#something about how these souls are doomed to die meaningless and painful deaths each worse than the last

[ween-kitchens]

hey, uh

isn’t there some weird sculky stuff going on in lizzies attic

didn’t she call it corruption

isn’t cub corrupted by the sculk now

hey should we be worried ahah

[intothestarkerverse]

I loved Paper Hearts. Can I request a Starker version of The Good Place?

Ohhh! I hadn’t thought of his particular Starkerization, but this was loads of fun and I hope that I did it justice!

I hope you like it Nonnie and if anyone else has any requests, feel free to toss them my way!

The Good Place 

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/23048128)

When Peter Parker dies, he doesn’t expect to go to Heaven. Oh, sure, he’s tried very hard to live his life in the best way he’s known how, but he is also totally responsible for his uncle’s death and that alone had to get him a one way ticket down south. So, the last thing he expects after his untimely demise is to wake up sitting on a nondescript couch in front of a very handsome man who calls himself ‘Tony’, the ‘architect’ in charge of Peter’s ‘neighborhood’ in ‘The Good Place’. 

 While Peter thinks Friday the heavenly computer is amazing, he’s a little trepidatious about spending eternity with his ‘soul mate’. He’d been so unlucky in love on earth, he couldn’t imagine that his track record would improve just because he is now dead.

Quentin Beck is handsome, and at first he seems pretty cool...until he doesn’t. In fact, he’s a little bit of a jerk. Peter is completely unimpressed by his soulmate and tries to spend every moment he can away from home. Really, he doesn’t understand how anyone in charge of the Good Place could think that he was into egomaniacal, self-serving, not-as-smart-as-they-think-they-are jackasses. Cause he’s not. So not.

His neighbor is worse. So much worse. Peter begins to question the nature of the Good Place based entirely off of Flash’s presence there and continued insistence in referring to Peter as Penis Parker. Surely in Heaven you are spared from your High School bully...and why when the word sh*t is censored is Penis still a totally okay thing to bellow at the top of your lungs during a fancy ‘Welcome to the Afterlife’ party, anyway? Perhaps Peter’s first inclination that something is not right comes when he catches sight of Flash in the crowd at said party and his attempts to dodge him are thwarted with a shout of, “Yo! Hey, Penis is here! Penis Parker! Penis, it’s me! Ya boi! I can’t believe you made it here, dude, you were such a loser....”

Then there’s the case of Bucky and Steve. They aren’t soulmates. At least...not according to Tony and Friday, but Peter has to be blind not to notice the looks they give each other across the room and behind the backs of their respective mates. While he tries not to be superficial, Peter cannot even begin to imagine what it’s like to go to bed with Arnim Zola every night. Brock Rumlow is a lot hotter, but also a lot scarier...

No, something is definitely wrong.

To discover exactly what it is, Peter decides to get close to the only one who seems to have any clue about what’s going on. Tony. It helps that Tony is super hot and while also egomaniacal and self-serving, he is every bit as smart as he thinks he is...and Peter digs it.

~ ~ ~

This is his last chance.

As far as last chances go, it could be worse, really.

Tony knew going in that he was probably going to fail, but this was the Bad Place and things never go quite the way you want them to here. Still, the idea of eternal torment or ceasing to exist are not things he really wants to look forward to, so he is determined to do his damnedest to make this thing work....even if he knows it’s doomed to fail.

Peter Parker is a problem.

He becomes a problem on the first night when that Flash kid makes such a spectacle. Really? How is Tony supposed to sell this Good Place Schtick with some annoying Gen-Z’er publicly humiliating the most innocent, Bambi-looking soul in the bunch? Also, it made him look bad because he hadn’t done that on purpose...though if anyone asked...

