As a break from HP and from the finale of Tired Wives, I started working on a little Spideypool piece. Poor Peter. Working Title: Soft Launched.
So, here’s the thing.
Peter knows he’s a smart kid. He got into M.I.T. along with his best friends on his own merits, having applied as Peter Benjamin Parker and submitting his name change along with all the other documents for admission after the fact. He knew he wasn’t the smartest person around – hell, he wasn’t the smartest person in his family, no matter what Dad and Baba both said. But he was smart!
More importantly, he was, y’know. A child of the era. A youth of the internet. He knew things, socially and academically, is the point.
So how it escaped his notice that posting a very nice (in his opinion) picture of him and his boyfriend after Wade’s last visit up to Massachusetts on his Instagram might, actually, result in something called consequences, he couldn’t actually say. But it did, and now Peter had to deal with it.
A/N: I have no self-control whatsoever. There are some latin-y things in here cause I’m a nerd. It’s also 1,328 words excluding this and the title.
“Have you thought about herpetology?” the academic advisor said, looking at his reflection in sunglasses. If he shifted his gaze a little, he’d be looking at her hair. It’d probably look back just taunt him, but that wasn’t the issue at hand.
“No. Isn’t that some science thing?”
“It’s the study of,” he paused, watching something twitch at her shoulder. “Snakes. I think you would be very. . .interested.”
“Sign me up then, when do classes start?” she asked, picking at her nails.
“August 17th and you have to pick your major yourself.” He replied, sliding a clipboard towards her.
“Do you have this in Greek or Latin?” he couldn’t see her eyes but knew she had glanced away from him. “I can’t, um, r—.”
“We have the last copy in Greek. You aren’t the first person to have this problem.” He interrupted, taking the clipboard back and switching documents. Save the woman and himself some embarrassment.
She slid the clipboard back a few minutes later, messing with the strap on her bag before standing up to leave.
“Welcome to the University of Phoenix, Medusa.” He said before she was fully gone.
For years her name had been spoken with contempt and fear. Academically, it had been said in sorrow out of the mouths of women who didn’t know the smell of seawater disgusted her and Athena had in some way protected her. Though she may have flourished, happy and blessed, she fell from the peak and deprived of glory because of one man.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being a god any longer. Her name had been a war cry once out of the mouth of Perseus and learned two things: Athena’s shield and Hades’ helmet were fake, and Perseus was clumsy with a sword.
“How’d it go?”
Medusa jumped, unwinding as she looked at Sappho. “Why don’t you make noise?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest. “Classes start in August and—.”
“I knew you could do it,” Sappho interrupted, arms around Medusa’s neck, lips just as close even though she was a whole foot shorter. It warmed Medusa, lingering after Sappho pulled away. “We should celebrate. Hercules is going bar hopping with a few people.”
“I thought you writer types liked staying home. Can’t we just ask Dionysus for a bottle of wine and call it a day?” she asked, following her to the car.
“It’s a special occasion,”
“Meaning wine. He owns a vineyard and he owes me.”
“What for?” Sappho asked, getting in the car.
“He knows what he did.”
***
“I still can’t believe you did that,” Sappho said, wheezing as Medusa closed the door to their apartment.
Medusa shrugged, tossing her bag by the bed. “Hercules had a snake so I showed him mine. He’s got about a Brahminy,” she paused, moving her hair off her shoulder. “Maybe smaller.”
“Medusa,”
“Beau is a good boy and he meant it,” she said, holding her arm out for said boa constrictor. She was grateful to have controlled the whole snake-hair thing, but they came in handy. Such as earlier when Hercules had the nerve to harass her about her sunglasses and put his hand in her hair. So, naturally, she struck and got them kicked out of the bar.
Well, at least she got her wine. She watched as Sappho moved around the room, changed into shorts and a tank top and maybe Medusa should not have looked at Sappho for too long because they were roommates and roommates didn’t spare longing glances at each other. Or sleep in the same bed or go to the same university or oh. Oh.
“I’m gonna go get ice,” Medusa said. “For the wine.” She added, leaving the room before Sappho could reply. White wine and ice went together, right? Or was it red?
Either way, it didn’t matter because Sappho was in the next room, unbothered and most likely doing homework. Or waiting for Medusa to get back since she’s been standing at the sink under the pretense of rinsing glasses for almost fifty minutes and the water went cold already.
She gathered herself, topped both glasses off and headed back to the room. They had known each other since Sappho had got accepted into the university and now she was a junior; Medusa had never been to college before so the disparity in knowledge worried her more. She couldn’t even read English! What kind of mortal would be in love with a Gorgon anyway?
