#mod favorite

[irondadfics]

What's your favorite 5+1 fics?

Here’s a few of my personal favorites. ❤️

Five Times Peter Parker Pretended to Be Asleep by blondsak

...and the one time he actually was. Or: sometimes, faking sleep can work to your advantage. When it comes to trying to fool a certain genius, overprotective, superhero mentor, Peter finds this to be doubly true.

5 times Peter is stuck with Tony by iron_spider

(...and one time he’s stuck alone.) “I wonder if Pepper’s reported me missing yet,” Tony says, with an exaggerated sigh. “I wonder if this is some kind of scheme to kidnap me or something.” “I think the ride’s just broken,” Peter says.  “Today of all goddamn days,” Tony says, exasperation clear in his voice and in his eyes. “Ruining our trip—” “It’s not ruined,” Peter says. “Look, we’re hanging out." “Real quality time,” Tony huffs. “Us, a few other trapped members of the general public, and a handful of animatronic pirates. Drunk pirates. Repeating themselves.” (Infinity War spoilers!)

Five Times Tony Stark Got to be a Normal Dad by CaptainStarSong

... and one time Peter acts like a normal son.  Peter Parker hasn't had a father figure in his life since the untimely death of his Uncle Ben. Tony Stark never gets to act like a normal person, on account of him being a genius, billionaire, and former playboy philanthropist. But, for Peter, he's willing to do anything, especially if he gets to be the kid's surrogate dad.

identity reveal by killerqueenwrites 

(You’ll need an account to read this one.)

The first time Rhodey meets Peter Parker, it’s barely six months after the whole shitshow in Germany and he’s checking in to make sure Tony isn’t drunk off his ass or loopy with caffeine and sleep deprivation again. The second time he meets Peter Parker, the kid’s cooking in Tony’s kitchen like he’s been there his whole life. The third time he meets Peter Parker, he’s bleeding out on Tony’s couch, and that’s not even the weirdest thing about this kid. Or, five times Rhodey doesn’t figure out Spider-Man’s identity and one time he does.

5 Times Peter Fell, and Tony caught him. And the 1 Time Tony didn’t. by eva7673

Peter has a nasty habit of falling. And Tony, bless him, will catch him every single time. Until the day he can't.

5 Times Peter Cracks a Joke in the Face of Death by polaroid15

...and one time Tony beats him to it.  Or, Peter’s been working on his jokes. Tony’s been working on keeping his kid alive to see his 18th birthday.

You caught me at just the right time (until you couldn't) by 14million_constellations

“I thought Spider-Man didn’t get sick,” Tony said, smiling.  “And I thought Tony Stark didn’t care,” Peter says, now not only looking like death but sounding like it, and Tony frowned. Peter noticed. “Sorry. You do care. I know you do. --or-- The 5 times Tony realized Peter was sick, and the 1 time it was almost too late.

[thegreataceattorneyost]

Visit Original Link

Kazuma's personal theme.

"'Something elegant but emotional...but also elegant...' was the request. This piece tries to capture Kazuma's inner strength and movingly gallant character. If you listen carefully, you may even feel the keen edge of Karuma perhaps...?"

- Maeba

[fuckyeahguiltygearmusic]

Visit Original Link

Guilty Gear -STRIVE- -- Love the Subhuman Self

[postfallinspiration]

Preston Yarger- Wasteland Weekend 2k19

[bunny-kin-help]

link board for @sunfoxkins with themes of coral reefs, treasure, oceans, your fairy and general pirate stuff!!! this was SO much fun!! i love working with the vibrant colors and im just!!! dhsdnhfdjdfhn thank you so so much for requesting this.....

- mod link

[jasper-appreciation]

Because I’m all about that jasp, bout that jasp NO REBELS

[odysseyalbum]

11/2/18

[redditnosleep]

The Carayas Worm

by ASTOL01

“Do you know what the Carayas Worm is?”

