#toomes

[confusedandcontempt]

We're so back in business! (Chapter 29) HIWMHWL

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55811929/chapters/163292347

Snippet:

Peter had no idea why the ants would be robbing banks. After all, ants essentially live in a communist society. Technically. If you think about it really hard.

(what happened to the link thing???)

[hope-to-hell]

Fulgurite Dreams

And maybe we'll get lucky and we'll both grow old

Well I don't know, I don't know

I don't know, I hope so

Modest Mouse, Ocean Breathes Salty

Home is more than just four walls and a floor. It’s a gap in the clouds, the smell of warm bread, breath tickling the back of your neck. It’s a soft shirt worn through at the elbows and armpits. It’s steel and grease and above all it’s

One foot in front of the other. Come on. We’re almost there.

Adrian Toomes x Reader. A light sprinkling of smut, a pinch of gore, but nothing too serious. This is an experiment in style; it was simultaneously frustrating and exhilarating to write.

———

One: prism.

What do you think is out there among the stars? Ice and dust and the remains of satellites that strayed too far from home?

Maybe, but remember: there are also many worlds. Some sparkle with a rain of diamonds, some are lush and green. And some are mirrors to our own.

The moon and the earth remember each other. They dance to music that can only be heard in the quiet at the very edge of the atmosphere. They remind us that to be broken is natural, inevitable; they remind us that there is beauty in the remaking.

Tension floats oil-slick through his veins and you bleed it from him, working knotted muscles until he hums and reaches out a hand. ‘S good. His flannel’s hanging loose from your shoulders and the open cuff tickles his neck; his hand around your wrist is warm, callused, iron-strong. Get down here, he says, and chuffs when you land on his chest.

What’re you gonna do now?

Whatever I want. Maybe even sleep at night, for a change.

This is the morning after fate nudged Adrian Toomes a little harder than it might’ve otherwise done, leaving its bone-deep prints all down his back. The sun rises just the same, but he sees it from the other side for once; he watches light filtering through the curtains and blinks away his dreams.

At some point he’ll probably be out underneath his station wagon tinkering with something or other; that kid— what’s his name? Thomas or Paul or some other apostle— anyway, the kid’s been hanging around with Liz and Adrian’s been pulling the protective papa routine, making it known in no uncertain terms what’ll happen if his baby girl gets hurt.

(Come on, kid. You’ll be driving soon enough, and if you’re gonna be taking my girl anywhere you’d better know how to change a tire at least.)

When the days are long, Adrian soaks up the sun like a cat, sweat beading on his brow and rolling down the knobs of his spine. He says he’d like to fly over the Grand Canyon someday and let the wind carry him along— it’s cold up there when you’re moving fast; seasons don’t matter so much, long as it isn’t storming— but it isn’t gonna happen, not with how sharply he draws the line between his work and the rest of him.

You can still dream about it, though.

You dream of being in the air with him, tucked beneath his jacket, moving as he moves, puppeted by the shift and roll of his body in flight. The sun sets in the East and he’s saying let’s go break something. I want to see some blood that’s not my own. His arms are yours and you are many-limbed, crackling with potential, sharp with the smell of metal. You fall and he lets you go but it isn’t an ending— it isn’t betrayal or fear or how could you— but rather it’s like learning to swim, like being thrown from the diving board with a come on, you can do it. Let’s see you rise.

When you wake the bed is empty; there’s that momentary stab of alone alone alone where did he go, but the smell of breakfast drifts in; there’s the clink of forks on dishes and Adrian is there with a towel thrown over one shoulder and a plate in his hand; the kids are chattering about some minor drama in robotics club. Wondered when you’d join us, he says but there’s a softness to his words, a gentle mischief underscored by the briefest stroke of his little finger against your palm.

He’s falling, Icarus by moonlight, gears and bolts and bits of molten steel trailing in his wake. When he hits the ground, sand flies up and rains back down as shards of glass. He’s all blood and wire and the grind of bone on bone, but his eyes are clear and he is laughing. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Either way, you have to play the game.

The kid— Peter— hides himself well but he’s still filled with the hubris of the young; he knows about mortality in an abstract way and sometimes dreams of suffocation, of dust on his tongue, but it’s all so far away with morning light streaming in through the bay windows. He talks through mouthfuls of toast and jam, drawing schematics in the air; he knocks his juice glass off the table and catches it just a bit too quickly. Adrian sees because he sees everything; tension runs across his shoulders and down his arm before he shakes it loose with a flick of his dishtowel. Careful, he says.

(Yessir. I’ll be careful.

Come on out to the workshop. I’ve got something for you.

No— no way, Mr T. No fuckin way.

Language, son.)

Adrian takes it slow; he savors the taste of you, stroking his thumbs down the inside of your thighs. Watch out. A man could get used to this.

It’s yours when you want it. Just— fuck, do that again— just

It’s over and done, he mouths against you; he pulls back with his face shining wetly clear up to his eyes. I intend to enjoy my retirement, and right now that means— whatever he might’ve said is swallowed up by tongue and teeth and the way he’s got you seeing stars, but you hear it all the same. Right now it means you and me and all your thoughts lost to the wind. Lie back, honey, ‘cause I’m gonna take my time.

Adrian rolls his sleeves to the elbow; summer’s here in all its muggy humid misery and so he’s out in the workshop earlier and earlier each day. Got some new power cells in. Pete and I are gonna see if we can get that old junker running. He rises from the edge of the bed and runs a hand over your belly. Crew’s coming by tonight.

