The One Above (like Yours, From Under The Banner Of Heaven) Is Also Very Moving Because He Has The Very

The one above (like yours, from Under The Banner Of Heaven) is also very moving because he has the very real whole body quiver of deeply felt emotion. If you've ever had moments like that, it's just powerful and you cannot stop it. That plus his wedding ring on his hand which signifies love, in the juxtaposed context of the story of what the show was about is very well framed. Good job all around on the crew there. Not an easy scene to act I would imagine.

There's nothing more beautiful than Andrew Garfield's crying face:

I want to hold him everytime... 😭😭😭

(via)

Today's Fic Rec is the absolutely cannot-stop-reading story by @webslingingslasher titled UNI. You've got to read it to believe it!

This ongoing story (link below) from the spider-man fandom features Frat!Peter aka Peter Parker and if you haven't heard of it, where have you been because it is the talk of campus and that was before the first frat party!

The university setting backdrop works perfectly for the entire cast of characters, each one unique, and Trouble aka You/Reader, the most unique of all.

The story is rolling out a chapter at a time, and it's already got humor, suspense, flirting, friendships, with a whole lot more to come. If you haven't given it a read, do so! Remember to REBLOG the story if you enjoy it so others can read it too! Reblogs are the fuel that keeps Tumblr content going!

Uni (master page link)

I like the opening. I'm quite intrigued with time, so you hooked me with that right away. Then the way Peter and Reader had to negotiate time (with each other) takes it into the relationship between them and the pressure that time-- how one prioritizes it and how each interprets that. Very relatable. Very frustrating (for them).

But oof, poor Reader, I was hurting right alongside because that was a gut wrenching scene when Peter got to the warehouse. Could feel the anger at the discovery and the desire for revenge.

The ending was worthwhile though. I don't think they will ever view time together or apart quite the same way again. Well done!

Tracking

A/N: Wow, just yeah. I know it's been a long while since I posted for Peter, but like I promised, I was working on things for him and here it is! Now, I'll crawl back into my cave until my next writing is ready. As always let me know what you guys think and enjoy!

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Word Count: 6.4K+

Time is a fucking thief. Really, it is. Waking up with the rising of the sun, getting ready to go to a job you despised, remaining in a windowless cubicle for eight hours, making dinner, then time to sleep again. Watching the clock as each passing minute was taken from you over and over again. Now when you throw being a superhero into the mix, it makes it even worse.

Holding down relationships, careers, any and all of the important things in life were always seemingly snatched away when it came to the personal life of crime fighting vigilante Spider-Man. That’s why when you entered his life it was like getting another opportunity to engage with time he had never experienced before.

Looking forward to coming home and eating dinner, stopping by on patrol nights to give you a goodnight kiss no matter what, to Peter Parker, he would do everything in his power to devote as much time as he possibly could to you.

Perhaps you were the time thief in his life now. Either way he didn’t mind when it came to you.

Were there times when it just simply wasn’t possible to shovel all of his waking energy towards you? Of course! The problems came when it had been that way for months. Yeah, you read that right.

In the span of four months, Peter had become so ravaged with his other entities responsibilities that his time with you was drastically rescinded. Unanswered text messages for days, not a peep from him for a week at a time, no more windowsill kisses. It was like he had vanished into thin air.

You understood at first. Hell, you had been dating the man for three years! What was happening, though, was unlike anything he had ever dealt with before. A group of men, identities undisclosed, were wreaking havoc throughout New York City. For months on end, like clockwork, every other week a crime would occur.

Each more gruesome than the last.

Peter had never really been on a deadline like this. Knowing that with each ticking second it was growing closer to the next attack. Spending all nights on the streets, trying to spot whoever could be responsible for this.

The worst part was that he had no leads. A few locations that were all pointless distractions. No semblance of an inkling as to who was committing all of these atrocities. In the span of time since their starting, over eight lives had been taken. A mind boggling number for such a short span of time.

Police were just as useless and he had decided to not take up any more time than necessary with them in tow simply because they weren’t taking this as seriously as they should have been. Instead of confronting the public, reminding them to be careful and not to wander alone past sunset, they were sweeping it under the rug.

Not wanting to cause a public disturbance. No need to fear monger they had told Spider-Man. Assuring him that all of those victims were tied to a gang in one way or another and it was criminal activity work. Something that he shouldn’t spend too much time dwelling on.

That was not a good enough answer for Peter. He didn’t believe them. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure it was a group behind all of this. It could have been a serial killer that was on one hell of a spree.

There was no pattern with their victims either. Randomly selected from the streets. What you didn’t understand was why Peter was involved with all of this. Of course, you knew he wanted to do all in his power to save as many lives as he could, but you warned him to be careful after the initial police warning.

Sticking his nose in places it didn’t belong was not going to end well. It had been the first time you two had argued to that extent. Shouting at the top of your lungs you weren’t ready to lose him and that’s what you were afraid was in the works.

He called you silly for thinking such things. That you needed to have more faith in him than you were giving. It still didn’t answer why he was so invested in this. You knew there were details he was purposely not giving you. Maybe he didn’t want to frighten you or maybe he thought you wouldn’t be able to handle it, but to you, you were a partnership, a pair.

