Rebloggers (of Whomever, But Especially Of @withahappyrefrain) Are Not Considered Stalkers, And Bingeing

Rebloggers (of whomever, but especially of @withahappyrefrain) are not considered stalkers, and bingeing fanfic is like the essential oil/panacea of fandom. Without bingeing, we would all be walking around with our cheek muscles twitching due to stress. Plus it is written into the rules (unwritten due to the code of silence of the rules) of the mob!peter fan club that one must reblog all things. So you've got this. So let it be (un)written, so let it be done. Bonus points to everyone who got that reference....

Edit to add: extreme apologies for the spelling mishap of bingeing, I blame the extra glass of wine and I'm too lazy to correct it whilst yet being drunk enough to type out this edit.

Can I borrow your height?

Summary: Reader is quite short and is in need of someone tall to help her get a book off the highest shelf. Her assistance comes in the form of a tall, lanky Peter Parker.

Note: I want to thank @agnesamarantheastwood for blessing us with the concept of Peter Parker and reader having a height difference. It has been the gift that keeps on giving.

Being short had its benefits. As a child, you were a pro at hide and seek because you could fit in the smallest places. As a teenager, no one questioned if you ordered off the kids menu (which your wallet loved). As an adult, nothing was more hilarious than seeing the horror in a child’s eyes when you told them how you didn’t eat your veggies and that was why you stopped growing. And sometimes their parents appreciated it.

You worked around the disadvantages. You had three different step stools in your house of varying heights. The top shelves in your apartment were collecting dust. If friends wanted to annoy you and use you as an arm rest, you just had to deal (or make a remark about the weather up there).

But right now, in this very moment, being short sucked.

You had gone to three-yes three-different bookstores. You needed this book for your book club and knew that stores were always cheaper than websites. But each time you went, the book had been sold out. Which is why before you went here, the fourth one, you called ahead of time to see if they had in stock. Which they did!

They failed to mention it was on the highest shelf. They also failed to mention that they were too good for step stools.

Even if you stood on the first shelf-which you had no shame in doing-your arms still weren’t long enough to reach it. You began climbing up to the second shelf when your flats started to slip. There went that plan. You had checked your purse to see if you had anything long enough to help you knock it over and were out of luck.

You lurked around the store, trying to find an employee. Employees were either completely out of sight or at the register, helping people.

You sighed. What was suppose to be a quick errand was now turning into a pain in the ass.

You walked down the aisle of books, desperate to find someone-anyone-for help. You were glad you were looking up, otherwise you would have missed the sight of some long fingers reaching up for a book on the fourth shelf.

Sometimes-due to being single for so long-your mind would exaggerate how attractive someone was. Not this time. This man was the definition of handsome. He honestly looked like the guy you would see on the cover of those romance novels your book club loved so much. With that chiseled jaw that was covered in stubble, the few strands of hair that were swooping over his forehead, and those biceps that were peeking out from his T-shirt-

Those long, slender fingers were attached to a large hand, which was attached to a long arm that was attached to a very tall, very lanky, and very handsome man.

Fuck you were so single.

But nevertheless, he was quite tall. And lanky. Which you needed right now. Perhaps you could make this work to your advantage. One that wasn’t solely related to your book club.

“Um, excuse me?” As you got closer to him, you realized that you barely came up to his shoulder- and he was slouching. Was it a cliché that you had a thing for men much taller than you? Maybe. But it was a cliché for a reason.

You slowly walked over to him, his head still looking through the book he had pulled.

He looked up and wow, could you get lost in those big brown eyes. They were beautiful and well worth having to tilt your neck up so the two of you could make eye contact.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your reading of,” you looked down to see the title, “The Multiverse: Theories of Multiple Universes,” you paused “Huh. Not what I was expecting but anyways, I need to borrow your height.”

“Borrow…my height?” He repeated slowly, closing his book.

“Yes. Your height,” it then occurred to you how odd that sounded without any context, “As you can see by how far you have to look down to make eye contact with me, I’m…short. And naturally, because the universe loves to remind me of it, the book I need is on the fourth shelf. Which I saw that you were able to reach with ease.”

