Artists.

I understand the appeal of wanting every adult hero to instinctively adopt teenage Peter Parker, but can it really beat the hilarity of acknowledging that at 15 Peter was 5'10", unusually buff, went by a moniker with Man in it, wore a creepy full face mask, and had a tightly guarded secret identity and probably a Queens accent thick enough to have come out of a jello mold, and adult heroes reasonably responded to him by going, “Wow, this grown man is an immature asshole for no reason.”

"The Egyptians believed the most significant. thing you could do in your life was die." Is Steven Grant's favorite vocal stim. I don't make the rules. (Yes I do)

Those Dadwing fics where Peter's, his son:

Peter: I'm 17, that's like practically an adult, and I've been a vigilante since I was like 14. I can take care of myself.

What Richard sees when looking at Peter:

Их все больше и больше

Stalker!Gaz who had never intended to stalk you, he was just worried when he noticed how you barely have any survival instinct.

Like how you like to take a long walk alone, at night, with earphones on blasting loud music. How you often forgot to lock your door or have your curtains wide open while you carelessly strut around half-naked in your flat. How you somehow could fall asleep in public transport, leaving you and your belongings vulnerable. Or when you missed the last bus and you just casually hitch-hike with a stranger (seriously? who did that anymore)- fortunately, that stranger was him. That was the only one good thing that came from your carelessness, him being able to know you.

..So he can't just leave you alone, can't he? he had to protect you, beat up every creep that had the audacity to whistle your way, resisting a facepalm when you simply whistled back in response.

He felt like some kind of unofficial (and illegal) guardian angel more than a stalker really. And he was sure you would never realize it.

At first he was discreet, watching you at a safe distance. But eventually, he found out that you were very annoyingly oblivious.

Eventually, he would just sit beside you on the bus everytime he followed you home, not knowing if he wanted to be pissed or smile when you fall asleep with your head leaning against his shoulder. You were lucky it was him, what if you fell asleep on a creepy man instead?

this is based on me.. one time when i live alone, my landlord scolded me for keep forgetting to lock my door, and i was legit didn't understand coz i had no valuables except for my empty wallet, my laptop and camera was kept at work. and he legit yelled 'youre the valuable' and i was like oohh

"Yup that's my husband for sure"

Apparently today is National Internet Friends Day! So happy there's a day to acknowledge the love and gratitude you have for the friends in your phone and across the world 💜💞

that's the main thing 🙂‍↕️🥰

Today in the shower I was thinking about how absolutely insane soap would be in a sleeping beauty scenario

Meeting you at the celebration of your birth, when he’s just a little boy himself. Markedly unimpressed. And yet, when you’re spirited away to live with your fairies— he feels strangely robbed.

He chases a fulfillment that cannot come to pass. A soldier in many battles, many quests under his belt, all in pursuit of purpose. A stray arrow tucks itself into his skull, and the emptiness grows more cavernous and hungry.

Then, to see a gorgeous thing like you dancing with his cloak, reflected crisp and clear in the pond water of the glen… he’s just a man. Maybe something less, actually. But even if he is a beast, doesn’t he deserve to live?

He delights in how you nearly scream when he pulls you against him.

“Ah’m no stranger, bonnie. Ye said yerself, nae? We met before— jus’ in yer dreams, hen.”

He has half a mind (in more ways than one) to pin you to the forest floor against your precious wildflowers and ravage you senseless, but he’s able to restrain himself when you say you want to see him again. Tomorrow, in the same place. He likes this little game of courting— the wait is bitter, but the fruit is sweet, isn’t it?

And he felt it, when he was with you. The pinpricks of a doll maker’s needle gliding between his ribs. Suturing the tear left in his chest. He’s done being rearranged inside. He’s ready to be put back together.

Thus, the lengths to which he goes to find you. The thorns that bruise and tear, the dracofire scorching his shield.

He’s going to kiss the sleeping princess if it’s the last thing he does.

Me, with two nonbinary kids in the car, answering the phone: Hey, what's up?

My partner, trying his best but not used to using nonbinary pronouns: Hey, I'm on my way home. Have you dropped off the...thems...yet?

Me: I have not dropped off the thems yet, no. We're on our way, though.

The thems: uproarious laughter

Henry, sic him! 🫵