corfucitycars

[potter-imagines]

Being Thor and Loki's Little Sister and Dating Peter Parker Would Include...

Notes: wow I haven't written a marvel one in a long time pls don't read too much into the timeline lol I know things overlap but just go with it (:

Warnings: none... I think ??

Word Count: 3.6k (sorry its a bit long for a write like this but I couldn't help myself)

You managed to do a decent job at keeping your relationship under wraps from your brothers for quite some time

Of course every other member on the team knew before the two of you even begun officially dating

Peter had spent three months ranting and raving to Tony Stark about how cute he thought you were and how much he liked you

Tony insisted time and time again he should tell you but Peter’s fear of rejection was much too large for him to find the courage for that

Unbeknownst to him,

You had spilled about your crush on Peter to Wanda and Nat almost a week after living in the compound

Being the only other girls there besides Pepper, it was easy to confide in them

Day after day you would wander to Wanda’s room and lay on her bed and gush about how handsome Peter was and how kind of a heart he had

Wanda found it adorable

And Bucky, Steve and Sam had placed the pieces together after days on end of watching Peter and yourself flirt like school kids in the gym during training

Even after being frozen for years, Steve recognized the look of smitten on Peter’s face when he talked to you

Bruce on the other hand had to sit through most of the kids talks with Tony in the lab so he figured it out fast

So when the two of you finally confessed your feelings for one another and Peter asked you out, there was only one road block holding the moment back from perfection

Your brothers

You and Peter shared the news with all the other team members expect the two, possibly most important in your case, members

You’ve been close to your brothers since you were brought into this world so it wasn’t like you didn’t want to tell them

It was more or less how overprotective they could be that made you bite your tongue

And as nervous as you are, Peter is 1,000% more worried about your brother’s finding out

Like honestly can you imagine how petrified Peter would be to tell Thor and Loki you two were dating

He’d purposely walk in the opposite direction every time he saw either of the two for the first week

Couldn’t stop fumbling with his words when he spoke to either of them

Like he was terrified

It’s sort of a cliché to have protective older brothers but older brothers who were also both Gods ????

Peter felt like a deadman walking

When the day finally came that you did tell your brothers about your relationship with Peter, it was absolutely cringe worthy

Peter had been coming home to the tower after a long day at Midtown High School when he spotted you the second he stepped foot out of the elevator

His excitement had clouded his judgement as he failed to check and see if the coast was clear

“Y/n! Hey!”

He nearly tumbled over his own feet as he rushed over to you

His face was gleaming with happiness and for a brief moment you felt a smile creep to your face until you were pulled back to reality by his hand reaching out to grasp yours

Your eyes widened in shock as you stared at Peter and before you could warn him to stop, he had planted a soft kiss on your cheek

That adorable smile was glowing from his face as he reached down for your hand only to fall once you pulled your hand away

He gave you a look of confusion, clearly surprised by your lack of response

But when an awkward cough sounded from behind him, he suddenly knew why

Peter didn’t have enough time to make any sort of a move when a husky, all too familiar voice spoke up,

“Hello, man of spiders. May I ask why you just kissed our little sister?” “Oh shit- I uh, well you see I…um...she had something on her face so I uh…”

Loki would snicker in amusement at seeing the boy squirm and prolong his torture “So you kissed her?” “Yeah…” “Hm, there something you’d like to share, little one?”

It wasn’t exactly the way you were hoping to break the news to your brothers

But it was certainly one way of doing it

The rest of the night was filled with awkward tension as you and Peter had to confess the truth to your brothers, who then made you share the news with the rest of the team

Thankfully, the rest of the team pretended they were just hearing about your new relationship for the first time, seeing as no one wanted to deal with an angry Thor

Now let’s get into your relationship with Peter

Peter Parker is the most caring person in the universe

Honestly

And dating him certainly came with it’s perks

You can expect to wake up every morning with a fresh coffee and a pastry on your nightstand, courtesy of Peter

He’ll also write you a sweet little ‘good morning’ note with a sketch of spider-man hanging from a web

(( he’s actually pretty talented in the doodling department ))

Makes cute sketches of him as spiderman and you as a princess ( vv fitting)

But also draws you as a total badass saving the galaxy bc… well you are

Count on him to be the first person to greet you when the sunrises and the last person to wish you a goodnight when it falls

Gets Mr. Stark to buy you an iphone so he can teach you how to use it

Has your name as “goddess” in his phone

The first thing he does is teach you about texting so he can pay you in imessage games

Refuses to play you in battleship since you somehow have crushed him every single time

Gets slightly annoyed with the overwhelming amount of random photos you snap of him

But he knows its all new to you and finds it irritatingly adorable

Loves it when you walk home with him from school

Will also keep reminding you that you shouldn’t have walked alone all the way to Midtown High School alone

Peter often forgets that you’re Asgardian and can protect yourself just fine

But it’s so cute how protective he is

He’s very observant and notices nearly everything

Like when you’re feeling a bit homesick

He picks up on it right away and will ask Thor and/or Loki for advice

Or when you start to become bored and tired at one of Star’s parties

Peter made his way over you before you even had the chance to turn and search for him

He’d escort you back to your room and lay with you until he was positive you had fallen asleep

Kisses to the top of your head

Is the boyfriend that will take your makeup off for you if you wear any

(( and sets yours lashes on the nightstand so neatly and labels which eye they were on cause the poor boy doesn’t understand ))

Spends weeks learning how to master the intricate braids that adorn your head

It’s so cute cause he’ll sit and look up Youtube videos and try to learn how to make the different braids and is just so confused but so determined

Taking Peter to visit Asgard

“Woah- this place looks like something from Lord of the Rings! It’s awesome!” “Lord of the Rings? I’ve never met that God.” “Uh, no, it’s a movie from Earth. We can watch it when we go back.” “To Midgard?” “Midgard? No, to New York.”

Loves it when your people refer to you as “Princess Y/n”

For some reason it makes him blush

Will tell everyone back on Earth that he’s dating a princess

I could def see Peter getting annoyed and frustrated with the Asgardian men trying to flirt and win your heart

Although that’s something that already belong to Peter

And even though Peter trusts you entirely

He’s still insecure from time to time

Especially when he sees how much taller and stronger Asgardian men look in comparison to him

But he finds reassurance in the feeling of your hand in his and the gleeful smile adorning your face as you show him around your homeland

Attempting to help Peter study

Although you’re not much help to Midgardian school work “Peter, darling, I don’t have a clue what a watergate is and I haven’t an idea how that could be scandalous.”

Maths however you excelled in

And Peter was thoroughly surprised to find you had the sequence of PI memorized to the one hundredth number- and in song form

Holding your hand 24/7

Endless cuddles on the couch

And when you’re walking around together, he does that thing where he swings your hands and back forth

Movie theater dates… at the tower b/c your brothers feel the need to be in close proximity the you guys at all times

Trying ice cream for the first time with Peter at two in the morning

One of Peter’s favorite things to do with you is take you through a walk in his world

At least three times a week Peter and you will walk around the city and find new things your Asgardian self has yet to experience

Like pizza

New York pizza to be exact

And hot chocolate

Ice skating at Rockefeller Center once the weather got cold

Loves to take you for drives in the more woodsy land of New York once fall set in and the leaves began to change

But by far his favorite thing is showing you Midgardian films and movies of all sorts

He loves that you don’t judge him for nerding out over his love for films

Not to mention you actually sit and watch Star Wars with him

(( maybe it was the whole space element but Peter was just thrilled you liked it ))

But then he shows you ‘Alien’

And it was an instant regret

It took him the rest of the night to convince you that the movie was fake

You made him sleep in your room just for reassurance

Your favorite out of the films Peter played was called ‘Toy Story’

Buzz Lightyear reminded you of Thor

In terms of TV shows

F.R.I.E.N.D.S. which quickly became your guys comfort show

Parks & Rec too “That Andy fellow looks an awful lot like Starlord, don’t you think?”

Peter refuses to let you watch Black Mirror

After the whole incident with Alien

Black Mirror didn’t seem like a good idea

Constantly teasing from the rest of the Avengers

Tony just can’t help it

He loves tormenting the two of you

Especially when Thor and/or Loki are around

“Hey Peter, I thought I saw you go into Y/n’s room last night but I didn’t see you leave until the morning. Heard a lot of noise too- thought Y/n was getting attacked. What was that about?”

Or

“Kid, I got you those condoms you asked for. How’d you manage to run out of that last box so quick? I just bought it for you a week ago!” “Messing with you, they’re just sugar packets- Thor put Peter down right now!”

Aunt May absolutely adores you

Always tells Peter how sweet you are and is constantly inviting you over for dinner

Lets you two have sleepovers in his room at her place

As long as the door stays open

Peter can’t stop laughing when you compliment May on her ability to make an amazing bowl of cereal

She thought it was a joke seeing as she burned dinner the night before to a crisp and laughs until she’s in tears

And you’re literally sitting there so confused, clearly not understanding the joke

Peter then takes you on a trip to a grocery store for the first time to show you a whole aisle full of cereal

It is then that you realize Aunt May didn’t hand make the fruity pebbles

She still laughs about it to this day

Befriending Ned and listening enthusiastically while he gives you a full speech on the franchise Star Wars

And his rant on how terrible Star Trek is in comparison

Is shocked when you ask questions out of genuine interest

Ned immediately takes a liking to you after that and asks Peter daily to invite you to hangout

Whenever Stark adds an upgrade to his suit, you’re the first person Peter shows it to

He shares quite literally everything with you

As do you to him

The rest of the Avengers love gossiping about you guys

Nat and Wanda have already started planning the wedding and Pepper has the perfect venue in mind, much to your brothers dismay

For some reason

Thor and Loki are always within reasonable distance, enough so they can keep an eye on you but also give some sense of privancy

Thor is def always the first one to step in

“Peter, please remove your hand from my sister’s behind.” “Oh uh, ye-yeah… sorry, Mr.Thor.”

Loki would find Peter amusing

He loves to mess with him whenever given the chance

“Ah, Peter. Good to see you. I’m sure Y/n informed you of our task today. Very impressed that you offered yourself as the sacrifice to the aliens-” “Wait, what? Y/n?!” “He’s kidding, Peter.”

Everyone in the Avenger’s tower knew Peter was lactose intolerant and knew the repercussions of the boy consuming any sort of dairy

(( he physically cannot leave the bathroom for a full day ))

Yet Loki regularly will swap Peter’s specially labeled almond milk with a jug of skim milk just for the hell of it

There’s something so hilarious to him about the look of panic and alarm that smacks abruptly across Peter’s face as he quickly stumbles out of the kitchen to his room

It keeps him laughing for days

You’ll just shoot your brother a look of disapproval, clearly certain it was his doing

“Loki, why did Peter run off?” “Not sure, darling sister, maybe he’s got one of those stomach bugs. I’ve heard Midgardians are prone to them…weak bodies and such.” "You switched out his milk again didn’t you.” “I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re accusing me of, little one.”

Thor is a bit more hesitant on accepting your relationship with his fellow Avenger

He trusts that Peter would never harm you

Although he did not trust that you would never be harmed because of Peter

It was risky enough that both your brothers were big names in space, as well on Earth, however

Thor knew Loki and himself were capable of protecting you but Peter?

He was just a kid, in Thor’s eyes

However the one thing that kept him from telling you this was seeing how happy Peter made you

As your older brother, Thor trusted your judgement and tried his best to be accepting of his little sister dating

And as much as he wanted to deny it, he saw crystal clear the care and love Peter gave to you and he wasn’t willing to break that for you

Still

Thor is the type of brother to barge into a room and shove himself between Peter and yourself without warning

This man does not care at all

At least Loki has the decency to give you two space as a couple

Thor does not

He is constantly third wheeling on your dates and will ‘accidentally’ walk into rooms he knows you two are in claiming he forgot something

Not that he ever grabs anything,

He’ll usually just stand and stare at the two of you until you either leave the room or ask him to leave

To which he always answers,

“No.”

But with a smile

A smug smile

PDA is something he will never be okay with

Thor will yank Peter back by the collar every time he sees his lips on yours and glare at him, “Man of spiders, I know you’re in love with my little sister but kissing her infront of me is too far.”

And Loki will physically gag just to piss you off

For the most part, your relationship with Peter is nearly perfect

It would be entirely perfect if you weren’t constantly worrying about him dying on a mission or getting hurt

But still, just like any couple, you had your moments

And when you did fight, it was typically over Peter’s safety or him not wanting you to tag along for a mission

Your common way of dealing with conflict was the silent treatment

Which is pure torture for Peter

Not only does he miss the sound of your voice

He misses having you around

Seeing your smile

Hearing you laugh from something he said

He felt terrible everytime

He’d go to Tony for advice and spend hours rambling on to him about how sorry he was for yelling at you and for adding to the fight

Tony would half listen while he worked away on a new system and suit, offering a ‘yeah’ and ‘hmm’ every few seconds which pleased Peter who thought his mentor was fully listening

And after almost two hours of his non-stop talking, Tony Stark had reached his limit

Setting his wrench down on the metal table with a thud he turned around to face the young boy

“Kid, why’re you saying all this to me and not her? I mean, I’m all ears but I’m also not Y/n. I know we’re both good looking so I can see why you mixed us up, but you should be talking to her right now.”

Similar to Peter you also had someone to confide in when the road got rocky

Loki had always been the one you shared all your secrets with

As children you were attached at the hip to both your brothers but Loki a smidgen more than Thor

Your father, Odin, had Thor at his side 24/7 growing up

While he was busy learning the ropes to ruling Asgard, Loki and yourself run amuck causing trouble left and right through the royal palace

Through the years of bonding Loki become your best friend, and you his

So when trouble struck in paradise, your older brother was the one you ran to

He’d welcome you with open arms and a questioning gaze

Loki is by far the best listener in your family

Instead of telling you what to do, he asks what you want, which is a refreshing change

After a long talk with Loki you’d search the tower high and low for Peter while ironically Peter was doing the same thing

When you did finally make-up, it felt like coming home

The apologies were so sincere and genuine

You’d end up having a sleepover in your room watching 80’s films that Peter claimed were ‘iconic’ and laying in his arms

And that’s where you felt complete

Fights never occurred often but bickering ???

DAILY

You two bickered playfully over everything under the sun

Like who’s the better superhero; Ironman or Captain American

Or

Debates between living in New York and living in Asgard

Loves to pull up Midgardian inventions and ask you to guess what it is “Princess, what do you think this is?” “Oh! Oh! I’ve seen this one! Tony has one in his kitchen!” “Okay, so what is it?” “Yes, it’s a chicken nugget maker!” “It’s actually an air fryer but we only ever make chicken nuggets in them so I’ll give you a half point.”

Peter sneaking out of your room at the crack of dawn and sprinting to his

As much as Thor and Loki liked him and supported the relationship

He was sure they’d both team up to murder him if they caught him sleeping in your bed

Steve and Tony, who seem to be incapable of sleep, have watched him tiptoe out of your room numerous times but they only share a look of amusement then go back to their previous discussion

Playing hide-n-go-seek and tag on rainy days at the tower

Cuddling in Peter’s bed while he asks you to tell him stories about Asgard

Loves hearing about your childhood and what it’s like to grow up with siblings

Is fascinated when you tell him about Heimdall

Stealing Peter’s hoodies

Especially his Midtown High School ones

They’re insanely soft

Sweet little kisses throughout the day

He's just so sweet and gentle

Loves getting to hold you and snuggle in his bed

Most weekends you spend lounging on the couch with Peter’s head in your lap while you play with his hair

Other times you’re sitting next to Peter on his bed watching him play some video game and asking a million questions “Who is that man, Peter?” “That’s me, he’s the main character of the game. That’s Mario, babe.” “You’re not Mario- you’re Peter.” “No, the main character of this game is Mario, I’m just playing him.” “Oh… and what is that green dinosaur creature?” “That’s Yoshi!” “Adorable.”

Making out between games

In terms of... y'know... sex

Neither of you were keen on rushing the process

You had tip toed on the line multiple times yet never fully crossed it

Until you had decided to make the first real move after being together for about five months

You trusted him with all your heart so it wasn't exactly scary, but rather exciting

He had a way of making you feel safe, comfortable, and loved all at once

Lets be honest, Peter nearly fainted the first time he saw you naked

And still, no matter how many times the two of you have sex,

He worships every inch of you like it was your first time all over again

You couldn't have asked for a better lover

Dating Peter means a new adventure everyday

You’re constantly learning new things about each other and from each other

Despite coming from two very different worlds

You’ve never felt more connected to a soul until Peter came along

[persephoneyss]

The Monster.

Pairing: park jimin x f!reader.

Genre: Yandere, dark themes, anguish.

Summary: ❝You can be reborn like spring, but your nightmares will follow your footsteps at night.❞

Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsession, voyeurism, Jimin is a little delusional, implicit murder, death threats, a little violence, stalking, death of secondary characters, reader idolizes his mother, humiliation.

Number of words: 6000+

︙ Author's note: this is my first fic here, sorry if there are errors. My first language is not English and I don't speak it fluently either, so I used the translator. Sorry about that. I hope you enjoy it, I am open to criticism. Thanks!

(Puedes leer este y más fics aquí en español.)

To block.

Your mind felt strangely familiar, like it was processing the same situation all over again. And then the same thing happened again.

Blocking.

You never noticed those little details, invisible to the eyes of others. Or maybe you took too seriously the message and advice that your mother always told you when you were afraid of being left alone in your room because of the obvious and silly repetitive story of the monster under the bed, you were crying looking for your mother's room in the middle of the night. You were looking for refuge in her arms. However, the only loving words she had for you were: "Ignore him and he will go away, darling."

It seemed very clever to you, you began to close your eyes ignoring your worst fears and in a short time you could do what most children could not at your age, sleep alone in the dark.

Your mother was wise, maybe that's why you never understood why your father left her overnight. She never commented on the subject and little by little it was forgotten in her daily lives. Your father never existed, you never saw him again.

In his small town no one was exceptionally well known, unless he had done something good or bad enough to be called a hero or, in the same way, a villain. You were barely seven years old when it happened, a family with a lot of money had chosen your town as a decent land, enough to build their luxurious house where their children who came from golden cradles would grow up. According to the gossip, they were foreigners coming to invade their town and rule it, when in reality the Parks never got more involved in politics than necessary.

They were just rich, spending money.

Young women from all over the world and even from other distant towns came every day to try to conquer the privileged children of the great mansion built finely and strategically in the middle of the main square. The young women were beautiful, many times you stood at the door of your house admiring their distinguished perfect faces and you wondered if the children of the Park family were really worth it so that young and beautiful women who had previously been rejected would come back again. in search of new opportunities.

Your mother sometimes stood next to you with a smile and released another phrase that ended up marking your style of thinking, her voice sounded so ethereal: "Money compensates for external beauty, plus the dignity that you lose to those who possess it, it will never have a price."

Your lost look made her smile beautifully badly, then that same sweet voice that taught you things that other women would see as irrelevant, she too moments later she orders you to come home to eat. You thought about it so much, your mother was beautiful, she could remarry if she wanted to. However, she never did, or at least until that day.

You were poor, you were never afraid to accept it. You noticed it almost immediately, when you saw other children playing with toys that seemed impossible that you will ever possess, your mother was friends with the one who was best friends with your father, a carpenter who seemed to be very kind. He always gave you toys that came out with small defects and he couldn't sell, he was a good man until he seemed to misinterpret the situations and her relationship with your mother, unexpectedly asking her to marry him. Obviously you had to stop seeing him after the rejection. However, you were stubborn like the woman who gave you life, almost every day after finishing school you walk two streets to her local.

"How is your mother? Any suitors who weren't rejected the first time?" You laughed, helping him finish his last job. You shook your head, Peter was always very nice and honestly funny, you still didn't understand how your mother could reject them, but you never got into adult affairs. You were just an eight-year-old girl.

"She still misses dad." You whisper trying to drive a nail into loose wood, before being interrupted by Peter.

You look curiously at his downcast face of hers, as if she was keeping something deep within himself. But he quickly changes his expression as well as the subject. "Very good girl, no more help for today" he says, removing the dangerous tools out of your reach, you let out a exhausted sigh wanting to help him. Deep down you felt guilty. "How are you doing in school? I heard that the Parks will start a new campaign to help more in the education of the children, maybe you can see someone from the family up close."

You move your head in distracting affirmation playing with a piece of wood, Peter watches you for a moment and then sighs. You really were special, and if I could tell what happened to your father, you would let go of that glow for sure.

The following days passed in the same way, there was only a radical change in your routine. Now they forced you to stay longer in school so that you could take art classes with the children of the Park family. You had heard many mothers talking to yours about how handsome they were, and since their daughters would undoubtedly have a chance with Jimin, who was the eldest son and of course the first-born heir, you thought for a long time about a tall man with more years than all those young women who hallucinated with the perfect millionaire husband. However, it was all an illusion. Jimin was not a man, he was a seventeen year old teenager.

Perhaps the young woman who did win him over would be very lucky to marry someone her own age and not a bitter old man who only had money. Jimin was everything, young, handsome and a millionaire, the best bet of any woman.

His first class was alongside his current teacher, introducing each child in the Park family. They were all very handsome, but Jimin seemed to shine brighter than the stars in the dark night. You wondered if his younger siblings would become jealous of him, it would be an interesting concept considering you had no siblings.

Your hands moved the clay very patiently, your classmates seemed to enjoy these classes and they were undoubtedly fun.

"What a beautiful flower ..." You smiled nodding, no one would ever think that someone like Jimin would be delighted with the common drawing of any girl. Her gaze traveled around your pure and innocent face, as if she couldn't get enough of you. She sat next to you, admiring how your hands continued to play with the dough creating new shapes and I certainly enjoyed every second.

She had never met someone who would attract so much attention from her, you were ethereal. Jimin was immediately drawn to you, your gaze clear as daylight and your soft features, maybe you were just a girl but you seemed to tempt his attention incredibly badly from him. He felt the strange sensation of making sure you were okay, safe, probably in his arms.

He followed you closely, always arriving at the same time. Her mother used to say that Jimin was very irresponsible, she never complied with the basic principles of being a Park: Discipline, order and punctuality. Jimin was different, his siblings may have fulfilled those three bases just to give what they wanted to their parents and receive more affection from him, but not him.

Jimin was obsessive. Impulsive, and he had self-control issues.

The biggest dangerous trait that his parents noticed since he was little, is that he suffered attacks of anger against anyone without caring about the consequences of this. More than three of his babysitters claimed that little Jimin had hit them, slapping and shoving them. But all of this was radically ignored by the Parks, who turned a deaf ear claiming that their son was simply too controlling, and in a way, he was. Jimin liked to have everything under control, at his disposal.

Jimin found himself fascinated with your little eyes looking at him without fear and, even though it was painful for him, without love. For you, he was nothing more than a stranger. He tried to change that, sitting next to you every day and talking to you a few times when he could get more than two sentences out of you. He liked art, I could tell by the way you focus too much on a small painting of an insignificant tree.

If you liked trees, Jimin could buy a forest for yourself.

You loved roses, he could plant thousands in every corner of town.

Or maybe, your obsession with the smell of vanilla. Jimin went wildly for the most expensive vanilla scented lotion, hoping for some praise from you and he really didn't fail.

No, when the next day he sat next to you and your gaze turned to him with a kind smile. "It smells great, Mr. Jimin." Your soft tone and your minimal compliment was enough to make his entire body shake, his hands began to sweat and his voice seemed to falter. It was amazing how you managed to make him so nervous, while he was still a child.

"Y-do you like it?" She asked even knowing the answer, your head bobbing in a quick nod and an even bigger smile adorns your features.

You put your painting aside for a moment to continue responding, Jimin feels elated to see that his plan worked. Now you're just looking at him, as it always should be. "It smells like vanilla, I like vanilla." You say honestly.

"I see, I also like vanilla." You seem shocked, Jimin increases the tension of him fearing that he said something wrong. He really wasn't lying, maybe vanilla wasn't something he used constantly but he didn't dislike it either, he was just disguising and embellishing a crude truth.

And before long, Jimin feels his life take an unexpected turn, people had started to notice his closeness to you. They called him an angel when in reality he was a devil, rumors and silly praise that he would be a good father were not lacking and the young women who came to his door every day to look for a date with him increased in an exorbitant way. You were oblivious to all that, clearly. However, you could not ignore all the looks that fell on you when you accompanied your mother to the market, as from one day to the next you became someone important just because you were the focus of attention of him Mr. Jimin, as you used to call him with respect. Peter also suffered the consequences of this, you had not stopped going to his store and the young women looking to conquer Jimin or at least get his attention began to follow you wanting to win your affection so that you will speak well of them with their desired man, no you were interested in what they could offer you but the biggest problem was that they did not like to receive a clear 'No.' as a reply.

They were insistent and often annoying. They followed you closely, even when you went to school or to visit Peter who now only went twice a week, you did not want to go out and have to face the pity that it gave you to see many beautiful young women begging for a vague love and that I was looking for more money arrangements than anything else. Also, not all of them had good intentions with you. Your mother made sure of your safety in the face of any incident, and with that came her last word, her strict order not to approach Park Jimin again until he found a wife.