He let out a chuckle. You couldn't blame him. It probably never occurred to his tall, lanky self that some folks had to put in great effort to reach for things. And being his tall, stupidly handsome and lanky self, he found the concept amusing.

“So you need me to get something you can’t reach?” He asked, a sly smile appearing on his face.

“You don’t need to remind me of my literal shortcomings,” you said with a cheeky grin, “but yes. I need your height. Please.”

“Where’s the book?” You smiled. You made a notion for him to follow you and turned around, heading back to the spot that was taunting you and your height.

“You know, for someone so short you walk pretty fast,” he said, having to increase his speed in order to catch up with you.

“I like to get to where I’m going,” you paused, “I’m also the shortest one in my family. So for every step they took, I had to take two to keep up.”

“Makes sense.”

“So am I the first person who’s asked to borrow your long limbs or is this a regular occurrence for you?” You asked, wanting the small talk to continue.

“You’re not the first,” he ran a hand through his hair and wow did it look soft, “Though it’s usually senior citizens at the grocery store and not someone as-“

“Young?”

“I was going to say ‘cute’, but yes, young. I mean you don’t look like, super, super young, you look like you’re my age which you know, I can’t say the same for those senior citizens at the grocery store.”

He was rambling and you could easily put an end to it. But you didn’t want to. First off, it was fucking adorable and also your brain was too wrapped up by the fact he just called you cute.

You stopped in your tracks as the two of you had finally arrived.

“There it is,” you pointed to the book you needed.

He flashed a dazzling smile before walking up to shelves. Hardly putting any effort into it, he extended his arm up and grabbed the prized book. He held it up so it was at his eye level, reading the cover.

"Huh," He paused, "Wasn't expecting that."

You couldn't blame him. You would be surprised too if someone as tiny as you asked for a book and said book had the illustration of a chair covered in blood on it.

"It's for my book club," you explained.

"Wasn't expecting that either."

"Look, I'm trying to diversify the type of books we're reading," He still didn't look convinced, "I can't do another romance novel. Or 'thriller' where the twist is obvious as soon as chapter three."

"Well, when you say that, horror does make more sense," He held out the book for you. Your fingers brushed against his briefly as you grabbed the book.

"I feel like you're making judgements about my taste in books by their appearance. Which is ironic, considering we're in a bookstore....and you know, you're reading a book about theories on multiple universes."

He opened his mouth to speak. You were expecting something sarcastic or snarky. Which was why you were quite surprised with what he actually said.

"You're right. Can I make it up to you by getting you another book?"

You were surprised you hadn't melted into the floor by now.

"That would be amazing." Sure, your original intention when you entered this bookstore was to buy one book. But who actually did that?

You led him to the cookbook section, explaining how no, it wasn't some celebrity cookbook, it was one of your favorite bakers from The Great British Bakeoff and sure, you weren't much of a baker now but maybe with this book you could become one.

You were so wrapped up in your explanation you almost didn't see that the grin on his face had gotten bigger and how those doe eyes of his were shining at you. Almost.

He leaned over, bending his knees a bit so that the two of you were at eye-level. He handed you the book and your fingers brushed again.

This time, it seemed like he lingered, not wanting to lose contact with you. At least that's what you thought.

It was also entirely possible all those romance novels your book club had you read were rotting your brain.

"Is there anything you need to borrow from me?" He asked. This was your chance. You were going to shoot your shot and it would either make a great story or you'd go home and eat some ice cream.

"Actually, yes, there is." He raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard.

"I need to borrow your number," You said, trying to keep your face looking as serious as possible.

You could see his neck turning red and that crimson was slowly but surely creeping up to his face, "My number?" He ran a hand through that soft, fluffy hair must be a nervous habit.

"Yeah, I need to borrow your number so we can plan dinner."

"D-d-dinner?" You tried your best to suppress a smile, but damn was he cute when he was flustered.

"I don't know how the senior citizens do it, but it's only polite that I thank you for helping me today. And I would love to thank you by taking you out to dinner," You shifted your feet, wishing he would just give you an answer already.

