god streaks

when you know you are on a roll and know you killed it in your game and are so proud of yourself and can’t wait to get your xp and see your medals 

and then the server crashes

pariahsdream  asked:

I'm not anon-ing because lazy. "I wish you would write a fic where Pete tells Lyja off for mindfuckery while trying to negotiate Johnny's agency and his protective streak" (god that's a terrible sentence)

It’s not exactly this but I do have the tiny beginning of a fic that would’ve gone canon divergent from this moment, with Peter actually finding Johnny while he’s hiding from the cops/Paibok and Lyja:

A dark shape dropped down in front of him, landing in a distinctive crouch. Johnny flailed backwards, one flaming arm outstretched.

“Stay back,” he said, trying to back away, but there was no place to go besides straight up – and that would attract too much attention. “Don’t come any closer, I mean it.”

“Torch, buddy, it’s just me,” Spider-Man said, hands held up in front of him.

“How am I supposed to believe that?” Johnny asked. “Shapeshifting aliens are out to kill me, Spidey! They could be anybody! You could be one of them!”

“What does it say about my life that that sentence makes sense?” Spider-Man muttered. “Johnny, come on, it’s me, you know me…”

“I don’t,” Johnny said, curling bitterly in on himself. “Not really.”

Spider-Man was quiet for a long moment. The rain beat down around them, loud in Johnny’s ears. His clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin. He was almost cold.

He wanted so badly to go home. Sue was right; he should’ve let her protect him. He should have waited for Ben and Reed to get back.

But then maybe the Skrulls would’ve come to the building. Maybe they would’ve hurt Franklin.

He scrubbed at his face with the soaked cuff of his jacket, hoping the rain hid his tears.

“You’re really in trouble this time, aren’t you, Torch?” Spider-Man said at last. “You’re really scared.” He didn’t give Johnny a chance to answer, just kind of breathed out with a strange little laugh, and reached up to grab his mask.

He pulled it off and there was Peter Parker, photographer, underneath.

Johnny gaped at him.

“There,” Peter said, dark-eyed and intense with his soaked hair stuck to his forehead. “Now you know me. Would any shapeshifting alien in the entire universe be wild enough to think this one up?”