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Today's Document
styofa doing anything
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Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
sheepfilms
Show & Tell
Keni
Acquired Stardust
Sade Olutola
Product Placement
trying on a metaphor
d e v o n
Peter Solarz
Andulka
blake kathryn
tumblr dot com
shark vs the universe
KIROKAZE
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from Canada
seen from Germany
seen from Norway
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Netherlands
seen from Netherlands
@ajdoesprompts
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Here’s the link to my fanfic for the people who have sent me asks about it!! Apologies, I still can’t think of any good prompts but the chapters for this are going strong so there’s plenty of material for you!
Thanks for reading!
Wait holy shit okay stay with me here.
A few people have theories that Peter is gonna die at the end of bnd and get revived by the symbiote ready for secret wars.
BUT, no one has mentioned that this could be how people remember him. Imagine he dies, right? And then the spell is broken because there is no longer a Peter Parker for people to forget about. Everyone remembers him. He gets a hell of a funeral because holy shit, he was Spider-Man.
MJ and Ned are devastated. Happy is crushed.
AND THEN the symbiote comes to find him. Only when Ned drags away a dissociative MJ from his gravestone. Only when the crowds have cleared.
And then he comes back, changed, no longer like the person they knew.
Everyone in New York knows that Peter is dead. They assume this is someone new. Of course they would, he’s nothing like Spider-Man. He’s not merciful. He kills.
But MJ has to know, and she finds him, and she sees it’s Peter but it’s not.
And that’s where we are in secret wars. With the avengers staring at this kid who now kills without hesitation.
Richard Parker liked black jack.
Peter remembers sitting at the dinner table late into the evening, a cigarette between his father’s lips and a deck of cards in his hand. He taught Peter the rules, made him play, bought him ice cream when he won.
Peter doesn’t like thinking about what happened when he lost.
The point is, they felt like a family. It was just them, playing a game. That’s what other kids talked about in school, the kids whose mothers weren’t dead. The only time Peter remembers his father being proud of him was when he invited some friends around and Peter beat them all to oblivion.
Richard ordered pizza that night.
So it was not surprising when Peter developed a gambling addiction young. He was eventually taken from his father and placed with Ben and May, but it was hard to stop himself from thinking of cards every time he saw a quarter on the street.
He got through it, mostly. He tried convincing Ned that it was fun, but Ned didn’t like the way Peter got genuinely angry. He didn’t like the way Peter would keep pushing him to bet more.
And it fizzled out. Mostly because he didn’t have a choice. May found a betting app on his phone and quickly got Ben to change the Wi-Fi setting so they were all blocked. He was far too young to enter a casino and his best friend didn’t want to.
Enter Tony Stark. And Tony was having a party, and the party needed a theme.
Vegas.
And Tony jokes that he’s allowed $10 to go wild and when it’s gone, it’s gone.
And from that night forward, Peter feels like he’s back at the kitchen table, betting his savings from the piggy bank just so his father would look at him. And he doesn’t want his father to ever stop looking at him.
So he decided to never stop playing.
Midtown high school was the highest performing school by a sheer margin.
Tony Stark couldn’t help himself but fawn over some of the essays these kids were writing on complex Mathematical concepts. It was high level stuff, things he hadn’t even thought about.
So he contacted the kids, offered them internships, and they were all fucking useless.
No one knew the names of their essays, never mind the ideas. He figured it out pretty quick, of course. Someone was doing their homework for them.
He imagined some disgraced scholar who needed money for a project and had enough spare time to take it on - embarrassing but it made sense.
He didn’t expect some 15 year old delinquent from the worst school in queens who swore at him when he showed up at his crumbling foster home.
Peter Parker was not what he expected to find.
Tony is thrilled.
Peter less so.
Peter was a fucking idiot.
First, he let himself get shot in the abdomen - which fucking hurt. And then, after finally stumbling his way back to his apartment door, he realised he forgot his fucking bag in an alleyway along with his key.