The rest would be history.

He would surely forget you and start forming his own family, having his own children and likewise, looking for his own problems. Instead, that never happened. Jimin had discovered your plan, he was angry, he couldn't believe that you were ignoring his attempts to approach you in such a way. Your attitude was so pure but you were hurting her so much.

He was delusional, she knew he was. But he didn't want to stop. So, he did the only thing that would make you stay by his side.

You felt strangely calm, you had been to and from school with no one following closely in your footsteps. Until you noticed that the whole town seemed to look at you with superiority, with caution. Peter never stopped taking care of his store, however, that day it was closed. You gave little thought to that coincidence, walking home with slow steps. Deep down you were scared.

Maybe you thought you could feel it, in front of your house a crowd of people lay watching the most unexpected marriage request. Your mother was uncomfortable, you could tell by how her face was distorted, and how her hands seemed to shake for reasons not yet known to you. You watched in horror as Jimin knelt before her with a smile pulling a ring out of a small red box.

For a moment, you thought about your father. You felt strange, you always wanted to have a warm fatherly hug but it made you uncomfortable to imagine Jimin occupying that place, you did not want him, you did not love him as a daughter to his firstborn or as another similar relationship. He was a stranger.

Your body fell into the seat reserved especially for you, your eyes observed any place in the church trying to disperse your mind. Your little shoes brushed against each other, your hands rested on the wooden seat waiting for the wedding to end as soon as possible. You never wanted to oppose your thoughts to the idea of ​​your mother falling in love or getting married again, you really didn't care much as long as that person was good for her.

However, he was Park Jimin. You felt disgusted when her mother looked at you from afar with despicable eyes, just as anger consumed you when Mrs. Park tried to embarrass your mother in front of everyone. You didn't ask for this, nobody asked for it.

Maybe you spent too much time thinking around you to notice that Jimin was unhappy. A little upset. He had done what he had to do, chained you to him in some twisted way, marrying your mother and he felt happy, at first. I could see you walking through the church, you were wearing a little white dress to match your mother's and for a sinister moment I imagine that you were the one walking towards him to be named his wife. But he quickly came back to reality, you weren't his fiancée. You wouldn't be his wife.

Deep inside him, he knew how gross it was to feel like this.

Your mother's eyes reflected how unhappy she was, her gaze was uncertain. Jimin smiled seeing how you kicked the decorations that fell to the ground, you were completely oblivious to everything and more to the look of her that she followed you closely. Many called him a good father. Seeing nothing but his protective attitudes, but under the circumstances there were only hints of what might come next. You weren't allowed to leave Jimin's house, his father had left the mansion where his whole family used to live.

Mrs. Park could find no better excuse to leave than the sudden tantrum of her first-born son for marrying an older woman, a widow, and a daughter. This is a mockery and disgrace to her family's last name. Jimin just let her go, he wasn't even there the day her mother boarded the first train to her grandmother's house.

Your mother flatly refused to leave her house at first, she did not want to leave the little cabin that your father had built with his own effort so that both of them would live there and in the future raise their children, you always lived there and you did not want to leave either. But you never had a solid vote, your mother ended up agreeing from one day to the next, you did not know how Jimin managed to change his word so suddenly. Maybe there was never one reason, but you became all of them.

You were painfully present at all times. You observed how little by little, the wispy and wise glow that your mother possessed was getting lost between her empty eyes and her bent body, her head was never raised as she taught you it should be. She was a stranger, you felt scared in her presence. You remembered very well how her face seemed to light up when she saw you coming home from school and how she taught you something new every day.

"Mommy..." You spoke, your hands were still busy with the picture that you hadn't finished painting. But curiosity began to attack your mind.

Your mother came out of the kitchen with a little gray apron, she smiled when she saw you sitting on the floor. "Yes, honey?"

"Why do people get married?" Your gaze lifted from the sheet of paper, wincing at her glowing eyes.

"It depends, it's not necessarily for love. Maybe for money, comfort or ..." her voice trailed off, she still staring at you she leaned down to take your face in her hands. "Because they found someone, as cute as you!"

"Mommy ... I want to marry you!" Your mother began to laugh, your gaze traveled all over her face, joyful of hers and for a moment, you swore that you would hate anyone who dared to take away the great happiness of a genuine smile.

You finished your drawing, just in time because the front door echoed through the entire cabin. Your father appeared with a small drawer in his hands, your mother seemed to be illuminated with an angel when she saw him enter with a kind smile. Both were such for which. They were, more than lovers and husbands, lifelong best friends. Your life seemed to have something that many do not get even after death.

An outer and inner peace. It was perfect.

Almost so perfect, it wasn't true. White roses were always your favorites. However, you began to detest its soft light petals when it seemed that all the townspeople bought the same bouquet of white roses for the funeral of your, now, deceased mother. You took a seat next to her grave, ignoring everyone's greetings and goodbyes, who apparently forgot how her criticism of her increased even as the days, months and years of her wedding with Jimin passed.

You couldn't blame anyone. Or you just didn't want to.

Because the rope around his neck was not placed by them. And the multiple scars on his wrists weren't his marks. A small part of you felt helpless, angry and respectively, disgusted with yourself. Could you help her? Yes. No. Maybe if you had ... And he had stayed in the past.

The little white rose in your hand fell to the floor, everyone had left the room to go to the large buffet served at the reception. You froze, then with the same rage you began to step on the already dead flower at your feet, the petals of it were no more than a pure color, now they were disgusting and dirty. Jimin appeared minutes later, your gaze fell on his hand that was holding a black and a red rose.

"We should go, honey." He whispered as if afraid to scare you even though you were already looking directly at him. Your immobile figure instinctively ran into his arms, which greeted you with an incredibly loving warmth. The roses were placed on top of the coffin, a smile spread across your face when you saw the color red stand out against so much white, and for a second you came to compare the beauty of an outstanding color with your mother.

She stood out in a world where everyone wanted to paint themselves pure white.

Jimin was even more welcoming to you now. He pretended to sleep waiting for 11:30 to arrive so that he could hear your footsteps on the way to his room, you had developed a great amount of fear of loneliness. Jimin knew you always did that, but before it was with her instead of him. You would walk for several seconds looking in the dark for his room, which was next to hers, then I would always hear her voice singing for you, making you rest in his arms. For a long time, I want to be her. But now he was gone and I knew it was a matter of time before your steps stopped at his door.

She loved the closeness of your body to hers, how your hands clung to her nightshirt when you were cold or a horrible nightmare was projected into your dreams. Jimin horribly wishes he could see beyond your dreams, although that would be disrespectful to your privacy, he wouldn't mind breaking your trust too much if he could be sure that you would never walk away from him, even in your dreams.

He managed to chain your life to his, your scared look was the most beautiful thing I have seen before. I want to touch your little face and kiss your soft lips that tempted him every time the word "dad" came out of it.

Time was his greatest enemy.

Your presentation was no better, your hands were trembling again while your feet moved from here to there restlessly. Jimin just watched silently, but the distance between you and him was gigantic, he just wished that the damn bitch that was presented before him would shut up and leave his house. It was remarkable how you seemed angry, maybe it's jealousy, she has feelings for me. He thought sickly, a smile spreading across his face discreetly at his incoherent thoughts of him. The young woman sitting on the sofa in front of him smiled thinking that her talk had caused some pleasure in the young and widowed man.

Jimin admired her face, she was very cute, also she seemed to have good manipulation technique in people. She noticed it quickly when she walked through the door, her smile that seemed uncontrollable and genuine lit up his childlike face. He took a few seconds, he knew he shouldn't do it but he couldn't help comparing the woman to you. You were shorter, you were obviously younger and your gaze was more pure. Jimin was proud of your firm stance, knowing that in the two years since your mother's death you had developed a closer connection with him, and likewise, you were a beautifully perfect copy of him. Your hard gaze and your legs crossed with each other showed your firmness, and your silent opinion.

You wanted the fucking bitch sitting across from your stepdad outside your house.

You laughed at the very idea of ​​one day finding a really good replacement for your mother. You couldn't replace a rose with bad herbs. For you, as selfish as he was, Jimin was your father, and he was your mother's love from the day he married her. No one would replace his position.

It was all three of them, and a part of your mind conned that Jimin still wasn't over the love he had for her. Or he would have remarried long ago, when the young women stood in front of the door of his house asking for a date with him. In those moments you didn't care, Jimin was a stranger, but now he was your father and you were his only daughter. No one had the right to ruin their harmonious relationship, they were both alone and someday serious like him.

You will be successful, you will make a lot of money and you will be able to marry someone you love.

But for now, your gaze fell on the little worn and dirty shoes of the woman in front of you. A smile crossed your face, your gaze lifted surprising the woman. While Jimin waited with his arms crossed for your following action.

"Woman." Your voice seemed to cut her tranquility, her face lost total color of life and a small grimace of fear passed over her fragile face. "I can't allow shoes like that to step on the carpet in my house ..."

The woman looked at Jimin who seemed indifferent, distracted by the painting on the wall.

"I'm sorry miss" she whispered trying to remove her shoes, his hands seemed more clumsy than usual. Her face burned when your hand moved closer to hers to prevent any further movement.

"Go away." A tiny part of you felt sorry for his embarrassed face and flushed cheeks. But it quickly came to your mind that she thought she was good enough to believe she was your mother. When she couldn't even challenge a stupid girl who acted like a spoiled brat. "Get out of my house, or I'll have to ask you not to just take off your shoes."

"I-sorry, I'll go now-..." A sob interrupted her dialogue, her hands searched for the notebook she was carrying but she gave up making a quick bow to Jimin and running outside.

The garden was your favorite part of the big house, the walls constantly made you believe that you were going to be eaten by them. Every day you came out of your lair admiring the many roses of many different colors growing beautiful and healthy. Your school stage was about to begin and you did not want to neglect your garden, which was also a tribute to your late mother.

So you hired a gardener. You were seventeen years old and soon to be eighteen. To say that you managed to experience the best of all those years was ridiculous, and deep down inside you, you thought that all of that was possible because of all the things Jimin did for you.

You had a debt, which you planned to pay in the future. You thought about leaving and letting him have a quiet life from now on without having to run to solve your problems, even if you never asked him to.

Jimin had eyes watching your every move, he clearly remembers how he put security cameras throughout the house, observing how you slept, what you did in the comfort of your room and privacy. Even when you walked into the shower and your hands ran over your body covered in water. Sometimes he felt guilty, for how he seemed to enjoy those moments that seemed so short.

However, it was repeated that as long as you were safe.

Breaking your trust wasn't that important.

Your eighteenth birthday was moderately quiet, Jimin was not used to throwing parties, and honestly, you never asked for one. So you just stood at the door of your house receiving expensive and cheap gifts from people who when they gave you the gift had a forced smile that told you many things. Most were familiar faces, of women who had previously sought a date with your father, obviously being rejected.

The little birthday cake looked so monotonous, the candles were the only thing you could stand out for. You were never aware that you had started to be privileged and extremely ambitious since Jimin proposed to your mother and forced her to marry him, pointing a gun at her pathetic silly little head. You had it all, and in your previous years maybe you managed to get excited about the new toys and accessories that were brought to you from other countries, you had everything that others did not, and a strange epiphany collapsed over you.

It was you, it was déjà vu. You were them, and those who were before, were now you.

You had all of them, and they didn't. Now, by your side, they were all poor. Jimin showered you with gifts, causing you to gradually lose interest in money. You remember your thoughts when it all started and likewise, you still remember the woman with the dirty shoes. You will be successful, you will make a lot of money. It was what you thought in the future for yourself, but now that was it, in a nutshell. Completely boring. You stayed for a moment thinking about them under the watchful eye of your stepfather who tried not to smile when you saw you, you were an adult now and he could finally take you as his own. They would be husband and wife, as it should have been from the beginning of its history.

And you will be able to marry someone you love. You still had only one option left, you blew out the candles with a single sigh causing Jimin to clap his hands and approach you to hug you fondly. The maids behind you only blushed when his boss started showing all of his affection. They weren't used to seeing him so often, Jimin had a firm and tough stance with everyone but he seemed to become as soft as clay in your presence. You came to mold Jimin in your favor, making him a cold person in front of his own demons and then, you left yours.

"I want marriage proposals, father." A gasp came from the mouths of the maids who just immediately fell silent. Lowering their head as they were taught. "I am ready to get married."

Jimin hummed still keeping his arms around you, your body was trapped in theirs. Your skin burned when his fingers squeezed your skin, leaving permanent marks. There was no reaction from you, you were used to this kind of unexpected treatment and it just didn't hurt.

"Get married?" His arms pulled away from you in disgust, there was no other reaction either. Jimin taught you not to object unless you knew you should. Stay calm and you will win. "And can you tell who would want to marry you? Useless little girl."

"Useless?" Your low voice seemed to make him happy for a moment.

Quickly his hands took the utensils to cut the cake, with a soft and sweet voice he continued: "Honey, men do not look for a girl with a lot of money like you. They look for someone to tame, and you, you could easily crush everyone with a wave of your hands."

A piece of the cake perfectly positioned on the plate was placed in front of you, a sob escaping your lips. You were really pathetic, eh? You clearly wanted to live something that has been claimed many times. You weren't going to get married, not without having it all like Jimin said. Then, you would lose everything and go back up to crush the others with greater pleasure.

"Aren't you going to eat? It's your cum-..."

"I will go to a neighboring town, I will finish my studies there."

Jimin looked down at his plate, ignoring how you got up from the table and put your cake aside. Then, your sweet voice finished destroying his self control that he thought he mastered long ago.

"I never liked that cake taste."

And it was the end.

You went back to the start again. You were planning to leave tonight, your bags were ready. Everything you needed was never in that house, it was never him. They were those that never existed in your present continued.

Your shoes did not seem to contrast with the dirt on the town's floor, you were also aware that those would end up in the trash. You didn't care, they were just shoes Jimin bought for your birthday, insignificant.

People were observant, and often foul-mouthed. It was no different than they spoke far from you or close to you, yet their mouths moved in a fussy way exaggerating reactions and creating new lies.

"_____...?" Your posture was decreasing, you no longer had to pretend. A smile covered your face, framing many emotions in one. "Come in please, it's your house."

Peter stepped aside, leaving room for you to enter. Your hands trembled but this time from cold, you still did not get over the harsh winter that suddenly passed. You took your shoes off quickly, briefly forgetting that this was no longer your home. You had sold the little cabin at a minimal price, and you were even happier when it was Peter who chose that place as his future home to live with his wife and his future child. Now he had two more. The little children ran in the tiny room playing with each other, a feeling of nostalgia invaded you when you saw them. You used to do the same before, together with your parents.

Those moments.

"Glad to see you around here, daughter." Peter hadn't changed, he was still the same kind and understanding person as ever. The opposite of you, of course. "Do you want to have tea? I heard on the streets that you would go to study far from here."

"Coffee, please." You responded still reluctant to talk about your departure.

Peter just laughed at your exaggerated denial, nodding and leading into the kitchen. You took a seat at the small table looking around. "You didn't change the decoration."

"Uh? ...." He seemed surprised by your observation, but he quickly smiled. "No. Actually, I think I liked it from the beginning how your ... er ... your mother decorated it. Besides, my wife loved it too. For her, it's beautiful as spring."

"Spring?" You ask, avoiding looking at it. You look down looking for some reason not to feel sad, in a way, you had compared your mother to spring as well. However, Jimin said that you were his. You never liked being called a light, because you always tried to be in your mother's shadow. And you liked it. "She believed that she is very wise, my mother was like spring."

"Thanks." A voice whispered from behind, your gaze fell on her and her face very much like your mother's. But they were obviously completely different. "I never doubted that you were just as wise. Spring represents the new beginning, a new beginning. Did you manage to find yours?"

Peter tried to intervene, clearly noticing the way his wife was trying to make you talk about your life after your mother died.

"I did. That's why I'm leaving here tonight."

"I'm glad we all need to be born again at some point."

You affirm with a small movement of the head, concentrating your gaze on the coffee cup in your hands. The smoke fell directly on your face hiding your grimace of disgust. Nobody deserves to talk about her like that yet.

"Ok, honey." Peter began by sitting across from you, with a cup of green tea and a serene expression. "Are you planning to go alone or with someone? I heard that travel today is very dangerous."

"Actually, I am accompanied by an acquaintance. His name is Jungkook, he also planned to leave and started working for me as a gardener to get the necessary money. We became good friends." You spoke remembering the adorable smile of the young man, he used to accompany you everywhere you went as if his job was to protect you. At first it was cute, but then it was annoying. Even after all that, you preferred to travel with him rather than alone.

"Oh that's very nice. I'm glad you managed to meet your goals. Good luck."

Your goals?

"Thanks, Peter."

His gaze lingered on your face for a moment, then he seemed to remember something very important. She gave you a smile before getting up to leave the kitchen.

"I have something for you, you are old enough to know this."

It was an envelope. Common and ordinary, but its envelope was beginning to deteriorate, showing that it was an old and very reserved letter.

You questioned your decision but took it, not wanting to read it in front of anyone even more when you read who wrote the letter.

You sat on the small wall, the trees and the cool breeze boosted your adrenaline. Small pieces of paper fell to the ground. So, you weren't thinking correctly at those times.

"I only married a man that I loved in all my life, I was happy. I had a daughter. I lived years of solitude and then, I was chained to an empty love."

"I know what you're reading this now. You're weak, darling. Maybe that's what made us mother and daughter. Because from the beginning I never had the courage to tell you that Jimin put a ring on my finger and a gun to my head. Or maybe, I was weak when I didn't get in the way of his errand, I should have told him that I hated him and that he could put a bullet in my head before giving it to my daughter. And maybe, I should have told everyone who passed by me that He was the same one who murdered my husband, he never left. I made you believe that. You never asked. "

"I saw you so happy today, you were running between the garden and the wedding. I could see his gaze following your hurried steps, I was almost completely sure that he was trying to get closer to you at all times. I told the woman next to me, But she shut me up saying that I can't be jealous of a father and daughter relationship. You weren't her daughter. She also ordered me to let them create a closer relationship, because I already had Park Jimin's heart in my hands. Liars."

"I always loved your curious voice. You used to ask me everything, and why everything was like that. But lately, I don't know what to answer. Why am I crying? Why is there a dark stain under my eyes? Why is there blood in the bathroom? Why did I never ask for help? I see you worry and you don't let me give you affection, because you prefer to give it to me. I also see how I start to bother him, I am a hindrance. Now I understand, I knew it but I never wanted to accept that it happened. He was everywhere, and likewise, I was never part of the plan."

"There were only two things I didn't tell you. I love you and my last piece of advice. Honey, lock it up and fly to the start, whenever you feel lost. A fresh start and never forget spring."

You stifled a sob. Covering up your pain. You had not noticed that the night had covered the sky, a dark blue blanket arrived. It took you a long time to assimilate that all the fragments were torn papers, and it was not a letter. It was an envelope filled with, apparently, incomplete sheets torn from a notebook. There was a fragment that was not part of the leaves, but rather was written later.

"Lost parts of a sad widow's diary.

Peter."

They were from your mother's diary. So where was the rest? What actually happened? A message came to your phone, you read it quickly still drying your tears.

JUNGKOOK:

Our trip is in an hour, I hope you said goodbye to everyone.

Received at 7:05 p.m.

I still do not:(

Received at 7:06 p.m.

Along with both messages was an attached picture, a photo of him and his grandmother. Jungkook talked a lot about her, and hers, her brothers. You smile, still wiping the tears from your face.

Your feet moved, the leaves in your hands seemed too heavy. And yet it was something you needed to do.

"Are you at home." His monotonous voice invaded you, he was busy reading a book that rested in his hand. The maid came over leaving a cup of coffee beside him, greeting your presence politely. "I have some things to discuss with you, darling."

"Me too, Jimin." It was the first time you had said his name without due respect, he seemed surprised for a moment. But his expression changed to one of happiness, as if he had been waiting for it. "I couldn't say goodbye, I'm leaving today. I think you already know that, though."

"Actually, no. But it's nice to hear it from you."

"I ..." Your voice dried in your throat, a giant doubt fell over you. You didn't want to leave without telling him how much you hated everything about him. His attention, his affection, his smile, his gaze, his voice. Everything about him was disgustingly charming. "I think I'll go get my bags."

Jimin nodded, ignoring your presence. Still distracted with reading him.

"Before you go, can you give me that back, darling?" Your gaze followed where he pointed his finger. Your hand. The leaves were still there.

"It's something of mine-..."

"Oh I don't think so. It really is very easy to threaten someone, just suffice to say that you can put a bullet in their head to make them your obedient little puppets."

"I do not understand your..."

"Me? It was obviously me. I'm surprised you thought your mother would be smart enough to leave a confession letter to her ex-lovers, days before her death. You really had a lot of credit for her." His chatter was accompanied by a laugh. You were paralyzed, shaking in your useless state of shock. "But I will not say that I did not plan, I hoped that you would never have the courage to try to leave my side. And even if that were the case, I knew that you would say goodbye to the only person who reminded you of her. Peter, she has a family. lovely."

Nor did he expect you to have the courage to cheat on him with another man. Oh, the gardener. Poor Jungkook, his body now rested leaving behind your favorite flowers. Jimin bit his lip, another mocking smile peeking out with intensity remembering the cutthroat figure of the innocent but guilty young man.

You were his...

"How can you be so cruel?" The doubt in you seemed to want to keep growing, passing second by second through your head. You weren't sure you could understand that everything that happened in front of you was actually planned by the same person who swore never to leave you alone. The same man who disguised himself as a sheep so he could eat you like a wolf. "Did you kill my mother ?!" Jimin seemed surprised by your desperate tone, he did not expect to be able to unbalance your state so easily.

It was lovely. Certainly.

"No sweetie." He murmured closing the book in his hands, setting it on the table next to the steaming cup of American coffee. "But it would have been exquisite to be the reason for his pain. Unfortunately, it was your father who won that title."

"Where did you get this from? I know she wrote it, and I also know that she would never give it to you knowing what a monster you are." Tears were running down your cheeks like water, you knew you were a mess but Jimin seemed to look at you like you were a perfect work of art.

"I found it." He spoke casually, getting up from his seat. Walking slowly towards your trembling figure. "It was a coincidence, I like casual things. It was a coincidence that you studied at that school, that your mother was a widow, that your father died. That he will make me fall in love with you."

What is your goal now?

"I love you darling."

Escape from the monster.

[a-n-conrad]

Bad at Secrets (PS4 Spider-man x Reader)

[Summary: For as long as you’ve known Peter Parker, he has been pretty bad at keeping secrets. Lucky for him, you’re much better at it. At least, until you end up drunk at his house after a party.

Warning and Notes: Drinking, Drunk Reader, Awkward convos, PS4 game spoilers, swearing, May didn’t die because I refuse, gender-neutral reader]

Peter Parker was never very at keeping secrets from you. He was clumsy and always managed to leave something obvious out in the open. You were surprised that the entire city of New York hadn’t figured it out yet. Perhaps it was because you were helping him constantly. Whether it was casually introducing him to voice modifying technology, or helping him set up his phone to have two different numbers, you know, for “business”. 

You still couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t told you yet. You knew MJ knew. Did he just trust her more? Maybe you were just jealous. They had dated, so it probably came up then. And to be honest, you had to admit you had a crush on him. But you knew that wasn’t going to go anywhere. You and Peter had been friends for so long, that if anything was going to happen, it would have by now. So you’d be his friend. And you wouldn’t push him to tell you anything he didn’t want to.

- - - - -

It had been a couple of months since the city went to shit. Peter’s mentor, Otto Octavius was imprisoned at The Raft, Feast was now being run by May after Martin Li was arrested, and it took a whole month to get all of the run-aways from Rykers off the street. Everyone was stressed and tired, and you really needed a second to de-stress. So when you got an invitation to a party at one of your old college friend’s houses, you really couldn’t turn down the offer.

Maybe you went a little crazy. You didn’t have the highest alcohol tolerance, and before you knew it, you were starting to get a little wobbly on your feet. Definitely a bit too wobbly to be walking home through the streets of New York City. So without thinking, you picked up your phone to call a friend of yours.

You knew he’d be busy, but Peter was really the only one you trusted to walk you home. I mean, who better than Spider-man. You were surprised when it only rang twice before he picked up, “(Y/n)? I thought you were at a party tonight, is everything ok?”

You giggled a little at the concerned tone in his voice. He overthought a lot, and it was honestly kind of endearing, “Yeah, Pete, I’m fine. I was just wondering if you’re free to walk me home.”

“You didn’t bring anyone with you to walk with?” He asked, “Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

“Mhm,” You hummed, grabbing another can for something. You weren’t sure exactly what you were drinking anymore, but it was fine. Honestly, as much as you’d normally worry about the dangers of a situation like this, it was a lot harder to worry about stuff like that when you had just almost died from a supervillain attack, “That’s why I’m calling you. If you’re busy, though, I’ll figure something else out.”

“No, no,” You heard some noise in the background. He was definitely busy, but knowing him, he wasn’t about to let you walk home yourself, “I’ll be there, just hang tight for another fifteen minutes or something.”

“Sure,” You took another drink, “I’ll see you soon.”