All you wanted was to have Peter back around. Who knows, you might be able to actually help him if he came to you and showed you what he did and did not have. Instead, he hid it from you. Becoming cold and aloof. Distant and consumed.

If there was something you knew about Peter it was that he did not like being bested. Truly holding himself to a standard that was near impossible. Knowing he was above average intelligence, to put it lightly, when people tried outsmarting him, it was always a humorous effort. No one bested Spider-Man.

This time, they were.

Following that night of your monstrous bickering, you hadn’t seen or heard from Peter in over a week. Honestly, you weren’t making much of an effort yourself. Having no interest in being around him when he was in a head space like this. Knowing that there really was no way to help him if he presented nothing to you.

Peter on the other hand was not okay with you going dark on him. Despite knowing that the clock was dwindling down before their next attack, it was the first time in weeks you had been at the forefront of his mind. The little voice in the back of his head was telling him he needed to smooth this over with you or he would regret it.

Which is why he was climbing into your living room window with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, opting to take the night off even though it could be a crucial turning point. He ended up convincing himself it would be alright because if he didn’t have a direction to go in an hour before arriving at your apartment, then hunting tonight was pointless.

He didn’t have a direction.

Even though you hadn’t spoken to Peter, your thoughts were consumed by him as well. What was the bit of information he wasn’t giving you? Was there even anything he was leaving out? There could be the slim possibility he had actually divulged all he knew to you. But you knew better than that. Peter was hiding something, you just couldn’t figure out what it was.

The notes.

Discovered next to each of the victims he had come across. Given he was the only individual to find them and when he tried bringing it to the attention of the police, they had shrugged him off. They were trying to get to him.

Sheets of white printer paper, the typical horror movie fashion of assembly. Varying letters from magazines, newspapers, old letters, all taped and pasted on the paper in a note. Each one was different, but told in a fashion of a word problem. Some were like riddles.

Either way, with each new victim that appeared, so did a new note. It was one of the things he dreaded the most. Seeing what possibly innocent person had been selected in order to deliver the paper to him. His stomach turned just at the thought of it.

Tonight was not for that, though. Instead he chose to bury it in the back of his brain and spend some much needed time with you. So why weren’t you home?

If there was one thing Peter knew and loved about you was that you were a schedule person. Totally type-a, your day planned to perfection and given it was just after six o’clock that evening, you should’ve been in the kitchen plating your dinner.

Except, there was no you in the kitchen, there was no music or television playing in the background, it looked as though nothing had been touched all day. Until he stepped further into the kitchen.

When his eyes darted over to the corner of your counter, partly covered by your fridge, he froze. There it sat. An uneaten bowl of cereal. The milk on the counter next to it, the cereal box still opened and there.

As he approached it, observing the contents, you hadn’t even gotten a spoon out yet. It was filled to the brim, more so than you would’ve liked, but given it hadn’t been touched some of the cereal had inflated from the milk.

“Bug?” His voice, calm and collected echoed out into the quiet flat. Finally prying his eyes away from the alarming sight he had just seen, he was stumped. Everything else in the living room and kitchen was exactly as it should have been.

Maybe you were running late this morning and didn’t realize until after you had made your breakfast. Yes, of course! That’s exactly what it was.

Peeking into your bedroom, his heart rate decreased, a sense of relief and ease settling over him at the entirely bogus reasoning he had used to calm himself down. Until the most unusual sight of all was spotted.

Your phone sitting soundly on your nightstand, still connected to the charger. His hand rubbed at his closed eyes, trying to will his breathing to return to a normal rate. Tapping the screen, it lit up with dozens of texts. Some from Peter, some from coworkers, a few missed calls from work.

Never would you ever forget your phone. Never would you ever not put the cereal back in its place. Something was wrong.

His trembling hands removed his own phone from his pocket, before entirely losing any semblance of sanity, he dialed your boss’s number. It picked up on the third ring and Peter did his best to sound as normal as he could.

“Hey, Guy! It’s Peter Parker,” he was instantly cut off by his chipper voice on the other end. “Peter! How the heck are you?” He sighed, a shaky laugh escaping him. “Great, great. I just have a quick question for you,” as Peter asked if you had made it into work today, Guy responded fast.

“No, actually she didn’t today or yesterday. Didn’t even call. It’s not like her at all. I think a few of her team members tried texting her and didn’t hear from her either. Everything okay?” It was the worst thing he could have been told at that moment.

Clearing his throat, he tried to remain calm. “Mhm, yeah, yes. She’s just, uh, very sick. It might be a few days before she’s well enough to get back to the office. I didn’t call earlier because I wasn’t sure if she had or not.”

Guy’s laugh of relief was palpable. “Whew, thank goodness! Okay, well tell her to rest up and we’ll see her when she’s all better.” Thanking him and quickly ending the call, Peter tore your apartment upside down.

Any clues he could think of, any sign of forced entry, anything at all. But there was nothing. It was all still in the pristine condition it had been left in. Not a single thing out of the ordinary despite the two big red flags. Even going through every app on your phone, just in case, but it was fruitless.

Alarm bells were chiming in his head, he knew something was wrong. He knew you were in some sort of danger. He collapsed on your couch, wracking his brain for anything that could have given him something to work with.

