, calling himself Spider-man, when there, laying underneath you, he finally understood what a real predator was.

“You think you can get on top of me? Think you can dominate me, boy?” You felt Peter's gulp under your palm. It was tempting, so tempting…

So you squeezed, just a little, watching his pupils blow wide with adrenaline, equal parts crisp trepidation and desire.  Peter’s head was spinning, and it wasn't just from lack of oxygen. He didn't know the exact moment you went from fighting him to claw at his clothes, but you were, and he was aiding you, ripping yet another one of your panties, another casualty in the warfare of your relationship, guiding your hips down as you braced yourself, one hand on the floor, the other one still around his neck. Unlike him, who was hard from the moment he felt your hands on his skin, you weren't ready, nowhere near wet enough, but you didn't care: The slight burn grounded you, made everything sharper. This wasn't about placer anyway, this was a punishment. For Peter, for making you feel the things he made you feel; and for you, for allowing them to grow and fester in your heart.

He seemed to like it, though, hips bucking to meet yours, breathless sounds leaving his lips as you fucked yourself on his cock.

“You like this, don't you?” You marveled, “Like it rough, boy?”

It wasn't your old ‘baby boy’, the one that belied your tenderness as you did the most depraved things to him. But it was close enough to get his heart racing.

“Pathetic” You decided, as you felt his pulse pick up under your hand. He whimpered, tears pricking at his eyes, and at last, you let go of his neck, placing both hands flat on his muscular chest for leverage. It wasn’t long before you were breathless too, as taking his cock became easier and easier with every downward stroke.

“Shit... I’ll give it to you, spidey… your dick feels amazing…” You gasped, little frown of concentration on your face, lips parted, unable to contain your little moans. How could he ever let you go, when you were the most exquisite thing Peter had witnessed in his whole life?

“Too much for you, little spider?” He could do nothing but sob as you teased him, cruelly, tightening your muscles around him “...Or not enough?”

You leaned forward, tracing your tongue over his open lips, but quickly withdrawing when he tried to capture yours in a kiss. You changed your pace, no longer bouncing but rocking on top of him, grinding your clit against his pelvis, enjoying the electricity that the friction created on your little pearl of nerves.

Meanwhile, Peter was a mess underneath you, tears now flowing freely, whimpering, and shaking, fisting the fabric of your skirt so hard that you heard it rip. But still not daring to complain.

“You're such a good boy, aren't you? Could do anything I want with you… use you anyway I wanted to…”

You felt him twitch inside you at your words, another whine escaping his chest.

“I could ruin you, ride you so hard… get you so close… and stop right before you come”

He shook his head frantically, desperate, but still, he kept silent.

“You don't want that? But you'd take it anyway, wouldn't you?”

He closed his eyes, unable to meet yours, ashamed. That was all the answer you needed,

“You would. Because you are mine… my pretty toy… to use… to fuck…” You picked up your pace, bouncing up and down his cock, and he couldn't contain himself anymore,

“Yes!” He cried, “I’m yours! All yours!”

“My slutty boy” You praised, legs burning with the strain and exhaustion of the night, but stopping was not an option. You were close, drunk on the power of having such a strong superhuman submitting to you, such a gorgeous man turned into a needy, desperate puddle between your legs.

“Please” He begged, pitifully.

“What do you need, little boy?”

His fingers closed around your wrist, guiding your hand until it was back around his neck, and you understood. You could have mocked him again, humiliated him farther, make him beg for it. But something inside his coffee eyes stopped you. It wasn't trust, no. You could practically smell the fear, the sharp tang of epinephrine coming off his pores, every hair on his body still standing on end, proof of his spider sense still on high alert…

No. It was deeper than that. It was surrender. He knew you could as easily give him what he wanted, as turn on him. Never, not even back it that farm, had been more evident to him that the hand he loved to hold was a weapon.

But he couldn't help never wanting to let go.

“Я тебя люблю” He croaked, throat dry and sore from your manhandling, but still clear enough to make your hips falter.

“What did you just say?” You breathed, stunned.

“Я тебя люблю” He repeated, more clearly, hands sliding up your thighs, till he had handfuls of your ass, “I love you…”

“Shut up” You hissed.

“I won't. I love you” Peter felt as your nails dug on his chest, until he had five bloody crescent marks to match the ones on his back, “I love you…”

You squeezed his neck harder, until he was really struggling for air, black spots dancing in his vision.

“I love you” It was nothing but a gasp.

You made a frustrated noise, but there was no denying the way your walls fluttered around him. And there was no stopping your hips, working him ferociously, fucking yourself on his cock without mercy. You were falling already, falling apart for him.

“Come with me” It was a command. It was a request. It was an invitation.

And Peter knew you weren't just talking about his release.

To be continued...

[silkylious]

Safe (Kaminari Denki x Reader)

Warnings: slight angst/insecurities, comfort, fluff Pairing: kaminari denki x reader Prompt: #58 “You make me feel safe”

A/N: idk why but i hc that kaminari is actually very insecure but jokes around and shit as a coping mechanism. can you sense the self projection here. hope you enjoy this, it was very fun to write!

You sprung forward, eyes wide awake with alarm. Your mind struggled to catch up with your body; phantom sensations still lingering on your skin, static scenes of vibrant blue flames scorched into your brain as your heavy breaths died down into a slightly more regulated rhythm. This was the fifth time this week. It’s been two full months since the training camp, two full months since you’ve moved into the dorms and you still weren’t over it yet. The nightmares just wouldn’t stop.

You plopped back down on the mattress, exasperated and thoroughly annoyed at having your precious slumber cut short. Again. Honestly, for such a prestigious school, U.A. has probably the worst counseling team you’ve ever seen­– or haven’t seen, because despite several of your classmates showing painfully obvious signs of trauma, the school staff has barely stepped in. You huffed at the administration’s incompetence, turning on your side to glare at nothing in particular. A ping interrupted your train of thought, drawing your attention to the device laying on your nightstand. You snatched your phone, unlocking it and immediately squinting at the brightness before checking the time. Three in the morning. Who the hell would text you at ass o’clock in the morning? You knew who.

Pika pika⚡: [image] [image] [image]

some maymays for when you wake up 😌😌

You: they’re called memes ffs

Pika pika⚡: you’re awake??👀

You: no.

The message was left on seen, though the interface of the messaging up was replaced by that of an incoming call. You rolled your eyes, though a slight smile stretched your tired features at the picture of you and Kaminari grinning at the camera. You accepted the call.

“Why are you up?” His voice came through mildly distorted but still as loud as ever, too loud for three in the fucking morning.

“Can’t sleep,” Your answer was slightly muffled by a yawn, betraying just how exhausted you were. The silence that proceeded was deafening, neither of you uttering a word, but you could faintly hear his even breathing. It was oddly calming. You sigh, lids blinking to fight off your drowsiness.

“…You’re still having nightmares?” Words tinged with worry, his voice was much quieter now, gentler. If anything, Kaminari was a great friend. He’d proven that to you time and time again. He was the only one that could tell when you were drowning in hushed misery, seeing through your well-constructed front like it was second nature to him. For someone so astoundingly moronic, he was extremely socially intelligent, and even observant when he wanted to be. And for the umptieth time, he’s showing you just how easily he could pick up on the small traces of discomfort in your voice, the silent plea left unspoken from your lips.

“Yeah…” The reply didn’t come out as resolute as you’d wished it would have been. But it couldn’t be helped. No matter how hard you willed yourself to level your tone in hopes of fending off his concerns, you knew it would all crumble at some point. Go figure your strong façade would fall apart in front of him. It’s always been him. For some reason unknown to you (yet), confiding in him just felt right, secure.

