#i wish that marvel had never hired him. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aprilclementine · 2 years

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just some thoughts that came to me at work :)

Steve and Robin had just been let go from Family Video, for apparently "spending more time watching movies, than doing their job". If they didn't want them watching movies, they shouldn't have put a display TV in the store. Now, the two were driving around downtown looking for any help wanted signs. "I don't get it, Robbie! I laid down all that Harrington charm, you'd think she would have hired us right on the spot!."

"Steve, if that was what you called 'charm', I'm starting to really understand why you can never land a second date." Robin snorted from the passenger seat. "That poor barista, probably threw out both of our applications, after that pick up line you used."

"It was a classic! You just don't-" "STOP!" Steve slammed on his breaks, causing the car behind them to speed around, flipping them both off. "Robin, you can't do-"

"I seen the big ol' help wanted sign, and didn't want us to miss out on this momentous opportunity." Robin shrugged, as Steve parked along the sidewalk.

Steve grumbled back a response under his breath, as they both exited the car, making their way towards the Record Shop. "Hey, lighten up! This job might be 'life changing'! What if we find the love of your life here!" Robin joked, as she jabbed at Steve's side.

"Robin, if we get hired here, and it leads to me finding the 'love of my life', I will give you my car." Steve added sarcastically, as he opened the door for Robin.

It has been two weeks, since they both got hired at the Record Shop. Max, Lucas, and Dustin have visited a couple times. Max was excited, because she presumed she would be able to use Steve's discount to get all the tapes she could imagine for her Walkman. Steve, and Robin both loved the place, the owners were a really cute old couple, Roy and Tammy, they got to play whatever they wanted over the store speakers while they worked, see all the new releases, wear their own clothes as a uniform. Steve and Robin had even come up with their own game behind the counter, where they would try and guess what a customer was going to buy, based on what they were wearing. They even had a little tally going on in the backroom. Robin was much better at Steve than this guessing game, leading by seven points.

Today, Robin asked Steve if he was fine running the shop on his own, she had plans to get coffee with this girl from the Bookstore across the street from the Record store. Her name was Nancy, and she had been in quite a few times since the two have gotten hired, constantly asking Robin her thoughts and opinions on certain tracks. Robin's been smitten ever since. Steve had agreed, wishing her luck, as he hung up the phone.

Steve got to work today, wearing his favorite yellow sweater, some light wash jeans, and his white chucks. It was a Thursday, inventory day, Steve had forgotten that was today, when he had so easily agreed to let Robin take the day off. Steve huffed, and cursed Robin in his head, as he brought yet another box up to the front counter. He sighed when he took a seat at the counter, as he laid his head down on the cool counter, enjoying a split second of bliss, before the door was practically kicked open, letting the bell that hung over the door ring louder than normal. Steve shot his head up, sitting up straighter, as the person walked in.

"Ohhhh Roooyyy, you know what today is! Metallica just dropped a new album, man!" The stranger called out as he walked directly towards the labeled section, not even glancing at the counter. "Also, whats with this pop garbage over the speakers, man!" Steve took this time to watch him, as he sifted through the various album covers, as his ring clad fingers pulled out an album to marvel at, before placing it back. He watched as the man, stuck his tongue out as he moved to the next row, and how he shook his long hair out of his face, and continued to search. Steve stared at the vest that covered his back, and the way his jeans clung to his legs, chain looped across the first two loops of his jeans, and the neatly folded black hankerchif sticking out of his back pocket.

Steve stood from the counter, running a hand through his hair, as he went to approach the stranger. The man hummed a tune softly under his breath, that Steve was unfamiliar with. Just as Steve was going to clear his throat to get his attention, the man let out an exasperated sigh, before yelling, "Roy! Did you fall in the back again?" The man quickly turned around, running right into Steve's chest.

They both let out gasps, the stranger from shock, and Steve from the blow. As the two regained balance, the man laughed. "Holy shit, man, say something next time!"

Steve, now even closer to the stranger, could not find any words. Too busy, scanning his features up close, getting lost in his pretty brown eyes. Steve shook himself out of his thoughts, before clearing his throat. "M'sorry, was trying to catch my breath again over at the counter when you walked in."

"Wow, didn't realize I had that kind of effect on strangers, let alone hot strangers. What's your name?" The man smiled slyly, as he looked up at Steve.

Steve felt the heat rush to his cheeks, trying to hide his reaction, as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Uh, Steve. Roy isn't in today, but it is inventory day, so any new releases, I'm in the middle of putting out right now." Steve turned away from the man's intense gaze, clearing his throat as he turned away, walking towards the counter again. "I'm sorry, normally they're out by now, 'cause I have my coworker to help, but they're gone today." Steve continued to explain, as the man followed him to the counter where the boxes were stacked.

"S'Fine. Need a hand?" The man asked, as Steve opened up one of the boxes.

"No, I couldn't ask you to do that, I'll just hurry up, try and get you your album sooner." Steve said quickly, as he went to lift another box onto the counter. The man reached out, and put his hand on Steve's shoulder, stopping his frantic movements. Steve felt his whole body heat up from the touch alone.

"As much as I'd love to see you all sweaty, theres no need to do all that. I seriously don't mind, I've helped Roy and Tams a couple times anyways." He explained, as he took the box from Steves hands. "The names Eddie, by the way."

"Eddie." Steve quietly repeated to himself, as he opend the other box that Eddie had moved on to the counter. "Sooo, do you come around here often?"

"Are you flirting with me, Stevie?" Eddie looked up from the box in front of him, giving Steve that same smile from before.

"No- I just- Well-" Steve tried to quickly get out, as Eddie let out a melodic laugh.

"I'm joking, you walked right into that one." Eddie shook his head, as he turned away from the counter with a stack of new albums ready to put them in their respective section. Steve was still a blushing mess, wondering how any person could have this effect on him.

He was taken out of his trance by Eddie calling for him from across the store. "Steve, is this fucking ABBA playing?" He questioned, as the opening note to "Dancing Queen" played through the store.

Steve nodded, as he moved closer to where Eddie stood, with another stack of albums in his hand. "Yeah, why?"

"S'Nothing, I just thought Roy let you guys play your own music, while you worked." Eddie continued, as he moved past Steve to grab some another stack.

Steve stood their confused, watching Eddies back as he walked to the counter. "He does?" Steve replied, confused as to what Eddie was getting at.

Eddie let out another laugh, as he walked back over to Steve. "You're funny, dude. Seriously, that's hilarious." Steve looked towards Eddie again, giving him a quizzical look.

"What did I say?" Steve asked.

Eddie stopped in his tracks, and looked up at Steve. "Wait, wait, wait. You're not kidding? You seriously play ABBA while you work? Holy shit, I think I need a minute." He placed down the stack of albums, on a nearby counter, before he literally doubled over in laughter. Steve huffed as he set down his albums as well, walking close to Eddie, with both hands on his hips.

"What's so funny about it?" Steve questioned as Eddie continued to laugh. Steve tried very hard to keep the bit going, as he listened to Eddie's infectious laugh.

Eddied sounded out of breath as he replied. "You just don't look the type, maybe some Bee Gees, Journey, I don't know, even Tears for Fears."

"Huh? What's so shocking about it? What's not to like?" Steve continued to question, as Eddie started laughing again. "Youuu can dance, youuu can jiiive." Steve began to sing along, making Eddie laugh even harder, swatting his hand at nothing in an attempt to get Steve to stop.

The two let out a long sigh as the song conlcuded, Eddie shaking his head as he looked over at Steve, who whistled along to the final notes. "I'm going to make it my personal mission to show you some real music, Steve."

Steve rolled his eyes at the remarks, as he walked back over to continue putting away his stack.

The two finished fairly quick, throwing playful banter at each other the whole time, and Eddie continued to judge every single choice Steve made for music. By the time they finished, it was just in time for Steve to close up shop. He sighed, as he moved from the back room to lock up the front door, and flip the sign from "Open" to "Closed". He turned back to face Eddie who had made himself comfortable, sitting at the stool behind the counter, examnining the wall of posters that Roy had Steve and Robin put up.

"Lemme pick the music now." Eddied requested, as he hopped off the stool, walking over to Steve. Steve smiled, shaking his head. "Sorry, store’s closed, sir. You'll have to get going."

Eddie groaned, throwing his head back. "Stevie! Please! I will fall over and d*e right on this store floor, if you don't let me choose one song to play for you." Steve tried to stifle his laugh, with the back of his sleeve, shaking his head. Eddie rolled his eyes, letting out a big sigh before throwing himself on the floor. Steve let out a gasp, crouching over Eddie

"Dude! I was joking!" Steve exclaimed, as his eyes scanned over Eddies face. Eddies face broke out in a wide grin, as he opened his eyes, bringing his hand up to pat Steves cheeks.

"I knew you'd come aorund, Big Boy." Eddie pushed himself back up, quickly moving over to the section labeled "Rock". Steve still recovering from the nickname, watched as Eddie picked up an album, from the "D" section. Eddie turned on his heel, running over to the stores record player, carefully placing the pin, over his desired area.

Steve listened as the opening notes played through the store. He watched as Eddies smile grew, as he began nodding along to the beat. He finally turned to help Steve up from the floor. "I Speed at Night by Dio." Eddie announced, as Steve listened carefully. "I figured I'd ease you into my kind of music, I think this one is pretty mellow, mainstream for this genre." Eddie continued.

Steve shoved Eddie playfully. "I don't listen to mainstream music." At this, Eddie laughed again. “Also, I would not consider this ‘mellow’.” As the song continued.

"Steve, every song you played made me think we were just listening to the Top 50 Hits radio station." Eddie replied.

"You suck." Steve sighed, as they let the song play out.

Two hours later, Steve and Eddie were sat across from each other at the counter, a box of take out placed between them, that Eddie had ran down the road to get, insisting he buy Steve dinner. The only light left on in the store, being the single lamp, that hung over the counter, illuminating the two boys' animated conversation.

The new Metallica album, Master of Puppets, played lowly in the background, as Eddie stood up and reenacted a portion of his story, Steve watching closely, as if Eddie held the Sun in his hands, while he continued to eat from their shared box.

The boys were interrupted as they heard the door rattle, and quiet voices, as the bell above the door rang out. Steve stood quickly, Eddie close by his side, Steve held his breath, anticipating the worst, until he heard it.

“Steve? Robin?” Steve recognized the voice that called out, as the shop owner, Roy. Steve finally let out the breath he was holding as Roy approached the counter. “Didn’t expect you to still be here.” Roy said softly, before looking up to see the two boys standing closely together. “Oh! I see you’ve met, Eddie.”

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merakiui · 2 years

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https://merakiui.tumblr.com/post/694704858408927232/httpsmerakiuitumblrcompost694504367251914752

ejfjfhjdjddj i’m imagining Azul having the twins bring you to his office and at first you’re tense. does he know your secret? did he tell the twins? oh god what if he wants you to do particularly lewd things? you’re sat down and left alone with Azul until he clears his throat, telling you what he knows of your “situation”. of course you react in the obvious form of being speechless but he gives you no time to react as he gives you a proposal.

“work for me and i’ll keep you safe.” is all he says and what better options do you even have? who knows what will happen if the whole school finds out your secret. so you bite your tongue and sign the golden contract. with the added benefits of health insurance and being paid, the waitressing he wants you to do after school doesn’t seem to bad at first. but then Azul smirks and gets up to the nearby closet and pulls out your uniform. and that uniform being a maid costume.

laughing my ass off at the thought of MC being hired as a maid and still trying to parade herself as a guy when it’s basically an open secret around NRC that you’re female. with the only person under guise that your “secret” is still safe, is yourself. MC gaslighting herself into thinking that no one knows she’s a girl 😭 hell even Crowley knows and doesn’t care because money is money

The fact that it’s a custom-made maid outfit with Octavinelle’s colors and crest makes you wonder how long this plan of his has been sprouting. You’d wear a butler uniform if he had one, but Azul only frowns and feigns misfortune. How sad that this uniform is tailored to you and you don’t wish to put it on. What a shame.

You’ve already signed the contract, so there’s not much you can do when it comes to protesting. So you suck it up, put the maid dress on, and start your shifts. Jade compliments you, saying the dress and all its frills suit you. If you could, you’d throttle him. Floyd hugs you the moment he sees you, comparing you to a sparkling jellyfish instead of the usual shrimp comparison. You can only endure it while he spins you around, thoroughly enjoying himself and the sight before him.

Azul never said anything about protecting your secret. He just said he’d keep you safe. At this point, anyone who comes to the Mostro Lounge while you’re working soon learns of your secret, and it does well to bring in more customers. Azul marvels at the rise in profit. He’s so glad he got you to sign a contract before someone from any of the other dorms tried to snap you up for their own use.

I imagine some of the customers poke fun and cause problems just to order you to fix them. You try to smile through all of the humiliation and irritation despite wanting to tell these guys to act civil. Some of them even attempt to flip your skirt or snap panty shots when they think you aren’t looking. One day, you’re nearing the end of your shift, absolutely defeated and exhausted after putting up with so much nonsense, when one of the customers tries to record you as you bend over to clean a spill on the floor. At this point, you’re too tired to get up and snatch his phone from him.

Who would have thought someone would come to your aid. Floyd steps in front of you, draping a jacket over you while turning back to the unlucky soul. He smiles brightly and you turn to look up at him, soon silenced into both amusement and shock when you see he’s wearing a maid dress. Floyd cracks his knuckles as he approaches the student, who shrinks back in his seat.

“What’s wrong? I thought you liked maids,” he jeers. “Maids clean messes up. Seems like I’ve got extra work. That’s no fun at all.”

Floyd’s already intimidating in his original uniform. The fact that he put on a maid dress just to come to your aid is both scary and amusing to consider. He twirls you around after he’s nearly squeezed the student to death, happily telling you that the both of you match. How fun!! Obviously he wants something for saving his pretty shrimpy, so you’ll pat him on the head and thank him for his hard work. Floyd’s grown very fond of your touch. That instantly brightens him.

Jade gets envious over how much attention you give his brother. He considers donning a maid outfit so that the three of you match. Azul cannot believe his ears when Jade tells him he wants a maid dress as well. He was willing to entertain Floyd’s whims, but now his hardworking Vice Housewarden wants one? What is going on? What effect do you have on the twins for them to be absolutely serious about maid dresses?

He lies awake at night pondering whether or not he should wear one. Would you like him more if he did that? Now is not the time to confuse work with love, but these thoughts haunt him in the late hours of night.

