Johnny glowered at him. "Why would I be kidding?" He gestured at the door, clearly ready to go as Peter took his sweet time tying his brown leather shoes. "I told you a thousand times, it's a murder mystery dinner party—what am I supposed to do? Wear jeans? As if." He almost scoffed and for half a second Peter could picture him in some teen movie, talking to some loser love interest.
"So wear a suit!" Peter gesticulated vaguely at Johnny. "Like a gentleman duke or something!"
Johnny made a face. "I'm the magician's assistant." He gestured to his fishnet-clad legs. "And you're the detective, so get your stupid ugly trench coat and give it to me so I don't flash half of Manhattan walking to the car."
—
Inspired by and set roughly around/during FF v1 issue #17, "The Roommate Experiment."
—
Apparently I never posted a link to this fic (one of many) so I'm rectifying that because I recently got some very nice comments that reminded me of its existence
tagged by @traincat / tagging @cannibal-wings but consider yourself informally tagged if you see this lol
Bit more than several sentences but I don't currently have any active fanfic WIPs since I've been going OC-sicko-mode so here's an unpublished scene from the unfinished AU clone-fic, aka "The Scene Where Ben Beats Warren To Death"
—
"He's not really my son, you know."
Even with Cain's cheeks sunken and eyes hollowed, reddish-brown hair falling out and skin peeling… It was obvious.
Yes, of course. He and Peter had the same eyes, the same nose. The same chin and jawline, albeit a little softer and rounder on Cain, and more sunken between juts of bone. Like looking into a mirror and seeing himself terminal. At least, the last time they'd spoken face-to-face, on Christmas. Now, Spider-Man looked toward the long-limbed starving body on its plastic bed, unmoving except for a slight rise and fall of the chest, head lolling, the barest flutter of eyelid, misaligned facial features. Like part of his face had been caved in.
("This is what will happen to you if you misbehave again.")
Cain and…
"…Abel."
Dr. Warren glanced down at Abel's costume, so similar to Peter's and yet so different.
Another roar, and Abel flung the Jackal toward the ruined door.
He had to get out of this room and away from all of its exposed sins.
"You lied to me!" As if that were the most heinous crime here.
Let them grapple up the stairs, slam into the walls and crack the plaster, a boy in crisis and a naked beast in gleaming second skin tearing Spider-Man's spandex mask off just the way he'd torn off the Jackal's. Unmasked.
Abel shouted, and heaved the Jackal over his shoulders.
"You manipulated me!"
The living room window shattered, a rain of sparkling glass in the idyllic morning, and the Jackal landed in the yard, ripping furled moonflowers from the trellis as it snapped in half. Not down for long. He leapt back up to meet red-clad Abel.
"Did I?!" He growled, "Look me in the eye, whelp!"
Abel looked Miles Warren in the eye, a brief frozen moment with their hands at each other's throats. Forehead-to-forehead, heaving for air, he looked him in the eye in front of the house he'd lived a lie for a year and change.
Warren's still-gloved hand, claw-tipped fingers, seemed almost to caress. Skin-crawling affection, drawing forth revulsion.
And he said to Abel, "I made you… Clone."
Abel shoved him away.
The Jackal, bare-faced, punched him in the jaw and Abel hit back harder, ears ringing.
And he didn't stop. Clavicle, solar plexus, traded.
Bone cracked and he didn't stop. (His bone?)
Claws dug into his skin, tearing gashes, and he didn't stop.
A burst of organic webbing— The Jackal faltered, fell, and Abel still didn't stop at first. Not right away, barely a cognizant being. Mostly just a bundle of exposed nerves and rage in the shape of a person who he wasn't and could not be, barely heeding of the crunch of foot or fist connecting with body again and again.
Abel stopped, and it was dead silent.
Not even the birds chirped, fled from the commotion.
