why do i even do the name thing at the end

Being Tony Stark’s Daughter and Dating Peter Parker would include:

Author’s Note: I really love these headcannon lists so I decided to try them out, hope you enjoy <3

Warning(s): swearing and Deadpool tbh


Being Tony Stark’s Daughter and Dating Peter Parker would include:

• LMAO LORDY HERE WE GO


•meeting him by chance at Starbucks.
-they’d call out ‘Stark’ to come pick up your drink and Peter would freak out.



•he’d try and talk to you about the ‘stark internship’ and you’d be like 'tf are you?’
-“Hi I’m P-Parker Pete, I mean Peter Parker”
-“okay do you want like an autograph or something???”


•he’d be like stumbling over his words and you’d think he was cute so you’d sign his arm with your number and he’d freak out.


•he wouldn’t know whether or not to call you or how to talk to you so he just wouldn’t.
-Ned yelling at him bc Peter is stupid.


•and you’d be upset that this Parker Pete dude didn’t call you back and Tony would try to cheer you up.


•you’d be a huge Spider-Man fan


•like high-key Spidey fan


•and for some reason Tony forgot to tell you that he knew Spiderman.


•so you’d flip shit when Tony would come into the compound with an unmasked Spiderman.
-“you?? Know?? SPIDEY?? And you??? Didn’t??? Tell me???”
-“(Y/N) please, I’m old and highly susceptible to heart attacks”


•then you’d flip shit on Peter for not calling you.
-“and you Parker Pete! You didn’t call me??”


•completely ignoring the fact that Peter is spiderman.


•dropping by during training sessions.


•distracting Peter.


•getting sent out bc you’re too distracting.


•convincing Tony to let you go public school so you can 'monitor’ Peter’s progress.


•Peter showing off your friendship to everyone.


•picking up Ned and Peter in one of Tony’s flashy cars just to prove Flash wrong.


•sticking up for Peter 99.9% of the time.


•Peter being grateful for having you as a friend.


friend :’)


•you end up crushing on Peter haaaard
-it being painfully obvious to everyone but Peter
-Ned teasing you for it until the end of time.


•he asks you out at one of Liz’s parties during 7 minutes of heaven.
-“so- *kiss*-I was thinking- *kiss*-maybe later we could- *kiss*
-“yes Peter I’ll go out with you”


•keeping it a secret from Tony bc he thinks dating will interfere with Peter being Spiderman.


•dating for like a year behind Tony’s back.


•the avengers finding out bc Wanda accidentally reads your thoughts one day :)
-“you made out with Peter?”
-“WHo toLd yOu ThAt?”


•overprotective mother!Steve Rogers.

•dates swinging above the New York skyline.

•cute nicknames

•angel

•baby

•dARLInG


•Peter sneaking into your room when he gets hurt.


•making up crazy excuses when Tony almost barges into your room.
-“IM ON MY PERIOD! BLOOD! BLOOD EVERYWHERE!”
-“I’m too old for this”


•Tony inviting Peter to team dinners.
-holding hands under the table.
-blowing kisses when Tony isn’t looking.


•makeout sessions on the roofs of sky scrapers.


•attempting to do the Spider-Man kiss.
-“Peter I think we’re doing this wrong”
-“No I got this” *web snaps* “AHhH”


“Y/N NO”
“Y/N YES”

•Ned being disturbed by your PDA.


•kisses by the lockers.


•flash flirting with you


•jealous!Peter

•he’d like clench his jaw and glare and you’d find that really hot tbh.

•but then flash would say some dumb shit like “how’d penis Parker get a hot babe like you?”

•you almost breaking Flash’s arm

•Peter cheering you on.

Slapping Peter’s ass at school when no ones looking


•Peter blushing all the time bc it happens on a daily basis


•Getting angry at your dad when he takes away Peter’s suit.
-“Y/N talk to me”
-“Not until you give Peter back his suit”
-“he doesn’t deserve it”
-“he deserves everything in the world and so much more than you. He tried to help you, but you didn’t listen!”

•Tony being hurt bc you’ve never fought with him before.

•him wondering why you’re defending Peter.

•it finally clicking that you’re dating Peter.

•Tony being mad at you for keeping it a secret.

•Peter not wanting to come between you and your dad’s close relationship

•coming to Peter’s defence when Tony tries to 'kill’ him.
-“dad no! I love him”
-“you love me?”

-“ew this is so sweet I can feel the diabetes already”



•PDA around the avengers tower after that
-“The 'making out’ is disturbing me”

-“Same, Thor, same”



•cuddles
-“you’re really soft”
-*you booping peters nose* “yeah well you’re really cute”

•dad jokes.

-“Peter! Peter! What time did the man go to the dentist?!’’

-”(Y/N) go away"

-“Tooth hurt-y! get it?”


•study dates
-turning into makeout sessions
-resulting in you guys being supervised by vision


•you trying on the suit
-almost suffocating
-accidentally swinging out into the streets of New York
-you going to hospital
-lectures from Tony.


•getting the talk from Wade
-crying afterwards bc Wade is weird.
-Tony trying to kill Wade

“PETER NO”
“PETER YES”


•passing notes in class


•staring at each other in class

•detentions together
-resulting in you making out in the back.
-resulting in you guys getting kicked out of detention
-never getting detention from other teachers bc they are disturbed by teen romance

•girl talks with Michelle and Liz
-Ned and Peter trying to spy on you guys
-Ned and Peter treating it like a secret mission and having code names.
-“Nedstar 101, I have visual on the birds”
-“copy that Peterpiper”
-“you know we can see you guys right”
-“abort mission! abort mission! We’ve been compromised!”

•getting mad when Peter doesn’t ask you to homecoming.
-him being really confused bc he thought he didn’t have to ask since you guys were dating.


•Peter getting the silent treatment.
-“BaBbBeeee”
-“PlEASe talk to mEee”

•Asking Ned for help
-failing miserably and making you even more mad.

•going to Tony for help
-also failing miserably.
-“she’s your daughter??? How did this go so wrong???”
-“I don’t know!? I’m a failure!?”

•Peter sitting outside your bedroom door for like 2 hours.
-forgiving him when you come home to find him sleeping there.

•tickle fights
-Peter accidentally kicking you in the face.
-going to the hospital again.
-getting lectures from Tony and Steve.

•cooking with Aunt May

•May loves you

•girl talks with May
-Peter trying to spy on these.

•going to Thai restaurants with May and Peter
-sometimes Tony would come
-things would get weird
-Thai food puns

•May and Peter coming to spend family holidays with you and the avengers.
-Tony being weird with Aunt May
-reJectIoOoN

•forehead kisses

•Peter bringing you lunch bc you always forget to eat.

•Peter crying over the titanic
-“Pete are you crying?”
-“No this is liquid pride”

•Movie nights with the Avengers
-Tony and Peter crying and laughing over the same scenes
-you and the avengers being weirded out.

•Peter braiding your hair

•Playing with Peter’s hair
-it helps him fall asleep or calm down from stress.

•falling asleep on one another
-the avengers taking photos of you guys
-someone knocking something over effectively waking you up.
-proceed to you screaming at the avengers for like 5 minutes.


•naps together


•you being the big spoon
-Peter never admiting that to anyone.
-you telling everyone.

•late night calls
-effectively running up Tony’s phone bill.
-“Y/N WHY IS YOUR CELL PHONE BILL OVER ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS?!?!”
-“I DIDNT KNOW IT WAS A PROBLEM I MEAN WE’RE BILLIONAIRES”


•Tony showing off you and Peter’s relationship
-cos he’s a proud dad
-uncle!Tony loves his spiderling.


•You making Peter the happiest he’s ever been and vice Versa.


“I love you”
“Meh you’re alright Pete”


“make the princess speak and you will have the crown of kings.”

my knees hurt, as usual, from scrubbing. technically i’m too high of Maid Station to help out with these things, but i like seeing what happens when you clean. the development of things. how a lot of effort can make something. i like learning and trying and working hard to get towards something.

and i’ve seen them, from the back of pillars, from behind cracked doors, from beside her (on the best days) the way they talk to her. oh beautiful won’t you just look at me. oh darling. if you speak i’ll be your prince. if you speak i’ll be your king. 

the princess, i know, finds the lines of suitors boring. it’s in the way her hands are always moving. she hides yawns, leaves early, we make her apologies. once, a man comes and tries to startle her into screaming. she rolls her eyes and looks directly at me. i have to hide my smile behind my sleeve. he is taken away while still screaming.

by accident, i find her once, crying. when we imagine princesses, they always cry daintily. hers is hoarse, angry, and something in it breaks me. in my station i should apologize and bow and leave. instead i am frozen, watching her shoulders heaving.

she looks up and spots me, her cheeks ruddy. i know i should go but instead i make a big show. i act as one of her princes. i make grand gestures and speak in deep voices. i frantically offer her handkerchiefs and trip over my own two feet. a smile crawls up over her, slowly. i dab my sweat away and offer her the used rag. i feign a fluster, turn a terrible cartwheel, make shadow puppets. the sound of her laugh, raw and rusty, sends shivers through me.

for a while, i do not see her after this. but then i am called to her chambers. she is crying again. i offer silly gifts, pebbles and dusting rags and a candlestick from her own kitchen, pretend to steal it, use it as a hat, rock it as a babe. she laughs more easily this time, gladly, and when she laughs i am taken by more important maids, thereby officially Excused.

it goes like this for months. the winter comes. i rarely see her. i spend my week thinking about ways to please her. i knick interesting cookies, show her shiny buttons, learn to cartwheel in a full skirt, and then promptly how to make it look foolish again. i learn how to juggle hot bread and dance as a man would, i learn how to balance on a ball and how to fall down without hurting myself, how to fake a fight with my own body, which colors she likes and which don’t please her.

i show up on a cold eve with a knotted line of scarves hidden down my sleeve, worried and breathless, wondering why she’s been crying. the door opens and she is sitting there, happy. at first i’m confused, but she waves me in. next to her is her small dessert, in two containers. i’m not sure how to respond, so i fake a fall to hear her laugh, and then sit at her feet. she gives me ice cream - so rare a treat. i know what went into making it - the hours of shaking. it’s smooth and tasty. i don’t feign my reaction, but she laughs anyway, kindly. 

it goes like this. i see her more frequently. she likes giving me new things, watching me discover i hate kiwi and love oranges and would die if it made her laugh breathlessly. i’ve made her keel over with cackling and she’s put a fire in me. sometimes we just sit there, quietly, enjoying each other’s company. 

it’s in her hands, always moving. little things i thought were just her, fidgeting. here’s how she says she’s thirsty, this is what her hands do when she needs a second to think, here’s how she shows she’s happy. this is how i learn to speak back to her. around her i spend much of my time smiling. i feel every visit is a gift. a new part to unravel. i find out she doesn’t respond to spoken things, that she needs to be looking in order to know you were speaking. sometimes she has me talk and she holds her hands to the base of my throat, her eyes wide and wondering. sometimes she just looks at me and i forget that i’m her jester in chief. i get caught up in her eyes, in how expressive they are when she’s happy, in how when she’s sad i feel like i’m drowning.

i never see the king or queen, but i know when she’s had a visit with them, because she never comes back happy. two winters i have known her, two winters and now we dine frequently. i am often called to stand beside her, to whisper translations of her desires into the ears of someone more important than i, someone who gets to be the voice of royalty. i can’t decide if i’m her friend or her plaything, but i don’t know i care much of the distinction. every moment i’m near her is a moment free of friction. i take stock of suitors and curtsy to them in daylight only to mock them in the candle’s eye later.

she asks me one night to stay. it has been a bad day. it’s completely not okay. i cannot say no but i cannot, by my station, stay. but she begs with her eyes and her hands and i know i’ll take the punishment. 

we lie beside each other. i make sure to turn to her when i speak. in the dark she can’t see me, so i move my hands in the way i’m learning. she asks if i am ever lonely. i cannot tell her that i am always lonely without her beside me, so instead i say i think all people are very lonely and just are pretending. she laughs a little at that and says she thinks her parents are the two most lonely people that ever met. her mother was like her; broke a fairy curse and talked, just once, although nobody knows what she said. well, excepting her father, who was the only one around, and who won her hand in marriage.

from her mother she learned the art of hands, of speaking without words - from her father she learned that who she was included a curse. that she just wanted someone who would make her open like a rose - someone who could fix her. how she stared out into the royal garden and wished on flowers to be what her kingdom needs.

she fell asleep pressed against me. i couldn’t breathe. i was still awake in the morning. 

the punishment never came. we spent nights like this. the handmaidens had grown to know me. whenever their princess was stubborn, i worked magic and made her lovely.

it was a terrible thing. i did too good a job, i think. the princess glowed too much or shone too brightly - or at least, i saw it that way, so who knows what the truth is. every day it felt like we were being rushed with princes. 

her father’s temper at hosting failed. it was the day before her twenty-first birthday and first time i’d ever seen him. he stormed in at the end of the session. “just speak!” he said, “it’s not that hard! do for others what your mother did!” 

“tomorrow is your last day of this,” he warned her, “either you pick a prince or i pick for you. i’m done with it.”

he stormed off. she was left shellshocked and trembling. that night she didn’t ask me to come, but i waited outside, just in case she changed her mind. i understood why she needed space. either she’d speak and be married tomorrow or she’d be married shortly. i heard her crying and it took everything in my power not to rush in and hold her, cradle her gently. but i cannot come into a room of a royal person without being invited. i stayed there, tears in my own eyes, thinking of treason.

the next day was a huge festival. what had been a birthday celebration was turned into a day about princes. i watched her shake her head. i tried to cheer her up. i tried everything. i frequently came inches from causing public humiliation, toed the line of mocking and failing to acknowledge my station. she wouldn’t smile. not once. not even for anything.

the day was long. the bonfire wore down. i watched her crumple into herself. i was out of ideas. i knelt at her feet. her eyes barely looked at me. just wait, i said to her with my hands, i’ll be right back. i took off running.

the price of stealing is losing my hands. these things that i spoke to her with. these things that mattered so much to me, that helped with my comedy and cleaning. 

i didn’t think of them. i bloodied my fingers when i ripped the royal roses from their stems. and then i ran, as fast as i could, back to her feet. i picked them to show you, i said, as she gasped, looking at my treason, they’re beautiful and nobody told them to open to reveal their secrets to the bees. they are unbroken. as you are. as you always will be. 

she fell off her throne and for a second i was beyond speaking, worried something had happened, or she’d fainted, or i’d said the wrong thing. but then she was on her knees, her arms around me, and i heard it. i heard the soft croak of her speaking. just one word, and it sent shivers down me. my name, in her voice, awkward and unwieldy, but full of love and passion, burning fire through me.

i felt a hand on my shoulder. i was pulled away from her. they already had me in handcuffs while i struggled to get back to her, to tell her i loved her, to beg her to run off with me or maybe just hold me around her, maybe just have her for a moment, because i couldn’t live without her for a moment longer.

they put me in the cells. i rotted in there, for a while or for no time at all, i’m not sure. the thorns scarred my palms. i watched the scabs build up and flake off. every time someone came down, i flinched, wondering if i would be the next to be taken and chopped into bits.

but one day the light was different. not the smoky torch of the jailer, instead a bright light in a lantern. at first when i saw her, my breath caught in my throat, mistaking her for my princess.

but she was my queen. at first we stood in silence. and slowly, i moved my hands to speak. is she married? is what came out, even though i should be more worried about me myself and me.

she is not. she bit her father on the arm when he tried to make her. then she fought him. and then ran away. it took us a bit to find her, i’m afraid. she threatened her own life and the life of everyone in this place. the queen was smiling. i was told there was a young woman who could make the princess speak, whom she would die to save, who brought roses to her feet. someone in a cell, rotting. are you her?

the memory of her voice rang through me. i’m she.

yes, her hands said, for even now, aren’t you speaking to the silent Queen?

she opened the door. come, she said, let’s get you cleaned up for the ceremony.

the crown of kings. when she wraps her arms around my neck and laughs next to me, i am royalty. when she smiles or makes a joke or asks to see my cartwheel again, i’m lost in her. i kiss her whenever i can, which is often. we have roses in a vase at the base of our bed, and for all of the kingdom, i’d give my hands if it would keep her laughing.

the next time she spoke was just once, at our wedding, where she said the two words i do to bind us for eternity. she had learned from me, from holding her hands over my voicebox, the way i learned from her how to use hands to speak. sometimes at night she says my name, just because she likes what it does to me.

i’m more blessed than a king. every day i spend with her is a day i spend happily. 

Joseph Christiansen Secret/Cult Ending Manuscript

I went digging through the Level 18 gibberish and sorted out all the dialogue into a manageable manuscript if anyone is interested in reading this secret wild ride. None of the dialouge is labeled so I did my best to interprete who was saying what so any mistakes are my bad. It took a few hours to put together but I felt like some people would like more than just a summary so here is the full text:

MC will be short for Main Character or your player.

Level 18- Joseph Bad Ending or True Ending ( Who knows? )

This appears to take place after MC and Joseph Christiansen engage in sex in the yacht, except you don’t wake up to what you expect. This takes place in Cult_Dungeon1.

(Photo Credits: jaalsucksdick)

START: You’re A Monster

MC: Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaawn. What time is it? Must have been asleep for ages. I wonder what will happen now that Mary is gone? What about Joseph’s kids? And how will Amanda feel about all this? That’s what matters… . Well, we all have each other. I guess time will tell, right? Better get up and greet the day.