#twisted chit chat #darling really gaslights herself like kalim gaslighting himself into thinking everything’s fine and happy orz

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geraskierbrainrot · 2 years

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This is a collection of stories based off classic fairy tales or featuring heavy fairy tale elements

A Marvelous Night for a Moondance by @flowercrown-bard | T | 1k

There was a warning every child living near Oakwood Valley knew. "Don't go out at night, or you'll disturb the Moonlit Dancer." No one truly knew who the Moonlit Dancer was, but everyone agreed on two things: The Dancer must be dangerous. And he must be oh so lonely.

so can we pretend, sweetly by @redjewelsforeyes | T | 2k

Jaskier is a regular human bard, and Geralt could swear that yesterday he’d had regular human teeth. They’re just a little bit too long for his mouth, now- too white, too sharp. A predator’s. Jaskier clicks them together, experimentally, and winces when he bites his tongue. “Fuck anyone you weren’t supposed to?” “I don’t fuck anyone I’m supposed to,” Jaskier says, a little proudly.

the gleam in your eyes by @dear-galileo | G | 3k

jaskier's been cursed to fall asleep every time geralt is not touching him. they try to make it work.

Like a Flower of Gold by @kimikocha | M | 5k

When Jaskier sets out to visit an ancient castle reputed to belong to a legendary Beast, he assumes the place will be abandoned. The Beast, after all, is a children's tale. But then, so are the healing powers granted certain people by the magical sundrop flower, and Jaskier himself is anything but a children's tale. The castle he finds is less abandoned than he thinks, and it turns out that the Beast might not be so mythical after all.

Petals All Plucked by @rebrandedbard | G | 10k

Poppy, Lily, Aster, Rose Ask them not where true love grows Nothing lost or gained by those Ask the daisy stem who knows When Jaskier inadvertently breaks the heart of a witch in his youth, she curses him with a blessing that whenever he plucks a daisy's petals, it will decide his love until the day he finds a love that is true. All his years, Jaskier never realizes that the blessing is a curse, manipulating the content of those hearts he seeks to know. When he meets Geralt, the temptation to ask the daisies grows stronger and stronger ...

Once Upon a Wine by @inexplicifics and @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher | T | 10k

Yennefer is very tired of Jaskier and Geralt pining at each other, and after a little too much wine, the solution seems obvious: a curse that can only be broken by true love's kiss. Geralt and Jaskier would just like to know why their lives have suddenly gotten so very strange.

a dream is a wish the heart makes by @dear-galileo | T | 12k

the last thing geralt had expected to do was meet a prince in the woods. no- the last thing that geralt expected to do was fall in love with the prince, and make a deal with a witch to see him again. (cinderella witcher retelling)

home is nowhere, therefore you by @et-in-arkadia | E | 18k

"Right, well," Jaskier says, when he halts before Geralt. Up close, he looks much more nervous. There is sweat on his brow and his collar is damp with it, and his teeth keep catching on his lower lip. "True love's kiss. There's—ah—there's nothing to it." And he bends, the utter imbecile, and kisses Geralt full on the mouth.

Tale as Old as Time by @goodheavensgwen | E | 25k

Fresh out of Oxenfurt and beginning his bardic career, Jaskier yearns for adventure. Following the whispers of a story, he finds himself in a crumbling old keep inhabited by an odd yet delightful group of enchanted furniture. As Jaskier celebrates finally finding something worthy of a song, his joy is cut short when a giant wolf-like beast emerges, thunderously forbidding Jaskier from ever leaving. Now trapped in a strange enchanted castle, Jaskier finds himself growing closer and closer to its inhabitants, including the mysterious beast, who may not be as monstrous as Jaskier first thought. Will love break the curse, or are things more complicated than they seem? After all… who could ever learn to love a beast?

The Spectre's Wreath by @rebrandedbard | M | 28k

Geralt is wrongfully hired to dispose of a vengeful spectre that haunts a lake, only to discover it is the town's unknown guardian and the very spirit of Yule itself. Yule curses Geralt with a wreath atop his head. If he does not receive a kiss before the lake thaws in spring, he will turn to ice and die. With the pass to Kaer Morhen closed up, Geralt decides to spend his last winter in Oxenfurt with Jaskier. But it may not be his last after all if Jaskier has anything to say about it.

Show love to all these authors by leaving kudos and comments, and happy reading!

#geraskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier fic recs

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gingersnappe-9 · 10 months

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In a Crowd of Thousands: Remember (17)

Din Djarin/Mando X Fem!OC || Star Wars/The Mandalorian Universe

Series List || #star wars anastasia || PREVIOUS || NEXT

5.4 K words

Warning: some emotional distress

Sounds and flashes of color peaked in and out of Ava’s mind. Voices. Pain flickered throughout her body but it never lasted very long. Something enveloped her and seeped all the way through to her bones and brain, washing away any aches or pains. Someone whispered to her. Their voice was low, soft and comforting like honey. It helped lull her back into the darkness if the pain ever got too severe. It was otherworldly, an out of body experience. Ava let any and all thoughts flow in and out of her mind like a soft current. She could feel the healing process. She felt like a flower who had finally seen the sun after a harsh and cold night.

When Ava finally opened her eyes, she was in a med bay; or rather, her room had been converted into a medical suite. Monitors blinked and beeped quietly at her bedside. There was a large bacta tank at the far side of the suite where the couch had once been. Something shiny glared in her blurry periphery. Though turning her head was a struggle, she still managed and saw that it was Mando.

Sitting on a short stool with the upper half of his body hunched over onto the bed, arms cradling his head, was Mando. One of his hands clutched hers which was sweetly tucked up to his hollow beskar cheek. He was waiting for her. Ava didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, but he was there, waiting for her to wake up.

“Mando.” Stars. Her voice sounded horrible. Like coarse sandpaper or someone who smoked too much spice and ruined their vocal cords.

His head shot up. “How’re you feeling? Does anything hurt?”

Ava had to smile. The medication was still pumping through her body, doing its work and it made her loopy. Her smile was rather dopey, but the concern in his voice, the way he still held her hand, how could she not smile?

“I’m okay.”

Even through his audio bypass, Ava could hear the ragged breath he let out. Mando gently placed her hand back on the bed and went over to the nightstand to grab her a glass of water. It was still a bit too heavy for her to hold on her own, so he helped guide the glass to her lips.

Ava drank greedily till the cup ran dry. Mando continued to help her sip till she had run through three glasses.

When she spoke again, her voice sounded normal, vocal cords graciously lubricated, “What happened?”

The shift was subtle, but Ava still caught it. The way Mando visibly retreated into himself, resuming his mercenary persona. Mando was still as he spoke, careful with his wording “After I… left, I regrouped with Fett. He insisted that we find you again. Said some Imperial officer called Moff Gideon was after two force-presenting individuals, even hired a dozen bounty hunters and mercenaries.” Ava’s blood ran cold, “Fett had discovered on his last bounty exchange that Gideon was after a girl, and a kid. Once I told him that you were the real princess, we knew he’d go after you.” The two of them sat in silence for a moment, heavy from the weight of Gideon’s intent. Their hands were still clasped together. Ava once again marveled at the difference, and yet how neatly they fit together. But Mando had resituated himself in his mind and slowly pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” The t-visor was as unyielding as ever, but Ava sensed the struggle it took for him to speak, “I’ve overstepped… your Highness.”

“What?”

“I’ll let one of the attendants know you’re awake and I’ll take my leave.” He took his hand away and left Ava’s empty. His tattered capped fluttered with the speed at which he turned and made his way to the door.

“Mando, wait, what do you mean you’re leavin-”

“I can’t stay.” His voice was clipped. “I wish you well, your High-”

“My name is not ‘your Highness’!” She yelled and Mando stopped dead in his tracks. It was enough. Ava had enough. “A name does not change who I am as a person. It doesn’t change everything we’ve been through. What’s happened to the both of us, Mando. I’m still that sand dweller you met on Tatooine. I’m still the girl who loves that little green baby,” He’d turned his head ever so slightly so that he’d see her from his periphery, “I’m still Ava.”

“I know that. But that doesn’t change the fact that you are a princess. Your rightful place is with your sister and brother. They can protect you. They can give you a life.” He sounded hurt. Disappointed.

Their feelings were twisting inside their chests, only getting tangled and confused. Ava hit her fists against the mattress, frustrated that she still didn’t feel strong enough to get up and point her finger in his dumb shiney face while she spoke. “What life I live is the one I choose. Not the one people expect, the one I choose for myself. I am more than my name or my title.”

A silence fell between them. Mando slowly made his way to the door.

“You’re so much more,” Mando’s voice was soft, practically a whisper, “You’re a star too bright to miss.” He barely touched the handle before Ava spoke out quietly.

“Wait… what did you say?” A memory stirred up in Ava’s mind.

Mando cocked his head a bit trying to shake off his embarrassment, “Nothing.” The door handle was pulled down.

“I have,” She stopped him again with nothing but her voice, “I have this one memory… from before.” Mando once again turned his head in her direction, the pull drawing his attention to her and only her, “I was with my parents, and there was a big party or something,” Ava couldn’t remember the right word for it, “A parade. It was a parade. There were people everywhere lining the road. But I remember this boy… like a red plume in a sea of blue.”

It was dim at first, but the longer it ruminated in her head, the clearer the memory became. Ava remembered the way the crowds cheered as she and her parents rode by. How streamers fluttered down through the sky and the smell of festival food wafted through the air. She recalled how her cheeks burned from smiling so much, the way her mother and father would gaze down at her with love and adoration. Then it seemed like the sky split in two and the world began falling apart… literally.

Ava remembered a bolt of red cracking across the sky. The sounds of the blaster-fire ringing out in every direction as bodies fell. The world ending. Her world ending.

“Then… I got lost, I couldn’t find anyone. People were screaming and running. I was so scared. But that boy found me,” Her voice shook from the emotion of the memory, “He… he told me his name…”

It felt as if neither of them could move from their fixed positions. It was clear. She finally remembered. The warmth of that boy’s hand in hers. The way he pressed their foreheads together and whispered something so sweet it shook her to her very core. The sentiment that kept her warm in the dark of space. It had sustained her all those years alone and Ava hadn’t realized it until that very moment.

“Din.”

He slumped forward from the power of whatever it was he was feeling. Relief? It felt too good to be true, it had to have been a malfunction in his systems. He had to have misheard Ava.

She said it again, with a quiver from her lip mis-shaping the sound of it as she spoke, “Din.”

Ava’s eyes were welled up with tears when Din – the Din – turned and looked at her entirely.

Weakness be damned, she couldn’t lie in bed for another second. Ava threw off the covers and let her feet fall to the floor before Din was already kneeling between her thighs with his hands firmly pressed to her hips so she wouldn’t dare over-exert herself. The two of them paused there for a moment to look at one another. Nothing about their outward appearances had changed, yet everything was different. Their bond was rekindled and the links that pulled them together became even stronger.

Din’s arms came to wrap around Ava and pull her in as close as possible. She hastily gathered as much of him in her hands as she could, willing them to somehow fuse together and never separate again. His hands caressed her waist, entranced by the way the thin material slid against her skin.

The tears fell and began to streak down like rain against Din’s helmet. His breathing was harsh in attempts to control his emotions which were, at last, set free. All the while, she kept repeating his name, like a prayer. Din. Din. Din.

It was the first time in years, decades, since anyone had said Din’s name out loud. It baffled him how he’d almost forgotten the sound of it.

“Jate'kara, close your eyes.” They were already closed.

Din ripped off his helmet and took in the sweet and unobstructed view of Ava’s face. There were still some scrapes and fading bruises, but Maker, to Din she was just as beautiful as ever. He stroked her skin with the tips of his fingers with a feather-like touch as if for the first time. Din was determined to commit every detail – every freckle, faint and faded scar, crease and curve – to memory. He let his rough and calloused hands gently cup the supple curves of her cheeks.. His palms felt warm and damp from Ava’s crying. Without even realizing it, he’d gotten so close that his nose gently brushed Ava’s.

“Don’t cry. I’m here.” Din wiped away the tears that had streaked down across her cheeks and to her chin.

There was a word unspoken between the two of them. Simple and concise. Neither of them had to say it outloud to know what it was. They both felt it through their bond, it electrified their skin, set their souls alight.

She whispered against his brow, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He kept his voice soft, so that not even the empty spaces of the room were privy to their conversation, “I didn’t want you to think I was deceiving you. I already said hurtful things to you before, I didn’t want to give you anymore reasons to hate me.” She could feel his gentle breath against her skin.

“I could never hate you. I may be angry… but I could never hate you. Din, I-” She hitched forward enough that her lips pressed to his. At first it was just her lips resting against his, but no sooner was there contact did they lean into it and practically melt against one another. Din’s beard had grown in some, and for whatever reason, the light scratch of it against set off small sparks of happiness – a new sensation for her to savor and remember.

The pair of them stayed on the edge of the bed. Hands touching and gliding. Caresses and the gentle rocking of their bodies. Their chests heaved against one another as they took turns gasping for air between open mouth kisses against every inch of skin their lips could find. They soaked in one another. Her mouth was still cool from the water. She was refreshing. Din would pull Ava’s bottom lip gently between his teeth and relish in the way she panted softly for him. Ava, in turn, would glide her tongue along his and Din had no other recourse but to growl and groan from the way it sent static through his spine.

Din pressed his palms between her shoulder blades, excited by the way she flexed her body in response to his hands tracing up and down the column of her spine, admiring the muscles beneath the thin gown. With every twitch and squirming motion, Ava shifted her body closer to Din’s torso. Her thighs reflexively squeezed his chest and her fingers tangled into his hair, growing messier with each pass and gentle scratch against his scalp. Ava let her hands explore the cut of his jaw and savored the way her skin scraped against his scruff.

Neither of them knew how long they’d been there for, and neither of them really cared, but Ava’s body was growing tired and sleep began to seep into the corners of her mind. Din just knew. He could feel it in the way her head bobbed easier and easier.

Din asked without even a word being spoken – He managed to do so without needing to part very far from Ava’s mouth – “Do you want to lay down?” Her shoulders slumped slightly and she leaned into his chest more and more.

She hummed softly against his lips, even as sleep crept in, Ava still refused to stop.

Din let out a soft groan as he leaned back and pulled apart for only a moment. “We don’t have to go anywhere. Let’s just get you into bed.”

Her voice was low and hushed, “But I’m already in bed.” She finished with an impossibly slow tug on his lower lip.

Maker, help me. Din couldn't help but smile and kiss her again. “Come on, Jate'kara. I just want us to lay down.”

She giggled in response, “Seems like you’re always getting me into bed.”

Din gave her a light pinch on the cheek, “Half a lifetime is more than enough waiting. I intend to get my fill.”

The smile she gave him lit up the room. It was sweet and filled with a happiness that Ava hadn't yet known. Din nearly ravished her then and there, but deep down he could feel the pull of sleep gently lulling her into dreamland, it quietly whispered in his ear as well.

Even with her eyes closed, Ava helped Din remove the outermost layers of his armor and flight suit. Her dexterous fingers worked smoothly and efficiently through her inherent sense. Once Din was down to nothing but a simple undershirt and his trousers, the pair of them settled into the pillows; arms wrapped around as close as possible, their legs tangled beneath the fine linen sheets.

“Din.”