Instead, he began to ramble, "...you really don't have to do that, I mean that's really nice, but I was just being a decent person, I don't think that deserves going out to dinner with you. Not that that's bad-"

"What if I told you I also want to get dinner with you because I want to keep talking to you? And get to know you better?" You'd think a guy this pretty would be good at picking up on cues and flirting. He had charm-it was there-but it was clear as day that he was rusty at this.

"You...you...want to get to know...me?"

"Yeah. Like what you do for living, why you're reading about multiple universes, how you get your hair to look so good," it was the last bit that got a laugh out of him.

"You don't even know my name," He said. He looked much more relaxed now-which was a good look on him. Though it was hard to believe he had a bad look.

"We can fix that. My name is y/n," You extended a hand out.

"Peter," He grabbed your hand, shaking it. Peter. What a lovely name.

"It's nice to meet you Peter," You paused, "Can I borrow your number now?"

He laughed again, letting go of your hand so he could reach into his back pocket to pull out his phone. You pulled out yours, handing it to him so you two could enter the needed information to become a new contact.

Being short had some great benefits. And today, that benefit came in the form of Peter Parker.

what do you mean i have to write my own fic for the stuff in my head to become tangible? Can I not just think of bits and pieces and an overall vibe + vague plot and then stare at an empty google doc super hard for ten seconds and have the entire thing be transferred there, all the blanks filled in? this is outrageous.

"I like dark academia" is just a fancy way to say: i was bullied for being a nerd and at this point all i want is revenge.

It's a great story and I love twizzlers, although I admit, if I need a sweet pick-me-up I've resorted to 'nibs' because I can't really walk down the hall at work with a twizzler in my hand, hehe.

Seriously, though, while I enjoy the short one shots that many writers have on their Masterlists, it is the slower developing stories that truly draw me in. I appreciate the amount of effort that takes behind the scenes. It is much more reminiscent of what it was like long ago with print authors in the weeklies or monthlies and I can't quite describe this concept quite as I would like, but whatever it is it serves both writer and reader well. You, the author, must take the time to square up your plot (make it make sense IOW without it dragging on too long), consider everything with the characters/dialogue/motivations, and so on while we, the readers, must wait and while we wait, there is time-- and that time is important because now we are thinking, truly thinking about your work: the story, the characters, the world that is presented to us. It's one of the best parts of fiction in general--getting lost in a story and then finding meaning in what we've read. That's the thinking part--sure sometimes it's just to laugh a little and be entertained; but other times, it is to explore emotions, situations, states of mind, and it is something artists and people who appreciate the arts have been doing for a long long time.

*Yeah, sorry for the potential delay but the update will make a nice reward for getting this project out of my hair.

The Angel In The Garden of Evil | Chapter Eight: There's No Remedy for Memory

Summary: No matter how much we try, we can't live in the past or ignore who we've become.

Warnings: 18+ Only!, typical genre violence, mentions of blood, guns, torture, brief mention of bombing/explosion, angst, tension, complicated marriage, implied death

Word Count: 4.4K

A/N: After last chapters fun, our couple are crashing right back down to reality. Things are about to get very dramatic and tense over the next couple of chapters. No matter how much our lovers wish everything to be okay, you can't just live in a bubble of bliss and sweep everything under the rug. We are also gonna get a little look at their first meeting. Title comes curtesy of yet another Lana Del Rey lyric, this time from the song Dark Paradise. As always if you enjoy, reblog and give me feedback, it keeps me going.

EIGHT

The fluorescent lights were bright as she made her way down the long corridor. Although the doors that lined the corridor were shut, she didn’t feel like they were locked or closed off to her. As she continued to walk down the hall she realised it felt familiar. She didn’t know how, all she knew was that she was supposed to go through the door at the end.

Her fingers reached absentmindedly for the handle with one hand, the other hand seemed to be rooting around for something in her pocket. There was the faint sound of music, but she couldn’t work out where it was coming from.

Suddenly she was in one of her Dad’s old warehouses. She was walking into the office, her feet kicking up onto a faded wooden coffee table as she took a seat on a sofa. 

She turned her head to see her Mom sitting working away at a desk. She was surrounded by mountains of paperwork and looked somewhat stressed, but whenever she looked at her she always had a smile on her face.