He doesn’t know how he ends up with the kid tagging along with him like some intern from hell. (Ha!) In the beginning, it seems like Tony despises having Peter around. He tries to ditch him, tries to distract him, tries any number of methods of ridding himself of Peter...but Peter is like the gum in his hair that won’t leave until it’s cut out...and unbeknownst to Peter, Tony isn’t able to cut Peter free no matter how badly he wants to. So, he begrudgingly begins to accept Peter as an assistant of sorts. He tries to assign him meaningless, boring tasks, but Peter seems to thrive under the attention.

He keeps coming back form more.

Every embarrassment Tony imagines to demean him, Peter shrugs off and pushes through. Every injustice he faces, Peter shoulders and works his way around. Every torture Tony can dream up, Peter endures with grace and humility and begs for more. He’s amazing. He’s fucking good, and Tony has never met a good one before.

Not a really good one.

Not.

Ever.

He doesn’t know when he begins looking forward to the kid being around; when he finds himself spending a little too long admiring the boy’s chestnut curls and warm brown eyes; when his eyes begin a downward adventure, enjoying every chiseled edge and soft curve on the boy’s form.

Oh lust isn’t a problem. It is one of the Big Seven. They are encouraged to feed on it, trouble is...Tony isn’t dreaming of Peter screaming in pain or begging for mercy from the dark and twisted sexual acts encouraged by those in the Bad Place. No. No, if he was, well, everything would be fine, wouldn’t it? No. Tony is thinking about the whimpers of mercy from the gentle caresses and tender worshipping a boy like that deserves. He wants to take him apart in the best possible way. Not to torture him, but to revere him. Peter Parker is everything about humanity that Tony thought could never really exist and he wants him...wants to taste him, to have him, to know what it’s like to become so close to something that isn’t festering and rotting and putrid like everything else in the Bad Place.

So clearly it’s all his fault when Peter Parker shows up at his office one day with a look of determination and declares.

“I know this is the Bad Place, Tony.”

Well, that’s it. The jig is up. If he’s going to cease to exist or spend eternity in a fiery pit of excruciating agony, he might as well have one moment of joy. So, he silences the boy with a kiss. Peter seems surprised, until he isn’t. One moment he is frozen in shock, and the next moment he has his arms around Tony, fingers caught in his thick dark hair and the boy is kissing back with everything he has.

It’s is everything Tony ever thought it could be. It is warm and tender and gentle and soft and good and passionate and fills him with something he cannot even begin to describe but really, genuinely fears might be love. He never wants the moment to end and every time Peter tries to pull away, Tony pulls him back, pawing at his clothing and throwing everything on his desk into disarray in his harried attempt to make room for everything he wants, everything he needs. If a demon can die happy, than he will die happy, just give him a night of this, a night of Peter.

Tony commits every moment to memory, tracing his hands over the soft ivory skin, exploring every edge and curve, ever ridge and furrow. He tastes everything, spends what could be hours (time is such a Jeremy Bearimy) turning every sordid sexual torture from the Bad Place into the most worshipful offering he can. Peter screams his name a dozen times, sometimes muted against the desk and others freely into the room. Tony relishes every sensation, pauses in certain moments to remember what it feels like to have his body so close to something so good. He isn’t worthy, he never will be, but Peter is giving it all willingly and enjoying every minute of it. That does have to stand for something doesn’t it?

It has to end, everything does, and in the morning even though they’re both spent, Peter is still determined to have his answers. So, Tony tells him everything. Who he is. What he is. That this is the Bad Place and they’re all being tortured for eternity. Peter begs him to show mercy to people like Steve and Bucky and even, surprisingly, Flash, but Tony isn’t really in charge of anything. He’s just as doomed as the rest of them.

“So, that’s it, we’re all just...we’re all just going to be here forever like this?”

Tony looks away, scrubbing a hand over his carefully groomed facial hair and cocking his head slightly as he winces. “Not really, Baby. You know. My bosses are going to call this a failure. I’m dead, or good as...and, uh, you and the others are going to go to the Bad Place for real this time. It’s....pretty terrible. Lot worse than this. Eternal torment. Worst fears. You know the deal, I’m sure.”