More silence ensued.

Denki was a natural at detecting people’s emotions, but that’s as far as his expertise would go. Sure, he knew how to encourage others, pushing them past their insecurities was as easy as breathing to him. With bright, golden hues and an obnoxiously dorky grin, all he had to do was utter a few optimistic words and that would get the job done. But comfort? Vulnerability? That was so far beyond the shallow waters he’d grown accustomed to. Sentimentalities weren’t his thing, he simply didn’t posses the wisdom and eloquence needed to deal with such situations. His immediate reaction would be to crack a joke, fruitless attempts at lightening the mood but he knew there was a time and place for jests, and this wasn’t one of them. Awkwardness and half-hearted jabs were his immediate reaction… because that’s how he dealt with his own problems too.

“Hey… can I come over? We can play animal crossing or something,” You sure as shit wouldn’t be able to sleep, not in this state. You needed a distraction. A friend.

“What if we get caught?”

“Would you even care if we got caught?”

A light chuckle. “No,”

“Exactly. I’ll be there in a bit.”

The line went dead, he stared at the blank screen of his phone before flopping onto his back. Why you’d be so open with him of all people when he saw just how uneasy around his other classmates, he didn’t know. The list of people he thought were more deserving of your trust was almost unending, and he wasn’t even close to the top of it. One thought brought forward another, each one getting progressively more deprecative, and the sloppily sewn patch over his self-doubt started to tear, ripped off its poorly embedded stitches. He was confident in himself, until he joined class 1-A that is. He just felt… there compared to his peers. His body was nothing to laugh at, but his build was still considerably lean compared to the people he was around. The fact that such a talented, hardworking person had taken interest in him was frankly baffling. He wasn’t as flashy as Todoroki, or as powerful as Bakugo, or as brainy as Midoriya. He was just him. Lackluster, average him. It only added insult to injury when he’d witnessed how they looked at you. They pined for you, and he couldn’t blame them. He craved you too. But god, the nagging thought that you were wasting your time hanging around someone like him, that he was stealing you away from people who were (in his opinion) glaringly more worthy of cherishing you than him, it just wouldn’t go away. You had so many stronger, smarter, better options out there that he couldn’t help but be reminded of how lacking– inadequate he was compared to seemingly everyone else. And yet you chose to get close to him. In a superhuman class full to the brim with prodigies and workaholics, you picked him. It didn’t make the slightest bit of sense.

He was fished into reality and away from his sea of self-doubt when he heard three consecutive knocks on his door. Just how long had he laid there, wallowing?

The door creaked open and you were greeted with the glorious sight of Kaminari in a Pikachu onesie, a ruffled (adorable) tuft of electric, blonde hair peeking out from under the hood. You snorted.

“Nice pj’s,”

Denki blinked, looking down only to realize that he hadn’t changed out of his onesie because of his overthinking session. An embarrassed chuckle escaped him as he scratched at the side of his cheek, a lopsided smile and a cherry tint creeping up his complexion.

“What can I say, I always have to be on brand.”

You loved that about him. He seemed so laid-back, uncaring, willing to roll with whatever punches were thrown at him, playing off jocular comments and rude insults alike with practiced ease. Giggling past him, you situated on his bed, ready to forget about your nightmares and just have fun with your friend. And if Denki was a genius at anything, it was having fun.

Hours flew by at the pace of minutes, it was now six in the morning, the sun had begun to show its yellow glow and you’d spent the entirety of dawn kicking Kaminari’s butt at Mario kart, sharing laughs and fleeting touches. He liked this, you liked this. Despite knowing that he wasn’t by any means the best suitor for you, he couldn’t halt the need to monopolize you. How could he, when your very presence (unbeknownst to you) shoved his insecurities unceremoniously into the backseat in favor of enjoying the moment with you? He hadn’t a clue how you did it, but you always managed to shoo away his doubts just by being there, and he selfishly couldn’t (and wouldn’t) let go of that. You immersed him in riveting ventures of the now, miles and acres away from his overbearing thoughts. All without even trying, without even knowing it.

It was the weekend (thank fuck) and sleeping in sounded like heaven on earth right now. If it weren’t for your nightmares. The fear of recounting those horrid memories in horrific detail again barred your eyes from sleep, regardless of how spent you were. Apparently, Denki’s spidey-friendship senses kicked in again, because he immediately noticed the apprehension on your face, the stiffness in your movements as you were preparing to leave. He knew exactly what was up with you, and he couldn’t let you leave like that, it would eat him up for days. He grabbed your wrist as you turned for the door.

“Do you wanna stay?”

Maybe it was your exhausted mind finally turning into mush, or maybe it was the softness in his voice, the docile concern in his eyes that made you agree on staying. Your compliance surprised you both, honestly. You were both very aware that you wouldn’t have accepted the offer had it been anyone else. But in retrospect it seemed rational. After all, throughout the whole night, not once did you think back to the horrors that would visit you in your sleep, not once did you feel the crippling anxiety clawing at the frayed edges of your psyche. Instead you felt secure, sound. Safe. And you came to an epiphany. Maybe it wasn’t the idea of sleep that scared you, maybe it was the impending loneliness, isolation and uncertainty that you’d often experience without him.

“Yes,”

You laid there, facing each other, a considerable distance between you. No words exchanged, yet you could tell there was a lot on his mind. He decided to voice it all in one question. He knew you were smart enough to catch the underlying self-doubt in his vaguely worded inquiry. Whether you pointed it out or not was entirely up to you, however.

“Why did you say yes to me?”

The articulation caught you off guard, you’d never seen him so… unsure before. Your mind raced with the different possible implications behind his wording, though you decided to quell them all with one single sentence. You smiled, soft and lazy, moving closer to seek out some of his warmth.

“You make me feel safe, Denki.”

And he really did. Even though you came to the revelation mere minutes ago, you accepted it swimmingly, it felt right to do so. It startled you how ready you were to embrace the newfound feelings, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kaminari was stunned, to say the least. He hadn’t expected that response from you and he honestly still couldn’t rationalize it completely either. But for now, the budding feeling in his heart trumped over his ever-present uncertainty, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[hale-13]

Airway

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 29 Prompt - Control

The only real drawback of the current iteration of his suit, Peter thought, was its lack of air filtration. With the tools and workshop space that Mr. Stark provided him with Peter was able to make a Spidey suit that was top of the line in every aspect except for the ventilation; for all intents and purposes Peter was really just breathing through high tech spandex. The tightly woven fabric did, minimally, protect him from inhaling smoke and other harmful chemicals but not enough.

Words: 2407, Chapters: 1/1 (complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, Bruce Banner

TW: Medical Procedures, Panic

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

The only real drawback of the current iteration of his suit, Peter thought, was its lack of air filtration. With the tools and workshop space that Mr. Stark provided him with Peter was able to make a Spidey suit that was top of the line in every aspect except for the ventilation; for all intents and purposes Peter was really just breathing through high tech spandex. The tightly woven fabric did, minimally, protect him from inhaling smoke and other harmful chemicals but not enough.

Which is what landed him in his current situation of sitting with his mask pulled up to the bridge of his nose and an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth as he took shallow, wheezing breaths.

The apartment fire that he had responded to still had a surprisingly large number of people stuck in hard to reach places that left Peter exposed longer than he would have liked. His throat felt like it was on fire and his lungs felt tight the way they used to feel when he had an asthma attack. The fire fighter that had passed him the oxygen mask earlier crouched down in front of him with a worried look on her ash stained face.

“I still think you should let us take you to the hospital,” she said worriedly as she adjusted the flow of oxygen. Peter shook his head..