He realized his face was wet, and slowly sank to his knees. Tears, not blood, just as salty. Eyes hot, face sore from his grief, costume sticking to his sweaty skin and weeping cuts, clutching fingers in unmarred pseudo-latex in an attempt to gain some purchase. He bowed over Miles Warren's unmoving body and felt his entire being collapse into a guttural sob. Something like a moan of pain, a wounded animal.
Unseeing eyes stared up at the sky as he clutched his maker to himself in a desperate embrace, lespedeza and datura blossoms scattered on the lawn and driveway in pink and white.
All he could think was "Why?"Why did it have to be me?
Relationships: Peter Parker/Flash Thompson, Aunt May Parker & Peter Parker, Ben Reilly & Miles Warren
Characters: Peter Parker, Flash Thompson, Aunt May, Harry Osborn, Kaine Parker, Ben Reilly, Miles Warren, Other Supporting Characters
Additional Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Canon-Typical Violence, Kidnapping, Torture, Medical Torture/Involuntary Sedation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Abuse
Alternate Universe, Revenge, Clones, Impersonation, Implied/Referenced Character Death, POV Multiple
See Chapter Notes for Specific Warnings
Series: came in through the window last night
Words: 26,662/?
Chapters: 5/? (8 or 9 total, probably)
(to be updated over time)
— — —
Flash loosened one of his hands to reach up to Peter's face, hand trembling slightly. Very carefully, halting, he touched the fuzzy spot between Peter's eyebrows and slowly traced his fingertips down the clean, unbroken arc of his nose.
(set in 2012)
[read on Ao3]
Rated R like a violent thriller.
Not all the listed tags apply to early chapters. Please heed tags, either way, and chapter-specific warnings will be placed in the notes preceding each chapter, as usual.
Recommended reading if you would like context for this fic:
creep chapters 1-3 for catalyst of revenge plot, but mostly chapter 2
From the notes of Dr. Miles Warren for a rough idea of cloning timeline and events just prior to this fic
"This is the first and last time," he says chapter 1 for some backstory
(please read warnings on all fics)
Very optional:
How big, how blue, how beautiful for some flashbacks of calm moments from Kaine's POV
Spider-Man and Power Pack #1 (easy, child-appropriate comic about Peter's experience with sexual assault as a pre-teen)
Spider-Man: The Lost Years #0 (some elements of inspiration for general clone-related stuff)
Music:
Spotify playlist for this fic
Fic title from the Brand New song "Sic Transit Gloria... Glory Fades"
windowverse kaine houston fic is such a mess idk if or when i'll ever finish it but it has a lot of scenes I like so:
here are a couple of brief Kaine and Aracely interactions set not long after leaving Houston in windowverse:
(contains brief reference to suicide and self-harm, but is otherwise free of both warnings and context. one scene is silly and the other is more serious)
***
[It's Kaine's birthday and they're on the road]
"Kaine! Kaine! Kaine!"
The bedsprings creaked with each bounce and Kaine groaned with his face hidden under the blanket. But he shifted, and Aracely continued bouncing and chanting, "Get up! Get up!"
His hand shot out, grabbed her ankle and knocked her off balance—she floated onto her back and smiled benignly, spinning herself upside down as he peered out from his nest of sheets.
"Happy birthday!"
Kaine sighed and pulled the blankets back over his head.
She landed on top of him, suddenly once more beholden to gravity, and he grunted.
"Get uuuuup!! I want to have a party!"
For what occasion? Two months of living in random hotel rooms?
"I hate parties." Kaine didn't bother moving. "Get off."
Aracely rolled off of him with a disappointed huff and when he looked back out at her, she sat floating in midair, hands wrapped around her crossed ankles and an earnest, pound puppy expression on her face.
"But it's your birthday."
Kaine finally sat up. "You're right. It is my birthday."
She perked up.
He continued, "It's also the sixth anniversary of a broken mirror."
Aracely's mouth twisted and her eyebrows drew into a knot but she didn't have anything to argue, here. She knew what he meant, even if the attempted suicide scar on his throat had been covered up by newer, gnarlier scars.