Am I tied up?! What the hell?! How did I get here? What’s going on?! Joseph? Anybody? You’re probably just dreaming. Why would there be a… Don’t panic… . a dungeon. An evil dungeon. Why would there be an evil dungeon here? This can’t be real. Maybe I had too much Twilight Rouge. I’m dreaming, or something.

???:

Oh, I guarantee this is real.



MC:

I can barely make out any features. I can see someone at the end of the hall. It’s just a shape! Who’s there? Can you untie me?

???:

It’s a personal guarantee. A verbal handshake.

MC:

Please, I don’t know how I got here. I think there has been a mistake

Trust, if that’s what you get off on- [???]

Joseph:

You trust me, right? I mean, why wouldn’t you?

MC:

You’re into this kind Joseph?! Jesus, what is this? Are you into this kind of thing? I wish you’d have warned me.

 

Hah! Ha ha!

Joseph:

Goal oriented, anchored by family. The rock in a shallow sea. I had a whale of a time last night. I always liked you, [INSERT PLAYER NAME]. And down to pound, if you catch my meaning. Get it? Whale? We talked extensively about whales last night? You don’t really like them? You’re not in a joking mood. I get that.

 

MC:

His voice is different. This whole situation is different. The way he’s talking-

Joseph [ DIFFICULT TO TRANSLATE ]:

That one’s good-

Dastardly? Sadistic? It can be both. Throw another one in there. Wrathful.

MC:

Wait! How did he-!

Joseph:

I’m very perceptive. A good listener. I heard all those impure thoughts, [INSERT PLAYER NAME], and about a married man, no less. I’m pretty sure that’s a sin.

MC:  

Who are you?

Joseph:

I told you, I’m a cool youth minister. Have you seen my tattoos? Were you even watching me tear it up on the dance floor?  Well, hi. My name is Joseph. I have an alcoholic whore wife, whose life I destroyed. You used to be a lot more fun.

MC:

Poor Mary! And their kids!

Joseph:

Joseph laughs. My kids? Those aren’t my kids. Well, they are my kids. In a way. Cosmically. I guess you could call them vessels. And in that case I guess that technically makes me not a Dad. Woops. Sorry to kill that little fantasy for you.

MC:

Joseph, this is insane. So the whole minister thing… that’s just a front for this weird sex dun-

Joseph:

Joseph starts laughing hysterically. He wipes a tear from his eye. Oh, that’s so cute. You think this is a sex thing. I mean, it’s kind of a sex thing. The safe word is Jimmy Buffett.

[INSERT PLAYER NAME], there are powers at work so far beyond your understanding that the very idea that I would sink to some half-baked sex game is a little insulting. All that religion mumbo-jumbo wasn’t entirely false. I am a man of the cloth, just not the cloth you’re thinking of.

I am the conduit for something beautiful, [INSERT PLAYER NAME]. Something pure. And you have the honor of being part of it. I know that sounds kinda hokey but stick with me. I promise I’ll get back to being relatably cool in a second. Where you really are is under the house. Or I guess, under the houses.

MC:

The houses? Are we under the cul-de-sac?

Joseph:

Hey, deductive reasoning! Points for [INSERT PLAYER NAME]!

MC:

How did nobody notice a dungeon underneath the town? Somebody would have had to.

Joseph:

Everyone who figured it out, that is .. All dead..

And it’s not a dungeon. Dungeons are for old castles and twelve year olds. This place is how would I describe … inhabiting many spaces. The betweens of the world. The gaps in mathematics. It’s quite simply beyond you, I’m afraid.

Just think of it as the real Margarita Zone.

MC:

This is too much. My head hurts.

Joseph:

[INSERT PLAYER NAME] ever wonder where all the wives and husbands in town went? Why everyone’s an eligible single father?

MC:

…I just thought it was a coincidence.

Joseph:

Nothing’s a coincidence, idiot. No town in America has such a concentration of eligible, willing Dads.

And do you want to know why?

MC:

I don’t know if I do, Joseph.

Joseph:

Because of me. Because of my work. Because of my loyalty.

MC:

You’re insane.

Loyalty?

Joseph:

How many couples have I pushed to divorce? How many wives and husbands have I hunted in the dark?

MC:

Wait! Amanda’s Mother/Father- It can’t be!

Joseph:

I unfortunately can’t take credit for that one. It seems entropy beat me to the punch.

MC:

I don’t know if that’s a relief or not.

Joseph:

But man, what if I had? The look on your face would’ve been priceless. Maple Bay is a psychic beacon of unfathomable power, but it requires sacrifice. It needs to feed on those deep, unquenchable pangs of anguish. And all to get these very good friends of ours here, in my town, and my father’s town, and his father before him. Hurting for human touch. Praying for the salvation of kindness.

Of course you don’t. You were out there gallivanting about, seducing all the hottest single Dads. Meddling in something you have no understanding of. A greatness you could not conceive.

Out there, in the dark of the sea, lies something that has been waiting to return for a hundred million years. It showed the path to Jonah, my ancient ancestor, as it has shown the path to me.

And I will fuck each Dad whose life I destroy until the shame and stink of their failures has returned our eternal king to life. The fuel of a hundred thousand rank darknesses of the soul.

MC:

I don’t understand.

Joseph:

Wow. Do you have anything you’d like to say?

MC:

I’ll kill you if it’s the last thing I do. What about Amanda?

Joseph:

Just kidding! You don’t get to choose. I know you’re used to being in control here. But now it’s my turn. And don’t worry yourself about Amanda.

MC:

If you touch her …

Joseph:

Please, [INSERT PLAYER NAME], give me some credit. Look at my pedigree. If I do my job, I won’t even have to.

Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s some other business I need to attend to. Your dear friend Robert has been awfully worried about you. I think it’s about time that miserable drunk gets one last visit from the Dover Ghost. A beautiful nightmare, wouldn’t you agree?

MC:

This is a nightmare.

Joseph (or Self Reflection?):

All along you’ve been living a dream, Daddy.

Now it’s time to wake

MC:

Oh man. This is bad. This is very bad. How long was I out? When is he coming back? How do I get out of here?

A hand slips over my mouth.

 

???:

Don’t say anything. Hell, don’t even think anything. It’s okay, [INSERT PLAYER NAME]. It’s me [… Mary …]. I’m gonna get you out of here.

MC:

She kneels down and starts working on the ropes around my ankles.

Mary:

I gotta be honest, I didn’t like you at first.

MC:

I guess I did try to break up your marriage

Mary:

Shh! Shut up for once. Look, truth is I feel sorry for you. I feel sorry for the both of us. I don’t think you’re a bad person, despite what you might think of me.

I don’t want it to end like this. Not again.

MC:

I raise my eyebrows at her.

Mary:

Come on. Who do you think lived in that house before you? Don’t think about it. Not right now.

He’s coming. Run, kid.

MC:

Mary finishes untying me and disappears.

I have to get out of here. I get out of the chair and run as fast as I can down the hallway outside of my holding cell.

Eventually I run out of breath. I can’t keep sprinting. Not with these Dad knees.

I check myself. All I have are the clothes on my back and this thing in my pocket. The pocket knife that Robert gave me. If I have to defend myself, this is all I have.

Looking ahead of me, I can’t see the end of the hallway as it bends further up there. I look back and can’t even see where I started. I guess the only thing I can do is keep going and hope there’s a way out on the other end. If there is an other end …

The hallway bends and twists. Sometimes it gets smaller, to the point where I have to crawl on my hands and knees to get through. Sometimes it expands into a great cavern where I can’t even see the ceiling. I see no way out other than to keep moving forward.

I don’t know how long I’ve been walking, but my body aches with soreness. I’m long past dehydration. My head is pounding. My vision is blurred. I lean up against the walls of the hallway for support.

I’m not sure how I’m still going.

And yet still here I am. I’ve been walking for what I think must be days. It could be weeks or months.

The exhaustion has sunk into my bones. I drift in and out of consciousness. I think I’ve slept, if you can call it sleep. My dreams are plagued with nightmares of being chased down this hallway. I see Joseph’s kids. They hide in the shadows. They’re coming to drag me back to Joseph.

Oh god, Joseph. I can see his face so clearly in those dreams.’

I don’t know why I keep moving, why I keep placing one foot in front of the other. My clothes are tattered and my shoes have worn through.

My hell is inescapable.

Until …

It’s a door. A door at the dead end of the hallway.

I place my hand on the knob, seeing for the first time my gnarled fingernails and stretched, papery skin. I open the door and walk through.

…I’m in my house?! How did that!?

Amanda rushes into the room, wrapping her arms around me in a ferocious bear hug.

 

Amanda:

Dad! Where have you been?! Are you okay? I tried calling you like thirty times!

MC:

A…Amanda?

Amanda:

What happened? Did the boat break down or something?

MC: Oh? I.. um..

Amanda:

You know what? I’m just glad you’re home.

MC:

I look down and at myself and my clothes. They’re there. My shoes are on. My fingernails aren’t gnarled.

I feel fine. I hug Amanda again. Nothing has ever felt as good in my entire life. I have to choke back tears of relief. Amanda! I’m so glad to see you. You have no idea.

Amanda:

Wow, one night at sea. You didn’t see a whale, did you? You poor thing.

MC:

No whale could keep me from my daughter.

Amanda:

You’re damn right. You know what? You need breakfast. A very greasy breakfast.

MC:

That sounds amazing.

Amanda skips out of the room.

This is all so confusing! Was it a dream?

Amanda:

By the way, is it okay if Emma P. comes over tonight?

MC:

Emma P.?

Amanda:

You know, my best friend?

MC:

Oh, sure. Wait! I thought- isn’t Emma R. your best friend? She has red hair? You do art together? You pooped in her bed during that sleepover one time?

Amanda:

Oh right, my mistake. Teenager brain, you know?

MC:

I sit down on the couch, suddenly very exhausted. All I want is to have a big plate of hashbrowns with my daughter by my side while I quietly work on my word jumbles. I reach over to the coffee table and grab my trusty book of jumbles.

This is- this is a crossword puzzle.

I stare at it for too long.

Hey Amanda.

 

Amanda:

Amanda pops her head in from the kitchen. Workin’ hard on these eggs, Dadtron. If you want the perfect over-medium I gotta be in the zone.

 

MC:

When’s your birthday?

Amanda:

Why, did you get me something?

MC:

No, seriously. When’s your birthday?

 

Amanda:

Do I have to answer this? My birthday? Dad, really?

 

MC:

I have seen a lot of weird stuff today, Amanda. Humor me

Amanda Demon (AmandaDemon):

… It’s My birthday …

Nothing gets past you, huh?

You know, I almost had you going there for a sec. Was it the crossword puzzle that gave it away? You know, I try so hard to nail the details

Like, cooking you breakfast? Over-medium eggs with hash browns? Come on. That’s so you.

And my Amanda impression? I really think I stuck the landing on her irreverent yet wholesome tone. The whole aromatic pixie dream daughter thing? I should’ve been on Broadway with these chops

… .

 

I feel like you’re not appreciating how much work I’ve put in here.

Amanda turns ash black, her clothes, hair and bracelets collapsing into concentric rings of pitch-dark smoke.

Cracks begin to form along the walls around me. I look down and see the floor collapsing in tiles. As the wall crumble I see where I truly am.

 

 

Joseph:

Almost got away, huh? You’re a crafty one, aren’t you? Dunno how you got out of those ropes. Oh right! Mary! She’s rocking the tag team with you, isn’t she? Mary! Funny, here I was thinking marriage was about trust.

You know I thought I was gonna take care of Robert, and then here you were trying to make your escape and honestly [INSERT PLAYER NAME] you’re just killing my whole timeline here.

MC:

Wait, Robert! As quick as I can, I pull his folding knife out of my pocket and lunge for Joseph, throwing all my force into him. Joseph knocks the knife out of my hand. It skitters across the room.

Aw, man.

Joseph:

[INSERT PLAYER NAME], I thought we were cool. I thought we had a thing here. What happened to Margarita Zone?

Welp, sorry bud, but I guess I’m gonna have to do ya dirty. Doing you dirty means I have to kill you.

Joseph wraps his hands around my neck, smiling as he tightens his grip

What’s wrong? You were so into this last night

 

MC:

I have no strength left to fight him.

This is it. Isn’t it?

The world goes quiet around me.

All I can think about is Amanda. I miss her so much.

I’m sorry Amanda. I love you more than anything.

Please be good.

[ Mary_noblink ] [ Joseph_pain ]

 

Joseph:

Joseph’s eyes go wide. He releases his grip on me and I gasp in air. He turns around.

Mary:

It’s over, Joseph.

Joseph:

Honey, sweetie, you’ve stabbed me …

Mary:

You stole so much of my life from me.

Joseph:

Joseph backs away from Mary, clutching the wound on his shoulder.

Sweetheart, we can work this out.

 

Mary:

I’m done with you

Chris:

Father.

Chris peeks into the doorway behind Mary. He looks¦ different. Behind him are Christian, Christie, and Crish, who all creep into the room

Father, we’re so hungry. Won’t you feed us, Father?

 

Mary:

Hey, sailor. Mary turns to me and holds out a hand. It’s time to go.

 

MC:

I look back into the room at the horror I had escaped. The children corner Joseph as I crawl to Mary, who pulls me into the hallway. The more I look at it, the more it seems to break my mind. I turn away, my head pounding.

 

Joseph:

This body is but a conduit, Mary! I’ll see you in your nightmares! //Joseph laughing sfx

MC:

What the hell! My eyes open and I shoot up in bed, gasping for air.

 

Amanda:

Dad! Amanda leaps off of the chair in my room and attacks me with a hug.

 

MC:

Amanda! This is the best hug of my life.

 

Amanda:

I was so worried about you!

 

MC:

I’m so happy to see her again. Wait … Amanda, what’s your birthday?

Amanda:

Dad, did you forget again? Remember? You got me a record player and we ate an ice cream cake at the beach? But then I dropped the ice cream cake and got sand all over it? It’s March 22nd.

 

MC:

I remember that. Panda I missed you so much. What- What happened?

 

Amanda:

You don’t remember? The yacht sank. The rescue crews had to pull you out of the water. That was a few days ago.

 

MC:

Where’s Joseph?

 

Amanda:

Nobody’s seen him since. They found something in the Yacht wreckage. Some documents that showed he was embezzling funds from the church. Wait There’s a detective here who has been waiting to talk to you. He’s nice but he’s drinking all of our coffee. Lemme go grab him.

 

MC:

Yeah. Amanda, I love you so much.

 

Amanda:

I love you too, Dad.

Amanda skips out of the room, and in a moment Mary enters with … the guy I saw in the hallway

 

Mary:

Rise and shine, bucko.

 

MC:

Mary, are you okay?

 

Mary:

You know it was a real shame, what happened to Joseph. I had no idea he was doing what he was doing to the church. And I can’t believe he ran once the feds showed up, leaving me to take care of our four beautiful children on my own

But don’t worry, they’re staying with my parents out in the midwest til this all blows over.

Mary stares at me, waiting for me to say something.

MC:

[ Missing Dialouge?? ]

Good answer.

 

Saul:

Glad to see you’ve both got your story straight.

 

Mary:

I’m happy you’re okay. I was worried about you.

 

MC:

Thanks, Mary.

 

Mary:

Mary cracks a smile before turning and leaving my room. Take it sleazy, fellas.

 

Saul:

Once the door closes, the man pulls up a chair and sits next to my bed. You don’t know me, but I know a lot about you, {INSERT PLAYER NAME}. Been keeping tabs on you for a while.

 

MC:

Who are you?

 

Saul:

Graves. Detective Saul Graves.

There’s strange and mysterious forces at work here in Maple Bay.

What you saw down there- what we both saw down there- I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forget it. And I get the feeling that you won’t be able to, either.

But it’s my job to get to the bottom of this.

 

MC:

So what does this mean for me?

 

Saul:

It means to live your life like none of this ever happened. Go be happy. Go raise your daughter. Go fall in love.

Be well, [INSERT PLAYER NAME].

Saul walks to the door of my bedroom, but stops. He turns to me. And I know it’s hard to raise a kid as a single parent. Even I lost my wife under mysterious circumstances. Little Barry and I have been on our own for a while now, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned through all of this, it’s that us Dads have to help each other.

Get some rest. But if you’re not doing anything later, maybe you give me a call out.

6

I had promised a KiriBaku kid something like months ago, and tbh most of the reason why it took me this long is because I couldn’t pick between these two so?? In the end just have them both I guess - some info about them under cut, in case you wanna know more!!

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

i have a prompt for you: what if snape hadn't called lily 'mudblood' that day. what if their friendship had stayed strong, unbreakable. would he have grown to be a better person? would lily have loved him, rather than james? would harry just have another godfather? would james and lily have survived?

Okay you have successfully convinced me to write a Snape thing, which is a possibility I have audibly forsworn many times to my loved ones. But I’m a sucker for concepts like “Harry gets another godfather,” so, here we go.


When Severus was seven, he fell in love with the girl down the street. She had long red hair and dirty knees and she offered him half her candy bar one drizzly afternoon, waiting outside the school for her parents to come pick her up.

His parents weren’t coming— dad working late and mum at the pub recounting old Hogwarts glory stories, talking of years when her life was magical– but he didn’t tell Lily that. He was just waiting for the older bully boys who lurked in the empty lot on his way home to get bored and leave.