“I’m good,” he croaked, trying not to wince at just how destroyed his voice sounded and display as much confidence as he could. She still looked dubious.

“Is there anyone you can stay with tonight?” She pressed. “You shouldn’t be alone just in case.”

“I’’ll be okay,” he promised, removing the oxygen mask and pulling his own down to cover his face. It immediately became harder to breathe and he regretted giving up the clean air but he knew if he didn’t get out of there soon he would have a much bigger problem. “Thanks for the help!” He called as he swung out, his breathing becoming more labored as he webbed away.

His HUD fizzed out for a second before directing to the Tower and Peter rolled his eyes at Karen but obliged. May was working a late shift and Peter did feel pretty shitty. It probably wouldn’t hurt to hang around the Tower with its fully stocked and staffed MedBay for the evening. He had to stop a few times on his way to catch his breath but he made it to the landing pad with few issues.

“You stink,” Tony greeted him as he walked in, pulling his ashy mask off his face and letting it drop on one of the many end tables. “You committing arson now?”

“Ha ha,” Peter said hoarsely with a slight cough as he ventured into the kitchen to Fran a bottle of water to gulp down. Tony narrowed his eyes over his cup of coffee in judgement and concern.

“Karen said they put you on oxygen,” he said accusingly and Peter groaned and dropped his forehead to rest on the cool counter top, taking aborted breaths through his mouth. The smell of smoke still on his suit was making it hard to take deep breaths in.

“Only for a couple minutes,” Peter answered, coughing again and taking another swig of water.

“Go take a shower,” his mentor ordered. “Leave your suit in your room and I’ll send it down to FRI for deep cleaning although at this point it might be worth it to just toss it and start again from scratch.”

“But I just broke it in,” Peter whined, trudging off to the room Tony had set aside for his use. He may be right though – smoke was a notoriously hard stench to get out of fabric.

The hot water felt heavenly on his skin and Peter spent probably too long under the strong spray but, unfortunately, his chest still felt tight and heavy when he got out. He paused in front of the mirror, trying to take deep, even inhales and he squinted his eyes in confusion. He had helped out on a few burning buildings and had never felt this way before. Deciding he probably just needed some rest, Peter left the bathroom and joined Mr. Stark back out in the common room.

He only got about halfway through his soup and an episode of The Office before he passed out, head leaned back against the cushions.

——————————————

The room was lit only by the glow of the projector when Peter woke up unable to breathe.

He gasped and flailed as he woke up, smacking Mr. Stark in the face and causing him to yelp as he tried to inhale through what felt like a straw. “Lights up to fifty,” Mr. Stark barked out and Peter snapped his eyes closed against the blue-toned overhead lights snapping on over him. “Fuck Peter,” his mentor said, scrambling of the couch and scooping Peter up in his arms.

Peter felt dizzy and his vision was spotted with black dots as he was carried to the elevator. He could hear his mentor yelling something but couldn’t comprehend what was being said as he lifted one shaky hand up to clutch at his, now swollen, neck and he could feel panic bubbling up in him.

‘Don’t black out,’ he told himself as he tried to calm down and even out his breathing. ‘It’s fine. You’re fine.’

“Bruce!” Tony shouted as he deposited Peter on, what must have been, a bed in one of the exam rooms in the Tower MedBay. “He can’t breathe!”

An oxygen mask was shoved over Peter’s face but it did little to help him but he gripped it with a weak hand anyway, gasping into it and squinting his eye open. “Hey Peter,” Dr. Banner said in his usual calm voice, raising the bed up so Peter was sitting and grabbing a light and a tongue depressor. “I need you to open your mouth for me.”

Peter shakily nodded and dropped the mask to open his mouth, gagging on the tongue depressor and swaying a little at the loss of the little oxygen he was getting. Bruce swore and placed the mask back over Peter’s face, pressing a blue button on the wall and lowering Peter back to lie flat. “His airway is closing!”

“What!” Tony said, panicked and grabbing Peter’s hand to squeeze as the room burst to life with medical professionals. A nurse grabbed him and bodily pulled him from the room as he yelled for answers. Peter could feel his own panic bubbling up in his gut but he also felt like he may pass out and didn’t have the energy to explore it.

“Peter,” Bruce said firmly and calmly from directly above him as a nurse cut off his shirt and another placed an IV catheter in his arm. “Your throat is full of soot from the fire earlier and is causing your trachea to swell and close. We’re going to knock you out so we can place an endotracheal tube to help you breathe. It’s going to be jarring when you wake up later but it will be okay. I need you to trust me.”

Peter could feel tears welling up in his eyes and spilling over his face from the stress and effort but didn’t get a chance to respond before his muscles relaxed like wet clay and his vision spun into darkness.

——————————————

“I’m on my way,” May Parker’s wet voice said through the phone as Tony paced up and down the hallway outside the room where the medical staff was working with Peter. “God Tony fuck!” She said, sounding out of breath as if she were running.

“Happy’s on his way to get you,” Tony promised her, trying to control his own racing heart and tensed nerves. “He’ll be there in ten minutes and he’ll get you back much faster than the bus. I’ve got him May. I promise I’ve got him.”

May let out a sob into the phone and Tony felt his heart clench. “If anything happens to him,” she said and Tony nodded. He knew. He understood.

“Just focus on getting here safely,” he told her as he stopped to stare at Peter’s door. “I’ll let you know when I hear something.”

“The very second you find anything out,” she told him firmly before hanging up the phone. Tony rubbed a hand over his face and dropped into one of the chairs that were spaced throughout the hall, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and closing his eyes.

Waking up to Peter panicking, pale and with blue lips was probably going to be in the top five worst experiences of his life and would definitely haunt his nightmares for weeks to come. Bruce hadn’t told him anything before ordering him removed from the room and his imagination was, most likely, worse than anything that was happening to Peter but he didn’t do well not knowing what was going on.

“Update FRI?” He asked his AI hopefully, tapping on the comm link he kept in his ear basically all of his waking hours.

“Sorry boss,” she said remorsefully. “Mr. Parker’s condition is classified.”

Tony’s stomach knotted further and he stood back up to pace again, unable to sit down and needing to work out his restless energy as he waited for an update on the kid. About fifteen minutes of nail biting later, Bruce slipped out of the room and gestured to Tony to sit back down.

“He’ll be okay,” he started out, making Tony sag in dizzying relief. His throat was filled with soot from the fire earlier and it caused his trachea to swell closed. We knocked him out to place an endotracheal tube until the swelling went down but it was already to severe so we had to perform a cricthyrotomy to establish a viable airway instead.”

Tony felt the blood drain from his face and he felt a little faint. “Talk to me like I’m an idiot Bruce,” he said, desperate and hoping it wasn’t what he thought it was. “I need you to lay it out for me.”

Bruce looked worried and reached out a hand to grab Tony’s wrist to take his pulse. “I need you to calm down,” Bruce said firmly. “Yes, this is scary but Peter is fine. With his healing abilities he’s going to make a full recovery and he’ll probably be back on his feet in just a couple days alright? Peter is out of danger but it isn’t going to help his recovery if you have a heart attack okay?”

Tony nodded, making a concentrated effort to do his four-seven-eight breathing and calm down. It took a couple minutes but Bruce was patient. “Better?” He asked and Tony nodded, gesturing with his hand for the other scientist to continue. “We had to make a small incision in Peter’s neck and trachea and insert an endotracheal tube through that incision since his upper airway was too swollen to allow it to pass. He is able to breath on his own with this in but we have him on supplemental oxygen just to support him. He is on a ventilator just to give his lungs a chance to recover but he can breathe on his own – its just supplemental alright? We’ve started epinephrine and steroid therapy to reduce the swelling and we’ll probably be able to remove the tube in twenty-four to thirty-six hours.”