“Medusa, could you help me with this line?”
“You know I can’t read English, but I’ll,” she paused, leaning her head on Sappho’s shoulder as she looked at the laptop. Most of it was in Latin, about an unnamed woman who was the object of an unnamed narrator’s affections from what she gathered. “What line did you need help with?”
“This one. It’s supposed to be a free-form mixing English and a dead language so I, ya know, did something you’d enjoy too. Unfortunately, I can’t write Greek well.” She said, pointing at the bottom of the screen and taking a sip from her glass.
“People reference Icarus too much,” Medusa said. “It’s a cliché and he was only a boy.”
She remembered when it showed up on the news, and how Daedelus’s grief nearly killed him. He had begged her to turn him to stone after a year had passed so she did.
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Sappho mumbled, hitting the backspace button until the line was blank and the cursor blinked.
“How about this: Illa est Nyx, et luna. Crescis aut decrescis ad imperium illius ad sui amorem.” She said, the end coming out as uncertain. For once she was lucky Sappho couldn’t look her in the eyes directly, her skin felt warm unrelated to the wine as she pulled away, leaning against the pillows.
Sappho’s fingers tapped against the keyboard, the sound becoming soothing at some point. Medusa started channel surfing, the relative quiet making her nervous and stirring up half-formed thoughts she didn’t want to entertain right now. Most of them concerning the woman next to her.
She glanced over as Sappho stretched and set her empty wine glass aside. “You done?” she asked, ignoring the way her pulse ticked up as Sappho lay next to her.
“Yeah,” Sappho answered. She glanced up at Medusa, shifting up and taking Medusa’s sunglasses off.
Medusa closed her eyes, feeling Sappho’s hands cup her face. She let out a shaking breath, afraid to look at Sappho. Not because of her beauty, Aphrodite forgive her, but because she didn’t want to watch Sappho still and turn to stone. If she would was another question, but Medusa had enough of tempting fate.
“Medusa,” Sappho said, voice low and so close. “Look at me.”
Medusa swallowed, opening her eyes and meeting Sappho’s dark brown gaze. Her dark skin with a smattering of freckles seeming otherworldly in the fading daylight. “Yes?” she asked, unsure what to do with her hands as Sappho’s thumb brushed her bottom lip.
Not even Dionysus’s oldest bottle could compare to Sappho’s lips on hers. Intoxicating, yes, but the back-of-the-throat burn gone and inviting Medusa to have just a little bit more.
Sappho wasn’t someone to be stripped and gawked at. She wasn’t a flower to be pried open or a cave to be explored or a honeypot to be cracked as men described in romance novels.
Medusa was convinced they had never actually kissed a woman’s thigh or felt them clamp around their head to stay close as they teased, licked, and sucked.
No, men were too focused on themselves to ask what worked and what didn’t, if they should do something again for her pleasure.
For once, Medusa heard her name being said in genuine love, in between kisses and half asleep mumbles. Sappho was so much more than a poet. She was Medusa’s just as Medusa was hers.
“Hera,” For once his voice cracked. That was new. “Hera, please.”
She kept her back turned towards him because if she looked at him, saw that pitiful face he always made after this; she wouldn’t know what to do. During her lifetime, she had helped marriages across the globe and a few realms.
Hades and Persephone. Menelaus and Helen. Two examples of many and she had neglected her own marriage because nothing would change.
She had realized this over and over and over every time her ever-so-faithful husband came crawling back, going as far to grovel once for her forgiveness. She relished in it once, that he would always come back on hands and knees, whispering sweet nothings and empty promises into her dark skin. Every night was the same dance of apologies and that next time his eyes wouldn’t wander or his hands wouldn’t magically find their way down trousers or up a skirt.
It was always next time. Next time, she reminded herself, tugging at short curls, nails digging into light brown skin like many mortals had done in throes of passion that had thunder rumble and lightning strike and heavens quake. Next time, with every turned sour kiss and touch and suck. Next time would never come since he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants for more than five minutes.
“Zeus,” she finally said, turning to face him. Felt like she could finally look at him and ignore the marks on his body. “honey.” She was surprisingly calm for once.
Jealous is what the mortals would call her, but no. She was calm. Calm like Medusa when she brought Perseus’ head back, tossing it at Poseidon before moving to who knows where.
Hera had never really been jealous of the men and women Zeus pulled along. Angry, yes, she had been angry for a very long time. But jealous? Jealous would be used to describe “nice guys” and “you belong to me” types, but not her.
He looked hopeful when she said his name, a pet name tacked on just in case. He was so ready to plead that she could see the half-formed lies on his tongue.