He ate the candy slowly in neat little bites while she grinned and told him about her big sister’s feud with the science teacher, like her Tuney was some sort of hero in a political espionage drama. She talked with her hands, narrow little things with freckled backs. He watched her wave from the back window of her mother’s car and then he started the long walk home.

When Severus was fifteen, James Potter dangled him upside down in the quad and laughed. Severus landed on elbows and knees. The bruises would stay for a week. The memories would not die with them— James’s cocky grin, the laughter in the spring air, the long whip of Lily’s red hair.

He felt small, bug-like, his knees pressing into the grass. His mother would come home some nights, kick the threadbare carpet, rattle the battered old pans in the cupboard, curse a Ministry that hated purebloods, that sucked up to halfbreeds and Mudbloods, that left the true wizards to rot in filth. He would curl up, make himself small, bug-like, imagine a chitinous shield growing over his shoulders, his spine, the softness of his kidneys. Some days, his father slept through this. Some days he screamed back.

After Severus met Lily, he would curl up under his covers, small, bug-like, and read through the comics she’d lent him with his hands pressed up over his ears. He wanted Professor X to come take him away. He wanted to be someone special, someone saved. He wanted a giant to burst through his door and frighten his mother and offer him a squashed birthday cake and a way out.

When Severus was fifteen, he slammed to his knees on the green Hogwarts quad. Laughter burrowed into his ears, like curses, like the nights his father screamed back, and when Lily stepped toward him he snapped, “I don’t need help from a Mudblood.”

When Severus slouched up to her door that summer, Lily didn’t invite him in. She leaned on the open frame of the door, arms crossed. He had so rarely seen Lily neither smiling or incandescent with rage, but she watched him with snakeskin eyes and a set mouth, still.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t–”

She twitched a strand of hair over her shoulder, the irritation the closest thing to an emotion he could spot on her. He was watching, desperate– this was Lily, she gave things away. She talked with her hands. He never felt lost, with her. “But why,” said Lily. “Why are you sorry? Because I’m upset, or because what you did was wrong?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You did, and it’s not the point. I don’t care if it’s the part you care about, Sev, it’s not the part that matters. That was an awful thing to say– to say to anyone. You were cruel because you were scared and embarrassed, but Sev I could really care less. You were cruel.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Sorry’s not enough, Sev. Be fucking better.”

He jerked back and tried to turn it into some kind of laugh. “Language, careful, your mum might hear.”

She shrugged, and stepped back through the open door, and shut it in his face.

He spent the summer reading comic books, haunting the local library, then the local park once it’d closed, and then sneaking home when he was hopeful his parents would be asleep. He tried to think about bravery, but sometimes he just thought about Lily’s hair, the way it went more golden in summer. He tried to think about nobility, ethics and grace, but the clouds chased each other, fat and white, across the sky and he wasn’t sure what any of this had to do with him.

His father took him fishing by a dreary brown creek and they sat in silence. Severus could hear every creak of the rods, every lap of the water, every inhale and movement his father made. He thought maybe if he just said nothing, nothing ever, he’d never say anything again that made Lily’s face go so flat and distant. If he said nothing, maybe nothing would hurt.

His father reached back for a beer can in a swift movement and Severus froze himself unflinching. He sat in that silence afterward, slowing his heartbeat, picking apart the sudden rigid shell of his shoulders. His father hummed, cracking the can open like a gunshot.

He sat alone on the Hogwarts Express that year, stuffed in a compartment with a handful of second years who gave him half the seats while they giggled among themselves about the haircut of someone named Gertrude. Every summer’s end, for five years, he and Lily had boarded the train together, pressed their noses to the window glass, and watched the land rush by.

For the first month of school, Severus practiced pausing before he spoke, for seconds, minutes if he needed them. Sometimes he’d add an answer after the conversation had already moved on, bent over his mashed potatoes, weighing words as carefully as he weighed salamander eyes and mandrake root.

(If you crushed firedrake seeds with the flat of your blade, instead of cutting them, they made a more potent potion. The textbooks told you to stir six times counterclockwise to make Sleeping Draught, but he knew–because he had thought, and tried, and tried again–that if you did five counterclockwise and two clockwise the draught would turn that perfect turquoise and the sleep would be dreamless and sweet and deep. He kept notes in his textbook’s margins, because it helped to remember.)

In the second month, he tried to listen. People were starting to think about life after school, a big yawning chasm they were supposed to fill with themselves. People were starting to fall in love, puppyish and petty. People were starting to believe in the war, whispering, dreaming, fearing.

In the common room, one of the kids said something about Mudbloods and Severus’s head snapped up. He tried to imagine a shell growing into his shoulders, over his spine, covering all the soft parts of him. He wanted his covers, he wanted to shrink, he wanted Lily’s boxfuls of comics, but he rose to his feet and snapped back. Sometimes saying nothing hurt people, too. A small Muggleborn in green and silver ducked away to her dorm, clutching quietly at her sleeves.

For the third month, he tried to watch– not for warning sneers or cocky grins, clenched fists and broad shoulders, all the things he’d been watching for since before he could name them– but for the way shoulders might go rigid, the way fists might clench but hide, wishing for something to shield every soft part of them.

Severus was bony and pimply, sixteen years old and graceless in it, but he could be an interruption. He could mock with the best of them, flicking his brows and twisting his nose, and asking pointed questions. He could talk, smart-mouthed and snide, until the focus turned to him, and then he could survive anything they handed out. He could give as good as he got. The pauses were shorter, these days, before he spoke, but they would always be there, an echo offset from the shout, an avalanche that struck late and terrible.

When kids cried in bathrooms or empty classrooms or the library, he didn’t move to comfort them, though he heard them. He didn’t know how. He wrote his own curses, out in the forest where he could scar the trees in experiment, and they all turned out bloody. He loved few things, even Lily, as much as he loved pouring all of himself into his work, until something new and his own grew out of it. He wasn’t sure he’d ever invented something kind.

He didn’t try to find Lily, but he came back from the Forest once and almost tripped over her, half-napping in Hagrid’s pumpkin patch. He stumbled back into a gargantuan gourd while she pushed hair out of her face and peered up at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, after a pause that rumbled and roiled in his gut, that he clung to with both hands, breathing into it and letting his shoulders go soft. “I’m sorry I said it. I’m sorry I made you feel small because I was feeling– small.”

Lily sat up a bit, in the little semi circle she’d built herself of books and scrolls and gobstones and snacks. She had built fairy circles like that, when they were children, of the flowers he’d transfigured for her.

“I’m sorry anyone has to feel that way, ever,” he said. “They shouldn’t. I’m angry anyone has to feel that way.”

“Me, too,” she said, and, fishing around in the detritus that surrounded her, handed him half a candy bar. “C'mon, you want some tea? Hagrid said he’d put a kettle on for me if I finished my Arithmancy.”

When Severus was in sixth year, Remus Lupin almost killed him on a moonlit night.

Severus had wanted answers, had wanted to get them in trouble, had wanted something a bit like vengeance, and Sirius had told him about the Whomping Willow. Sirius had grinned when he’d done it, small and bitter, and Severus had wondered if he was fighting with James again, wondering why else he’d sell out his friends.

“I didn’t think–” Sirius tried, the morning after, watching Remus across dry toast and cocoa, big juicy bowls of melon.

“You never do,” Remus snapped. (A bare handful of years later, standing in the smoldering ruins of James and Lily’s house, Remus would think about Sirius’s erratic gaze, the sharp edge of his voice, his last name, and wonder if he should have seen it coming. What here was premeditated? What was mischief? Sirius had once almost painted Remus’s own hands with red blood.)

But for now, Remus was sixteen and angry; he was sixteen and guilty of things that might have happened. He didn’t speak to Sirius for a month.

James refused to speak with Sirius, too, but he only lasted a week. Moony was sulking and Peter was busy studying his little heart out, and James got twitchy without proper and regular socialization.

“I’ll punch him in the nose,” said Lily, when Severus told her. She shifted where she sat cross-legged on the library table, like she might go off and hunt him down that second.

“Black doesn’t deserve the attention,” said Severus.

“Getting his ass kicked by a girl? That type of attention?”

“Getting his ass kicked by Lily Evans,” Severus said. “It’d be an honor and you know it.”

Reports of violence outside Hogwarts got worse. People were disappearing. People were whispering, fearing. The papers were ignoring the important things, and feeding off the fearmongering, or so Lily announced in the library while Severus was trying to study.

Alice and Lily had spent years sharing hissed rants in humid greenhouses. Over an undulating bed of luminescent deadly nightshade, Alice bent her head close to Lily’s and asked, “Have you heard of the Order of the Phoenix?”

Keep Reading (Ao3)

Keep reading

The Boxer

Pairing: Y/N and Harry

Word Count: 10k

Prompt: Harry hires Y/N as his on call nurse and for his matches. 

or 

“You’re supposed to be in the hospital gown, it’s why we laid it out for you,” Y/N stated, pointing the pen in her hand at the white gown by his feet.

“I’m not wearing that paper shit,” Harry grumbled, “and I’m perfectly fine to leave.”

“That cut says otherwise,” Y/N says.

Harry watches as she sets down the clipboard and turns on the sink to wash her hands, she’s cute. She’s nothing like the kind Harry would go for. His usual prey would be at the bar, lonely, maybe going through a breakup, but he knew for sure that by the end of the night she would be in his bed. Y/N on the other hand looked like too pure for him, and he hated that look.

From his experience Harry had learned that girls like Y/N believed that they were too good for a guy like him. Girls like Y/N, with an innocent smile, soft skin, and soft voices, tended to only use him for one thing, to make their parents upset. Harry had seen it time and time again, it was only a matter of weeks before the girl would crush his heart and move on to someone better.

“I don’t feel anything,” Harry stated.

Harry had grown numb to just about everything. He couldn’t feel the punches thrown at him, he couldn’t feel his emotions, it all just seemed gone to him. He didn’t mind though, no emotions meant he couldn’t get hurt, and no pain meant he was unstoppable.

or

Boxer Harry Styles highers, incredibly perky Y/N as his on-call nurse.


“I hate the graveyard shift,” Y/N stated, slumping into the chair.

Keep reading

[translations] 2017.07.06 NCT 127 First Anniversary Event fan accounts - Rolling Paper

Taeil -> Johnny
Chicago monster bro. I love your physiques, are you perhaps a model? Thank you for always looking out for the rest of the members by taking on the role of the middle man. [chewchew_do]

Taeil -> Taeyong
Your features are so beautiful. Your eyes nose lips, no, I love everything about you [cheetahparrot]

Taeil -> Yuta
Yukkuri ….. ????? (fan accounts say that yuta was laughing so hard that he couldn’t read it)

Taeil -> Doyoung
How are you? Cutie. Every time I see your shoulders I think you are so handsome. I’m fine thank you bro [dukduk0614]

Taeil -> Jaehyun
Jaehyun I like your burning passion, in the future please burn that bright and pass the passion on to the remaining members as well [chin9deura]

Taeil -> Winwin
Ni Hao, Dong Si Cheng. I heard you play games really badly, practice more. Anyway you are so cute. I think you have gotten used to living in Korea, and gotten close with the members. Dong Si Cheng, Wo Ai Ni [nct_victory]

Taeil -> Mark
Cute. You are so cute. I can always feel a lot of things when I’m with you. Thank you bro [markleezzang]

Taeil -> Haechan
Our Lee Haechan who usually joke a lot but lately you became quiet. However now I like how you are joking around again. We nag at you is because we like you. I’m thankful that you are doing the role of the maknae well, and became the mood-maker too. Bye bye I love you [xzzanx]

Johnny -> Taeil
I am an only child in the family. But because hyung was by my side I was able to feel how is it like to have an older brother. I feel really happy and secured with hyung by my side. I am always thankful for that. Even though hyung don’t express it, but I know you like me a lot. I love you hyung. [chin9deura]

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

What's your take on the world ending for the Greek Gods? Or when they cease to be relevant to mankind, and what happens to them? Would Athena, Aphrodite and Artemis take the streets and march for Pride? Would Demeter be the manager at a zoo?

Time passes. The world changes. Temples fall. People now speak their names as if they are fairytales.

The gods are dead.

~

Apollo’s chariot lies broken and forgotten in the ruins of a city no one knows the name of anymore. He watches the sun crawl across the sky of its own volition, without him to push it forward.

“Do you miss it?” Artemis asks him, appearing by his side.  They stand at the top of a sparkling glass building, almost the same as ever. She walks among the mortals more than he does, she always has, and She’s dressed like one of them. Tight clothes and half her head shaved, sparkling gems curling up the delicate shell of her ear. She looks like one of the teenagers that fill his concert stadiums.

He thinks of the way his chariot threatened to escape his grasp every morning, the oppressive heat of the sun beating down on him, the burns and the undercurrent of fear that one day he would lose his grip on the reins and plunge the world into darkness.

Apollo leans his head on his sister’s shoulder. The sun rises slower without him, but it rises just the same. “No. Not really.”

~

Hephaestus’s workshop has evolved with the times – from a volcano base to a modern lab, but always a workshop bursting with creation. The cyclopes are still his best assistants.

Aphrodite steps over discarded parts and expertly walks around frantic cyclopes carrying bubbling concoctions. Her dark hair is swept up in a bun and she wears chunky glasses and a blood red pantsuit that almost hides the fact she’s the most beautiful woman to walk the earth. “I have a client, try not to blow up the house. Again.”

“Yes dear,” he says, but doesn’t looks away from his soldering. She hadn’t expected him too. His prosthetics are off and on the floor besides him, and he’s seated on a too-tall chair to compensate for the loss of height.

She reaches out and carefully touches the corner of his eye. Crow’s feet have started to work their way onto his face. They’re getting old. “It’s the couple that’s fighting because he wants kids and she doesn’t want to carry any kids but doesn’t want to say that. It would probably be easier if I just told them to adopt and threw them out the window.”

“Yes dear,” he repeats, sparks flying. A few land on her, but she doesn’t burn. Of course.

She moves her hand up and pushes it through his hair and resists the urge to pull him from his work and abandon her own so they can make out on his worktable. “I love you.”

Aphrodite turns to leave, but Hephaestus grabs her wrist and pulls her back. He holds up a single copper lily, the edges of the petals still glowing with heat it had taken to shape them. He carefully slides the stem into her hair so it sits at the base of her bun. He grazes her bottom lip with his thumb as he pulls his hand back to his side. “Yes dear.”

~

Demeter rages.

She makes imprudent deals to control an earth that no longer falls under her domain, and she enacts her revenge against the mortals in whatever way she can. They have forgotten her, forgotten the earth, and in their ignorance they seek to destroy it.

She shakes the bedrock and splits it open, but still they do not learn, and as the temperature of the earth rises so does her temper.

The sea is not hers to command, her power is of earth and of earth alone, and even now she gave more than could afford to lose to keep her grasp on it. But these mortals do not learn.

Demeter goes to the sea and makes an inadvisable bargain. She goes to the crumbling remains of Olympus and makes an even worse one.

Typhoons and hurricanes whip across the land. If they seek to destroy her, she will simply destroy them first.

~

Hera sits on a pure white couch in an elegant mansion, smiling for the journalist seated across from her.

“What do you think is the most influential decision you ever made?” he asks, “If you could pinpoint the success of your business to one moment, what would it be?”

She tilts her head as the light of the camera flashes. “Why, divorcing my husband, of course.”

“Would that be your advice to young women hoping to be as successful as you?” he asks, “To not get married?”

Hera thinks of thousands of years by Zeus’s side, and how little it got her. She thinks of Hestia’s men, and Artemis’s women, of Hephaestus’s love for Aphrodite, of the way Hades softened the sharpest of Persephone’s edges.

She says, “Do not get married to someone who makes you less than you are. If you are not a better person for being together than apart, then do not be together. It’s as simple as that.”

Simple, but not easy.

Leaving Zeus was the hardest thing she’s ever done.

~

Persephone isn’t forced to spend half the year on the mortal earth anymore. She goes when she pleases, which isn’t often.

Sometimes she’ll sit by Artemis’s side while she brings a new life into the world and holds the warm, wriggly child first. She visits hospitals and makes the flowers bloom out of season, and spends long hours sitting under the sun and feeling it’s warmth touch her face.

Hades left his realm rarely before, and even more rarely now. More people are being born than ever, meaning more people are dying than ever. Their realm is massive, comprising of all the dead of several millennia. Hades and Hecate spend their days as always – desperately trying to expand the realm so that they don’t all have to live on top of each other.

“Have you heard?” she asks one day, seated on his desk and leaning across it so he can’t work on the latest draft for another level of their realm. “The gods are dead.”

He gives up on attempting to tug it out from underneath her. “Are they? That’s odd, none of them are here.”

Persephone doesn’t bother to hide her smile. They haven’t figured it out yet. Maybe they never will. But when death comes for them, as death does for all, it will be to Hades and Persephone’s door they are brought. Hades himself will usher Gaia and Amphitrite into the underworld, when the time comes.

That time is not today.

“Darling, I really do need to work on this,” he ineffectually tugs on the map again.