“You can’t let that happen.”

“What part of I’m not in charge did you not get? Do I look like I run the place? Cloven hooves, pitchfork, horns? Huh? I can’t save any of them. I can’t even save you, and if I was going to save anyone...for the record, it would be you.”

Peter is reaching for his hands with an indistinguishable look in his eyes that Tony soon learns must be what humans call ‘hope’ because what he is suggesting is insane. “Maybe, they don’t have to know. That I know, I mean. I could pretend that I don’t. We could go back to things, the way they were. We could pretend and we could all just stay here because if here is better than there...than here is all we’ve got.”

Tony knows its a ridiculous plan, but he can’t look into those eyes and say no. He hears himself agreeing before he even realizes that he has, and the next thing he knows...he and Peter have returned to their normal lives...only with a lot more sex. A lot of sex. And sharing, Peter is big on the sharing. Tony pretends to mind, but really...he’s never actually been to earth and it’s interesting to learn about what it’s like to live there, to be human. He can even find himself fantasizing about what that might have been like. To be one of them. To be free to live a real life with Peter instead of...whatever this is.

~ ~ ~

Peter isn’t giving up.

It’s not in his nature.

There has to be a way out of this, not just for himself but for everyone and for Tony. He refuses to believe that any of them belong in this place, not really, and he’s determined to find a way to get them all out.

Tony is so gentle, so starved for affection, so eager to drink up every drop of the human condition. He’s no demon. In bed maybe, sure, but not....not in the torture people and take pleasure in their pain kind of way. And Steve and Bucky, they haven’t done anything worthy of being in the Bad Place. Even Flash wasn’t that terrible.

Something is wrong and Peter is going to figure it out. He has to, but also has to do it without Tony knowing because that would ruin everything, wouldn’t it?

It happens in small doses, when Peter is alone with Friday he asks her all kinds of innocent questions about how The Good Place operates. How do people end up there? What do they do to earn the way there? What happens if they’re bad? A thousand questions that he asks and records carefully and innocently in such a way as to avoid alerting anyone to his true intentions.

Slowly things begin to make sense and his also carefully considered questions to Tony about how the Afterlife works and the hierarchy of upper management is laid out provides Peter with the solution.

“I can’t call the Judge for you, Peter.”

Peter purses his lips in an almost petulant frown as he looks the human-like computer over unhappily. “Why not?”

“I am almost certain that Boss wouldn’t like it very much.”

“Almost isn’t certain. C’mon, Fri, did Tony tell you that I’m not allowed to speak to the Judge?”

The computer pauses, considering this for a moment before she gives a curt shake of her head. “No, he hasn’t.”

“Has he told you that he would be angry if I did?”

“No.”

“Than you can’t be certain at all that he’ll be made if you call them now. So. The Judge. I need to talk to them and I need you to call them for me because I know you know how.”

“Peter...”

It is a round about argument that goes on for an indeterminate amount of time before Peter finds himself standing in front of an imposing dark man with an eye patch and a penchant for leather who is looking at him like a bug he would like to crush beneath his steel-toed boot.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Peter clears his throat and plunges into his carefully pre-written speech. He can tell that this man is not the sort to be swayed by emotion, so he skips some of his more eloquently penned descriptions of the situations to stick with cold hard facts.

Something is wrong in the Bad Place.

There are souls there that shouldn’t be and he can prove it.

To his credit, the Judge listens with only a few derisive snorts and muttered curses, but it is a mention of Tony that finally draws an interruption.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute. Slow you’re roll there, kid. Go back to this Tony guy. He’s a demon right? Bad guy? Tortured and all that. So why did your voice get soft when you talked about him? Don’t lie to me. I’ll know and we’ll end this little chat of ours in ten seconds flat.”