“He’s okay though?” Tony asked a little desperately. “He’s fine?”

“Yes Tony,” Bruce told him with an indulgent smile. “He’s okay and he’ll make a full recovery.”

“Can I see him?” He asked, staring at the closed door.

“In a few minutes,” Bruce promised. “The nurses and respiratory therapists are getting him settled but then you can go in. Do you want to call his aunt and I can update her in the meantime?”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, passing his phone over to Bruce and feeling his muscles unclench just the smallest amount.

The kid was okay.

———————————————

Peter woke to the clicking and popping of artificial air and immediately panicked at he felt his chest rise and fall against his volition and he grasped at the loose gown resting over him before a gentle hand took his and pulled it away. “Hey kiddo its alright, you’re okay. You can breathe the machine is just helping a little.”

Peter cracked his eyes open and made eye contact with his mentor who was seated beside him. May was loosely gripping his hand on the other side, her head resting next to his arm on the bed and soft puffs of air hitting his skin as she slept. The machine clicked again and it took everything in Peter not to fight it. Tony ran his fingers over his knuckles in a soothing gesture.

“We’re going to have to work on your suit,” the man said with a little smile. “It’s getting a full respirator and oxygen tank. It’s going to be a challenge since its so sleek but I think, between the two of us, we can figure it out.” Peter let his brows furrow in confusion and Tony sighed. “Your throat closed up because of the smoke,” he said. “You’re going to be fine though.”

The ventilator clicked again and Peter squeezed his eyes shut and tried to keep calm. He had never done well with loss of control and he could feel his Spidey sense making his hairs raise and his adrenaline spike. He wanted to panic but the artificial breaths wouldn’t let him and it just made it so much worse.

“Hey hey,” Tony said soothingly, rubbing his free hand through Peter’s hair in a calming gesture. “It’s alright.” He gave Peter a considering look then hesitantly offered: “Want me to have them put you out?”

A thrill of relief shot though Peter and he squeezed his mentor’s hand in desperation as he pressed the call button. Peter couldn’t see the nurse but he heard Tony ask for the sedation like he was underwater, not calming until he could feel the cool rush of drugs in his veins.

“I’ve got you buddy,” the man said, a thumb rubbing over Peter’s cheekbone once before settling back in his hair. “You just check out for a while.”

The darkness was welcoming as Peter fell into it; feeling safe with his aunt and mentor watching over him.

[tynct]

 Spidey

masterlist

» summary: Mark fears the day you’ll ask about his name, his face, because he knows he’ll tell you. He trusts you enough with the information, but he’s never been able to bring himself to say it, too scared that you’ll be disappointed with what you learn

» genre: spider-man!au

» words: 1.

» a/n: there are no endg*me spoilers in this!

The time is moving painfully slow as Mark webs up another carjacker to a wall and swings off without so much as a word. He was completely, and utterly bored waiting for 6pm to roll around, and no matter how many purses he saves from being stolen, or students bikes from being taken apart (including his own, ironically), Mark can’t seem to get his mind off of his prior engagement.

Before, when Mark had just began to get the hang of his new powers, he found himself fumbling through the air when his web completely missed the edge of a building he had been aiming for, and went splat on top of an apartment complex. He had been surprised he didn’t get a concussion, or crash right through the roof, and upon sitting up in a daze, he hadn’t noticed the figure watching him until you stepped out of the shadows and offered him a hand up.

He’s been coming to the roof of the same apartment complex nearly everyday since then, always at 6pm on the dot in time for the sun to set. Mark doesn’t understand why he still gets surprised when you’re already there, legs dangling off the edge with a school book in hand, waiting for the boy you barely knew a thing about.

And it’s not like he doesn’t want to tell you more about himself, but with the close encounters he’s had with those trying to hurt him, he doesn’t want to get you involved with his problems. He shouldn’t even be associating himself with you in the mask, but he’s made sure to be extra careful in case someone was following him by going in a few circles before joining you on the ledge.

He’s had to give up so many things because of his abilities and new identity as Spider-man, like being a normal, party going teenager, whose worst nightmares are about tests and college, not evil villains who are trying to crush him like a bug underneath their foot just because he’s trying to do a little good for the city.

But you’re one of the things he refuses to give up. It shouldn’t seem that big of a deal, but it makes him feel- actually, he doesn’t know how it makes him feel, but what he does know is that when he’s with you, sitting above all the noise and chaos, it’s a breath of fresh air away from the never ending rotation of men in masks threatening him with a weapon.

Mark nearly jumps out of his skin when the watch around his wrist beeps, and he’s quick to pull back his sleeve and switch it off. The sound sends the birds around him scattering into the air, and he sends an apology their way as he leaps off the building and towards your apartment. It’s 6pm, finally, and he had been a little too excited on the way there, because he ends up nearly missing the roof on the way down.

He doesn’t make a sound as he lands though, but he knows it doesn’t matter if you had heard him or not, because your back straightens and you turn to him with a smile that makes his heart squeeze.

Mark can lift thing way bigger than him, walk on the ceiling, and shoot webs, for christ sake, but no matter how hard he tries, he cannot, for the life of him, sneak up on you. And, apparently, saying no to your every request. He fears the day you ask about his name, his face, because he knows he’ll tell you. He trusts you enough with the information, but he’s never been able to bring himself to say it, too scared that you’ll be disappointed with what you learn.

“I brought your favorite,” you sing-song, and Mark all but darts across the roof to grab a slice of watermelon. He happily plops down beside you and brings up his mask up to his nose. He’s been dying for something to eat since last period, but he had been too busy with the daily chores of a superhero to deal with his grumbling stomach.

He only notices something off about you once he’s devoured the whole plate. You’re too quiet; too focused on pretending to be focused on the work in your lap.

“Is everything alright?” Mark doesn’t miss the way you grip your pencil tighter, and he scoots closer to lean over and meet your eyes through his sensors. “Y/n?”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“I know you’re lying.”

The small glare you throw at him doesn’t get him to back off, and you let out an exasperated sigh. “Remember that school I told you about? Turns out I’m starting tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Mark says eloquently, and you wave him off when he tries to offer you a poorly put together sentence of comfort.

“How about you? Everything alright?”

Mark doesn’t waste a second to dive into how many bad guys he caught today, and how he’s sure he aced the test he had in chemistry class. He fails to mention it was because he had copied off of Renjuns sheet as the conversation carries on, and sooner than Mark had expected, the last bit of sun is disappearing behind the skyscrapers, and he wishes you a goodnight as he swings off into the night.

The following day, Mark is in the middle of scrambling to write down the notes on the board when a knock at the door has everyone pausing. He panics for a moment, thinking that it’s the principle here to accuse him of cheating on the test, but he’s relieved when another student walks in, and he goes back to his book.

But then something clicks, and Marks head snaps up to find you standing at the front of the class, greeting them with a nervous wave as the teacher introduces you. It’s you. It’s really you, and Mark nearly smacks himself for not asking what school you had been transferring to yesterday.

Nothing could’ve prepared him for this, though, and the fact that you’re in the same class only has his stomach dropping even further.

“Why don’t you go take a seat over there beside Mark? Mark, raise your hand please?”

Mark could faint as he shakily puts his hand up. Of course you had to sit next to him. Of course the student who had been in the desk you’re sliding into had to switch classes. Just his luck to have the one person in all of the city he’s possibly in love with to be here, in his school, in the desk only inches from his.