He hummed back while stroking a few strands of hair from her face.

“What does jah-ka, jati-kar-”

“Jate'kara.” He whispered against her brow.

“Mmm. What does it mean?”

Din watched the way her chest rose and fell for a moment, how her hair cascaded down in a soft tumble of waves and light curls. Her cheek was pressed into his chest giving her the sweetest little squished face ever – not that he could ever bring himself to say such a thing out loud.

“In Mando’a, it literally translates to‘bright guiding stars’,” He smiled at the blessing he held in his arm, and kissed the crown of her head, “But it can also mean ‘destiny’.”

Series List || #star wars anastasia || PREVIOUS || NEXT

To stay up to date follow #star wars anastasia

#anastasia au #the mandalorian #star wars au #fanfiction #mando #star wars anastasia #gingersnappe writes

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silveragelovechild · 5 months

Text

Disney has had a rough year…

February 2023 - Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania falling short of its break-even point of $600 million and has a 46% score at Rotten Tomatoes

June 2023 - Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny is considered one of Disney's largest financial film failures

November 2023 - The Marvels is the lowest-grossing film in the MCU, and is considered to be a box office bomb

Which leads us to “Wish” - a film intended to celebrate 100 years of Disney Studios. Its opening weekend box office was well below projections and ticket sales dropped 62% on the second weekend. The reviews were even worse with a poor 48% score at Rotten Tomatoes. (I’ll bet Bob Iger wished for better reviews and more dollars at the box office.)

I decided to check “Wish” out at my local movie theater’s discount ticket night. I have to say that the movie isn’t terrible but perhaps even worst, it’s forgettable.

The best things I can say about it is that I liked Ariana DeBose performance as the main character Asha. I also like the animation style. While is was done via CGI, it hinted at an old school 2D with backgrounds that suggested water color paintings.

But the movie was cluttered with a supporting cast of 11 characters - way too large to keep track on or care about. There was:

Asha’s mother & Grandfather

Seven coworker friends (apparently based on the Seven Dwarves which I would never have guessed).

Two anthropomorphic sidekicks (a talking goat and a magical star)

The plot was muddled and confusing. We are told that King Magnifico (voiced by Chris Pine) establish the island kingdom of Rosas and invited dispossessed people to live there with the promise he would provide them a happy and safe home. (So far so good.) But he requires them to give him their “wishes” when they reach the age of 18. (But they are getting a safe and happy place in exchange, that’s better than a “wish” that you knew how to play the guitar, right?)

The movie opens with Asha arriving at the castle to apply for a job as Magnifico apprentice and within minutes asks the king for a favor. (A little pushy isn’t she.) He tells her most people wait days or weeks or even a year to ask for a favor.

Asha wants the king to grant her grandfather’s wish. The kings explain that he thinks the wish could be dangerous and declines. So what does Asha do? She decides to start a revolution and overthrow the government. (Whaaa!!!) This is starting to sound like the Bolshevik uprising in Russia which introduced communism.

Asha’s argument is that the wishes don’t belong to the king. BUT the opening narration told us the people gave their wishes to the king (he didn’t coerce them, instead he offered them a safe and happy home in exchange). If you want to know how to play a guitar - practice at it - you won’t appreciate a skill given to you by magic!

Perhaps the biggest failure of the movie is that the songs are utterly forgettable. It’s been over a week since I saw it and I can’t remember any of the songs… not a lyric and not a tune. Disney made a big mistake hiring songwriter Julia Michaels who is known for writing for the likes Justin Bieber, Britney Spears and Demi Lovato. Were fans of teen pop music the target audience for “Wish”?!?

#disney’s wish #Ariana DeBose #Chris pine #anthropomorphic sidekicks #forgettable songs #Julia Michaels #communism #Bob Iger #box office bomb #rotten tomatoes

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noforkingclue · 2 years

Note

If requests are still open can you please do a Laszlo (the alienist x Marvel Crossover) fic about how you’re a wealthy heiress and former patient of his that he checks on periodically. And when he visits you this time you aren’t home but your ladies maid is, that’s when he finds out that the reason why you quit seeing him was because your overprotective ladies maid Natasha convinced you to quit seeing him because she was jealous and worried that you wouldn’t need her anymore.

The meeting goes well at first but when then Laszlo starts to see what kind of woman she really is…

You can decide how the meeting escalates and how it ends.

I wrote this with an aroace!reader in mind. Hope you don't mind!

Title: Feelings

Warnings: period typical attitudes

Marvel tag list: @geocookie21, @greeneyedblondie, @purebloodwitch, @sessa23, @mxacegrey

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

You truly were a remarkable woman.

Ever since you stepped in Laszlo’s office he could see that. Truth be told, he never really understood why you had come to see him. You remarked (half-jokingly), that it was because you were a single woman in possession of a large fortune who was not in want of a husband.

Laszlo found himself looking forward to your weekly appointments. More often than not they diverted into conversations about your week and less about him trying to find out what was allegedly wrong with you. Secretly, he found you a charming young woman with an excellent taste in operas. Of course he would never tell you his feelings as it might compromise the delicate friendship that the two of you had formed. Even after you were no longer his patient, Laszlo always made time for you and that was where his troubles started.

You had a very overprotective lady’s maid. At first Laszlo thought that he must’ve been imagining things even though he was certain that he wasn’t. It wasn’t until one day that you smiled at him and said,

“Congratulations. You’re the longest person who Natasha hasn’t managed to scare off.”

“Natasha?”

“My maid,” you said, “My parents hired her for my,” you waved a hand, “protection or something like that. Don’t worry though,” you reached across and patted his hand, “She’s harmless.”

And then one day you stopped returning his letters and Laszlo wished he felt as confident as you sounded.

“Ah Miss Romanoff,” Laszlo stood in your porch as Natasha narrowed her eyes at him, “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” She replied curtly

“I was wondering if Miss L/n is in.”

“She went out.”

“Are you aware when she might return?”

“She shouldn’t be too long.”

“May I come in and wait?”

Natasha held his gaze for an uncomfortable second before she stepped aside. Without you there Laszlo felt strangely unwelcome. Everyone else in your employ seemed glad to see him, apart from Natasha that is. She followed him into the living room and pursed her lips as he sat down.

“You have something you wish to say to me?” asked Laszlo

“It is not my place.” Natasha said harshly

“Please, I wish to hear it.”

“Y/n doesn’t need you.”

“I am aware of that,” Laszlo said, “I did not understand why she-“

“What I mean,” Natasha interrupted, “Is that she doesn’t need you. At all.”

“I assure you-“

“You can assure nothing,” she said coldly, “It is what society expects of you.”

“Society?” realisation dawned, “You expect us to be married?”

“Isn’t that your intention?”

“While I am fond of y/- Miss L/n,” Laszlo said, “I have no intention of… not unless…”

“She needs me,” Natasha said, “She would not need me if she has a husband. She wouldn’t want me-“

Natasha cut herself off a sat down opposite Laszlo. He gave her a curious look and said,

“You love her.”

“Do not tell me that my love is unnatural,” she said, “It is a natural as yours is.”

“I did not say that nor do I believe it.”

Laszlo could see the briefest flicker of surprise in Natasha’s eyes although she covered it up well. Maybe this was a step in the right direction with her. Two people, in love with someone that neither could have.

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lucifers-horror-harem · 2 years

Text

Savior

Heyoooo all I’m back! So this time I actually have a bit of a vent fic using my OC Alan Sharpe trying to work out some bullshit that happened at work. I’m okay and everything is getting sorted but yeahhhhh I needed to use Alan to enact a tiny bit of murder to make me feel better. I used third person but left the name off of the female character so you can self insert if you like.

Word Count: ~2k Warnings: Workplace sexual harassment, stalker/yandere OC, stabbing

Despite appearances to the contrary, Alan was a creature of habit. He had his rituals that he carried on throughout the day, though they weren't apparent to those around him. But those that weren’t close enough to him would ever suspect anything beyond the professional outer shell that was Alan Sharpe.

So to anyone else, it was a normal day. Alan would stop at the cafe down the street from his office. He refused anyone grabbing coffee for him, and would rather go without than to have someone get something that didn't suit his tastes. It was a hole in the wall establishment, one that favored the customers who weren't in a rush to grab subpar coffee and hurry to wherever they needed to be. It was warm and inviting, with seating for those who wished to stay a while. Alan never did, but he appreciated the ambiance for the few moments he lingered inside.

What he appreciated more than any of these things, however, was the one particular barista who had caught his eye a few months back. She was a new hire, and while very quiet, had a smile that warmed him up in ways he hadn't felt in a long time. He knew she smiled for every customer like that, he wasn't delusional. But he wanted her smile just for himself. The days where they were able to engage in light conversation when he purposefully visited during a lull in the day made that thought burn in the back of his brain more intensely with every passing day.

But that would all come in due time. He was a patient man. No need to rush these things.

So as he entered his building, said hello to the various staff members and employees along the way, and smiled and greeted his secretary warmly before entering his office, he proceeded to begin his next ritual. Placing his coffee to his right, he opened his email, other documents that needed attending to, and after a few extra clicks and entering a password, another page popped up on his monitor. He placed his pages in a way that the live feed footage was in a smaller window beside his work pages, displaying multiple angles of the cafe that he could then click between at will.

Technology had truly improved over the years, and as a man with more money than he truly knew what to do with, he could procure anything his heart desired. Alan always marveled at just how easy it was to hack into something like this in a business. He had assumed that most places wouldn’t have an easily cracked open back end to their security systems, but apparently he was giving them too much credit. Besides, why would anyone think that someone would want to see the cameras in their little store?

He sipped his coffee and spent a few moments watching the woman that had so entranced him. Alan imagined the smiles she gave every few moments to eager customers were being given to him, eyes shining so brightly as she would hand him his coffee. He imagined the day when he would allow his finger to "accidentally" brush hers. Alan knew she would chuckle softly and issue apologies, even though there wouldn't be a need for any. He wanted to see her relax, be free from the stress of retail work and simply enjoy her days with him by her side. He wouldn't have her lift a finger if she didn't want to. He'd give her the world if she only asked.

A ping from his computer snapped him out of the moment, and he sighed, minimizing the window once more and placing it on the top right corner of his monitor so he could see what new problem was requiring his attention.

Hours went by without incident. Every so often he would flick his eyes back to that small window, watching until he was satisfied and focusing back on his work. Alan loathed his paperwork heavy days, and apparently this was proving to be one of those. He finally leaned back in his chair with a groan, rolling his shoulders and neck before kneading his fingers over the bridge of his nose. The eye strain from the computer was starting to get to him, and he supposed it would be time for a break soon. Maybe he would go on a walk, grab another coffee, talk to his sweet barista…

But she wasn't there. Alan glanced over the staff at the counter, not seeing her among them. She wasn’t due to leave for a few more hours still. He maximized the page again, clicking through cameras before finding her. She was checking in a delivery in the back room and standing a noticeable distance away from the driver.

Alan narrowed his eyes. He'd seen this guy before from other days. This cafe bought from a lot of local vendors, so he would deliver his product every few weeks to the cafe. But Alan could tell from the first time he laid eyes on the guy that he didn't like him. He always stood too close to his sweetheart, and she made a habit of trying to create as much distance as possible whenever he had to get checked in. These cameras weren't equipped with audio, so Alan could only imagine the asinine conversations he droned on about to her as he always seemed to overstay his welcome. He didn't like the way his eyes lingered, and even without being able to see clearly, Alan knew that the her body language was closed, avoiding his gaze, that she did her best to protect herself.

And that's when it happened. She had been reading something off of the invoice, and for whatever reason, the guy came up and stood beside her, looking at the invoice over her shoulder. However, the thing that made Alan's blood boil was how the man put his hand on her back. Not high enough to be considered friendly, and not low enough to be considered a blatant grope. Alan's heartbeat pulsed in his ears as he watched her try to twist away, which she no doubt did because she was probably too frozen to call him out directly. But he ignored it, allowing his hand to sit right by her side as he continued to pretend to read whatever it was on the invoice that she had asked about until he finally stepped away.

Livid wouldn't describe the feelings that went through Alan's brain at the moment. What he felt was rage in its most pure unadulterated form. It didn't matter that she was the object of his affections, he would have reacted that way seeing any woman be so disrespected, but it did amplify his need to solve this matter immediately. The only thought running through his mind was how he was going to protect his sweetheart and make it so she wouldn't have to deal with this or any other unwanted advances for the rest of her life.

He kept the camera up as he quickly scoured through Google, typing in the things he already knew about the vendor. After the first few appearances of this man, Alan had already become acquainted with his little business and everything about it. Simply for his own curiosity, of course. But now he used that information to find all of his business listings, his name, and some of the personal information from his social media pages. Alan then brought up one of the databases he used that was perhaps a tad unethical to use in this way. But it was this man's fault for leaving himself wide open on the internet enough for Alan to connect the pieces.

Soon enough, he had the last known address of this man. Alan's fingers drummed on the desk, his mind racing as he tried to regain control of himself. He couldn't stop the fantasies playing out in his brain, of finding this man and torturing him in a multitude of different ways. There was always quick and easy, but what about slow and painful? What would he use? How would he set the scene afterwards? How could he get this man to see the absolute error of his ways before meeting his maker?

But the thing that brought him back to reality were the cameras. He watched his sweetheart, hidden amongst the back stock of coffee beans with her hands pressed to her eyes. The driver was long gone by now. His stomach dropped as he heard in his mind her pretty voice being wracked with the stifled sobs that were held back by biting her lip. Her shoulders trembled, and she stood there, alone, afraid of what to do, what to say, who to tell, and how violated she felt in that moment.

This will end tonight.

Alan spent no time at all figuring out where this guy spent his evenings out, and thankfully by the time the man finally stumbled out of his favorite bar he was alone. The thought of being attacked alone at night had never crossed this man's mind, and Alan smirked at the irony of it all.

The guy wandered a few blocks before deciding to take a shortcut through the park nearby. Alan smiled under the collar of his coat he had popped up, partly to evade detection and partly because it was freezing. A perfect cover. He was far enough away from the man that if there happened to be anyone asked to be witnesses, they wouldn't think twice about Alan. The street was so sparse Alan didn't even think it would come to that, but he went through another entrance of the park, just in case.

It wasn't even a challenge. The man had his guard down, not even noticing how alone he was. He barely reacted to Alan placing himself on the path ahead of him walking the opposite way. Only when Alan, just before passing him, suddenly stepped in front of his path, plunging the sharp blade into his belly, did the man finally look at Alan. He mused how lucky he was the man wasn't wearing a heavier coat or there might have been more of a struggle. But the thin hoodie did nothing for the multiple stabs Alan got in before the man could even realize what was happening. He fell backwards, Alan following him and delivering a few more blows, the blade twisting and tearing in the fleshy wound like butter as Alan clapped a hand over the man's mouth to prevent sounds alerting anyone nearby. He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face as he leaned down into the man's face, which reeked of sweat and beer, as he hissed, "Didn't your mother teach you to keep your hands to yourself?"