“It won’t happen again. We’ll go to therapy like you wanted. I love you, Hera.” He’d say, a hand on the small of her back. To the bedroom, like fucking her would solve anything. Like his empty promises and fleeting love would be returned, appreciated even. Like she would forgive him as she foolishly had previously.
“Honey,” she repeated, walking towards him. She cupped his jaw, ran her fingers down his neck to his chest, played the forgiving-wife shtick. “I will not keep doing this.”
“What?”
“You can fuck whatever man, woman, or even cloud you want, but you will not come back to me. You will not beg for my forgiveness. Every night you fall asleep, your thoughts will not turn to me.” She said, watching his face fall into that sad puppy look. It used to work on her.
Then he smiled, laughed, put his hands on her shoulders. “Hera, baby,” he started, rubbing her arms.
“Don’t “baby” me.” She shot back, for once feeling like she had spit venom. “You will not come back to me. I will not keep doing this, Zeus, do you understand me?” his face had fallen again only to twist halfway through in rage.
She hummed, putting her hand to his jaw again to feel it clench, feel him bite down on his tongue. “One more thing before I go. Echo,” she said.
“You cursed her,”
“Because of you. If she’ll have me; she is mine to court and love. You have no place in either of our lives and you will not. Understand?”
Zeus clenched his jaw again, searching her face for some reassurance that this was a joke. He found none, taking a while to look away from her. A short nod was her only answer.
All the contempt, curses, and years she spent accepting this man melted away. Hera felt light. She felt all the little things mortals expressed when they were free from scorn and pain. She had to find Echo, release her from the curse, and court her properly.
A/N: Something about the fae and intentionally exposing myself.
The night was cool at Peach Lotus Orphanage. Ozimu was awake, just like they always were. Kids weren’t allowed out at night, which was their problem. They had been here for a year now if the frosted windows were any indication. They were restless and the church bell a few miles away woke them up, gave them a headache when the other kids slept through it.
When the sun rose, that’s when they would start looking. They looked at their reflection as they waited. Dark skin, dark eyes, and oddly enough, red hair. Almost like fire, but not. Their eyes were losing its gleam, flat in some places, shiny in others and the only way Ozimu passed as human for now.
“Rowan,”
They turned at that, coming face to face with a boy. Ozimu assumed they were friends, or he thought they were. Humans were peculiar in that way. To befriend someone they had only met once. It was also dangerous.
“What are you doing up?” the boy asked, walking towards them.
“Waiting for sunrise,”
“Why?”
“So I can go home,” Ozimu said. “I need to search for it.”
It was probably in the forest just outside the entrance. A cottage would be waiting for them, smoke coming out the chimney as their momma sat on the rocking chair waiting for her child to come home.
“What you doin’ here for if you have a home?” the boy asked, knocking his shoulder against Ozimu’s. “Rowan, you think I have a home too?”
“Yeah,” they answered. It would be different from their cottage, the chimney would still smoke and the house would smell like pork or whatever meat humans wanted. There might not have been a porch or a rocking chair, but at least someone would be waiting for him too.
The sky turned purple, then red and gold as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon. Ozimu put their hand on the doorknob, grabbing the boy’s hand with the other. “Let’s go,” they said, making their voice light.
Ozimu made it past the gate, most importantly before the nuns could notice and it wasn’t iron. They hurried to the edge of the forest, body humming as they held onto the boy’s hand and went deeper. Birds sang and somewhere a river spit and bubbled, but they were looking for mushrooms.
“Rowan,” the boy started. “Where are we going?”
“Home,” they replied, squeezing his hand and pulling him further along until the birds' song became quiet and the river became louder. Trees stretched over them, blotting out the still rising sun.
“I don’t have a home.”
“You will,” Ozimu said, turning to smile at him. Make him believe everything was alright. Their eyes were flat, no shine left to reassure the boy that everything would be alright.
“Rowan,” his feet started to hurt. “we should go back.” He wanted to go back.
“We can’t.” The ring was just up ahead, they could feel it.
A circle of mushrooms is what scared him, the fact that Ozimu was walking towards it like nothing mattered and they wouldn’t let go of his hand. “Rowan,” the boy stopped once his foot passed the circle.
Ozimu was suddenly tall, still holding onto his hand, red hair the only dull color in this realm of light. They turned toward him, teeth sharp as they smiled. Eyes flat as they stared at him.
A cottage was up ahead, smoke coming from the chimney.
The boy looked at his friend, or maybe it was someone else that just looked like Rowan. He swallowed. “I wanna go home,” what even was home? Where ever he was, wasn’t home.