- - - - -

By the time he got there, you had gone through another four cans of, well, you still couldn’t remember. Either way, you were pretty drunk. When Peter got there, he had found you dancing on a table, your hair extra messy and a little bit of your drink spilled on the front of your outfit. You looked like you were having so much fun, he couldn’t help but smile.

“Come on, (Y/n), let’s get you home,” He said, walking up to where you were. You smiled down at him before jumping down from the table.

“Pete!” You exclaimed, grinning at him, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, (Y/n),” He chuckled, “But we should get you home. You need some sleep.”

“But I don’t wanna go home,” You whined, “It’s boring. There’s nothing to do. Can we go to your place instead? I wanna watch movies.”

“Sure,” He sighed. He could tell you were a lot drunker than you were when you called him. It had been a while since he had to babysit you while you were drunk, but he honestly didn’t mind. You were always fun when you were drunk.

- - - - -

Peter’s house wasn’t too far away from the party, but it was a long enough walk that the two of you had to talk about something. And eventually, you ran out of your normal things to drunkenly ramble about. So things started to get a little more interesting.

“Do you think Peter trusts me?” You asked out of nowhere. It caught Peter a little off-guard. 

“I think so,” He said. You obviously didn’t know you were talking to him. He wondered if he should tell you, but honestly, he was a little interested in what you’d say.

“Then why doesn’t he tell me anything?”

“What do you mean he doesn’t tell you anything.” You were always so confident that you knew everything. And Peter tried his best not to keep too many secrets from you. There were just two, so which one had you started to pick up on.

“He has a secret that he’s had for years that he won’t tell me,” you pouted at him.

“Do you know what it is?”

“Yeah, Pete isn’t very good at keeping secrets,” Shit.

“What is it?”

“I can’t tell you,” You replied, crossing his arms, “It’s Peter’s secret.”

He couldn’t help but laugh a little bit. You were so sweet and protective. He should’ve known better than to think you’d rat him out to someone you thought was a stranger. He’d just have to ask again when you were sober. 

Eventually, the two of you made it to his apartment. He had gotten a new one a while ago after he got evicted from his. Aunt May was helping him out until he got a new job, and he was working pretty hard on finding something just as fulfilling as his work with Otto. 

“What movie do you wanna watch?”

“Mmmmm, Superhero movie.”

“I didn’t know you were a fan of superheroes, (Y/n),” He chuckled.

“Mhm, I love Spider-man.”

He laughed a bit, causing you to pout, “I didn’t know you were a Spider-man fan.”

“No, I love Spider-man. I love him. He’s so smart and funny and caring.”

Peter couldn’t help that blush that coated his cheeks. He hoped maybe you were too drunk to notice. And lucky for him, you were. In fact, you had fallen asleep on his couch before he could even get the movie he had picked out started.

He smiled at you. You were kind of cute when you slept. You looked so calm. He had missed seeing you calm and happy. So much had happened, he was just glad you were ok. And alive. 

He carefully picked you up, he could pull buses and helicopters, lifting you up was really no problem. He decided that you could take the bed tonight. What kind of hero would he be if he made his friend sleep on the couch? He set you down carefully, tucking you in to the covers, before heading over to the ouch and making a little bed for himself. This might actually be the first night he had gotten a decent amount fo sleep in a couple of months. 

- - - - -

Waking up with a pounding headache should have been expected. Waking up in Peter’s bed with a glass of water a couple of painkillers next to you, however, wasn’t. And what was even more unexpected was the sounds of someone cooking breakfast coming from the other room. Did Peter even eat breakfast?

After taking the painkillers and drinking the water as quickly as possible, you wandered into the kitchen, your hair a complete mess and the clothes you were wearing to the party last night crumpled from being slept in. Standing over the stove, watching the food intently to avoid his habit of getting distracted and burning his cooking, you found Peter.

“Morning, Pete,” You yawn, sitting down at the table.

He turned towards you with a smile, “Morning, (Y/n). Are you feeling alright?’

“Mm, my head still hurts, but I’m sure that’ll go away. Thanks for letting me stay here. I hope I wasn’t too much of a bother.”

“Do you remember anything you told me last night?”

“Ugh, not really,” You shook your head, “The last thing I remember was calling you, honestly. I hope I didn’t say anything too stupid.”

“No, it’s not that,” He said, quickly getting distracted from your conversation, by the toast popping out of the toaster.

- - - - -

Eventually, he sat down at the table with you, placing a plate in front of you and another plate in front of himself. You really hadn’t realized how hungry you were until the food was right in front of you. And to be honest, Peter was getting pretty good at cooking.

“So what exactly did I say last night?” you asked, shoving food into your mouth. Did you eat last night? You couldn’t remember.

“Well, that you were in love with Spider-man,” Peter chuckled, but you knew that wasn’t really what he wanted to talk about. He was just trying to lighten the mood first. You still couldn’t help but blush. You supposed it was true, “But also that you knew that I was keeping a secret from you.”

“Oh.

“You still wouldn’t tell me what, though. I don’t think you knew you were talking to me. I appreciate the loyalty, but I’m wondering what secret I’m keeping from you.”

“Is there more than one, Pete?”

He froze.

“I know that you’re Spider-man, Pete. You really suck at keeping secrets. You think I can’t figure it out when you leave drawings for all your gadgets out all the time?”

“How long have you known?”

“A year or so? Maybe more?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“I just didn’t want to get you swept up in anything. You know, with the villains I have to fight, Spider-man ends up with a lot of enemies. I just wanted to keep you away from that.” He sighed. He looked like he was trying to think of something to say until a realization crept its way onto his face, “In love with Spider-man, huh?”

You choke a bit on your food, causing Peter to laugh a bit, “No, we’re not changing the topic. You’re a superhero.”

“And you’re in love with my superhero self,” He laughs before it seems like his brain clicks again, “Wait if you already knew...”

“Um…”

“(Y/n)?”

“Um, hey, Just let me finish breakfast and I’ll head out. Really don’t worry about it, Pete,” You scrambled. You had avoided that conversation for years. You had sate through him dating MJ, through him risking his life over and over, through him crying to you over and over about everything in his life going wrong without saying anything. You really didn’t want this to be the point where you lose him.

“Woah, wait, no,” He looked panicked, “Why are you running away?”

“Look, Pete, I’ve avoided this conversation forever, I don’t want things to be awkward, or to make you feel like we can’t just hang out. I just don’t want you to stop being my friend,” You rambled, only cut off when Peter grabbed your hand, a grin on his face.

“Ask me again if there’s more than one secret.”

“What?”

“Ask.”

“Do you have more than one secret, Pete?” You were still pretty nervous, and you had no idea where he was going with this, but you trusted him. And you were pretty sure that he wasn’t going to make fun of you.

“Yeah. I’ve been keeping two secrets from you,” He said, “The first is that I’m Spider-man. And the second is that I’ve been in love with you for months.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” He said, “Remember a month or two after MJ and I broke up? When we went to the park in the middle of the night because neither of us could sleep? And we just talked for hours about life and our goals and everything? The next day I realized I was in love with you.”

“I guess you’re better at keeping secrets than I thought you were,” you laughed.

“I guess so,” he laughed, “But I don’t plan on keeping anymore.”

(A/N: This might be trash, but my Spider-man hyper fixation from when I was a kid is back full swing.)

[blazogirlsoneshots]

The Archer (Susan Pevensie x fem!Reader)

Requested by anon: fuck you; well if you insist

Throughout all the nooks and crannies in Cair Paravel, Susan’s favorite place was most definitely the archery range. It was the perfect place to hide from the pesky suitors that liked to lurk around the castle. For some reason, none of the bothersome men felt like confronting her with a bow in her hand and Susan was fine with it. It was her own sanctuary and it was perfect.

Well, almost perfect.

You see, there was one person who was unperturbed by possibly irritating an armed Susan, Y/N. Susan couldn’t stand Y/N. She was one of Peter’s advisers and quite possibly the most irritating person in Narnia. It seemed that everywhere Susan went all she heard were people singing praises to the great Y/N. “Y/N helped sort out this trade agreement,” this and, “Y/N just put forward a new perfect social service plan,” that.  She was brilliant at her job, Susan could give her that, but she didn’t have to be so obnoxious about it. She didn’t also have to be one of the kindest members of the council, a fantastic dancer, be super witty, and really pretty. 

Susan wasn’t jealous or anything. She most definitely didn’t have a crush on Y/N and never felt herself blushing in her presence. No, Y/N was far too annoying for any of those things to even be a possibility and Susan didn’t like her. 

Now, if Y/N could pick up on the fact Susan’s life would most definitely improve. It seemed like wherever Susan turned Y/N was there, with her perfect smile and gorgeous eyes, trying to engage in some form of interaction with the grumpy queen. Susan was far too polite to tell Y/N to simply bug off so a weird almost friendship/one-sided rivalry had formed between the pair that didn’t completely annoy Susan. Of course, that wasn’t because Susan fancied Y/N or anything, or at least that what she told herself.

It was a warm summer day when Y/N found Susan hiding in the archery range. The sky was a soothing blue and the lack of breeze made for a decent day for shooting. Y/N, who had just spent a good chunk of the day in meetings, strolled over to Susan with a smirk on her face.

“Why am not surprised to find you here?” The adviser chuckled.

“And why am not surprised that you somehow found me?” Susan retorted. 

“Who was it this time? I’m going to say that Lord Pumpernickel or whatever his name is. I saw him pouting in the west wing like he was six or something.” Susan scowled as an arrow sunk into the head of one of the training dummies.

“He had the audacity to tell me that I should be more concerned about planning the next ball then the way he treats the castle staff.”

“Oh, please tell me you told him off,” Y/N smiled. She went and sat on the ground next to Susan.

“He was sobbing when I was done with him.”

“Sometimes I don’t understand how you’re the gentle one. You’re probably the fiercest person I know.” Susan turned away so Y/N couldn’t see her blushing. 

“You can be both, you know?”

“Yeah, but I feel like your strength is swept under the rug. I mean look at all the suitors that come here. They think that they can walk all over you,” Y/N sighed, “I just think that you should be known for every part of you, that’s all.”

Susan tried to pretend that she hadn’t stopped breathing for a second. She hated when Y/N would say something sweet like that. It made it a lot harder to hate her and caused Susan to have to take a second to reevaluate her feelings. 

Susan mentally shook herself as she turned back to look at Y/N. “Enough about that. Is there a reason why you came to bother me or not?”

“Actually,” Y/N grinned as she got off the ground, “I was hoping you would want to do another contest. Unless you're scared then I naturally win the title of the best archer in Cair Paravel.”

There it was, that irritation that made it easier for Susan to squash any possibly romantic feelings.

“You wish or did you forget the results of our last contest?”

“Why not at all, my queen. As I recall I was winning and then you cheated.”

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” Susan gasped with mock indignation.

Y/N laughed and grabbed a bow from the rack, “I suppose the only way to put an end to this is with a rematch then.”

“You’re on.”

Things weren’t going great for Susan. So far she was losing and becoming more and more frustrated with herself. The pair had been choosing random objects around the range and judging on who did a better job at actually hitting the target. Susan had somehow managed to miss the last couple of targets, giving Y/N a larger lead. It wasn’t her fault that Y/N’s laugh was so distracting, honestly. 

“Last one, alright? Even though I’ve basically won so you call it now.” Y/N playfully nudged Susan while Susan was fighting every urge to scream.

“In your dreams, Y/N. For all you know, you could miss the next one.”

“Somehow I doubt that's happening, but whatever helps you sleep at night.” Susan gritted her teeth and frantically searched around the arena. 

“How about that flower up on that wall? Whoever can knock it off wins.”

“As you wish, your majesty.”

“Oh, shut up,” Susan groaned. 

She rolled her shoulders as she readied herself to take the shot. A hush fell all around her as the arrow went flying. The silence was quickly filled with Susan’s shouts of rage. 

“How did I miss! That’s an easy shot. I’ve hit things that are both smaller and further away than that. I-”

“It’s okay,” Y/N grabbed Susan’s hand and turned the queen to look at her. “Maybe there was a breath of wind or something?”

“Just go,” Susan huffed as she yanked her hands out of Y/N’s. 

With a hurt look in her eyes, Y/N took her turn. The arrow flew gracefully through the air and the flower disappeared from sight. Y/N shot a grin at the enraged Susan and went to fetch her arrow.

“For you, my queen,” Y/N bowed and handed the punctured flower to Susan.

“Fuck you,” Susan hissed. 

“Well, if you insist,” Y/N chuckled as Susan froze.

“What?”

“Huh?” Y/N stopped as she noticed the panic on the lady’s face. “Oh, Aslan’s mane, I am so sorry. That just slipped out and I didn’t mean to make you-”

Susan stepped forward and kissed Y/N, stealing the words out of her mouth. The flower floated to the ground as Y/N wrapped her arms around Susan’s waist, drawing her closer. The couple pulled away when the need for oxygen became too great. Susan’s eyes were still half-closed and her cheeks had become as red as the roses around her.

“Do you want to maybe have tea with me sometime?” Susan blurted out. “So we can talk or something?”

“Just tea?” Y/N asked, raising one of her eyebrows.

“If you only want tea.”

“I think I’ll have to take you up on that offer.”

“Great,” Susan signed as she began to lean toward the other girl.

“Great,” Y/N smiled as she captured Susan’s lips with her own. 

It was safe to say that Susan’s dislike for Y/N was forgotten after that day.

A/N: I just have to say, when I saw that prompt my brain immediately went to a enemies to lovers type of situation

masterlist

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 25

“Jesus,” Erica breathes, “you weren’t kidding,” and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

I’ve managed to keep my heartrate under control all the way down to the barrows but now that we’re here I’m able to let my breath out and relax a little, ironically. The place is a graveyard, a grisly butcher’s workshop of stinking ichor and dismembered copepods. It is unearthly quiet, even down here in the middle of the Pit’s guts, with the only sound being the dripping of glutinous white phlegm-like vital fluids and occasionally a far-off groan from the Pit’s musculature.

The copepods are everywhere, strewn all over the place like ragdolls, and very few of them are intact. The majority have had their arms ripped off and a ragged hole bored straight through the middle of their armored faceplate that looks like it goes several feet deep at least. Here and there there are dead leeches, the only trace of the leechman, the only thing giving any clue as to what might have happened her. I briefly wish that I still had my camera with me.

Saying goodbye to Elena had made me acutely aware that I may not have been prepared for what I was getting myself into. I had helped her out of the cot and she had stumbled and cried out and then I caught her, prepared for the worst, already starting to panic – had I done a bad job? Had I hurt her somehow while I was tending to her wounds and only now was she able to feel the effects of it, getting up and moving around?

Elena had looked at me, lips already curling into a sheepish grin, and then she must have seen the look on my face and stopped, stood there straight without any assistance from me and then put her hands on my face and cupped me to her and kissed me so long and so hard that I felt a little faint. Erica had coughed behind us, a little uncomfortably, but when we finally broke apart I really had eyes only for Elena, I couldn’t stop staring at her, at the freckles across her cheeks, at the way one of the corners of her lips lifted slightly higher than the other when she smiled, at a dozen little things like that that I wanted to fix in my mind.

I don’t think I really knew, not consciously, at least, why I made such an effort to keep a clear image of her in my head then, to get every detail down in as complete a manner as I could. It only became apparent to me once we had walked out to the Cord and Elena had opened the door and turned around and waved to me before disappearing that I had been so concerned with her safety that I had had no concern at all for mine.

The door clanged shut and Marcus had spun the wheel to seal it tightly and then Elena was gone. Before she left we had hugged again, there in Oyster’s Shame, amid the glistening walls and the sounds of more of the tiny pearly deposits falling here and there like a soft distant rain. “You come back to me,” she had growled, right into my ear, and I could feel her leave a wet spot on my cheek from where she had begun to cry, and I wanted so badly to go with her but I didn’t see any way I could.

“Well,” I had said to Erica, forcing myself to sound brighter than I had felt, “let’s get this over with.”

So we did.

Marcus kicks one of the dead leeches and it rolls a little. It looks like it has some weight to it, some heftiness that isn’t immediately apparent from how slender it is. It’s about the length of my arm. “What the hell is this, E?” he asks, looking up at her, and Erica shakes her head, getting down on her haunches to examine it.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she says. “It’s a little bit like a gastric bristleworm but not as…I don’t know, bristly.”

I’m standing there in the back with my arms folded, waiting. Next to me is the stinking corpse of a copepod; this one has been crushed, its insides, ropy and white, flooding out in a great mass from its burst sides. Even with the helmet up I can smell it; Erica and Marcus must have cast-iron stomachs. Erica does, anyway; when we first made it down to the barrows we’d had to stop for a moment to let Marcus vomit.

The tracking PDA had lead us almost exactly the way we’d gone the day before, back before everything had gone to hell. I still don’t know exactly what had kicked it off to begin with; my best guess was that the Leechman had showed up and gone on a rampage just after we’d left with the crystal, and the copepods, they must have assumed that it was our fault, that we’d drawn it here or were somehow working with it. Did they know what it was? Did they recognize it? I wish the Big Guy were still around to ask but we had passed his desiccated, punctured corpse, recognizable only by the stump of one of its wrists, as we had made our way through the central chamber. Marcus is carrying the Sergeant’s slug rifle but he does so nervously, as though he’s afraid of it. He clearly isn’t familiar with the thing. I wonder what’ll happen if he does have to fire it, if it’ll just put him on his ass or if it’ll actually break a bone.

The two of them have been decent to me so far. Erica seems genuinely regretful about hitting me earlier; she doesn’t look at me most of the time, and if she does need me for something, mainly to use the suit computer to look at a map, she asks for me politely and in a soft voice. I thought that Marcus might curse at me or harbor some kind of ill-feeling; after all, Elena – after all, my girlfriend attacked him, and I have no doubt that if she had been able to get away with it she likely would have shot the both of them and washed her hands of it.

The thought makes me shudder very slightly, but not of fear or anger but just vague baseless exhilaration, of minor and muted joy that things are finally happening, for better or for worse, for good or ill, that great capital-letter THINGS WILL CHANGE finally rolling over and putting muscle behind its epitaph.

I had been terrified on the way down that the copepods would have torn us apart, would have eaten us. I had no confidence in Erica and Marcus’ ability to protect this little illicit expedition. They have no plan, no notion of what might be waiting for them. And I don’t know what they intend to do if they do actually manage somehow to get their hands on the crystal. Break it? But that’d be counterproductive, wouldn’t it, as if what Erica’s saying is right, that’d just give us that psychic illness.

If I don’t have it already. Was that dream a dream or the start of it? Is it –

No, stop. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the perfectly normal sort of dream to have when you’re under this much stress, in these conditions. Once you’re out of here, once you’ve – Christ, I don’t know, gotten Elena some vacation time or sick leave or whatever the hell and spent the rest of your savings taking her to fucking Tahiti or somewhere, if you’re still having the dreams then, you can worry about it.

I could tell them, I could tell Erica and Marcus. It’d be easy. I could just say something like, ‘hey, uh, so there’s this giant fucking ogre made out of leeches wandering around down here and it’s got the crystal you’re after, and it killed all these copepods. Oh, and the crystal weighs about a ton and we had to get a robot to carry it, which I notice you guys didn’t bring with you. No, you can’t use our robot, it’s probably smashed to bits somewhere.’

They wouldn’t believe me. There’s no way in hell they’d believe me. Even if I did want to save their asses, which at the moment is not very high up on my priority list. I’m still maintaining the faint hope that they might actually find the damn Leechman and try to get into a fight with it, which would be my cue to run like hell.

“Roan,” Erica asks me, again using that mildly infuriating soft and considerate voice, “have you seen one of these before?” She’s holding the body of the leech out to me, grasping it like one might hold a snake, right behind the head. Its mouth gapes insanely wide and round and the body hangs limp. I can’t stop myself from taking a step backwards.

Goddam it, Erica.

“Leechman,” I say, and then I cough. Our eyes meet for the first time in a half hour. “The leechman’s here.”

Erica’s eyes seem to grow instantly deeper. Her mouth is open slightly, and she stares at me in silence until Marcus nudges her, his eyes flicking between her and me. “What’s the leechman?” he asks, and Erica, broken out of her reverie, licks her lips and glances over at him.

“Nothing,” she tells him, getting to her feet quickly. “A fairy tale. Like the boogeyman.”

Marcus doesn’t believe this; I can tell from the way he looks at her, but he doesn’t question it, just gets to his feet as well and follows her as she pulls out the tracking PDA, taps at the screen a few times, and then points down at one of the darkened vents. “That way,” she says, and where she points we follow.

We make our winding way through the ass-end of the barrows, the part we hadn’t gone through yesterday, and then the trail takes a corkscrewing, winding path downwards. We are very clearly in a section of the Pit that people have not been in very often. Even in the sections leading up to the barrows, where the flesh of the vents is left bare and uncovered, there are still lights strung here and there, little radio repeaters and every now and then a tiny, cramped-looking ranger station, mostly mothballed and closed-off, but still evidence that someone had come before us. In the barrows, though, this stopped entirely. There were little trails of cleat-marks here and there, but I think the majority of them were from us stomping through earlier, they looked too fresh, too new.

We only saw a couple of copepods, and these from far off, across vast chasms of flesh, scarred here and there like cliff-faces. I couldn’t divine their purpose, just – anomalies of anatomy, no meaning, no clear analogue I can draw. Just places where the flesh falls away and vague misty nothing takes its place. As I stand on the precipice looking over and down into darkness, watching the way my flashlight beam peters out depressingly soon, I swear that for a moment I can see something moving around, something large, fluttering and flapping and swooping like some kind of giant bat, but if anything was there, it vanished so quickly as to not leave an impression on me other than a brief glimpse of size and frantic motion.

I turned back to see if Marcus or Erica had seen any of it but they were huddled together, deep in conversation, hunched over the PDA. After a moment I traipsed over to join them. With each step on the way down I had felt my weariness building, both in my body and in my heart – I had shoved so much out of the way down somewhere inside of me where I didn’t have to feel it, and it was only now that it was beginning to creep back out at me.

We’d passed some things I’d recognized from the rest of the squad – there was a torn piece of a suit there, in a small knurled corner, dirty and speckled with red matter that might have been blood or bits of flesh. I didn’t look closely enough to check. A boot, cleated firmly into the ground. Nothing as definite as a body; the closest I saw was a great foaming gout of blood splashed across the floor and up part of the wall of the vent, but no indication as to whether it came from a person, from a member of the team, from Klaus or Euler or – or Peter, or whether it was just natural, some artery in the floor being clipped during the fighting and spraying everywhere until capillary action cut it off.

If I think about it I won’t be able to go on. I can’t bear to –

Alright, Roan. Easy girl. Deal with it later. Right now just focus on staying alive. Get back to Elena and then you can cry about things. God, poor Peter, though; and poor Makado, waiting for him. How would I feel if it had been me up there and Elena down here?

I think of her, alone, making her way up the Cord, no weapon, still hurting, probably, as the painkiller starts to wear off, and I bite my lip, hard. Goddam it, I’m not going to cry. Not down here. She’s fine, she’s going to be perfectly fine. She knows how to handle herself.

I focus instead on the ache in my knees, in my back, in my arms. We’ve been going for so long, it feels like; hours upon hours. I’d check the time on the wrist computer but these damn gloves - !

Erica and Marcus look tired as well, at least. Maybe they’ll want to rest soon. We’ll be able to eat, sleep perhaps…they have to have some kind of tent, or sleeping bags, or something, even if it’s not one of the fancy hexagonal ones the squad used. I think about pointing out that we��re all dog tired, we might as well take a break before we go further, but I nix that idea quickly – I don’t want to seem weak. Erica’s given the impression that she won’t push me but Marcus is still a wild card, I don’t know him, how he handles stress, how he’ll act in a couple of hours when he’s even more tired and hungry.

They gesture and lead on, and I follow, dead on my feet but still forcing myself to continue.

And then, after fifteen minutes of walking, down treacherous polyped inclines, past outcroppings of redundant, keratinous spines, we find, laying in a slump with his neck at an awkward unnatural angle, his eyes terribly bright and aware, Euler.

I cry out when I see him; my stomach makes a horrible lurch as I take in the gnawed markings dotting his once-bright ranger suit, round and puckered and blood-crusted. The leeches have been at him but left him alive for some inscrutable reason. He coughs as we shine our lights on him and shifts feebly but he is unable to move more than an inch or two – his spine is clearly broken.

I hadn’t expected to find any bodies; somehow I had guessed that one way or another, anyone lost down here would be utterly irretrievable. But there is Euler, the one person I would never have expected to survive – I guess I underestimated him.

Or perhaps his current condition isn’t really surviving in the main sense. Once I’ve gathered my senses I rush to him and kneel there beside him. I have nothing to offer him, no painkillers, no first aid, nothing besides companionship, but it’s better than standing and gawking as Erica and Marcus seem to be satisfied with. I wipe his forehead with my gloved palm lightly, the sweat shining on the rubber in the wake of my flashlight, and Euler’s eyes shift up to meet mine and he croaks out my name in a hoarse voice. He says it wrong, like it were one syllable, but hearing someone I care about even infinitesimally say it is like breathing after being underwater.