Alan wasn't sure if the man ever realized the connection, but as stood back up it felt like the weight of his anger had slumped off his shoulders and onto the ground, relieving him of his burden once more. He had grabbed the man's wallet, and took the cash before flinging it back onto the ground. He assessed his body, blood blending nicely on his black clothes on a dark night like this. Black leather gloves made it so there would be no trace of him left behind, and to any normal person it looked like a robbery gone wrong.

Smiling, Alan quickly hurried to the other end of the park, being careful to avoid anyone else should they appear. But he was home free. He slipped into the back of the black car that was parked on the other side of the street, and his man in the driver's seat simply nodded and took off down the road and back to his apartment where he could shed these clothes and be rid of them. He'd take a long shower, ridding himself of any other traces of what he did tonight, and spend the rest of his night relaxing. Thinking of her. Wondering if when he finally had her, that he should tell her about this. Alan couldn't help the wry smile. He was certain she would thank him. Her savior.

#Alan Sharpe #oc: alan sharpe #slasher oc #yandere oc

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elvendara · 2 years

Text

Jumin Week 7 Oct '22

@juminweek2019

Storge: Familiar love

October 7th 2022

“Daddy!” Sung threw herself at her father and he had only seconds to decide whether to catch her or hold on to his briefcase. He chose her, letting the dark leather case drop to the ground, uncaring if it was scratched or damaged. His daughter giggled as he swung her around, her peanut butter face smearing his clean tie and shirt. Again, he cared not, a grin cutting across his face in unadulterated joy.

He loved that his daughter looked so much like his wife, though she had his dark grey eyes. They were often full of delight and wonder. Her life was different than his own childhood had been. Instead of living in the family home, they had opted for a smaller house and fewer servants. It had taken Lillie some time to get used to strangers doing the things she should be doing. On the other hand, the personal chef had been one hire she took to rather quickly. Most of the week they stayed there alone, with security stationed outside of the house in their own dwelling.

It was certainly different than what he was used to, but more pleasant. Lillie teased him about how fast their young daughter had wrapped him around her little finger. He did not mind. Hugging Sung he marveled at how such a small package could fill so much of his heart. Family was the most important thing to him now. He made it a priority to be home for dinner, whether Lillie was cooking or not. Sometimes he even made it home in time to help prepare the meal. Saturdays were special in that they always planned something together. Seeing the smiles on his wife and daughter is what he lived for.

“I can’t breathe silly!” the three-year-old said, pushing away from him. Jumin sighed but loosened his grip.

“Sorry my sweet. How is momma doing? Have you been helping her today?” he asked as he walked towards the kitchen where he could hear pots and pans rattling.

“Mommy tired!” Sung rolled her eyes. Jumin laughed. Lillie was pregnant, her due date in a few days, of course she was tired. Her belly was even larger than when she had held Sung and often complained about feeling like a whale. His first glimpse of his lovely bride made his heart beat quicker. Having been married 8 years now, he had assumed that feeling would subside into something more comfortable and calm. However, he was still struck by her beauty and warmth. When she turned that smile on him it was like the brightest light, as if he was graced by her love.

“I swear, men just exist to vex women!” she scoffed as she tried to pull a dish from the oven, her belly making it particularly hard.

Jumin set his daughter down and moved behind the counter. “Let me, you shouldn’t be doing this.” He took the mitts and easily pulled the casserole out.

“Thank you my love.” Lillie sighed, arching her back. Once the dish was properly set he turned and embraced his wife, her belly making that difficult as well.

“And thank you, for being such an amazing husband and father. I am the luckiest woman in the world.” She said as she pressed her lips against his.

“I am the lucky one. My two precious girls and another on the way. You have given me what I most wished for but could never admit. I love you.” He held his wife and picked up his daughter, content, full, and loved.

#my posts #@juminweek2019 #Jumin Week 2022 #Day 3 #Storge #Jumin Han #JuminXLillie #baby Han #mysme #mystic messenger #OC Lillie #Fluff

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fieldsofview · 8 months

Text

CH 2 of "Spider-Man: Homesickness" is out now

Read the whole thing on AO3 here

Rating: M

Chapter word count: 9k

Summary: 5 years after the events of Liberty Island and Dr. Strange's spell, Peter's carefully stitched-together life turns upside down. (I would recommend reading ch 1 first, but you do you)

So excited to start my new job at Oscorp! Wish me luck! #movingonup #canibetheguyinthechairnow

What?

Fuck.

No!

Peter’s frozen. There’s no way.

But that’s the thing, there is a way. There are an infinite number of universes kind of way. And more importantly, there is this universe’s way.

How could he have been so stupid?

Why did he never think to see if Norman Osborn existed here? If there are multiple Peter Parkers, and multiple Spider-Mans, then it only makes sense that there are multiple Osborns. Multiple Green Goblins.

Fuck.

A sharp sting wrenches him back to himself, and he realizes that he’s bitten a chunk out of his bottom lip. He can taste the coppery blood welling up from the wound.

His chest is tight. Is he breathing? It doesn’t feel like it. His head is full of cotton.

He slams his palm into the center of his chest and the thudding pain seems to get his lungs back online. Breathe in 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Breathe out 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11. And again. And again.

With shaky hands, Peter pulls up his phone and searches for any information on Oscorp that he can find.

The first thing that comes up is a news article from Science Today dated 2 weeks ago, congratulating Oscorp on the relocation and expansion of its head office to New York City, which was previously located in Washington, DC. DC? He was in DC?? That feels like eons ago. Another lifetime. If only he’d known he would have-

What? He would have done what?

Nothing, because at the time he wouldn’t have known a thing.

No one knew what was to come.

He shakes himself and continues reading.

“Oscorp Industries has rapidly become one of the leading corporations in the country related to technological manufacturing and distribution over the last decade, following Tony Stark’s retirement from Stark Industries and eventual passing. While Stark Industries, now run by Stark’s Widow, Virginia Potts-Stark, is still considered number 1 in the US, Norman Osborn, CEO and founder of Oscorp Industries seems determined to surpass Stark.

“Hiring over 2000 new employees just in the last month, the company’s expansion has skyrocketed its stock prices and has brought a wealth of fresh industry to our fine Manhattan. The public should be keeping their eyes peeled for what scientific marvels we’ll be seeing soon.”

So he is here, the menace. And he’s working on unknown technology unsupervised? Unchecked?

Absolutely not.

What had Peter-2 said about him, from before, in his universe? He created his own gear. He knew who Peter-2 was and had a vendetta against Spider-Man.

In this world, if he’s still a tech genius, and if Oscorp is beginning to rival Stark Industries, then there’s no telling what kind of gear he could be carrying on him. What if he has access to nanotech? What if he knows who Peter is here?

There are just too many possibilities. Peter has to investigate, and now.

Fuck, Ned.

He’s working there. He’s helping him. There’s no way he knows what Oscorp is truly getting into.

He has to make sure Ned is safe.

The article does not list an address, but it does show a picture of a new building. A new building under renovation that Peter swung by just a few days ago and recognizes instantly from the photo. Like lighting, he’s off and swinging across the city, urging the muscles in his arms and shoulders to take him there as fast as possible.

He’s wire-tight and ready to snap. He cannot let that monster out into his New York, not again.

He also knows that Osborn hated Spider-Man in his universe. He hated Peter Parker too, but Peter’s banking that he’s done enough in the last few years to stay out of the limelight and not make any enemies as Peter. As Spider-Man, though. He has several.

As much as it pains him to go in without relying on his powers, perhaps this is a mission for Peter more than Spider-Man.

Oh, JJ would love to see the day Spider-Man got caught breaking and entering.

Peter lands on a rooftop a few blocks away from Oscorp, and what timing he has. They’re just in the middle of lifting the massive new neon sign to the front of the building stating Oscorp Industries.

Well, that’s subtle.

Peter scans the streets in front of him until he recognizes one of the buildings. There’s a Greek restaurant he loves, and he happens to know that their bathroom has a high window that they keep open and unlocked, because no one could realistically climb up to use it. Well, no one, unless they had superhuman spider powers.

Peter crawls his way down the side of the building’s wall, and after a quick glance to make sure it’s empty, slips himself through and jumps softly to the ground.

The worn-down single-stall bathroom has chipped tiles and an irritatingly buzzy lightbulb, but it’ll do in a pinch. He locks the door from the inside and gets to work throwing his clothes on just like this morning. He thought that it couldn’t get any hotter than it already was in the oppressive July heatwave, but he was wrong. This tiny, tiled room seems to trap humidity. Peter really doesn’t want to think about why that might be.

He makes his way quickly through the tables and out the front door of the restaurant before any of the staff register he’s even there. The streets are just as busy now as they were this morning, but they also part around him just as well.

He spends a few minutes circling the building, trying to find the best way in. It’s days like today that he misses having Karen around, but these days he runs a bit more old-school.

Eventually, he finds an unlocked service exit that’s been propped open by someone. Maybe someone moving furniture in? He waits and times his entrance for when the area is clear.

Once inside, this area looks basic, like any office building. This floor has soft cream linoleum and bare white walls, and he passes rows and rows of empty offices, most of which have bare name placards. He goes to turn a corner and reflexively tips back again behind the wall. Peering carefully, he can see that the hallway curving to the left quickly becomes a large open entry room, with an imposing security desk between Peter and the massive row of glass doors at the front of the building.

A security guard sits at the desk with his back turned to Peter. He’s a broad-shouldered man, who seems more than a little bored. Thankfully some good luck for Peter.

He very carefully creeps down the hall in the opposite direction, following as it curves out of view. After a dozen or so more empty offices, he pushes into a room and closes the door behind him.

He was hoping that the computer would have some information about the company and what they’re doing here, but these empty offices still have factory default computers. There are no additional programs installed, no web browser history, and no interesting files.

Damn.

Peter eventually finds a stairwell at the junction of another few hallways and he’s starting to realize how much of a maze this place might be. In the stairwell, the placard says that there are 27 stories and 3 basement levels. While the basement levels might be holding some interesting things, it might also just be a parking garage. A lot of high-rise buildings around here are built that way, and with the construction workers in the main loading bay out front, Peter isn’t sure he can avoid all of them in an open garage.

After a moment’s deliberation, he decides to go up. Those levels could be everything. Anything.

He takes the stairs two at a time, deciding to start somewhere in the middle of the building.

One of these floors has to have some useful information. ~X~

Seven uselessly explored floors later, two dodged office workers, and one narrow escape into an empty conference room, and Peter is rather frustrated. There has got to be something here. It just doesn’t make sense that someone like Osborn could be a diabolical, murdering monster in one universe and a boring, bland CEO in the other. There’s no way.

He’s got to be hiding it somewhere. Maybe he uses Oscorp as a front? Maybe he keeps it in his home? That might take some extra research.

“…nium chloride wouldn’t set off the fire alarms, sir, even in large quantities. They’re just not designed for it. There had to be something else.”

Oh, Peter would know that voice anywhere. Ned. He’s talking to someone in an office down the hall, with a cracked open door and a large viewing window facing the hallway. Peter creeps his way forward, keeping low to stay out of sight of the window.

“Leeds, I understand that you’re new and you want to help, but you’re not being paid to investigate a faulty fire alarm. Leave it to security. Or facilities. Whoever’s job it actually is.” A gruff, slender man with a full beard is sitting, leaning back in a rolly chair that looks like it might topple any minute. Peter edges forward a bit further until he can see Ned’s face.

Ned looks just like his photo, professional and put together, with a fresh haircut and a clean shave. “I get it, I shouldn’t take on more than my job description on the first day.”

“Damn right. You’re here to make sure all these new employees have tech functioning the way it’s supposed to. That’s it.”

Peter gets a shiver down his spine. He ignores it. It’s cold in this empty building.

Ned’s face is pinched as he says, “I know, I just feel like there’s something fishy going on. Either the fire alarms that were put in aren’t standard issue, or something else happened. There’s no way that-”

“Hey!” A voice cuts in from behind Peter. His head snaps around and he sees the security guard from the front desk, standing at the end of the hallway Peter just came from.

Shit.

Peter stands up and bolts down the hall, sparing one last glance over his shoulder at the conversation he was listening to. At Ned. And Ned is staring back, with a quizzical look on his face. Double Shit.

Peter makes it around the nearest corner just as he hears the security guard’s footsteps start thundering after him. “Get back here, punk!”

Well, his look certainly isn’t doing him any favors now.

He runs down another hallway and into unknown territory, ducking and weaving through a series of cubicles in an open floor plan, and slamming through a doorway at the end just as the guard enters the room behind him. Left. Right. Right. Left. Left. He sprints down the sprawling corridors with no regard for where they lead.

Peter comes face-to-face with a different door to a stairwell and launches at it, shoving open the safety bar and barreling down the staircase as quickly as possible. He makes it down four flights before the guard bursts into the stairwell behind him, but the guard continues to call after him. As much as he would love to sling a web and dive down the open center column in the stairwell, it would only do more harm than good toward the whole secret identity thing, so he keeps running.

Eventually, he hits the bottom floor and bursts out of the emergency exit, setting off a blaring alarm that echoes as he stumbles on the gravel outside and takes off running around the corner and down the street.

Five minutes later, once he’s sure that he’s ducked around enough streets and the security guard has long since stopped chasing, Peter finally stops. He drops, right where he is on the curb and kicks at the sidewalk, cracking it under the force.

How could he have been so stupid? He got reckless, hung up on seeing his fri- his former friend, and stopped paying attention to his surroundings.

Now they’ll go back and check the security footage for sure. If he’d been in and out without notice, they probably would never have bothered. This is going to make everything so much harder when he takes on Osborn. He’ll need proof. Undeniable proof.

And Ned. Fuck, he let Ned see him. He’d been so careful over the years to make sure that never happened and it all went out the window in an instant.

If he did make his way back into Oscorp, he’d have to make doubly sure to steer clear of Ned. What floor was that? 14? 16? He’d gotten so turned around and lost track. All the levels look the same, blurring together in his memory.

His eyes sting with the wave of frustration he refuses to let bubble over. He pulls at the sleeve of his jacket and rubs it over his eyes, holding pressure for a moment as he breathes. Breathe in 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Breathe out 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11. And again. And again. Sweat drips down the back of his neck, sticky and uncomfortable, but grounding and here nonetheless.

So maybe not all is lost. He now knows some things about how the building is laid out. He can go home and research more about Oscorp, more about Osborn. Maybe he can even find his home address, and do a little reconnaissance there.

He’s overdue for a new hair color, this just proves that it’s time. Anything to keep himself off their radar.

He groans, stretching his shoulders and back as he climbs to his feet, feeling somehow both boneless and wound tight at the same time. The sun is beginning to set over the horizon, tinging cars and windows in a peach-colored glow. It’s pretty. Office workers are changing over into the night crowd. Restaurants are starting to bustle with the dinner rush.