But Kaine sighed, pressing his face into his hands as he muttered, "One more year, maybe I'll have some good luck for once. We can have a party then."
Aracely pouted. "That's so long."
He nudged her out of his way, gently, and made his way to the bathroom without a word. But he lingered in the doorway and after a moment, not looking over his shoulder or anything like that, said simply, "See if they have any plain chocolate donuts."
"Yay!!!"
"No filling!"
She was already down the hallway.
***
[later on Aracely accidentally gets a brainful of Jackal flashbacks]
Kaine reached up to fit his hand to the overlapping scars on his face, though he didn't burn himself this time. Not for a while, now. He… hadn't felt the urge so sharply, since leaving New York a year ago.
A quiet noise caught his ear, and he frowned.
It sounded like…
"Shit."
It took him less than a second to tug on a bathrobe and open the bathroom door.
Aracely stood right there, with her face in her hands, trembling, tiny noises shaking her body.
"Aracely…" Kaine didn't know what to do, where to put his hands to comfort her. "I… thought you were asleep."
As if he weren't a radio tower broadcasting his trauma at all hours of the day, as if she somehow hadn't already felt all of the things he had felt and then simply hid it behind a smile.
She shook her head imperceptibly and sniffled, or whimpered, or both. The final grain of sand in the hourglass, the first flake of an avalanche.
Slowly, and stiffly, Kaine placed his hands on her shoulders, and she was so… small and fragile, even now, and his hands were so huge and rough. Killing hands trying to comfort. Aracely shuffled closer and Kaine let her push herself into his arms, a familiar and sometimes uncertain thing—hugs. Kaine found himself more concerned with her than with anything else. He wrapped his arms around her, and put his hand on the back of her head to hold it there against his half-bare chest, against his beating heart, as she squeezed her little arms around his waist.
“A rose-garden with bushes tall will grow” - a peter/flash fic
<READ HERE>
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Category: M/M
Fandom: Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Relationship: Peter Parker/Flash Thompson
Characters: Peter Parker, Flash Thompson, Norman Osborn (and other misc. minor appearances)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Time Shenanigans, Alternate Universe - 1910s, Fairy Tale Retellings, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, spider monster peter parker - Freeform, Alternate Universe - 1920s, POV Alternating, Inspired by Eros and Psyche (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Blood and Violence, Magic
Language: English
Words: 36,447
Chapters: 6 (technically 5 and a Rilke poem)
Summary:
In the bitter cold of winter, Flash Thompson is transported to the idyll of spring and a quiet manor home to the past, with hints of things that were and could have been. If only his host were more gracious.
Or: Flash gets time-traveled to the past and falls in love with a spider-man.
Fandoms: Spider-Man (Comicverse), Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Captain America Corps
Relationship: Peter Parker/Wyatt Wingfoot
Characters: Wyatt Wingfoot, Peter Parker
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon, The Fantastic Four Are No More, Relationship of Convenience, Friends With Benefits, Bittersweet
Words: 5452
In the United States of Americommand, friend-of-a-friendship is the closest you can get, sometimes. In the wake of disbandment, death, disappearance, and the forged fist of nationalism, sometimes that's all you need.
Sometimes things don't go right, sometimes people stay dead, and sometimes you have to move on.
(a fic set roughly in the setting of Captain America Corps, in which Johnny Storm is dead.)
Here is a fic I wrote and posted in October after reading the Human Torch solo comic from 2003--because when I read a story about Johnny and a dude he burned years earlier making almost-amends the first thing I think is “what if.... johnny visited him in oregon... and they kissed”
title: Roses for remembrance (link)
rating: T
pairing: Johnny Storm/Mike Snow
“Mike's stare was intense—it always had been. Even in high school. Like the Atlantic on a stormy day. His right eyelid had some slight scarring on it, but his eye had miraculously been spared, for the most part. The only real traces there, a few small gaps where his eyelashes had never grown back.”