She pushes him back into the chair, climbing on top of him and pressing their foreheads together. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” he agrees, and obligingly moves his head so Persephone can nibble at his neck. He manages a whole thirty seconds before going, “I mean, I really do, Hecate said if I didn’t have a plan by the time she leaves for the mortal realm tomorrow, I’ll either have to wait until she gets back or do it by myself, and I’d really prefer to do neither–”

Persephone kisses him to shut him up, twisting and pushing them through the realm so they land on their bed. “I’ll help you finish it later. Focus on me now.”

Hades doesn’t answer, but he does flip them so he’s above her and reaches below her skirt, so she’ll take that as agreement.

~

Hestia sits around a bonfire, watching a group of teenagers get drunk and dance around the flames. They’ll never be younger than right now, never feel as much love for each other as they do right now.

She is besides an old man who warms his hands from the fire coming from an abandoned trash can.

She lies on a bed as a girl lights two dozen candles around it as a surprise for when her lover gets home.

She watches a young man make dinner for his boyfriend for the first time and burn the chicken on both sides. They eat it together anyway.

She sits on the kitchen counter when a sister takes out a pie from the oven, made special for her little brother’s birthday.

She is there when a father ticks the thermostat up high in freezing dawn of morning so it will be warm by the time his wife and children awaken.

Most people don’t have hearths anymore. But there is warmth, and love, and for Hestia that is enough.

~

As their names fade from existence, as his name is called less and less on the battlefields of mortal men, the more Ares sleeps.

He falls asleep in too tall trees and on park benches. He sleeps in seedy motel rooms and naps in every one of Athena’s libraries. He sleeps curled up on a chair in Aphrodite’s office, and on the floors of a lot of veteran resource centers. As fast as he can tell, that’s the most they help any veteran.

Still, his favorite place to sleep is the underworld.

He goes knocking on Orpheus’s door, who is always willing to play for him. “Hades is here,” Eurydice says, “Would you like to me to go get him?”

He shakes his head, “Persephone is home. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Eurydice and Orpheus share the same look of faint disapproval, but neither of the say anything, for which he is grateful.

He lies in the soft grass of the garden Persephone made, and lets Orpheus’s playing lull him to sleep.

Later, he’s woken by strong arms picking him up and holding him against a familiar chest. He doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know who’s holding him. “I can go,” he yawns, his actions at odds with his words as he pulls himself even closer the warmth coming off the king of the underworld.

“No,” Hades says. “Stay.”

Ares lets out a content sigh as Hades presses his lips to his forehead, and he’s not great about touch, about people laying their hands on him and getting in his space. But Hades has always felt safe, felt like home.

He stays.

~

The gods are dead.

Long live the gods.


gods and monster series, part xiv

read more of the gods and monsters series here

Yuri on Festival voice drama (detailed report)

I went to watch the next-day viewing of yesterday’s Yuri on Festival event, and this time I took notes for the drama so I’ll write a more detailed summary, also because this one isn’t going to be sold on DVD. I believe other people have probably written reports too, but in cases such as this I think “the more the merrier” because it’s not recorded so it’s better to have more accounts. Also, now you’ll start seeing more Japanese reports & art too. Most people were keeping quiet out of consideration for the ones who could only watch the viewing and didn’t want spoilers.

Official title of the drama: “Fundoshi da yo!!! Sekai Metsubou Daipinchi Hasetsu Kunchi Spiritual!!” which roughly translates to “Fundoshi!!! The world is in danger of being destroyed. Hasetsu Kunchi Spiritual!!”

It was in 3 parts, separated by game and information corners.
I hope it’s not too confusing, but especially the last part is impossible to summarize decently because they talked a lot and I couldn’t possibly take note of everything, not to mention what they say is mostly crazy stuff, lol. For some parts and lines I double-checked looking at other Japanese comments online. If something is not clear feel free to send me an ask.

Continue under “keep reading”.

Keep reading

A sampling of some of the many, many universes in which Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki didn’t somehow manage to avoid each other for TEN+ YEARS and are already happily married (Inspired in part by the musings of @kiaronna and @pearlo on this topic from this post):

  • In 2010, Viktor is leaving an Olympic after party because it has just more or less dissolved into an orgy and that’s not Really his scene. In this universe, he decides not to go back to his room and instead finds his way to an outdoor seating area, which is not very heavily utilized given the fact that it’s February. There is only one other person out there–an athlete with his back turned, curled up onto a bench. The lettering on his jacket says Japan.
    “Mind if I join?” he asks, and the other man turns to reveal dark hair and the deepest eyes Viktor has ever seen.
    “Oh,” he squeaks. “No. Go ahead.”
    They sit, and talk, and three hours later exchange phone numbers. Instead of going to America to train, Yuuri Katsuki goes to Russia to train under Yakov Feltsman. He takes National gold in 2011 and marries Viktor in 2012.
  • Phichit accidentally posts a video of Yuuri doing a bit of Viktor’s 2013 free skate to Instagram, instead of the hamster video he meant to post. The video makes its way through the figure skating grapevine until, obviously, reaching Viktor. Viktor immediately DM’s Phichit, begging to know who the man in the video is.
    Yuuri wakes up to six missed calls, 609 Instagram notifications, 49 texts and a DM from Viktor Nikiforov.
    “I WAS ASLEEP FOR AN HOUR,” he shrieks.
    Phichit takes complete credit for their marriage in his speech at their wedding less than a year later.
  • Through the careful and judicious saving of money for several years, and because in at least one timeline the main waterline in the onsen and the transmission on the family car don’t go kaput in the same year, Yuuri’s family is able to send him to one of Yakov Feltsman’s ice skating boot camps when he is fourteen years old.
    Viktor is there, all shining hair and huge smile and new celebrity. He has just placed at the Turin Olympics and is on his way to becoming a Russian household name, and Yuuri has been in love with him for two years already.
    “Yuuri!” Viktor coos across the ice, over the heads of the fifteen other skaters in the bootcamp. “Keep your hips even! It won’t make it so hard to turn into your Axel!”
    “Yuuri! Don’t hunch your shoulders on the spread eagle!”
    “Yuuri! Your thigh should be parallel to the ice on that sitspin!”
    “He’s incredibly skilled for his age,” Lilia tells Yakov in the back of the rink one day. “And Vitya has been behaving remarkably well, since he came here.” She fixes her eyes on Yakov, deep and determined. “He’ll be old enough to make his senior debut next year. If we groom him through his last year of juniors, he could bronze in his first GPF, or better. I want him, Yasha.”
    Yakov Feltsman is not in the habit of denying his wife those few things she asks of him.
    Yuuri Katsuki returns home after that bootcamp to pack his things and collect his dog and hug his parents goodbye.
    “I’ll take good care of him, Mr. and Mrs. Katsuki,” Viktor assures from a Skype call. “He’ll be getting the best training in the world. I even have a poodle, so Vicchan won’t be lonely during the day!”
    Hiroko and Toshiya just smile knowingly.
    Yuuri Katsuki is newly fifteen when he moves to Russia and begins sharing a condo with Viktor Nikiforov. He is sixteen when he wins his first GPF silver, and eighteen when the Vancouver Olympics roll around and he stands below his best friend on the podium and accepts silver for Japan as Viktor accepts gold.
    He is nineteen when, after five years of glances and touches and shared secrets and tears and laughter, Viktor pulls him into bed.
    “About time,” is the general consensus to that.
    They have only been dating, dating-dating, for five months when Viktor asks him to marry him.
    “I know it’s quick,” Viktor says, “but I feel like–I feel like we’ve known each other all our lives, anywa, so what’s the point in waiting?”
    Yuuri, of course, feels the same way.
  • Viktor makes a split-second decision to touch up his make-up before a press conference at the Trophee de France 2011, and as he’s patting the sweat marks off his temples hears the definite sound of someone crying.
    “Um,” he announces to the otherwise silence bathroom. “Are you okay?”
    “Yeah!” comes the answer, shrill. “I’m totally fine!”
    “You don’t sound fine,” Viktor says, and ducks his head to see which stall has feet under it. In the last stall, he sees a pair of badly-abused sneakers. He straightens up and knocks on the door. “I’ll leave you alone if you want me to, but I can–if you want, I can show you a better place to cry. Than here.”
    It takes a moment, but the door opens. The man in front of him has watery eyes and puffy red cheeks and Viktor isn’t sure he has ever found someone so beautiful.
    “Okay,” he whispers, and Viktor leads him onto the roof where instead of crying, he stares out over the skyline and tells Viktor about his home town.
    Viktor never does discover why Yuuri was crying, but he does get his phone number–and he does visit his hometown with him, a year later, to tell Yuuri’s family that they’ve decided to get married.
  • Yuuri is somehow convinced by Phichit to go out with a group after Skate America in 2013–Phichit is in his element, leading people around the city with expansive gestures and the effortless social confidence Yuuri has come to know of his best friend. 
    “You’re from this city too, aren’t you?” asks someone at Yuuri’s shoulder, and Yuuri turns from Phichit’s monologue to see Viktor Nikiforov of all people. Yuuri, distantly in the back of his mind, realizes that he didn’t see Viktor before because he is wearing a hat, scarf, and enormous sunglasses.
    “Um, not from here,” Yuuri says, trying not to squeak, “but I–we both live here, Phichit and I.”
    “But you know the city,” Viktor says, “so that means you would know a place where I can get the most disgustingly greasy food imaginable and you and I can go there and my coach never needs to know?”
    “Yes,” Yuuri says immediately, because he may be timid around most people, and especially around his idol, but he has more than enough sense to realize that His Time Has Come. “I can absolutely do that.”
    Yuuri takes Viktor to American Coney Island, where they eat loose burgers and chili fries and drink diet coke, which is the only cession to their diets.
    “Oh Yuuri,” Viktor laughs at the end of the night, a speck of chili cheese still at the corner of his mouth, “I could fall in love with a man like you.”
    And he does.
  • Celestino wins a radio lottery and receives tickets to Champions on Ice in Las Vegas–he decides to take Yuuri and a rinkmate. Yuuri’s rinkmate is nice, but he doesn’t know her very well, and he’s several years younger. She also has friends in Nevada who she wants to meet up with, and Yuuri doesn’t know anybody in the state for obvious reasons. On the first day they are there, Yuuri’s rinkmate disappears with her friends and Celestino takes his wife and goes exploring on the strip. Yuuri stays in his room and plays Pokemon and Skypes his mother.
    On the second day, Yuuri goes shopping for souvenirs for Yuuko and his family, and stares far too long at the billboard of Viktor Nikiforov’s face that is advertising the ice show. That night, he debates which of the three posters he brought with him he should bring to have Viktor sign, before deciding on none–the odds that he will meet Viktor Nikiforov tonight are practically not any higher than they were when the were on opposite sides of the world, and Celestino won’t want to wait in the long autograph lines.
    “Don’t you want an autograph, Yuuri?” Celestino asks after the show, and Yuuri thinks it’s nice of him even though they both know that the polite thing to do is say no.
    “No,” Yuuri says, staring at the long line, and continues out of the building. 
    They branch off then–Celestino has dinner plans with his wife, and Yuuri’s rinkmate is meeting back up with her friends for some clubbing.
    Yuuri is walking back to the hotel when he bumps headlong into somebody’s solid chest.
    “Oh, sorry,” they say, and steady him with hands on his shoulders. Yuuri looks up and finds the same icey blue eyes frm that billboard yesterday staring back at him.
    “Oh,” Yuuri whispers, wide-eyed. “You’re–”
    “Shhh,” whispers Viktor Nikiforov, pressing a finger to his own lips. “Don’t give it away, I’m hiding. 
    “VITYA,” someone from the alley leading back towards the ice center screams.
    “Come on,” Viktor laughs, and tugs Yuuri away by the hand. 
    It’s the spring before Viktor will cut his hair, and it flies out behind him in a magnificent cascade as they run.
    They find their way into a club, where Viktor buys them drinks and laughs and laughs no matter what Yuuri is saying, and then drags him out onto the dance floor. Yuuri has not yet met Phichit Chulanont, who will drag him to pole dancing classes and teach him how to move his hips like a weapon, but he and Viktor get by in the crush of bodies, pushing against each other.
    “I think I love you,” Viktor breaths against his neck, and they’re both three sheets to the wind, but Viktor is Russian and Yuuri is a college student and their tolerance is astronomical. They aren’t even stumbling. “I know we only just met, but I think I love you.”
    “Then let’s get married,” Yuuri blurts before he can help it, and Viktor beams.
    “Yes!” he cries. “Yes, let’s do that!”
    It isn’t hard to find a place that will marry them–even though Viktor’s signature on the certificate looks more like a drawing of a tree, and even though Yuuri’s tie ends up around his forehead halfway through the ceremony.
    In the morning, Yuuri wakes up with the worst hangover of his life, fully-clothed next to Viktor Nikiforov, and says, “We can–this happens all the time, we can have it annulled.”
    Viktor stares down at the ring on his finger, tangled hair all over one shoulder. Yuuri realizes that he doesn’t even rememer where the rings came from. How much did they cost? 
    “I would rather not, if that’s okay,” Viktor murmurs, and so they don’t.
    Yuuri carries out the rest of the year in Detroit, wearing the ring around his neck on a chain and thinking about his husband, half a world away, waiting for him.

Best and worst parts of a potential V route:

Best:

  • seeing this man smile
  • taking away some of his pain
  • encouraging him to trust and confide in his friends 
    • you can’t do it all on your own, v 
    • you don’t have to take everyone else’s burdens, v 
    • let us help you
  • more information about all the other characters
    • yoosung and his high school days 
    • pretty much anything about jumin since dude never shares the past
    • zen’s wilder teenage years 
    • more about jaehee, i don’t even care what, just gimmie 
    • more about rika and hopefully whatever the hell her real name is
    • seven and saeran and things about the choi bois that aren’t pure angst
    • driver kim and his favorite dad jokes 
      • v making dad jokes with him
  • new phone calls! 
    • v has the voice of an angel and i am ready to sin
  • new chat rooms!
  • new text messages!
  • new CGs! 
  • v getting his own emojis! 
  • learning about his childhood 
    • finally figuring out what happened to his mother 
  • talking about succulents and cacti and his love of desert plants
  • hearing why he named elizabeth the 3rd that
    • learning what other odd names he comes up with 
  • passionate rambling about photography 
  • seeing more of v’s photography!
  • if they include mint eye, actually learning about it 
  • why does he have 20 spoons in his house??? v, tell us your secrets 
  • watching v be a philosopher 
    • while jumin is a scientist 
    • their banter though
  • yoosung hopefully producing some hilarious rants about v 
    • and them making up and both finding peace
    • watching the rants stop being sad and funny and then just funny 
    • v please play along 
  •  more shitposting
    • oh boy 3 AM! 
  • v trolling the chats 
  • potential new ending where some people aren’t worse off than at the beginning 
    • yoosung and zen aren’t in the dark 
      • and yoosung isn’t idolizing rika anymore
    • jumin isn’t miserable and alone 
  • rika is held accountable for her actions 
    • the people she brainwashed and hurt get justice 
  • getting this man out of the horrifically abusive and toxic relationship he’s in
  • watching him heal
  • jihyun kim being happy 

Worst:

  • those bad endings are going to be bad
    • who is up for sacrificing their soul and getting them first to spare the rest of us the pain?
    • y’know. like v does. 
  • watching v idealize rika and not see what their relationship is truly like
    • having to see more of what she’s put him through
    • the abuse is bad enough, don’t let it get worse 
  • v possibly making more mistakes
    • “the road to hell is paved with good intentions”
  • new information about other characters being depressing as hell
    • good that we know more about them
    • but how much more can my heart take?
  • watching yoosung and jumin Suffer™   
    • hello potential unrequited love, how are you today?
  • probably more things that the good parts override because this man being healthy and happy is so important!!
Reaper: Chapter Two

His hand was warm.

Isa pulled me to my feet. “Just a second,” he said, scanning the area.

I didn’t feel dead. I could feel the wind on my skin and my heart hammering in my chest. My hands were trembling with adrenaline. That had to be a good sign.

“Kat,” Isa said, startling me. I had been staring at my hands so intently that I hadn’t noticed he was holding out his hand to me again.

“I’m not dead,” I informed him a bit giddily, taking his hand again.

Isa didn’t smile, but the corners of his eyes crinkled. “This way,” he said, pointing with his free hand. I looked, but he seemed to be pointing towards thin air.

He led me away from the broken highway and my silver car, wading through the faded brown grass. After about twenty yards he stopped and turned to me.

“I need you to think of a place,” he said, “Any place.”

My mind went blank. “Any place?”

“Anywhere. Visualize it in your mind. Got it?” I hesitated before nodding. “Good. Now we’re going to take one more step together.”

I looked at the grass before us. It didn’t look any different from any other patch of grass we’d passed. I drew a deep breath.

“Okay.”

“And go.”

As we stepped forward together, the air went…soft. Like a deep, thick mattress. Like holding an overripe peach in your hands and slowly pressing in your thumbs, letting them sink into it. Not hot or cold or anything like that. Just soft.

Less than a moment passed before the softness was gone; I didn’t even have time to blink. We were still standing in the grass by the highway. I could see my car close by and the mountains looming in the distance. But the edges of the mountains were vague and unclear, and the light that filtered through the clouds was tinted red, almost as though it was shining through rose-colored glass. More telling was the quiet. The wind had disappeared, and the grass was silent and still.

“You know,” Isa commented, “I think people usually choose somewhere other than the place they’re currently standing.”

“I panicked,” I responded, taking in everything around me, “Which seems to be my basic state of existence at this point.”