This is his city, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it safe.

He stands there for a minute, watching the people and cars zoom by. Closing his eyes, he tries opening his other senses to his surroundings. The smell of exhaust lingers, as it always does at street level, and sweet cinnamon sugar wafts toward him from the churro vendor on the corner. A slight breeze picks up from the east, wafting over his face pleasantly. Harmless chatter washes over him from passersby.

“…telling her that she needs to talk to an adult when these things happen. She can’t just kick a classmate…”

“… believe it! I mean, 12 bucks for a sandwich? A sandwich! It’s high…”

“… told me that you’ve been spending more than a little time with Jess. Care to explain…”

“…no way. I’m done for. I could only finish, like, half the questions before the bell. Mom is so going…”

“…don’t know what you’re missing out on! Did I mention that the Harry Osborn is our guitarist!”

What?

Peter’s head snaps around towards the voice, where a petite girl - barely a high schooler, he suspects - is being not so gently ushered out of the front door of the business behind him and onto the sidewalk. The building looks to be some sort of bar & grill, with an open patio that is still packed away for the day.

The man ushering her out doesn’t seem to notice him, or maybe he doesn’t care. He has a crusty apron tied around his waist and rather forcefully pushes at the girl’s shoulder until she stumbled backward out from under the canopy. “I don’t know who that is and I don’t care. Go find some other chump to sell your story to, and don’t come back here until you have an actual album,” he says with a grunt.

“We’re working on our album thankyouverymuch,” she says in a huff. Righting herself and straightening her askew sleeve, she glares up at him, despite the foot difference in height. “And how can you not know? His name is on the fucking building down the street!” She gesticulates wildly, in a vague approximation of the direction Peter just came from.

So Norman has a brother? Or maybe a kid? Either way, maybe this is a way in.

He looks her over. She has short blonde hair that is shaved down one side, with a stripe of pink and blue dye. Her ripped jeans look more fashionable than well-worn, and she clutches a crumpled paper in her hand, looking for all the world like she wants to strangle this man, but is taking it out on the paper instead.

“Like I said, kid, I don’t know and I don’t care.” Without remorse, the man slams the door in her face, and Peter hears a deliberate click of the lock snapping into place.

“Eugh, asshole!” She whirls around with a frustrated scream, before coming face to face with Peter. With wide eyes, her frustration slips from her face, and her cheeks tinge pink. “Sorry you had to hear that.”

“Seems like that guy was a right dick.”

She barks out a laugh, high and tinselly, “Yeah no kidding. Not the first time though.”

Peter can’t help but grin just a bit. “You regularly deal with large men shoving you out of their place of business? Sounds like you might need to work on your sales tactics, Girl Scout.”

“People tend to underestimate me.”

“Teenagers don’t generally hold a lot of respect in the public eye, and high school bands aren’t usually any good. That’s part of the schtick.”

She pouts at him, honest-to-god pouts. “I’m not in high school. I’m 19. And we’re actually pretty good if I do say so myself.”

“Hmm,” Peter, “alright, I’ll bite. Tell me about it?”

She immediately launches into an explanation of genre and themes using terms that Peter has never heard of before, but he tries to keep up. Something about Bubblegum Pop meets 90s grunge. At some point, she starts talking about shoes. Someone named Ariel Bloomer inspires their singer. It seems like something rock-like, maybe? Perhaps Peter really has been out of the pop-culture loop recently.

“…and we play at Drifters every Tuesday and Thursday, but they don’t pay us because apparently ‘exposure’ is as good as.” She brings her hands up for exaggerated air quotes. “I want to get us more gigs, more paid gigs, but no one wants to listen to me. And, Mary’s been busy with her job and Harry’s move has put our album recording on hold, so that leaves just me to try.”

Harry’s move, huh? Might be related to the new Oscorp.

Maybe he should pay this guy a visit.

“You said you play at Drifters on Tuesdays, yeah? So you’ll be playing tomorrow?”

She lights up, smoothing her wrinkled paper across her knee before passing it over to Peter. “Yeah, we play after I get out of class. There’s a front door fee, but I could probably get you a ticket if you want.”

He looks over the wrinkled page. It’s got a photo showcasing the girl, bracketed by a taller, dark-haired guy and a curvier, red-headed girl, all smiling broadly. Across the bottom is says “Light Failure, Drifters, 7:00 PM, $8 pre-sale/$10 door”. The place isn’t too far out of his way, all things considered.

He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture before handing it back to her. “Sounds fun, and I’ve got nothing better to do on a Tuesday night. I’m Peter, by the way,” he says as he holds his hand out for her to shake.

“Gwen,” she says simply. She looks him up and down, briefly. “I think you’ll fit right in.”

“Oh?” He can’t help the surprise in his voice.

“Yep,” she pops the ‘p’ at the end of the word.

He waits, but she doesn’t elaborate, just watching him with an amused twinkle in her eye. Peter feels a bit like a bug under a microscope.

“Okay, short stack, I really should skedaddle.” He pauses, looking her over, “Are you gonna be ok getting yourself home?”

She laughs again, “Oh don’t you worry, I can take care of myself.” With a skip in her step, she starts down the sidewalk, walking backward as she says, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Peter.” She then turns the corner and disappears from view, while Peter can hear her steps fading into the rest of the city’s soundscape.

Peter is left feeling, for all the world, like he’s on the outs of an inside joke. ~X~

Peter considers patrolling that night, but his heart isn’t really in it. Instead, the long and monotonous trip back home via public transit leaves him with time to think. To plan.

There are a lot of unanswered questions swirling through his head, a lot of loose threads and uncertainties. He is still mulling it over as he turns his apartment key in its lock, pushes through the creaky front door that never closes quite right, and flicks on the light.

And all those thoughts promptly leave the building as he jumps out of his skin.

“Fucking hell!”

“That never gets old.” Director Fury sits, with an edge of a smirk on his face, in Peter’s desk chair. He leans back casually with his fingers steepled in front of him, calculating.

Peter hasn’t seen him since everything that happened in Europe. He’s not even entirely sure how much of Fury he saw and how much was… well.

But if he’s here, he wants something. He shouldn’t know who Peter is, but if anyone is going to figure some things out, it would be him. Which would be bad. Very bad.

Peter needs to play this carefully.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Peter tries to push a note of fear and confusion into his voice.

Fury stands, commanding the room like he owns the place. “Director Nick Fury, SHIELD. You and I have a lot to discuss, Peter.” His voice twinges on the name, like he’s making a point.

Peter shuts the door behind him, hoping to keep out any prying eyes or ears. He can see where this is going, but he still has to try. Maybe a new tactic, then. “SHIELD, huh? Is there a CASTLE and a KNIGHT as well? How about a DRAGON, AXE, or SWORD?”

Fury’s eyes narrow at him, “Cut the crap. The deflection’s cute, but pointless. You were a difficult kid to track down, but even bugs leave footprints. Don’t they, Spider-Man?”

Shit. Okay, this day was gonna come eventually. At least Fury seems to be under the impression that they’ve never met, like this anyway. That means 2 things; it really was Fury who gave him the EDITH glasses, and Strange’s spell is still intact and operational, or, they really haven’t met before. Either way, he can work with this.

He casually tosses his bag the remaining few feet from him to his bed and walks to the kitchen sink, pouring a glass of water from the tap. “How’d you figure it out?”

“We have our sources.”

“Which are?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

Peter sets the empty glass down on the counter. “What do you want, Director?”

“First, I want to know how a kid like you somehow became more untraceable than a Black Widow, while simultaneously swinging around in a blue and red gimp suit?”

“Untraceable? Director, you flatter me. I’m just living my life, doing what I can, when I can, to help out the little guy.”

“Yes, let’s talk about that life for a minute.” Fury pulls out a manilla folder with a handful of pages from a briefcase sitting on Peter’s desk and flips through them casually. “Pietrovich “Peter” Strakar, Age 22, is a refugee from Sokovia who arrived here at just 8 years old with no family and no legal record. A child who somehow managed to fly completely under the radar, lost in the bureaucracy of our system during the chaos of the Blip. A child who only filed for legal identification after turning 18. A child who, over 10 years, was never once picked up by CPS or the police, and somehow managed to stay housed, fed, and alive on his own during that entire time. Who now, after everything, works for pennies at The Daily Bugle selling Spider-Man videos. Am I getting that right?”

Peter shrugs, “Your point?”

He snaps the folder closed. “My point is that Pietrovich Strakar doesn’t exist. That much is obvious. Hell, Spider-Man was blipped, and as talented as you are, you couldn’t have faked that. So who are you?” He rubs across his forehead, smoothing the furrowed lines there.

What is he getting at? Peter knows his story has more holes than Swiss Cheese, but a few well-placed tears in front of the right social worker’s desk and he’d gotten his foot in the door. His faked backstory would never have been a spot on SHIELD’s radar by itself. So why now?

“I’m just Peter. Now what do you actually want?”

Fury is a stoic man, who doesn’t give much away, but Peter’s hearing picks up a slight increase in his heart rate. He’s annoyed, maybe stressed. Either way, Peter knows he has the upper hand if he can play his cards right.

“Fine, keep your secrets, just Peter. Regardless of your past, you do good work. And Tony Stark trusted you, which makes you at least somewhat competent in my book. He must’ve had his reasons for recruiting you, and for taking you with him on the Q-ship that crashed into Titan.”

Peter quirks an eyebrow. It’s been a long time since anyone has referred to him and Tony Stark in the same sentence, and it settles a funny feeling in his chest.

Fury continues, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the Avengers are scattered. We have reason to believe that there is a need for Earth to have a united front against any intergalactic threats that may be on their way, and most of the original Avengers are out of commission.”

“You mean dead.”

“Or retired.”

“So you’re here to recruit me for your little propagandized militia again? No, no way.” There was a time when being an Avenger was the greatest honor Peter thought he would ever get, but that was before… everything. Sure, if another world-ending threat came at Earth, he would fight with the best of them, but he can’t abandon the city to go gallivanting off into other galaxies. Not again. “I had my reasons for working with Mr. Stark before, and those reasons died with him.”

“With SHIELD on your side, we could make sure that your… history gets officially approved. All legal identification would be provided for you, along with a salary as compensation for your work.”

Ah, that was the angle.

“No.”

Fury better not put his paperwork on hold over this. Peter’s not sure where he would go from there, but he would figure something out. He always does. It’s not the leverage Fury seems to think it is.

“Your skills would be an asset that we could really use, and you can’t really-”

“I said no.” Peter cuts him off, and he can see a vein twitch in Fury’s forehead. “Go recruit Strange or Danvers or something. You already have a new Captain America to be your frontman, you don’t need another small-time enhanced vigilante.”

“Tony Stark, for all his recklessness and chauvinism, always backed the Avengers. He stepped up to the plate and did what Earth needed when it counted. He would want you-”

“Don’t tell me what he would want!” Peter is shouting now, fuck this. Fury has no right to come into his apartment and start spouting nonsense about what Mr. Stark would have wanted. Peter knows exactly what he would have wanted.

He doesn’t want to think about why that strikes a nerve so badly.

After a moment, he breathes deep and slow before saying, “Leave. Now.”

Fury buckles up his briefcase, looking rather unperturbed, but Peter can feel that this isn’t over.

“You’re going to regret this, Peter. Call me, when you change your mind.” He sets a small card down on Peter’s desk before walking towards the door. There’s a glassy look growing over his eyes that’s become all too familiar to Peter over the years.

“I doubt that.”

“You’ll need us as much as we need you.” Fury pauses as he pulls open the creaking front door, and calls over his shoulder, “The life of a vigilante, of a good vigilante, is lonely.”

The door shuts behind him with a groan.

Fuck. ~X~

There is green everywhere. Or blue.

Peter isn’t entirely sure what the color is, to be honest.

He’s thrown together the last bits of every green, blue, purple, and black hair dye bottle he has. It can’t wait. He needs the change today, so he’s working with what he has. He needs something to cover the fading orange without requiring another round of bleach.

If he does have the chance to go back to Oscorp to look around, it’ll hopefully be just the edge he needs to stay off their radar.

In the end, the color ends up somewhere in the area between emerald, navy, and inky black.

It certainly does the job of covering up his previous peachy color, but it also manages to cover most of his bathroom as well. Spots of dark color are flecked all over his walls and sink, and the bottom of his tub looks like someone has broken a fountain pen in it.

He feels like he’s usually not this messy, but the faded splotches of various other colors from the past few years say otherwise.

Whatever. If it’s a problem, Mr. Ditkovitch can’t do much about it anyway. He’s not living here strictly legally, and that’s how both he and Mr. Ditkovitch like it.

It’s hard to rent a place and undergo a background check when you have no background. Or credit history. Or ID.

Anyway.

He shakes a hand through the damp hair, ruffling the curls in an attempt to get them to dry faster. He left the top and sides long still; it keeps people from looking too closely at his face. But now, the back and edges are clipped clean again, which should help with the summer heat.

He’s got the NYPD dispatch playing from his phone, idly keeping an ear out.

“…Stacy en route, 10-53 located on 81st & Broadway, vehicle blocking traffic, no major injuries reported…”

He flops backward onto his dark sheets, enjoying the breeze coming through the window. He’s got most of the day to himself, until the music show tonight. He really needs to make more Web Fluid, but that will have to wait until later, after the university is empty for the night.

It’s as good a time as any to finish work on editing some of those Spider-Man ‘candids’ he shot yesterday morning. He tried to start in on it last night, but his head was swimming too much to make any real progress.

“…Richards reporting for the 10-90 on Johnson Avenue…”

His muscles groan at him as he peels himself up off the bed. The graze across his shoulder is completely gone now, with just the faintest white line of a scar where it once bled. Even still, though he’s perfectly healed, he feels tired. He probably hasn’t been eating as much as he should, but after the next set of photos, he should be able to afford some things.

Rent is coming up though.

Well, he’ll have to see.

“…folow up on 65th Avenue. It’s a 10-17 false alarm. Will…”

Okay, alright. Time to work. He settles down into his desk chair and gets started. A few shots need some background elements removed, the video footage is a little shaky and needs stabilization. One photo looks fantastic, showcasing Spider-Man backflipping through the air over the city skyline, but a stray pigeon flew between the camera and the shot, blocking his foot. He spends quite a while reconstructing that from other photos.

Some might say that he shouldn’t edit things as much as he does, but it makes JJ happy, and it’s purely artistic anyway, no harm done.

He knows how much damage editing can do in the wrong hands.

Best to keep himself as the prime photographer, then at least he has some control. Then he knows the extent of the situation. And JJ never cares anyway, he takes it all at face value.

“… got a 10-66 Eastbound on Linden Boulevard. 3 overturned vehicles due to a ground-level explosion. Witnesses report four individuals fleeing the area, followed by an enhanced individual. Might be Spider-Man out of his suit, but witness reports suggest otherwise. 10-85 we need all units…”

What?