Peter didn’t know what to do besides simply tell the Judge the truth. So, he did. Everything that had occurred between himself and the ‘architect’ and everything that he felt for the man.

“You love him? A demon.” Another snort. “I mean, I know humans can have some pretty self destructive tendencies but...”

“He loves me, too.”

“Yeah, no he doesn’t. Demons can’t fall in love. Can’t feel it. Don’t even know what it is.”

“Tony can.”

“If that’s true, there’s more wrong in the Bad Place than even you realize.”

Peter crosses his arms and stares the bigger man down victoriously. “I told you.”

The Judge lets out a long sigh, “I’ll have my best people look into it and if you’re correct...I’ll make it right, because that’s my job.”

Peter is returned to his every day existence and does his best to hide his deceit from Tony. Though, he does not seemingly have long to wait to learn to the fate of himself or his friends.

Just as the upper management arrive to take them all to eternal torment, the Judge returns with his findings.

Something is indeed wrong in the Afterlife. There are souls in the Bad Place that were never meant to be there. Clerical errors that may be (but probably are not) a mistake resulted in the damnation of an undisclosed number of human souls. These souls would be immediately relocated to their correct resting place. Peter included.

“What about Tony?” Peter cannot just let that go.

The Judge rolls his one good eye as he looks down at the kid again. “You won, Kid, enjoy your victory.”

“I can’t. Not if Tony is going to stay here. He doesn’t deserve to be here....”

“Look, you were right. He can feel love. He does, in fact, feel love. But he’s a demon and there’s not a damn thing I can do about where he is. If he were human maybe...”

“Than make him human. Let him live. If he sucks he can suffer here like he’s going to anyway and if he doesn’t than he can be with me there...in the Good Place.”

The Judge narrows his one good eye at Peter. “It’s a reasonable compromise, but I’ll only consider it on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You go back with him. Tony can be human but he’ll have no memory of any of this. Not until he dies and comes back here. I will erase the moment of your death, return you to your life as if you have always been there. If you really want, you can retain some memory of all of this as a near death experience because I have a soft spot for wise ass kids. I’ll even make sure you cross paths with Tony while you’re there. But you live your life and you take whatever Afterlife you earn. If Tony leads you down a dark path, you’re back here. If you manage to reform a demon, you can both shine your halos into perpetuity. Sound fair?”

Peter is sure this is a trap, but he cannot see how he can refuse. Despite the protestations he can hear coming from Tony where is he is being restrained by demons several yards away, Peter nods his agreement and the world goes dark.

~ ~ ~

It isn’t nearly as hard to get used to being alive again as Peter thought it would be. Details are a bit fuzzy when it comes to the Bad Place. He remembers some things better than others and wonders about the Jeremy Bearimy of it all because Flash is still very much alive when Peter is given his newfound lease on life. He’s literally never going to get away from that guy.

Peter has no idea when or where he will encounter Tony again, but he waits eagerly for the chance. He is still daydreaming about the demon when he’s being led into the office of his new boss on the first day of his internship exactly a month after his resurrection.

“Peter, this is Tony Stark...”

Anything else Ms. Potts has to say to Peter is completely lost to him as he takes in the roguish form of his devilish lover. Peter cannot hide the smile from forming on his lips as Tony holds out a hand to shake.

“Wish I could say it was nice to meet you, Kid, but being my intern is probably going to be Hell.”

“I don’t doubt it, Mr. Stark, but I can’t think of any place I’d rather be.”

[minervajeanlupin]

I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory

Five times Alexander Hamilton thought he was going to die and the one time he actually did.

1: The first time Alexander Hamilton was sure he was going to die was when he twelve.

He was weak and shivering, his mother clutching him protectively, whispering words meant to be comforting into his hair which was much too long, them not having enough money to be able to afford to cut it. When her grasp on him loosened, he was sure he was dead. Why else would his mother let go of him, when she had never before? It had to be him who was leaving, his mother couldn't possibly abandon him after all she had said, after all she had cursed his father for doing so… but for the first time in his still short life, Alex was wrong. Though he didn’t die, the outcome was so much worse.