“Euler,” I tell him, and my voice breaks just a tiny bit right at the end. I lick my lips and try again. “Euler, what the hell happened to you?”

“I’m – it’s bad, Roan,” he says. Rone. Should have changed my name in that rebellious phase, added that accent mark I always longed for. There’d be less ambiguity. I smile to myself in spite of everything and he grins at me, just a little bit, but his eyes stay wide and frightened. They flick over to Erica and Marcus, and I look back at them as well, and then give an exasperated sigh.

“Don’t you two have any damn medical things? A first aid kit?” They glance at each other. “Anything?”

“I thought you might…” Euler coughs. “Might have come to rescue us.”

I frown. Us?

“Euler, are there…more people from the squad down here? Hurt somewhere?”

He shakes his head minutely, then winces. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know where to touch him without hurting him. I tear my glove off with my teeth, just lay my hand against his cheek. It feels like an awkwardly intimate gesture but I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how else to help. If it were me I think I’d – I think I’d want human contact, something skin to skin. I think it might be a comfort.

“What happened?” I whisper.

“The Leechman,” he says, “it – it grabbed me and then it –“

He cries out, gently, and I move my hand downward and grab his. He clutches at me desperately. The last time I had seen him the leeches had been streaming into his open mouth, writhing against him, wrapping him like a hundred pythons at once. I bite my lip and glare back at Erica again. “Will you two fucking do something?”

“He’s clearly past any help we could give him,” Erica says, and Marcus nods.

For a very brief moment I am so intensely angry I feel as though I might burst into flame. Euler cries out softly again and I realize I have squeezed his hand too hard, and I jerk my hand back from his, muttering a stammered apology. He shakes his head.

“They’re right, I’m done for,” he tells me. “You should – you’re going down further?” he asks, frowning, and I nod.

“Those two want the crystal,” I tell him, lowering my voice a little.

“It went…that way,” he says, glancing to the right, further down the vent and into the Pit’s depths. We sit there in silence for a moment longer and then finally work up enough nerve to ask him the question I wanted to.

“Are you in pain?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “It feels like I should be but it’s just dull.” He breathes heavily. “I’m afraid.”

“Euler, don’t –“

“I’m going to die down here,” he says, and there is a terrible layer of finality in his voice that makes my heart fall.

“No, Euler, you’re not –“ I start, but then cut myself off. Because he’s right, isn’t he? I can’t argue with him, there’s no way in hell that we’re going to be able to get him out of here. If he has a broken neck there’s no fucking way we could stabilize him well enough to carry him out of here, and even if we could, I’d need Erica and Marcus’ help, which they don’t seem incredibly inclined to give me. I look back at them and start to get up, but Euler catches the cuff of my suit and I stop, hunkered over awkwardly.

“Roan, I saw – “

He coughs; I can see his chest heaving. I wonder about those leeches; I know I saw them flooding into his mouth, forcing their way down his throat…what would have –

“I saw inside it,” he tells me. I frown.

“Inside what?”

“The Leechman,” he says. His eyes are boring into mine with a horrible intensity, practically bulging outwards. “I saw inside it and – and it was so bright –“

“Euler, I don’t know what you –“

“Don’t leave me down here,” he says quietly, and then lets go. There is a pleading in his eyes that stops me dead. I’ve let my mouth fall open slightly, but there is no mistaking what he means, there is no ambiguity in the quiet desperation in his tone. He wants me to –

I get up quickly. My hands are shaking and my arms and legs feel like I’ve been whipped with a coil of lightning. I walk over to Erica and Marcus, and Erica nods at me. “You ready to go?” she asks, and I shake my head. I open my mouth and try to talk but I choke a little, then cough and try it again.

“Erica, Euler, he –“

“What is it?”

I shut my eyes. “Kill him,” I tell her. “He asked me to but I can’t – I can’t do that. He’s scared and he doesn’t want to have to lay down here unable to move for a couple more days before something fucking eats him or he dies of exposure. Please.”

Erica’s eyes are very dark. She glances at Marcus, then back at me, before she reaches down to her belt and unsnaps the holster there, then hands me the revolver. I nearly drop it; it’s heavier than I had expected. “Do it yourself,” she tells me. Her voice is like glass. “We’ve wasted enough time here already.”

“You – “ I start, but I choke it back. She’s trusting me giving me the revolver; this means something to her. This is a test. But what am I supposed to do? Can I –

But you already did once before, some part of me whispers at the back of my head. Remember Rey? He’s dead because of you. And before that -

Marcus is covering me with his own slim little pistol. I swallow hard and try not to feel the imprint of its muzzle, covering me from five, seven, ten feet away from me, my back itching as I half-expect to hear a report and feel a sharp shock –

But nothing happens. I make it to Euler; he’s watching me, his eyes rolled upwards in a manner that somehow distinctly reminds me of a dog, somehow, and I hate myself for thinking so, but he’s looking at me in the same way a dog will look up at you, not moving its head, its eyes wide and hopeful.

I thought the gun might feel better in my hand after I’d had it there for a while, but it’s still awkward and heavy and purposeful. It’s much heavier than the pistol they’d given me to practice with during qualifications back on the range a few days ago; that one hadn’t even felt like a gun, it hadn’t felt real. This one most certainly does.

Euler nods at me infinitesimally. “It’s…alright,” he says. He seems to be laboring a bit more now; maybe he hadn’t been expending very much energy until we came across him. I certainly didn’t hear any cries for help on the walk up. If he’d been there the whole time, for hours, listening to the Leechman and the copepods duke it out…

“Euler,” I say, “what did you mean when you said you saw inside the Leechman?”

“Roan,” he says. His eyes are fixed on the revolver. I’m stalling, I realize; I’m putting it off so that maybe somehow this responsibility will be removed from me. The inside of my mouth is very dry and I swallow hard, willing some moisture to return to it.

“Okay,” I say quietly. Okay, I think to myself. I take the revolver, hold it in two hands, one on the handle, the barrel resting in the palm of my other hand. I look at the cylinder, fumble for a moment before that trip all those years ago with my dad comes back to me and I find the catch and swing it outwards. Erica hasn’t reloaded since she shot Elena, I note, some dull part of my mind logging the information without any further comment. I can see the tiny mark of the struck primer on one of the cartridges. But I won’t find any salvation here, there are still five more shots that are perfectly serviceable.

I click it shut, remembering, as my dad told me, not to flick it closed, not to spin it. You aren’t a cowboy, he’d said to me gravely, pressing the gun into my chest. It had smelled like oil and metal, like something functional, like when you open the hood of your car. And I had trembled then as I am now, and I had looked out across the flat open expanse of grass –

Even then I couldn’t bear to think of it after I’d done it.

I’m stalling.

Goddam it, Roan, goddam you and your willingness to stick your neck out.

Euler makes a small noise beneath me and I look down at him. “Are you sure?” I ask, willing him to say no, to rethink it, to give me a reprieve. He nods.

“Just do it,” he says. “They won’t come get me, they won’t care. Just do it.”

“Okay,” I breathe, and then I hold the gun in two hands – why does it come back to me so easily? – and put it up very close to his forehead, and Euler shuts his eyes, and I shut mine as well. I inhale and then exhale.

Five minutes later I hear feet squelching up behind me and then Marcus is crouching next to me and prying the gun from my nerveless hands. “It’s okay,” he says, not unkindly, and then he is gently pushing me out of the way. I get to my feet, not knowing what else to do. I meet Euler’s eyes and I start to say something, then I stop. There is no blame in them, or maybe I don’t want to see blame. So instead I turn around and hunch myself against the wall, and when the gunshot finally sounds I flinch, and then I finally let myself cry.

When I turn back around I can’t bring myself to look at him. I instead watch Marcus hand the revolver back to Erica, watch Erica slip it back into the holster, watch Marcus shove his pistol into the waistband of his heavy-duty jeans. I blurt out the only thing that comes to my mind and tell him that he shouldn’t carry one in the chamber like that, it’s dangerous, and Marcus gives me a pitying look and says nothing. When I meet Erica’s eyes they are lighter than before and I realize, with a shudder as another wave of tears rolls soundlessly down my cheeks, that whatever test there was, whatever reason made her give me the revolver, I passed.

And then we stomp off into the darkness and leave poor Euler behind.

 * * *

 The next day I feel better. I slept better than I thought I might have, sandwiched between Erica and Marcus in their tent, cramped and with not enough air mattresses or sleeping bags, but I managed. They shared some of their food with me, MREs scavenged from some surplus store somewhere, which I found faintly comforting, and then the next day, when someone’s alarm blared and woke us, I was disconcertingly and surprisingly fresh-feeling. All the pain and sorrow I thought might have come boiling out of me when I let my guard down never did, and instead it was replaced with a calm, warm, faintly comforting deadness. I was, I realize now, preparing on some level to die. I had arrived at a zenlike state that had me convinced I was either dead or dreaming, a fragile state of mind that I had tried so hard to reach at that dojo in Oklahoma but which constantly eluded me.

Since Friday I am complicit now in two murders, one arguably and one less so. When I think of myself the person I am is thorny and sharp-edged and armored and I do not recognize her when I hold her in my arms. I blow out a breath and pop my eyes open as Marcus nudges me and hands me a cup of bootleg espresso made from two freeze-dried pouches, and I take it gratefully and even manage to smile at him. I feel…clean.

We’ll see how long that lasts.

More walking, more bypasses across stinking rivers of digested slurry, more crawling across meter-wide cords of banded muscle. The anatomy gets stranger and stranger, more open, more wild. Nerves like waving cilia, waggling at us like anemones, retract at lightspeed at our approach. Everything is luminescent down here, everything glows, but what glows brightest of all is the rectangular blocky backlight of Erica’s PDA, guiding us forward like a north star. She seems less certain of it, less sure; she stops and consults with Marcus every now and then and I feel fairly frequently like I have simply been forgotten, like I am an insurance policy for the return trip, a hostage kept in waiting to be revealed and used as leverage later on.

Will Makado care, I wonder, when she knows that they’ve taken me? I hope she will. I think we got close enough that she would. I think she likes me.

Does she like me enough to send a team after me? I’m sure there’s some kind of tracking device in this suit but will it even function this deep down? I don’t know.

I stub my toe on a bloated adipose swelling and it belches a gout of rank, sticky fluid on me. We pause again for Marcus to vomit.

Eventually we make it to a curled, winding passageway, a tight intestinal-feeling loop that circles in on itself over and over again, the tissue struggling against us at every turn, that we have to claw and scrape and crawl through but that the PDA swears is the right way to go, the simplified arrow logo spinning back around and directing us back in every time we think of turning around and trying someplace else. We push through and through until finally it vomits us out, breathing hard and covered in blood and strands of pale-white membrane, and then we stop, eyes wide, staring up and up and up at the space we’ve found ourselves in.

It’s enormous, the size of a stadium and at least twice or maybe three times as deep, great gnarled coils of sparking nerves weaving in and out of the fleshy, irregular walls casting macabre light in regular snaking patterns across the broad flat plate of bone that divides the space nearly in half, knotty and bulging and thick, honeycombed and dripping with thick resinous marrow.

There are things moving, I realize, on the far-off floor of the chasm, great writhing worms or – no, no, they have legs. Squat lizard-like figures, then, moving in fits and starts, their flesh a glistening pale sickly color, like milk that’s gone off. They must be simply enormous for us to be able to see them from this distance. I glance back at Erica and Marcus; their mouths are open, dumbstruck as well – they must not have known this was here. Could we be the first to find this place?

I watch a shadow, a patchy midnight cutout, detach itself from the bone plate and fall swooping to the floor of the chasm, and then it wings its way back up, one of the lizards caught in its claws, dangling beneath like a rabbit caught by a hawk. I watch, overwhelmed, as the – the thing, whatever it is, I want to call it a bird but it can’t be, it simply can’t be – flutters ungainly and graceless back to the bone and vanishes with its prey into a whorled hole in the side, ragged and uneven.

“What is this place?” I mutter to Erica, after I’ve regained enough of my senses to think to speak, and she shakes her head faintly.

“I have no idea,” she tells me, but before I can say anything else I hear a noise from above us; a subtle noise, like a whistling, drawn-out swoosh, and when I look upwards I can only see a diving, dark-furred silhouette with outstretched, foot-long claws and a hungry, slavering mouth.

I don’t have time to scream.

Continue with Part 26

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[that-yandere-life]

Soulmate Series: How You Meet (Part Two)

Peter Parker-

One day when you were 16 you noticed that little pen marks appeared on your skin.

It was a bunch of formulas for seemingly a chemistry class.

The next day however they were gone, in the same amount of time that ink stays on the skin.

Googling it feeling a little silly like maybe you just imagined it, you quickly got results for a type of soulmate bond.

Part of you wanted to write a note to them to see if anyone answered but at the same time you were afraid.

It took you years to place ink on your skin, until you were finally ready.

You had just suffered through another boring date, your twenties not quite living up to expectations.

Walking home that night you were approached by a man who held you at knifepoint for your bag.

Suddenly swooping in came Spider-Man saving the day, and potentially your life.

After he walked you home you couldn’t help but smile at the very thought of the encounter.

Before bed you started doodling the logo you had seen on his costume, drawing little hearts around it.

Words started to appear, causing you to realize that you had never given them and indication that you even existed.

Explaining yourself you saw the original mark fade as if they washed it off to continue communicating.

After talking until you both agreed to meet at a local coffee shop in a few hours.

Peter instantly recognized you as you walked in, realizing why you were sketching his Spider now.

How could you not feel lucky upon meeting this cute brown eyed boy with the curls?

Wanda Maximoff-

From the time she turned 16 Wanda always had a red ribbon tied around her wrist.

Finding out from others that it meant she had a soulmate, and one day the other end would lead her to them.

For a long time she ignored it, focusing on getting her revenge for the death of her family.

After the fight with Ultron, and narrowly avoiding the death of her brother she found herself longing to find her match.

One day she was out exploring the city after joining the Avengers, when she felt a tug at her wrist.

Deciding that it was time, she started following the ribbon wondering just how far it would take her.

Somehow it didn’t take long for her to reach you, as you lived nearby.

A few times you had tried to follow the ribbon only to get discouraged when it seemed they were never close enough.

Walking through the park you didn’t really pay attention to what was going on around you, until you saw someone stopped right in front of you.

Looking at them curiously you noticed them hold up their wrist, showing that the ribbon was connected to you.

Gasping you were shocked to say the least, but you couldn’t deny the excitement in your heart at finally finding the one for you.

Pietro Maximoff-

Sometimes when one has a soulmate when you turn 18 you get the first words they will speak to you, etched onto your skin.

Luckily you got one of the sweetest messages possible, and you were always hoping to find the one they belonged to.

Are you an angel?

Years passed with no instance of you being able to find the voice that would ring out with those words.

Working with the Avengers meant that you were constantly meeting people, but none were the one you were searching for.

That is until the battle with Ultron, and you saw the one called Quicksilver block Clint and a child from being harmed.

Unfortunately that meant he would likely die from his injuries, but not on your watch.

Rushing over you used your healing ability, using most of your stored energy to save his life.

“Come on, don’t die on me now!”

Pietro began coughing but breathing on his own again as the bullet wounds started to fade away.

Opening his eyes he gazed upon you, and to him you had an ethereal like glow surrounding you.

“Are you an angel?”

Unable to believe the words that just came out of his mouth you covered your own in shock.

“What you didn’t see that coming?”

Bucky Barnes-

Bucky had been told the story of his mother meeting his father so many times when he was younger.

They had been soulmates, the way they found out was she accidentally spilled hot coffee all over his lap and he was unharmed.

Many years later that information had been wiped from his memory, never thinking about soulmates again until he was in the healing process.

Slowly getting his memories back he recalled the story making him feel nostalgic and more lonely than ever.

Likely if he had a soulmate they would be dead by now, fate had not been kind to him in the least so why would it be now?

That was until you joined the team, and it was his job to train you on hand to hand combat.

Of course you were both nervous, but quickly got into the groove as you began to spar with each other.

Telling him not to go easy on you made him smirk as he was ready to make you eat your words.

That was until you were distracted and he managed to get a hit on your stomach.

You felt the impact but it didn’t hurt, it hardly even knocked the wind out of you.

Bucky was confused on why his hit didn’t land with more force, causing you to be able to punch him square in the jaw.

Stopping his movements he touched the spot you collided with not feeling any pain at all making his eyes go wide.

Having been told stories from your family as well you suddenly understood what they meant.

Both of you stood there in silence trying to process what the hell just happened.

Samuel Wilson-

No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get out of this mission.

Despite telling Fury and the others that he was about to meet his soulmate, they just didn’t seem to understand.

Pulling back his sleeve he looked at the countdown clock ticking away by the second, any moment and he should be meeting the love of his life.

That was when things went to shit and he couldn’t focus on it any more.

Over the comms he heard Steve yell about how the main target had a civilian with a gun to their head.

Sam was trained for situations just like this so he jumped into action approaching cautiously.

That was when you saw him for the first time, and should it have been under normal circumstances you both would have noticed the timer hit zero.

Carefully he tried to talk the guy into letting you go, but it seemed like they weren’t going to even acknowledge his attempts.

Taking a deep breath he hit a button, sending Redwing out hitting the guy straight in the head incapacitating him instantly.

Luckily he caught you before you hit the ground, unable to move independently because of the shock.

“I guess I did get to sweep you off your feet today after all.”

Gasping you looked at your wrist and then back at him with a soft smile.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad day after all, think of the story you will be able to tell your kids one day.

T’Challa-

Ever since you were born you had the outline of a handprint on your hip, your parents called it a birthmark.

However as you got older you discovered through research that it was the mark of a soulmate, where they would inevitably touch you for the first time.

Thankfully it was typically hidden by any article of clothing you wore, the amount of questions you would get otherwise would be unreal.

It also led you to wonder where you would touch your soulmate for the first time.

Working as an assistant for Tony Stark you ended up meeting a lot of interesting people, although none grasped you the right way.

That was until you were at a party he was hosting, a sea of people surrounding you for you to get utterly lost in.

Somehow in the commotion you were pushed into someone else, feeling them grasp your hip to steady you as you grabbed their shoulder to steady yourself.

Immediately you felt warmth coming from both places and you instantly realized what had just happened.

He stared at you in disbelief before letting go and bowing gracefully introducing himself in a muddled stream of consciousness.

Of course you couldn’t help but be endeared by this man who you had never officially met until now but who didn’t know who he was?

Never did you expect to be a King’s soulmate, but there he was showing you the now gold handprint on his shoulder.

Carol Danvers-

One day after your 18th birthday you started hearing music playing, sometimes it was singing other times it was the actual song.

For a little bit you thought you might be going crazy, that was when a doctor told you about soulmate connections.

Thankfully your soulmate listened to halfway decent songs, mostly comprised of 80’s and 90’s hits.

You could only imagine the stuff that they heard as you worked in a karaoke bar in the evenings.

Sometimes you had nights with great singers and choices in song, but others were the rejects of American Idol in the flesh it seemed.

Never once did you hear the same thing you were listening to, which meant that you were not in close proximity to them.

Until one day you walked into work humming along to the tune in your head, only to realize that it was playing inside the bar.

Taking a few deep breaths you looked around seeing two women singing and laughing with each other just having fun.

Then you watched as the blonde haired one started searching for something...or someone.

Maybe they could hear that you were nearby, could it be that you were each other’s soulmate?

“Let me go crazy, crazy on you.”

Singing it gently in your ear, knowing for sure that you were what the other had been hunting for, for so long.

Stephen Strange-

It could be said that Stephen never really gave much thought to his soulmate, until he became a Sorcerer.

Having the coordinates on where he was meant to meet them, the first time he traveled there he hoped you would be waiting for him.

For all he knew you had given up on meeting him, since it had been a long time for him to reach the point where he was actively searching for you.

Plus there was always the time period to consider, what if he met you in a time that wasn’t considered his own?

Stopping in various time periods he never seemed to meet anyone there.

Until one day he returned there to try again, and there was someone sitting under a nearby tree watching as he approached.

Noticing him stop in the spot where you were supposed to meet you had to rub your eyes to make sure you had actually seen him.

Having gone there on the same day once a week since you discovered what the numbers meant.

Somehow you just never gone at the same time until now.

Walking over to him you raised your pant leg showing him that you had the coordinates too.

Stephen vowed to himself from that moment on to never let you go again.

Wade Wilson-

For the longest you could remember you went to bed drunk, and woke up with a killer hangover.

However you hadn’t drank a drop of alcohol, it was all your soulmate.

Whoever they were you couldn’t help but pity them despite your obvious frustrations with having to deal with all the consequences but none of the fun.

It was clear that their life wasn’t going the greatest, just by the amount that the drinking had increased.

Unfortunately you overslept one morning due to still being drunk, effectively losing your job.

Not that you cared much, it was just a shitty part time job, but you needed it to live.

So to give your soulmate a taste of their own medicine you walked to the nearest dive bar, not the best of places but you didn’t care anymore.

The next few hours were a blur, until a man in a red suit entered the establishment already swaying.

“Finally it seems my soulmate grew some balls, I can’t even see straight. Well I never see straight if you know what I mean reader.”

Overhearing the part about the soulmate your ears perked up.

“I haven’t drank since last night and I’m shitfaced.”

Of course this mysterious man would likely be your soulmate, nothing normal ever happened to you.

“Well maybe if you wouldn’t drink every fucking night they wouldn’t lose their job, and have to get drunk in the middle of the damn day.”

You growled louder than you meant to catching his attention.

Tilting his head to the side he was processing the information, realizing that you had to be the one connected to him.

“You don’t want me for a soulmate anyway.”He scoffed turning back around.