“I’ll be right back,” she suddenly said as she rose from her seat and began to make her way to the office door. “Just wait in here, okay?” She said, “I’m just gonna go talk to your Dad. Do you wanna go and get something to eat soon?” She asked as she hesitated at the door.

“Yeah.” Angel said as she looked up from the textbook on her lap. “Can we get Tai?” She asked.

“You know what?” Her mother responded. “I think Tai sounds great. I’ll ask your Dad, okay?”

“Okay.” Angel beamed as she looked back down at the textbook.

She couldn’t make out the writing on the page and she suddenly had this sense of foreboding, like she knew something bad was about to happen. She tried to get the version of herself to look around or stand up or do something, but she didn’t have any control.

‘Come on.’ She thought to herself in her head as she willed the younger version of herself to move. ‘Move. MOVE!’ She said louder in her head, but it was no use.

There was a sudden explosion that knocked her sideways. The frosted glass window to her right shattered and she fell off the sofa, her head hitting the coffee table as she went down. 

She was groggy and groaned as she tried to move, her body was suddenly so heavy. She was acutely aware of the adrenaline beginning to flood through her as her ears rang and took a moment to adjust. 

“Uhhhgg. Mom?” She whined as she rolled herself over. “MOM!” She cried out, but there was no one there.

Her lungs protested as she began to breathe in smoke and she could feel the heat from the now raging fire spreading through the adjacent room as she tried to stand.

Her legs felt like jelly, fingers fumbling for purchase on the closest item of furniture to pull herself up. She coughed loudly before she cried out again, her eyes trying to clear and see through the smoke but her head was throbbing, her ears still faintly ringing, everything sounded muffled. “Mom?! Dad?!” She screamed.

Suddenly a figure came barrelling through the half broken door. She saw a flash of red and blue.

“Hey it’s okay, I got you, I got you.” A boy's voice said.

‘A boy? That couldn’t be right. I thought it was Man, Spider-Man.’

“Hey can you walk?” He asked. She was so confused and dizzy. “Hey, hey! Look at me! Look at me, okay? I’m gonna get you out of here.”

Peter’s neck began to prickle, his body growing tight, adrenaline coursing through him as he slowly became alert, his body dragging him from his slumber, just before-

“Agghhggg.” She cried out as she sat bolt upright in bed. One of her hands clutched to her chest while the other grasped frantically over the bed covers.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He said softly as he sat up, his arm wrapping around her, immediately trying to comfort and ground her. “Hey it’s okay, baby I’m here, I’ve got you.”

She let out a large sigh as she finally began to process the reality around her, her body finding safety in his presence as she folded her body into his embrace. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” He continued to coo as he brushed his hand over the back of her head and rocked her slowly against his body.

Her chest continued to heave, her breaths were shallow and short. “Breathe, baby, just breathe.” He said slowly, elongating the words, coaching her as he continued to do all he could to soothe her. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” He kept saying as tears began to roll down her cheeks, her sleep-addled brain slowly processing the dream and the memory.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He continued to whisper to her in the dark.

“Peter?” She finally said, her voice a broken question as if to check it was really him.

“Yeah, it’s me, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you baby, I promise.” He said as he kissed the top of her head.

They stayed there tangled up in the sheets and each other's arms for a moment as her breathing settled.

“I’m sorry.” She finally croaked into the dark.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” He repeated as she slowly began to separate herself from him. “You still have the same dream?” He asked, but he already knew the answer.

He felt her head bob in the dark, a silent nod of confirmation. “It’s been a while though.” She sniffed as her hand raised to wipe away the tears from her cheeks. Her skin felt tight and dry as the salty tears began to dry.

He reached out for her, tucking her into his side as he lay back down into the pillows. His fingers traced across her bare skin as he held her close and she settled against his shoulder. His thumb traced the edges of the surgical patch covering her stitches as he listened to her heartbeat begin to slow, her breathing growing deeper and deeper until he knew she had fallen back asleep. 

Peter shifted his free hand behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling, sleep eluding him now he was awake. It wasn’t uncommon for her nightmares to trigger his senses, but it had been so long he’d forgotten what it felt like.

He grew restless, his fingers reaching for his phone only to realise it was still downstairs. He checked to make sure she was still fast asleep before he gently eased his arm out from under her. He rubbed the lingering sleep from his eyes as he got up, padding across the soft carpet to the bathroom to relieve himself before grabbing himself a pair of black linen pyjama pants from the wardrobe. 