He was so fucking stupid.
He punctuated the thought with a punch to the door, scrunching his eyes tight to try and stop his eyes from welling up.
“Easy, tiger.”
Peter whipped around, coming face to face with MJ casually leaning in her doorway. Her eyes tracked him up and down. “What did that door do to you?”
Peter couldn’t reply. He could only stare at her in awe. He was so incredibly aware that he was wearing an unwashed hoodie, his face was covered in large bruise that was only half healed. His cheeks were hollow where he had forgotten to eat in the last few weeks and the hand gripping his abdomen was wet with blood.
He grabbed his hoodie and wrapped it around himself to hide any stains before looking cautiously between the two doorways.
“I forgot my key.” It sounded lame even to himself. He sounded like a child.
“I’ll call the landlord. You can hang out in my apartment while you wait,” she shrugged, stepping back as if to make way.
Peter didn’t want to be rude, but he wanted desperately to decline. She was looking at him. She could see the mess he had become and she had nothing to even compare it you. It was embarrassing.
“I- I don’t-”
“It’s either sit out here and sulk, or sit on my minorly more comfortable second hand couch. Your call,” she stated.
Peter looked at her, eyes really looking this time. He didn’t know what he was hoping to find - a sprinkle of realisation maybe. A hint that she knew who he was and was just pretending.
He didn’t find it.
He nodded his head.
MJ smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “Come on then.”
Spider-Man and Peter Parker were totally different people.
Spider-Man could save people from a burning building with a smile on his face, stop major crimes with a little joke and hold up buildings to save squirrel.
Peter Parker doesn’t get out of bed, barely remembers his own laugh and avoids human contact at all cost. He doesn’t save people, he makes them miserable. He is not a hero.
They don’t cross over.
Until Spider-Man saves a little girl, and she’s panicking and crying and he’s trying to calm her down.
“Hey, it’s okay, take a breath. Tell me your name.”
And Spider-Man didn’t think for a second about it. His smile was steady under his mask, he was ready to tell her how beautiful that name was, just to make her smile back.
“May,” the girl said between heaved breaths.
And suddenly it’s Peter Parker stood in front of her, tears welling up in his eyes and hands shaking, but a smile staying steady on his face.
“That’s-“ he takes a breath, steadying himself. “That’s a beautiful name.”
The girl smiles, and Peter did that.
Peter Parker had been around the mill when it come to foster homes.
He knew what to expect. He knew how to act. He knew what to say. He made himself small, he turned a blind eye to alcohol and parties, he never asked for anything and he made himself as small as possible.
It was easy, after the first few. He’d seen everything there was to see. He’d been hit, screamed at, things thrown at him, couples broken up because of him, drunks, drugs - you name it, he’s seen it.
Until he was placed with May Parker.
Normally a single home came with its own set of expectations - a single woman who was insecure and had a shorter temper than she liked to admit, or a single man who was angry at the world and wanted a pay check.
May Parker did not fit any of the roles he had prepared himself for.
She would come home with potatoes, glue and glitter and tell him to come and make potato stamps with her. She had a dog called Noodle and a dog called Owen.
“Noodle?” He had asked.
“Well his full name is ‘I love pot noodles’” she had shrugged before grabbing a pair of scissors to cut up a magazine so she could send a fake, scary note to her annoying neighbour downstairs.
Peter tried making himself small, but she’d invite him to get involved in some antics. He’d try to not let her do anything, but she’d do it without him even asking. He’d try to make himself small, and she would just shrink herself down to match.
Peter didn’t understand how to work the situation, but he didn’t mind the crazy lady running around trying to get omelette off the ceiling.
He liked that she was unpredictable in her actions, but so incredibly predictable in her love.
Peter Parker felt proud, in some twisted way, that he wasn’t anything like Peter 3.
He didn’t stop pulling his punches. He never once hit someone too hard. He didn’t dare to hurt someone that seriously.