Unlike everything else, Isa seemed more real than ever. The basics were still the same: pale, ashy skin stretched tight over his body, white hair, and jet black eyes set deep in their sockets. His fingers and limbs were overly long for his body, and he was wearing a black hooded coat with loose sleeves, grey pants, boots, and a t-shirt with a vintage ad for spam.

However, his skin lacked the translucent quality it usually had, and his shadow -

“You have a shadow,” I blurted out, “You have a - the grass. You’re actually crushing down the grass.” I knelt down and confirmed for myself that yes, the grass could be pressed down, and then I turned around and thrust out my hand. The softness was waiting just feet behind me. “Where are we?”

“This is an inbetween place,” he replied, watching as I shuffled a few feet to the side and stuck out my hand again, “We needed somewhere safe to talk.”

I pulled my hand from the softness and tried again. “And the deserted highway wasn’t cutting it?”

Isa pressed his lips together. “It’s not humans that I’m worried about overhearing us.”

I paused mid thrust. “Oh.” The fear which had almost been forgotten in my wonder flared up.

“Here,” Isa said, and he took my hand again, leading me around whatever invisible portal we had passed through. Almost mindlessly I walked towards the car.

“Are we safe here, then?”

He shrugged. “Should be. I don’t think I was followed - there’s no good reason anyone would, really, I’m not a major player. But it’s not wise to talk about these things in the open on principle.”

We reached the car, and I stretched out my hand to touch it. It was solid under my fingers, but the numbers on the license plate were scrambled, changing every time I blinked. 

Isa stopped me as I went to open the driver’s side door.

"I just wanted to see if it would start,” I said.

Isa shook his head. “It might, but it’s not wise to go through any doors here. There’s no telling where you might end up.”

A little disappointed, I perched on the trunk instead, pulling up my legs and wrapping my arms around them. Isa stood before me, hands shoved in his pockets.

“So…” I started, Isa looking at me expectantly, “Are you an angel?”

Isa burst out laughing. It was an odd sound, out of place in the unnatural silence of the inbetween.

“No, and I wouldn’t let an angel hear you say that if I were you. Actually, it would probably be fine; most angels I’ve met are quite nice. But trust me, if you ever meet an angel, you’ll know it. People tend to fall over when they show up.”

“Okay, not an angel.” There went half the theories I’d ever read. “Then what are you? And don’t say a reaper.”

“I never really liked that name anyway,” he replied. He kicked the ground for a moment, thinking. “I’m the guardian of your soul. I’ve been with you since your soul first joined your body. I will ensure no one touches it until your life is complete.”

“…And when my life is complete?”

“I take your soul,” he answered nonchalantly, “ - Kat?”

I rolled off the car, running into the field, running towards the softness.

Maybe he wasn’t an angel after all. But there were other theories about the reapers.

“Kat?” he called after me, “I’m not taking your soul here and now.”

I stumbled to a stop in a panic. The grass all looked the same. Whatever gateway we’d walked through wasn’t marked by any kind of visual cue. I was effectively trapped.

“Maybe you’re not taking it now,” I said as I turned, arms tight by my sides, hands clenched, “but you’re going to.”

Isa walked towards me slowly, “That probably wasn’t the best way for me to phrase that.” I shrank away from him instinctively, and he sighed. “This would be easier if I was an angel. They’re good at explaining things. Can I try again?”

He waited until I nodded hesitantly.

“I’m the guardian of your soul. I was bound to you the moment your soul entered your body. While you live, I’ll protect your soul from harm. When your days are complete, I’ll carry your soul to its rest. I’m not going to kill you, consume your soul, drain your life force, steal your corporeal form,  keep you in a tortured disembodied state devoid of all sensation, or anything else of that kind.”

I stared at him. “That’s…really specific.”

“But you’re not running this time,” Isa noted.

“If you’re lying, I’m screwed anyway,” I retorted.

“Ah.” Isa’s body seemed to droop ever so slightly. “I liked it better when you just trusted me.”

“And I liked it better when I wasn’t afraid I was going crazy,” I snapped. I shut my eyes and paused, willing myself to breath deeply. “I’m tired. I’m stressed and exhausted and I have no clue what’s going on. You disappeared for two weeks and I didn’t even know reapers could do that, and now you’re talking and you touched me and I’m somehow not dead and we’re in a freaking alternate dimension or something and it’s just a bit much.”

“I didn’t intend to let things get this out of hand,” Isa admitted, “I only thought I’d be gone for a few hours at most.”

Finally, the question that had been burning in my chest for weeks. “What happened? Why did you leave?”

“There was a reaper who needed help. He and his human were being targeted, and they weren’t going to make it.”

“Are they okay?”

His face brightened a bit. “They are. The woman died and he was able to deliver her soul safely.”

“Your definition of a happy ending and mine are a little different,” I muttered, “What did they need protection from?”

Isa looked grim. “There are many beings who would want to misuse a human soul,” he said softly, “And there are others who would like nothing more than to see a reaper give into the temptation to take advantage of their charge. Some of these were attacking this reaper in the hope of either claiming the soul for themselves or, if nothing else, forcing the reaper into a position where he drew on the soul for power. I thought they’d back off once I came to his aid, but they fought until the end.”

Behind Isa’s shoulder, I saw something like a dark smudge on the horizon where the mountains met the sky. A horrible sense of wrongness settled in my gut.

“I didn’t mean to leave you for so long,” he continued, “And it shouldn’t -”

“Isa,” I interrupted, pointing urgently, “There’s something here.”

Isa turned to look. The smudge was getting larger. “No,” he said, “No no no no!” He grabbed my hand.

“We need to move now!” He took off across the field, dragging me behind him. We passed through the softness and the world shifted, the rosy light turning grey. We sprinted back to my car.

I looked back towards the mountains. I couldn’t see anything.

“Get in the car,” Isa ordered, and I hurried to do so. After buckling myself in, I looked up to see Isa pull out a gun.

“Drive home as fast as you can,” he said, ignoring my shock, “And don’t stop until I say so.” With that, he swung himself onto the roof of my car.

I turned on the car and made a U-turn, pressing the pedal to the floor. A minute later gun shots rang out, and I looked into the mirror to see something burst through the portal and hurtle down the broken highway in pursuit.

anonymous asked:

MORE HEADCANONS!!! please?

You guys are lucky I have like, a mega list of these lol.

  • Lance sleeps like a corpse.
    • It was something he sort of trained himself to do, mostly because the first time he tried using a face mask at night it got everywhere and his mother nearly skinned him alive
    • so yeah, he’s a log, and will tend to stay in one place on the bed from dusk to dawn
    • Keith on the other hand, tosses and turns like the rugrat he is
    • He’ll wake up with his sheets halfway off the bed and his pillows thrown across the room wondering why he has a huge kink in his neck.
      • oh yeah, because he slept with it hanging over the edge of the bed (-_-)
    • Needless to say their first night sleeping in the same bed starts off great, with Lance relishing in having Keith curl up into his side like a little koala, and they both fall asleep fairly easily
    • but then Keith happens.
      • Lance wakes up in the middle of the night wondering groggily why Keith’s fucking foot is on the pillow and where the hell is his other half?!
      • And, Oh there it is. On the floor. 
      • Like seriously Keith how is that even comfortable you human slinky.
    • so Lance hoists him back up, shifts so that Keith is on the inside of the bed facing the wall, and wraps his limbs around the boy to keep him secure
    • It works, for the most part, but Lance wakes up the next morning without any feeling whatsoever in his arms and legs
      • he doesn’t mind too much though, because goddamn Keith is really cute in the morning
        • Plus Keith feels super bad about waking Lance up and sort of..coddles Lance all day afterwards.
      • so yeah, Lance doesn’t mind at all.
  • Keith is really good a naming smells
    • Like…scary good
    • The team will be walking around on some weird ass planet and Keith will just, without batting an eye, drop a line like:
      • the air smells like wet cotton candy mixed with spit.
      • And the others can’t even be mad because what the fuck it actually does?! 
    • It’s like his superpower or something, and there has yet to be an odour Keith can’t name, or at least relate to something else
      • K: Lance your hair smells like pine tree sap and wet dirt
      • L: …is that a good thing?
      • K: yeah.
      • L: Oh! Okay then!
    • Shiro is actually the one that asks him to stop the most
    • mostly because he grew up with this shit and so many things have been ruined for him
    • like, one time Keith said his hair gel smelled like freshly opened packaged meat, and he’s never recovered
  • Keith is also hella good with kids
    • No one really knows why, but youngsters just flock towards him
    • Hunk calls him the Pied Piper of Children and it would be cute if it wasn’t so goddamn true
    • Every planet they visit that has kids on it immediately run up to Keith, or else hold his hand or cling to his legs.
    • he’s just as confused as the others because I’m not even fun! I just stand here!
      • Lance was super jealous at first, because I have the siblings, so I should be the one who these children worship. and I’m more experienced, why do they love Keith?!
        • It must be the mullet.
      • But after they start dating Lance just finds it adorable, and has to stifle a part of him that really wants kids of his own one day each time he sees Keith bend to pick up a young’un
    • The others tease him relentlessly whenever they see him watching Keith interact with babies. 
      • Lance you’re making the face again
      • L: What face?
      • The ‘I’m so madly in love with Keith’ face
      • L: I’m not!
        • He is.
  • Lance speaks Spanish around the castle
    • At first it was just for fun, singing lyrics and what not
    • but after having a reoccurring nightmare about never seeing his family again, he sort of does it now to try and keep his language alive
      • The other’s don’t really know why Lance has suddenly started speaking strictly in Spanish to Blue, but don’t question it
      • Keith does, because he’s curious, and Lance tells him the reason behind it
        • After that Keith makes an effort to learn some Spanish phrases that he surprises Lance 
        • Lance cries.
          • He denies it, but he did.
        • Keith comforted him, and there was a lot of cuddling involved.
  • Lance’s favourite colour, despite popular belief, is not actually blue
    • It’s grey
      • Like the colour of thunderstorms and rain
      • Or waves as they lap the beach when it’s overcast out
        • Or Keith’s eyes in certain lighting…
      • Not many people know this, except Hunk and Keith, simply because it’s not something he tends to share
      • But Keith makes a point of beginning to collect pictures of storms and oceans from Earth specialty shops whenever they visit alien malls 
        • Lance keeps them all pinned up by his headboard, where he’ll sit and stare at them on days when he’s feeling extra gloomy about missing Earth
        • And if Keith’s with him, he’ll turn off the light and just gaze into his eyes, watching as they shift from a dark indigo to a heavy grey as the shadows play with his irises
      • That usually doesn’t last long though, since they end up making out, both thinking god why is he so attractive! as they let their lips do the talking

Again, stopping myself here. Some of these made their way into one of my fics….

smile ✦ peter parker

summary : as the adopted daughter of none other than tony stark, you have a myriad of responsibilities. babysitting peter parker probably wasn’t supposed to be one of them. not that you’re complaining.

word count : 4.7k (also known as the longest thing I’ve ever written)

author’s note : ur adopted b/c not everyone is white and i don’t want anyone to feel excluded from reading this due to the fact tony is white (and yes ik there are interracial couples i just want everyone to feel included i want to make sure whoever wants to read this can without feeling weird about it b/c i know it is something that bothers people in the fanfic community okay bye enjoy my loves.)

   Tony Stark was a lot of things to a lot of people. He was the billionaire, he was the genius, the philanthropist, and the notorious playboy in his younger years. Most notably, however, was that he was Iron Man. He was marveled at by the entire world, him and the group of heroes that stood beside him; the Avengers, as they called themselves. To you, however, he was your father. 

   A terribly overprotective one, at that. 

  Of course, this was only to be expected of a father, even a foster one, but the lengths the man went to in order to keep his only daughter out of whatever he deemed trouble were rather extensive. You rarely ever left the Avengers tower, and if you did you were accompanied by a team of people you could only describe as rip off Secret Service men. Sometimes, Natasha would replace them, or Steve, but that was a rare occurrence. You were homeschooled by the best tutors his money could pay for- this particular move was less about refining your education and more about keeping you away from any boy in the five boroughs. 

   You chose to spend majority of your time reading in your room and training, always wary of anyone who approached you about being a friend. Your surname meant everything to people, especially the girls that wandered around Manhattan desperate to become the bestie of the daughter of the richest man in New York. You loved your dad with all your heart, but the stigma that ran with the Stark name would never stop irritating you. 

   That, and the impromptu plans he threw at you on a regular basis. 

   “Miss Stark, your father is requesting access to your room. He knows you hate it when he barges in.” Vision drifted into your room without warning, making you jump. You yanked your earbuds out of your ears, giving him a look. 

   “I hate when anyone barges in, Vision. That includes you, too.” You pushed your chair away from your desk, placing your pen on the desk and shutting your notebook. “Tell him he can come in if he lets me become an Avenger.” You raised your voice at this, knowing he would hear you. 

   “He says that he’ll consider it if you let him in.” 

   You raised your eyebrows. “Touché.” You motioned for the door to open, and your father walked into the room, immediately taking his pristinely polished shoes off and lying down on your bed. You stared at him.“Dad, it’s not cool to wear sunglasses inside. You look lame.” 

   Tony Stark rolled his eyes at you. “It’s called a look, sweetheart.” You laughed, pretending to nod in agreement. He placed his hands behind his head as you spun your chair back around to your desk. “What are you working on?” 

   “Something for Bruce,” you muttered, pen cap between your teeth as you continued to jot down important points from his numerous lab reports. You were going to have to hand in a full analysis of his findings for your end of term science paper, and he was more than willing to aid you. “Science report.” 

   “My daughter, beautiful and intelligent, my flesh and blood,” Tony declared proudly. 

   “Dad, I love you to the death, but I’m still not your biological kid,” you smiled all the same, though, and he knew behind the tough exterior you were happy to hear his expressions of admiration. 

    “Who needs a biological kid when I’ve got this great, wonderful adopted one right in front of me.” 

   Not looking up from your notebook, you said, “You’re really laying it on thick today. I’m all of those things, obviously, but I know you want something. So, what is it?” You paused, then said, “Thank you, by the way.” 

   “You sure we’re not related?” He sat back up, clasping his hands together. “What do you say about Germany?” 

   “Nice enough place I guess, interesting history, why?” 

   “I kind of need you to go there for two weeks with me.” 

   With a groan, you dropped your pen and held your face in your hands. “Another surprise trip? Dad, I have school. I have homework! Do you see this?” You held up the thick stack of reports from Banner’s lab, waving them around. “This is gonna be, like, my life’s work.” 

   Tony shook his head. “Kids these days and their homework. Seriously. When I was at school I would have taken any opportunity to shirk my responsibilities.” 

  “You did do that.”

    He waved his hand. “Technicalities. Anyway, as you know the Avengers have been disassembled. Sokovia Accords and all that bullshit. I assume you’ve been keeping up?” 

   “Hard not to.” It was true. Anything in the news was about the great split of the infamous team, Captain America vs Iron Man. It was impossible to turn on the television without hearing about it. And, considering you lived underneath the same roof as half of them, it was quite literally not an option to be ignorant to what was going on. 

   “Good,” he grinned proudly again. If there was one emotion that the man felt whenever he was around, it was proud. Nearly everything you did made him beam with pride, and if you had been placed into an actual high school, there was no doubt in his mind that the person at the top of every single class would be you. You excelled no matter the circumstances. “So, to sum up, there’s gonna be a big showdown in Germany. Western style, naturally. Guns blazing and everything.” 

   Your eyes lit up and you nearly flew out of your chair, rushing over to him. “Oh my god, are you finally gonna let me fight? You’ve seen my training, right? I’m getting so good. I’m like, practically Natasha level good. She’s been showing me that move where I can snap people’s necks with my thighs and-” 

   “First of all, your thighs are not going around anyone’s neck, so jot that down,” he interrupted. Your enthusiasm visibly deflated. “I need you to kind of watch over this kid who’s coming with us. He’s from Queens. You love Queens.” 

   “You’re making me babysit?” You flopped down on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. “C’mon, dad, I’m sixteen. That’s practically an adult. I think I should be allowed to fight this time. I’m Avenger worthy.” 

   “Practically an adult is not the same as literally an adult, as in over eighteen.” You groaned again. “Don’t call it babysitting, anyway. He’s your age. Well, he’s a few months younger, but that doesn’t matter. Just call it… hanging out with a good kid that’s fighting for your dear old dad and making sure he doesn’t get into trouble in Germany or annoy Happy too much.” He patted your knee, standing up. “We leave in the morning, kiddo, so pack up.” 

   “How come he gets to fight if he’s younger than I am?” 

   “’Cause he’s not my daughter. Goodnight, light of my life.” He kissed your forehead before leaving, giving you another encouraging smile.

   “Goodnight, pain my ass,” you grumbled as he left. He popped back in, a stern expression on his face. “If I watch your new protégée can I become an Avenger?” Tony rubbed a hand over his eyes. Teenage girls were exhausting. 

   “We’ll talk about it.”


   You’re sitting at your breakfast table with suitcases piled next to you when Peter Parker strolls into your life with happiness in his every footstep because he is just so, so glad to be there. You’re spooning cereal into your mouth when he sits down directly across from you, a video camera cupped in his soft looking hands and the little red button clicked on, meaning that he is recording you. You place your spoon back into the bowl of milk that is dusted with cinnamon sugar from the Cinnamon Toast Crunch you’ve been eating for the past ten minutes. 