He paused for a moment in the doorway as he watched her sleep, his ears listening and counting her heartbeats as his eyes followed the steady rise and fall of her chest.

He reluctantly pulled himself away, making his way downstairs to the kitchen. He rubbed at his eyes again as he searched for his phone, finding it on the kitchen counter next to her shoes. When he opened it up and finally took the phone off aeroplane mode there was a flurry of dings and messages.

Angel woke a couple of hours later to find herself alone in bed. Her fingers brushed across the soft cotton sheets to find them cold, his body long gone. She groaned slightly as her fingers clawed at her pillow, willing sleep to return but it wouldn’t, the sun creeping through the cracks around the blinds. She sighed as she rolled herself over before sitting up, her hands scratching through her hair as she yawned. Her body felt so tired yet so sated, the memory of the night before playing back in her mind.

She reluctantly pulled herself from the soft covers as she went to explore the bathroom. The shelves and draws were stocked with all her old favourites. She’d missed a lot of them, many of them unavailable to her in Italy and then forgotten about once she moved back in with her Dad. She pulled a pomegranate and orange scented shampoo and conditioner set off of one of the shelves, placing it on a ledge built into the wall of the black subway tiled shower. She then grabbed a rose and eucalyptus shower gel, placing it next to the other items in the shower, before switching it on. She turned to the large mirror and double vanity as the water warmed. Her eyes fell to the patch on her shoulder, her fingers picking at the corners to peel it off. 

She hadn’t looked at it since Peter had stitched it up. Darker clumps of blood had scabbed under the stitches and there were patchy bruises surrounding the tender skin. She was careful with it as she got into the water, trying not to get it too wet so the stitches would continue to hold and the skin wouldn’t become pliant and split.

She relished in the fruity and floral smells of the products. Although she had enjoyed her showers and even long soaks in the bath at her Dad’s since she had been back, none of them felt as luxurious as this. She stood in the flow of the rainfall shower head, her head tipped back allowing the water to flow down her body as she allowed herself to close her eyes, to relish in the steam, the dim lights of the shower and that feeling of comfort and home.

When she got out the shower she wrapped herself in a brand new towel, the fluffy white texture soft and warm against her skin. She began to search through the cupboards in the bathroom for a first aid kit, finally finding one tucked way in the back under the sink. Her damp fingers fumbled with a new patch to cover her stitches, her hands cautiously dabbing at the wound until it was dry enough she could get the patch to stick. It was a little bit wonky from where she had struggled to get the angle of it by herself, but she could feel the whole wound was covered so she didn’t mind. She roughly towel dried her hair before she went out into the dressing room. She carefully slipped her arms into a plain black vest top before slipping her legs into a fresh pair of cotton pyjama bottoms covered in red, blue and yellow stripes. 

When she went downstairs to the kitchen she didn’t expect anyone to be home, her old routine kicking in as she hunted in the cupboards for her old favourite, English letter box red, Le Creuset mug, placing it under the coffee machine as she reached for one of the pods in a jar beside it, her fingers hitting the button making the machine roar to life.

“Good Morning!” His voice greeted her from the living room area. He couldn’t help the smile that toyed with the corners of his lips as she did a little jump before she turned, her fingers clutching gently to her chest.

“Oh! Morning.” She sighed a smile forming on her face as she looked at him, dressed in a pair of slacks and a black button up shirt, the first three buttons of which were left open, his sleeves rolled up messily revealing his forearms. “I didn’t expect you to still be here. What time is it?”

“Nine.” He replied as the coffee machine stopped and she turned to pick up her cup. She took a sip as she shuffled across the floor towards him, leaning against the arm of the sofa as she took him in. “I’m waiting on a delivery.” He said as he looked down at his phone in his fingers, reading over a message before tapping out a quick reply.

“What kind of delivery?” She queried but her answers were delayed by the sound of the elevator reaching their floor, two male voices echoing around the small foyer outside before they let themselves in.

Eddie and Harry barrelled into the living space. “Took us all night but we’ve finally got him.” Harry said confidently as he swaggered into the room, moving around the sofa opposite them and flopping back onto the cushions. 