Shit, what is it ‘Gretchen’ had said the other day? Something about a sidekick? Is someone out there impersonating him or something?

With a quick save of his files, Peter is up and pulling on the suit as fast as possible. He hates wearing the mask when his hair is damp, but he really doesn’t have an option at the moment. Linden Boulevard isn’t too far, but it’s certainly no skip around the park. He’s going to have to have to be quick if he wants to catch them before they disappear.

~X~

The first thing Peter sees upon reaching Linden Boulevard is the aforementioned overturned vehicles. There are two sedans flipped upside down and one unmarked van toppled on its side. From the scrapings on the ground, it looks like some sort of explosion emanated outwards and blasted the vehicles away.

Great.

Peter pushes the small button hidden on the insignia on his chest and his drone whirrs to life. When it’s floating in front of him, he double-taps his earpiece and enunciates, “Automatic track and capture video, stealth mode 1.” The device shifts, lifting higher in the air to record from a distance.

Peter can hear a series of sirens in the distance, racing down the street, and urges his muscles to swing faster to catch up. He passes a series of smashed cars, broken streetlights, and confused onlookers as he goes.

Scanning the roads as he blurs past, he doesn’t note any major injuries among the bystanders. That’s good. Seems like someone was looking out for them, or they got incredibly lucky.

The sirens are closer now, as he swings closer to the screeching police cars. Further down the boulevard, he can hear a faint explosion, followed by a series of faint popping noises. It’s not quite the sound of snapped steel cables, but it’s similar. There better not be another collapsing building. He hates dealing with collapsing buildings.

He can hear the whir of a smaller engine amongst the cars, maybe a motorcycle? The commotion turns a corner up ahead and he swings in a wide arc to follow.

Peter has to let go of his web and rapidly drop down at the last second to avoid smacking face first into… a dumpster? He launches out another web at the last minute and shoots himself sideways, landing on the side of a building about three storeys up.

Next to him is a city dumpster, hanging in the middle of the air, strung up by a network of webbing not unlike his own.

He plucks a finger at the white web and it reverberates with a twang, the dumpster bobbing up and down precariously. The tensile strength of this webbing is less than his own, maybe 75% if he had to guess, but it seems more elastic and lighter weight than his as well.

Interesting.

Now that he’s been forced to pause, he can see both behind and ahead of him are a series of webs, presumably from this copycat. Some are obviously from swinging between buildings, but others are holding up objects that have been launched from the ground or knocked off rooftops.

Peter leaps off the building in a reinvigorated pursuit. Whoever this is, they can’t be left unchecked. Spider-Man really doesn't need another hit to his reputation.

A moment later, Peter swings himself around another corner and comes face to face with a three-way standoff.

In the middle of a major intersection, a similar van to the one left behind is stopped, with two visibly popped tires and a cracked windshield. Four masked men stand here using the van as cover, all looking like they used Barney as inspiration for their Pinterest Board. Peter snorts to himself, before shaking his head to bring him into focus.

The first man has a large, glowing gauntlet across his right arm. He has a metallic mask over the lower half of his face, imprinted with a devious grin of sharp teeth, but his brow is furrowed in anger. Grumpy.

The second man has some kind of automated machine gun in his hands, with a long ammunition belt wrapped around his shoulder and chest. He gesticulates wildly over the scene before him, without a care for the civilians caught in his aim, all with a maniacal laugh. Happy.

Happy? Man, he really needs to work on how he picks his nicknames.

The third man has a string of curved blades strapped to his hip, but the way his hands twist over them shows a level of anxiety the others don’t have, a level of incompetence the others don’t have. His mask is more of a helmet than a mask, obscuring everything. Dopey.

The fourth wears a long and heavy overcoat over a glistening metallic armor, no doubt sweltering in the July heat. His mask covers his whole face with a thin fabric, not unlike Peter’s own. Doc.

It’s this last man who captures Peter’s attention the most. He’s leaning heavily against the side of the busted van, with a motorcycle overturned at his feet. He has no visible weapons and seems calm, in contrast to the other three.

Calm is intelligent. Calm is resourceful. Calm is dangerous.

A police barricade has pulled up on two sides of the intersection, with dozens of officers hesitant and waiting. The two groups are at a standoff - neither one making the first move.

A crowd of people lingers behind the intersection. If they had any sense, the citizens of New York would have learned by now to run in the other direction, but they’re rather desensitized to danger after all these years of villain-and-calamity after villain-and-calamity.

And across the intersection, climbing up the side of a building, is the copycat.

They’re small, slender, and wearing… is that a Halloween costume? It looks to be a cheap lycra Spider-Man costume, probably a size or two too small, with a blue so vibrant it almost hurts his eyes. And they’ve got chunky sneakers on their feet, no less.

The way they’re climbing the building certainly is like him. Is it possible that there’s more than one radioactive spider out there? More than one Spider-Man? He wouldn’t wish this life, this isolation, on his worst enemy. There’s no need for someone else to join him.

One is more than enough.

He can handle it. Alone.

Peter swings down from his perch and lands atop a traffic light, making sure he’s right in the middle of everyone’s view. “Looks like you went and started the party without me, and here I thought I was the guest of honor.” This is a delicate balance, not knowing exactly what their tech is capable of. He needs to stall, to make them comfortable before he can pounce.

He makes eye contact with Officer Davis, tucked behind a car door, with his walkie in one hand and pistol in the other. Davis nods, and Peter knows that he has control for a moment.

Happy looks at Peter with a manic sort of grin and says, “Itsy-Bitsy’s come out to play, how cute. And here we thought you were going to let your little sidekick die in your place.” He waves the gun around in his hands as he talks, gesturing to where Peter’s copycat is perched.

“Oh, that one’s not mine. Not sure where they came from, but I can assure you that I work alone.”

“So you won’t mind if I…” He aims the gun upwards at the copycat and fires a streak of bullets.

The copycat barely manages to dodge out of the way with a high-pitched shout, dusty craters from the bullet holes left in their wake.

Doc snaps, “Fenn! I think you’ve done enough.”

“I’m just getting started,” Happy replies.

Something about Doc’s voice rattles at the back of Peter’s memory, but now really isn’t the time to think about it.

“Eyes on me, pretty boy.” Peter launches a web at the gun to try to yank it out of the man’s hand, but his friend with the gauntlet, Grumpy, pulls him out of the way before it hits his mark. “No one here needs to get hurt.”

Dopey squeaks at this, pressing his back against the wall of the van. Happy slams his free hand on Dopey’s chest to quiet him.

“Let us go and no one will,” says Doc at the same time as Happy says, “But that’s no fun, is it, Spider-Man?”

Doc still hasn’t moved. Instead, he’s been surveying the landscape, waiting, and that makes Peter nervous.

What is he waiting for?

From their perch up high, the copycat shouts out, “You can’t let them go, Spider-Man! Those weapons- They can’t- They’re trying to-!” Their squeaky, stuttering voice is chalked full of panic. They sound like a kid.

Please don’t be a kid.

Peter lets out a slow breath. “Tell you what, you hand over all those fun little weapons, and I’ll see if we can get a few years knocked off your sentence. Maybe even get you put in one of those nice prisons with a weight room and TV. How does that sound?”

Happy cackles maniacally while Grumpy flips a switch on his gauntlet, making it glow brighter and emit a low, buzzing sound.

Peter can see Doc slink a half-step away from his friends, shoulders hunched and hands tucked deep into his pockets.

The air is thick with tension.

Several things happen in rapid succession.

His copycat slings a web at Doc, sticking to his shoulder and yanking him off-kilter.

Doc pulls back, ducking and rolling along the asphalt, and taking the copycat with him.

Happy cackles and begins firing his gun in a spray in every direction, without care.

Dopey blindly casts out two of his blades, not watching even as they swing in wide-curving arcs across the intersection. One whizzes right past Peter’s ear. Is it shaped like a bat?

Grumpy aims and fires his gauntlet at the copycat, emitting a shockwave that reverberates across the intersection and rattles the very foundations of the roads.

Doc throws something at the ground between him and the copycat while saying, “Sorry, kid.” It explodes on impact and kicks up a colorful cloud of green smoke. His copycat stumbles backward out of the cloud, coughing and clutching their chest.

Peter leaps into the air, twisting to dodge the spray of bullets, and slams into his copycat, skidding to a stop along the sidewalk on the other side of the intersection. He shoves the kid behind a parked car with a harsh, “Stay down!”

Another curved blade from Dopey zips through the air over their heads and impales itself in the brick of the building behind them.

Peter leans over the hood of the car and aims two webs at Dopey. Being the most inexperienced, he’s been fighting blindly and barely moving from where he’s pressed up against the van.

The webs hit their mark with ease, pinning him flush with his hands bound away from the remaining blades.

One down, three to go.

Doc picks himself and his motorcycle up off the ground, aiming in the opposite direction of the police barricade, obviously not caring if he leaves his friends behind. His engine stutters for a half-second before roaring to life. He throws another smoke bomb behind him for good measure, leaving an even bigger crater in the asphalt.

Peter leaps on top of the parked car and sends a series of webs at the motorcycle, each narrowly missing as it begins to weave its way through the gridlocked traffic. He’s forced to dodge side-to-side to avoid the spray of bullets aimed right at him.

The poor owner of this car better have good insurance.

Peter attempts to launch a final web through the lingering smoke at the tires before Doc can get too far away, but the man throws a small device from his pocket at the last minute. It swings through the web, cutting the cord cleanly, before curving back towards Peter like a tiny missile.

Peter cuts his losses, dodging the missile as it fires right at him. He sprints across the intersection and leaps up and over the top of the busted van. The missile lodges itself into the van door with a thunk!

“Oooh, two for one bad guy special.”

He’s trapped between the remaining two men, each taking swings at him simultaneously. His senses keep him sharp, but he can only move so quickly, ducking and dodging and attempting to subdue them both at close range. A cleanly placed web disarms the machine gun and pins Happy’s wrist down. Left, Right, Down, Right, Over, Left-

Pain blooms in his side as he takes a direct blow from the gauntlet to his abdomen, the reverberations of the shockwave shattering several ribs, if he can make any sense of it.

He stumbles backward, trying to shake away the fog that creeps into the edge of his senses.

His ears are ringing, but through the tinny sound, he can hear his copycat shouting something.

God that kid doesn't know when to quit.

He shakes his head, redirecting his focus back to the fight. His copycat is swinging over the top of the intersection, narrowly missing shockwave after shockwave. Peter’s senses focus in on his copycat’s movements - sloppy, inexperienced, and in a predictable pattern.

Even as spots flood his vision, Peter can see when Grumpy sees it too. He aims behind the copycat more than at them, not that his copycat has caught on.

Dust shakes from the brickwork of the building behind them.

Peter hears the crumbling before he can see it. The support beam holding up a corner of the building creaks, groans, and snaps, kicking up a dust cloud of debris.

He leaps forward, spraying out a network of webbing to hold up the largest pieces, while he uses his own strength to catch the broken support beam and hold it in place. His muscles strain under the weight, and the pain in his side pinches in narrow focus.

The copycat webs down Grumpy during the distraction, kicking the gauntlet off his hand and down the road, out of reach, before running over to Peter.

His vision swims and he swears there are three of the kid, moving like synchronized swimmers. 10s across the board.

They’re babbling now, “I’m sorry, Mr. Spider-Man, sir. How can I- What can I- I didn’t mean to-”

Peter grits his teeth through the pain and says, “Kid, get out of here!” The weight of the concrete on his shoulders reminds him eerily of another building collapse, many years ago now. That feeling of being crushed, helpless, and panicking, it’s as clear as the day it happened.

But today is not then.

His knees wobble, but he won’t let them buckle. He can hold out as long as it takes.

He looks across the road to where Officer Davis stands, ready to send his officers in to apprehend the webbed-up men, and Peter shouts to him. “I need you to make sure that you clear the area. Drag those guys back out of the road and clear the bystanders. I can’t hold this much longer.”

The copycat interrupts, “I can help! I can-”

“Don’t.” Peter shifts the weight closer to his shoulders, groaning under the pressure of the concrete and steel, to reach out a hand and grab the back of the kid’s lycra suit. His vision whites out for a moment as pain ricochets up his spine with the movement. “Get your ass out of here kid. I’m not done with you.” He gives them a forceful shove out of the way before slamming his hand upwards to support the wobbling weight.

The kid turns to look at him, face unchanging under the stretchy, lycra mask, but their shoulders hunch inwards and Peter is sure that he’s upset them. Tough luck. He has bigger things to worry about.

Peter breathes, slow and deep, holding out as long as he can. After a moment, the kid looks over to where Officer Davis and the rest of his unit are clearing the area to prepare for the debris. They seem to stumble back as if surprised or unsure, before taking off running down the street, out of Peter’s view.

Finally, someone listens to him.

The fog is creeping back in around his senses. It’s getting harder to breathe through the pain, but he tries. Breathe in 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Breathe out 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11. And again. And again.

Eventually, Officer Davis gives him the all-clear. Peter barely registers it, but with a steely breath, he braces himself and leaps sideways, tucking and rolling as he goes.

Concrete and steel shatter to the ground; a large corner of this building crumbles into a million pieces, but no casualties and no major injuries.

Well, except his own, but that’s unimportant.

Peter’s throat catches on dust from the collapse, and the cough that wracks through him is so painful he blacks out for a moment. Just a moment. Probably.

With shaky legs, he stands, rights himself, and straightens his shoulders. Despite his chest’s screaming protest, he needs to put on a brave face. There are onlookers. They need to know that Spider-Man is invincible. They need that sense of hope.

He looks to where the three men are being loaded into the back of a police cruiser, stripped of all weapons and tech alike. The area is slowly being taped off for investigation.

A familiar figure stands at the edge of the intersection, phone in hand, pushed to the front of the crowd. It’s recording, if Peter knows anything by now.

Eddie Brock sure has a knack for being in the thick of it.

At least he wasn’t actually caught in the crossfire this time. That’s a dilemma to solve another day.

He nods to Officer Davis, knowing that he’ll talk to him if he needs a statement. The dozens of witnesses are probably enough, but you never know.

When Peter feels braced against the pain, he reaches up a hand and launches himself upwards and around the corner.

He has a kid to talk to. ~X~

He finds the kid tucked in on themself on a nearby rooftop. They’ve removed the cheap costume mask, but their face is pressed into their knees, with their hands braced over the back of their neck like they’re trying to curl themself into the smallest space possible.

Peter needs a moment, and it seems like the kid does too, so he carefully crouches down next to them and leans back in a way to minimize the pain of his aching side. He breathes, trying to collect himself, but the words aren’t coming easily. All that he’s focused on is the creeping fog around his senses and the panic over a kid nearly caught in the crossfire.

He tries his best to keep his voice even-keeled as he says, “You can’t do that again, kid.”