Mark blinks as his eyes bounce from Renjun, who’s blushing, he didn’t even know Renjun could blush, to you. He makes the connect right as the teacher moves on to the next slide, but he barely notices, because, just his luck, his best friend has a crush on you. He sinks down in his seat when you glance right past him, not even acknowledging his presence and mirror Renjuns shy smile.

[seraphimluxe]

reality of stevebucky having super senses

this is very tmi, so heads up

right so the super serum increased the positive aspects of the natural human body by like 92829x

that’s not an exact number but you feel me

this includes their senses

touch, hearing, sight, taste, smell.

which sounds really cool at first glance !!

but lemme break it down for you

I’m just gonna refer to stevebucky as a single person bc it’s easier

touch

this one is pretty nice

he’s already got super endurance, so he doesn’t feel pain multiplied

but hes super sensitive to touch

esp physical contact

on God the man would nut if you touched his neck

exaggerated but still

*touch starvation intensifies*

kisses are a full body experience

MAD ticklish

can feel people coming before he sees them

floor vibrations and shit

like Spidey sense, he can feel if someone’s moving to touch him

will only wear things with nice textures

silk sheets no doubt

fuzzy socks

fluffy sweatpants

maybe why Bucky wears multiple layers to dull any contact he makes with stuff? so it’s less distracting or sumn

pats and pets are either vv appreciated or will stress him out

haircuts are probably a glorious experience

hearing

I don’t know how to measure someone’s hearing level

he can hear an average persons heartbeat in an average room

he can hear people’s music through their headphones

can hear electricity like tv static, or when someone’s charging their phone, can hear laptop fans

can hear water coming up the pipes before it comes out the faucet

really in tune to picking up people’s breathing changes cuz they so loud

can hear people fart 😔

people’s bones cracking, even when they don’t know it

people tapping on their phones

basically one of those meme videos of people wordlessly slurping drinks and coughing

it’s inconvenient sometimes, but helpful for eavesdropping

sight

not a whole lot to say about this

I’d imagine colors would be a little more vivid

Steve isn’t colorblind anymore so there’s that

they can detect movement super super well

like omg did you see Clint’s nose hair move

they can see far away too

better night vision

it easily gets very overwhelming

perhaps why Bucky wears black

taste

again not a ton to say

I’m trying rlly hard to not make a sexual joke

I’d imagine spicy food would be difficult

I really don’t see a major purpose in this

could probably taste if something has been tampered with/poisoned

“Clint the unsalted butter to sugar ratio in these cookies is divine”

also probably mad sensitive to textures bc of the whole extreme taste x extreme touch

really distinct coffee and alcohol preferences

they both refuse to eat pea soup

“SAM STOP PUTTING THE TOMATOES IN THE FRIDGE IT MAKES THEM MEALY”

“I DONT KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS”

smell

ah the whole reason I made this post

this one is the worst

smells every fart

forget about ever keeping your period a secret

he’s got your cycle memorized

that is, assuming you have a coochie

they can smell everyones ballsack for ten mile radius

(exaggerated again)

(or is it?)

working in the gym is hell

between the constant “silent” farts, the sweat, musty coochies and balls, THE FEET,,

thats definitely why Steve goes running outside

can smell people’s bodywash, shampoo, perfume, lotion, laundry detergent, lip gloss/chapstick, mouthwash, makeup, any candles you were burning

can tell if you haven’t showered

you thought you were being slick 😔

also:

can probably smell pheromones

ugh okay this is just such a rich concept for me

knowing people by their unique scents, even without perfume or bodywash

can ID people’s BO

that one’s not rlly cute but

certain people smelling REALLY good to him and he’s like “oh that’s probably my hormones saying we should procreate”

that’s def something Bucky would think, not Steeb

I don’t know if this is a thing but they can probably smell the change in your hormones/pheromones when you’re ovulating

weird ass

he can also smell when he gets an adrenaline rush

smells blood at crime scenes, on people

he’s basically a K9 police dog

depending on how sensitive it would be

could smell if people are sick/poisoned

you can never hide if youve been drinking

drugs

I don’t need to elaborate on that

but yeah forget panty sniffing, they can do that shit across the room

overstimulation

I’d imagine that the first couple days of being super was HELL

sometimes it still gets to be too much and they get rlly stressed :(

probably own soundproof headphones, so if it starts to get really bad they can cancel one of their senses

even then they could still hear their heartbeat in their head

sleep is the only escape where they’re not constantly being stimulated

but nightmares :((

many headaches at the end of the day

anyway that’s my take on that. personally, I exclude taste and smell from most of my canons, but I still think it’s an interesting and rich concept to play with !

[rndork]

The Year of the Goblin, Pt. 2

There was a plan. There’s a plan. Quickly that was becoming a mantra. Something to step him through the horror of his worst nightmare unfolding all over again. Quill, on the rooftop, immobilized, out of his reach, rigged to blow. Years of experience, he was better prepared to handle this, wasn’t he? He’d fought battles that he never could have dreamed of back then.

In the moment, it didn’t matter, he felt all of nineteen. A scared teenager trying to save the girl he wanted to marry. He could almost hear the echo through time of his words back then. ‘Your presence in this world has been a source of constant agony to me. I wish you to leave it permanently, or else Gwen Stacy dies.’ And they all knew how that ended. Back then he’d always pulled it off, losing Gwen had shaken him to the core. And here he was again, facing this same man who always knew his weak spot, the people he cared for, ready to have a repeat performance with Peter’s husband. There’s a plan. Focus Peter, there’s a plan. It’s not like last time. You’re ready.

A plan, but was it a plan he could believe in? He trusted Miles, trusted he could pull it off, but was this something Norman had planned for? Maybe he’d lead one more of the most important people in his life right into danger yet again. Maybe he’d be risking the both of them. That doesn’t make sense. Norman sent his goons after Spidey, if this was some kind of master plan, he wouldn’t have expected him here. He’s not planning for him. Now wasn’t the time for screwing around on this. Stick to the plan. It was a good plan. Spring the trap, keep him busy, hope to all hell the kid pulled it off or he might just as easily lose them both. “You ready for this kid?” He asked just once, while they were still out of sight. ‘Ready as I’m ever going to be. I know the plan. If something goes wrong, I mean, I’ve been at this long enough to improvise.' And that was what left Peter worrying. He’d always thought he was good enough to improvise too, up until he failed. But then unlike him, Miles had had people to help guide him through this, to teach him. Time to let him spread his wings, see him fly.

“Good luck Junior. I’m counting on you.” Please save him. When he looked to the right, Miles was nowhere to be seen, though he could still see the strands of webbing he shot out, watching where they ended and how the lines bent under his weight, though it was difficult to keep track of with the chaos down below, sounds of all sorts of chaos and madness as Norman’s footsoldiers wrought havoc down below.

He could also hear the groan, even over the sound of the wind. ‘Told you to stop calling me that!’

Peter didn’t chance an answer. Not with Alchemax in sight. Showtime. He’d come up with a plan and made it here before the deadline he’d been given when Quill had seemingly finally called back one of his tens of missed calls. Instead he just caught the best glimpse that he could grab of the situation, and centered himself. Normally he’d be thinking up some smartass thing to say, but when Osborn was involved, his brain tended to cloud over. And sure enough, there was the Green Goblin, circling high around the rooftop of the building on his glider. Now hard and fast or try to talk his way in? That was the question.

It wasn’t much of a question. His whole goal was to be distracting. Play it with desperation, like he was making a rush for him. Strike hard and fast and Norman would work hard to do the same, get both of them away from the rooftop. That’d be necessary space if Gobby caught on to Miles, even camouflaged as he was. Finally he closed the distance, webbing onto the glider, but using his own weight to arc himself up and past as if he wanted to make for the roof. “You know, if you wanted an invite to the wedding, should have just said so. No point in acting like you got snubbed. It was a real small affair.