[Part two! Please let me know if you want me to do another one with the X-Men and other X-Force type characters! <3333 The more feedback I get, the more I do with soulmates! Thank you lovelies! <3]

[quidfree]

Hi! Thinking of Dumbledore + Sirius, do you think Sirius would feel sympathy for Dumbledore if he knew about how torn he was btw his siblings + feeling trapped? I judged him harshly at first, but now I think about the difficulty about losing both parents + sibling, but not wanting to sacrifice everything to step in as parent + guilt that comes with that. I do think Dumbledore loved his siblings + I was happy when his bro said he did a good job with their sis before her death.

hi! this is an interesting one hm

the thing abt dumbledore is that i’m pretty sympathetic to him all things considered- i’ve never really taken the time to explain my feelings about him on here but i definitely don’t think he’s snape levels of “fandom should see he’s irredeemably terrible!”, though i have a lot of qualms about him. he’s certainly not the hero rowling thinks he is, but he’s also not the guy rita skeeter says he is, to put it succintly.

on the one hand, i do think canon mostly fails to acknowledge that he was very manipulative/calculating and made a lot of very cold (or just plain terrible) choices- everything to do with sirius, for one, as well as the whole dursley situation. i know there’s a couple of reasons harry had to live with them (supposedly...) and i can’t be bothered to go into them, but even then i never understood why he couldn’t have done to petunia what he does in OOTP (?) sooner- send a letter to scare the shit out of her and remind her to treat harry decently or at least leave him to his own devices. like, there was so much he could have done in the years between the potters’ deaths and hogwarts- that squib neighbour was already spying/reporting for him, so he was fully aware of it all, idk. i just find that whole thing exemplary of his callousness. it’s more unforgivable to me than raising harry knowing he might need to die for the cause- because that was necessary to defeat voldemort, but giving harry an escape from abuse was so avoidable. his handling of other characters also doesn’t paint him in the best light, sirius as most obvious suspect- there’s a good piece on tumblr about sirius being a liability in his eyes because he’s not loyal to dumbledore or his cause above all else, but to the potters (and ultimately harry) and his own code, and i really think it’s the best reading of dumbledore’s handling of sirius in OOTP, because i always found that kind of insane. it’s brain-dead obvious that the worst thing to do with sirius (especially if you were worried about his unhinged state and whatnot) would be sticking him in grimmauld place- even if they had to keep him hidden, they could have let him floo between order hideouts! see other people! prowl london as a dog! it’s insane that dumbledore of all people would be that dumb about it, so it makes the most sense to me as him locking sirius up where he’s the most contained.

on the other hand, dumbledore was both a quirky schoolmaster and a wartime militia leader, and i think a lot of the weirdness in his character is bc rowling set out to write a much more child-like series than she ended up writing. dumbledore is a pretty iconic guy in the books, manipulations included- he’s such a chessmaster, and he has flair, as kingsley would put it. most importantly he clearly tries very hard to orchestrate the best possible outcome for the entire world- not based on arbitrary beliefs or personal whims, but because he’s sort of the main bastion of hope in the wizarding world. i don’t necessarily think his actions in this context are all excusable, but he’s a war-time leader, and pretty much knows it’s all down to him- although the order is certainly competent, it’s a very ragtag group of people dumbledore holds together, and in terms of skill, knowledge and aura he’s their biggest asset. he’s already been through a wizarding war where he probably set out to murder the love of his life, another wizard supremacist wackjob! we know he’s long past egoism- he’s genuinely For The Greater Good, and he clearly cares about harry; his choices are undoubtedly not made lightly. it’s also important to note just how bad wizarding society as a whole is on these issues- even the most muggle-friendly wizards are remarkably ignorant about them (arthur weasley), and everyone else is at least marginally bigoted; bigotry is built into the fabric of their society, and their government is extemely complacent/corrupt, so the order and their ilk are very much on their own, while people like the malfoys are tolerated despite the open secret of their wartime alliances. dumbledore has a tough job, and he doesn’t know all the things the reader knows. so i think the op-eds calling him Just As Bad As Voldemort or whatever are missing any nuance.

then we get into dumbledore’s backstory. it explains a lot about him, i think. it’s interesting to me that he’s so consistent as a character- he has always been about The Greater Good, and he’s always had an ego, but as a child he let the latter dictate the former and as an adult he forever attempted to substract it from himself lest he repeat the same mistakes. some more questionable rep from ms rowling in having her (1) gay character be the guy literally seduced into wizard supremacy by his evil boyfriend, but i always liked that beat of a very isolated extremely intelligent character drawn into a warped sense of righteousness- it’s also very consistent of dumbledore to believe he’s doing the best for someone when he’s not really thinking about that at all, which is the case with his sister. obviously his family’s story is tragic, and then he gets pulled into this fake vision of a better world, validated in his brilliance, and then there’s his mother’s death, and then his sister, and suddenly it’s all come crashing down and he spends the next years of his life slowly realizing he’s the only one who can stop a project he might have been overseeing once. aberforth lays into him for it, and fair enough, but jesus, what a shitty spot to be in fresh out of hogwarts. i don’t know if it’s because i’m an older sibling, but i can understand the horrible burden of knowing that it’s always on you to think of yourself second, even when you’re inches away from the best thing in your life.

getting sidetracked- the question was about sirius and dumbledore. the thing abt LMV is that i try to keep my own opinions out of it; the marauders-dumbledore dynamic is a difficult one. they all respect him endlessly, and in school i think they adored him, but as a wartime leader it gets complicated. i think in canon their relationship was better, just a little strained (and a little more for others) bc of his style of leadership- you know, keeping secrets, playing games etc. in LMV, though, his machinations got them personally into some shit, so i wagered things would be more terse. james i think thinks most positively of him, as he is wont to do so, except where he is somehow at odds with sirius, because his loyalties there are clear and he is far more violently protective of sirius than he lets on. lily is a close second, because she’s a big picture thinker and gets how hard his job is, but she tends to be wary of his reasoning. remus is a more distrustful person by nature, and dumbledore using him for werewolf stuff wears him down. sirius is not a fan of authority, does not like secrets, and hates people using him as a pawn, so things are most strained for him, obviously. i think a lot of dumbledore introspection in LMV is from sirius’ POV, somewhat accidentally, so he gets a harsh rep.

to finally get to the specifics of your question: would dumbledore’s backstory get sirius to sympathise? arguably not much. sirius is a tricky guy, esp because i write him in a period that we know nothing about. he’s not a cocky slightly feral 15 year old, and he’s not a traumatised 30 something prison escapee; i try to get a plausible balance, so i don’t lend sirius in LMV so much of OOTP sirius’ world-weary wisdom. he’s 21, and in a war where the other side are wizard nazis he’s mostly related to somehow; he sees things in blacks and whites almost necessarily. so either you’re good or bad, trustworthy or not. peter crossed the threshold, so he’s dead to him; regulus turned himself in, but he’s one of them, so sirius doesn’t know what to do with him. sirius might understand how hard it is to have younger siblings you love fiercely who don’t understand your commitment to a higher goal, but dumbledore was on the wrong side of things that time, so i don’t think he would draw any sympathetic parallels- i don’t see why he of all people would feel bad for where dumbledore’s youthful aspirations of wizarding supremacy lead him, despite his good intentions. he’s not very forgiving of bigotry, i think especially because he’s cut all ties with his own background so harshly.

tldr; i feel for the guy, and his life was fucked, but sirius probably would not, and dumbledore got enough unwarranted hero worship considering his dodgy actions that i don’t resent sirius for holding that grudge.

[halberdierminister]

July Monthly Goals Check-In

1. Write 250 Words Each Day Well, I started out very faithful to this. But sometime around the middle of the month, I got pretty choppy. I honestly don't know exactly how many days I skipped. I'm gonna try to write a fair amount today when I can and hope that it is enough to make up for it. Which is fine. It has been an otherwise very productive month in many other ways, so I cannot be too upset about it. I may start running a wordpress blog with a friend of mine, and if I do that may keep me more on track with these.. We shall see. We shall see.

2. Read 55 Books This Year I finished reading 55 books in May! Last month I read 10 more books. THIS month, however… I read 31 books. That brings me to a total of 97 books read for the year!!! A lot of them have been VERY short books. Lots of poetry collections, manga volumes, graphic novels, etc etc etc. But not exclusively!! I was hoping to get to 100 books by the time I wrote this but the last couple days, I have not been able to make the magic happen. But that's fine! That's TOTALLY FINE. This will be a very significant get, but I have months to get over that hump. By the time you hear from me on this goals check-in next month, I will undoubtedly be decently well over 100 books, and I can talk about why that personally feels so good then!

3. Get A Full Time Job I did not get a full time job this month. BUT. I applied to 38 full time jobs. Got a bunch of rejections. HOWEVER, I have scheduled EXACTLY ONE JOB INTERVIEW so far so that is good news! And that would be a VERY good job if I were to get it! Some of these jobs are actually pretty exciting things and I feel confident for the first time in a while that I might actually find a good job IN MY CAREER PLAN!!!! Also I almost lost my part time job but the library director was able to convince the village to let me stay on as a substitute, and it has paid off surprisingly well. I've been working two to three shifts a week on that, which is more than any of us expected. So I guess what I'm saying is I am making good progress again and I hope I can have something positive to report by the time I'm thirty. Eugh.

4. Move Out Speaking of being almost thirty. I really do not want to be here. If I get the job I interview for, I would be able to move in with my friends in Milwaukee just about as soon as possible. So that is good news. Every day it gets more tempting to just say "screw it" and live down there. But that won't help me find a job. And the job really is the important thing.

5. Drink Less Soda I mean yeah. Occasionally, I drink-a the soda. But not too much. I am good at drinking less soda than I did last year or the years before that. That's because I would have several sodas each day, to the point where it worried some of the people I know.

6. Get Something Published Just found out that I'm getting something else published today! So that is one new poem published this month! I also had my fic in the Lalonde Zine come out, but it turns out that the Lalonde Zine was more of a shared Google Drive folder than an actual zine. Maybe I should offer to compile the zine into one document? I should do that. That would be a good thing to do and it would give me a lot of experience with doing that, something I haven't really done in a while. So the practice would do me good! And then I would feel better saying that I got published there too. But yes so besides the Lalonde fic, I have had two poems published in zines, one poem published in an online literary journal, and one fic published in an online fanzine this year! If you include the articles I wrote for school newspapers, I have gotten at least one thing published every year for the past fifteen years. If you don't count the articles (or the Lalonde fic yet), I have had 30 pieces of fiction and poetry published since 2005! That's pretty neat! I want even more though!!!!!! I found a publisher's website that accepts unsolicited manuscripts. I'm going to try to put together an honest to god actual collection of my poetry, one bigger than either of the two digital chapbooks I have made. I have a friend who is a professional editor -- not of poetry, mind you, but I might be able to convince her to give it a shot -- and I would honestly hire her at full price to take a look at it. I actually will need to seek a lot of feedback from a lot of people, so if you want to read a document full of a bunch of my poetry, lemme know and I will show you what I've got when I've got something.

7. Finish Writing A Legitimate Businessman Finished in April! No new news. But just because I completed this goal doesn't mean that is the end of it! I do still have the sequel to work on, even though I haven't done any of that this month. And one of these days I am going to get around to sitting down with the printed copy and a pen and editing the shit out of it so that I can write draft #2! I think I'll probably throw draft #2 up on wattpad (why not?? I've been curious about that website and know absolutely nothing about it) and maybe I'll make a nice looking e-book out of it that I can distribute on noisetrade or itchio or something! I wonder if I could get it printed on demand or something. Obviously not for profit. But like, maybe I have friends I want to send a nice printed copy to.

8. Write More The Revelation of Takaya According to Jin Finished in Februrary! No new news. A friend of mine has offered to bind a copy of it when he has access to the materials, and I think that'd be dope as hell. I ought to work on compiling it into a nice document. I don't know if that's what he would need. He would probably want to do that work himself. Sometimes I think about the concept of making an illustration for it? I don't know. I can't draw. But I might not need to draw for the thing I have in mind. Really I should be consulting with him on that. Ah well. Either way, I hope that ends up happening. That would be so friggin cool.

MINOR GOALS

9. Finish Playthroughs Of 1. The Legend of Zelda Breath of the Wild: Finished in January! 2. Persona 1 Main Quest Good Ending: I didn't do anything on this whooooops. Getting into the second half of the year without once having touched it. I ought to get back to this. 3. Pokemon Sword: Finished in March! 4. Pokemon Let's Go Eevee: Finished in February and March! 5. Persona Q2: I have finished the fourth dungeon and gotten to The Twist!!! It's weak. This really is the kids' version of a Persona game. Minus like… the fact that it's still rated M for partial nudity. There was exactly one moment of horror and even that was like… just a bit scarier than The Nightmare Before Christmas. But I did some of the side quests and those are actually decently fun. So I have the final dungeon left. I just wanna sort of power through this. I'll worry about completion when I do new game plus, whenever that might be.

10. Record More Ukulele Videos I did not do this. I want a new microphone. These are not inherently related things, as I do have a microphone already. I have everything I need to do this. I just haven't done this. And I would like a new microphone. Also, an amp for the uke would be nice. I should text my old coworker, see if he still has one to sell.

11. Record Let's Plays Neither did I do this. How could I? My parents think video gaming is the Devil's Lettuce. And they are always home. They would notice if they heard me talking to my computer. And that is assuming that I had something I could play on my computer that anyone would want to watch. I need a better computer. A gaming computer. An editing computer. I'm lucky that these are the same thing.

12. Duolingo? I was SUPER gung ho in the end of June and the beginning of July, but before too long I petered out. I've used a couple streak freezes and have really been doing mostly the bare minimum to not drop out of the emerald league. But I've got a streak of about 208 days, and that is nothing to sneeze at! Do I feel like I'm learning? I dunno. But I am at least interacting with Spanish just about every day so that… that's got to be helpful, right? right?

This was over one thousand five hundred words. Wait! Sixteen hundred exactly.

[the-desolated-quill]

BBC’s The War Of The Worlds blog - Episode 2

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Never before have I witnessed something this god awful. I’m actually gobsmacked. I knew Peter Harness was a terrible writer, but I didn’t think even he could fuck up this badly. I was utterly dumbfounded by the end of the second episode. I couldn’t believe what I just watched. Not only does this fail as an adaptation of War Of The Worlds, it fails as a story in and of itself.

The problems with Episode 2 surface almost immediately within the first few minutes. A flash forward to a post apocalyptic Earth where we see Amy taking care of her son as humanity struggles to survive because of the red weed (which doesn’t look terribly convincing sadly, but that’s the least of this series’ problems). From there the episode continuously switches back and forth to the invasion and the aftermath throughout, which completely ruins the pacing, but it’s actually even worse than that. These flash forwards also giveaway the ending of the story. That the Martians end up losing. Harness tries to act all clever-clever with it by having British propaganda claim that the army defeated them, but the damage has already done. Thanks to this reveal, Harness has successfully managed to completely suck all tension from the story completely. The Martians no longer pose a threat because we, the audience, know they eventually lose, and we know that Amy at least survives, so at no point do we ever worry about her safety. I was absolutely flabbergasted when I saw this. I couldn’t believe any writer could be this stupid as to sabotage their own story by completely defanging their villains. As for the red weed slowly killing the planet, not only do I feel this unnecessarily complicates a perfectly simple narrative, it also opens the door for humanity to overcome their Martian oppressors when the whole point of the original story was that we only survived by the skin of our teeth. Our human ingenuity had nothing to do with it. We’ll have to wait and see what Episode 3 brings, but I’m not optimistic.

Meanwhile the invasion itself is still just as stilted and lacking in focus as it was before. Certain scenes stand out, like the black smoke enveloping London and the Tripods attacking the ferries, but because we know the Martians ultimately lose and that Amy survives, there’s absolutely zero suspense. (And yes, I know War Of The Worlds is a hundred year old story and everyone knows how it ends, but that doesn’t mean you can’t build tension). Also because of Harness wilfully reducing the Martians to incompetent fools, he has to resort to cheap shock tactics in the desperate hopes of scaring the audience, like when we see one of the Tripods kill a baby. Or how about the bit where Amy almost gets raped in the post invasion scenes? After all that performative feminist posturing last week, it’s quite galling to see such a sexist trope be used here for a cheap bit of drama. It’s fucking pathetic.

And once again the focus is in all the wrong areas. Instead of depicting the horrifying events of the Martian invasion, Harness is more preoccupied with Amy and Rupert Graves’ character (I’m sure he has a name, but I can’t be bothered to remember it at this point) squabbling every five minutes. Guys! Humanity is being destroyed by fucking aliens! Can this not wait?!

I’m assuming the whole baby killing thing was an attempt to show us the selfish nature of man or something, but George and the Artilleryman barely make the effort to actually look for the baby and the scene doesn’t go on nearly long enough to get us invested in the search and their eventual failure. The baby is practically thrown away just so Harness can have a moment where social media will go ‘OMG, they killed a baby in War Of The Worlds! How edgy!’ And the annoying thing is the book does actually have morally grey and shocking moments that Harness could have adapted if he wasn’t too busy trying to second-guess the audience and show what a dark and edgy writer he is. There are two important characters in the source material that the narrator encounters who offer different points of view on the events of the novel. There’s the priest who we see slowly lose faith in God and become more and more panicked and erratic, and there’s the Artilleryman, who represents British colonial attitudes, believing that humanity will ultimately triumph when the evidence clearly doesn’t support this. Here the Artilleryman is played by Dudley Dursley himself Harry Melling, who does a decent job with the material he has been given, but unfortunately the character he’s being forced to play is just utterly inadequate.

Continuing with his trend of writing allegories to things that have nothing to do with War Of The Worlds, Peter Harness takes the opportunity to comment on military conscription, even though conscription wasn’t introduced to the UK until 1916. So now the Artilleryman isn’t some impressionable nationalist that has willingly bought into imperial dogma, but rather he’s a scared little bunny rabbit forced to fight a war against an enemy beyond his comprehension. Worse still, George gets conscripted into the military for literally no fucking reason. He doesn’t get given a gun or anything and despite the fact that he knows more about the Martians than the soldiers do, none of them fucking listen to him when he tries to explain the heat pulse thing or why it might not be a good idea to shout at a Tripod. Then, when they think they won the battle, the captain points his gun at George and forces him to wade into the marshes and investigate. Again I must stress that George doesn’t have a gun! It’s just utterly contrived!

Oh but don’t worry. Harness finally addresses what the source material is actually about. British imperialism and colonialism. Unfortunately he does it with the subtlety and nuance of a giant steamroller driven by Marilyn Manson. Now admittedly the book isn’t very subtle about it either as the narrator comes right out with the comparisons between the British and the Martians, but the thing is the book gets away with it because it’s told from the perspective of a journalist writing about his own experiences after the fact. H.G. Wells has the licence to draw direct parallels because the narrative form he has chosen allows him to. A TV series however - a visual medium - cannot get away with this. Harness, not having the faintest idea how to address the themes of the source material organically in the visuals or the plot, resorts to sledgehammer tactics to get the point across. In the flash forwards to post apocalyptic Britain, we see Amy’s son reading a book that details how the British defeated the Martians as part of some propaganda initiative. A speech is made about how powerful and unstoppable the British Empire is, whilst intercut with soldiers having their arses handed to them by the Tripods. We see several characters maintain a stereotypical ‘stiff upper lip’ attitude as though the Martian invasion was a minor inconvenience instead of a shocking tragedy. There’s even a moment where the Minister of War is babbling on about how much more powerful the Empire can become if they can use Martian technology before succumbing to the Martian’s black smoke and we see literal bile foam from his mouth. It’s all so painfully on the nose and doesn’t offer any intelligent points or topics for discussion other than ‘empires are bad.’

And that’s not to mention all the other contrivances and annoyances in this episode. Despite Eleanor Tomlinson giving it her all, I still couldn’t give two shits about her character. Rafe Spall’s performance as George is still utterly atrocious, running around with a gormless expression on his face as though he’s just lost his wallet. Rupert Graves is utterly wasted as George’s brother and has no good material to work with. We also have a little girl join the group in a desperate bid to draw some sort of emotional reaction from the audience (it doesn’t work) and we have a sick older woman who serves no purpose whatsoever as far as I can see. In fact she really pissed me off due to the way in which she gets poisoned. It’s clearly meant to be there to establish the Martians terraforming Earth, but good God it’s stupid. How does she get poisoned? By drinking a random cup of water someone had just happened to leave lying around in the middle of a field.

I... I... Harness.... Harness, does your brain work?! How the flying fuck did you ever manage to get a career as a writer?!?!

BBC, I beg of you, please stop using our TV licence fees to fund hack screenwriters’ poorly thought out and unentertaining fanfiction!

PLEASE!

[thepartyresponsible]

after a somewhat prolonged absence (moving is a goddamn nightmare), here’s the second soundtrack fill! this one is for an anon who asked for jason todd + "why you gotta kick me when i'm down" by bring me the horizon.

so here’s what happens when superheroes/vigilantes are (vaguely) legitimized and organized into authorized teams, but jason still manages to ruin his life.

no real warnings for this one, except it’s not overly kind to bruce wayne.

Jason gets traded to SHIELD after he shoots the Penguin in the face. He’s probably supposed to be grateful that he gets traded at all. Unnecessary kills are frowned upon all over, and Bruce especially takes a pretty grim stance on them.

Hell, Bruce is so pissed about this kill that two of Jason’s molars are still sitting a little loose in his jaw when his plane touches down in D.C.

The media’s been brutal about it, especially in Gotham. It’s nothing new. They’ve hated Jason since he crawled out of Crime Alley. They hate Jason, and they hate the Outlaws, and they’ve been gleefully running grainy videos of Bruce backhanding Jason’s mask to pieces all Goddamn week.

There were reporters camped outside Titans Tower from the moment Roy Harper brought him in, and Dick, because he’s Dick, never sent them away.  

“It’s public property. They’ve got a right to be there,” he’d said, while he packed Jason’s mouth with gauze and cleaned up cuts and clucked over bruises. “They can’t get inside.”

And Roy would’ve chased them off, probably, except Roy got dragged into trade negotiations immediately and left before Jason even woke up the morning after Bruce kicked his ass.

Jason wasn’t part of any negotiations. Dick ran what interference he could, but half the country, including Bruce, wanted Jason in prison. In the end, SHIELD is better than he could have hoped for. It’s better than he deserves. He’s got no right to be angry about it, even if D.C. is not his city. Even if he worked damn hard, for years, to stay out of SHIELD and its reach.

But the collateral damage is pissing him off. Roy, pulled from the Titans, stepping in to run the Outlaws. Kate Bishop, loaned to the Titans to fill their archer slot. And Peter Parker, graduated early from SHIELD, sent to round out the West Coast Avengers.

Parker, who’d been angling for a spot on the Avengers. Who earned that spot. Who’s everybody’s Goddamn darling.

Jesus Christ, people barely tolerate Jason in Gotham. He’s not going to be able to set foot in New York for years.

When he steps off the plane, he expects to be met by agents. He’s not technically in anybody’s custody; he’s been traded, not incarcerated. But Dick and Wally escorted him to his gate, possibly to keep any riled-up civilians from spitting in his face, and he feels rootless and exposed, navigating the airport alone.

It’s fine. He’s not armed, but, in a place like this, he doesn’t need to be. There’s no threat here.

He nudges his teeth with his tongue, feels them give more than they should. The stitches dissolved two days ago, and the swelling’s mostly gone, but the bruises on his face have settled in to linger.

He gets a few wide-eyed stares, but it’s hard to tell if anyone actually recognizes him or if it’s just the bruising turning heads. Most people only associate Red Hood with the mask. He’s lucky that way. He’s been careful to keep his face out of the press.

SHIELD, of course, does all its work with its Aux agents bare-faced and uniformed, all their stats and headshots available for public perusal. So that’s probably the end of whatever anonymity Jason had managed to preserve.

Which is fine. He wouldn’t’ve had any anonymity in prison, either. So it’s not like he’s losing something he ever had a chance to keep.

He’s standing in baggage claim, waiting for the duffle bag of clothes Artemis brought over, when a man wearing a decent suit and a blandly pleasant expression approaches from his left. “Phil Coulson,” he says, hand extended. “From SHIELD.”

Phil Coulson is a name that sounds vaguely familiar, like something Dick said to him a couple dozen times while Jason was busy trying to pretend none of this was going to happen. Jason sizes him up and then reaches out, shakes his hand. “Hey. Jason Todd, from--” He cuts himself off, flounders.

Jason Todd, from the Outlaws.

But he isn’t. He built that team. He was the cornerstone of that team. The Outlaws have never existed without him. And now, for nothing, for a father that maybe at some point cared about him, he’s ruined the whole Goddamn thing.

“From SHIELD,” Phil supplies, patiently.

“Yeah,” Jason says. He turns away, grabs his bag. “From SHIELD.”

Phil gives him a long, evaluating look. His eyes linger on the bruising around Jason’s jawline, and Jason doesn’t fidget, doesn’t drop his eyes. After a tense, drawn-out moment, Phil nods. “Alright, Jason,” he says, “let’s go.”

  He doesn’t expect a warm welcome. He escaped SHIELD training by virtue of Bruce’s dogged resistance to oversight and the fact that, technically, Jason put on his first costume before the Auxiliary Justice Department was established. He was grandfathered in, had to register but never needed to be licensed, and, for the past seven years, he’s just been one of the many now-authorized vigilantes who refused any kind of PR-pleasing government training.

Now here he is, showing up at SHIELD’s doorstep like a puppy no one wanted. And he’s taking Parker’s place, which sure as hell isn’t going to endear him to anybody.

He’s heard about trades like this. People being traded into teams that don’t want them. It was never like that on the Outlaws, because the Outlaws were, technically, under Bruce’s watch, and Bruce’s theory on teamwork has always been less is more.  And it’s not like that on the Titans or the Teen Titans or any of the teams directly below the Justice League, either, because they’ve got enough draw to only get the best.

But some of the government teams. Some of the military teams. Not so often with the higher-ranking SHIELD teams, but everybody heard about the mess on Rumlow’s team a few years ago. Everyone knows what they were doing to Barnes before Rogers found out.

Hell, Xaiver’s school is full of former government recruits who dropped out and need to be reconditioned – whatever the hell that means – to civilian life.

“Regulations require that you stay on base through the weekend,” Coulson tells him.

“Sure,” Jason says. He’d been under the impression that he’d be staying on base through the rest of his natural life, so weekend, in comparison, sounds mercifully reasonable.

“Pending clearance from Medical, you’ll be moved into the team’s building on Monday.”

Jason stares out the window, watches the cars. “Medical?” he asks, because it seems like the least treacherous part of that sentence.

“I was told,” Coulson says, with a sudden sharp edge to all that quiet patience, “that you were cleared for fieldwork.”

Jason’s tongue goes to his teeth, works at the swollen line of his gums. “Jesus,” he says, “it’s just cosmetic. And I probably shouldn’t blow anyone for a week, so maybe swap someone else in for the time-sensitive dick-sucking jobs.”

The look Coulson gives him is dangerously, infinitely bland, and Jason’s heart double-skips in his chest as it occurs to him that maybe that kind of shit is supposed to be on the table now. What the hell would he know? He’s worked with Bruce his whole career.

Jason, for the record, would happily take a mask-shattering, teeth-loosening backhand over being sent out to suck some scummy government dick. Jesus, he’d take the hit every day of his life.

“Is that a common work requirement in Gotham?” Coulson’s tone is light and even, professionally curious.

“It absolutely is not,” Jason says.

“That’s good,” Phil says, as he expertly navigates a u-turn through four separate lanes of traffic with all the nonchalance of someone turning right on red. “So you’ll have Medical, and then sexual harassment training, and then you can move into the team building on Monday.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jason says, forehead thunking into glass hard enough to make his bruised temple ache. “You fucking Feds.”

  They don’t go to the SHIELD base. They go to a small Italian restaurant in a strip mall. “We’re a little behind schedule,” Coulson says, as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “They already have a table. Let’s go.”

Jason follows because he’s got no right to stay behind. He keeps his mouth shut because he’s got no reason to need more information. He’s not running anything; he’s nobody’s captain. He traded all of that for a bullet in the Penguin’s head, and maybe it was worth it, maybe it wasn’t, but it’s already done.

Coulson gives him another look as Jason falls in step beside and a little behind him. It’s a thoughtful, calculating look, eyes unreadable, mouth a flat line. It’s the kind of look Bruce used to give him, before he gave up and kicked Jason out of the cave. It’s the way someone looks at an investment they’re starting to reconsider.

