May 22, 2020
i just want a badass assassin tony teaching newbie assassin peter how to be a bad bitch,,, is that too much to ask ???
seen from Yemen
seen from Malaysia
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from Israel
seen from Austria
seen from Yemen
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Israel
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Netherlands
seen from T1
seen from Martinique
i just want a badass assassin tony teaching newbie assassin peter how to be a bad bitch,,, is that too much to ask ???
The Thing that lives under the Bed AU or Shadows.
Note: Please, listen to a song Cat Pierce feat James Levy- Regret by almost the end.
This was not what i imagined happening but as Cat release this song i couldn't help but to sank in it and imagine as Tony would feel Peter as much as the angsty song tells you. And i know that by those last lines it could led to a tragic end for Peter, but is up to you to decided if Peter falls asleep forever to dream of Tony of if he ever blinks again.
I did call him sleeping beauty for a reason.
@starker-sorbet, @thestarkerisobvious, @starkerprince
Read on AO3
Startdust and Moonlight
Up to next morning, Peter didn’t feel tired nor restless, he imagined he had dreamed last night, however his mind was foggy and he couldn’t remember what his dream was all about. A sharp knock on the door alerted him.
“C’mon sleeping beauty, it’s time to wake up.” Groovy with sleep Peter marched to the bathroom and got ready for the day. His hair was suffering from a crazy case of bed hair, sticking all over the place as if somebody had played with it before he went to sleep; a distant tune rang beneath him making him blink fast trying to remember. Where did the music come from?
Once again, May knocked on his door, only this time, she appeared smiling at him offering a warm cup of coffee.
“You’re getting late for school, kiddo.” Peter said his goodbyes running out of the apartment after kissing her cheek and stealing her breakfast.
Peter’s mornings were very similar and casual. Tones of boring classes, boring topics, interesting topics, horrible teachers and lots of screaming, whether is the Cafeteria flood with kids and hunger or the long hallways filling with swimming legs and rush breathes as more than one student seemed to late that day.
His one free period was usually taken by the library, on the days Ned and Gwen shared the same hours, they would stay together, eating snacks and talking about their days, their classes, the weekly gossip, dating and the walk of shamed to the principal’s office.
By the early afternoon, right after the bell rang and the students started to leave the school, Peter would take his time. The season was changing, the raging heat was slowly decreasing, although there was no obvious turning on the trees nor any sing of snow yet, surely autumn was taking his time to arrive. The sun still shined above their heads and painted the sky with blues and magentas reminding him of cotton candy on the Carnival.
Waiting for the subway wasn’t really a chore, at least not for Peter, sure May hated it on the rush hours when everyone was trap like a can of sardines, but even then for Peter was a whole experience. Low were the times where Peter would take a seat, and even if he got lucky he would prefer to give it away to someone who actually needed it. He liked to daydream about the lives of the people who traveled with him on short distances on the subway, where would they go? Where did they live? Did they like the subway like Peter or would they hate it like May? Would the people love being in such a restricting place or would they rather be on wide open spaces?
Like that foggy gray ancient mansion Peter used to visit when little.
Wait— what mansion?
Going into a tunnel with the flutter of passing birds, Peter closed his eyes and saw it. The long roads of ladders cover in dirt and dead leaves. The lonely looking mansion resting in dry land and open space, the bindweed created a slithering path that he wishes to dance upon. The creaking of leaves under his bare feet was a delighted sound as he danced an old tune in violin. Would anybody be there to dance with him?
The flashing light of warm sun brought him back to the present. The people around were unconcerned of his thoughts and soon one and another left their places by the time they reached their destination. Confusion clouded his mind, was it a dream? He could recall the fresh memory of a place he was sure; he had never been before even when the details were so firm in his brain. Perhaps he had seen it in class? History was never his forte but Peter could swear it was straight out of a Victorian novel, those which he and his classmate were force to read in literature and study their times in real life back in the 1800s.
Maybe, that’s what it was. A simple made of memory from a past class.
Peter went home without another thought feeling the soothing warmth of sleepy sun at the back of his neck, innocent to perceive the glooming darkness that soon came to follow.
Based on The Thing That Lives Under The Bed because i trully loved the idea and the eerie feeling from it even thou is really sweet
Read on AO3
@starker-sorbet @thestarkerisobvious both your art and writing inspired my brain to this. It doesn’t make much sense thou (?)
Shadows
Basking in the warm candle light waddling in waves of whispers, Peter walked. His gaze was hook to the floor, distant figures and forms danced all around him, following a tune he could still not hear but his heart long for.
The echoes of his steps came soon and bathing in light, he was conscious of his body. His bare legs and shoeless feet, the smooth floor wasn’t cold but his felt chills down his spine even in the stillness of the room. An eerie air surround him.
Peter was not scared. He was curious.