Then he saw it. Out of the corner of his eye. A small piece of white paper stuck to the tongue of a running shoe you never wore. Turned on its side. He couldn’t remember if he had knocked it over during his rushed search of your apartment, but as he picked it up, his blood turned to ice.

Taped to the shoe were the letters he dreaded seeing. Had been haunting him in his sleep for weeks. When he could sleep that was. Unlike the others, it was almost a clue as to where to go next. His eyes quickly saw the time and knew they were going to strike again soon. Far too soon.

One step forward, three steps back, find her quick before she’s the next attack

It was an anger unlike anything he had ever felt before. Not when his parents had died, not when uncle Ben died, it was so overpowering, Peter truly didn’t know how to control it. Darting out of your window, knowing he was on limited time, he began his search.

A near pointless search. A pill that was hard to swallow. Knowing the chances of actually finding you were so slim. He had the list in the back of his mind, places he had scouted previously that he knew they had used at one point or another.

That was the only thing he could think to do. Which is exactly what he did. Searching one by one individually, spending no more than thirty seconds to one minute at each location before going down the list. Did he destroy some of those places during his searches? Absolutely.

He only grew angrier with each location he arrived at that you weren’t in. His hope was running out. Knowing he was at the last two possible places you could be at that he knew about. It was an abandoned warehouse by the river. The first place he had ever tracked them to, but it was far too late when he made his discovery. They had been out of there for over a week by the time he found it.

They were always just a few steps ahead of him and it drove him mad. His masked face searched the premises from what he could see. Through one of the partly shattered windows, there appeared to be a figure on the far end of the building.

A single light shining on them, their back facing where Peter stood. Sitting in a chair, only a wisp of a shadow, no identifying features to be made out. Assuming it was going to be a fight he was about to step into, Peter broke the remainder of the window and launched himself in.

Eerily silent. No noise in the entire building apart from the howling wind outside. It was beginning to become mid-fall in the city and it was always your favorite time of year. No one was enjoying the crisp autumn air that evening.

It was unbearably stuffy in there. No fresh air had swept through the place in years. The stale scents made that abundantly clear. Peter hesitantly approached the figure, the lighting just so he couldn’t make anything out until only a few hundred yards away.

The minute he saw the tied hands behind the back of the chair, his heart soared. “Bu-bug!” His voice shouted, relief flowing off of him in waves, but they came crashing down just as fast.

He wasn’t even sure if it was you. Incredibly deformed from obvious beatings, your face was swollen, bruised, and bloody like he had never seen before. The zip tie around your wrists had cut into the skin, pieces of flesh hanging from it.

As he looked down, the sticky floor was a deep crimson, continuing to pool from your countless open wounds. No shoes were on your feet, they too were cut and dangling from your seated position, totally limp.

He wasn’t entirely sure what was in your mouth as a makeshift gag, but whatever it was had been there so long, your skin was raw and bruised around it. It was the first thing he removed and as he did, your chipped teeth entered his view.

A blanket was draped over you that was covered in things Peter did not even want to begin to imagine. It was the next thing he went to remove, but he halted the moment it was off your body.

There, stapled to your bare chest, was his next note. The same haunting letters, covered in either your own or someone else’s blood. Based on the missing fingernails, he assumed it was a fight you had given which made him silently pray it was someone else’s, yours already spilled too much.

It took him a second longer than he realized to see that your toes were mainly all facing the wrong way. Your arms bruised from newly broken bones, legs in the same condition.

His trembling voice was the first thing you heard as he cut the tie from your hands, whimpers and choked cries trying to escape your hoarse throat. Immediately going limp, Peter caught you. Your body was convulsing in ways he had never seen, unable to open your eyes and see that Peter had found you.

His tears made heavy tracts on his sweat riddled skin. His gloved hands smoothed over the inflamed sections of your face. “I’m-I’m here bug, I got you. I found you, baby. I got you, okay? It’s okay now, baby.” Despite knowing how difficult and incredibly painful his next actions were going to be, he had to get you out of there.

Medical attention was the only way you were going to be able to survive. That meant Peter was going to have to carry you to the hospital. No possibility of emergency services being able to get to you before it was too late.

He was right. Had he waited for emergency services you would have died. You had been in the hospital for three weeks now. Finally in a state where you were fully conscious, despite the pain that never subsided, you were doing better than everyone thought.

It was unclear how long you had been in their “care” before Peter had found you. Based on the little memory you had from the snatching, it was assumed you had been with them for at least forty-eight hours, possibly more.

Peter hadn’t left your side since. Growing tired of hearing the nurses and doctors praise Spider-Man for having found you and saving you when he did. Hardly. He had hardly saved you.

In fact, this was his fault. It was the conclusion he had made. His careless and reckless behaviors had led them straight to you. He hadn’t spoken to you in a week and look what they had done. They thought they had killed you. There hadn’t been another attack yet. It meant nothing though.

No, the note left for him said otherwise. You’ve made it three steps back, how long until the grand final act?

Peter was frightening you. Since you had been awake and aware of what was happening, he had hardly spoken to you. The deep purple bags under his eyes were only growing worse, skin a sickly gray you had never witnessed in a human before, face hollowing out from lack of rest and food.

All he did was write in his notebook.