For the week after, Alexander was numb. He didn't feel anything, too shocked and even upset that he wasn't the one to leave his cruel and unfair life. He gazed at the casket containing his mother unemotionally, her frail body almost unrecognizable from the happy, cheerful woman she used to be when he was still a child. (And yes, Alexander was still young. But he was no longer a child, having being forced to grow up much too early from the horrors he had seen.) His only sign of remorse for his mother was his fist curled in anger at how few people showed up to the funeral, at the hushed whispers of “what was going to happen to the whore’s sons.” His brother sobbed above him, his tears falling onto Alexander's hair, but he couldn't find the strength to do anything about it, to comfort his brother with meaningless words. He didn't react at all- to his mother's casket being lowered into the grave, to the drops of rain starting to fall, as though the sky was the only one weeping for the fate of the bastards, to a week later, when his brother yelped and covered his eyes too late, Alex already having seen his cousin’s blood, brought from his own hands, splattered on the steps, painting a morbid and gruesome picture.

Alexander Hamilton was thirteen when he first lost the will to live.

2: A wave of destruction crashed down on their already poverty-stricken town, bringing with it disease and destitution. Alexander watched in shock as his town crumbled slowly, the stench of death thick in the air. Everywhere he turned he could see corpses, fallen buildings, people frantically searching through the rubble for their loved ones before finally given up, tear tracks evident of their horrified and weary faces. He knew if it had been him there would have been no one to search for his body.

And for the first time in a long time, he was determined. He started writing frantically, on whatever bits and pieces of paper he could find, writing day and night like a madman with few, if any, breaks to ensure he didn't die from hunger or lack of sleep (not that food was appealing or his sleep undisturbed any longer). He no longer cared if he survived- he didn't care as long as his legacy did. So he wrote and wrote and wrote until his clothes were ink-stained and his hands cramped and a wild look remained almost permanently in his tired eyes. He wrote his way out of his childhood town and never looked back as the boat left, taking him further and further from the horrifying things he had witnessed much too young. But the horrors never ceased.

3: Alexander tried not to throw up as the overwhelming, and now overwhelmingly familiar, stench of death filled the air. He crawled away from the corpses baking in sun, flies buzzing around their bodies, towards the nearest medic he could find. His hair was now even longer and more unkempt, as he wasn't able to find the time to keep it properly groomed in the midst of a war. His eyes now had a permanent broken look to them, defeated as he witnessed the tragedies of each battles, but glimmering with slight hope when remembering all they had accomplished and all they were fighting for: they were making history, and he was goddamn well going to be a part of it. He heard someone call his name and turned around. He stretched lips slightly into something barely resembling a smile. Laurens smiled back genuinely- he always had been better at controlling his feelings than Alex. Maybe that’s why he had been able to shoot Lee without the slightest trace of remorse or regret. Alex wasn't sure he would have been able to do the same in his situation, no matter how much he hated the person.

John swung an arm around him and helped him walk to the medic. Alex at first stiffened at the touch, unused to such affection, but melted into it after a few seconds. He wouldn’t have thought it possible to love someone so much before John. He remembered the first time he had seen John, admiring him as he argued with someone about the issue of slavery, glad that he had finally found an abolitionist even more passionate than him. Even though he knew their relationship was doomed from the start, that the exhilaration and feeling of recklessness that came when your life could end any day would soon end and they would marry how society expected them to, Alex didn't care. That day would come, but for the meantime, he was glad to just lean on John’s bloodstained coat, discussing what exactly was going to happen when- not if, they needed to stay positive or they would lose all hope- they won the war.