In his dream, Peter wore a camisole, a soft piece of fabric long enough to cover his hands and only showing his fingertips. The air was delicate and scent of wild flowers that made him feel heavy and lightweight altogether.
With a blinking game against his brain, Peter shortly after was capable of recognizing shapes beneath his cheeks.
The room wasn’t spare but his eyes yet fought to get used to the darkness. The absence of light cause him no trouble, in fact, lull him to rest and calm even standing up. With careful fingertips he reached for the closets wall going after the fleeting sway of candles and wax, founding now, colors in his eyes.
The room shifted for his view only, creating new colors and shades of lights.
Breaking the spell of sound, Peter saw himself fit to move, his wavy legs tingled after staying put even when he didn’t think it was that long.
Peter believed he was alone, but the increasing number of shapes close to his feet taught him otherwise.
Peter placed on feet after the other, walking around the enormous hall, discovering how the shadows seemed to dance with him and he laughed.
i high key low key wanna write a fic where peter has ADHD. i actually have ADHD and i hyperfixate on stuff and it really affects me when people get annoyed when i ramble on about my fixation.
so, consider:
-peter rambling on to tony about his current fixation and then stopping and apologizing for rambling, but tony is like “no! i love hearing you ramble about things!” and it makes peter super happy
-peter fidgeting a lot and feeling like he’s weird for it, but tony reminding him that it’s okay
-peter having trouble paying attention when doing work and tony having to get him back on track
-peter forgetting he said something/told tony something already and tony reminding him (in a super gentle way) that he’s already said it
-peter forgetting to do things/grab things he needs to grab and tony helping to remind him and make sure he has everything.
-tony reminding peter to take his meds
in conclusion: starker with ADHD!Peter. thanks for coming to my ted talk.
Read on AO3
Bambino
A Summer in Italy
Peter se perdió en la risa de MJ mientras Ned continuaba contando la historia sobre su última semana en total cautiverio. Los tres amigos habían pasado las vacaciones de verano distanciados y con una melancólica pena, siendo su último semestre juntos en la escuela, luego de aquellas solitarias aventuras, todos partirían en direcciones opuestas del país para seguir sus sueños. Él bebía a sorbos de su té frío en el pequeño espacio apartado para ellos. Peter venía frecuentando el mismo local desde que le encontró una tarde descuidado, confundido y preocupado por su obvia tardanza a la reunión del equipo de decatlón de su instituto.
Entrar en el local, pidiendo una lista de disculpas en forma de café una tarde lluviosa había sido uno de los mejores accidentes que podían haberlo sucedido en mucho tiempo.
Peter viró el rostro al escuchar como la puerta principal se abría y su respiración se entrecortó al reconocer el cuerpo que se asomaba curioso, de brazos junto a una mujer que parecía dedicarle toda su atención. Ned seguía contando su historia de cómo su abuela le había obligado a cuidar del perro de la familia —no era realmente una obligación, pero nadie quería expresar la obvia falta de decisión y poder de decir ‘no’. Ned nunca podía negarse a su abuela—. La garganta se le secó aun cuando no llevaba ni media bebida y el corazón se le aceleró de tal forma que creyó sus amigos podrían ser capaces de escucharle; un cosquilleo nervioso llegó a sus manos y se aferró al vidrio de su vaso para evitar ser detectado. Escondió la mirada casi con pena.
El hombre permaneció frente a la caja registradora mientras la dependienta le tomaba la orden y ofrecía cordial conversación, al tiempo que su acompañante se distraía con la pantalla del celular. Peter observó como el hombre le entregaba un billete y con sonrisas cortas se despidieron luego de obtener su orden.
—Hey, Pete. ¿Estás bien? —MJ le miraba curiosa y giró el rostro tratando de encontrar aquello que el muchacho veía con tanta insistencia, más solo encontró distintos clientes entrando y saliendo de la tienda, además de finalmente prestar atención al ruido que se acumulaba debido a todas las conversaciones.
—Sí, sí. Estoy bien. —Dando un sorbo se abstuvo a extender su respuesta, y conociendo a la castaña, lo más probable es que no se diese por vencida para descifrarle.
—¿Y? ¿Qué tal tus vacaciones, Pete? —Peter regresó a la conversación, después de ver al hombre desaparecer entre la muchedumbre. Peter suspiró silencioso relajando los hombros y sonrió leve al recordar lo cálida que había sido su estancia junto a un familiar lejano.
El descubrir que May tenía un hermano secreto del que Peter no sabía nada, había sido una verdadera sorpresa, es decir, no que Peter no supiese del hombre, más bien era que no le recordaba casi en absoluto. Fotos fugaces descansaban en el closet, escondidas en una caja de zapatos; de pequeño a Peter le encantaba hurgar entre las cosas de sus tíos, solo para revivir memorias y si tenía suerte, terminar con historias nuevas, ya fuese sobre sus padres o de May y Ben. En ocasiones, le encontraba casi avergonzado en las esquinas de las fotografías, como si quisiese evitar se plasmado en la eternidad a toda costa.