Curled up in a chair, he stared at the pages for hours on end. Occasionally writing and scribbling in it. His eyes never rested, constantly darting around the pages. It had been weeks of this. Total silence from him, not sure how to talk to him when he was like…this.

It was another late night in the hospital, having drifted in and out of painful sleep all day. Based on the lack of staff and visitors present, you assumed it was the middle of the night. The hospital floor just outside your door was quiet. An easy night for the staff, you thought.

Trying to figure out how to eat a pudding cup, one of the only things you could keep down, was your current task at hand. The tv playing with hardly any sound, it being the only main light in there, Peter silently re-reading whatever was in that book. That was the current mood of your room.

Eating was difficult. Only having three working fingers on your non-dominant hand, luckily one being your thumb, you struggled to pick up the spoon, also knowing you couldn’t move your arm to bring the spoon to you or bend over to get closer to consume anything. Just trying to move to secure the spoon in your mangled fingers had you on the verge of tears, losing your breath along the way.

You could do nothing without help. Not wanting to ask Peter for any assistance because of how poor his mood was. That was where you two currently sat with one another. Scared to speak to him more than absolutely necessary. Hardly speaking since being here.

His eyes briefly glanced at you before realizing what you were trying to do, throwing his notebook onto the side table. “Hey, hey, hey! What are you even trying to do, bug?” His voice was soft, a slight laugh in his voice, exhaustion evident with each word spoken. Taking the spoon from your hand, he pulled his chair closer to the bed, beginning to bring it to your lips.

It was silent until your eyes darted back at the book, deciding to take a leap. “Whatcha writing?” Your cracked, gravelly, and weak voice echoed through the silent room.

It made him want to revert to a blind rage attack. Your voice that was usually so full of life and excitement. Strong and loud that could command an entire room with only a few words. Now, he could hardly hear you, understand you, look at you. Jaw clenching at the question, his teeth grinded together.

When he closed his eyes, he saw visions of you beaten in that warehouse, left for dead. The immense pain you had been suffering through ever since then. Scars that would never fade, both physically and mentally meant he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. Not until he found them.

Your face was doing better, still black and blue, but healing. Able to open your eyes and look at him despite the popped blood vessels. Bandages littered every inch of your skin, wrists tightly wrapped with special medicine for the skin loss.

“Notes,” he murmured, eyes darkening as you asked your question, obviously not wanting to speak about it more. Changing the topic as your pudding came to an end, his hand brushed through your hair, knuckles lightly brushing against your cheek. “What do you need? Anything?”

It was silly. A simple question to see if you really did need anything. It didn’t stop the tears from hurriedly falling down your face. “Yo-you, Peter. I need you. I don’t know where you’ve been, but it hasn’t been here with me. I feel like I’m healing on my own. Like you’re not even here. You sit in that chair, staring at that notebook for days on end. You’ve hardly looked at me, spoken to me, listened to me. Please, just come back to me. Please, Pete.” It was borderline begging, but months of pent up frustration had broken the dam.

Peter’s heart continued to crack with each additional word you said. Realization of what he was doing to you, slamming into him all at once. He nodded, chin resting on one of the side rails, sniffling himself. “I’m here, bug. Whatever you need. I’m so sorry.”

Your only non-fully broken hand you extended towards him, wincing in pain from the movement. Scared to touch you, he only placed your hand back down, removing the side rail to get as close as possible to you.

The rest of the night, you two sat chatting ,watching whatever movies you wanted. It was a glimpse at the man you had seemingly lost all those months ago. Peter was back.

You were released from the hospital just shy of a week later. Peter’s plan to nurse you back to health was his moving in with you. While it was just supposed to be while you recovered, you two ended up enjoying it so much, he was now permanently living there.

It felt like your relationship was shooting by leaps and bounds, spending time together like you had never experienced before. Him being there when you went to bed at night and his face being the first thing you spotted when your eyes opened was a treat you didn’t know you needed.

Feeling content, cared for, respected, and loved like never before. Peter admitted, with your confession to him in the hospital about how distant he had become, tore him apart. He had never seen you moved to tears in such a way, especially over him.

He didn’t realize how deep he had been sucked in until that moment. From then on, Peter swore to keep his other persona on the sidelines for a bit whilst you healed and needed him. Did that mean he was going to stop being Spider-Man in the meantime?

Of course not. It meant that side of him was reserved for the span of time from when you fell asleep to about forty minutes before you would wake up in the morning. Absolutely clueless as to the fact that he had been out all night.

Hunting. Stalking. Tracking.

It was the first night in which you didn’t need him to help lay you down in bed. Peter knew his sleep schedule was already fucked, each time his eyes would drift shut all he could see was you strapped to that chair, nearing death.

And the fact that he hadn’t caught them.

Keeping him up at night, when he could sleep it was plagued by nightmares. Peter knew that there was no opportunity for him to rest while these scumbags were still wandering the streets, looking for another prey to select for their sick games.

Which is why he was doing this without you knowing. Not wanting to worry you and cause you further stress. No, Peter could do this. Would do this. Had to do this. He had made amazing moves. Truly spectacular given the place he had been stuck in before.