If anything, he pulled his punches more than before. He held back, gave the villains a few extra seconds to collect themselves. He waited a second longer to fight back. A second longer before he side stepped out of the way.
He let himself get punched - took it with some sick pride. He enjoyed it when he bruised, started seeking the taste of blood out every night.
He leapt off buildings and imagined how nice it would feel to splatter on the sidewalk. Day dreamt about not dodging a bullet at all.
He sent his web just a second before it would have been too late, sighing as the floor falls further away.
He was proud to not be like Peter 3. He didn’t give in. He was doing well.
Even if sometimes he wishes he wasn’t.
Peter was angry, buying that bottle of water. It was stupid - he didn’t even want it. But he needed something to do.
And then Ben showed up.
And then a man pulled out a gun, aiming it straight at the cashier, and Peter didn’t hesitate to redirect the gunman’s attention to himself. And Ben-
Ben froze.
Peter’s spider sense seized before he felt the piercing cut of a bullet slicing through his abdomen. He dropped to the floor in seconds, red pouring out of him.
And Ben was holding him, crying, begging him not to go, saying goodbye-
And Peter… wasn’t going to die. His spider sense was quiet. He was going to live, he knew it.
So, he had to figure out an explanation for how he was going to survive a fatal gun wound that didn’t involve a super human ability to heal himself.
And he was going to have to convince an uncle that was already mourning him.
Guys… the well has run dry. I am fresh out of ideas so if anyone has any tropes, ideas or AO3 tags they especially like to see, send ‘em my way and I will hopefully get inspired and come up with something!!
While the well under repair, consider reading my fanfiction “The Hand that Plants the Seed” by El1zabethJ on AO3!!
“So, what now?” Tony asked, looking between the two of them. It was strange, knowing that it was all over now. Knowing that they had nothing more to defeat.
“I’m not Spider-Man anymore, if that’s your question.,” Peter spat. “You were right; he died.”
“I didn’t mean what’s next for Spider-Man, I meant what’s next for Peter.” Tony spoke so gently, as if he was trying to stop Peter from blowing up. In his defence, Peter had been blowing up at him for the last three months, so he couldn’t really blame him.
He thought over the question. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
“Well, my recommendation would have to be a hearty helping of therapy,” Tony gave a tight lipped smile. Peter appreciated the attempt to lighten the mood but they both know the joke wasn’t going to land.
“No. Not yet. I can’t- I can’t talk about it yet.”
“That’s okay,” Tony nodded. He looked like he wanted to reach out, but he didn’t. Peter wondered if he would ever feel comfortable touching him again. “Whenever and whatever at your pace, bud. I know you hate being told what to do,” he smiled.
“You don’t know me anymore,” Peter said, shaking his head. It was difficult to admit, but it was true. They hadn’t seen each other in two years. Too much had happened, and neither was the same person.
“Well, let’s start there.”
“What?”
“Get to know each other again,” Tony clarified.
Peter gave him a once over, eyebrow raised in suspicion. “What, just pretend we didn’t know each other before?”
“You’re right,” Tony agreed. “I don’t know you anymore, kid. So, hi. I’m Tony stark, a billionaire and tech genius who has a side hustle as earths favourite super hero.”
“Wow, humble much?” Peter rolled his eyes.
Tony just smiled. “Come on, kid. Humour me.”
“Well to start, I’m not a kid. It’s been two years right?” Peter waited for Tony’s nod. “So I’m 18.”
“Yeah,” Tony said, a deep sort of sadness seeping into his voice.
“And I don’t want anyone babying me. I’m good at taking care of myself and I can deal with everything on my own,” Peter growled. He shifted slightly, pausing.
“Kid-“
“But… I’m not stupid enough to assume you won’t help me even if I don’t want you to.” He looked over to see Tony’s small smile, and it made him feel slightly safer. “So I won’t.”
“I really am sorry.”
“I know. I forgive you”
“You don’t have to, you know?” Tony said, a grimace sitting in the corners of his smile.