   “Do you mind?” 

   “Mind what?” He asked, peeking up from behind his camera. You gestured toward it, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. 

   “The camera. I’m kind of still in the middle of eating breakfast in my pajamas,” you leaned forward, switching it off. “You must be the Spider-Boy.” The chestnut haired boy feels a blush creeping up his neck and settling along his cheekbones when you say that. 

   “Oh, did Mr. Stark tell you that?” He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly. “Um, it’s Spider-Man, actually.” He mumbled the man part, knowing fully well that he didn’t look like much of a man in the eyes of anyone, his eyes casting down as he fidgeted with the strap on his camera. 

   “Oh good,” you nodded. You took another spoonful of cereal. “I like that better. Nicer ring to it.” You grabbed your box of sugary breakfast and pushed it toward him, an offering. 

   “Huh?” He was a bit dazed. He stared at the box in front of him and then realized he had been doing that for far too long of a time to be considered normal. “Oh, right, um, sure, thanks!” He opened the box and took a handful, shoving it in his mouth. You kept eating your cereal, silently staring at the bowl and willing yourself not to laugh at the boy in front of you. With all his nerves, he was still a bundle of energy and cheerfulness, and, well, let’s face it, he was sort of adorable. “So, you think my name’s cool?” He tried to sound suave, charming, as he said it, tried to smirk at you, but he stopped when he realized that he looked stupid.

   You gave him a half smile. “It’s pretty good.” His face positively lit up with happiness to be taken seriously, and you knew the feeling too well. You stuck out your hand. “Oh, forgot to introduce myself-” 

  “Y/N Stark, adopted daughter of Mr. Stark, probably the smartest girl in all of New York and, uh, correct if I’m wrong but… Black Widow’s best student as well as Bruce Banner’s apprentice.” 

   You gaped at him. The blush he had been sporting crept up to his ears and made his nose turn the shade of a strawberry. “Well, uh, yeah,” you said, flustered. “Should I creeped out or flattered?” 

   “Flattered, please.” The genuine worry in his eyes as he leaned forward made you laugh. He had an endearing personality. 

   “Flattered it is.” You watched the slow sigh of relief leave his mouth, his hands flying up the mess of hair atop his head and fixing it distractedly. Your dad walked into the room, and Peter practically fell out of his chair trying to stand up and seem presentable. Your slouch was indicative that you didn’t care much. He was just your dad. “Morning, pops,” you slid the box over his way.  

   He frowned at it.” Y/N, that stuff is crap. I don’t know why you eat it.” 

   “Wanda and I like it,” you said defensively, a slip of the tongue. You knew your dad was going to get annoyed at the mention of the Scarlet Witch, who had evaded and ignored his attempts at keeping her powers under control. “It’s good. High quality. Right, Peter?” You whipped your head toward him. 

   He felt his heart give a little tug. He grabbed the box out of your hand and shoved more cereal in his mouth, the cinnamon sugar sticking to his lips. “Yeah, Mr. Stark. Best stuff ever,” he said through a mouthful of it. Tony gave them an amused glance, picking up your two heaviest suitcases and beckoning you both to the landing strip. Peter swallowed his food. 

   He didn’t even like Cinnamon Toast Crunch that much. He was just thrilled that you knew his real name.


   Everything about this kid was infuriatingly dorky in the cutest way possible. You came to this conclusion as you boarded the jet with ease, sitting in your usual spot by the window and greeting Happy with your typical friendly smile and idle chitchat. Peter stumbled onto it with awe written across his features as he stared around the place, touching nearly everything much to Happy’s dismay. 

   “Haven’t you been on a plane before?” The man asked, growing irritated with the way the kid was filming everything. You saw Peter zoom in on Happy’s face and grinned out your window. 

   “Nope, never!” Peter exclaimed, his video camera still in front of him as he captured every detail of his trip. 

   “Well, sit down so we can take off,” Happy said gruffly, grabbing Peter’s shoulders and forcefully placing him into a seat. 

  Peter sat still for a moment, then hopped over to the seat next to you. He placed his camera in front of him on the tray table. “Y/N, smile for the camera. I’m recording.” You looked at him, then turned to the camera and gave it a deadpan stare. You even threw in a slow blink. “Good enough,” he shrugged. He kept it recording as he shifted in his seat so that his entire body was facing you, his chin resting in his hand and his elbow on your armrest. His gaze was sort of nice. “So, Miss Stark, I have a few questions.” 

   “Um, okay, shoot,” you closed your book that you had open on your lap. “I’m not that interesting, just so you know.” 

  “I think you’re interesting,” he assured you. You heard Happy let out a choked laugh at Peter’s flirting attempt, but it was just another thing you found sort of lovely. It was a genuine compliment. “What’s your favorite subject in school?”

   You’d been expecting the typical what’s it like being Tony’s daughter spiel, and you were pleased to get an actual question about yourself for once. “I like everything, I guess. I kind of love school, but I don’t go to a conventional school, so. Training is cool, I like that a lot.” 

   “You train with Black Widow, I have to ask- can you show me some moves? I need to refine my technique before the fight,” he explained.  

    “Do you wanna learn how to crush people with your thighs?”

   “Wow! Do you think I could? Could you teach me? That’s so cool,” he beamed, turning to the camera for a split second with an overexcited look. 

   You pursed your lips, staring out your window for a minute. You were up in the air by now, and there was long flight ahead of you. “Maybe. If my dad is okay with it. I have to check.” Peter looked confused, 

   “Why wouldn’t he be?” 

   “He’s, you know, really overprotective.” You put your first against the cheek, leaning the same way that Peter was. You sighed. “I don’t have a lot of friends. Which is fine, but I can’t even attempt to go make any because I have a whole freaking SWAT team on my ass the minute I step out of the tower because he’s so worried about my safety.” You let your head hit the window, your eyes rolling skyward. “And that makes no sense because-” 

   “You’re really strong and stuff. You can protect yourself,” Peter finished. 

    “I think you know me a little too well, Peter,” you said, poking him lightly in the arm. “But… yeah, exactly. I don’t really get to do anything fun. I don’t have adventures. Sure, reading is fun and studying is fun for me and training is great and I love hanging out with everyone in the tower but I’m still a teenager. No fun for me, though. My life is pretty boring, sorry if that makes your little video diary suck.” You stuck your tongue out at his camera.  

   “No worries,” he said, taking it off the tray table and turning it toward you. “Tell me every boring detail, Miss Stark.” 

   “As long as you stop calling me Miss Stark.” 

   “You’ve got a deal.” 

   It was a seven hour trip, and you both passed out by the three hour mark after Peter had pried every excruciating detail from your life out of you. You hated sleeping on airplanes, but your head was slumped against his shoulder and his arm was knocking against your own and his sweatshirt was as soft as pillow. You remembered the shy glance he had given you just before you knocked out on his shoulder for the remainder of the flight. He had a sweet smile. 


    Peter filmed absolutely everything. He filmed himself getting off the plane and then filmed you getting off the plane and nearly shoved the camera in Happy’s face until he threatened to break it and Peter backed off. He radiated enthusiasm. “Look at this, and this, and this, oh shit wow that’s so cool look at this! Oh man this is good stuff!”

   “Peter this is literally just the airport how am I supposed to take you around the actual city?!”

   “OH WOW Y/N have you seen this!” 

    “Yes, Peter!” 

     He zoomed in on your face, your devoid of emotion look appearing again. “Are you ever gonna smile for the camera?” He gave you a pout, doe eyes and all. You turned away. 

   “No. I’m supposed to be babysitting you, please be behave.” You touched your fingers to the bridge of your nose, dragging Peter to a couch. “Please sit. We’re getting the hotel reservations checked.” 

   “Do they juice boxes? I’m really thirsty.” He was just trying to make you laugh at this point, and annoying you was kind of funny for him. You let out an involuntary chuckle when he pretended to claw at his throat, throwing himself on the ground. 

   “I’ll make sure they have juice boxes for you, Petey. You’re such a seven year old, geez.” You pretended to gag. 

   Looking offended, Peter replied, “I’m actually twelve.” 

   Jokingly, you said, “You’re a twelve year old that’s going to get a punch in the face if you don’t settle down right now.” He stood up, directly in front of you with his light eyes and little grin, another feverish looking heat burning at his face. Nevertheless, he still said, “It’d be an honor to get beaten up by you.” 

  His voice, the sincerity he carried within it despite the ludicrous statement, made you feel those famed butterflies fluttering inside you. Maybe it was the way he looked into your eyes as he said it. Maybe it wasn’t. But something within you was starting to like Peter Parker, and you’d barely known him for twenty four hours. 

   Then again, it was hard to not like Peter. The kid was just so damn likable. 


   He had known it from the moment he first set his eyes upon you that day in the tower that he was a goner. If he had known it then, just from sitting down across from you with nothing to him but his lanky figure and a suit that resembled a onesie more than it did a costume fit for a hero such as he, he was sure of it now, a week and a half later. 

   Every day had been the same routine. He’d be up bright and early in the morning so you could help with him his training, teaching him how to utilize the suit your father had given him with ease rather than his usual tactic of jumping into everything blind. You’d been the one to help come up with nearly all of the web shooter combinations. He didn’t know all of them yet, or close to half of them, but he was progressing wonderfully. 

   After training, you’d give him the tour of your favorite places around Germany, close enough to where you’d both be able to get back to the hotel before dark. He filmed the both of you constantly, but you shied away from the cameras every time without fail. He couldn’t understand why, but he didn’t push. He just liked filming in general, and would accept you not smiling in any of his clips as long as you were still in there. 

   There was a beautiful sense of normalcy that came with hanging around Peter. You reveled in it. No one had ever made you laugh so hard with his ridiculous attempts at jokes or made you smile so much at his shy flirting skills that clearly needed to be revisited. 

   It was okay. You didn’t mind. And the fact that you didn’t tease him for it made him so, so happy. 

   Then, came the day of the fight. Peter had his camera out, he was dressed in his spidey suit, and you were standing there next to him dictating who he should and shouldn’t go after. 

   “Don’t go after Wanda ‘cause she could obliterate you in two seconds and Cap could crush you, too, but he won’t ‘cause he’s really nice like that. Bucky won’t care as much, though, so don’t do that- Ant-Man seems pretty cool and harmless but I don’t have as much intel on him and Peter if you get hurt you have to go hide somewhere-” 

   “I’m not gonna get hurt,” he said confidently. 

   You ignored him. “I’m gonna be in your earpiece, figuratively speaking, so I’ll hear everything you do and if you talk I’ll be able to hear you and you can hear me. So, just… keep me updated.” Peter took off his mask for a second, hair sticking up everywhere from the static. You leaned up, smoothing it back into place. Everything about him was soft. You wanted to curl up in it and stay there for as long as you could. 

   “I’ll be fine, Y/N, don’t worry,” Peter placed his hand on your shoulder. You felt your face heat up. 

   “I- I’m not worried.” You totally were. “I know you’ll be fine.” You didn’t want him getting hurt. “I just want you to be careful.” You didn’t want him to fight. 

   You could’ve sworn his face fell a  bit when you said you weren’t worried, but he squeezed your shoulder anyway. Without a moment’s hesitation, you threw your arms around him, your nose pressing against his neck as you took a deep breath. He stood there for a second without doing anything until he realized that if he didn’t hug you back, he’d be the dumbest person on the face of the Earth. You felt his surprisingly defined arms hug you back. 

   You didn’t look at him when you pulled away. You stared at the spider emblazoned on his chest, gave him a quick good luck, then departed from the room. You sat on your own hotel bed with a rapidly beating heart.

    The nerves were killing you. Ten more minutes. You opened your laptop and pulled up the system that would allow you to communicate across Team Stark. You were more focused on your dad and Peter. You tapped into your dad’s earpiece after placing the headset on. “Dad?” You spoke into the microphone. 

   “Hey, kiddo, everything okay?” 

   “Y-Yeah I just-” you took another breath. “Be safe. I love you.” 

   “I love you too, Y/N. Are you sure everything is okay over there?” 

   “Can you just make sure Peter gets out okay? If he gets hurt, bring him right back, please. That’s it.” Maybe it was a stupid request in someone else’s eyes, but you needed Peter to make it back in one piece. Tony Stark looked over at Peter Parker, crouching in his hiding spot and fumbling around with the gloves of his suit and gave the kid a knowing smile. Of course that was the one his  daughter fell for in the end. Perfectly fitting. 

   “I’ll make sure.” You knew your father couldn’t see the grateful smile on your face, the sigh of relief that fell past your lips when he spoke these words.

   Peter Parker, I swear if you make it out of this, I will smile like an idiot in every single one of your stupidly adorable video diary things. I swear. Just be safe.


 “Your black eye is awful,” you told him, dabbing at it with more cream. “Totally ruins your face.”

   “I think I look manly.” 

   “You think incorrectly.” You stepped back, your fingertips tilting his chin up so you could examine it further. “I think I got the worst of it. You did really well, Peter. Exceptionally well.” His face was glowing from your compliment. 

   “Can I get on that tape?” He asked excitedly, ducking under his hotel bed for his camera. You nodded, and he switched the camera on. He held out his arm so that you were both in frame. And you smiled. He forgot all about what you were supposed to say the moment that beautiful smile appeared there. “I- wow, Y/N.” 

   “What?’ 

    His stare was kind as it usually was. “You just-” he paused. “Your smile is really, really beautiful.” There was no way for you to turn away from the camera this time and you were left grinning like a lovestruck idiot at the boy in front of you, leaning up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. 

  “Thank you.” 

  You slept the entire plane ride the way you had the last time, curled up against Peter. This time, it was intentional. One of your arms was flung across his waist and his was wrapped around your shoulders, the sweatshirt he had came in now swaddling you cozily. There were two separate cars waiting for you. You stood in between them when the flight got off, the sleeves of his sweater hanging off your hands as you reached out to grab his. He felt you push a piece of paper into his hand. “You better call me, Peter Parker. I’ll be really upset if you don’t.” 

   He wrapped you suddenly in an embrace that lifted you off your feet just a little bit, his lips pressing against your temple. “I’ll call you every day.” 


   He kept true to his word. Every day without fail, your phone rang with a call from Peter, and you fell asleep on the phone with him more often than not. If you weren’t on the phone with him, you were texting him, and if you weren’t doing that, you wished that you were. The consistent communication was better than nothing, but regardless, you missed his presence. You missed the way you felt walking next to him as he explained why chocolate ice cream was so clearly better than vanilla. You just missed him. 

   “Peter?” You held the phone to your ear, nestled in your blankets already even though it was barely nine o'clock. His sleepy voice mumbled out a yes? “Would it be stupid if I said that I missed you?” 

  She could practically hear his wide smile through the phone. “Of course not. I miss you, too. So much. Probably more than you miss me.” 

   “That’s so not true!” She scoffed. 

    “Wanna bet?” His tone was mischievous, no longer the hoarse, pretty voice of a boy just waking up from his nap. “Open your bedroom door.” 

    “Are you joking?” 

    You hung up the phone, throwing back your covers and not caring one bit that your hair was a dripping mess from your shower or that you were wearing  a terrible set of hello kitty pajamas that weren’t meant for anyone over the age of ten based on the size of the top. You nearly tackled him to the ground when you saw him standing in your doorway, a happy squeal escaping your lips. You were surprised he even got in, considering your dad wasn’t home, but you figured Vision had let him in. Vision always had a way of knowing. 

   “Have I ever told you that you have a really pretty smile?” Peter’s lips hovered over yours, almost hesitant. You took the initiative to kiss first, your hands delving into his silk-like hair. There was no point in waiting anymore. Your noses bumped together clumsily when he tilted his head back, admiring. You could feel your whole being light up when he gazed at you the way that he did, in that admiring, careful, Peter way of his. 

   “Careful, Spidey,” You warned, hands on his chest as you stared right back up at him. 

   “Careful of what?” He quirked an eyebrow. 

   “You’re going to make me fall in love with you one of these days if you keep looking at me like that.” It was only the truth, and you were a honest person.

   “That’s sort of the plan,” he shrugged in a seemingly careless way, but he couldn’t hide it. He was an open book. An open book who loved you, and the way that you smiled at him when he pulled back his sleeve to reveal a web shooter, a strange glint in those brown eyes of his as he said, “You up for an adventure?” 

Come Back to Me (Part One)

Fandom: Marvel
Ship: Peter Parker x Reader
Requested: No, but taken from this prompt list: “Just… come back alive, okay?”
Genre: Low-key angst??
Warnings: Spiderman Homecoming spoilers
Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten

Originally posted by j-murphy

Your best friend had raved on and on about asking his crush to the dance, and when he finally did it, you were the first he told. You pretended to be excited for him, and in a small way, you genuinely were. But when you thought of Liz slow-dancing with Peter instead of you, and him kissing her at the end of the night and not you, the excitement for him was largely overshadowed by sadness, because it would never be you. He would never have feelings for you.

So when you saw Liz walk into the Homecoming dance without Peter on her arm, your eyebrows furrowed. She walked around, greeting people everywhere around her, when she made her way to your group with Ned and Michelle. 

“Hey guys!” She said excitedly and smiled, and you forced a smile back. She was a nice girl; you couldn’t deny that. She was good for Peter.

“Hey,” you said back. “Where’s Peter? I thought he’d be with you,” you tried to keep your voice casual, but Michelle caught your eye and smirked. She knew your secret. 