They had no idea he had found them, watched their every move, plotted what he was going to do to them. Honestly, when he first spotted one of the three he had discovered had been involved in your…incident, it took every ounce of strength he had to not murder the man right then.

He had to remind himself that all he had to do was provide some patience and the reward would be unlike anything he imagined. And imagine he did.

It was what plagued his thoughts every single day as he watched you hobble around such short distances that only offered pain and tiredness from. His eyes would drift over your still bruised skin as he helped you bathe and it was like witnessing it all over again.

Your hand would tip his chin up, forcing him to lock eyes with you. It was nearly impossible to not see the sadness and hurt in his eyes. Disappointed in himself for letting this happen to you. It didn’t matter because what had happened was now in the past and all you were looking forward to was healing.

The emotional and traumatic scars left on you were not easy to mask. Perhaps that was another reason why Peter was so furious as well. If he moved too quickly behind you, you jumped and a small scream would follow. Trembling for upwards of an hour before settling down. Peter would have to tell you small things to gather your thoughts.

Feel my hand? I`m right here, bug. Here, I want you to use the remote and put on whatever you want. You feel the couch under you? You’re home, baby. You’re safe.

If it weren’t for Peter, you weren’t sure what you would do. He was your rock, your other half, offering reason for unreasonable thoughts. He was your Peter.

The rain was pattering against the window, a sort of white noise you weren’t expecting tonight, but were grateful for it nonetheless. It helped you drift off to a dreamless sleep, exhaustion from trying to do some basic things today taking too much out of you.

Peter was already out of the house before he knew you were soundly asleep. He couldn’t risk being late. Tonight was the night.

Weeks of following them, understanding and breaking their odd patterns, he watched as they went according to plan perfectly. A construction sight for a new high rise. This was their new rendezvous sight for the next attack.

There wouldn’t be another attack.

Counting silently in his head, as he saw a flicker of a small light near the top floor, his count was perfect. They entered exactly on schedule. Crawling down the side of the building and using the thunderstorm to his advantage, he shattered a window a few floors up.

There was no other way that he knew of other than how they had entered and that was far too risky as they had all other doors blocked. As he slowly descended the staircase to scout the floor and determine which room they were in, his hair stood on end as a voice hit his ear.

Three of them. All there. The monsters who were behind your attack. Simply waiting for him.

Except, they didn’t know they were waiting for him. No, tonight was a setup night. Preparation for the coming days of their next plan. Peter had determined fairly early on it was not going to be their final act like they had claimed.

The door was kept slightly ajar with a cinder block, no handles on them yet meaning if it closed, there was no way out for them. Which was their plan for their next victim. Leave the poor soul trapped here with no means of getting out alive.

Peter’s skin was crawling, every instinct shouting at him to just do it. End them now. It would be so easy. He shook off those thoughts, knowing his plan was the correct one.

He dropped to the floor behind them, one of them catching him out of the corner of their eye, a smirk taking over his face. “Spidey boy finally found us, boss.” The thick accent made him hard to understand. Peter kept silent. Very silent.

The other two turned to face him, matching looks on their hideous faces. “How’s your girl? You otta be more careful next time or she could get seriously hurt.” A chuckle escaped them. Peter still didn’t move, watching them from a few paces away.

Quickly deciding they weren’t a fan of the silent treatment, the largest man in the center who Peter knew to be their ringleader drew his gun. In the blink of an eye, web flew towards the gunman, pinning the weapon to the wall behind him.

“Come on now, you didn’t think I knew what you have on you? Just like how I know tweedledee over here is about to throw a knife at me,” Peter ducked out of the way as the blade hurdled towards him. “Now how about we all play nice and introduce ourselves?”

An over exaggerated sigh escaped Peter’s lips as the three men darted towards him, but he acted quickly, webbing them to the surrounding walls, letting one approach him to fight him. “Guess not. Okay, then. I guess I’ll be the one making the rules tonight then.”

Peter grabbed the three chairs from one of the corners of the room before leisurely strolling towards the door and pushing the cinder block from the opening. He whistled a made up tune as he removed them one by one, webbing them to the seats to the point of them not being able to move an inch.

“You know, it’s such a shame sometimes that I wear this mask because I would love you guys to see how big of a smile I have right now. Scouts honor, I am overjoyed that we finally get to do this!” He took his own seat directly across from them.

His head scanned them before pointing at the one on the right. “Let’s start with you bumblebee. What’s your name?” His black and yellow striped shirt was what appointed him his nickname. “You think we’re going to talk? I have nothing to say.”

Peter nodded at his words before looking at the other two. “Same goes for you two then, I assume?” When they didn’t respond, instead only seeing spit hurl towards him, he dropped his head, shaking it. “Such a shame. Alright, last chance. Just give me a name.”

Silence.

A shrug. “It brings me no joy to resort to this, fellas. I’m truly not a violent person. I pride myself on being as gentle as I can be. " He began pacing around, his chair discarded behind him now. “Igor, Viktor, Sasha.” He pointed at each of them individually as he divulged their names.

He gave himself a small satisfactory pump into the air at his success. He could tell he was correct by the little one on the lefts eyes growing slightly wider. It was just the start. As Peter continued on, he got tiny tidbits of information. Only when he presented to them what he knew. Which at this point was everything.