Ozimu scoffed, folding their tattooed arms over their chest. “You are home. Come with me, momma’s waiting for us.”
They held out their hand. The boy looked at it, looked back at this odd person’s face. Right. He had to go home.
A/N: It’s nowhere near Christmas, but I love the whole finally meeting your SO’s parents during a holiday trope, even if they aren’t human. Also, this is way before they got married.
Mia put the last candle on the mantle, smiling to herself. They put the tree up months ago since Ekia never decorated one and, much to Mia’s surprise, didn’t know it could be fake. She turned as the front door opened, rushing to push Ekia inside.
“Did anyone see you?” Mia asked, watching Ekia put the logs by the fireplace and shake her wings out. “Did the carolers see you?”
“No,” she answered, tossing a few logs in and lighting them. “Are your parents on the way?” she continued, easily shifting into her human form. Ugly Christmas sweater and all.
“They should’ve been here by now,” Mia replied, glancing out the window. She hoped they made it down all right and the snow wasn’t too bad. “What about yours?”
“A few minutes,” a thud sounded outside. “Or now. You know,” Ekia started, looking around the house. “Usually around this time, dragons and their partners perform a marriage ritual.”
Mia whipped around to look at her, asking, “How exactly does it work?”
“Well, normally my parents and I would dance then awash you in our flames, but since you’re fully human,” Ekia paused, checking outside. “I like having you not burned alive.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, sweetheart,” Mia said, kissing her cheek and heading towards the door. She opened it, face to face with an eye. A black sclera, dark purple iris much like her girlfriend’s. She closed it, moving to sit on the couch. “Please tell your parents to change.” She mumbled, hearing the door open and then close.
A flash of light followed as Mia looked up as the door opened and a brown-skinned man with tight curls stood in the doorway.
“Are you Mia?” he asked, shifting from side to side almost nervously.
“Yes,” she answered, Ekia and another woman’s voice echoing in the hallway.
The man’s face lit up as he shook her hand. “Thank goodness, for a minute I thought we had the wrong house.” He said, smiling at her.
She nodded, looking over as Ekia came into the living room with suitcases and the woman she heard earlier. She had dark skin with her hair in braids and a beauty mark near her eye and held herself with an authority.
“And then he had the nerve to call us at six in the morning—oh, Zidais, I told you we had the right house.” The woman said, taking Mia’s hand in hers. “It’s very nice to meet you finally. Oh, Ekia, she’s such a cute human.” She continued, taking Mia’s face in her hands. “She’s been going on and on about you ever since she moved in.”
“Momma,” Ekia whined, halfway up the stairs. “We talked about this before you guys got here.”
“Being the youngest out of eleven has made Ekia more,” Inai paused, searching for the right word as she sat on the left side of Mia as Zidais took the right.
“Independent,” Zidais supplied, folding his hands together. “So, Mia, what do you do for a living?” he asked.
Mia toyed with a curl of hair near her shoulder, answering, “I work as a literary agent. Granted, it’s probably not as exciting as—”
“That sounds wonderful.” Zidais interrupted. “Humans are some of the best at telling stories. Especially in those little, um, novels.”
“There was this one human who I enjoyed reading from,” Inai said. “It’s amazing you get to help those people. You’re the first human Ekia’s ever dated, and I’m glad you’re such a nice girl.”
“Thank you.” Most of the time when Mia told people that she was either asked if she could look at their work or that they had an idea that never went anywhere. It was nice for that to not happen for once. She excused herself as the doorbell rang and she let her parents in.
A noise she couldn’t quite place left her as she noticed Ekia tucked into the back of her mother’s scarf, tiny dragon arms outstretched as she leaped towards Mia while shifting into her human form.
Ekia smiled as her girlfriend brushed snow off her shoulders.
“I was wondering what was taking you so long,” Mia said, heading towards the living room.
“Your parents called me cause they got stuck on the side of the road and didn’t want to worry you.” She replied, “Then your mom said I could hitch a ride inside her scarf so no one would see me.”
Mia watched her and Ekia’s parents for a moment to ensure they were occupied before leading Ekia to their room. She closed the door behind them, smiling as Ekia tilted her head. Mia always loved it when she did that.
“Is something wrong?” Ekia asked, blinking as Mia held her hand.
“I’m the first human you’ve ever dated?” she asked.
Ekia looked away from her for a moment, replying, “Well, you are the only human who’s found my cave. Also, you’re the only human who’s been calm at seeing a dragon. . .you’re smart and pretty too, so yes. Unlike elves who—”
Mia cut her off with a kiss, a second for good measure and earning her a chirp. “No elf slander, they make good cookies.” She said, pulling away. “Now, we have parents to spend time with, so we should head back downstairs.”