“Yo, Pete, you got anything to eat? I’m starving.” Eddie exclaimed as he made his way towards the fridge.

Angel watched as Eddie began to pull out a large bottle of orange juice, twisting the cap off and raising it to his mouth. 

“You know there’s glasses in the cupboard.” Angel said loudly in his direction making him freeze as she took a sip of her coffee, her eyebrows raising at him encouraging him to make the right choice.

“Heh, you got told.” Harry said as he watched Eddie shuffle towards the cupboards above the counters, opening them up and looking for the glasses. As he pulled one down he shot Harry a look as if to say ‘don’t push your luck’.

“So where is he then?” Peter asked to the room, waiting for either one of them to respond.

“We left him downstairs with Cat.” Harry replied as he began to fiddle with his sunglasses.

“You what?” Peter asked.

“Cat’s a big girl Pete, she can handle herself.” Harry replied nonchalantly.

“Felicia’s not who I’m worried about.” Peter said as he began to stand, he had that scary calm look to his eyes again as he began to collect some things; his phone, a lighter, his gun, placing the smaller items in his pockets, the gun getting slotted into his waistband at his back. He then made his way over to his wife, one of his hands resting on her thigh as he leaned into her, placing a kiss against her cheek before he said, “I don’t know if you want to quickly change your trousers but can you quickly go and grab yourself some shoes, I need you to come downstairs with me for a minute.”

She changed into a pair of black wide legged trousers before slipping into a pair of Louis Vuittons and heading back down to meet them. She took the rest of her coffee with her as she followed them to the elevator.

“I see the elevator works now.” She commented as they all filed inside and Eddie hit a button for the basement. 

“Yeah, I had a guy come out and do it this morning whilst you were still in bed.” Peter replied but he didn’t pull his eyes from his phone. They continued to ride the rest of the way down in silence, the only noise, the small bell of the elevator to say it had arrived.

They followed a dark corridor to the end where it veered left, the space opening up slightly, a desk with computer screens showing a range of surveillance camera footage sat to the right side of the square floor space. There were three adjacent doors that surrounded them, one built into each wall except the back wall, the direction they just came. Harry stepped forward leading them to the door set  into the right side of the wall directly in front of them. He opened the door and each one of them filed in. Harry went through the door first, propping it open as Peter entered, followed by Eddie, then Angel, hesitantly bringing up the rear as she tried to work out what was going on.

The room was like a concrete box. There were a couple of steel topped tables that lined either side of the room along with a large red multi drawered tool box, almost like what you’d get in a car garage. In the middle of the room sat a chair and on that chair was a man, face slightly bloodied, hands bound, mouth gagged. Silent tears streaked from the corners of his eyes mixing with the blood; and a mixture of blood and snot dribbled from his nose to his chin.

Felicia stood at a slight distance before him in her token skin tight faux leather leggings and a leather jacket, as she paced back and forth around him.

“Jackson Brice!” Peter’s voice echoed around the room as he got the attention of the man in the chair. His head lifted slowly to look up at Peter. “Oh Jackie, Jackie, Jackie.” Peter teased him as he crouched before the man to make it easier for Jackson to look at him.

Angel hesitated closer to the doorway as she watched her husband work, still unsure of why she was there.

“You fucked up Jack.” Peter said as he slapped the man’s thighs before standing. “Baby, come here.” Peter said, holding his hand out to her, encouraging her to step across the room to him. When she stood at his side he turned her to take a better look at the man in front of her.

“Now this Jack, this is my wife.” Peter said with a smile like the devil. “Isn’t she a beauty?” Peter paused as he waited for the man to lift his head up again to look at Angel. 

Angel could see the small flicker of recognition in his eyes as he hardened his resolve, realising who she was, why he was there, what would inevitably happen.

“Princess, can I ask you a question?” Peter said, turning to her, almost whispering in her ear. She could feel his thumb reaching for the healed burn mark on the back of her arm she had shown him yesterday. “Is this the man who did this to you?” His voice asked softly as his thumb brushed tenderly over the silvery scar. 