“I’m not a kid!” Their head snaps up to look at Peter. “I just thought… I-”

Yep, he’s definitely a kid. Probably early high school, but that’s hard to tell sometimes. To be honest, he’s probably not far off from how old Peter was when he started all this.

Best not to think about it.

Peter takes in the slope of his round cheeks, his soft, wide nose, and his deep brown eyes, youthful and innocent.

He needs those eyes to stay that way.

Time to break another heart.

“You need to leave these things to the professionals, kid. Come back when you’re in college.”

“But you don’t understand, they were- they’re making things. Those weapons aren’t normal!”

“Sure. And there are people who handle this sort of thing. Me.”

The kid scrambles to his feet, hands wringing over the stretchy lycra mask of his costume. “I have these powers now, like you! I can’t just stand around and let bad things happen. People could get hurt.”

“You could get hurt. And if you do, that’s on me.”

“I heal fast.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Spots creep behind his eyes, likely the beginnings of a migraine. That shockwave thing really did do a number on him. His voice has been steadily gaining a bite that he tries to steal away. “I have experience. I have a suit. I’ll take care of it.”

“I. Can. Help.” The kid’s face is stubbornly set now. Great. “Just tell me what to do.”

Peter slowly stands. His vision blacks for a second and he’s ever grateful for his mask. Breathe in 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Breathe out 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11. “Go home, kid. To your parents, your family. Enjoy your childhood, while you can. Don’t do this again.”

Peter knows that he’s not far from passing out completely. The adrenaline and shock are wearing off. If he wants any chance at making it to Gwen’s show tonight, he needs to take a nap and let his healing work through the fractures.

Without looking back, Peter takes careful steps to the edge of the building and leaps off.

He doesn’t need to see the kid’s face to know that he’s upset. His erratic breathing and quickened heartbeat tell Peter all he needs to know.

Never meet your heroes.

#Spider-Man: Homesickness #fic #spiderman fic #spiderman: no way home #mcu peter parker #peter parker fic #AO3 #Spiderman #Mcu fic

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jaydonsjam · 1 year

Text

Man-Thing VII

Man-Thing #7-8

Man-Thing #7-8 - Writer: Steve Gerber | penciler & inker: Mike Ploog

Man-Thing continues to be a great book. Steve Gerber’s themes of industrialization vs nature/conservation shine in this arc and finally we see F.A. Schist get his comeuppance. Albeit he’s burned to ash by Man-Thing but his name means fascist and he was a horrible human being so I don’t feel sympathy. I liked that there’s a hidden community of explorers who found the “rainbow water” which is the stand-in for the fountain of youth myth. They are led by the “Fathers” and they try to help Man-Thing. I thought it was an ironic twist of fate that the rainbow water changed Ted’s body to flesh but he’s gotta stay the Man-Thing so he ultimately gets doused in the swamp muck and transforms back into Man-Thing. In another ironic twist of fate Schist has to find out the hard way that you’re not supposed to ingest the rainbow water, you’re supposed to bathe in it. I also like the moment when F.A. meets the Fathers he immediately offers them endless wealth by bottling the rainbow water and selling it. That was before he’s changed into the malformed muscled skeleton that the Fathers are by drinking the water. I also like the fact that the whole time F.A. wants to kill the Man-Thing, the guy he hired, Wickham spends the whole time telling Schist to forget his hatred of the Man-Thing then he ends up falling into a pit and dying. I don’t know if Schist’s final motivation being to find the fountain of youth by draining the swamp, made sense but I guess he ultimately just wanted to make cents. Sorry that was terrible. We were also dealing with a villain who’s at the final breaking point and desperate to make a buck now that his company is forced to leave the swamp. Mike Ploog’s art suits Man-Thing so well. I love how he draws horror aesthetics and creatures. I still prefer him on Werewolf but he works great here too. Great arc and I can’t wait for the next issue now that the main antagonist is gone!

Giant-Size Man-Thing #1

Giant-Size Man-Thing #1 - writer: Steve Gerber | penciler: Mike Ploog | inker: Frank Monte

In the first Giant-Sized Man-Thing issue we see Man-Thing fight the clay-made Glob! We see another man made from clay and a golden brain similar to the peanut-butter made man in an earlier issue. We see the first appearance of Omegaville which is a new dome village that relies on solar power and no fossil fuels. And we meet a cult of Entropists who are a group of nihilistic people who just want the destruction of the universe. So Gerber is tackling the climate change issue through showing activism vs nihilism. Now of course it’s a marvel comic so the Entropists are exaggerated into supervillains but it really works as a theme here. Again, I really enjoy how Steve Gerber tackles issues through fantastical monster fights and golden brains and telepathic links and whatever else. It’s not perfect but I really liked this issue. Yagzan leads this cult and turns the brain which had “self-actualized” into a man named Joe into the monstrous Glob! Of course once he’s the Glob he immediately starts destroying Omegaville which leads into a confrontation and fight with the Man-Thing. When you have two monstrous husks fighting each other, there’s only so much you can do to make the fight interesting so it’s basically just punching. BUT I really enjoyed the thematic elements here and it’s a fun issue. I love this book! I honestly wish there were more Man-Thing comics post-70’s but he’s never been a super popular character. I hope he makes a comeback in modern times cause I’d love to see a modern day Man-Thing series and what a great creative team could do with him. Also the more I read of Man-Thing, the more clear it is that he’s not that comparable to Swamp Thing like so many people say. Anyways, I really enjoyed these issues and I can’t wait to read more! Next up is Hellstrom!

#marvel #marvel comics #man thing #man-thing #ted sallis

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aimmyarrowshigh · 2 years

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Hi, Aim, it's IndigoSun from ao3, and I was just hoping to request a few drabbles from you on such a great day. ❤ Is there any chance I could get 57. Trippingly + Nile & Lykon, 65. Down + Nile/Booker, 61. Do-Over + Nile/Andy/Quynh (if you're feeling it, but I'd still be thrilled if you want to do something different instead), and maybe 93. Substitute+ Nicky & Quynh? Oh, and it's unrelated, but do you have any thoughts and feelings about the new She-Hulk show? :)

57. Trippingly @ AO3

65. Down @ AO3

93. Substitute @ AO3

I've got another request in right now for #61, so I'm going to give it to them since you're getting three in this set. :)

And oh boy, my thoughts on She-Hulk... hmm.

Firstly, I am enjoying the simple experience of watching the show. I love Tatiana Maslany SO MUCH (she's my favorite actress) and I'm thrilled that she's in the MCU. I'm thrilled that so many characters of Phases 4-6 are women, after Endgame killed off the two main female characters that were included in Phases 1-3, in the same bullshit way, for the benefit of men, which was awful. I think it's fun to see Tat in a role that's more Tatiana-ish than any of her OB characters, at least vocally and in her posture/carriage, and I love her short hair it's SO CUTE she's SO PRETTY omg. I'm also a huge fan of Jameela Jamil, and I'm assuming from the amount of press Titania has gotten that she'll be returning in a bigger role somewhere in the next few episodes, so I'm also looking forward to that. I honestly kind of hope that Jameela/Titania will be in Thunderbolts? It seems from instagram like Jameela had a total blast filming SHAatL.

Secondly, I am aware that enjoying the show is an Unpopular Opinion, especially in the corners of the MCU fandom wherein I poke my toes. I honestly (and obviously) was not offended by the Steve's virginity joke in the first episode -- again shoutout to @elkleggs' absolutely stunning Steve/USO Girls art for introducing that idea to my brain like a year ago and making me honestly squee when it was made canon. Again, unpopular opinion, but I'm not angry about a character I headcanon as bisexual having had sex with both men and women. Do I think it's weird and VERY suspicious/clunky that the MCU keeps lampshading Steve when as far as we all know, Chris has no plans to ever come back? Yes. If he's genuinely, truly, never ever coming back, then I wish the MCU just elegized Steve the way they're doing for Tony and Natasha and otherwise let him be.

(Devolves into a two-hour ramble about how Steve in Endgame was a skrull and/or the real Steve is in Time Jail because he wouLD NEVER LEAVE BUCKY BEFORE THE END OF THE LINE ESPECIALLY FOR A NAZI COLLABORATOR WHO HIRED THE DUDE WHO STEVE DIED TO TRY TO STOP??? aNyWaY hE's On ThE mOoN!!!!!!! SKRULL!!!!!! ON NTHE MOOON!!!!!!!!)

I'm also -- like, look, I honestly don't think the CGI looks that bad or that different from most CGI things that try to CGI people. Smart Hulk NEVER looked great, and while I'm sad that the CGIing of Jennifer means diluting Tat's great face-acting, it doesn't SURPRISE me. They were never going to try to make a Hulk property with practical effects. Would it have made more sense as a full cartoon? Yes. So would most Marvel things, arguably. But whatever. I DO THINK MARVEL NEEDS TO PAY ITS VFX WORKERS AND LET THEM UNIONIZE. I'm just saying that for what time they did have, I don't think it looks as bad as people as acting like it looks. It's not an Eiffel65 music video or something. It's within my eyeballs' range of tolerance.

I also -- I love Law & Order? Original recipe? SO MUCH? So I kind of wish that we were ACTUALLY getting a legal show? Like a case of the week with Marvel characters as the defendants would honestly be SO FUN and I'm bummed that it was marketed as that but we're not actually getting it. I get that that would be perhaps too much of a sidestep for Marvel, but also, look at WandaVision, which IMO is the best of the Marvel shows by far? Like, hire writers who CAN write a legal show? L&O has been a thing since 1989, I'm SURE there are SCADS of unemployed writers in LA who can write you a courtroom show.

I'm wondering if we'll get an in-universe explanation for the fourth-wall breakage... something with the multiverse? Something with the Watchers? Something with her knowing she's on a TV show like Wanda knew she was on her fake sitcoms?? I want an explanation and I want this narrative frame to matter.

But I generally want ALL things in Marvel to make more sense and matter more than they ultimately do (see Steve's entire goddamn character arc grumble grumble grumble) so. We'll see.

tl;dr verdict: I think it's fun to watch and Tatiana Maslany preeeeetty.

Request your own drabble starring the OTP of your choice here!

#100 drabble tumblr challenge: volume xii #the old guard #marvel #**marvel #she hulk: attorney at law #**shehulk #tatiana maslany #**tatmas

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whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years

Text

Friday 2 August 1833

6 ¾

11 55

very fine morning F71° at 7 and 8 a.m. at my desk at 8 – dressed at 9 ¼ - breakfast at 9 ½ and sat over it an hour – at my desk at 10 ½ - Mrs Barlow came for 10 minutes - having written copy of letter to Washington too long to put in my aunt’s letter (besides perhaps better not to begin this plan) wrote the latter ½ page 3 and the other end to my aunt dated this morning and explaining about Lower brea water-gate to be hung at the Breakneck end of Lower brea wood, and wall to be built against Mrs Walsh and John to sow the bit

SH:7/ML/E/16/0090

of ground with acorns when he has got enough - the neighbouring children will pick them up for him and see my aunt will give them what is right - sitting without socks on - that is merely stocking legs on and nothing else under my gaiters - first time - feet quite hot enough - what I wrote yesterday chit chat etc - thanks for her letter and Washington’s received on Tuesday - could not for the fête go to Laffittes’ before - glad she has hired a niece of Mr Butterworth’s Cordingley’s brother in law - Cordingley’s mother died on Tuesday evening the 16th July Mrs Lawton has heard Martha read and given her her catechism to get perfect - much pleased with her - wish to improve - I mean to pay for John’s son John’s schooling and think John himself ought therefore to send his little girl to school - shall be sorry if the picture frames don’t do - but think they will - Horner can manage it - Do up Mrs K- before the gentleman in armour because she is better painted, and his name ought to be more certainly verified ‘more rigorously determined’ - the Misses Walker need not trouble themselves about being bound for longer than 99 years - I would not bind Mr Lister for so long - shall write to Mr Parker before leaving here – ‘If they will have law they must take it’ - Eugenie’s mother come - how well we go on for ½ what it cost me at the hotel de la Terasse - E- markets and prepares soup bouilli, cutlets, rice pudding so that perhaps only 1 thing of some sort from the restaurateur - Thomas washes up - ‘If we can possibly keep up to going on as well as we do now I shall think my servants treasures’. Seen the De N-‘s and Cuviers and Madame de Bourke - her niece to go with me to Copenhagen - speaks English French Italian and German besides her native Danish. Her German and connections (one of her sisters married Prince Blucher) will be of great use to me. What is luck? can it be that my hitherto singularly good fortune in travelling companions is till to continue?’ full of enterprize - not at all likely to gêner me – ‘I am more and more astonished when I think how marvellously things work together in my favour’ thus shall have 2 houses of friends at Copenhagen instead of one - only home I am thankful enough for all the blessings I enjoy - to write as soon as she can for I shall wait to hear from her again here - if does not hear from every 3 or 4 weeks to believe my letters lost – ‘Poor Mary! Writes to me very affectionately and I believe is heartily sorry for what has passed’ - Glad Miss Walker is better - ‘I told M- all about – I think that struck her more than anything - nothing could persuade her of my being happy - she says I am far too much spoilt in London - Indeed I never can understand why people are so uncommonly kind to me’ - better opinion of thing here and inclined to keep my little apartment rue St V-. My letter to M- kind and affectionate but not compromising myself thanks for her letters and the Lady’s companion to be given to Madame Cuvier - she and the de N-‘s delighted to see me - chit chat and news - the King not shot at, and all went off well - better opinion of things here, and now inclined to keep on my little apartment rue St V- no. 27 - the Légitimists were within an ace of succeeding last June 12th - In answer to what made me fix to go north. ‘I remember one little remark you had made, and, on talking the matter over in St James’s square, they said, you will do very well - don’t change your plans merely for the sake of having a companion. I did not at the moment make any decided answer, but my mind was from that moment made up - in returning home laughed and asked Miss Hall for letters to St P- mention of Lady G-‘s very kind letter just yesterday and glad she was at Brighton and I here, and my plans safe - only mentioned my decision to old Lady S- and that as I drove out of London - would be an affliction to me not to find her living, on my return – ‘I confess I really did feel a darkish cloud pass over me as I drove off from the door, and all the kindness I was leaving behind rose up against me like a mountain of reproach - but a little reasoning with myself set all right again before I had gone many miles, and all my confidence of hope returned - much bitterness of mortification had passed away since I had seen you - circumstances were altogether against my remaining in England for the present, and I was reconciled’ - convinced my friends were right to get me off unfettered and ‘Dont fear about a companion’ occurs to me very forcibly now and then - then go on about other things and did not mention till the 1st end my having Madame de Bourke’s niece as companion (sister to princess Blucher) to Copenhagen - what is luck? curious to know whether the widow (Mrs Dormer) would have gone with me or not, if asked. Delighted at the good account of Martha - and at M-‘s getting on so well with the John Lawtons – ‘Cheer up Mary! Eke out of stock of good and spirits you say I have given you, as long as you can, and then commanded a fresh stock - Remember ‘seek and thee shall find - knock and it shall be opened unto you’ etc trying to rouse her from her nervousness - reference to somewhere in Herschells’ discourse on the study of natural philosophy for her to ‘believe all things not unreasonable and hope all things not impossible’. Do what you can for poor W- (our friend we used to talk of) and all you can for yourself - you owe me some little - pay it as and when you can - only take care of yourself and try to be well and happy and I will be satisfied - no disagreeable thoughts about me, if you please’ – Lady G- certainly forgives my decision - would be of use to me in Spain but I know other future advantage - M- to thank Maria Cholmley and be happy ‘the world is not a blank to you - you have two many objects, rather than too few - but keep your promise - tell me when you are vapourish, and I will tell you when I am so’ - yet I shall not be much troubled in this way - only be well and happy – I asked no more ‘same and except whatever regard I have some right to expect and some merit to deserve?’ Tell of Eugenie how well she does and thinks also - account of our little ménage, [live] for about ½ what we did at the hotel - breakfast yesterday 5/. would have been (fruit included) 13/. at the cafe - poor Mrs Good’s gown so eclipsed! il n’y a que Paris - tho’ I am almost boiled - thanks about letters for St P- for the Bayleys - time enough to send them to me at Copenhagen - ‘never make yourself uneasy about me - you have learnt that I am not fickler as the summer’s wind, and that I have believe it possible to make new friends with losing old ones - I hope my heart is at any rate better than my head, and that it has been those who have known me least who have done me most injustice- God bless you Mary! I am not perhaps so easily spoilt as you imagine - as to the kindness of my friends in London or elsewhere, I am not conscious that it has ever done other than make me more anxious to deserve it. I shall think of you often, particularly in Germany, where music is so frequent and so fine - again and again God bless you! tell me every now and then that my absence has less and less of its former bad effects and believe me my love ever entirely and very especially yours AL’ – to tell Parsons about having paid him for Russia leather dressing case and get the money back – to pay Nicholson and Hudson 5/6 for 1 ½d. silk sent to Leamington, and ask Mrs. Belcombe for receipt for thieves vinegar – ‘I suppose my refit at Madame Decantes and elsewhere will be above £50 – I have no fear but a financial one’ – had just written so far at 2 40 – had had Madame Decantes for above an hour settling about cloaks pelerines etc. etc. – went out to the post-office immediately in time to get my letters in before 3 – to my aunt Shibden (Angleterre) and to M- ‘Claremont house Leamington Warwickshire Angleterre’ in returning called and sat about ¾ hour with Mrs and Miss Barlow - Captain Smith there - upstairs again in an hour just before Mr and Mrs Heneage called very glad I was at home - they sat about ½ hour - talked away - she a very nice ladylike person - reminded me of poor Sibbella - have not seen such a nice quiet ladylike pleasing person for long - then dressed - dinner at 5 to 6