He was almost down to the roof, when he felt that cold stab of alarm at the base of his skull. Wondering if he could pull this off on his own had always been ambitious, but it still left him concerned, even as he twisted his body in midair, out of the way of the razor bats, dodging further from blasts of electricity as he touched down, rolling a bit further away. “You took your time making it here Parker. I was beginning to wonder if you lost your stomach for this. Hubby dearest’s only got a few minutes left. Don’t worry. You’ll get a good seat before you join him.” The part that really drove him nuts was the cackling as the Goblin swooped at him, low to the roof. An easy enough dodge to avoid the hit.

The hit wasn’t hard to dodge. Maybe that wasn’t the point. The two of them had been doing this for years. Norman knew how he operated, and Peter was mostly running on instinct. His dodge led him right into a grab at the back of his neck,coupled with a nasty jolt, and then he was falling, down down over the edge of the building while he tried to throw off the shock of those damned gloves. Catch himself, had to catch himself. But there wasn’t much of a chance of that. This. Was not going according to plan anymore. He was supposed to signal to the kid when he was ready to go. Not much hope of that. Despite his earlier concerns, he hoped to hell that Miles was following through on that whole improvisation. Peter just barely managed to catch himself. One narrowly averted street pizza. Only half a breath later, spots still flashing in his vision, the wing of the glider caught him right in the midsection before stopping fairly abruptly.

The landing held about as much grace as possible. Meaning pretty much that he only hit the one car and grabbed hold. Okay. Back on your feet. We’re going to bring him in, because that’s the only way my whole family isn’t still at risk. He comes in tonight or it’s all over. That thought alone was enough to get him to pull himself out of the creased metal on the car hood, ignoring the angry curses of the cabby who’s car had just gotten one Spidey sized dent in it. “What? That all you got?”

It wasn’t.

And Peter was more than fine with that.

By the time the fight migrated back skywards, Peter had accumulated bumps, bruises, and injuries far more nasty than anything so innocent as those. Not that he hadn’t given as well as he’d got. But damned if he wasn’t hurting. If Miles hadn’t moved on this, hadn’t gotten Quill free and whoever was inside that building out? Then none of that pain would matter. At that point...he ditched that thought. He couldn’t lose focus now. It was part of why he’d long been ignoring the nasty little snipes and comments Osborn had been sending his way all this time.

And then everything happened at once. There was Quill, on the edge of the rooftop and fast plummeting. Where in the world was Miles? And then the world lit up. All those damned bombs and this high up the shockwave hit him like a semi. He was barely aware of one impact, and then another, and finally a third, though he wasn’t moving anymore. And then the spinning world faded out for just a moment.

When it faded back into place, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The world was still quiet, and he couldn’t hear much of anything. He didn’t need to hear the most important things as he painfully sat up. Quill was here. Osborn was still down (though he thwipped out a hefty dose of web fluid to ensure he stayed that way.) He still didn’t know exactly where Miles was, but a quick check of his phone had a thumbs up emoji waiting in a text for him. That was a good kid there.

Maybe, just maybe things were looking up after all

[spiderlinginaonesie]

Kill me

He barely knows what happened, the whole fight was a blur.What Peter did know was he should have lost that fight, but he didn’t, that’swhen it dawned on him and he shot up with a start. “MJ!” He shouted,frantically looking around for the girl. She had done something, got in the way,fought back, he couldn’t remember but it was something probably dumb anddangerous. “MJ are you okay?!” There is no response, but he does find her andhis heart clenches. She’s laying still on the ground. “No- No … god,Michelle? MJ? Please” He rambled quickly racing her side, she’s not breathing,and he can’t hear her heart beating. “Fuck, no, no, no, MJ Please” Peter’s mindhas gone blank as tears start to build, he can’t remember all the medicalthings she taught him, or the things he was taught in school. He can’t think,all he is thinking is he needs Ned here or Flash, he needs MJ to be okay.

Once his brain kicked back into gear he tried CPR, but itonly lasted for a second before fear got the best of him and he resorted topleading. It wasn’t long before Flash and Ned arrived, but it felt like ages.At some point during the process Peter torn off his mask to try and not drownin his own tear. He just heard everything once the arrived, not daring to lookaway from MJ. Car doors slamming, a curse, a gasp and quick footsteps rushingover towards him. “She-she’s not breathing.” His voice shook. “Have you calledan ambulance” Peter shook his head, feeling incredibly dumb. How hadn’t hethought of that even in his panic? “Ned” “On it” He wasn’t really paying attention,not to anything other then how she was starting to look paler. He heard it allthough, the panic in his and Ned’s voice, contrasting with Flash’s almost calm façade.Ned had pulled out a phone and was calling for help but the words just seem togo in one ear for Peter and out the other, nothing really registering at alluntil a hand is on his shoulder. “You should go Pete” Peter tears his gaze awayfor the first time, turning to Flash with a look of shock. “What! Why?” He canthink of a lot of reasons himself, this was his fault after all why did hedeserve to stick by her side. “You know the media, the minute they see Spideywith someone injured they’ll pounce hard.” He casts a glance back to MJ. “Itwas my fault though” He whispered. “Not the time. Self-deprivation can comelate, once she’s awake. Just go for now- and don’t do anything dumb” Flash pattedPeter’s shoulder. The tired hero managed to his feet, giving Flash a nod. “Promiseto text me as soon as she is awake” Flash nodded in response. “Cross my heart”He tried to ignore Ned’s panicked voice as he talked to the 911 operator,instead giving one more look at MJ, putting his mask on and swinging home.

He should have known, the moment that it was a call insteadof just a text message he should have known. Peter answer it anyway, theyodeling ringtone ending as he does. “Ned” He starts quiet and as the silencegoes on for longer it’s just more fear and panic building. “Ned- “He about totry when the other voice finally speaks up. “She’s gone” Ned sounds like he’sholding back tears as well. Peter doesn’t think, drops the phone on the bed andjust holding his head. “No- no, no, no,no, let this be a dream. Let this be the worst nightmare ever please” Thereis a long moment of silence on Peter’s end, but he can still hear Ned on thephone. “Pete? … God, Peter pleasedon’t do anything dumb. Just- Just talk to me man” “It’s my fault” He finallycroaked out. “No, it’s not. How in the world would it be your fault?” “Because-… Because if I hadn’t met her, hadn’t dragged her into all this, she neverwould have been there- Never would have got hurt” “Really? Now you’re trying tosay we shouldn’t even have met you? Come on man, none of us regret this,meeting you, being your friends…. I bet even MJ didn’t regret it. Spidey squadforever” He’s not sure how long he has been crying now but the tears keepcoming. Peter feels slightly sick at the mention of Spidey squad, why did he everlet that happen? how was he that stupid to put his friends in danger like that?He couldn’t bring back MJ, but he could end this before it was too late. Ned’sconcern continues to echo over the speaker. “Talk to me man … please Pete”Peter has brought up the group chat, swallowing hard when he sees MJ pop up. “Ned-… Do me a big favor” “Of course, anything” He swipes back to the phonecall, finger hovering over the red button. “Just- forget you met me okay?” Hecan hear the immediate protest “NO, you know I can’t please- “but it’s silencedwith one button pressed.