Well, it’s not Jason’s fucking fault if SHIELD made a bad trade. The whole world was running headlines saying the best thing to do with him was lock him up in isolation, keep him confined for the next ten, fifteen years. It’s not like SHIELD wasn’t warned what a shitshow Jason is.

As they step into the restaurant, make their way toward the back, Jason wonders if SHIELD did this as a favor to the Titans and Outlaws or as a way to get some kind of leverage on Bruce. He hopes they had the sense to angle for a favorable relationship with the Titans. If they think Bruce Wayne is going to give a damn what SHIELD does to him now, Jason has two loose teeth, three bruised ribs, and an impressive array of week-old bruises that would argue to the contrary.

“Here,” Coulson says and nods towards a table with two occupants.

Jason knows, in a glance, that it’s Hawkeye and the Widow.

They’re both watching him. Barton’s subtler about it. He’s got a sort of hapless, heedless air about him that makes his awareness seem accidental. It’s hard to take him seriously with that line of butterfly bandages above his eyebrow, the half-healed scab over his badly split lip. He reminds Jason of Roy, a little, and Jason almost smiles at him, because it’s good to see anything that looks like home.

And Romanoff could be Artemis, with the catlike stare she levels his way. Not aggressive, necessarily, but patient, intent. Assessing. Her body language lacks the casual, lived-in ease of Barton’s mannerisms. But that could be because she’s sipping elegantly from a glass of red wine while Barton is wrestling a plate of spaghetti into submission with a fork held awkwardly between bandage-wrapped fingers.

“Clint, Natasha,” Coulson says, as he slides into one of the open seats across from them. “This is Jason Todd.”

“Hey,” Clint says, around a mouthful of spaghetti. “I ate your breadsticks.”

“And he’s very sorry,” Natasha adds. “And he’s buying you more.”

Jason stares at them. And then he stares at Coulson. And then, because he’s got fuck-all else to do, he settles into the seat across from Clint and narrows his eyes. “You’d fucking better,” he says.

Sometimes, when he can’t find the fight he knows he’s losing, he starts a new one. It saves time.

But Clint just grimaces, looking good-natured and abashed. “Sorry. Got hungry.”

Jason furrows his brow, keeps staring. Clint blinks and shrugs, ducks his head so he can funnel more spaghetti into his mouth, and Jason wonders if he’s actually supposed to think that Clint Barton – Hawkeye, World’s Greatest Marksman, Avenger – is as friendly and harmless as your average Golden Retriever.

“Let’s see you,” Natasha says, leaning forward, and Jason goes completely still as the Black Widow’s fingers curl around his chin.

Jesus Christ, he thinks. Jesus Christ.

The Avengers are the reason their work was ever legitimized. The Avengers are the reason the Accords were reworked toward mercy. Without the Avengers, there would’ve been a war, and Jason knows exactly how that would’ve ended up for groups like the Outlaws, who were always a special target, even back when all vigilantes were criminals.

The Widow’s fingers are cold against his skin. She lifts his face toward the light, runs her thumb so lightly over the bruising along his jaw that he barely feels it.

“Get fussy with the flight attendants?” Clint asks. “I got locked in the lavatory once.”

And he is like Roy, because, when Jason glances over, he’s got a big dopey smile on his face and a look in his eyes like someone, somewhere, is going to lose blood over this.

“You guys don’t watch TV?” Jason should pull away from the Widow. Her fingers are still on his face, and he has to speak soft and careful to keep from dislodging her. It’s making him sound young and unsure, almost shy. “Batman doesn’t keep killers on his teams.”

“If you’d been a shade less study,” Natasha says, tone strangely controlled, nearly singsong, “Bruce Wayne would be a killer.”

Jason blinks. He remembers the hit that shattered his mask, the starlight sickness of heat-pressure-pain that broke his brain to pieces, left him too Goddamn dizzy to remember to get his hands up to block the next punch.

He remembers, also, the hot splatter of his own blood when Bruce opened his fucking throat with a batarang years ago.

“Bruce, you know.” He tips his head out of the Widow’s grasp and steals her wine, just to give his hands something to do. “Sometimes, when people don’t listen, he gets loud about things.”

“Sometimes,” Clint says, lifting the wine right out of Jason’s hand, “when I don’t listen, Coulson pulls me from the field, makes me go to therapy.”

“Wow,” Jason says, “I think I’ll take the punch to the face.”

Clint grins at him. His grin is sharp enough to cut someone. Beside him, Natasha mirrors it. “Yeah,” he says. “Devil you know, huh?”

“Okay,” Jason says, because this whole week has been a stretch of nightmare after nightmare, waking up to realize it’s getting worse every time he opens his eyes. He was ready for a bleak SHIELD room that locked from the outside. He was ready for revenge. He was ready to be made into a point, a cautionary tale for all the other Auxers who refused licensing. “What the fuck is this? Why am I at dinner with two Avengers? The fuck is going on?”

Natasha swipes her wine out of Clint’s unresisting fingers, brings the nearly-empty glass up to her mouth. “Coulson believes in team bonding rituals,” she says.

“I’m not on your team,” Jason says. He’s not. He’s here because nobody wanted him. He’s here because SHIELD was better than prison. He’s here because he fucks up every single thing he touches.

“Well,” Clint says, “not until I get you those breadsticks.”

Jason gives up on the pair of them and turns to stare at Agent Coulson, who’s been casually perusing the menu throughout the entire conversation. “What,” Jason says, as clearly as he can, “the fuck.”

Phil Coulson smiles at him, calm and unconcerned and vaguely benign. He looks like someone who’s used to dealing with people like Jason, which is a hell of a change from the way Bruce always looks at him. For years now, Bruce has been staring at Jason like he’s got no idea what species he is.

“Jason,” he says, “what do you know about Strike Team Delta?”

[timeagainreviews]

Zero Room for Error

Over his seven-year reign as the Doctor, Tom Baker had his ups and his downs. While seen as the definitive Doctor by many, towards the end, even Baker himself was tiring of the role. On top of that, the writing had begun to border along the outlandish. In "The Power of Kroll," the Doctor saves himself and others by emitting a high pitched scream that shatters glass. In another story, he saves the very metallic K9 from a furnace with his bare hands. However, it would seem that such heroics go back even as far as "The Android Invasion," where the Doctor jumps from the top of a building, unscathed. Ironic then, that a drop from a radio telescope not that much higher, should spell his death. Perhaps this was just the first of many course corrections the new showrunners hoped to achieve- bringing the Doctor back down to earth, so to speak.

With the introduction of Peter Davison as the Fifth Doctor, "Castrovalva," seems the most interested in lending some vulnerability to the character. There's a sort of pensive quality to a character having freshly fallen to his death. It spells out a very "look before you leap," plan of action moving forward. Sure, being the action hero is badass, but in the words of Dennis Reynolds- "You know what's badass? Being alive." But how much of Castorvalva is being economical, and how much of it is just plain stingy?

After a very weird regeneration scene involving "the Watcher," Tegan, Nyssa, and Adric rush the Doctor toward the safety of the TARDIS, all the while being chased by security guards leftover from "Logopolis." It's a fairly pointless scene that could have just picked up inside the TARDIS, but it's a chance to see Anthony Ainley's pillar of a TARDIS show a little menace, shocking the guards and Adric. Nyssa's remark about hating his face marks the first and last time she will ever mention the Master wearing her dead father's face- a plot point which I feel went woefully unexplored. At this time, there's not a lot of sense as to how or why the Master fits into the story, other than "He was in the last one."

Inside the TARDIS, the Doctor's regeneration is acting up, requiring him to need the use of the "Zero Room," a previously unmentioned area deep within the TARDIS. Along with misnaming his companions, he's also reliving past incarnations, allowing us to see Davison's impressions of both the First and Second Doctors, which admittedly aren't too bad. (His First Doctor is better than David Bradley's! Yeah I said it!) When I first watched this episode, I was horrified to find the Doctor unravelling the iconic scarf of his predecessor. But upon today's viewing, I saw it as a rather gutsy move on the writer, Christopher Bidmead's behalf. Leaving the thread behind as a trail of bread crumbs back to the console room is exactly something the Doctor would do.

After putting the TARDIS into motion, Adric follows the Doctor into the depths of the TARDIS. Meanwhile, Nyssa and Tegan desperately try any information on the TARDIS computer that might help the Doctor. Their conversation waxes philosophical about recursion and the word "if," which leads Tegan to wonder if the TARDIS index file could be reached by typing "I.F." into the console, which it does. This gives them the information they need to find the Zero Room and help the Doctor.

While the Doctor is searching, he finds the pieces of what will become his new costume, with a few red herrings peppered in. While he takes to the cricketer uniform, he leaves the recorder and big green wellies behind. The cricket bat needing a bit of linseed oil shows us that there appears to be an entire room of the TARDIS dedicated to the sport of cricket. One is led to wonder if there are other rooms dedicated to other sports and whether they're all British pastimes. While the concept of an Anglophile alien with a  cricket room is rather absurd, it's the making stuff of Doctor Who.

After the disappointing portrayal of the TARDIS that was "The Invasion of Time," it was nice to see a more sci-fi interior. While it was clearly the same corridor elements rebuilt, and rearranged, it was still better than an old hospital with ugly whitewashed brick walls. These corridors at least felt like they belonged in a space ship. Even the Zero Room does a nice job of developing the TARDIS a little bit. That being said, it also undoes a bit of its own hard work, the second it gets introduced.

The Doctor explains to Tegan and Nyssa that the room is completely unaffected by outside influences. Even the gravity is equalised. Being inside this room has already improved the Doctor's cognitive faculties, as evidenced by his ability to get his companion's names right. He begins to levitate where he will suspend himself until his regeneration is complete. But this is interrupted by outside forces, when the Master appears on a screen, with Adric tied up like his leather slave in some sort of web. It's like the razor wire scene from the "Suspiria" remake with none of the real danger. How the Master is able to penetrate the Zero Room, or how he kidnapped Adric is anyone's guess. Is Adric even there? It’s not made clear.

The Master sends the TARDIS on a collision course with the formation of a galaxy. You may remember this danger from another TARDIS heavy story- "The Edge of Destruction." Only instead of trying to stab one another with scissors, the TARDIS fills up with hydrogen and threatens to explode. The Doctor jettisons various rooms from the TARDIS, enabling him to convert the matter into energy, allowing them to thrust away from the event, and into safety. The only problem is, this also jettisons the Zero Room in the process. This bit has always confused me, as the TARDIS seems almost nigh-infinite inside. Rooms seem less like physical spaces, and more like files on a computer. Couldn't they just make another Zero Room?

Nyssa and the Doctor set about building a to-go Zero Room out of its doors, encasing the Doctor in it like a coffin made out of TARDIS wall. There in goes our hero, where he will sleep much of the story away. Back to the Master and Adric, still tied up and writhing in a way that will leave those of us not on a watchlist feeling uncomfortable. Bless Matthew Waterhouse, he's acting his little ass off, and he's still awful. The Master then tortures Adric until he agrees to help him. This betrayal under duress is never explored further, it's just a bit of light betrayal that will become common for Adric.

After reading on the TARDIS computer of a place called Castrovalva, Nyssa and Tegan decide to take the Doctor there to regenerate in peace. Upon arriving, the deep forest is unkind to the high heel wearing duo as they wheel the Zero Coffin around on a wheelchair. Nyssa's poor choice of footwear lands her waist-deep in some peaty water, which leads to an admittedly rather adorable reaction shot on Sarah Sutton's behalf. I was struck with the utter cheapness that was this scene. I tried to imagine Clara Oswald pushing a silly white box around on a wheelchair, and it just didn't scan. The companions of old really don't get enough appreciation. They were asked to sell some pretty stupid stuff.

While looking for Castrovalva (which is evidently the city, not the planet), our heroes are being stalked by men dressed as a cross between a Weber grill and a muppet. After some pointless padding in the form of running about, they are captured and subjected to a surprising level of hospitality. After removing their hunting gear, we see that the Castrovalvans are an intelligent people, whose only real shortcoming as a society is their choice of headgear. They allow Tegan and Nyssa the comforts of home, while the Doctor sleeps. That evening they roast a pig over the fire, which made me laugh a little. Something about seeing earth animals on alien planets always feels a little odd to me. Sure, there are humans, but that makes more sense than say a mouse in Jabba's palace, or PIGS IN SPAAAAACE.

A lot of the action at this point has come to a dead standstill. The Doctor is sleeping most of the adventure away, which is, to me at least, the worst way to do a regeneration episode. Pertwee was asleep for Spearhead, Davison sleeps through Castrovalva, Tennant sleeps while a Christmas tree wrecks Jackie Tyler's living room... Even Capaldi and Jodie sleep through their regenerations. This does lend the story a sense of urgency, but usually, it's more boring than anything. I much prefer a Matt Smith style "I'm still cooking," manic start, than the Peter Davison sleepy time show.

Once Davison is up, he does a decent enough job filling in the shoes of the Doctor. Though upon my first viewing of the story, I did not think so at all. Going from Tom Baker to Peter Davison was like going from the toy store to the bank. The Fourth Doctor is my favourite Doctor, so it just wasn't very exciting for me. And like I said, I can see now why they may have wanted to tone the Doctor down a bit. Davison is your father's Doctor. His performance is more subtle. Only now am I even coming around to a point where I appreciate what he does, which is what brought me to this story in the first place. I've been revisiting him with a renewed interest.

The episode ends after the Doctor discovers the city is in a state of recursion. Like an Escher drawing, the physical layout of the castle loops in and out of itself, trapping its inhabitants, except for when they need to go hunting. (I guess?) The Master, of course, has been there all along in old man double-hat drag. The Doctor tricks the Master into thinking he's still in the Zero Coffin by filling it with books on the history of Castrovalva. While the Master shoots a box, the Doctor is rallying the citizens of Castrovalva and breaking them of the spell of recursion, allowing them to see with eyes unclouded.

After revealing a tapestry is actually the web that holds Adric, using his mathematical mind to maintain the lie that is Castrovalva, their leader Shardovan destroys the web with a chandelier, causing the city to begin to collapse. The Doctor, his friends, and Adric flee to safety. The Master is not so lucky, as the people tear at him like an angry mob. He becomes trapped inside the city as it fades into nothingness. Upon returning to the TARDIS, the Doctor finds Tegan's landing job askew but assures her that she didn't actually fly the TARDIS, much to her disappointment. I too was a little disappointed. It would have been nice to see the flight attendant become a pilot. It did, however, lead to what I consider one of my favourite Doctor Who memes.

As a "Doctor's first story," goes, I've seen worse. "The Twin Dilemma," will always hold the "What were they thinking?" title. But on its own, I'm not sure I would say it's a wholly successful story. Lots of the plot points are glossed over, and/or made no sense. But there are a lot of things I like about the serial. It's a rare occurrence where the companions were each given a little something to do, despite the crowded TARDIS. I even found Adric tolerable in this one. The world of Castrovalva was uniquely designed and could have stood up to even further exploration. Although I would suggest watching the special edition, as it does the Escher bit far more justice. I also appreciate any episode that incorporates more of the TARDIS into the story. It seems most writers treat our old girl as simply a means of conveyance, which is unfortunate. I wish they would have allowed Davison to maintain a bit of the zaniness from these few episodes, as they promised a Doctor that was a little more cheeky than the one we got. But by the end of it all, he's got his friends, he's got his TARDIS, and he's got his celery. It's hard not to want to watch the next episode.

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

ASM vol 5 #9/810 Thoughts

I wrote this before the arc had finished so please bare that in mind if you read on because I recognize some of it might seem weird or redundant in the wake of the conclusion tot he arc.

Kinda sorta mixed feelings for this issue.

 Okay so here are the aspects I DIDN’T like.

 The recap page implies that the general public is starting to forget Peter ran Parker industries and that the heroes all think Spider-Man is in the pocket of the Kingpin.

 Now recap pages aren’t actually part of a story so they don’t exactly count per se.

 But if that is the intention of the author then the series has done a poor job of conveying the former. It’s just ignored the elephant in the room that was Parker Industry.

 And whilst Spencer was saddled with that mess a mess it was nevertheless and he’s cleaned up a lot of other things. Whilst I didn’t consider it a mess necessitating any cleaning up nevertheless when Steven Moffat took over Doctor Who in 2010 (technically 2009 but that’s not important) very early on he established that the massive global Dalek invasion everyone on Earth knew about had been erased from everyone’s memories (mostly) meaning that now alien invasions could happen and new characters would react as though they were sceptical of the existence of wider alien life.

 Again, this wasn’t necessary but the point being was that Moffat put the work in to fix something he perceived as a big problem that resulted from the prior regime. Spencer has been doing some of the same here but not addressed that biggest of elephants in the room that from it’s mere announcement the fanbase was collectively calling out as something that would fuck over the series going forward. Because absolutely not would the general public just forget who Peter Parker was in regards to PI, let alone the company itself.

 As for the Kingpin thing, I never thought about it until just this issue but I kind of have issues with it now. Because even if the other heroes do not know Peter’s identity surely they DO know Spider-Man and/or Kingpin well enough by this point that they’d not presume Kingpin and Spider-Man to be buddies.

 I mean there ARE ways to explain their feelings, like if they presume Spider-Man to be an imposter or something but him being on the outs with the other heroes merely because Fisk put on an appearance of them being friends in spite of their years of animosity shouldn’t make the heroes automatically resentful towards Spider-Man.

 Again, it can work but Spencer needs to better elaborate upon it.

 Moving in I did have a few issues with Felicia here. At first Spencer seemed to have her acting vindictive akin to stupidity of Slott’s run after SpOck sent her to jail. But then he explained why she was actually miffed at him and it made more sense.

 Well sorta.

 On the one hand Felicia has always been in love with Spider-Man and so if in character Felicia should jump at the chance to sleep with him if he propositions her. On the other hand though she does say Spider-Man was being creepy which and we get a mere snippet of what he was doing, so presumably he might’ve gone further than that.

 The other thing I didn’t like was Peter’s attitude to Felicia. Hey I’m all for ignoring stupid continuity if you are trying to fix things, but here...that isn’t happening. Peter is treating Felicia as an old friend but she hasn’t been that since 2009 and he’s still lying to her. Maybe that will be fixed next issue and their old relationship established but right now it is problematic.

 Oh and also the issue seemed to treat their old relationship as being messed up due to Felicia’s criminal tendencies when that wasn’t it. They hooked up in a monogamous relationship 3 times and whilst that was why they broke up the first time that wasn’t what happened on the second or third occasions.

  Finally I wish Spencer wasn’t maintaining Felicia’s tendency to be evil. Being a Robin Hood style character okay sure. But here she is basically what she was like in 2009 (except not made into a vessel for Joe Kelly’s midlife crisis sexual fantasies) but if she’s still like that her character is still in need of repair.

 Now this isn’t to say I hated every moment they interacted. Far from it. it was more on point than it’s been in a long time and much improved over BND and Slott’s run. So within the context of post-OMD Spider-Man it was good but within a wider context there are still problems. It is at least written better than before, I especially loved the acknowledgment of them making for a good team.

 Finally I disliked the art. Common criticism by this point but it stands.

 That’s everything I disliked but on the more positive side of things I felt that the general plot of the Thieves Guild is still a fun idea.

 The Thieves Guild are an X-Men/Gambit concept but Spencer has put enough distance between them that this NYC chapter of them can be played enough as a ‘Spider-Man thing’. And the notion of them swiping all the paraphernalia of superheroes through the power of super thievery is a fun superhero plot.

 I also don’t mind Felicia being a member of their ranks. I mean I feel like if she always had that tattoo Peter would’ve noticed by now, but there are numerous ways to explain that. If nothing else I love the scene between Felicia and her Dad, because it humanizes her, touches on her origin and allows her to be more her own character. I feel there is so much potential to be exploited from exploring Felicia’s relationship.

 Now in spite of all those complaints I actually loved this issue because of the Mary Jane subplot. There are some feelings I’m wrestling with in regards to it though but on balance I think this was ingenious on Spencer’s part.

 Okay first thing’s first. The artwork by Michele Bandini looked really nice. If you are going to have two artists work on the same story dividing them up based upon the subplot and the main plot is actually a pretty clever idea. I didn’t know there was going to be two artists actually and so when I checked out the preview pages before the issue’s release I was confused as to why Ramos’ style looked so much better from one page into the next. I wish Bandini had done the whole story to be honest.

 But onto the subplot itself.

 To begin with it’s just lovely seeing Spencer actually give MJ a subplot of her own and focus upon her. And it’s good focus too. So far he’s not really mishandled her in this story at all so Spencer seems to be a decent MJ writer. I hope this trend continues and the relative lack of Mj/his use of MJ within his first two arcs was more about building up Peter and also paying tribute to Superior Foes which landed him this job in the first place.

 I didn’t see the Carlie twist coming. Honest of all characters that reveal could have been she was the farthest from my mind. For some reason my mind was fixated upon Bobby CCarr or Jonathan Caesar somehow.

 Now Carlie is...controversial of course.

 Carlie was one of the many lame Brand New Day era characters with her status made worse than many of the other ones because

 a)      She was at times a Mary Sue

b)      She was pushed hard as the new love interest. I mean really, really, really pushed hard

c)       She had an inconsistent character design

d)      She was at times bland and at other times just...not nice. See her considering getting a Green Goblin tattoo to piss Peter off. Yes she was drunk but I don’t care how drunk or angry you are that’s like considering getting a Nazi tattoo to piss off your Jewish boyfriend. You are just nasty at that point

e)      She was an idiot during Superior despite being the most sceptical person of Otto

 Carlie to say the least was HATED by the fandom.

 Now look let’s not sit here and pretend the fandom hate went beyond what was warranted by the character. She was treated as an 11 on the ‘this character sucks’ scale.

 But that doesn’t mean she didn’t score a very solid 7 or 8 if you catch my drift.

 Here though she is arguably written better than ever before, not in the least because most of those problems listed above are being avoided or addressed.

 Rather than being an overcritical and judgemental asshole like in her last appearance who either attributes blame to Peter for the horrible things happening to her or else makes it clear the nature of who he is means he’s doomed to misery because no one could put up with that, here she acknowledges none of it is his fault and he deserves happiness.

 Spencer does drop his continuity ball though by listing off the wrong reason for why Peter and Calrie broke up. According to him Carlie couldn’t handle dating Spider-Man but in reality it was the fact that he was lying to her that was the problem.

 Whatever though, nobody cares why Peter and Carlie broke up, so long as they did.

 Similarly, if Spencer wants to try and rehabilitate the character who neglected to inform her ‘friend’ and roommate that she might be dating a villain without realizing it, okay let’s give him and this character a second chance. If Carlie wants to say she always liked MJ in spite of her douche actions lets draw a line under it and try again.

 Now we move onto the meat of the subplot. The support group for superhero supporting cast members.

 This idea gives me some mixed feelings and it somewhat depends upon how it  is handled going forward.

 On the negative side, I do not want this to turn into a subtextually critical evaluation of how MJ handled life with a hero in a past or how older runs did. Also the story is somewhat ignoring how MJ DID have people she could talk to about this in the past, like Felicia and Aunt May. But currently neither character knows his secret, might not be finding out anytime soon so okay I guess I understand why Spencer is treating it this way.

 I think Spencer’s putting in little lines of dialogue and presents a resistance within MJ to joining the group which makes it clear to us that, whilst Carlie felt alone and unsafe keeping Peter’s secret, MJ doesn’t feel quite like that even though it might be a struggle all the same.

 Which is in character, remember she kept his secret for years beginning with AF #15. Similarly MJ has had issues opening up to people in the past and has seen first hand the cost of exposing Peter’s secret.

 Now in spite of all I’ve said, I cannot tell you how much I ADORE the idea of a support group for super hero friends and family.

 If Spencer plays this right it could wind up as one of the mainstays of the Marvel Universe’s architecture, like Night Nurse or what have you.

 It just makes sense as a piece of world building for the Marvel Universe and is an emotionally engaging idea that ANY comic book series can pick up.

 Moreover it highlights the innate quiet awesomeness that is Jarvis. Jarvis is like Alfred but to the whole Avengers and one of the most bad ass bad ass normals in the whole Marvel Universe so highlighting him as this proactive, helping and caring individual is appreciated.

 This idea is a great addition to Peter and MJ’s relationship too as it gives Mj something to do aside from wait by a window and counters one of the most frequent weapons in the anti-MJ/marriage brigade’s arsenal.

 “MJ can’t be with Peter because it’s worse than being with a cop because they get to talk to other cop’s families. It’s just so toxic for her!!!!11!!!”

 See Fred Van Lente’s piece of shit MJ story in ASM #605 for proof of this.

 But right here Spencer finds a solution to that complaint (which I’m sure the anti-MJ brigade just love  him for) and one that makes justifying breaking them up again a lot harder.

 Also guessing who all the people in the meeting was turned out to be really fun.

 Over all I loved this issue because in spite of my problems with the Felicia end of things the MJ end was brilliant.

p.s. Isn’t it a little weird for Spider-Man to not remember what ‘Spider-Man’ did when they were separate people?

I guess you could argue that his memories from ‘Peter’ might be hazy too. Or that this weird science comes with ‘rules’ like that, e.g. one side has to dominate the other.