Don’t tell me you’re gonna—

Now, don’t you worry your pretty head, honey. I’m just consulting. There’s no job sweet enough to bring me out of retirement.

Do they know that?

A pause. Yeah.

Okay. But if you end up on the news it’d better be for winning the science fair or rescuing kittens or something.

(Well, would you look at that.

Oh shit, I can’t believe it’s working, does this mean I can drive—

What’d I say about watching your language, kid? When you get your license we can talk about it.)

You don’t have to ask him how’d it go because it’s there in the tight line of his shoulders, in the way his hand closes white-knuckled on his glass and oh, no. Tell me you didn’t.

No, but it was a near thing. You’d best stay close to home for a few days; some people don’t take kindly to being told ‘no.’

Hey. He’s warm under his shirt, warmer still when you get his belt open. Don’t worry about me. Plenty to do around here. It’ll blow over, right? And if he doesn’t answer, it must be because he’s too busy brushing his lips openmouthed over yours, breathing in that shuddery way that says let me forget myself in you.

(Hey, Mr T.

You ever gonna stop calling me that?

Probably not. I mean, yeah, but like. It’s already kinda stuck in my brain, y’know?

What do you want?

Dunno. I mean. What do you do when you have a big secret? It feels like it’s gonna bust out of your skin, or maybe— but you can’t, I mean—

You’re worried about hurting someone.

I— yeah.)

He comes home with blood on his collar, and when you meet him at the door his hands are so gentle on you, so careful, but his knuckles leave the smell of copper on your cheek. It’ll blow over, alright, yeah, like a hurricane.

[theamityelf]

Okay, on a more intellectual note, since I got that rage out of my system, I do think Wanda is an interesting case study as to what kinds of atrocities make a Character At the Start of Their Arc and what atrocities make a Tragic Villain Who Has to Die to Show That the System Failed them. Wanda is allowed to kill and harm countless people, movie after movie, and is treated as a misguided person on her way to eventually being a hero. Loki (though I enjoy him) is allowed to do the same, with similar treatment. But Erik Killmonger (N’Jadaka), or Karli Morgenthau, both have reasons and points, despite their methods, and they both have to die as martyrs to the more moderate characters, who will enact the murder-free version of their ideology once they’re gone. Wanda and Loki have no ideologies, really; only self-serving goals and power to carry them out. Erik and Karli are initially powerless (acquiring power through leadership of like-minded people) and very passionate in their ideologies, yet for some reason they are beyond help, beyond redemption.

And curiously, the exact middle-ground here is the villain from Spider-Man: Homecoming, who has a point and a sympathetic reason for his villainy and definitely does murder but who ends the movie alive, in jail, and treated with respect (since the film goes out of its way to show that he’s honorable enough not to reveal Peter’s secret identity).

Of course, obvious difference is: Wanda, Loki, and Vulture are all white, and Karli and Erik are people of color.

[howwasthefun-vee]

Ok, but like Spidey’s villain protecting his secret identity because he’s just a 15 year old kid is just too precious. Even the villains are too precious for this Earth. I need help. 

[neditsclassified]

so I have this head canon that Michelle/MJ is somehow related to Liz/The Toomes family. Here’s some reasons why:

1. Liz’s Party: When Peter and Ned say to Michelle that she is at the party to she responds with “Am I?” and mysteriously walks off. The way I interpreted it was that she wasn’t actually there for the party, she was there because she lived there. Also she was making toast, and honestly no matter how weird someone may be, one usually does not make toast at a party when it isn’t their house.

2. The Pool: When they are at the hotel for the decathlon, pretty much everyone but Peter and Ned go to the pool, even Michelle who doesn’t really seem like one to participate in group activities. I think that the reason she is down by the pool is because Liz forced her to because she didn’t want to leave her alone. Of course that could have just been Liz being a good person but it could also be Liz being sisterly/cousinly. 

I don’t think they are directly related because Michelle doesn’t go with the Toomes family to Oregon and also I feel like if they were sisters it would be stated at some point. If she truly was Adrian’s daughter, she should have gone with to Oregon like Liz did. I’ve seen some sources that say that Michelle’s last name is Toomes but it’s never directly stated in the movie or on any official website. But as I watched Spider-Man: Homecoming for the third time I just thought about the possibility of them being related for these reasons.

Let me know what you think. Do you think this is actually plausible? Or is it just a load of bullshit? If you do think it’s possible, feel free to add on some reason why they might be related. Also if you know for a fact that she is a Toomes’, let me know so I can delete this post and not look like an idiot.

[drawblairdraw]

TOOMES WRECKING

Support a family man's business with this Spider-Man design currently in my TeePublic shop for just $14!

https://www.teepublic.com/t-shirt/1728300-toomes-wrecking?store_id=5360

[marvelman901]

Amazing Spider-Man #336 The Return of the Sinister Six

Vulture had been hired by the Kingpin to kill a wealthy man. Spider-Man fought Vulture and Chance. Vulture took May Parker’s boyfriend as a hostage and was forced to drop him from the sky to evade the helicopters chasing him. Spider-Man got to May’s boyfriend only to have him die of a heart-attack. Vulture was recruited by Dr Octopus.

[ihasamargarine]

Changed Toomes' hair again, since I got to play her again.