“I know,” Peter smiled, leaning back against the wall.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Peter didn’t even look up from where he was staring at nothing. He didn’t flinch at Tony speaking, almost like he knew he was there already. “Whiskey,” he said, casually.
Tony felt his blood begin to boil. “Yeah kid, I’m not blind. Do you mind telling me why the hell you’ve decided to steal from me and then get shitfaced on my balcony at 4am? Especially when the last time you got shitfaced you promised to never do it again?”
Tony didn’t even want to think about that party last week, lest he get himself even more worked up. 27 missed calls only to get a text back from someone else using Peter’s phone saying he was going to stay the night. May was beside herself, and though Tony played it cool, he’s not too proud to admit he was freaking out too.
“I wasn’t shitfaced,” came the lame reply. Peter was looking at Tony now, defiance alight in his eyes as if he was ready for a fight. Tony could think of a million things he’d rather do than fight with his kid, but seeing Peter casually lift the bottle of whiskey to his lips and take another sip really had him seething.
“What, so you just ignored all of our calls and texts because you were perfectly sober?” He bit through his teeth. Peter met his eyes.
“I was tipsy.”
Tony pinched at the top of his nose, scrunching his eyes shut. “Peter, tipsy people don’t-“
“I was tipsy,” Peter continued like nothing had been said, “and then I just wasn’t anymore.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah that’s how getting shitfaced works,” he sighed.
“No. I was tipsy,” and the eye contact was suddenly desperate. Tony allowed himself to fall into a crouch beside Peter if only to prevent the inevitable rise in volume that he could sense from a mile away. “I was barely tipsy and then I just, I couldn’t see, or hear and I was moving but I didn’t know where.”
Tony searched between the desperation in Peter’s eyes for something. He didn’t know what, but whatever it was, he didn’t find it. “Peter, give me the whiskey.”
“You know it’s all lies?” Came the fast response.
Tony sighed and collapsed into a sitting position, resigned. “What is?”
“All that bullshit in books and tv shows and stupid fucking movie scenes where they wake up and- and it’s always ‘it hit them like a ton of shit’ or whatever the fuck it says.” Tony couldn’t suppress the raise of his eyebrows at the language change. Peter sounded angry.
“It’s always that it comes back to them ‘all at once’ but it doesn’t come back. It doesn’t fucking come back no matter how hard I try.”
And he suddenly sounded desperate. Hysterical.
“It’s just gone. I didn’t- I didn’t wake up and not remember and then it ‘all came flooding back’,” he spat the words with disgust. “Nothing flooded back; it’s dryer than the fucking desert in there. It’s- it’s like there’s a crack in a house, right?”
Peter turned his body to face Tony, as if he was explaining something terribly simple and Tony just wasn’t listening.
“One of those really bad ones where you have to take out the whole wall just to fix it, except I don’t know where it is so I’m just hammering the wall mindlessly except what if there wasn’t even a crack in the first place? What if the wall was fine and everything was fine and now my house has a fucking hole in it all because I was worried there might be a crack?”
Tony tried to ignore the tears sliding down Peter’s face and as he violently scrubbed them away with the back of his wrist.
“Even though I don’t even remember there being a crack! It’s like- like I left the house for the day, came back and- and I just thought that someone had like, thrown a stone or something at my wall except now there’s a big, fuck-off hole in my house and-“ he paused, taking a shaking breath before continuing much softer than before. “And I don’t even know where this metaphor is going but I think I broke my house, you know?”
“Pete-“ and Tony didn’t know what he was going to say because he didn’t know. He honestly had no idea what it was that Peter was trying to say, but it was eating him alive and Tony was watching him fall apart.
“I didn’t even know I could get drunk, you know? I thought- thought I was like Steve.” He huffs out a wet laugh as if he’d just said a joke. “Turns out it just takes bit more than normal but I- I’m definitely drunk right now so- so maybe I was drunk then, too.”