4: Alex gazed at his family, at his dearest Eliza fondly cradling their newborn son named after his father-in-law, who had accepted him into the Schuyler family without a second thought. He felt as though his chest was going to burst; he never knew it was possible for someone to be so happy. He swore he would be there for little Philip, that his childhood would be free from the terrible things Alex had to experience when so, so young. His son would never know what it would be like to stare death in the face and shakily come out unscathed. Alex promised. For the first time, he was brimming with hope and pride for the future. The war was won, everything he’s been fighting for the future generations had been resolved, and now he just had to think about protecting his little family, and not the dreams and ideals of thousands.

And then the letter came. And then Alex found out why his John hadn’t responded to the news of his son and “how much he reminded me of you John, he has the same fighting spirit!” And then Alexander shattered.

There was no way he could survive now. Sure, he had seen the deaths of so, so many, but John was different. John had been special. He had been the closest friend Alexander had, he had been one of the only constants in Alexander's trip to America and through the revolution. How could such a great man just be gone? A piece of him died that day, and no one, not even his beloved Eliza, would ever be able to heal it. You can't ever fully heal a broken heart after all.

5: Hamilton now finally knew what grief was. He stumbled through the town alone, often breaking down sobbing and trying to forget everything. He would have resorted to alcohol but he didn't want to be an even greater burden to Eliza.

Oh, Eliza. How could he was been such an idiot? She was the greatest woman in the world and he had thrown it all away for a pitiful, scantily dressed woman and her lying, cheating husband. She deserves better. Everyone did. No one deserved to be with someone like him, especially someone as great as Eliza or Phillip.

A sob tore through his body as he sank down on a bench near the lake. It was all his fault. He had been stupid enough to throw away his entire life and legacy, and his son had been the one to pay for it. He had been the one to tell his sweet, poor, innocent, dead son not to shoot. He had been the one to rob his of his life, to take away from the newly formed country someone who would have blown them all away and achieved great things, far greater than his father perhaps.

Of course he would have achieved greater things. Phillip would have never hurt a soul, while Hamilton had hurt so, so many in his lifetime. Eliza was right not to forgive him. Alexander would never forgive himself either. He was drowning, tossed back in time to the days when he first saw the hurricane, in rumors, people staring at him with distrustful eyes and calling him names he hadn't heard since the beginning, when he was still a young child that just wanted to make others happy and didn't understand how awful the world was. And now here he was, a grown man with everyone he loved seeming to die or hate him, wishing he himself has died all those years ago rather than cause all this pain.

+1: Alexander Hamilton stared at the man across from him. Depending on what he decided to do, this was the face of the man that would be the cause of his death or turn him into a murderer. He thought about John, how he had told him to shoot Lee or Lee would shoot him- he could sense it in his gaze and the way he stalked angrily to first position. He thought about poor, young, hotheaded Philip, who had just wanted to do the right thing and threw away his shot because of what his father told him. Then he thought about Eliza.

Oh, Eliza. He had been a burden to her all her life, first by asking her to marry someone everyone her status would look down upon, then by worrying her incessantly by refusing to come home from the war and risking his life so he could maybe be a martyr, not even thinking about the toll that could have on the unborn baby, then by working day and night and not paying nearly enough attention to his still small but quickly growing family, then by having an affair and, in maybe in the worst decision in his life, publishing every single detail of what took place until even the most vulgar of men would turn red, then by telling his son not to fire his gun and effectively sealing his death, and now here he was. Face to face with the man who had once been one of his closest friends and was now his bitterest enemy.

He thought about his life, all he achieved and all he had faced. He had lived a lot longer than he was expecting, had faced more trials and tribulations than he could have ever imagined. He had always expected he would die young and soon be forgotten, that he would fade away into obscurity until no one remembered or cared about the young, imaginative boy who had been born into unfortunate circumstances. And yet here he was, with a vast legacy behind him that would hopefully ensure people would remember his name and tell his story. This was it. This was the moment that would dictate his entire legacy.

He took a deep breath and raised his pistol to the sky.