“Oh, he’s in the car with my dad. He should be here soon,” she smiled again, dazzling one, before excusing herself to greet more partygoers. You turned around to face your two friends, fake smile still on your face.

“You okay?” Ned asked, a sympathetic expression on his face that you didn’t see often. He knew your secret too.

(It wasn’t much of a secret to anyone but Peter.)

“I’m okay,” you gave a real smile this time, and his eyes shifted to somewhere behind you. You stiffened, knowing your best friend was here. You turned around, seeing a panicked look on his face, but you knew that you were the only one who could tell his expression. You’d known each other for years; you knew all of his in-and-outs.

He went up to Liz and tapped her on the shoulder, and as he spoke to her, you saw his expression become guilty. You couldn’t see Liz’s because her back was turned to you, but you were sure it wasn’t pleasant. You saw him mouth ‘I’m sorry’ before sprinting through the gym doors and into the hallways of the school. 

Before you knew what you were doing, you were running after him. You abandoned your shoes after crashing through the gym doors and followed him barefoot. “Peter!” You yelled and turned another corner, but he continued to sprint farther ahead of you. After yelling his name again and turning a few more corners he stopped in front of a set of lockers and turned around to look at you.

“(Y/N), go back to the dance,” he said, the panic now even more evident on his face.

“No,” you said stubbornly. “What do you think you’re doing? You’ve been looking forward to this for so long!” 

He simply shook his head before grabbing you by the shoulders and turning you around. “You need to go. Now.”

“No!” You pushed his hands away from you. He looked at you desperately. “What is going on with you?”

He turned away again and mumbled under his breath, pacing back and forth. 

“Peter,” you said his name again, softer this time, and grabbed his hand to stop his pacing. “I’m your best friend. You can tell me anything,” you say, ignoring the feeling erupting in your chest from him squeezing your hand. 

“I know, I know,” he whispered and stayed silent for a few moments, staring down at your connected hands, before sighing, pulling away from you, and turning towards the lockers again. He bent down and pulled the bottom of the lockers, and you gasped in shock when the wall of lockers lifted up to reveal a small crevice filled with multiple things. 

Peter pulled out a ball of red and blue fabric and unrolled it, then turned around to show you it. You stared at try fabric in his hands, seeing the spider on the front and the mask with goggles falling to the side. You stared at it, and stared at it, and stared at it, before it finally clicked. You had seen this suit on the news multiple times before, clad on a mystery man you had always found so brave. 

You looked up at Peter and noticed his nervous expression matching yours. “Why do you have Spiderman’s suit, Pete?” You whispered, and you knew why he had it, you knew, but you couldn’t bring yourself to comprehend it. 

“You know why, (Y/N),” he sighed and looked down at the wrinkled fabric in his hands. 

“I need to hear you say it,” your voice was still quiet, and you looked down at the suit again. 

“I’m Spiderman,” Peter finally said, and your resolve crumbled. Tears flooded your eyes and your vision became blurry, and a few tears fell down your cheeks.  You weren’t sure why you were crying. You didn’t know if it was the betrayal of him not telling you, or the fear of him getting hurt, or something else entirely. But the tears continued to fall. 

“(Y/N),” he sighed again, and pulled you into a hug. “It’s okay. Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” you sobbed and laughed and cried, and Peter hugged you and rubbed your back until you could compose yourself. You pulled back from him after a few minutes and wiped your face with your hands, sure you looked like a mess. “But why are you leaving now?”

He sighed for what seemed like the millionth time in the last few minutes. “You know the guy that I’ve been fighting? All the news channels have been talking about it. Or, who Spiderman has been fighting.”

You nodded. “That bird dude?” Peter laughed, a real smile on his face that made you smile too.

“Yeah, yeah, the bird dude.” He chuckled and looked down at his feet before beginning to back away. “I gotta go. He’s gonna steal from Mr. Stark’s plane, and I need to stop him.”

“But why now,” you stressed, taking steps closer to him. “It’s our Homecoming.”

“He’s Liz’s dad,” he said, not actually answering the question, and you gasped.

“Liz’s dad?” Peter nodded. “Does she know?” He shook his head, backing away again.

“I really have to go, (Y/N),” he said, and went to turn around. 

“Wait!” You grabbed his hand again, and he looked at you expectantly. “I, um,” you wanted to tell him, you needed to tell him before it was too late. But you didn’t want to burden him before he went to risk his life. So instead of telling him what you desperately wanted to, you pulled him into a hug. 

He breathed deeply, resting his chin on top of your head as you listened to his heartbeat under your ear. You pulled back the slightest bit to look him in the eyes. “Just… come back alive, okay?” 

He smiled lightly and moved his hands from your back to your hands. “I always do.” He squeezed them once and let go, grabbing the suit from where he dropped it on the floor and running away from you. You sniffed loudly as he turned a corner, disappearing from your vision, and the sound echoed through the empty hallways. 

You began to walk back to the dance, wiping at your face again and collecting your discarded shoes to make yourself presentable. And as you made your way through the school by yourself, you thought, Good luck, Spiderman.

******************
This is my first Peter piece that I’ve written in a while, so I hope everyone liked it! Feedback is always welcome! Requests for Tom Holland and Peter Parker imagines are open, so feel free to send one in! 

~e

anonymous asked:

I know you probably have a lot of requests with the gods and monsters - but would you ever do an Ares based one?

Zeus’s mistress Io remains in her form of a cow, guarded by Hera’s servant Argus, and Hera is content.

She will remain in that form until her death. Hera hopes that lying with her husband was worth the sacrifice.

Zeus won’t speak to her, unwilling to admit the cow is actually his lover and ensure her death, and equally unwilling to stand against his wife to try and rescue her. Hera has him just where she wants him, and it can’t last, it never does, but she intends to enjoy it while it does.  

Then Artemis comes to her, gold and fierce. She never flinches away from her queen, staring her in the face as if she is nothing more than another of her huntresses. If Hera did not hate her for being her husband’s daughter, she thinks she might actually like the girl. “Io has a destiny,” she says, “you must let her go.”

“I don’t care for her destiny,” Hera says idly, “especially when that destiny involves getting with my husband’s child.”

“She is to give birth to a new line of kings,” Artemis hisses, “to be the wife of a death god, to be mother goddess of a whole new people. She is not meant for us. You must let her go.”

“I am Hera,” she says, “I am Queen. I must do nothing.”

Artemis growls, hand twitching for her bow, but Hera only raises an eyebrow. Let the girl try. There are few that can stand against her, and the huntress is not among them. Artemis lets out a low breath and says, “Do it, my queen, and I will grant you what it is you most desire.”

“Some peace and quiet?” Hera asks.

“A child,” she answers. “Let Io go, let her fulfill her destiny as a goddess of the Black Land of the Nile. If you do that, I, the patron goddess of childbirth, will personally use every ounce of power I possess to ensure you conceive and deliver a child of Zeus.”

Hera’s eyes narrow, “Neither my power nor his has ever been able to achieve this. What makes you think you are any different?”

“We all have our domains,” she says, “just as you cannot command the sea, just as your husband has no power over the art of weaving, so can I ensure a healthy child when you could not.”

She taps her fingers against her throne. They call her a mother goddess, though she’s raised no children. Hephaestus may be her precious son, but he doesn’t know that it was not her that threw him from Olympus. Very few people know that. And she didn’t raise him regardless, that honor belongs to Hecate.

A child, of her and Zeus. A child she can raise.

“I accept,” she announces. “You may take her, and Zeus may fulfill her destiny.” She leans forward, brings the oppressive weight of her power to the fore and lowers the pressure of the air until Artemis is left shivering. “Know this, Patron Goddess of Childbirth. If Io births a son of Zeus before I do, I will travel to the Black Land of the Nile and slay her and her children with my own two hands. Not even Hades will be able to put her back together again.”

“Yes, my Queen,” Artemis says, unable to keep her teeth from chattering.

~

Hera is true to her word. She allows Hermes to think he’s tricked Argus and to steal Io away. She pretends to be outraged at the audacity, at the pure white cow traveling to the sands of the Nile.

Artemis is true to her word. Hera lies with Zeus, like she has so many times before, and a child grows inside of her. One day she stands before her husband and brings his hand to the swell of her stomach, “This is your child.”

Something almost like happiness steals across his face. She forgets, sometimes, that they hate each other only as much as they love each other. After so much time together, many would think it would be one or the other. They simply opted for both.

Artemis is there during the birth, her easy confidence more comforting then Hera will ever admit. Delivering Hephaestus was easy compared to this. She screams and cries and Hestia’s hands on her shoulders are all that keeps her from collapsing and begging someone to just cut the child from her. She doesn’t think she can die in childbirth, not with Artemis between her legs. She wishes she’d thought to ask before this began.

But she does not die. Her son is born, just as healthy and beautiful as Hephaestus was. “Well done,” Artemis says softly, placing the squirming child into her arms.

Zeus touches her hair and kisses his son’s forehead. “We shall call him Ares.”

“Very well,” she agrees, so tired her eyes struggle to stay open.

She hands her son to Hestia, and finally allows sleep to take her.

~

Ares grows into the spitting image of his father. Same copper-red skin, same silky black hair. Her husband keeps it short, but her son lets his grow long. The minutes Hera spends every morning brushing his hair are among her favorite.

He has an eager smile and a soft heart. Hera doesn’t know where he got it, since it’s certainly not from her or Zeus. Demeter tolerates his bumbling after her, though any time Kore attempts to meet her cousin Demeter’s temper frays. Poseidon allows Ares to explore the depths of the sea with a minor sea god acting as his guide. Apollo plays for him, and Artemis teaches him to hunt. Zeus’s lightning doesn’t burn his son, and when storms rage he takes Ares to the top of Olympus and teaches him to throw lightning bolts.

Hera selfishly does not allow Ares to go to the underworld. She knows he would be safe there, that Hades would protect him as he protected Hephaestus, but that’s precisely why she won’t allow it. They got to raise one of her sons already. It pains her to share Ares with them now.

He is happy, and kind, kinder than anyone would expect a child of her womb to be.

“He must choose a domain,” Zeus rumbles, watching Ares shoot arrows with perfect accuracy.

“He is a child still,” Hera says, “let him remain so for a little longer.”

“If he does not choose a domain,” Zeus warns, “one will choose him. We are gods. We must be gods of something.”

She flickers her gaze at him, and he scoots an inch away from her. “He is a child, and for now a child he will remain. We are not Demeter. We shall not thrust the responsibilities and power of a deity on a child who is not prepared for it.”

Zeus disapproves, but says nothing more.

Her son will be the god of something patient, something soft. The god of lost children, of heartbroken suitors, of forgiveness. Something where his gentle heart will aid him instead of hurt him.

She traded her happiness for power. She doesn’t regret it. But Ares doesn’t need to do the same – she’s the most powerful goddess that still walks the earth. He’s her son, and he’ll want for nothing she can provide.

~

Ares is almost fully grown, long hair reaching his hips even braided, and the strength of his limbs is such that he can keep up with Artemis on her most vigorous of hunts, that he can throw his father’s lightning bolts halfway across the world.

He’s been to every place, and met every god of the earth, sea, and sky.

Except for one.

 It’s not hard to find the volcano. He’s strong enough and old enough to take care of himself, and his mother does not worry when he says he’s going to the earth. But he did not tell her where, precisely, on the earth he was going.

He has strong legs.  It’s easy for him to climb to the top of the volcano. He’s almost made it there when something grabs his shoulders, stilling him. He turns, and stares into a single large eye. “What are you doing?” the cyclopes growls.

“I’m looking for Hephaestus,” he says, “He’s my brother.”

“My master has many brothers,” the cyclopes says.

Ares shakes his head. He is not the product of his father’s fling with a sprite or mortal. “I am Ares, son of Zeus and Hera. Just as Hephaestus is. I came here to meet my brother.” The cyclopes hesitates. He asks, “What’s your name?”

“Brontes,” he answers, surprised.

“Brontes,” he smiles, “I just want to meet him. I’ve never met him before. I won’t linger.”

There’s a moment where Brontes looks conflicted, and Ares tries to look as unassuming as possible. “Fine,” he huffs, “but don’t get angry at me if he dips you in lava.”

“That would be fun,” he says brightly. Lightning doesn’t burn him. So far the only thing hot enough to cause him pain is Hestia’s fire. He probably could go swimming in lava.

Brontes looks at him as if he’s slightly unhinged. He just keeps smiling.

~

There are more cyclopes underneath, and bright glittering machines that Ares can’t even begin to wrap his mind around. “Who are you?” someone demands, and a hand grabs his wrist and yanks him away from a boiling vat of lava that he’d been peering into.

He looks up at a man taller and broader than he is. He has skin almost as dark as the obsidian of his volcano, but lighter eyes. They are the color of dark amber, of molasses. “We have the same eyes,” he says happily.

Hephaestus releases him instantly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” he asks, “The mortals talk of you. No one else will. But you’re my brother, right?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, “Does Zeus know where you are?”

He shrugs, taking a step closer. His brother takes a step back. He wonders if he’ll have to treat Hephaestus like a spooked horse.  “Father doesn’t keep track of where I am. Mom know I’m on earth.” Hephaestus flinches, small enough that he almost doesn’t notice. “We have her eyes, you know.”

He can’t stop starring at Hephaestus’s skin. They do not work like mortals – Demeter, Hestia, Zeus, and Hera are all different shades despite coming from the same parents. But – Ares looks so much like his father. Kore looks like Demeter. Yet Hephaestus looks nothing like their father. He can see their mother in him, in the eyes and shape of his jaw, even in how angry he is right now. He looks like Hera does when she’s about to lose her temper, lips pressed into a thin line and the careful stillness of his shoulders.

“I wasn’t trying to make you angry,” he says plaintively, “I only wanted to say hello.”

Unlike their mother, Hephaestus lets out a deep breath and seemingly all of his anger along with it. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Why? You don’t even know me.”

Hephaestus kicks him lightly in the shin, the pretty gold and copper of his metal legs catching his eye. “You have legs, and I do not. Hera did not throw you from Mount Olympus as she threw me.”

Ares looks hard at his brother’s face. The stories say his mother threw her son away for being ugly, but he seems just as handsome as any other god Ares has seen. His features are strong and chiseled, and he supposes that could have looked unattractive on a baby, but –

– his mother loves him. Hera loves him with a ferocity only matched by her temper, she loves him at his most mischievous and irritable, loves him when a stray thunderbolt sets Demeter’s hair on end, loves him when even Artemis and Apollo have grown tired of his antics, loves him when Athena can tolerate no more of his questions. He is her son, and so her love comes without conditions.

He doesn’t think Hera would have loved his brother any less just because of how he looked.

He also knows that if he tries to say that, it’s likely Hephaestus will push him into a lava pit.

“Well, that’s not my fault,” he says, “If you don’t want us to be brothers, can’t we at least be friends?”

Hephaestus’s face softens. He looks like their mother then too.  He crosses his arms, “You can’t tell your parents.”

Our parents, he thinks but doesn’t say. “Obviously. Where did you get so many cyclopes?”

The last remnants of his brother’s stern façade shatters as he throws back his head and laughs.

~

Ares is very near maturity, more adult than child, and his father constantly pressures him to choose a domain. He usually quiets with one sharp glance from his wife, but the fact remains that it is time for Ares to take his place among the gods of the pantheon, to have temples in his name and worshipers like a proper deity.

He doesn’t really want any of that.  He wants to continue hunting with Artemis, learning with Athena, building with Hephaestus.

His brother lets him help out in his workshop sometimes, if he’s very careful and does exactly as he’s told. Otherwise he sits on a table, legs swinging, and watches his brother work and tells him about what he does in the time in-between visits. He talks about their mother enough that Hephaestus doesn’t flinch at her every mention, which Ares can only consider an improvement. Sometimes Brontes will stand beside him and they’ll eat sweet buns together.

Unfortunately, all things, good and bad, must come to an end.

~

There are two giants, Otus and Ephialtes, who grow tired of hearing of the golden boy of Olympus, who grow jealous of his kindness and his beauty.

These two giants sneak onto Mount Olympus in the middle of the night, sneak into Ares’s room, and kidnap him. They’re not stupid enough to attempt to kill him. Instead, they stuff him into an urn, and seal him inside. Ares rages and fights, uses every trick he can think of to break out his prison, but none of them work.

Stuck at the bottom of the urn and seething, he can’t help but think that if he’d listened to his father and chosen a dominion he might be strong enough to free himself. But he didn’t, so he can’t, and instead he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Days turn to weeks turn to months. He knows they’re looking for him. He knows his mother will tear apart the whole universe attempting to find him if nothing else. But – what if they can’t? What if he’s stuck in this urn for the rest of eternity?

In his darkest moments, his sorrow turns to rage. He is a god, son of Hera and Zeus, how dare they do this to him?

Then, one day, the urn opens.

Hermes peers down into it, then his face splits into a grin. “We’ve been looking for you!” He reaches down and hauls Ares out, and for a moment all he can do is blink at the glaring sun. Then his vision clears, and he sees they’re in the midst of a battle. The giants are fighting against the gods, against his parents, against the twins, against his brother. It’s bloody carnage, but – he can’t help but feel touched that all these people came looking for him. “Almost everyone offered to help find you,” he says, “but Hera didn’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves trying to sneak into their territory.”

