peter had parents!!!!!!!!!

  • Peter: When did you guys figure out I was spiderman?
  • Peter: Am I still going to be able to go on missions?
  • Peter: Have you made dinner yet? I'm hungry.
  • Peter: Shit. I'm sorry, I keep interrupting you guys.
  • Steve: Honestly, you kind of just keep interrupting yourself and not giving us time to answer.
  • Tony: JARVIS, no, yes I made spaghetti, and watch the language young man
Inspirational Parenting From a Captain

Yondu: Some children threaten to runaway from home. This is the only thing that keeps some parents going.

Teenage Peter: *runs in* UGH! I can’t wait till I get my own ship! Then I can get far away from this stupid place and do what I want! *stomps away*

Yondu: *closes eyes, a single tear falling* I pray for that every night…

Recounting their escape from the Eclector

Rocket: *pops open a beer* even Groot killed a guy.

Groot: *nods enthusiastically*

Peter: Nice job buddy!

Drax: *picks up Groot, sets him on one shoulder* C'mon smaller, dumber Groot. Let’s go sharpen our knives and play with the space suits.

Groot: I am Groot!

Rocket: That does sound like fun.

Spider-Girl (Mini Series 1/3)

Summary: In an alternate universe where Spider-Man doesn’t exist, Spider-Girl does. Instead of Peter Parker being bitten by a radioactive spider, it was the reader. And now she becomes the web slinging hero, destined to save New York…

Warning: nothing

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Type: Part one of three of my mini series

Requested: @captain-sherlockomg

Part Two Here / Part Three Here

MASTERLIST


Keep reading

Inktober Day 12 - Out of control

Note: A big thank you to @grootiez, who wrote: “ Groot throws a temper tantrum over Rocket child proofing the Milano for his own good and keeping all of the Death Buttons out of his reach “. Again, it’s not exactly what you asked for and I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t have made it without your help!


“I am Groot.”

“No, I’m not going to argue with Rocket over something we all know he’s right about.” said Peter.

“I am Groot?” Groot asked, hopeful.

“Don’t even think about it. You touch his bombs without permission, you’re sent to your room. End of the story, dude. You’re grounded until Rocket says otherwise.” Peter remarked with a resolute tone. Groot could be so stubborn, sometimes. Still, he needed to learn his lessons.

Rocket had told him countless times that weapons were off limits, unless a battle was going on.

Groot crossed his arms and sat on Peter’s lap, sulking.

“I am Groot.”

“The death button wouldn’t have known you pushed it by accident, it would’ve just blown everything up! That’s why it’s called a death button and why Rocket told you not to play with it.” Quill explained for what felt like the hundredth time. Damn, he was tired. But everyone else was out for a supply run, except a pretty nervous raccoonoid that had been pacing back and forth in the cockpit for the last twenty minutes, mumbling incoherent sentences about twigs going out of control. So Peter was the only one left to play peacemaker for the time being. He hadn’t drank enough coffee for that.

“Have you even apologized?” he asked. Groot looked up at him, curious.

“I am Groot?”

“Of course it would help, but only if you’re actually sorry.”

“I am Groot.” Groot nodded.

“That’s what I wanted to hear. Now go, before Rocket digs a groove along the floor.” Peter encouraged him. Groot got up and made his way to the cockpit.

Quill sighed. If those were the premises, he couldn’t imagine how the Guardians were going to face Groot’s adolescence. He shivered at the thought.

It was probably better not to dwell on it.

10
10

farewell degrassi tng meme [2/10 relationships]: Peter Stone & Darcy Edwards

“I don’t care. I’ll risk all the sugar in the world, my probation, my house arrest, my parents losing their minds just for one minute with you. Be careful, I will sing.”

“He hasn’t woken,” Steve asked as he moved to sit beside his husband, Tony

Tony looked up from where he gazed lovingly at his 2 month old son, Peter.

“He’comfortable, but he makes the tiniest noise if I try to move. Steve, my ass is asleep.”

Steve couldn’t help but let out a laugh at that, his gaze on their son that only moved his hands. The glow of the arc reactor covering most of his face, but it no way was it disturbing him from his sleep.