Ekia nodded, a bit of smoke puffing into the air as she huffed. “I just hope my mom didn’t bring egg and hatchling pictures.” She mumbled, watching Mia grin.
“I hope so, aren’t baby dragons supposed to be cute?”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean,” she stopped, seeing Mia halfway down the staircase. For her first human, Ekia was sure she could spend the rest of her life with Mia.
A/N: I’m still on a horror kick and then I remembered something about nursery rhymes so uh yeah.
He had many names. Well, last names at the most. Gentle, Frost, Horner, those sorts of things. He only used them when he really needed to. Like now, in a little packed bar in Chicago. A man sat in one of the booths by himself, having clearly gotten off work if the askew tie and blue blazer said anything.
Jack smiled, moving towards him. Trying not to rush. He didn’t want to scare him off. Jack slid into the booth opposite of Businessman, flashed a grin, held his hand out. Businessman sat there for a moment before noticing Jack was there and introducing himself. Something he rarely did.
Winter had firmly set in as Jack convinced Businessman to go with him. Drive him home after one too many pints, make sure he didn’t slip and fall.
“What’d you say your name was again?” Businessman slurred, slumped in the passenger’s seat.
“Keeper,” Jack answered. “Jack Keeper.” He had learned his lesson last winter with a woman he picked up to not say Frost, he used that during the summer months. It raised less eyebrows or mistaking him for being related to some poet named Robert.
Businessman was quiet as Jack drove, taking the wrong turn from his house. The area turned wooden once he got off the road entirely, Businessman still quiet, possibly asleep from the heater which made moving him easier.
Jack came to stop in front of a house on a hill. His sister owned it but had abandoned it a few years back, passing the keys off to him. Quaint little house, out of the way and far enough from the nearest town. He headed inside, Businessman leaning on him and quietly snoring.
The house smelled of herbs, a welcome change from the absurd amount of pumpkins Peter always bought and did god know what with them. Jack never dwelled on it for too long. He cleared his throat, catching the attention of the woman in the kitchen.
“Mary,” he started, looking away as she turned, long nails tapping against the counter.
Her gaze swept from her partner to the man leaning on him. “Yes?” she prodded, voice sweet.
“How does your garden grow?”
She smiled at that. She always loved this game and she couldn’t manage the garden outside by herself. “With broken bones, a cry of help, and pretty tombstones all in a row.” She said, turning back to dinner as Jack headed outside.
Christmas music played softly as the back door closed and a muffled rhythm of thuds sounded outside. She turned it up and went back to her pot pie without a care in the world.
A/N: Grease reference, I know. Anyway, happy birthday to @euclidiangod and I hope your day goes great!
“Where are we going?” Renae asked. She had asked Hope before they had gotten in the car, before Hope told her pack and she still hadn’t gotten an answer. No, the only thing she got was Hope turning the radio up and a smile.
If there was one thing Renae was jealous of about her girlfriend, was that A) She could afford to do things like a spontaneous road trip and B) She kept her secrets well. Okay, two things but still. If where ever Hope was taking her could be called a secret.
Hope reached over, patting Renae’s hand. “Relax, we’re almost there.” She said, returning her attention to the road.
The sun had started to set when the car finally stopped and at some point Renae had dozed off, jumping when Hope shook her awake. She yawned, squeezing her eyes shut as she stretched. “Where are—?” she stopped, slowly getting out the car.
Waves crashed against the pink shore. Gulls called and flew overhead to settle in for the night or peck at an abandoned, sand covered hotdog.
Summer might have been spent trapped in the house while a heat wave raged outside, but the beach, it was fresh and new and—for Renae at least—theirs.
A/N: I didn’t create Camila @jediannsolo did and I figured this would keep me busy as finals end. As a personal headcanon, I’d say Camila is Afro-Latina cause why not. All of this is just speculation and from half of my bad memory.
A hard thump jolted Camila awake. She groaned, looking at black boots and blue pant legs. Great, a cop.
“You can’t stay here, public property.” He said, tapping his baton against the bench she was sleeping on.
Camila stood, starting to walk away. It wouldn’t do any good to stick around with a cop, he would’ve put her six feet deep anyway. She just felt lucky today.
Even though she couldn’t remember exactly when she had a roof over her head, something felt good. Maybe it was the old woman who gave her this scarf or the man who had given her enough money to buy food yesterday. Well, enough to get something for the people she roosted with as well.
Camila felt pretty good as the sun set. She had a feeling she would feel much better after stopping a purse thief.