Names, date of births, addresses, spouses, children, education records, dental records, you name it, Peter had it. It still wasn’t enough to get them talking like how he wanted. Instead, Peter fell into the second part of his plan earlier than he had expected.

With seven toes, five fingers, three teeth, many beatings, and an ear, they were beginning to squeal. The leader, Igor, was suspended from the ceiling by his bound hands submerged in webbing. He was entirely nude, body cut up in ways that had blood spilling from him ferociously.

Viktor was webbed entirely to the floor, his entire body covered in fluid despite only one singular nostril. He was the one who cracked first which Peter expected after his reaction to his grandmothers home address in his tiny village in his home country. It was quickly discovered that he was mainly an action man, simply doing what he was told, not a mastermind of any sort.

The other one, Sasha, was who most of the beatings had gone towards once Viktor had divulged it was him who had mainly been the culprit in your beating. Webbed to the wall with no chance of escape, Peter mimicked all the injuries you had sustained on him and then some. Just missing a few fingers and toes now as well.

As the night drew to a close, Peter admired the work he had done. He wiped his gloved hands in a motion to signify he was wrapping up. They were hardly conscious enough at this point to understand what was happening to them. To understand the fate they had drawn themselves to.

There was just one final thing he needed to do. Grabbing the needle and thread he brought with him for tonight and tonight only, he walked slowly towards the nude man. “Did you know that I sew all of my suits? Crazy right! How in the world does he have the time to do this, you might ask. It’s a valid question, but you know what, if I took it to lets say a seamstress, I would be unbelievably broke. Not to mention, how does one drop off the Spider-Man suit without drawing suspicion. First world problems, am I right?” 

The man didn’t respond, but as Peter pierced the needle into his skin, his yelp rang in Peter’s ears. “Ah, ah, ah, don’t be moving around now, you’ll make my stitches go all out of wack here.” Peter took his time, but as he finished he admired the handy work.

Sewn into the man chest was a letter of his own. Crafted just for them. A message curated specifically for their enjoyment.

“How time flies, boys. Suns coming up here shortly. Time for me to be heading out.” He smashed a window, ready to crawl out, but he remembered one final thing he needed to do. Walking back over to Igor, he pulled his head back by the hair on his scalp, making him look into the bug eyed mask.

The whimper that fell from the grown man was laughable to Peter. “If you or your dogs come near anyone I love again, our next visit will not be as enjoyable as this one. If you get out of here, I mean.” Tears fell from the corner of his eyes as Peter released his head to fall back into its resting position.

“See you later, guys! Make better choices!” He called out behind himself as he crawled out the window, webbing it shut behind him before making his way home to you.

It was the first time in months that Peter felt like he could breathe. Taking in the fresh morning air, just minutes before the sun began to peak on the horizon, signaling the arrival of a new day. His lungs expanded with the deep breath of air, wanting to sob at the weight removed from his shoulders.

As he made his way back into the apartment, he spotted you in bed. Still curled up in the comforter, sound asleep, none the wiser of his whereabouts the night before. The brusing getting less and less noticeable by the day.

When he crawled into bed next to you, he refused to fall asleep, not tired in the least. No, instead as the sun began to shine through the curtains, he watched you. Watched as your chest rose and fell with each breath, grateful you were taking those breaths.

Because Peter knew that it wasn’t long ago where those breaths weren’t guaranteed. Now, he counted each one, to make sure you were okay. Of course you were okay now. Peter just needed to make sure.

It wasn’t too long after when you began stirring, eyes blinking open to see his golden eyes staring down at you with the softest gaze Peter had ever had. “Morning,” you mumbled, he whispered it back to you.

“You sleep okay?” He asked, to which you nodded, asking him the same. “Of course I did.” You smiled, getting up and ready to start your day.

You just needed to pretended you didn’t see the bruises adorning his knuckles. “What’s for breakfast?”

ANDREW GARFIELD

SAG Awards portrait. I dont remember seeing these. Only the close ups.

(X)

OH.

I'm blown away once again.

No cut this time for the essay, I'm just going to rev up the motor and head for the edge of the cliff and we'll see if I can make it across...

First off, Peter, you dumb-dumb. Little late for reconsidering that ring toss now isn't it? Regret. Regret. Regret. He should've had a more in-depth conversation with Angel, probably should've had one with Felicia, too, but yeah. Same with Angel and her scene. People pushing each other's buttons. Lot of regrets all around. For Peter, it was fortunate that he had Miguel to give him a little perspective. For Angel, no such luck.

My thinking is that pain and sorrow and regret was driving Angel to do something to 'fix it,' and not going to lie: when I read the beginning of the scene where she whipped out SKETCHY PHONE, I was screaming:

"NO ANGEL! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"

You have no idea how relieved I was that she didn't go the way of Felicia because you have a knack for the unexpected. That is not a complaint, by the way, I love it. Well, if Angel had gotten pushed off the roof then I might've gone a little crazy, but it's your story and you have to write it the way you want.

Toombes was just dropping all that info for us. He knew about the ring? What did he mean about the current whereabouts of Aunt May? He knows where she is or has he taken her? ARGARGARGARG! He knows the contents of the will (!!), and what was that tidbit about the little meeting after her Dad died? Was that different than the one from several chapters back? I may need to reread all 15 this weekend, not that I mind...

