You guys ever spend an embarrassingly long amount of time creating a fic you know very few people are gonna want to read once it’s done? Because that’s an entire mood lol
do u ever see someone elses headcannon for ur fave character and its like….. i completely respect that u have the right to that headcannon, i will not confront u at all and start needless bullshit over that headcannon…. but i will silently sit here and give you the sideways glance of the century
knowing that someone actively ENJOYS the things you create.. is an absolutely wild feeling. like, my entire chest is just full of warmth rn because i was able to make someone’s day just a teensy bit better ya know? catch me in the corner, gently crying
[Image ID: Tumblr user @neanderthyall says in the notes, “I thought that 6 feet was kind of a double meaning. Like six feet away to stop the spread, but when people die they’re six feet underground, and its six feet of the dirt that keeps you apart. Like ‘Hide away, hide away, even though it hurts Hide away, hide away, or the six feet will be dirt’.” End ID.]
HI DON’T LEAVE THIS IN THE NOTES THAT’S ACTUALLY BRILLIANT
It’s not a proper creepy nursery rhyme until it’s got an eery childrens’ game attached to it though (think ring-a-round-the-roses or oranges and lemons).
One child shall be designated ‘Miss (Mr, Mx) Rhona’ and will have to cover their eyes (hide away). They then have to try to catch the other kids— think Blind Man’s Bluff. The children running away chant the rhyme, to make it easier for ‘Rhona’ to find them.
Any child tagged becomes another ‘Rhona’ and must also cover their eyes and join in the chase. The winner is the last child left uninfected.
Meanwhile all adults in the area must watch with a vague sense of unease, and whisper to each other “do you know what that’s inspired by?”
You know something I really love about Tom Holland is that when many celebrities are spending time in their big ass mansions, wearing their Gucci sweatpants while drinking mimosas and telling us to be safe and all, this guy is trying to figure out how to take care of chickens, is making puzzles, chilling with his friends, trying to cook YouTube recipes and doing challenges in his messy living room ? Idk I just love him.
you can trick my mind but you can’t infect my soul
Set before Avengers Age of Ultron
Manhattan, New York. Present Day.
It was a typical Wednesday morning. Pepper made him get up at 7:04 to attend one of his drawling meetings, was forced to eat breakfast, and was restricted to two coffees. He was up and out of the meeting room as soon as it was over, making some snide remark in response to questioning. And then he was free. Free from responsibilities and anxieties for the day until three in the afternoon for another pointless meeting.
Tony scrubbed his face with one hand, the other sporting his second coffee. He needed to get out. Out of the stifling Tower with its facilitated air and important businessmen. As much as the Tower was a work of art, even Tony Stark needed a breath of fresh air every once in a while.
He wandered to the elevator and told FRIDAY to take him to the ground floor. The tiny vibrations beneath his feet kept him grounded, and he closed his eyes just for a moment to gather his thoughts and just breathe. It had been a while since he’d had enough time to do that.
The elevator doors opened, and Tony made his way to the exit, waving off any of his employees who questioned if he was supposed to be somewhere or if he would be safe.
He was Iron Man. He’d be fine.
Queens, New York. Ten Years Ago.
Peter’s brain couldn’t process what was going on. There was red in his vision, and people in black running around everywhere, and his father, his dead father laying on the ground in front of him. He felt as if he should be crying, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to tears. Instead, he just felt numb, as if the coldness of death had gripped him too.
Peter’s legs went out, his knees hit the ground, and his small, six-year-old hand reached out to grab his father’s. He was inches away from contact when a hand grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him back.
And then the world went black.
Present Day.
Something wasn’t right. Tony could taste it in the air. Perhaps years of being Iron Man had trained him to be more alert. Perhaps it was years of being under a target for his money and fame. Perhaps the two spies he was friends with had rubbed off on him. He didn’t know what it was that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, but it made him uneasy.
Tony, waiting on a street corner for the crosswalk to turn, checked his watch, reaching his other hand up as if to adjust it. Instead, he tapped its surface and woke up FRIDAY. The lens of his glasses lit up with his interface, but he didn’t have the suit on him, only his glasses and a wristwatch.
He murmured for her to check his surroundings for any suspicious activity. With all the people around, she couldn’t pinpoint anything, but Tony was still uneasy. He felt like he was being watched. And not the awed kind of watched he’d gotten used to from being famous.