The doctor doesn’t look at me as he asks that question. He scratches at the beard on his chin and turns the MRI printout over in his hands. He won’t make eye contact with me. I shiver in my flimsy hospital gown. I hear the tone in his voice and wonder if this is how I know I'm already dead. I just haven’t been diagnosed yet.

“The Carayas Worm is native to Malaysia,” he tells me. “Have you been outside the country recently?” he asks. I lie.

There’s a parasite, he tells me, that gets into an ant’s body. It crawls into the ant’s brain and takes over. The ant walks to the tip of a tall piece of grass and waits, night after night. Until eventually, a grazing cow comes along and eats it, all so that the parasite can reach the cow’s digestive system and lay its eggs. The ant doesn’t know it’s being controlled. It simply feels compelled to go where it’s told. It doesn’t even try to escape from its death.

He tells me this as disaffectedly as though it were nothing more than an interesting episode of Animal Planet. Fun fact at the doctor’s office. He clears his throat and looks down at the MRI.

The Carayas Worm, he goes on, can only survive inside human hosts. It’s perfectly adapted to us. But its eggs can live almost anywhere. They can be found in uncooked meat. Salad greens. They can live in fresh and salt water, even in poisonous brine pools. They can be transmitted through sex. The doctor lists these things off one by one, as though trying to work a confession out of me. Only once the eggs are in a human, he continues, do they hatch.

Once the worm is inside the body, it carefully lays its eggs on the brain stem. Then it works its way into the brain. It settles between the membranes. It takes over. Everything you do, everything you think, are just products of chemicals and electrical impulses. The worm is intuitive to these things. It quickly learns how to operate your body, which nerves pull what strings. It learns to make you do what it wants.

But the worm doesn’t want your body. It wants you. All your memories, all your mannerisms, are just neurochemical triggers in your brain. The worm learns these too. It responds to your memories. It thinks your thoughts. It unconsciously does all the things you unconsciously do. After a while, the worm believes it is you. It has complete control of who you are.

Every night, when you close your eyes, the worm reaches the end of its life cycle and dies. And every night, another one of its eggs hatches, and a new worm crawls out to take its place.

Every night, when you fall asleep, you die. And every morning, a new creature wakes up in your body. Even you won’t know the difference.

I can feel something horrible crawling in the pit of my stomach. A sickening feeling. I don’t want to hear what he’s saying. The doctor holds up the picture of the MRI and asks if I can see anything wrong with it.

No, I tell him, feeling relieved. It just looks like a picture of a normal human brain to me. No worm. The doctor shakes his head.

Your eyes, he tells me, are just sending signals down your nerves. It’s your brain that decides what you see, not your eyes. And your brain only sees what the worm wants. Everyone else can see the thin white strand, like a single long piece of spaghetti, crawling over and over itself inside your skull. Everyone else but me.

He’s lying. He must be lying. I'm not sick, I tell him. He nods in agreement.

No, he says, I'm not. The worm doesn’t want me sick. It needs my body to survive. It won’t do anything to jeopardize its host. It’s the perfect parasite. It will keep you alive, walking around, pretending to be normal, for as long as it possibly can. It will try to keep the truth from you, to stop you from trying to destroy it. In theory, your body can live a long, healthy life. And no one, not your friends or your family or your lovers, need ever know the difference.

But the worm can’t be removed. Once it settles into position in your brain, only it and its offspring will ever live inside your head ever again. You will die. Whatever part animates you – your will, your soul, your spirit – the worm kills it. Once the parasite takes over, the person you were will quietly slip away one night. And the next morning, the worm will open your eyes, and everything will be normal again. It will be painless. You won’t even notice yourself dying.

I don’t know what to say to that. What can I say? Finally, with a dry throat and a scratchy voice, I ask the doctor how long it will be. How long do I have to do something before the worm kills me?

The doctor looks at me. There’s pity in his eyes, and sympathy, but also revulsion. Disgust. As though he weren’t looking at a patient. As though he’s looking at a horrible, alien creature behind my eyes.

“I’m afraid you don’t understand,” he says.