SH:7/ML/E/16/0091

note this morning from Madame de Bourke to say she would come this evening if I should be at home - note back ‘Miss Lister fait ses compliments et sera chargée de voir la comtesse de Bourke entre les 7 et 8 heures ce soir - ce vendredi’ - ‘La comtesse de Bourke Rue du faubourg St Honoré no. 53’ - sat expecting her after dinner wondering what she had to say – wrote 1 page to Mrs. James Dalton - Madame De Bourke and Mademoiselle Ferrall, a nice pretty looking girl came at 8 ¼ and staid till 8 ¾ - poor Madame de Bourke ½ dead with coming upstairs merely to see and thank me for taking the girl I wonder how we shall get on together and whether it is for good or not that I shall have her went to Mrs. Barlow at 8 50 and staid with her and Jane till 10 25 - it seems one may live cheaply enough at Florence –

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zablife · 2 years

Text

Little Harlot (Part 6)

Jack Nelson x Scarlett Shelby (OC)

Summary: John’s twin sister is a battle-hardened WWI field nurse who shares her brothers’ philosophy that every day back home is extra. In a bid to curb her disastrous thrill-seeking, Tommy sends her to Boston to keep her out of trouble and handle legitimate business. Tommy’s plan backfires when she meets rival gangster, Jack Nelson.

Author’s Note: Requested by anon. The story is told with flashbacks, which I’ve listed with dates.

Warnings: mention of drug overdose, mention of murder, drinking, language

GIF credit: the amazingly talented and generous @retromafia

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Boston, 1925

Jack had just settled a drowsy Scarlett into bed when someone knocked at the front door of her apartment. Before answering, Jack drew his gun in anticipation of trouble. As he cautiously cracked the door, Jack found his associate, Patrick, standing in front of him.

Replacing his gun to its holster, Jack huffed, “What the fuck do you want?” He was barely containing his wrath at the disturbance. “I have some information for you about that waiter,” Patrick said. He kept his voice low to avoid suspicion from a couple passing through the hall outside Scarlett’s door.

Ushering him inside, Jack nodded and said, “Alright, make it quick, Scarlett’s resting.” Jack crossed the room to make himself a drink before taking a seat on the sofa.

“Before we killed him, he admitted to putting morphine in her drinks. He said the Changrettas hired him to kill her,” Patrick said. Pulling an envelope from his pocket and passing it to Jack, he continued, “this is where you can find Luca Changretta.”

Jack turned the envelope over in his hand and took a sip of his drink, thinking for a moment. “Why the fuck would they do that? Scarlett doesn’t deal with the Italians.”

“That you know of….or maybe it ain’t got nothin’ to do with business,” the man said cocking an eyebrow and waiting for Jack to catch on. When Jack remained silent, Patrick continued with a hint of amusement, “Scarlett’s a wild cat, you know that.” The statement and the cocky way Patrick had said it, enraged Jack. He stood and threw his glass at the other man’s head, narrowly missing and shattering against the wall. Gritting his teeth in anger, Patrick snarled, “Jesus Christ, Jack, you know it’s the truth. It ain’t like you can leave Maggie to be with her anyway so why are we bringing this kind of trouble into our organization?”

The crash of the glass had unnerved Scarlett who suddenly appeared in the doorway, wide-eyed with a worried expression. The two men stopped fighting when they heard her trembling voice called out, “Jack?” Her movements seemed slower to her as though everything was in suspended animation. Whatever she’d been given had reminded her of the prison tablets. She hated the way they made her feel sluggish and vulnerable. It’s why she preferred cocaine with it’s marvelous ability to keep her alert. She wished she could have a clear head once more to make sense of what she’d overheard.

Jack looked at his associate and ordered, “Get the fuck out.” Patrick sighed heavily, shaking his head and slammed the door with a bang on his way out. “What were you talking about, Jack?” Scarlett asked on a low breath. Jack could sense her suspicion and stood a moment in silence with his hands in his pockets looking at the floor.

“Scarlett, tell me what business your brother has with the Italians,” he asked as calmly as possible. “What fucking Italians?” Scarlett asked. “Tommy would never do business with them after Sabini nearly beat him to death.”

“So why would they try to kill you, doll? Help me understand. Did you make a bad deal? Did you fuck one of ‘em?,” Jack asked bluntly. “What did you just ask me?” Scarlett asked narrowing her eyes at Jack. “You think I brought this on myself?” Scarlett asked incredulously.

“No, doll, of course not,” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, frustrated at how the conversation was going. He began again in a softer, apologetic tone, “You know I’m no good with words, just say it first then clean up the broken glass with my bare hands afterwards,” Jack explained. “I’m sorry, angel. I’m just…trying to get to the truth.”

“That’s what I want too. The truth,” Scarlett said eerily calm. “Who’s Maggie, Jack?” Jack swallowed thickly wishing this day hadn’t arrived so quickly. How could he explain his situation to Scarlett properly after he had promised to care for her?

Jack was agonizingly slow to answer. Scarlett had begun sweating and the nausea that took hold of her made her more irritable than usual. Feeling threatened, she began searching her clothing for a weapon to hold close, but quickly devolved into panic upon finding she was wearing nothing more than a flimsy cotton gown.

“You got the devil in your eyes, baby, I don’t think you understand,” Jack said worried by the crazed look in her eye. In an attempt to calm her, he moved toward her, but she backed away. “She’s your wife, Jack, isn’t she?” Scarlett ventured.

“It’s not what you think, Scarlett,” Jack began, “I married her right after the war because she got pregnant.” “You have a fucking child you never told me about, Jack?” Scarlett felt as though she was living a nightmare. The man she she had fallen for was admitting he already had a life with someone else.

“No,…no, she lost the baby,” Jack admitted nearly in a whisper. Scarlett softened for a moment watching the painful memory play in his handsome features. With a wounded look in his eyes he began, “We only stayed together because-“ Scarlett finished his sentence with despair, “You’re Catholic. You don’t believe in divorce.” Jack nodded. “Scarlett, Maggie and I were never in love. Not like me and you, doll. We don’t have to let this come between us. I know it’s a sacrifice for you, but-“

Scarlett felt dizzy from the sudden adrenaline coursing through her at the mention of that word. Sacrifice. Scarlett laughed bitterly. “You ask if I’m a whore and then beg me to be yours? That’s not who I am, Jack, and I’m not making anymore sacrifices for anyone,” she stated definitively. “I want you out!”

“Scarlett, you’re not safe right now,” Jack appealed to her. “I’m not safe with you either. You’re a bloody liar,” Scarlett said turning away from him. Jack tried to catch her arm as she walked away, but Scarlett pulled free from his grasp. “Don’t!” she warned him and he hung his head knowing she meant what she had said. Scarlett stumbled back to the bedroom with tears in her eyes. Feeling too ill to worry about her problems with Jack anymore, she curled up in a ball on her bed feeling as lonely as when she first arrived in Boston.

——————————————————————————————————

Birmingham, 1923

When Scarlett was finally released from prison, Polly greeted her at the prison gates. “Take me home,” Scarlett begged. “Tommy wants to see you first, love,” Polly told her gently. Scarlett knew this was not a request and stormed off, angry that she was being summoned back to the lion’s den. Polly understood Scarlett’s anger, but hoped she would reconcile with her brother. Scarlett had no such intentions, however, she was ready to confront him.

Scarlett whisked past the secretaries and opened Tommy’s door with enough force to rattle the frosted glass. She slammed it shut behind her, spoiling for a fight. “Didn’t care to visit me, brother?” She asked sarcastically arms crossed.

“Hello, Scarlett. Have a seat,” Tommy said barely looking up from his paperwork. “I will not. And you didn’t answer my question,” she persisted. Tommy sighed and looked up for the first time to light a cigarette. “I’ve been busy and you were in prison, not on holiday, love.” “Tommy, how could you do that to me?” she asked shaking. “I rotted in that fucking prison cell for six months before you saw fit to bail me out,” she said bitterly.

Tommy leaned forward in his chair to study her, blowing smoke languidly across the desk at her. “You put the family’s safety at risk, sister. I couldn’t overlook that,” he explained with a tinge of malice.“You put this family at risk every day Tommy, but no one will stand up to you!” she shouted angrily.

Keeping his composure, Tommy declared as gravely as though he were handing down a death sentence. “I’ve tried to help ya, Scarlett, and I can’t so I’ve decided you’ll go to America and deal with the legitimate business we have in Boston.” He stubbed his cigarette butt into the glass ashtray. “This is how you help? Sending me away from everyone I love?” she scoffed. “Admit that you would rather see me dead, Tommy,” she challenged him.

Scarlett’s temper was beginning to stoke Tommy’s impatience with her. Slamming his hand on his desk he yelled for silence. “Oi! If it had been anyone but you, they would be dead by now for betraying the family.” He placed his hands on the desk standing to meet her eye to eye to show his intent. “If those coppers hadn’t taken you to prison, I would have cut ya meself.” He waited a moment to allow her to absorb his threat. Scarlett swallowed harshly thinking of all the times she’d seen him use his guns and razors for less. “I am generously giving you another chance. See that for what it is,” he offered without a hint of compassion. He dropped back to his chair willing her away with his cold demeanor.

Knowing her window of opportunity was closing, Scarlett ventured a heart-felt admission. “I’m human, Tommy, I made a mistake. I regret the foolish things I’ve done and I accept them, but you are not blameless. You never got round to apologizing for Epsom. Do you know what that did to me?” Scarlett pressed. “We all make sacrifices, sell parts of ourselves, Scarlett,” Tommy said callously. “No one close to you makes their own choices about the nature of that sacrifice though, do they Tom?” Scarlett retaliated. “You know, there’s a general lack of discipline in this fucking company!” Tommy bellowed. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated with Scarlett for bringing up the past.

Collecting himself once more he said, “Your train leaves in an hour.” Then he turned his chair to avoid his sister’s emotional gaze. “That’s it then, Tommy?” Scarlett asked. It never ceased to amaze her how spiteful he could be in his indifference. But there was nothing left to say. Scarlett knew Tommy would never accept any responsibility for the pain he caused others. Her thoughts turned to John, Arthur and Ada then, picturing her life in a new country without any of them.

“Will I be back?” Scarlett asked wishing to know if she was banished for good. She fought back the tears waiting for Tommy to respond. “This is how it has to be. You made a choice. You chose to turn your back on me when you gave those coppers evidence. You knew they would try to take everything from me and you still chose yourself over the family,” he answered harshly, wounding her further in the process.

Tommy rifled through the papers on his desk until he found what he was looking for. “You get the train to Liverpool. Then take the SS Monroe,” he said flatly. He cleared his throat before continuing, “The boat sails tomorrow.” He held out a ticket to her which she snatched harshly from his hands. “Now you can go,” he said dismissively. Scarlett stormed out without looking back. She had never hated her brother more.

As she left, Scarlett went to John’s desk, tears stinging her eyes. “John…” She called to him with a shaky voice. “I’m going away, love, take care of yourself,” she said wanting to protect him, knowing that was futile.

“Where are you going, trouble? You just got out and you’re leaving so soon?” he asked with his characteristic grin and light hearted joking.“I have to go, John. Tommy’s sending me to America,” she replied sadly. “Is that what you want?” John asked softly, searching her eyes for the truth. “It doesn’t matter. Tommy doesn’t trust me anymore. He would never let me stay,” she said emotion welling in her once more.

John began to protest, but she shushed him. Taking a deep breath, she reassured him. “Its alright, John. Please leave it,” she begged seeing his chest puff out in anger, wanting to defend her once more. She placed her hand over his to calm him. “Just promise me that you and Arthur will look out for each other. The same thing could happen to you one day,” she said with a foreboding sense of dread. Scarlett knew how Tommy used all of them for his purposes, caring little for how it affected anyone. She prayed the same fate would not befall her twin.

“Yeah, I promise,” John said suddenly serious. He leaned over to hug her and she returned his embrace, clinging to him. She didn’t know when she would see him again.

Continue reading Part 7

#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Jack Nelson fanfic #Jack Nelson imagine #Jack Nelson x OC #Jack Nelson x Shelby sister

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