His jaw clenched as the light turned and the crosswalk opened. He walked swiftly across, made his way down a block, and ducked into a deserted alley. It smelled like used socks and sewage, but he didn’t acknowledge the environment as he double-tapped the watch and pulled the Iron Gauntlet over his hand.
The world seemed to still for a moment.
Tony’s gaze switched from one end of the alleyway to the other, his ears straining to hear footsteps amongst the madness of the city.
But no footsteps came.
Ten Years Ago.
The world focused a few particles at a time. Peter heard a groan and realized it had come from his mouth. He felt his eyes blink once, twice, three times, but his vision cleared no faster.
His head felt heavy.
He wanted to fall back asleep, but he forced himself to shake his head. He squeezed his eyes tight and popped them open and finally he could make out his surroundings. He was laying in a single bed in a small, windowless room.
He was alone.
Peter sat, up, rubbing his face with his hands and trying to remember.
There had been people, loud bangs, and then his parents…
The tears that had not come before, sprang into his eyes.
His parents, Mary and Richard Parker were dead. They had just been out for ice cream. His parents had created something big, something they’d told Peter he wouldn’t understand. He didn’t really care, he just wanted ice cream.
They were leaving the parlor when the first bang went off. His mother dropped to the ground.
He heard his father screaming, but his mother, struggling to breathe had told them to run, to go.
So his father scooped him into his arms and had run.
The second bang went off and the world turned upside down as Richard fell and then… and then…
Peter was still trying to figure out that part.
The door creaked open.
Peter scrubbed his eyes, trying to hide the tears as a tall, elderly woman stepped into the room.
“Hello, Peter Parker.”
He managed a wobbly, “Hello.”
She smiled tightly, but the smile didn’t hold warmth. “We are great fans of your father’s work.”
Peter said nothing, too afraid and upset to respond.
The woman straightened. “I am very sorry about your parents.”
Peter curled into himself a little. “C-can I go home now?”
The woman’s tight, unwelcoming smile returned. “Oh, Peter. This is your new home.”
Peter’s eyes widened, his whole body tensing. “Where… where is here?”
“Well Mr. Parker, this is the Red Room.”
Present Day.
Still shaken from his earlier paranoia, Tony made his way back to the Tower as fast as he could. Earlier the fresh air had felt freeing, but now he just felt exposed. He wanted the safety of his suits and his tower and the presence of Pepper Potts.
He walked straight through the entrance of the Tower and took the elevator all the way to the penthouse before he allowed himself a breath of relief. He was safe. He was home.
However, the adrenaline slipping away also took his distraction, and the anxieties of his life returned.
He collapsed into his desk chair and put his head in his hands. Nightmares, Ultron, Pepper. All fresh wounds. The nightmares were returning, Ultron was his fault, and Pepper was leaving. Maybe. Probably.
He was alone, he was alone, he was alone.
The Avengers were no longer at the Tower, Rhodey was off being a Colonial, and Pepper. He shouldn’t cry because Stark men were made of iron and Stark men didn’t cry. Tony must not be made of iron.
He needed her. But he blew it.
His whole body trembled as he held in his tears. He’d hoped getting out today would help but all it did was distract him for a moment. In the end, it would always come back to Pepper.
Something shifted in the air.
Tony felt it again. The hair on the back of his neck rose, his shoulders tensed, his eyes began darting around the room. His ears had picked up on a shuffling. An almost-imperceptible shuffling in the vents.
“FRIDAY?” Tony chirped as if he hadn’t just been holding back tears, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Be a dear and make sure our ventilation system is clear. The air is feeling a bit stuffy.”
Before she could even respond, the vent in the ceiling burst open and a masked figure in an all-black bodysuit landed on all fours. Tony blinked, stumbling up out of his chair and calling out for FRIDAY to dispatch his suit, but the man in black ran to the window, barreled straight through, it and fell out of view. Tony sprinted towards the opening, looking down for a corpse landed on the pavement, but there was no body, living or dead.
Tony stumbled backward, scrubbing at his eyes. “FRIDAY, am I seeing things?”
“All visuals are down, boss.”
Tony frowned. “Excuse me?”
“My video feed has been completely disabled.”
“Why didn’t you alert me?”
“You told me not to.”