No sooner has Hermes finished speaking than a giant barrels into his mother with sickening snap. Her shoulder slopes at a grotesque angle, but it hardly even slows her down.

“I have to help,” he says, a desperate urgency filling him. They came to help him, and now they’re getting hurt. That’s never something he’d wanted.

“Ares, wait!” Hermes calls out as he goes hurtling toward the battle. He doesn’t wait. Fighting on the ground can only do so much good, they’re strong but they’re outnumbered one hundred to one. He darts to Artemis, twisting around the bodies she’s throwing over her shoulder. “I need your bow!”

“Ares!” she says joyously, then, “What?”

“Trust me,” he says, “give me your bow.” A giant comes running towards them. Artemis flips him over her shoulder while continuing to stare at him in confusion. He’d be impressed if he wasn’t so worried. “Artemis, please!”

She hands over her bow. She moves to give him her quiver of arrows as well, but he’s already moving away from her. Next it’s to his father, who’s hurtling lightning bolts towards the swarm of giants crowding him. They’re deadly, but only so effective at close-range. He grabs a sizzling lightning bolt right from Zeus’s hand, the only being on the planet who could do that and survive, and keeps running. “Get clear!” he calls out over his shoulder. “Everyone move!”

He runs up past Hermes, needing to get to high ground for this to work. “Get everyone off the battlefield,” he says to Hermes. “Now.”

Hermes pulls a face, but by the time he makes it to the top of the mountain, the gods have shaken off most of the giants, are far enough away that he doesn’t have to worry.

He can do this. He’s Ares, the son of Hera and Zeus. He’s been trained in archery by the great huntress herself. He breaths in, and strings his father’s lightning bolt like an arrow. He pulls it back, breaths out, and lets the lightning bolt fly.

It lands in the middle of the battlefield full of confused giants. With a great clap of thunder and a burst of light, they’re all gone.

All that remains of the traitorous giants is a crater.

The gods are approaching him, his mother at a limping gait that makes his chest ache. Zeus gets to him first, grin stretched wide as he grabs him by both his shoulders. “My boy! That was magnificent!”

“Thanks,” he says. The smell of charred flesh is in the air, and it makes his stomach roll.

They kidnapped him. They stuffed him in an urn for over a year. They hurt his mom.

That doesn’t mean he enjoyed it. He never wants to do anything like that ever again.

“This was destiny,” his father says enthusiastically, and Ares has no idea what he’s talking about. “This is what you’re meant to do, son.”

He stares. He hopes it’s not.

The other gods are still at the bottom of the mountain. Artemis and Apollo each have one of his mother’s arms slung over their shoulders and are helping her up the mountain. Hermes and Hephaestus aren’t far behind.

He’s never seen his father look so proud of him. There’s a leaden pit in his stomach he can’t explain.

“In honor of my son’s great feat,” Zeus booms, his voice carrying across air, speaking with the voice of the king of the gods so his words become law, so they spread to every corner of the world, “I declare him Ares, God of War.”

Ares can’t breathe.

This isn’t what he wanted.


gods and monsters series, part xvii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

The Trump Standard

What did Trump say when confronted with proof that his son jumped at the prospect of meeting with a “Russian government attorney” offering to dish dirt on Hillary Clinton as “part of Russia and its government’s support” for his candidacy?

Trump said: “many people would have held that meeting.” 

The next day, Trump revised “many” to “most,” saying: “I think from a practical standpoint, most people would have taken that meeting. . . . Politics isn’t the nicest business in the world, but it’s very standard.”

It’s true that politics isn’t the nicest business in the world. I’ve been there. Real estate development isn’t the nicest business in the world either, for all I know. But breaking the law and flirting with treason isn’t standard practice in either realm.  

Much ink has been spilled over the last six months documenting Trump’s tin ear when it comes to all matters ethical: His refusal to put his business into a blind trust, as every one of his predecessors in recent memory has done. His refusal to reveal his tax returns, like his predecessors. The never-ending stream of lies that he continues to spew even after they’re proven to be lies (three to five million fraudulent votes, Obama spied on me, fake news, and so on).  

None of this is “very standard” for presidents. It’s the opposite of standard.

I think we’ve been missing the boat by characterizing these as ethical breaches. Ethics assumes some sort of agreed-upon standard against which an ethical breach can be defined and measured.

But Donald Trump doesn’t live in a world that has any standards at all, and he never has. His entire approach to life, to business, and now to the presidency has nothing whatever to do with standards. It’s about winning, at all costs. Whatever it takes.

Winning at all costs is the only thing that’s standard in Trumpworld.

When he was in business and couldn’t repay his creditors, he declared bankruptcy. Again and again. And when his bankers finally wised up and refused to lend him any more money, he found foreign bankers who would oblige.

When he could have chosen to pay his contractors, or others who worked for him, he didn’t. He stiffed them.

Trump has spent most of his life in business being sued or sueing – as if our judicial system was just another standard tool for winning.

To make a name for himself in politics, he suggested Barack Obama wasn’t born in America. Hey, whatever it took.

To win the presidency he told lies about undocumented immigrants and crime, about Arabs cheering as the World Trade Center went down, about  his business smarts. He promised his followers he’d jail Hillary Clinton, drain the Washington swamp, build a wall along the Mexican border, create vast numbers of jobs, repeal the North American Free Trade Act.

He’d lie about anything. He’d promise anything. All was just a means to becoming president. There are no standards. Whatever it took.

“I could stand in the middle of 5th Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose voters,” he said.

Did he collude with Russia to become president? That wouldn’t be standard practice in politics, but it would be consistent with Trump’s standard.

“I said [to Putin] ‘Did you do it?’” Trump reported back on his meeting with Vladimir. “And he said, ‘No, I did not. Absolutely not.’ I then asked him a second time in a totally different way. He said absolutely not.”

And that’s supposed to be the end of it? 

The  U.S. intelligence community has told Trump that Russia interfered on his behalf in the presidential election of 2016, at Putin’s direction. So why does Trump ask Putin if he did it? 

He should be telling Putin what the United States is planning to do in response to what Putin did.

We may never know the exact answer to whether Trump himself colluded with Putin to win the presidency. Or, more likely, his core supporters may never know, because Trump will tell them not to believe whatever Special Counsel Robert Mueller and the intelligence agencies come up with, and to blame the press for reporting fake news. Politics isn’t the nicest business in the world, he might say, but whatever he did was very standard.

A president’s major responsibilities are to protect the United States and the Constitution, and to see that the laws are faithfully executed.

But Trump’s major goal now is to remain in power and to accumulate even more money. Whatever it takes.

To be young

Title: To be young

Pairing: Reader x Peter Parker

Summary: Y/N has lived next to Peter since the 3rd grade and since has fallen hard for him, but Y/N doesn’t know he’s fallen just as hard. 

Word count: 2,145

Songs: Midnight City by M83, Uh huh by Julia Michaels

A/N: This is my first Imagine ever so I’m sorry for the grammar mistakes and if i messed up the point of view a little bit, I’m practicing and heres my first go at it! I hope you guys enjoy it! Also its not a concrete idea yet but i might make more parts to this 



  “Hey, MJ does Peter ever talk about me?” you ask staring across the lunch room at the boy you’ve had a crush on ever since you laid eyes on him in the 3rd grade. You hear Michelle sigh and close her book “Y/N just go over there and talk to him.” your eyes widen at your best friend for suggesting such a thing. “I can’t just go over there and talk to him without cause, plus..” you sigh sinking further into your seat at the lunch table “he likes Liz, remember?” Just before Michelle can get a word in about your lack of confidence towards guys, the bell rings signaling the end of lunch and beginning of the five minuet passing period to the next class.

You quickly gather your things heading out of the lunchroom and to your next class, gym.

“Hey, Y/N wait up!” you hear the familiar voice of Liz speak as everyone makes their way out of the locker rooms and into the main gym. You falter in your walk just a little hearing Liz say your name, you haven’t ever really been friends or even acquaintances with her since knowing that Peter has a crush on the girl. “Yes?” you smile as she slows her pace next to you “I’m having a party tomorrow night at my place, do you wanna come?” your mind goes blank for a minuet, Liz is asking me to her party? what? “I already asked Michelle if she could come and she said you were free so i thought i’d ask.” Liz practically read your mind, so Michelle is to blame, she’s gonna pay. “Yea, sure I’ll come, it sounds fun.” She smiles before she runs off ahead of you. “Hey Flash,” You hear her shout before she vanishes into the crowd of teenagers.

“Alright, well i think he’s a war criminal now but these are state required so lets get to work .” The gym teacher spoke after the video of Captain America ended waving his hand for everyone to get down from the bleachers and take their places on the mats.

You finally spot Michelle in the crowd of teenagers and grabbed ahold of her arm before she could lay on a mat. “Hey could we be partners?” You ask letting go of your bestie laying on the mat, “Mind if we take this mat next to you guys?” A voice that made your heartstrings tingle spoke, you quickly turn your head to see Peter laying down and getting ready to go his first sit-up. “No-not at all.” you blush and turn on your other side to come face to face with a book “Michelle” You groan louder than intended, “We’re suppose to be doing sit-ups.” You grab the book tilting it away from her face, Michelle sighs and turns on her back pushing her book up and down from her face “There happy, I’m exercising now.” She mumbled making you laugh slightly.

“Hey what about Spider-Man?” You sit up and whip your head around to the bleachers where a certain group of popular girls were sitting, “What about him Liz? You got a crush?” a friend of hers teased, “Well I mean yes he’s pretty hot but he’s also a hero you can’t leave him out.” You could see a slight pink shade her cheeks after she spoke.

“Hey, uh Peter knows Spider-Man!” Ned practically yelled from the mat next to you, what? how does Peter know Spider-Man? I mean maybe he got saved by him? But what? You were pulled from your thoughts when Peter spoke, “Well Uh  we-wel yes i do, because of the Stark internship i have but i’m not suppose to talk about it.” Peter spoke through gritted teeth when he ended his sentence. “Wait Penis Parker knows Spider-Man? And has a Stark internship? Wow this is too good, what other lies ya got?” Flash finally joined the conversation. You sighed and turned your attention back to laying down and staring at the ceiling till the end of the period.

“Well if you know him so well why don’t you invite him to Liz’s party tomorrow night?” Flash asked sarcasm clear in his voice, “Wait-wait Liz is having a party?” You perked up again at the sound of Peter’s slightly hurt voice. “Yeah, tomorrow night, my parents are out of town, you and Ned are more than welcome to come and you don’t gotta bring Spider-Man.” You could practically hear the smile in Peters voice when he replied “No-No yeah I’d love to come.” You rolled your eyes and tried to drown out the rest of the conversation.

“Okay, see ya tomorrow.” Liz spoke before the bell rang, finally. You make your way back to the locker room and change out of the gym uniform and into your regular clothes.

Well tomorrow night should be interesting, I wonder if Peter really knows Spider-Man you smile at the thought, that’d be fucking awesome.

Michelle and you took the bus together after school planning on having a sleepover and carpooling to Liz’s party the next day. “I can’t believe you already said i would go without asking me.” you lightly punch Michelle on the arm while getting ready for bed. “Hey what better things do you have going on tomorrow, staring at peter though the peep hole of your apartment again?” Michelle teased, you gasped and placed your hand on your heart pretending to be hurt by the comment. “Michelle that is an important activity and I cannot miss it.” You dramatically said and plopped down onto your bed for the night, the couch. Michelle and you always sleep on her couch for sleepovers, its big enough and comfy as hell.

“Oh whatever Y/N.” she groaned taking her place on the couch and turning on the tv. Within minuets your eyes start to get heavy, you finally give into the sleep tugging at you and fall asleep.


“Thanks for the ride!” you shout at Michelle’s dad before Michelle slams the car door shut. MJ and you start towards the front door already hearing the loud music coming from inside. “Michelle are you sure about this?” You ask grabbing her arm forcing her to stop and look at you “Look Y/N, when are you ever gonna do something like this ever again. Plus, its all apart of the high school experience.” She shrugged making her way to the front door and inside with you trailing behind her.

You were immediately greeted by Liz and shown the way to the kitchen “incase you need something to drink” Liz told you leaving you and focused her attention back onto the party. “Ok so now I Just wait for something to happen?” you spoke to yourself as you grabbed a red solo cup and filled it with water from the fridge. You made your way out of the kitchen and to the couch in the living room, where did MJ go? I’m like the only other person besides Liz she knows here so where - your thoughts were interrupted when your eyes met with the chocolatey eyes of the boy you’ve been waiting for all night.

You smile towards Peter earning a grin back from him before his attention was sent somewhere else, probably Flash shouting “wheres your friend Spider-man? I don’t see him..” You rolled your eyes and made your way over to the duo standing in the middle of the hallway, “Hey hey guys,” you nervously spoke “Finally made it.” you smiled over at Ned, his attention on the rest of the party and not you. “Yeah we got-” Peter got interrupted by a shout from the family room “If you wanna play a game come to the family room now!” you felt a hand wrap around your arm before you could protest you were in the family room seated next to Liz, Peter diagonally across from you with ned next to him and Michelle on your other side.

“Alright,” you heard Liz speak next to you “what game should we play.” a couple of hands flew up in the air and some people shouted suggestions. “How about Seven Minuets In Heaven?!” one voice shouted louder than the others, you looked over at Liz to see she was already ginning with a bottle being handed to her. “Seven Minuets In Heaven it is.” She quickly snapped her head over at you “Y/N, you spin first.” she shoved the bottle into your hand.

“No-no I’m really fine-” you didnt get to finish when you felt a sharp pain in your side from Michelle, your head spun to her side giving her a “what the hell!” look and receiving a shrug in response. You sucked in a breath, all apart of the high school experience right? you tried to reason with yourself. You put the bottle on its side on the ground and spun it, your heat begins beating faster and faster as it comes to a slow down. The bottle finally comes to a stop and your eyes rake up to where it landed, Peter Parker.

You gulped waiting for his reaction as people around him whopped for him but he just sat there eyes wide. “come one you too!” Liz sounded so gleeful and lightly shoved my shoulder for me to get up. Peter must’ve took that as a hint as well and stood up “Wher-uh What closet should we go to?” Peter asked clearing his voice. “the one right at the top of the stairs, we’ll make sure no one goes in.” Liz smiled at Peter and you while you made your way up the stairs. Oh god, what am i going to do, what if he doesn’t want to do anything with me? what if he kisses me and I’m not a good kisser or my breathe stinks- you were ripped out of your thoughts as the closet door was closed and Peter and you were left in the dark.

“uh we-we don’t have to do anything.” you whispered barely audible as you watched Peter set a timer on his phone for seven minuets. “Wh-why don’t we ask each other questions?” Peter asked making a blush creep onto your face, thank god this closet is dark and peters phone light is horrible. “sure-e” you nervously stutter, “you first.” you poke his chest earning a small laugh from him. “Okay, is it true that you have a 4.0 grade average?” You couldn’t help the laugh that  escaped your lips, “What?” Peter asked you could hear the confusion in his voice, “thats the question you wanna ask?” you placed your hand on Peters arm, what am I doing? I’m movign way too fast, “Is that bad?” Peter moved closer to you making you back up into the wall of the closet, your smile fading and a deeper bush replacing it. “uh-no no, I’d just rather not answer it.” You spoke truthfully, “alright,” you could see the smile form on peters face as he inched closer to you.

“your turn.” he whispered making your breath hitch in your throat, he’s so close, if i just move forward slightly i’d finally have my first kiss and with the guy of my dreams, you thought. “you got a question yet?” Peters smile started fading looking into your eyes, “uh- yes, did you really make your own computer?” your eyes scanned peters, he’s so close you can see his beautiful brown ombre iris’s, dark brown to a slightly lighter brown. Your breath hitched in your throat again as Peter flashed his eyes down to your lips for a split second. You start to lean into him, closer and closer to his face when your lips just barely graze each other and then Peters phone goes off.

He jumped back slightly from the sudden noise and looked down at his phone, “Has it already been seven minuets?” You laugh slightly feeling embarrassed for getting so intimate with Peter. “No..” he paused looking up from his phone and into your eyes “But i gotta, I’m really sorry Y/N, I gotta go.” He shook his head slightly before opening the closet and leaving you behind. you stood there shocked, not able to move. Peter and I almost kissed was all you could think as a deep blush crept back onto your face.

You exited the closet and went to see if you could find him at the party anywhere. you got a few weird looks after asking some people if they saw him anywhere but no one could help, not even Ned knew where Peter went.

“Well it’s too bad, we didn’t even get to see his ‘friend’ Spider-Man.” Flash spoke sarcastically to you, you just turned around to go look for MJ and tell her about what had happened, how you almost kissed your life long crush and how he almost kissed you back.

Cheerleading IS a sport | JJ

Request: a dom!jungkook smut when y/n is a cheerleader and he is like the player of the sport and yeah they could like have the fun in the changing room~

Pairing: Dom!Jungkook, Football!Jungkook X Cheerleader!Reader

Summary: Y/n, best flyer on the cheerleading squad. Jungkook, best kicker and scorer on the football team. What will happen when things get heated between the two all because of something that he just spilled out of his mouth.

Genre: Smut, Angst, Smut

Warnings: Swearing, dirty talk, Dominant!Jungkook, Sub!Reader, hospital handjob, cocky asshole Jungkook

Word Count: 3k+

Keep reading