Steve turned to Tony, the genius met his gaze with a smile. After they had adopted Peter, the new parents had not stopped smiling. Even if they hadn’t slept well in 3 weeks.

“What, do I have something in my face?”

Steve shook his head, staring at Tony’s wide blue doe eyes, he couldn’t help but place a kiss on his lips.

“Just my lips.”

Tony rolled his eyes, trying to shimmy but Peter whimpered causing Tony to stop.

“Think, he’ll sleep all night,” Tony asked in a sigh.

“I doubt it,” Steve answered looking at his family, and enjoying the moment of silence before Peter woke, needing something from both of his dads.

Art by ME :D This took me two days to finish. I LOVE Stony, it is my OTP, I would die for Stony to become canon. But here is my contriution to the fandom, cause I love you guys, I love your art, stories, I need to contribute. :D

For Stony fics, go check out my AO3 account, —> Japanfreak01

More than Beautiful

in which susan pevensie is happy with her life and spends her days gardening and traveling the world, and her nights dancing and eating good food, and eventually dies with lots of friends around her who see her as the wonderful woman that she is (so, just a little blurb I came up with)

Everyone always assumed Susan was proper, delicate, elegant: the epitome of the perfect woman. They saw how she floated on the ground, her skirts swishing around her ankles in circles and her laugh dissipating into the crowd. When she smiled, her pale skin would turn rosy pink and she would bite her lip out of habit and bring attention to her red lipstick. Other women (in Narnia and England) envied and loved her, wanting to be her and kill her.

The reality was somewhat different. In the mornings, the young queen would descend to the gardens. She would take out a watering can, a shovel, a rake. Her fingers deep into the earth, dirt would cake under her fingernails and the crevices in her hands. Pieces of hair would come out of her braid, and as the sun rose higher in the sky, the tendrils would frizz up and stick to the back of her neck with sweat. When she knelt, brown stains were left behind on her skirt, and the hem of her dress would be damp with dew. While her sister knew how to heal soldiers, stitch up wounds and make tourniquets, Susan knew how to heal the regular people. She tended to the daisies when they grew up amongst the other weeds, then cut up the flowers to make hot herbal tea when her brothers would get sick with a cold. Her aloe vera plants were often used to treat basic burns, while her sister would take a tonic of lavender when she couldn’t sleep after a long day of meetings. When dignitaries would come to visit, they would marvel at the beauty of the rose bushes or the cherry blossoms in spring, but few noticed the carefully laid plots of land that held blooming onions, carrots, and dill.

In England, although she didn’t have the space or the resources to have the same garden she did before, she still grew basic herbs and flowers in the backyard, spending hours under the sun. Although she didn’t excel at school like her siblings, she found her intelligence among the plants, where she could differentiate between the different grasses and stalks and pinpoint their uses. Certainly, Susan was praised for her beauty, but that was not her defining virtue: it was her patience to wait for results. If anything, she was more misunderstood than her brothers and sister, who shone under the gaze of professors, classmates, and parents. Peter had his leadership, while Edmund had his intelligence and Lucy her passion. But Susan? She was more than beautiful; she was radiant inside and out.


When she became alone, Susan sold her family’s belongings and took up traveling. She recalled her trip to America, long long ago, and knew that England was not the place for her and never would be. She sat in the red leather seats on the train to mainland Europe and watched the passing landscape: green hills with cows grazing turned to the churning navy waters of the channel to the sandy beaches of France. From there, she grabbed her few belongings and took up shop in a small village, where only the baker knew English. She got a job as assistant, and she spent half her days her hands coated in white flour and the other half her hands wet and blistered from spending hours holding the small shovel. In the mornings, she would read the paper despite it being in French and chew on bread and butter, before she headed out for the day working on Main Street. Locals would come in, asking for scones and ointments in the same breath, before waving goodbye. Here, she no longer wore her red lipstick, and she was called lovely not beautiful by the older women that would drink coffee in the seats by the window.