Tony’s frowned deepened, but when the reality of the situation hit him, he sighed and plunked down in his desk. “FRIDAY, get Pepper up here. Tell her we have a situation.”
“Yes, boss.”
A beat of silence.
“May I ask what kind of situation?”
Tony chuckled humorlessly, shaking his head as he picked up his phone to make some calls. “Well Fri, you’ve been hacked.”
Ten Years Ago.
Peter’s footsteps echoed in the dim hallway. The woman leading him hadn’t said a word since they’d left the room, and Peter was feeling more and more anxious. The longer they walked, the more Peter’s chest ached with a loss he didn’t quite understand. He didn’t know where he was going, or who was now taking care of him, or where his parents really were. He just wanted to go home.
The woman stopped abruptly next to a door and turned to unlock it. Peter shivered, terrified of what lay beyond.
The door opened seamlessly, and the woman looked at Peter expectantly.
“Well,” she said when he didn’t move. “Go on.”
Peter took a few tentative steps forward, before freezing in the door frame. It was a small room, with a single chair in the center and a man in the corner hunched over a table.
“Master Mikhailov, this is Peter Parker.”
The man turned around, and Peter tensed. But the man wasn’t hideous or creepy or anything that Peter had expected. He was just a normal-looking, middle-aged man.
The man smiled at Peter, but it felt as warm as the woman’s smile had. “Hello, Peter. I am Master Mikhailov.”
Peter said nothing, only blinked back in response.
The man’s gaze hardened, and he turned back to messing with the items on his table. “Come in,” he ordered, his voice had no give to it.
The woman turned on her heel and walked swiftly back down the hallway, leaving Peter with very little choice in the matter. He took a slow step inside, still unsure.
“Sit,” Master Mikhailov commanded, his back still facing Peter. Peter trudged to the chair and plunked down into it. “We’re just going to do a little medical procedure, make sure your body’s in prime physical condition.”
Peter tried to listen, he really did, but his memories kept pulling at his skull. His brain dragged him back to his parents and his city and his friends and his home and how this was not home. This was terrifying and nothing about this place felt right. His eyes began to water, and Peter sniffed, trying so hard to keep his composure. He didn’t want to cry in front of people that did not seem at all friendly, but his eyes refused to dry at the thought of living here, with these people that had no words of kindness or softness in their smiles.
The master came to stand in front of him and clicked his tongue. “Ah mister Peter we cannot have crying, now can we?”
Peter scrubbed his fists in his eyes, trying to hide his vulnerability. “I want my mom!”
“Your mother is gone, Peter.” The master said, no sympathy in his voice. “Hold out your wrist for me, please.”
Peter did, not looking up at the man. “I want to go home,” he murmured, his tears beginning to diminish before he really wanted them to. Now that he’d begun letting out his emotions, he didn’t want to stop. “I want my dad.”
Something soft brushed against his arm.
“Oh, Peter, didn’t Madame B tell you? This is your new home.”
A tickling sensation made Peter’s gaze snap up at his wrist a second before the spider sitting on it sunk its fangs into his skin.
Present Day.
The Wolf Spider hung upside down by a single thread, twisting through the air silently. His eyes were closed, his senses open to the bank and the people bustling beneath him. The businessmen and women were too preoccupied with their little nothings to glance upward and see his dark form. He listened beneath his mask without saying a word.
He shouldn’t have been caught. He should’ve been more careful. Stupid Tony Stark and his paranoia. If only he’d been better. If only he’d been quieter. There were a thousand if only’s but he couldn’t focus on the past now, he could only focus on this next mission and going back and fixing it. He couldn’t have another person hurt because he failed.
His eyes snapped open and his pupils dilated as the hair across his arms rippled. He could feel it. The presence of an insect buzzing its way towards his delicate web of death and carnation.
The insect in question was a balding man with the navy suit and the dark gray suitcase making his way towards the teller’s desk. The Wolf Spider, holding onto his thread with one hand, raised the other to his mouth and yanked the switch on his wristbands with his teeth. He raised his wrist to eye-level and aimed with his now activated kill switch. His hand began to tremble as the target and the weapon matched up.
He growled at himself and shook it out. He’d killed before. He could do it again.
But this man is innocent, a small voice in the back of his head whispered.
“So were my parents,” Peter murmured to himself, took aim again, and fired.
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