Toombes is a contradiction. He wanted Angel dead, and yet, he didn't try and kill her on the roof. Interesting. Now he seems to be twisting the knife in her (implying that he's going to harm Peter) while doing the same with Peter (killing Felicia after the attempt with Angel). It's smart to use a divide and conquer strategy as Miguel stated, but for whatever reason, I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop with this guy. Hmmm. Regardless, well done on this chapter!

Lastly. Read the A/N and see you're coming closer to the conclusion. Damn. Don't want this to end. You have a knack for these more intricate plot pieces that show depth with the characters and it's really nice to have that in the fandom. I've loved this story!

The Angel In The Garden of Evil | Chapter Fifteen: Me and The Devil

Summary: Angel is trying to hold the cracks together, will a meeting with the devil himself make things better?

Warnings: 18+ Only, genre typical content, threat, emotional distress, mentions of character death, angst, panic attack

Word Count: 2k

A/N: So I thought this would be two separate chapters but as I was writing the first half it didn't feel enough. We are winding towards the end now, there's only a few chapters left. I'm hoping to get the rest of the chapters finished to a better standard than what I feel this chapter has become, this weekend. Anyway, that being said I hope you still enjoy the content of this chapter.

FIFTEEN

Peter regretted it the moment he did it. His stomach turned all the way back down to the car.

“Everything okay, boss?” Miguel asked.

“Yeah.” Peter sighed as he unbuttoned his suit jacket, ready to slide himself into the car. Miguel knew he wasn’t okay, but he didn’t want to push it. If Peter responded like that it meant he didn’t want to talk about it, just move forward, but the lack of flashy metal around Peter’s finger spoke volumes.

They sat in silence all the way to the Huntsman, Peter stuck in his thoughts in the back seat. ‘Why had he done that? What happened with Felicia wasn’t Angel's fault. If anything it was his fault for not saying no all those years ago when she had first tried it on with him. Should have stuck to his guns, then the Vulture wouldn’t have seen her as a target of weakness. But both of them were right.’ He hadn’t realised it, hadn’t wanted to believe it, but Felicia had meant something to him. Sure not as much as Angel, but she was there for him. She listened to him. Yes it just started as sex, but she had become a place for him to share his feelings when he had no one. Someone who made him feel more than just the Spider. Even if it had been just an act on her side, to keep her boss happy.

Miguel watched Peter through the rear view mirror the whole way to the bar. From the way Peter looked out the window, to the way he fidgeted in his seat, Miguel knew he was conflicted. He also knew he couldn’t let Peter get out of the car and go into a room of people like this. At a time when their enemy was always circling, they needed to be strong. Peter needed to be strong.

“Boss, can I say something?” Miguel asked as he pulled up to the curb and turned off the engine. Peter didn’t say anything, but the way he met Miguel’s eyes told Miguel he was able to speak freely. “You’re better with her.” Miguel said. “You know me and Angel have never really been able to see eye to eye, but she’s good for you. You wouldn’t have the business or success you do if it wasn’t for her.” He paused for a moment to make sure Peter was listening. “If you want to end all this mess with the Vulture, you need her by your side, not against you. We know you as the Spider, but she knew you before. She knows all of your strengths and weaknesses and how to work with them. And I hate to admit it but, she knows this business better than any of us. As much as I hated Kingpin, the fact he was her Father, everything he taught her, that’s what made you successful. She made you successful. And ever since you’ve been apart both you and the business haven't been the same. She’s the one who said you should work with Hobie, not those Peaky Blinders, Kray wannabes over in London and look at you and Hobie now? It was her push for F.E.A.S.T that not only helped with our finances but actually helped the city in the way you always wanted and even kept Stacy on our side.” They sat in silence for a moment as Miguel’s words sunk in. “When she left it was like seeing a piece of you die and sure since she’s been back you’ve done nothing but struggle and feel more conflicted, always feeling like you have to watch over your shoulder for her, to protect her, but I saw her when we were downstairs with that shithead Jackson Brice. Imagine if you had that version of her by your side everyday, not hidden away. If you embraced this version of her. Can you see how much stronger you’d be? It’s the only way you can take down Toomes. Together.”

Peter’s eyes had wandered to stare at his feet as Miguel spoke, but the moment he had said ‘together’ Peter’s eyes met Miguel’s once more. Those dark, life hardened eyes, suddenly soft. The care he had developed for Peter over the years, clear on his face.

“I know you’re all cut up about Cat, we all are and we all want to avenge her, but we’ve got to be smart about this, because right now, you’re playing straight into his hands. He knows that we are all stronger together. With us all working together as a team, he doesn’t stand a chance. That’s why he went running to align himself with the Italians. He needed to have a team of his own, but the Italians are only loyal to themselves, that union is tentative at best. If we’re gonna take him down, we all need to work together.”

****

Angel sat on the end of the bed in shock. She immediately wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Wished she hadn’t said anything. Wished she’d never taken those pills. Wished she hadn’t made so many decisions. But she had. Those whole three years she wanted nothing but Peter, to be back by his side, so why was she making this so difficult. In sickness and in health. For better or worse. They’d both made those vows and now their marriage felt more irreparable than ever. 