She headed south to Spain to a city that hugged the coast. This time, Susan worked in a market that looked over the bright blue ocean, except she was told not to talk to anyone. Instead, she laid out the day’s merchandise, from the oranges and melons to almonds and cashews to tomatoes and eggplant. Eventually, she began to sell her own herbs to neighbors. However, while in France her days were marked by mornings, in Spain her days were marked by her nights. She would go out dancing in the streets to the lilting guitar melodies. Her skirts did not spin in circles around her ankles and her laugh did not dissipate into the crowd; instead, she was breathing heavy as she tried to keep up with the fast-paced music. She would fall onto the rickety wooden chairs, and her friends would laugh, only to pour her some more wine and pull her back into the crowd. Susan was neither beautiful nor lovely; she was passionate. Here, she felt imbued with her younger sister’s spirit, who would have enjoyed the almost dryad-like dancing in the streets.

She spent years doing this. She travelled to Venice and Rome and then dipped into the cool waters of Greece. She slept on boats bobbing on the canals in Amsterdam and crunched her way through snow in Switzerland. Eventually, when she tired of Europe, she took a boat to America, passing her way from New York to San Francisco. Susan found love in Mexico, and again in Bolivia. She was all of her siblings, wise and passionate and brave, and yet at the same time, none of them. For once, she left behind the previous preconceptions that she was beautiful and found herself in the alfajores of Argentina and the Italian gelatos. While she indulged, she discovered more herbs, more plants: olive leaves in Greece and ginseng in China. The smell of nature—growth and decay—tantalized each of her senses, reminding her of a past she had lost. Although at first Susan traveled to run away, now she traveled to run towards something, snatches of a past that were as fleeting as they were important.

When she sat in Paris drinking black tea, Susan thought of her siblings, imagined Ed reading a paper in front of her with Lucy chattering away of a Monet exhibition and Peter sipping coffee. But, she also thought of her other friends, like Charlotte who had a grandmother living in the 12eme arrondissement, Isabel who would be sketching Susan, and Amalia who would be begging to visit Moulin Rouge. She would pass by parishes and churches, and recalled a time when she too had been pious; but now, she had reconciled her faith, and decided to believe in herself.

In this post-war, post-death world, Susan was alive. In another post-war, post-death world, she had been alive too, amongst the lush hills and mountains, where the sun always shone and magic was in front of one’s eyes. Here, though, although the sun did not always shine, magic was still present, in the clicking of her heels on cobblestones while dancing, the aroma of baking bread, the feel of crumbling dirt between her fingers, and the bitter after taste her tea left in her mouth. The world was not something to be conquered and dreaded, but a dear old friend.

She never did marry or have children, but Susan did die with friends around her bed, toasting her 82nd birthday with Italian wine and scones. A bouquet of flowers was at her head, a mixture of daisies and lavender and cherry blossoms.

When she woke up, she was laying under an ash tree, a spade in her hand. A freshly turned plot was at her feet, and as if she had merely nodded off in the warm summer air, Susan returned back to planting aloe vera for the castle infirmary and basil for the local markets.

What if Peter came to live with you for a week. That’s sounds like a good image idea if I do say so myself. Lol


“How about you make a deal with me.” You asked Pan. He looked at you amused before saying “I’m the only one who makes deals around here.” “Why, because your to much of a coward?” Before you could say anything he pushed you up against the tree and put his forehead to yours. “Never. Ever. Call. Me. That.” You put yours arms around his neck and played with his hair. “But it must be true if you don’t make the deal.” You dragged on. You weren’t acting yourself. You had agreed you would stay in Neverland if Pan could stay a week with you without not wanting to leave. His eyes flashed and he pushed himself away from you, his arms leaving the sides of your face. “Fine.”

He left Felix in charge and took you back to your place. Your parents where on a business trip for three weeks and your brother died a few months ago so it would just be you and Peter. Your parents never had anytime for you as they where always off making money leaving you in a huge “mansion” alone. “Whoa.” Peter said walking in. You just shrugged. You turned to him and laughed. “What?” “You can’t wear that.” You said pointing to his getup. “Your right.” “Here.” You ran up the stairs to your brothers room and grabbed some stuff. You gave it to him and showed him the bathroom. “You can change in there.” “Alright.”