And the way he said it, as if being drunk was the worst thing ever, made Tony’s heart drop to the floor.
Something happened, and Tony was going to find out what.
“I think I’m about to throw up.”
Right after he gets Peter a bucket.
—
This is now an AO3 one shot called “Break Down the Wall” by El1zabethJ
Hi all!
I have started writing a fanfic based on some of the prompts I’ve posted here, so if you’ve ever been a fan of a plot line I’ve created, check the prompt to see if it now has a note at the bottom saying that is an AO3 fanfic!
The fic is called “the hand that plants the seed” by El1zabethJ on ao3!
“So now I have unlimited access to everything?”
“Yeah, kid. Everything. FRIDAY is as good as yours,” Tony smiled, watching Peter bounce around the room.
“Hey FRIDAY?” Peter called. The Irish lilt of FRIDAY’s voice came back. “What’s Tony’s the best kept secret?”
Peter watched as Tony couldn’t help himself but laugh. Of course this is what Peter does with unlimited access to the world’s most advanced AI.
“Project Spider-Man is Bosses most heavily guarded file. Would you like access?” FRIDAY responded.
Peter looked over to him with a raised eyebrow, a bit disappointed that there wasn’t anything more exciting than his own secret identity. But when he looked at Tony - really looked at him - he saw the colour draining from his face and his hesitant step forward.
He couldn’t help himself.
“Open it for me,” Peter asked. And she did. She displayed pages of information on him littered across the screens: news articles, random pictures, security camera footage.
“Cmon, kid. You already know this stuff, there’s more interesting things she can do, did you know she can hack into-“
“What’s that?” Peter cut him off. His eyes were dead set and focused on one singular file labelled ‘family’.
Tony hesitated. He hesitated and-
“That’s just info on your parents and May and-“
“Why is it dated 2015?” Peter asked, voice started to strain. The pieces were falling into place but it wasn’t a picture he wanted to look at. He wished that he could look away but it was all he could see.
“Peter, this doesn’t-“
“FRIDAY, open it,” Peter asked, voice firm.
“FRIDAY, don’t-“
But the file was already up, plastered across the room on Tony’s massive projectors and encasing Peter like dirt around a coffin.
Pages and pages of information about how he got his powers. Security footage of him on rooftops when he was barely a vigilante. Pictures from weeks before he met Tony.
A note section calling him ‘immature’ and ‘not prepared’ but saying he has lots of ‘potential’. Probability ratings for him agreeing to be an Avenger - apparently 26% at the time.
And then, there at the bottom of one of the pages, a list of ideas for how to recruit him. Peter stared at it, reading and rereading the words over and over trying to comprehend what the fuck he was reading.
There was no way it was true.
“You killed uncle Ben?” Peter asked, voice breaking. It came out as barely a whisper and he couldn’t turn to look at him.
“Peter-“
“You killed uncle Ben so I would join your stupid club?” Peter growled, turning to face Tony with a fiery look in his eyes.
He saw the face of his mentor, the man he had grown to love like a father - like an uncle - alight with guilt. And he knew then that it was true. That everything that had happened in the last few years was carefully crafted and planned. That nothing would ever be the same again.
“Peter please,” Tony begged. He took a step forward.
And Peter took a step back.
“You killed him.”
“I know,” Tony said. The gun felt like it was burning a hole in his palm.
“You said, you said we weren’t-“
“I know,” he sighed, “but I also knew that if I didn’t, you would, and I don’t want that on your conscious.”
Peter looked up with red rimmed eyes that had an air of relief. “I’ve killed people before, Tony.” He whispered it into the air like it was a secret.
“This is different,” Tony nodded, “and you know it.”
Peter sat there for a moment, staring into space, Tony couldn’t help but imagine how strong the smell of blood would be for him.
“What about the video?” Peter asked, gesturing to the phone gripped like a vice in Tony’s palm.