Her breathing suddenly became laboured as the reality of their situation really sank in. She didn’t want this. Her hand clawed at her chest as panic seeped in, tears welling in her eyes as she began to sob. Alone, her wails echoed off the walls back to her ears, only making the feelings trying to burst from her chest worse. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” she repeated to herself as her body became too heavy for her, her legs buckling as she slid off the end of the bed and onto the floor. She could barely feel the pain in her ribs now over the aching of her breaking heart. Her hand clasped over her mouth, trying to keep her breaths and wails in, trying to hold herself together again long enough to get a handle on herself. She needed to fix this. It was all her fault. She needed to fix this. She removed her hand from her mouth to let out one last guttural scream. She breathed deeply as some of the weight on her chest subsided, silent tears rolling down her cheeks as she sniffed and tried to compose herself.

She reached into her pocket for her phone, pulling up the message thread from Toomes. ‘Meet tonight. The Mill Rooftop, 8pm.’ Send.

She leaned back against the bed frame, her breathing slowly coming back into control as her plan was beginning to form. She continued to look over to Peter’s ring on the top of the side table. ‘I will fix this.’ she repeated to herself, ‘I will fix this.’

She continued to repeat the mantra to herself as she slowly stood, mustering up her strength and heading towards the adjoining ensuite and walk in wardrobe to ready herself. She touched up her makeup, adding a deadly red lip, still muttering her mantra to herself as she looked herself dead in the eyes. 

“You are the daughter of Wilson Fisk. You are the wife of Peter Parker. You’ve got this. You can fix this. You will fix this.”

----

She was grateful that between the three of them, Peter, Harry and Miguel had been moving the cars from the old house over to the parking garage here in Queens. As she climbed into the McLaren (Peter had of course got it for the use of Spider in the name), she wasn’t sure if it was from the drugs still coursing through her system or the adrenaline, but she was thankful that she was numb to the pain in her body right now. As she hit the ignition, the car rumbled to life beneath her, flooding more adrenaline through her body; and as she sat waiting for the gate at the top of the ramp to open, she began to mutter her mantra again, “I can fix this. I can fix this.”

----

She wasn’t even sure if he’d come. As she slowly made her way up the stairs of The Mill, one of her Father’s old buildings in the Kitchen, known for its drug labs and exports, she feared she’d psyched herself up in vain. As she opened the door to the rooftop, her heels echoing powerfully on the concrete, she was relieved to see him stood waiting for her in the shadows.

“Interesting choice in meeting place.” he said as he turned away from the edge to face her. “The same place your Father fell to his death.”

“Don’t play innocent Toomes, we both know you pushed him.”

“What makes you think you’d walk away when he didn’t?”

“You said it yourself,” she said as she came to a stop before him, “you just can’t seem to kill me.” 

He raised his eyebrows at her, a flash of a smirk in his eyes, a taunt, I’d happily try again. He’s cool and collected, casual even as he sits himself on the edge of the building. “So come on then, what are your terms?” She took two steps back, her arms outstretched indicating to the building. “The Mill?” He asked in confirmation.

“Peter doesn’t do drugs. You want something to chew on, we’ll sign it over to you, let you run it, but you have to respect us and you have to respect the city.”

“That’s it? Your big bargaining chip? An old dusty drug factory?”

“Be grateful I’m not asking for a pound of flesh after blowing up the hub.”

He chuckles as his head turns to look out over the city. “Aaah yes of course, why would you care about the Black Cat after she fucked your man.” She pursed her lips, trying to keep her composure as the cut smarted. “Did you a favour really.” he continued to taunt. “You should be thanking me for making that little problem go away.”

“She wasn’t a problem?” 

“Oh, really? Because I think your husband's wedding ring currently sat on that side table in your bedroom says otherwise.” Angel’s face finally fell. “Oh you didn’t think anyone knew about that? There’s a lot you don’t realise I know. Like…” he paused for dramatic effect as he drummed his fingers against his chin, “you should be a lot nicer to the people that help you. Or how about the current whereabouts of Aunt May. Or how you aren’t in a position to negotiate anything with me, after all, it’s your husband’s name that’s on your Father’s will, not yours and last time I checked, old Petey boy doesn’t negotiate with- what’s the word the Brit used? Terrorists, was it?”

“Fine, but something needs to change. Innocent people have died. They didn’t ask for this.” Angel said growing frantic.

He smirked as he stood pacing towards her. He gripped the lapels of her suit jacket, turning her with ease, holding her over the edge of the building. Her fingers gripped tightly at his wrists, her own fractured wrist smarting with the strain. He chuckled harder as he took in the look of fear on her face as she looked between him and the ground far below. “You’re right little Angel,” he sneered, “they didn’t ask for this and it doesn’t matter as this will all be over soon.” She breathed a sigh of relief as he slowly righted her again, moving her away from the edge. “I gave you a chance to make this easier Angel when I visited you after your Dad’s little ‘accident’, but instead you ran back to him and started playing house and now look at the two of you. You put your faith in the Spider and now you will watch when I make him scream. And I will make him scream.” He paused for a moment, releasing her suit from his grip and brushing it smooth again before starting to walk away.

-----------------------------------------

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