La primera vez que preguntó por el desconocido, Peter tenía unos seis años.
—May, ¿quién es él? —Su tía permaneció en silencio un buen rato y por momentos el pequeño Peter creyó que no había sido escuchado; a punto de repetirse estaba cuando la voz cuidadosa de la mujer llegó a los oídos junto a una caricia en su cabello. Le estaba creciendo rápido.
—Él es Tony. —Peter asintió. Contempló la empolvada foto por unos segundos más antes de repetir el nombre del extraño, como si así fuese posible no olvidarlo.
Tony parecía ser más alto que su tía May, en las fotos se le veía esbelto más no fornido, brazos bien formados a causa del trabajo y el ejercicio ocasional, aunque discernía del clásico juego de abdominales que imitaban las revistas y los comerciales de televisión; por su vientre plano y tonificado se desdibujaba un diminuto y obscurecido camino creado por vellos hasta perderse en la fila elástica de su bañador.
En otras, aparecía con una copa de vino en una mano y un cigarro en la otra. El —para en aquel tiempo— muchacho le daba la espalda dificultándole la posibilidad de reconocerle, si bien, May le disipaba las dudas cuando Peter se mostraba interesado.
—Esta la tomamos en Italia. —May sonrió leve ante algún recuerdo alegre de su niñez y sus años siguientes, y Peter abrió los ojos sorprendido, él nunca antes había siquiera salido de la ciudad y ahora se enteraba que su familia había viajado inclusive fuera del país. —¿Te gustaría ir? —Peter asintió tan de prisa que su cabello se despeinó haciendo a la mujer reír. —De acuerdo. Iremos en las vacaciones.
Aquella promesa se vio opacada por el fallecimiento de su tío Ben.
i’ve had a starker fic with witch!peter in my drafts for so long and so i’m working on finishing that shit and i’m actually really liking it so far. expect that in the next week or so :)
Running
A Starker Drabble
There was something oddly therapeutic about running away, about knowing that nobody has any clue where you are, about having no idea where you’re headed. Nobody on the street pays attention to you, because you’re just another stranger heading somewhere— heading nowhere— and nobody gives a shit about you or your life. There’s nothing significant about you, no feature that makes you stand out amongst the crowds as you wander through the towering building and blinding lights of New York City in the nighttime. There was— is— something therapeutic about running away, and Peter Parker knew that.
It wasn’t anything important; he wasn’t on the run from a terrorist organization or a life of crime or his debts to the mob. There was no reason for him to run, for him to think about getting out of New York and never returning. He shouldn’t be running, shouldn’t be leaving, but he just couldn’t bring himself to stay after he’d found out. When he walked into his apartment and found out that Quentin was cheating, he didn’t think about his options. His first thought was simply:
Run.
It was dumb, and he knew that. He couldn’t just run away from his apartment, from his home, and never face what had happened. He should go back and sit down with his boyfriend— ex-boyfriend?— and talk about it, but the more he thought about turning back, the more unappealing it sounded.
So, instead, he walked, head down and hood pulled up, along the dark streets of the city, ignoring the world around him, and the world ignored him right back. He had no clue where he was going or when he would stop running. He had his phone, a charger, fifty bucks, and a small container of chocolate hearts that he’d bought to give to Quentin when he came home that evening after work.
Coming across the stairs leading to the subway, he went down, the sound of his sneakers tapping against the concrete drowned out by the sounds of the city. Making it to the bottom, he jumped the gates, a skill he’d had extensive practice at as a teenager. Finally, he stood at the bottom, waiting for the next train to come.
The station was empty, the tunnels eerily quiet with only the faint sounds of the world above drifting down, muffled by the amount of space between him and the city. It was calming, in a way, just like running, with nobody there to stop him, no person there to tell him to turn back. He was in control, he could go anywhere.
He could go nowhere.
He heard the train before he saw it, the deafening sound of it coming down the tracks echoing through the tunnels. The glare of the front lights made him squint his eyes a little, but he didn’t turn away.
When it came to a screeching halt, the doors slid open with a creak. He stepped into the cart closest to him, which was nearly empty except for one man sitting in the corner looking down at his phone. Peter sat down on a seat about in the middle of the cart, across from the doors he entered through and a little to the left, so he was in the same half of the car as the stranger.
The runaway didn’t pull out his phone or close his eyes, instead staring straight at the windows across from him and watching the concrete tunnels and blazing orange lights go by.
Nobody got on at the next three stops.
Peter could feel the other passenger sneaking glances at him, but said nothing and didn’t spare him a look, sitting unmoving as he continued to just stare out the dirty windows.