Tony looked down, mind going blank as he remembered what was on it.
“Delete it.”
Tony couldn’t look him in the eye. “I have to know kid. I need to know what he did to you.”
“You will,” Peter promised, desperation starting to melt into his words.
Tony met his eyes. “What, you’ll tell me?” He scoffed.
“Eventually,” a pause, “But only on my terms. If you make me live through that again I won’t forgive you this time.”
Tony took a pause, words folding over in his mind until they made something tangible enough for him to hold - to grip onto like a vice. “You forgive me?”
Peter stared. His eyes were hard but Tony saw the truth pushing against them.
“Delete it, Tony.”
And he did. Tony deleted the footage.
“It’s gone? It’s really gone? No traces for you to look up later?” Peter clarified. Tony tried not to let the distrust hurt him.
“It’s gone, kid.”
And like a puppet cut from strings Peter collapsed.
Spider-Man could not be seen as weak. He was a hero, so he had to so act like one.
But Peter Parker? Well, it was like he said; if he couldn’t then, he shouldn’t now. He wasn’t strong before the bite, so he had to pretend not to be strong after.
The problem came when Flash stepped up from shoving him in the corridors to throwing punches.
It wasn’t the worst thing. He had been hit plenty of times so knew how to take a punch. The issue was that he healed so fast that Flash never gave him a rest period.
It was every day.
And then Peter walked down the corridor and saw some little freshman pinned up against a locker by some of Flash’s friends and he stepped in.
And then it was more than once a day.
He couldn’t help but slow down. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t move very well. His healing stopped working like it used to. Aunt May noticed, though she pretended he was telling the truth when he said it was from patrol.
He gets stabbed on a Tuesday during a bank robbery gone wrong. No big deal, he’s been stabbed before.
But then Flash punches him right where it was stitched up. And that wouldn’t have been a problem if it wasn’t for the whole “slow healing” thing that was happening.
Because the stitches opened.
Blood came pouring out.
And Peter collapsed to the floor in the middle of his lunch period.
When Tony saw Spider-Man on the news, it was normally J Jonah Jameson chatting absolute shit about him.
He wasn’t used to seeing live footage of him sprinting along side a car going about 80km/h.
By the time he flew down there Peter was visibly exhausted. Tony connected to the coms as soon as he was in range.
“Peter, what the fuck is going on?” He asked.
Peter didn’t answer for a little while, just panted down the microphone. “There’s a bomb in the car,” he said. He didn’t slow down, just kept sprinting.
“I think I need a bit more explanation than that,” Tony said, finally catching up and matching Peter’s speed, flying beside him.
“I have the detonator,” Peter said, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. He was focused and determined. That much was clear.
“Still not with you, kid.”
“If the detonator gets too far away from the bomb, the bomb explodes.”
Tony hesitated, looking at the device gripped like a vice in Peter’s hand. He saw the lack of web shooters - probably destroyed by whoever put him in this position. And when he glanced up at the car he saw the obvious car seat in the back.
There was a family in there.
That was where Tony started. He didn’t need anything else from Peter. He had to get this family safe.
“What happened to the brakes?” Tony asked, landing on the top of the car to start ripping a hole in the roof. It took until the hole was open for Peter to reply, panting out the words as if he was running on empty.
“Brick on the accelerator and the brakes were detached. Runaway car,” he got out.
Tony got the two kids in the back first, grabbing them and holding on tight as he flew over to the side of the road and dropped them off. All he could do was tell them to wait while he flew straight back over to the parents. He took them one at a time, not stopping to hear their thanks.
It was only when the driver was out, dangling over the highway on his way to the side of the road that Tony realised what was about to happen.
It was as if some instinct in his gut realised that the reason Peter was running was because people were in danger.
Those people were now safe.
Tony turned, still holding the father ten feet in the air as he watched Peter collapse to the ground in exhaustion.
It took seconds for the bomb to go off.
Tony lost sight of Peter the second the flames went up.