He came out and you smiled. He looked good. He pulled down the sweater sleeves and you walked over and ruffled up his hair making him look more cute. “There.” You smiled. “So this is for the week.” He asked as you grabbed your phone already dialling the pizza place. You smirked. “Sure if you can leave.” But he didn’t understand. You knew he would leave. You knew he would take you with him but here he had no magic. Here he wasn’t Pan the villain. Here he was Peter, a side of him no one else knew.

That night you both watched movies and ate pizza before falling asleep on the couch in a cocoon of blankets.

You awoke that next morning feeling arms around you. You turned to see Pan asleep next to you. He looked so innocent. So calm. “I can feel you looking at me.” He said his morning voice taking you by surprise. It was….hot. “Good Morning to you to.” You laughed. He opened his eyes and when he saw you he smiled. A real smile, not a smirk but a carefree happy smile.

The week was actually fun and when it came to a end you knew what was going to happen. He took you both back the memories of all the fun you had still fresh in your mind. But you where okay with that. You saw a part of him no one else would. And when you two where alone that side still came out.

anonymous asked:

Sam, I've recently started reading Marvel fics, and I've noticed there's a prolific sub-section of Steve/Tony fic in which they are the parents of a young Peter Parker. And I was just wondering -- what the heck? Where does this come from? Does it have some sort of basis in canon?

Not really. Sort of. But no, not really.

I suspect it comes from the era of Civil War, which really was basically “Who gets Peter in the divorce” writ large. Peter was the keystone of Civil War, starting out on Tony’s end of things and finishing on Steve’s because of the admittedly horrifying human rights violations the government was committing in the name of accountability. In the era directly before Civil War, Tony was a huge mentor to Peter, and very much stepped into the role of Uncle Ben, some might say deliberately. And during Civil War, Steve became an idol for Peter, if he hadn’t been one before. There’s also the fact that Peter Parker is a liminal character, eternally on the border between childhood and adulthood – he’s grownup enough that nobody tries to stop “a child” from fighting crime, but so terribly immature and young that nobody takes him seriously either, which makes him the perfect candidate to age-downwards. (He’s also not yet established in the MCU, which could be part of it.)

It’s also an unintentional, I think, but still rather ugly erasure of an unattractive elderly woman. One of the reasons I find Steve/Tony with Peter as a child kind of offputting is that Peter HAD parents – he had Aunt May and Uncle Ben. Ben didn’t die until he was a teenager, but he did die the first time we meet Peter, which seems to make Peter fair game. 

Because if there was ever a woman that comics fans would want to ignore, it’s Aunt May. (This is one reason I deliberately made her a significant part of Coulson’s Eleven.) 

In the comics themselves she’s usually there to be some form of stumbling block, especially in the early days; she’s not a person so much as an obstacle to be got round, and even when she had a bit of a makeover in the late 90s as a mouthy former journalist and a woman who still led a very active life, she was often there to misunderstand-but-love Peter more than really interact with him. It’s a rare writer that has done right by May Parker. 

So, sometimes she gets a nod as Peter’s caretaker before he’s adopted out, sometimes she’s written as dead so Peter can be adopted out, and in the most egregious fics she’s an abusive guardian before Peter’s adopted out. In none of them is she acknowledged as the woman who helped to raise him and who parented him as a single unemployed woman for years after Ben’s death. She can’t be – because Steve and Tony are raising him. :|  

And there is really no reason not to give Steve and Tony an original character as a kid. Said OC could even have superpowers. There have been some absolutely magnificent fics about Steve and Tony with a kid with superpowers who is not Peter Parker. (I adore the sweet, magical Tales Of The Bots series where an enchanted Dummy is their kid, and I cannot rave enough about the fraught, funny Counterpart where Steve finds himself sudden father to a baby super-soldier clone.)

So, I see where its roots are, but I take a pretty dim view of the Steve/Tony raising Peter trope. Write what you want, write what gives you joy, I’m not telling anyone NOT to write anything – but that’s one of those things that when I see it in the tags I automatically skip past.