[wistfulcynic]

The Final Chapter, Raised With the Fume of Sighs

Summary: Killian Jones is madly in love with the woman across the hall, but Emma Swan wants nothing to do with him and his playboy ways. Until one stormy night when she dares to let him in and nothing is ever the same again.

Graphic Art by @rouhn

Available On: AO3

Rated: M for sexytimes

Catch Up: Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10

A/N: So here it is, the final instalment of my first multi-chapter fic! I have always wanted to try my hand at writing the sort of thing I personally like to read, and it's been great fun not only to do that but also to discover that what I like to read is what so many of you like to read as well. Thank you again to everyone who has read, commented, kudos-ed, liked, and reblogged, I am honoured and inspired by it all, and already looking forward to getting stuck in to the next story.

@wellhellotragic @teamhook @rouhn @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke

Chapter 11:

~3 1/2 years ago…

Killian stumbled into his new apartment and flopped on the sofa with a groan, flinging his arm across his face. He felt hideous, hung over in body and soul. The past few weeks had been nightmarish, a blur of bars and women and bad decisions that were meant to distract him but never truly did. No amount of rum or sex could fix the ruin of his life but he had no other tools at his disposal, no real idea of how to dispel his pain and guilt at Liam’s death and his shame at the end of his naval career. 

There was one small bright spot, he reminded himself. Despite the ignominious way he’d departed from Oxford, Killian found that after the better part of a decade away he was not opposed to easing back into academia. At least it would give him something to do besides drink and fuck. He’d been lucky to find the opening for an adjunct professor at Columbia, lucky that they were willing to sponsor a visa for him, give him the chance to start fresh somewhere new, somewhere he could earn his place. It was a real opportunity, one he desperately wanted not to fuck up. Which meant he had to pull himself together, Killian thought, his first class was tomorrow and he needed to be prepared for it, needed to plan, needed to be focused. He groaned again, cradling his aching head. He needed a cup of tea. 

Dragging himself off the sofa, he went to the kitchen and put the kettle on, then pulled open the refrigerator door. 

“Fuck.” He’d forgotten to buy milk. “Fuck, fuck, bloody buggering damnation, now what?” He really didn’t want to walk all the way to the shop in his condition, but tea without milk was unthinkable. Perhaps there was a kindly neighbour in the building who might spare a drop, he thought. Unlikely, but he supposed it was worth a try. 

Taking a moment to splash cold water on his face and run damp fingers through his hair, and put on some clothes that didn’t smell like alcohol and sadness, he went across the hall and knocked on the door directly opposite his own. 

It opened, and Killian’s world tilted sharply on its axis, shifting everything around him, altering the course of his life forever. The woman standing before him was a vision, sunlight shining through her pale gold hair, green eyes wide in the most beautiful face he’d ever seen. She looked like an angel, like a fairy tale princess, like— like someone who could never be within the reach of the likes of him. He stood, stunned, struggling for breath and for sanity, aware he was staring but unable to tear his eyes away. 

Say something, gobshite

Desperately, he groped for his charm, the one thing he could always rely on to get him through difficult situations. It came to his aid, as it always did, and he produced a dazzling smile. 

“Hello,” he said, “I’m Killian Jones, I just moved in across the hall. I was wondering if I might borrow a drop of milk.” 

For the briefest moment their eyes met and something flashed between them, a recognition, like calling to like, a profound sense of home. Then it was gone, so abruptly he thought he’d imagined it, and her expression slammed shut followed quickly by her door. 

“No,” she said, punctuating the flat declaration with the click of her lock. 

He stood outside her door for what could have been seconds or hours for all the notice he took of the passage of time. After… however long it was, he turned away and headed for the elevator. Suddenly, he felt up to walking to the shop. The air and the exercise might clear his head. 

He felt different, he realised, somehow… brighter. The pain and the guilt and the shame were still there, the sense of unworthiness, the general despair. And yet he couldn’t help feeling that in a world where a woman like that could exist and could live across the hall from him there might also be a place for hope. Hope that maybe he could pull through, that he could make things better, be better. Hope that he could discover what had made her slam the door in his face, in his face, for fuck’s sake —he paused for a moment to examine the reflection of it in a shop window; somewhat worse for wear perhaps, but still devilishly handsome. What had she seen in it that no one else did? She was intriguing, and she was bloody gorgeous, and against all probability it seemed she had relit a spark of vitality in him that he thought had died with Liam. For the first time since his brother’s death, Killian found himself feeling that there might be a chance for him yet. 

*.    *.    *.

Present day…

Killian burst into the apartment with such exuberance that the door nearly leapt off its hinges. “Swan!” he called, striding into the living room where Emma was on the sofa reading a textbook, and pulling his laptop out of his bag, “You’ve got to see this!” 

He opened the computer and presented it to her with a flourish. On the desktop was the home page of the New York Times. 

Green Enterprises Executive Charged With Misappropriation, declared the headline. Neal Cassidy, son-in-law to CEO Peter Green, has been charged with misappropriating company funds, he is being remanded in custody as prosecutors convene a grand jury. 

Emma’s jaw dropped, then she snorted. “I knew he was involved in something shady,” she said, “He couldn’t not be, it’s just who he is.” 

“Well it looks like seeing you again put the fear of the gods into him, love,” said Killian, not even trying to keep the glee out of his voice. “It seems that he had been doing a decent job of hiding his activities, but the day after the fundraiser his pattern changed and he got sloppy. He was trying to cover his tracks, but the bloody idiot only managed to draw attention to himself. He might as well have stood under a big sign that read ‘Criminal Activity Here.’” He grinned at her in satisfaction. “There’s no way Peter Green will let him get away with thievery, that man values loyalty above all else. Tamara has already initiated divorce proceedings. He’ll be persona non grata in every financial centre in the world, even if he avoids jail, which is unlikely given the power and influence of the people he crossed.” He set the laptop aside and pulled Emma into his arms. “I’d still like to punch his arsehole face, but I have to say, as comeuppances go, this one is pretty bloody satisfactory.” 

She remained silent, and he pulled back to look at her. “What are you thinking, love?”

She frowned slightly.“I’m thinking that I should be glad he’s finally got what’s coming to him,” she replied. “But I kinda don’t care. I meant it when I said I’m free from him. If he goes to jail that’ll be justice done, but it’s nothing to me beyond that.”

“You are far too good, my darling,” he said, raising an eyebrow, his grin tinged with malice.  “I intend to revel in his downfall.” 

She laughed and kissed his cheek, then slipped from his arms, sliding to the end of the sofa. He could tell that she had something to say, and needed space to prepare her words. 

“Killian,” she seemed suddenly nervous. “Do you know what today is?”

He did. “Er… Wednesday?” he said teasingly, but she was focused inward and failed to pick up on his tone. 

“Yes, but it’s something else too, kind of an anniversary. I mean, not really but just something you might remember, and—”

He decided to stop teasing, and took her hands in his. “One year ago today was the first night we spent together. Of course I remember, love, how could I not? I’ll never forget kissing you for the first time after years of dreaming about it, it was like all my Christmases had come at once. And as for what came after… well, it will forever remain one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life.” 

She flushed with pleasure at his words and at her own memories, but her expression remained troubled. “I’m so sorry for running away from you the next morning—”

“Darling, you have nothing to apologise for—”

“No, please, let me say this. I never told you why I ran.” 

He opened his mouth, but she shushed him and carried on. 

“I know you think it was because my past with Neal made me scared of getting close to people so I just automatically pushed everyone away, and that’s partly true. But if it had only been that I wouldn’t have run, just kicked you out before you’d even gone to sleep, or at least I would have done that if it had been anyone but you. I’d never fallen asleep with a man before except Neal, and when I woke up that morning, for a minute I didn’t remember what had happened, I only knew that I felt warm and content and— and loved, for the first time in my life. I felt like I belonged with you and I wanted to stay there with you forever, and I’d never felt any of those things before, not ever, not even with Neal. What I felt was stronger than anything I’d felt in my life and I barely even knew you, and that’s what scared me. I ran not because you were the same as the other men I’d been with, it was because you were so different. I just… wanted you to know that.” 

Killian was stunned. Although he knew now that Emma had never hated him as he’d once believed she did, he’d had no idea that she’d felt such a strong connection to him so early on, that the irresistible pull he’d always felt towards her had never been one-sided. He suddenly remembered their first meeting, the brief eye contact, the overwhelming sense of having found the missing piece of himself, quickly dispelled in the face of her blunt rejection. 

“Love,” he said slowly, “Do you remember when we first met, there was, well for me anyway there was a moment…” 

She nodded, looking slightly ashamed. “I remember,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You felt like home. You always have. That’s what scared me most of all.” 

Killian reached into his jeans pocket and withdrew a small, blue velvet box, caressing it gently with his thumb. It was old, the nap of the velvet worn thin on the edges. Inside it lay his most prized possession. 

“Emma,” he began, holding the box up where she could see it, not missing her slight intake of breath. “This was my mother’s. It’s the only thing I have left of her, the one thing Liam was able to save. My father sold all her other valuables, but this Liam took and hid from him, knowing what a treasure it was. My mother was given it by her grandmother who had also inherited it from her grandmother, going back I don’t even know how far. When Liam died and it came into my possession, I could never have imagined letting go of it, of the one thing that ties me to the mother I can barely remember. I do remember it on her finger, though, and I— I would like nothing more than to see it on yours.” He slid off the sofa and knelt before her, and opened the box. Emma gasped. “I know it’s not a traditional ring but we’re not exactly traditional people, and we’ve certainly not had a traditional courtship. This ring is a symbol of love and family to me, and I love you more than I am able to express, and I want you to be my family. You saved me from the darkness I was mired in when we met, pulled me into the light and into a life so marvellous I could never have envisioned it. I want to be with you every day until I draw my last breath and depart this Earth forever. And so, Emma Swan, will you marry me?”

He looked up at her face. Tears glistened in her eyes, dropping onto her cheeks as she tried to blink them away. She began to nod, swallowing hard, trying to force words through the constriction in her throat. “Yes!” she croaked, “Yes, Killian, yes, yes, yes!” Taking his face between her hands, she slid off the couch to kneel as he was kneeling, and began to kiss him, holding him tightly to her. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back until they were both breathless and laughing and he pulled away to take her hand and put the ring on her finger. 

“It’s so beautiful,” she breathed. 

“Like its new owner,” he replied with a brilliant smile, “It’s a wild pearl, small but flawless, much like you. Our family legend says that it came from somewhere in the South Sea Islands, what is now called Polynesia, brought back to England by an ancestor who had been a ship’s captain, some said a pirate.”

“Hah,” she said, “I always knew you had some pirate in you.”  

He chuckled. “The stones at the side are Bohemian garnets, added when the pearl was laid in this setting, probably sometime in the late nineteenth century. The ring itself is Welsh gold.”

“Killian, I— I’ll treasure it. I love you so much. I—” Overwhelmed, she kissed him again, wrapping her arms around his neck and toppling him backwards onto the carpet. When she broke the kiss he looked at her quizzically. 

“I love this carpet,” she said, stroking it. “I have since I first saw it, when I went to your place to stop you from leaving, to tell you I loved you. Every time I look at it I think about that day and how I almost lost you, and how I never want to be apart from you again. I want you to make love to me on it now.” 

He growled approvingly deep in his throat and kissed her deeply as he rolled her over onto her back, slipping his leg between hers and running his hand up her side, under her shirt, snapping open her bra and cupping her breast in his hand, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger until she moaned into his mouth. As he teased her breast she managed to unbutton his shirt and push it insistently off his shoulders. “Get this off,” she demanded, breaking the kiss and giving his shoulders a shove. Reluctantly he released her breast to sit up and pull off the shirt as she turned her attention to his jeans, undoing them in record time and reaching inside to grasp his cock. Now it was his turn to moan, looking down to see her hand adorned with his mother’s ring wrapped around him, stroking his heated flesh. He wondered if it was wrong that he found that insanely erotic. Nudging her off him briefly so he could divest her of her shirt and bra, he leaned down and latched his mouth onto her nipple, nipping it and bathing it with his tongue as she took him in hand again and he slid his own hand between her legs, blessing the stretchy leggings she wore. He stroked her clit with his thumb and slipped two fingers inside her, and her hand on his cock faltered under the onslaught of sensation from his touch. She revelled in it for a moment, riding his hand with small thrusts of her hips, then she pushed him away. “I want to come on your cock,” she panted, and yanked his jeans down over his hips then shimmied out of her leggings as he kicked the jeans away. She pulled him down to her, spreading her thighs wide as he positioned himself between them. 

“Don’t be gentle,” she commanded, “If I don’t have rug burns on my ass when we’re done, I’ll want to know why.” 

“It’ll be because this rug is made of silk,” he purred in her ear. Her laugh ended on a moan as he thrust inside her, heeding her proscription on gentleness, pounding himself into her as he lifted one of her legs under the knee and draped it over his shoulder, angling his hips to hit her in just the right spot. 

“Oh, that’s perfect,” she gasped, lying back and letting him fuck her for several long minutes, her hands flexing in the nap of the carpet before she ran them up her own body and took her breasts in a firm grip, pinching and rolling her nipples as he loved to do. He groaned at the sight of her touching herself, and her eyes flew to his. The combination of intense love and almost feral lust in his expression sent her flying over the edge and she came hard. He fucked her through it, letting her little gasping moans and the feel of her quivering around him drive his pleasure higher. Just as he was about to come she shoved him off her and onto his back. He snarled, and she laughed. “Patience,” she purred, straddling and sinking down onto him in one smooth move. She took his hands in hers, lacing their fingers together above his head, leaning down to give his mouth access to her breasts as she began to ride him. He took her nipple into his mouth again, more roughly this time, sucking it hard between his teeth and dragging his tongue across the compressed tip. Soon she was breathing in short, desperate gasps and she came again within minutes, letting go of his hands and collapsing against his chest. He grabbed her hips and lifted them, slamming them down to meet his as he thrust up into her, again and again, desperate beyond control, until he exploded into an orgasm so strong it was almost painful. 

They lay silent and entwined until their breathing steadied and the sweat dried from their bodies. “Gods, that was magnificent,” said Emma, finally, rolling off him and snuggling against his side, her head on his chest. “We’re sweating all over your silk rug,” she remarked. 

“I don’t care,” he murmured, still coming down from his high, too blissful to give much of a damn about such details. 

She traced random patterns in his chest hair with her fingertips. “Do you think we’ll still have sex like this once we’re married?” she asked, and he felt a stupid grin split his face at her casual use of the m-word. “You don’t think we’ll ever end up just doing lights-out missionary three times a year, do you?”

Killian had a sudden vision of himself and Emma, wrinkled and grey, making each other scream in ecstasy on the floor of a living room he didn’t recognise, in a house they had yet to buy. “No,” he said decidedly. “I do not believe that fate will ever befall us.” 

He could feel her hair brush across his chin as she nodded and her cheek flex against his chest as she smiled. “Good,” she said. 

 *.    *.    *.

~3 1/2 years later…

The wind whipped around Killian, ruffling through his hair and tossing up the collar of his shirt as he manoeuvred his boat out of the mouth of the Hudson and pointed her towards the open sea. It had taken far longer than he’d anticipated to get her ready for this voyage. A year or so’s hard work, he’d once figured, and she’d be set to go. That had been nearly four years ago, since which time life had consistently got in the way of his plans for repair and restoration of his beloved vessel. Yet Killian had no regrets, for the life that had thrown a wrench in his plans was far too good for him to wish it to be in any way different. 

The bright sound of laughter reached his ears and he turned to see Emma standing at the boat’s railing, the tiny blonde source of the gleeful noise perched on her hip. His heart swelled at the sight of them, as it always did. His wife and daughter, the two great loves of his life, his cherished Emma and his darling Hope, who was the symbol of her namesake for him in every imaginable way. Even after three years of marriage, even after Hope’s first birthday celebrated just the week before, Killian sometimes struggled to comprehend that the life he was living was truly his. A tenured professor, a husband, a father, what had he done to deserve to call himself any of those things, a dark voice at the back of his mind still sometimes needled him. Impostor syndrome, Emma called it. 

She had completed her MSW with flying colours and had been working full time at the women’s shelter for over two years. Like him, she still sometimes had doubts about her worthiness for such a role, had days when she felt useless and like nothing she did made a difference, but those days were growing increasingly rare. Emma had really come into her own over the past few years, her confidence in herself and her abilities growing by leaps and bounds as she let go of all the insecurities that had held her back in the past. Killian was absurdly proud of her. 

He needed to follow her example, he thought, to forgive himself for the mistakes of his past and accept that he had earned his life, that he was a far better man than he’d been seven years ago, that Emma and Hope loved him and he made them happy. He was working on it. 

He smiled as Emma came over to him, still laughing with Hope. The little girl held out her arms, the blue eyes she’d inherited from him sparkling merrily. “Daddy,” she said. He took her from her mother, balancing her on his hip with one arm while with the other he continued to steer. “Well, darling,” he said, nuzzling his nose into her blonde curls and breathing in her sweet baby smell, “What do you make of the boat? I hope you like her, as she bears your name.” 

Emma humphed. “I still think we should have called her the Jolly Roger.” 

“Swan—”

“In honour of your pirate heritage, Killian!”

“My very likely apocryphal pirate heritage!” 

“Still.” 

He shook his head in largely feigned exasperation and she grinned, stepping in close and wrapping her arms around her husband and daughter, stroking Hope’s hair and resting her chin on Killian’s shoulder. He turned his head to press a kiss on her cheek. 

And so the Swan-Jones family set out together for an adventure at sea, aboard the Lady Hope. 

-------

Sorry not sorry to anyone who thinks engagement rings should be diamond solitaires; I personally dislike diamonds and also think that sentimental softie Killian would want to give Emma something more meaningful.

[a-random-queer-fanpeep]

actual College Student peter parker

Peter is just a college kid. And the source of confusion for many of his classmates.

Cross posted on Ao3

As Tony and Natasha sat in the Avengers base’s lounge, Peter Parker stumbled in. Natasha barely glanced up as she greeted the boy, but it was enough time to take in the bags under his eyes, the messy hair, and the oversized hoodie, as well as the way he stumbled to the nearest couch, which he promptly collapsed into. “I’m gonna die,” Peter said, trying, but not quite succeeding at emphasising every word. “Bad guys?” Tony’s eyes flashed up at a speed that would put even Thor’s lightning to shame, despite the fact that all the avengers had learned by this point to to make rash conclusions around the kid. At least not until he explained. Peter shook his head as fast as he could at the look in Mr. Stark’s eyes. “Finals.” In all honesty, Peter might prefer it was bad guys.

Peter’s housing group couldn’t tell if he even existed or not. One of the boys was sure he did, because the mail would disappear from his mailbox occasionally. It wasn’t enough to completely convince the rest of the group, due to the fact no one ever saw him. At all. At least, save for the R.A., who swore up and down he’d meet Peter at freshman orientation. One of the more interesting rumors surrounding the resident mystery kid actually came from the residence hall across the street. One girl claimed they’d seen someone climbing in through a window. Weird enough by itself, but upon further interrogation, they’d found the room in question to be Peter’s. It had spawned over a weeks worth of debates.

The sound of metals crashing into metals followed by muffled swearing awoke the kid in the room next to Peter’s late one night. Somehow or other, the near non-existent kid had become the hall’s biggest source of gossip, so he had tried to tell the others. Though no one had disbelieved him, no one had believed him either. No one save the resident stoner, but his support didn’t stand to help much. It might have helped more at a different point in time, but currently, he held the claim to least believable story about Peter Parker. The story went: He’d been sitting in his room with the door propped open, when he thought he saw Tony-friggin-Stark walk past. So naturally, he’d been a wee bit curious. Leading him to poke his head out to do some polite spying. Stark had supposedly walked right up, in his business fresh suit, to Peter’s door and knocked. When that had failed, he’d leaned on the door, one arm supporting his head and said something along the lines of, “Kid, it’s me, open the door.” At which point a kid with messy light brown hair and dead eyes with an oversized sweater had opened the door and greeted the older man with an excited and somewhat, okay, very, high pitched voice. No one had taken him seriously on that point, even though he insisted it was true. But, in all reality, there was almost certainly no story in existence that would surprise that hall of students about Peter Parker.

Peter’s night had been spent out and about. Had he been partying it up like a stereotypical college kid? Nope. He had been crime fighting. He’d managed to end two robberies, put a stop to several cases of petty theft, and just help people in general. So, when, at four am, and after such a long night, he stumbled into his room through the window, only to lay eyes on his still left open planner to see he had an eight am lecture that morning, he hadn’t quite managed to restrain his groan, before falling over onto his bed, hoping to catch an hour or two of sleep.

Brriiinnng-Brriiinnng-Brriiinnng! Peter slammed the off button on his alarm, wincing. He didn’t really have the cash to replace that. He stared at the ceiling, wondering if it was worth it. Did he reeaally have to be a functioning member of society? He could always be a stripper. He had a decent body, he supposed, and at least he wouldn’t have to wake up for eight am lectures. Was it really worth it? Then he remembered that, between Aunt May and Mr. Stark, he probably wouldn’t survive it if he dropped out, so he rolled out of bed. He dragged himself off the ground where he landed and headed off to class.

He garnered quite a bit of attention walking in class one morning. This was because in one hand he held a tray with three coffees he’d snagged heading on the way to class. Resting on said tray was a pen he’d spotted on the trip. He had no clue if it had any ink, and it had no cap, but hey, now he had a pen. In the other hand, he held a pack of Red Bull he grabbed from his fridge.

His classmates never knew what to make of the boy. Some were in awe, some were annoyed, and several were concerned. One boy leaned over to whisper to a friend, “Uh, did that kid just down a pack of Red Bull like shots?” The friend stared at Peter for a few seconds. “Same.” They shared a laugh at that.

Peter’s month had been filled with patrols. To the point where he’d missed almost every class that wasn’t a test. So he didn’t think he was gonna do great on the test they’d taken a few days ago. The professor was passing back just that test, and no one seemed all that disappointed. His test landed on his desk with no more sound than a simple light thud. He looked at the corner where his score was written. The ballerinas dancing through his stomach dissipated. He had a near perfect score. The kid seated behind him leaned forward to look at it, whistling lightly, but looking kinda annoyed. “That’s really good dude.” He leaned back to whisper to his friend. His friend didn’t even bother hiding his annoyance.

There had been abnormally high crime rates that week, leaving Spider-Man incapable of catching a break. One of the many downsides: A toooootally unrelated kid by the name of Peter Parker was running low on sleep. Which was the reason he stumbled into a class that looked somewhat like his, wearing Thor pj pants and a Lipton tea shirt. His hair was the messist known to mankind. He was trembling, and didn’t want to consider the size of the bags under his eyes. At least he wasn’t too late. Something didn’t seem right. “Is this Advanced Chemistry?” The kid he had asked looked very confused. “...Ancient History.” “Close enough.” Peter threw his bag down and sat, pulling out his books. Since he was here, he might as well get the notes.

This was his third year at this school. Did that keep him from going to the Freshman Fair? Never. He couldn’t even pretend he was a volunteer, or even planning to be helpful in any way. Nope. His plan was to show up, and take the snacks. As well as all the free things he things he could find. He had robbed all the stalls already. That was why MJ, who had come to visit, found him in the corner, pockets overflowing with pens, pencils, bags of chips, and mini-notebooks. He had already eaten six of the chip bags, and was working on another. “You know, I still draw people in crisis, if you ever feel like modeling.”

It was three in the morning, and Peter had yet to put on civies, since he’d just got back to his dorm. He was busy heating potstickers and leftover pizza he’d bought on discount. “Hey Karen, how long can I live on potstickers and pizza before I die?” “Peter, I have several concerns. Should I alert Mr. Stark?” “No, Karen, that’s really not necessary.”

Peter had attempted responsibility for once! He had been studying when he maybe should have been asleep, but it had fortunately led to him being awake for Ned’s call about a job for Spider-Man. At that point, he figured it’d be better if he stayed on patrol till morning. He had an early class after that, and between the exhaustion and the time, he ended up pulling off the mask, and snagging a pencil, but otherwise completely in suit with nothing for class. Thankfully, no one put two and two together.

[invictus-rp]

Team B Infiltration

Setting the Scene: Team A has already begun the front assault on the large stronghold, drawing a number of the Apokolips army's forces out to the main fight. As the halls empty, Black Canary's previous knowledge of the labyrinthine area will tell you that you need to get down to the subterranean levels. While many of the Apokolips army is distracted, this will not be an easy journey down. If you must fight, the goal is to dispatch quickly and quietly so as not to sound up an alarm and distract from the front assault. Dinah Lance

She breathed through her nose as she approached the lift. The others were doing their part and the distraction was all they needed to get inside. She probably thought there was people better for this job. Hell, she was surprised she was given leadership but she supposed she had to make it count for something.

“I know some of us haven’t worked together before.” She murmured. “But I need you all to keep this tight.” She pressed the button for the lift, hearing the battle start outside. “Our priority are the captives kept on the lower levels. Myself, Gambit and Spider-Boy will form a tight circle around Scarlet Witch when we have everyone.” Her eyes shot to Wanda. “You are the master key out of this place. We’ll cover your back.”