Angel looked at the man in front of her. She knew Peter was asking a rhetorical question. They both knew Jackson was the guy to place his burning gun to the back of her arm whilst her Father and Adrian negotiated terms, while she played piggy in the middle. In her hesitancy to respond she could feel that scary calm energy radiating off her husband's body. Once upon a time she would have found it protective, even sexy, the way he would go to the ends of the earth to defend her honour, but she was a big girl now and she could fight her own battles. In her head she could see exactly how this played out. She would confirm it to be him, then Peter would dismiss her so he could do whatever it was he wanted to do to the man to get him to talk until ultimately killing him and having someone, probably Miguel as he was the darkest and most ruthless of them all, to dump him in the Hudson. Peter would act like God dishing out punishments and justice even though it wasn’t him who was even wronged. It was her.

“Yes.” She confirmed as she turned her head towards her husband. She watched as his eyes softened for her as he looked at her. She leaned further into him, her coffee still in one hand whilst her other hand snaked around Peter’s hip. She gave him a look that said ‘you’re so charming and sexy when you’re protective of me’ a small smile playing at the corner of her lip as his arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer into his side so he could kiss her. She pulled her lips away from him with a tight lipped smile as her fingers wrapped around the handle of the gun, wedged into the back of his waistband. She quickly removed it, taking off the safety as she turned and fired a single shot. There was a shout of pain that echoed off the walls as the bullet landed in Jackson’s thigh, just above his knee. She smirked, satisfied with herself as Peter’s face looked horrified. He didn’t like not being in control. She merely walked away from him, her lower back resting against one of the tables as she crossed her legs in front of her and waited, taking a small sip of her coffee as everyone just stared at her. She simply just raised her eyebrows at her husband with a slight nod, encouraging him to start his interrogation.

Felicia couldn’t help but let out a small giggle from her corner of the room. She had never seen Peter so flustered before. ‘Maybe she was gonna like his wife after all’ she thought.

They were all interrupted from their thoughts by another body entering the room. Like clockwork, Miguel made his way silently into the small concrete box of a room. Miguel and Angel had always been amicable but there was something about Miguel that was hard to penetrate. The others had all done their time to get to the heart of him but he had always kept a wall up with Angel. She thought it was because he thought her both too soft but also she was born from the loins of the enemy and Miguel always lived by the notion that blood was thicker than water, always expecting her to run back to Daddy the moment things went sideways. But Angel knew something Miguel didn’t, he lived by a motto that was mistranslated and he had her all wrong.

She watched Miguel closely as he observed the scene in front of him. Jackson sat on a chair grunting and groaning in pain, blood staining his skin and his clothes, Harry stood staring at the body in the chair in shock, Felicia smiling at Angel like the Cheshire cat and Angel and Peter in a death stare with each other. His eyes searched the room for the final piece of the puzzle, Eddie. Eddie stood in a dark corner smiling to himself as he looked from Angel to Jackson in the chair, a look of satisfaction that said he had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

He watched as Angel’s gaze broke away from Peter’s to land on him before going back to the staring match she seemed to be having with her husband. That’s when he noticed the gun in her other hand leaning back against the table behind her. “Sorry, tall, dark and broody, looks like I got to him first.” Her voice was playful but sent a chill throughout the room as she continued to poke the bear that was her husband.

Everyone watched as she finished off her coffee, placing the empty mug to one side before lifting herself up to sit on the metal table top. She crossed her legs, her hand with the gun in it hanging loosely over her knee. She motioned with the other hand to her husband once again, encouraging him to start his interrogation. His eyes however didn’t leave hers. His pupil blew wide, consuming the previously warm honeyed brown of his irises. She had never seen him look at her like that before but she wasn’t intimidated, not in the way he expected her to be anyway.

“Come on Pete, we’re wasting time.” Eddie spoke up, attempting to get things back on track and diffuse the tension. 

Peter’s gaze snapped towards Eddie, but Eddie simply moved his gaze back and forth between Peter and Jackson trying to bring Peter back into the room and reminding him of the job and the task at hand. When Jackson started to snicker, enjoying watching the drama and infighting unfold, Harry was quick to get in and punch him in the face to shut him up. Although impulsive, the punch seemed just the thing to break the tension and re-establish the balance of things.

Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath to compose himself, opening them to take a glance back over his shoulder at his unpredictable wife, trying to get a read on her for his own sense of self control before he felt comfortable doing anything else. She continued to sit nonchalantly, her legs crossed, one arm leaning back on the table, the other (her bad arm that would have been unable to take the weight) resting the gun over her knee, the safety now firmly on.

He breathed deeply again as he finally turned his attention back to the man bound to a chair in the room. “Jack, Jack, Jack.” he sighed as he bent down before him, his hand leaning on the man’s knees making him cry out in pain as Peter applied light pressure to the gunshot wound. “Now, I think we can all agree, my wife,” he snarled the words, his anger with her bubbling under the surface again, “has made things- even- regarding the little indiscretion that happened a few weeks back.” Peter’s face pulled into a grimace as he let Jackson know that he still thought it was a light punishment given all things and he should be grateful he hadn’t had to suffer worse for leaving a mark on his wife. Peter left a small pause as he waited for Jackson to give any sign he was following and understanding him. When Jackson met his eyes and gave the minutest nod of his head, Peter continued. “But we still have to deal with the issue of our house being attacked, a scene that once again saw my wife getting injured- do you see where I’m going with this?” Peter said standing. He began to circle Jackson like a shark, eyeing up its prey. “Now, we don’t want you. You aren’t the reason our home was violated or my wife hurt… but if you want to walk out of here, or should I say hobble out of here,” he shot a quick look to his wife before once again giving Jackson his attention, “then I think it’s in your best interest to start singing like a canary in a coalmine.” Peter took a step back to allow him to think about the offer. He chanced a quick look back to his wife again before adding, “You should probably make your mind up quick though, it seems you sent my wife back to me a bit unpredictable and who knows what she’s gonna do next.”

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New chapters go live on Wednesdays and Fridays! If you want to be added to the tag list make sure you put it in writing for me. Also if you are enjoying the story don’t forget to tip me like you would your waiter by reblogging and leaving feedback and letting me know what you think!

@scmdsblog @angiexsv @thef1nalgirl @did-someone-change-my-name @sincericida @tarzinnia @liz-allyn @blacksoul09 @humxncrxvings @sunnycolors @suicide-sweetheart636 @ahryi @ms-wild-card-56

- Ivan Turgenev

You're welcome for the mention; I always love seeing what you're "cooking" up with your characters! My first love will always be tasm!peter, but I don't consider it cheating to have Matt Murdock as my um sidepiece. (I do feel kinda guilty saying that) Shhh. I'm blaming all the great writers out there. Which is why I reblog, so others can discover them too!

Wednesday Reblog Reminder

Anyone else orbit around their favorite fanfic author's blogs waiting for a new story, an update notification to a series, a blurb, a headcannon, etc?

I sure do! I love to see what the talented writers and artists across Tumblr are creating and reblogs are a great way to spread that love! Reblogs also introduce material, new and old, to users that may have missed it the first time or not be aware of its existence. This month alone, I have been reading fics in a fandom I'd never really been engaged with until a favorite author released a story in that different fandom, a mutual reblogged it with a few comments, and I gave it a try. It was awesome! Reblogging also gives others multiple fics from which to choose while they wait for chapter updates from their ongoing favorite authors because Tumblr writers are busy people! So please: REBLOG! It creates additional favorite authors!

Below is a shoutout/acknowledgement/encouragement no pressure tag for just some of the many authors I regularly enjoy/follow in several fandoms (*many of these write for the 18+ crowd so please read their bio to make sure you are not violating their consent if you are not 18).

Give them a try! Reblog if you read and enjoy one of their fics. Hopefully the authors will also reblog and spread the love across Tumblr. Reblogging is the fuel for the Tumblr engine!

@ficthotshots @withahappyrefrain @blooming-violets @liz-allyn @periprose @p3mybeloved @rancidpancakebatter @luvablehand @webslingingslasher @she-likesorchids @thursdaygxrls @reidslovely @helloheyhihowdyheya @loveroftoomanyfandoms @delicate-dorothea @jamespottersdaisy @backtothefanfiction @spider-stark

Here's my own blog for a few random works: @backupanddoitagain