Another stop went by.
“Are you okay?” the stranger asked.
The brunet startled a bit and turned to look at the man, who was gazing at him with eyes full of what appeared to be genuine concern.
“Yeah. Why?” Peter replied, tone turning
slightly defensive, but a voice crack betrayed his assurance of being okay.
“You just looked like you were disassociating and I didn’t want you to miss your stop or anything.”
“Well, I’m fine, so you don’t have to worry.”
“No offense, but that sounded so fake that I’m only worrying more.”
Peter sighed, closing his eyes and running his hands down his face before opening his eyes again and looking back to the man.
“I’m just having a rough night,” he admitted with a shrug, hoping he could leave it at that.
“I figured. Not many people are riding the subway this late because they’re having a great day.” His voice was slightly humorous, but there was still that tone of concern underneath. The brunet found it almost endearing how much this stranger seemed to care about him.
“Well, wouldn’t that mean that you’re here because of a shitty night too?” Peter shot back, praying it would shift the focus off of him.
“I am,” the man confessed with a slightly sad smile. “How about this: if I tell you why I’m here, will you tell me why you’re here?”
Peter mulled over it for a few seconds, weighing the pros and cons. The logical part of him said that he shouldn’t even be talking to a random man on the subway, as you never knew who you could trust in New York City, but his curiosity wanted to find out why this stranger was here. Eventually, he came to a decision.
“Sure. What could go wrong?” Peter told him with a shrug, trying to act uninterested. “Why are you on the subway at two am, talking to some random twenty-two year old?”
“I’m a businessman and my assistant got pissed at me because I might have ruined a deal for the company I work for and I couldn’t sleep because I was so worried about it.” The sentence came out easily, no hesitation in the man’s voice. It was obvious to Peter that he was telling the truth. “Now it’s your turn.”
“I came home from a late shift at work and found out my boyfriend of two years was cheating on me,” Peter confided in the stranger, voice quiet and tone sounding almost embarrassed.
The man paused, simply staring at the brunet with a concerned face, looking even more worried than before.
“I’m really sorry. Being cheated on sucks.”
“It’s okay. I just didn’t know what to do and all I could think of doing was running, so here I am.”
The car stopped at the next station. Nobody got on.
Tears slowly started to leak out of Peter’s eyes and he didn’t realize how much he had wanted to cry until that moment. Still, he began to furiously wipe them away.
“Sorry. I sound like such a baby.” The tears wouldn’t stop falling.
The man got up and walked over, careful to keep his balance as the cart rocked back and forth on the tracks. He sat down near Peter, one seat between the two, enough to be close, but also enough so the brunet didn’t feel trapped by him.
“You don’t sound like a baby. Being cheated on feels awful, and I know that from experience. I don’t know why you would think that it’s dumb to feel upset over this.”
“Quentin, my boyfriend, I mean, he always told me I was just being dumb when I cried over things, and I am. I’m being a baby over this whole thing. Instead of facing him, I just ran away.”
The man sighed, eyes gleaming with sorrow and a controlled rage.
“He sounds like a dickhead.” That got a light chuckle out of Peter. “You’re allowed to be upset. You’re allowed to feel emotions. The fact that you’re emotional over him cheating on you is completely normal. He’s a manipulative asshole for making you feel like you can’t be mad at him.”
“You really think so?” The absolute hope in the brunet’s voice was heartbreaking, so full of innocence and wonder.
“I know so.”
The cart fell back into silence for a few moments as it came to a stop at the next station. Nobody got onto the cart.
“I’m Peter, by the way. Peter Parker,” the brunet introduced himself, deeming the stranger trustworthy.
“Tony Riggs,” the man replied, lying through his teeth about his last name. After all, his company didn’t give a face to the name of their owner, and he wasn’t about to give up his identity.
“It’s nice to meet you, Tony.” There was a soft smile on Peter’s face.
“You as well.” Tony matched his smile.
The cart came to a stop at another station and Peter gave a small sigh.
“I should get off. I need to go somewhere. I hope I see you again, Tony.” He stood up and walked off, leaving the man, who was in a bit of shock as the brunet walked off abruptly.
Tony was a moment too late to stand up and call after Peter, but the brunet was already gone. He didn’t know where the boy had come from or where he was going, but he did know one thing.
He wanted to meet Peter again, and he would go to the ends of the earth and back to see that soft, rosy-cheeked face and puppy dog brown eyes once more.
Notes: this was slightly inspired by this short fic by @birdycurtains and partly by a story of me talking to a stranger on the subway who was very nice to me and helped me through some shit. i’m open to writing a sequel to this if y’all want!
Tag List For All Fics (let me know if you would like to be added/removed!)
@darkerstarker @dim-ships-johnlock @ashleybeattie @haylove5
Daddy!Tony x Soft!Peter for @peterparkerbabyboy