“And if that fails, well, someone will owe me a new jacket.” She mused as the lift arrived. “Come on in.” 

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔 With all Remy's years of experience at getting in and out of secure places, there was no way he would not have volunteered to help out this time. Not that he was not equally good at blowing things up and distracting, but he thought this was where he would be needed more.

"Ah, no worries on dat account, chere," he said to Dinah, "I'm good at adjustin' on de fly." That he was. Even if Remy had not worked with all of them before, he was mighty good at improvising. He only hoped the rest of them were as good on that count. But Dinah was right that getting everyone out of there depended on Wanda. "Uh, yeah, I don' t'ink any o' us wanna be stuck down dere, so I hope your hocus pocus is up t' snuff."

The elevator arrived and Remy stepped inside, adjusting his own coat a bit as he smirked at Dinah's remark. "Hope you got more faith in us dan dat, but I'll be sure t' steal--er--buy you a nice one if it comes t' dat." Wanda Maximoff Wanda nodded, listening to the instructions before letting her eyes slip closed for a moment so she could take stock. "I can do it," she promised. At least, she was decently sure she could do it. "But I have to stick mostly to my hex bolts otherwise. Any other overly taxing magic and my stores might get depleted. Without a means of channeling anything, I'd have to recover naturally." And she very much doubted they would have the time. Still, she gave a wry grin. "Good thing I'm learning to punch." Dinah, Peter, and Remy were all better martial fighters than she was, though. In this case, that was a good thing. Spider-Man Sneaking was what spiders did best, so Peter pounced at the opportunity to work a little more closely with the team - he loved street work, he really did, it was where he thrived, but he also needed to stretch his legs a little and do something that needed a little more finesse. He was glad to see Wanda in their group. The other two he hadn't the pleasure of working alongside until then, though knowing where their strengths were held Peter was hopeful that they'd make it out intact. Hopefully.

He stepped into the lift beside Remy and sucked on his teeth, the sound muffled just slightly by the mask covering his face. After Darkseid's initial touchdown to Earth, Peter's select few who know his true identity grew - strictly, really, to the Avengers and Fantastic Four. The latter were family, the former - coworkers, but people he trusted. The rest had to earn it.

"Don't worry, I think we've got you covered. We're your personal punching posse, after all," Peter returned to Wanda, a little proud of himself at that one. "Also, I know that some of the newspapers get it wrong, but it's actually Spider-Man. You know, like a boy, but grown up.. I haven't been Spider-Boy in like, ten years. It's, uh.. Sorry." His voice waned towards the end as he suddenly felt too anxious to hold the humored steadiness in his voice. Peter was smart enough to be at least a little scared of a lady who could definitely kick his ass. Dinah Lance She pressed the button and rolled her shoulders before she looked over to the Cajun mutant. “Don’t let my boyfriend here that.” She humoured when he mentioned buying her a new jacket. She wasn’t actually too concerned. Inside, it was more the fact she didn’t know these people well like her own. Even then, it took her time to trust Barbara and Helena. To trust the League. She liked the idea of a team but she had fought on the gritty streets. She knew what is was like from ground level that some didn’t get to see.

As Wanda mentioned about her training lessons, Dinah nodded. “Don’t forget to rotate your hips. It’s where the power comes from.” She reminded her as she pressed her back to the wall of the elevator and gestured to the others to do the same. “Most of the forces will be out there but that doesn’t mean this is unprotected.” She told them. The last thing they needed was to be fired at soon as the doors opened.

As Spider-Man began talking, Dinah let him finished and paused before she spoke. “You talk a lot.” She said as the elevator pinged. “Keep it together. Keep it tight.” She reminded them as the doors drew open. 

Setting the scenet: As the elevator descends, Wanda senses the twinge of a number of threads. "We won't be alone once the door opens," she tells them. There are a few waiting Apokolips forces. Tread lightly, heroes.

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔 As Spidey moved beside him, Remy chuckled at his insistence he was Spider-Man. "You sure 'bout dat? Don' you need t' be at least...dis tall t' be Spider-Man?" He held his hand up purposely a good ways above the web-slinger's head as he spoke. He had no idea how old the guy really was, but he could not resist the tease. "Hey, if you're legal t' drink or not don' matter. It only matters how good you gon' throw dose punches when de time comes."

Dinah's comeback made him grin. "Wouldn't be de first time I'd been told dat," he said, which was certainly true. But hopefully they would make it out with both themselves and Dinah's jacket intact, and thus render that problem moot. At her instigating, Remy pressed against the wall. He would not be surprised if there was a welcoming party waiting for them, which was why he reached into his pocket and pulled out his bo staff, promptly extending it.

Wanda's punching ability might not have been tested yet, but her ability to sense danger certainly was. "You got it, chere. Bring on de bad guys, hein?" And when the doors slid open, they certainly did--a bunch of them, heading for the elevator. Remy heard their footsteps, and waited with the others until they drew near enough. Then he finally leapt out, whirling his staff to knock out the nearest one. "Bonjour, mes amis! Hope you don' mind us droppin' in wit'out an invitation!" Wanda Maximoff Wanda was happy to help where she could, as it wasn't exactly her forte to throw herself into the fray. She tended to provide magic support from the back. However, it wasn't the same now that she didn't have unlimited access to her magic. But, like she had said, she had her hex bolts. Quickly, her eyes darted around the area before she stepped back to give Remy room to work. His words almost would have made her laugh if the situation weren't serious. Red power thrummed in her palms before she called out: "I count eight!" Setting the Scene: Blasts begin to fly from the eight guards in the area. The Apokolips army is extremely fast, their speed difficult to track. Hiding behind the martial fighters, Wanda's hex bolts provide support, taking down a few of the attackers from the back.

Dinah Lance Seeing the oncoming forces, Wanda and Remy helped thin out the approaching members. As they got close, that is when Dinah stepped in. She landed an uppercut that Ted would be proud of before performing a  Krav Maga elbow strike to the face. The enemy stunned, she gripped the large arm, drawed herself close and manipulated his weight into a Judo throw to the ground, flowing into a high drop axe kick.

Like water, she flowed into combat easy as her clenched fist smashed into her next target before her leg launched into a low kick, causing it to hunch over. Rolling across their back, her arms linked theirs, manipulating their weight over herself to then collide with the floor, finishing it off with a direct blow of her forearm.

Standing up, Dinah braced herself. “Cover your ears!” She called out before, her face contorted. Her jaw clenched. Then she released that signature sound. The sonic waves made the walls vibrate as if a train was running right by then, the lights flickering and bursting as bodies went flying back. 

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔 As soon as Remy had jumped out of the elevator, he had been knocking back as many of the oncoming attackers as he could. Wanda's magical attacks helped immensely, as did Dinah's fighting skills. He definitely would not have wanted to end up on either of their bad sides. "Remind me not t' get either o' you mad anytime soon," he remarked, never able to refrain from quipping as he fought.

That became even more apparent as Dinah gave them a warning before unleashing her real weapon. Thankfully Wanda had put up some sort of magical barrier to protect them from the vocal equivalent of a grenade. "Eh? What was dat?" Remy said afterward, smirking at Dinah as he pretended to clean out his ear, "Not sure I caught what you said dere, but wow, dat's some voice you got, chere." It sure was, because it had taken out most of the attackers, and left the others seriously disoriented. Flipping his staff, he knocked out one of the few left standing. "Wish I could jus' scream at someone an' make 'em fall down!" Setting the Scene: The attackers have fallen. Down the hall is a thick door that will require either picking or a hacking job to open. Likely, this is where the prisoners are being stored.

Wanda Maximoff Grinning a little at Remy as he finished the last of their attackers off, she nodded about Dinah. "She's incredible, isn't she?" the witch praised. "But you're pretty good yourself." She let the field fall that she had put up to protect their ears, taking a slow breath as she felt her magic dwindle. She'd have enough. She had to. But Wanda hated these restrictions. It really took her out of the game.

"Can we get that door open?" Dinah Lance Despite her usual cockiness, she was never sure how to take compliments like this sometimes. These were people she deemed much more powerful than her, praising her. She was a fighter with a sonic bird call. These guys were on a whole other level. “A bird call.” She mused as Remy asked what the hell she just let out. “Yeah? Well, even Mariah Carey has days off.” Approaching the door, Dinah knocked it gently. “I can’t scream at this range. It could kill them. “ She looked at the others. “Don’t know if you have a hacking spell or something under your sleeve. Computes aren’t really my strong point.” 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔 "Ah, I jus' seem t' end up in de wrong place at de righ' time," Remy said with a grin in response to Wanda's compliment. But he had a little difficulty wrapping his mind around Dinah's vocalization being a bird call. "Dat's some kinda bird you callin' den. Don' t'ink I wanna see it."

Now that the attackers were out of the way, he took a look at the door. It was a pretty tough one, and while Remy might not have been a hacker, he had bypassed plenty of security systems in his time. "Pardon cheres, but I t'ink I might be able t' handle dis." Smirking, he reached into his coat and withdrew a lockpick. "I might not be officially thievin' dese days, but I still never leave home wit'out one o' dese."

Kneeling down, he took a moment to study the lock before starting to work. It definitely was not easy; obviously these aliens were better at keeping their valuables secure than humans were. But there was not a lock made yet that could keep Remy LeBeau out, and in a little while, this one joined that list. Hearing a click, he smiled and said, "An' dere we go! See, a gentleman always opens de door for ladies...an' Spider-Boys," he added with a chuckle at Peter. Wanda Maximoff Watching Remy work, Wanda let her eyes closed, her mind reaching out to display the threads of reality around her. If she could find the threads connected to the people they were seeking, it'd be easier. They'd have a clearer trajectory. Her eyes glowed red as she focused. "Down. They're further down. But we're nearly there. There's... hm..." Her brow furrowed before she focused on the room again.

Remy had the door open and Wanda nodded to the long hallway. "We're lucky," she murmured. "We have a gentleman, a freedom fighter, and a witch. I only hope there won't be any more parademons waiting to see what we're made of." Spider-Man "There's.. What?" Peter trained the large white lens of his mask on Wanda, worried both for her and for their situation, though the click of the door unlocking stole his attention. He focused beyond it for a breath of a second before offering the group a shrug. "I don't sense anything on the other side, so we should be good to go," Peter remarked, ignoring Remy's comment but he found himself smirking at it despite himself. Dinah Lance She glanced between the all of them before shrugging to Remy. “Yeah, well, when it comes to the queen of Amazons and an alien god then, yeah, it’s a sonic bird call.” She mused. She didn’t compare herself to the likes of Clark or Diana because she would severely outmatched, even with her vocal power.

As the door opened, Dinah glanced to Wanda who seemed to be locating the group. “Then we head down.” She stated before frowning slightly. “Why did you hesitate?” She asked, the others having not mentioned it.

“Don’t forget. Keep it tight. One of us goes down the rest will fall.” Though Dinah had already planned that if it meant the mission would be complete then she would stay behind in the thick of things. 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔 Proud of his opening the door, Remy smirked as they started to walk past it. But he agreed with Dinah; he had not liked the way Wanda had paused. He was not in tune to magical stuff, so if something was bothering her, it was probably not good. "You know somet'ing we don', chere? Should we be 'spectin' more o' a welcome wagon? Or somet'ing else?" He still had his staff in his hands, and plenty of cards in his pockets, though he was trying to avoid using them in such close quarters, especially once they found the people they were looking for. Wanda Maximoff She wasn't as accustomed to reading minds as a telepath, but she could do it if she focused. Trouble was, more focus meant more power used, and she was conserving. Still, she looked between the three others. "There are more Parademons, I believe. But something... else, too. Altered. Like their reality has been changed." It was cryptic. She gave an apologetic smile. "I can't investigate too much. I want to be able to do the teleport."

Setting the Scene: As they reach the bottom of the elevator shaft, the door opens to a large handful of parademons with their weapons. The presence that Wanda sensed is a pair of parademons in strange helmets. Wanda can't get a read on them, but she throws up a forcefield to guard her allies. Inside the room is a large caged off area full of prisoners. This is your objective, ladies and gentlemen. You've done it. Now you just have to make it out. The forcefield will hold, but the longer Wanda holds it, the more magic she saps. Act fast!

Spider-Man "Sounds like a party," Peter returned - altered Parademons? That really was the last thing they needed, but he felt confident in their group that they'd pull through. Still, Wanda was an integral part of them getting out in one piece, so he was pretty okay with relying on a bit of mystery. He had to rely on his 'feelings' one way or another; so instead of pushing, he waved away Wanda's worry with a slight wave. "Hey, no worries. We want you to be able to teleport, too," he finished with a sheepish laugh.

Though the sound was cut short when the elevator door revealed, indeed, a party of Parademons ready to turn them into swiss cheese. The two with those funky headsets were Peter's top priority, if only they'd caused quite the concern earlier. The instant that Wanda's shield went up, Peter already had his web spinners aimed at the pair - webbing was quick to shoot out and landed its mark. He kept the line tethered and pulled hard as he leapt forward into the fray. The goal was to drop the first two and bounce around the room to avoid random fire. Dinah Lance Her lips formed thin lines as Wanda described what she had sensed. Wanda was a finite resource at the moment which meant she could only be used sparingly. “We are all wearing costumes and doing something stupid. I think we can all handle this.” She mused though she was concerned in the back of her head.

As the gunfire began, she watched the bullets bounce off Wanda’s force field.  “We’ve got to handle this fast. If Wanda runs out.” She didn’t need to add anything other than that. Stepping forward, she released her Canary Cry again, knocking several parademons back and keeping the pressure on them. “Remy, you’ve got nimble fingers.” She called out, her leg firing into a push kick as she was charged into a frontal assault. “Think you can get these cages open?” She asked as she threw an elbow back into another enemy.

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔 Any magic stuff was out of Remy's realm, so he was not going to press Wanda for more. "You already doin' plenty, chere. I don' need t' know more more dan 'it's somet'ing weird'." A bunch of Parademons was plenty weird, so how much weirder could it get? Coming out of the elevator, they found more of them, though the ones in the helmets were certainly weirder. Clearly Remy should not have wondered about things getting weirder.

Wanda had put up a forcefield, which was good, and Spidey was shooting webbing at the helmeted Parademons, and Dinah was giving her "bird call" again. Remy was still reluctant to use his cards in such close quarters, so he was ready to start knocking Parademons with his staff until Dinah spoke. "Oh, I been told dat quite a lot, in more dan one situation," he said with a wink, "So yeah, I t'ink i can do dat."

Thus instead of readying his staff to hit the Parademons, he used it to vault over them, landing close to the cages. One of the nearest enemies figured out what he was trying to do, but a quick knock from Remy's staff took him out of the equation, and thankfully the others were occupied with trying to attack his comrades, so he turned his attention to the cages. "Jus' a moment, mes amis, an' we'll have you outta dere," he said to the people closest to the doors as he took out his lockpick again and went to work. After a moment, the lock clicked, so Remy opened the door and moved on to the next one, then the next one in quick succession. Now that the people were free, they just had to get them--and themselves--out of there. Setting the Scene: As Remy gets close to the people in the cages, they seem terrified. One of them whispers: "The helmets. The ones in the helmets can do things."

As if on cue, one of the helmeted enemies engaged with Dinah throws her back before raising their hand and beginning to murmur something. Around them, strange symbols begin to form, almost as if they are on fire. Single versions of the inscrutable glyphs fly toward Dinah. When they hit her, they seem to affect her mentally.

Wanda Maximoff

As the doors clicked open, Wanda let magic flow through her to appear in the midst of the frightened civilians. "You're safe now," she promised, trying to let her magic calm them. As the scarlet energy glowed in her eyes, however, several were afraid as they staggered toward Remy. "Is she like them?" they ask him.

Wanda was about to ask what they meant when her hazel eyes shot to Dinah as a new sort of power... not quite magic but not exactly mundane filled the room. "Peter!" she shouted. "Stop them!" There was something Wrong about it. Something thick and dominating. Dinah Lance Her fist collided with another monstrous jaw before she kicked them back, her leg firing like a loading gun. “We can’t keep this up.” It was like a small tickle in her brain to start with. Then it grew and grew and it was like she was drowning. Dinah froze as her breathing was hard, looking around her. “I…I can’t do this.” She whispered. “I’m not strong enough to save them. I can’t-“ A sob caught in her throat as she fell to her knees, being overwhelmed by the outside force. 

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔 He had expected the people in the cages to  be nervous, worried, scared. Remy could only imagine what they had seen. Obviously they had seen something from the helmeted Parademons. "Quoi? What can dey do?" Weird magic shit, apparently, as one of them suddenly sent a bunch of blazing symbols to attack Dinah. "Merde. Why dese t'ings always have t' get weird?"

At least Wanda was nearby with her own, and reassuring, brand of weird. Some of the people were concerned about her, though, and Remy was quick to tell them she was good. "Non. Whatever dey are, she ain't dem. She got magic, yeah, but she's here t' help you. I promise."

Dinah definitely needed some help, but now with the people right there, Remy definitely did not want to throw any cards. And he did not fancy his chances fighting hand-to-hand with someone who could do magic. "Wanda! Can you do your t'ing an' get us all out? Or at least do somet'ing t' combat whatever dat shit is? 'Cause I can't exactly blow up somet'ing dat ain't really dere!" Spider-Man Things certainly took quite the sharp left turn in the wrong direction, something they all really should have anticipated a little better - okay, maybe there was really no way of knowing that the bad guy's had some crazy mind altering Parademons under their sleeve, but they'd all dealt with worse - right?  With Black Canary faltering quickly and everyone else tied up, Peter steeled himself and set his aim on the helmet twins. Using the Parademon he'd just knocked out as a sort of diving board, he leapt through the air and careened himself into the first one. The idea was to at least break the mental connection it had on Black Canary; the taste of success only lasted for so long before his attention was on the second demon. He made short work of it with a wad of webbing to the face, incapacitating it momentarily - or for however long the webbing held.

Wanda Maximoff

Wanda used the moment that Spider-Man incapacitated Dinah’s attacker, her eyes glowing bright red as she let power flow around the people in the cage, around Remy, around Dinah and Peter. It was a lot of power, draining her resources down to the quick as they all moved. When the scarlet power cleared away, she went to her knees, exhaustion going through her. But they were done. They had made it. And the other teams were going to need communication soon.

[taesthetes]

tag games.

alright, let’s do this-- i just realized i had like five tag games in my likes, but they’re pretty similar so i’ll do two of them :D

game number one.

tagged by this sunshine @rosaetae​ ♡

appearance:

hmm alright so i’m 5 foot 7 or 170 cm, and i weigh 125 lbs, which is 57 kg i think? my hair almost reaches my butt, but i definitely need to get it trimmed. i had red dip dye earlier, but the color faded, so it’s like an ombre now. i’m vietnamese, and i’m on the paler side in my family. i think my lips are pretty full, and my eyes are large? or at least that’s what my relatives all tell me. and i have a dimple on my left cheek! and i sometimes have those tiny hobi dimples. um i’ll be posting a selfie tag right after this, so you’ll actually see my face then lmao

personality:

i’m an introverted extrovert! meaning, i am very social, i enjoy meeting new people and making friends in all my classes, but at the same time, i don’t divulge a lot of information about myself LOL i go to parties and stuff usually once a week, and i socialize a lot there, but in my mind, i’m just thinking about going back to my bed and binging criminal minds or the great british baking show. one of my friends actually told me that before she even got to judge me the first time she saw me, i already introduced myself and started talking to her akdhfsa so i’m very outgoing, loud, and sarcastic, and i’d like to think of myself as hilarious too. i try to be nice to everyone and am usually very chill, but if someone is super rude, then oh boy, i will go off on them

ability:

art!!! i love art with all my heart, and i’d like to say that i’m decent at it since i’m pursuing a minor in studio arts. i’d like to think i have athletic ability as well since i played three different sports and did cheerleading and four types of dances when i was younger. oh, and i’ve played the piano for sixteen years and the drums! also the recorder because that was mandatory in middle/junior high school lmao and i’m also very good at mental math. as for linguistics, i can communicate in english, spanish, and vietnamese.

hobbies:

studio arts is a big one, so drawing, painting, stamp carving, stenciling, etc. i also really love cooking and baking, but i don’t like eating the sweets. i just give whatever i bake to my friends and family lol and i gym five times a week, so does that count as a hobby? i also love sleeping, reading books, and binging crime shows

relationships:

not interested. my friends and i downloaded tinder for fun, and we just like to comment on the profiles. the total of people i have swiped right for in the whole year i’ve had my tinder is a whopping total of 11 (and 3 of those were dogs), and i always unmatch after the third message. i just ask my matches what food places they’d rec and that’s it. unmatch straight afterwards asdkfjasdh

random stuff:

kim taeyeon is the center of my universe, kim jisoo is the ultimate goddess, kim taehyung owns my heart, and nct dream can run me over with those bikes in go and i’d thank them and give them all my money in my bank account.

game number two.

tagged by this cutie patootie @minigguk​ ♡

1. Which BTS song means the most to you?

no more dream because it’s the first mv i ever saw of them when i got into kpop four years ago, and i really contemplated using suga’s “i wanna big house, big car, and big rings, but i don’t have any big dreams” as my senior yearbook quote.

2. How do you feel about astrology?

well, personally, i think it’s a bunch of hooey because all the descriptions and whatnot that are for each sign is written to be broad enough that it feels personal if that makes sense? like i can read the stuff for another sign that isn’t mine and can still feel that it applies to me. but do i still read my horoscopes and look for my sign in astrology posts? heck yeah i do

3. Do you think ghosts exist?

maybe? i need real life experience as proof to actually believe, not those grainy videos with what looks like dust particles floating around

4. What’s your favorite instrument?

the piano! i have a love-hate relationship with it though because i love listening to piano music, but i hate playing it myself

5. Who was the last person to make you really smile?

my mom :’) i was showing her snapchat filters and she got so excited, and she wanted me to take lots of her pics with them and text them all to her

6. What do you do when you feel vulnerable?

idk probably sleep? can’t be vulnerable when you’re unconscious. actually wait, you are physically vulnerable if some serial killer is after you and you’re sleeping, but feelings wise, sleep makes that vulnerability go away

7. What is the last dream you had?

LOL omg okay so i told this dream to an and mel, but like i was doing some survival competition and i had to climb trees and check under rocks and all this stuff in the jungle to find these clues, which were hand written on binder paper and sealed in plastic bags. i already had one clue, and i knew the other people competing had zero, so heck yeah, i’m on top!!! but anyway, i stumble onto the remains of a plane crash site and i’m sifting through everything and i find some good stuff, like a compass, but then, i get to this locked cabinet thing and i can’t get it to open and taeyong comes out of nowhere??? and first in my mind, i’m kinda like is he here to steal my clues /: but he actually helps me open the cabinet and looks through stuff, and then i find the clue in one of the bags, and i’m like oh do you want to see it too? and taeyong is just like it’s up to you if you want to share! it’s your clue! :D and he just leaves??? like wow WHAT A NICE MAN but also i better gather some weapons in case he tries to ambush me later 

also the weapons are definitely needed because after seeing taeyong, i’m thinking i’m probably competing against everyone in nct and i trust none of them, except maybe taeyong, mark, and jeno. also taeyong’s face was like six inches away from mine at one point, and wow how does someone look that good even in the middle of a dirty jungle? i’m jealous

8. Are you a nature person?

maybe? i absolutely adore flowers, and i like hiking in the mornings with my parents during the summer

9. What’s your favorite thing to do to relieve stress?

sleep LOL. eat ice cream and binge my favorite tv shows

10. Do you have any other blogs you’d like people to check out?

yes check out everyone i tag in this thing!!

11. Marvel, DC, or neither?

marvel!

12. What do you want out of 2018?

a good gpa, my driver’s license, good health

13. Do you hold grudges?

i don’t have the time nor energy to care that long about someone who upset me

14. Who is your favorite Disney hero/heroine?

mulan!!! i also really like peter pan and tiana. as a child, i adored cinderella

15. Do you consider yourself a positive person?

hmm, i’d say i’m positive to a certain extent? i don’t want to give false hope though, so i usually tell things as it is as nicely as possible. so i’m a balance of realistic and positive.

16. What is something you love that’s underrated?

um idk what’s considered underrated, does nct count

17. What is your dream job?

gordon ramsey’s job :D

18. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live?

right now, i really wanna be the protagonist in that stereotypical rom com movie and live to nyc but i don’t want the dude / love interest that comes with it

19. When was the last time you faced a fear and how did it go?

two weeks ago, i faced my final for my financial accounting class which was taught by a masters professor, who explicitly told us that he taught this undergrad class the exact same way as his masters class for financial accounting because he only teaches one undergrad class a year. the final was 30 pages long of one continuous problem. it was full of calculations and writing up journal entries, and i managed to get an A- in that class.

20. Which would you prefer to read: poetry, fiction, or non-fiction?

currently? poetry!

21. Where do you feel most at ease?

when i’m at home

i tag these lovely people for one or both of these tag games: @kidguk ; @jimlingss ; @kthartics ; @minigguk ; @rosaetae ; @kingdomtae ; @milknotes ; @vantae ; @cheelchan ; @1rapmon ♡