Peter quickly blocked Flash and Ned’s phone number evenwhile they tried to call him back. In the end he found himself with a half-composedmessage to Michelle’s phone, full of rambles and apologies. The tears havefinally run dry but that doesn’t mean everything doesn’t still hurt. He read somethingabout how writing a letter can help solve unresolved grief, he doesn’t reallybelieve it but it’s a desperation to hope she can even see the text somehow drives him to finish. “Im sorry Im so sorry mj this shouldnt happen I should be the one deadnot you. The worst thing is theyre right you are probably yelling at me forblaming myself right? Im sorry I didnt save you Im sorry Im alive and not youIm sorry Im so weak. I love you that’ll never change. I love you so much. Iwish I could say that one last time to you. You deserve so much better then whatyou got, then anything I gave you”

[jivingcryingboy]

FEAR

I was sitting at a cafe with my family once, I must have been about 3 or around that age and I was watching this Lucozade advert. This is one of my earliest childhood memories. In the advert there were several people who were staring daringly into the city like one of those vague perfume adverts where no one knows what the hell's going on. After a while they start drinking Lucozade and as they all take their first sip they all suddenly transform into cats and start jumping and purring all over town. It must have had an effect on me because from then on I never touched a bottle of Lucozade for an embarrassing amount of time. Probably until I was old enough to realise that drinking Lucozade doesn’t turn you into a cat.

That memory defines what fear is to me. Granted there isn’t a likely possibility that a liquid will ever turn me into a feline, but there’s been times down the years when I’ve been worrying where the actual, fretted possible outcome was just as likely to occur as me turning into a cat. I would lay there not being able to sleep, rolling around morning and night, my brain wrecked with anxious thoughts over something that was so ridiculously unlikely to happen it was laughable.

The worst thing about fear is that it hinders you from believing in yourself and that process, overused as it may be, is key to what helps you do great things. And I don’t mean being able to write Thriller, I’m talking about just being yourself. Walking into a room, looking in the mirror and just being yourself.

I've busked a lot in London and if you have ever busked or performed yourself I'm sure you too have heard, “You can’t busk here / wow that’s a terrible cover / this is your living?? / there’s a no-policy-busk-thing here ever”, whatever bullshit thing that comes about. After a while, once I realised remaining silent wasn't a helpful skill in order to earn money or gain an audience in the busking game, you begin to gauge the value of the consequences people warn you about; It’s zilch. Nada. My situation forced me out of my comfort zone. Me playing there, here or somewhere I’m not supposed or playing a song while someone walks past with their hands over their ears might be embarrassing to do so, but all of these scenarios are very likely to have no lingering, negative consequences. I might have that moment of pure embarrassment, guilt or shame but those feelings are so inconsequential to you it’s unbelievable. They're also feelings that don’t last a long time. It is through these experiences of being on a stage and pursuing a career which is deemed ‘un-persuable’ by some that has made me see my own fears for what they are.

Budding artists worry all the time, I’m sure of it. I did and still do sometimes. Trying to make a career out of music is bit like wearing a superhero outfit: when you’re 3 years old, everyone at the party thinks that a Spiderman outfit is the cutest thing in the world. But when you’re in your 20s, 30s and 40s and you’re still wearing that Spidey number??? It ain’t so cute anymore. You hear them say it: “Why’s that weird old dude in a Spiderman outfit?” And people, even close to you, start to question, "What is he/she/it doing with their lives?" And I’d be lying if I ever told you that I’ve never had these thoughts. A massive liar. Sometimes I’d be in the studio and if a song was sounding terrible at the time, maybe I woke up on the wrong side of the bed too, my thoughts would descend into absolute chaos. "What am I doing?! I’m writing shit songs in my fucking bedroom whilst my mates are decorating bedrooms for their new fucking kids!" One time I had a nightmare where my mate’s child who was a few months old heckled me off the stage.

What is the value of your fear? Why do you say no to yourself? Other people? Fear of failing?

Were you ever about to do something when a little voice inside your gut says, "nah, you shouldn’t/couldn’t do that." Whether it’s leaving your job to find a more deserving workplace for you or even if it’s asking a girl you like out for a drink. “You can’t do it. It'll be embarrassing. You’ll regret it”. How often do you hear that? Ask yourself again, what is the value of your fears? What are you protecting yourself from? What are you gaining from them? Will you be satisfied by not gambling on something that can potentially deeply satisfy you for the sake of one minute of shame? A millimetre of guilt in the big measuring stick of life? It's amazing how just a thought so small can appear so daunting as to paralyse you from doing so much. All of your reactions to these moments through the years will have affect where you end up.

We spend a crazy amount of time respecting our hollow, implausible fears. When you are a child this happens all the time. But as a child, all of our fears, in the scheme of things, are in the form of short term, arbitrary, harmless situations. Lumpy food for example. I was told when I was a baby, I cried when this particular spoon changed colour whilst I was dipping it into a yoghurt. I cried for ages. As a baby, my brain was horrified by this. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realised the stupidity of my fear of the chameleon-esque spoon and I know now that if I ever ate from that spoon again (for some strange reason) it probably wouldn't have any long lasting negative effects on me. When we are children, for the most part, life forces us to overcome our fears, most of them material or physical: watching fireworks, talking to new people, riding a bike, going on a rollercoaster, whatever it is. You begin realise the emptiness of these fears and what little it does to hinder you even if they come to fruition.

When we are adults it changes slightly. We no longer become overly concerned with the physical. We become concerned about the future, the hypothetical; the unknown. The stuff we have no control over: Death, health (to an extent), relationships. And you can either let the unknown be the ambitious canvas for whatever path you paint or you can let it place you into some weird kind of purgatory of no consequence where the only thing that happens is you getting older. Some fears have no conclusions. Tom Petty once sang, ‘Most things I worry about never happen anyway’. How often have you looked at the same thing and felt so differently about it? Felt so positive and then so down. About the same thing. Even when not a lot has changed. You, your friends, your partner, your prospects? It doesn't even matter how academic or intelligent you are too. I think sometimes even the brightest person can think too much and will fabricate intricate, complex excuses to hide why they can’t face their fears when infact the real answers and solutions are quite simple.

That ‘thinggg’ in your gut (everyone has that ‘thing’ in their gut), that seemingly undeniable feeling deep down that tells you ‘nooooo’ for some sad reason has mistakenly become the centre-point for all of your morals, your decisions, your crystal ball, the righteousness of the path you take, loads of stuff. Whenever you hear a well informed, constructive opinion that defies your argument this voice comes out. Nooooooo. Whenever you hear a piece of music that is initially foreign to your ears, that voice rings out. Nooooo. Whenever, you make a joke and no one laughs, it’s there. Even when I've been writing this I've thought, “Am I really gonna post this crap up?" It might still be crap but that's not even the point. These situations are different to what you are comfortable with but there's nothing productive about what this feeling can do for you if you adhere to it constantly because you won't learn or adapt. We all approach opinions and experiences in our lives which challenge our staunch preconceived notions. When you are defied, are you humbled and enlightened or are you stubborn? Actually analyse why you are rejecting what you are encountering. That ‘thingggg' is some kind of emo-safety net and will only lead you to where you are now. The question is… are you happy with where you are now? If you are, then great. If you’re not, change it. And the stuff you can't change? The weird mole on your face? Your weird shaped head? Luckily, appearance is a bit like fashion and if you strut down the catwalk confidently parading that head of yours then people will be wishing they had your weird shaped head. Your age? “I’m old”. How many times have you said that or heard that. I’m 18, I’m old. I’m 28, I’m old, I’m 35, I feel old. I’m 67, I’m old. You must have been born old. That’s just fear. Feeling old is just being fearful of running out of time to find out and do the things you want to do. The freedom of youth. You are old when you are dead.

I don’t want to get away from the fact that sometimes our worst fears do become realities. I’ve been talking more about the fear of hypothetical situations but obviously past crises can affect your outlook on those imaginings drastically. Sometimes you can be in the small percentage, the minority that suffers from that rare thing you previously thought only people in the news get. A Doctor told me once she was treating this patient who had just finished his treatment and was then declared all clear from cancer. For the months that followed, this guy was constantly worrying about his illness coming back and although this was a possibility, it was an unlikely one. The Doctor told him to enjoy his life and be himself again. He didn’t enjoy himself and was on edge pretty much all the time. Well a year later, his illness did in fact come back. What the Doctor was telling me was you have to enjoy whatever you are doing right now because you have no idea what will happen to you, good or bad. Down the line, you will never get that time back. How many times do you scoff at that line? It is hard to disagree with though.

Fear can be good for you but only in the right circumstances. It keeps you alive for one. It makes you jump out of the way if a car is about to knock you down, it tells you that you should stay away from that tiger lingering in the grasses over there. Shame and guilt stops you from doing stupid stuff again. You have to experience those feelings. If you tease someone and they cry it might not be nice to feel a sense of shame but in that moment you've learnt to not do it again. But to obey that voice when your dreams are waiting for you when the only real obstacle is you? To deny yourself of something that could be so good? You can get lost in that. And when we do get lost in that, we procrastinate and distract our minds on YouTube, we make excuses regarding weather as to why we can't get fit, we declare ourselves not technologically adept enough to make make an app, anything to stop us escaping our safe spot and to stop us facing what we need to do in order to be fully satisfied. It’s all distraction. This goes for everyone. The scary thing, one of the scariest things is that no one will ever stop you from lying to yourself. If I’ve learned anything from people who are older than me, people who have lived, they paraphrase the same thing: never regret the things you never did. Never say, "I wish I did that”, when you were in a position to do so.

I also, also, don’t want to present fear as something that is easily ridden or completely laughable. Leaving a job, a relationship, taking less money to do what you want to do etc. They are risks. Or better put, they are paths that might not end in the place you want them to end up. You have to ask yourself the questions. Can you face risking it with no reward? Will you be content with not having gambled in attempting to do something that you love doing? What are you willing to sacrifice? I've accepted if I end up not doing what I love doing. I will be content with that but only, only, only if I've left it all out on the floor and squeezed all the juice out the metaphorical musical lemon.

Unfortunately, social media has made us become so aware of other people’s highlights that we begin to question our own actions and freeze in our pursuits of whatever we want to do. In our heads, our journeys become slow, or pointless, or simple, or doomed, or boring. We are constantly telling ourselves we are failing or lagging way behind. And when we do this we stop and do nothing at all, which is the worst thing to do. I don’t want this to be another attack-piece on social media because social media does some great things. Where it fails, or where I think we fail is how we introduce it to young people who were born into the social media generation. They are scared of being alone. I don’t just mean not having a relationship either, I mean in their own heads. They confront their fears, boredom and perceived failings through focusing on the lives of others. They learn about interaction through invisible ones, not even physical ones; ones where you can actually touch, talk to, feel, see and smell someone. I think this makes it harder to work out how your mind works, how you feel about something, how you solve your problems. And when these people finally do make a connection with someone real, that someone becomes the vessel for all of their problems when really they should be learning how to make themselves happy in their own company without the excuse of someone or something else.

Not to say you shouldn't be having any down moments. I worry that the more I get involved with making music the more unlikely I will be able to provide for someone or a family later on. But I guess that's something I've gambled on. I would rather fail at music rather than give up music. That fear, however irrational it maybe seem to you, is present. And I'm not saying that we should aim for our fears to be vanquished either. I think it's about altering how seriously you take those worries when your mind is in a fearful state. Easy as that? I think that's the hardest thing to do, to recognise or acknowledge when you are not thinking straight or at least to be able to know whether your thinking is of rational thought or not. Surely however, it's impossible to distinguish between rational and irrational thought under the visor of intense emotions, to not believe or act on what you are feeling so strongly about in those moments. What I've personally tried to do over the last few years is be objective as possible. Like I said that's pretty much impossible. But what I try and do is look back at all the consistent, important factors in my life that I love: music, my family, friends, art, tequila (whatever it is floats your boat) and at the moment, if I ever see any of those things as hindrances or if I ever question their value to me in my messy emotional state, then I tell myself I'm not in the right state of mind to be making any kind of decisions or judgements. I can only take myself seriously when I calm down. When you are scared, it’s crazy how a single thought can spread and affect the most positive of relationships in your head. This sounds like some psuedo-help-psychology bullshit and it might just be that, but it's starting to work for me only if it’s personally. Ultimately, it’s very hard to think rationally when your head is in a mess but just by recognising those anxious patterns, just by knowing you are stressed, that can help. Again, I don't think it's about getting rid of your fears, I think it's about acknowledging that they are there and I think it’s about questioning the validity of why they are there in the first place. More often than not, that feeling of fear can't always be fully justified by obeying it.

One of best things I have learnt and developed in my life over the years is that if I get up on stage, introduce myself as someone who wants to have a music career, if I tell a joke and no one laughs, if people don’t like me personally and put me down, even if! Even if you are reading this and saying “what a pretentious prick this artist thinking he knows anything about anything” etc. … I can still smile and be content and confident in myself to be alright with that. You see how “unscary” failure actually is. I have died on stage. I have embarrassed myself in front of people. I have been petrified of life. You name it. But I'm still here. And if I muck up, say anything out of line, I’ll learn and I'll move on. It’s a process, but I’m think I’m getting there. Fuck your fear, your self degrading thoughts, they benefit no one. If anything, they only make the destination sweeter.

I’m talking to the people who are in the fortunate position of being able to choose what they want to be and the same people who are not doing so because they are held back solely by their own fear. The unknown. I want to get this straight too. I am a twenty something, healthy, white dude who is (very) lucky to eat cooked meals, sleep under a roof every night and moan about the weather. In essence, I have nothing to be fearful of. I have no family of my own to provide for, no relationship to provide for, no direct responsibilities. I am not fleeing a war-torn country, I am not starving. My musical endeavours work because of how lucky I am to be born in a part of the world where I am not out there running for my life. How lucky am I? And if this is you too, how lucky are you? Really, I mean that. A massive percentage of people out there, probably too scary to say, can’t decide what they want to do in life because they have to focus everything they have on surviving until the next day. I think when you are comfortable, you are in danger of standing still. It's easy to freeze when you have a warm bed and a nice house. But when you don't have these things, people have no choice but to be dynamic, they have no choice but to face their fears, they have no time to think too much. When they’ve overcome their obstacles, they probably can face anything that life throws at them. If you’ve ever met these people who have gone through tragedy, who are now starting families, working towards their dreams, doing all of this through all the shit they’ve been though, it’s the greatest, most humbling lesson you can have.

Maybe what I've written comes across as really off the mark; fear just simply worked out by some poorly worded piece by some pretentious musician, but I really didn't mean it for it to be that way. Be under no false pretences, I'm only writing about what I've understood and seen over my lifetime and I guess it's a bit like writing a song. You write for your own personal reasons but you're also seeing who connects with you because if that does happen, it's a wonderful thing. To share something. And if this does manage to stir you in any way, even if it's just one person, well it can’t be that bad at all then.

So, if you are reading this and you're contemplating taking a risk, taking that leap of faith, throwing the die, all the clichés you can think of, no matter how small or big the task is, whether it’s just walking confidently into a room of people or setting out to be a rock star, I hope you do take a chance on yourself and go find out how un-earthshattering and valuable failure actually is