A Spider Family Thanksgiving (OPEN)
Glass plates were gently set upon the dining room table, Peter circling around it and preparing it for possible guests. He glanced toward the kitchen, frowning. The Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man had been exiled from it by the decree of Mary Jane Watson and his own Aunt May. Of course, they were well within their rights to do it as people who enjoyed consuming food that was edible. Still, he hated for the pair of lovely ladies to handle all of the cooking themselves.
Five plates, five sets of silverware, and five napkins. Two more than were actually necessary. In his head, Peter knew that Gwen and Flash probably wouldn’t show, but in his heart he still hoped that maybe for one night they could put their differences and difficulties aside and be a family again. Even if they didn’t talk, even if they just sat there and ate quietly, it would be enough for him.
Was that selfish? Perhaps. Peter had been too young to have any clear memory of his parents. For much of his life, he had been raised by his Aunt May and his Uncle Ben, wonderful people whom he loved. But it wasn’t quite the same. Of course, he also knew full well that having parents wasn’t always great. His hands clenched into fists as he thought about MJ’s father. A few choice words came to mind to describe the man, but rather than focus on that unpleasantness, he just let it go. After all, tonight was a night to be thankful, not bitter.
There was the ring of a doorbell and Peter perked up, setting the last plate down and heading to the door to see who was there.
"Is that my shirt?"
"Yes, it is." Peter looked down at it, idly making sure that it fit. "You keep taking them off and leaving them around the Tower. I just figured you didn’t want them anymore considering you’re usually topless."
|Song: I Go To Sleep
|Album: Some People Have Real Problems
|Played: 14 times.
"Relax, I have a plan."
Peter sighed, face palming with all of his might. He liked the kid, but sometimes he worried for the fate of the universe when Nova Jr. was running around policing it, “Ah, good. A plan. And what is your plan, exactly? Are you going to fly around and shoot space energy at them?”
All the starter sentences ask box me one :)
"Are you even listening to me?"
"Are you even listening to yourself?"
"Are you sure they won’t find out?”
"Are you sure this is legal?”
"Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
"Are you threatening me?"
"Can you be anymore obvious?"
"Don’t look at me like that."
"Don’t you dare come near me!"
"Give me another chance."
"Have you ever even done this before?"
"How drunk are you right now?"
"I can’t believe you missed that."
"I can’t do this anymore."
"I can’t even look at you."
"I dare you." or "I dare you to _____."
"I didn’t know you could do that."
"I don’t want to look at you right now.”
"I guess this is goodbye.”
"I love you, but I really wish I didn’t.”
"I miss you so very much."
"I never really loved you."
"I think I’m falling in love with you. "
"I think I’m forgetting something."
"I want to try this thing I read in a book.”
"I want you. Naked. In my bed. Now."
"I’ll be there in five minutes.”
”This is really inappropriate.”
"I’m all for spicing thing’s up, but isn’t this a bit much?”
"I’m not speaking to you anymore."
"I’m pregnant and it’s yours."
"I’ve never heard that one before."
"If you stay quiet, no one will know.”
"Just five more minutes."
"Just what did we do last night?"
"Little too late, don't you think?"
"No, that can’t be my baby."
"No! You can’t die on me now!"
"Obviously there is something between us."
"Of all the things i've heard, that hurt the most."
"Put. The. Weapon. Down."
"Quiet, I am trying to think."
"That looked easier on TV."
"That’s the cheesiest pickup line I’ve ever heard."
"Unbelievable. I can't believe you right now."
"Very good, you had me fooled."
"Well that was unexpected."
"What are we doing here?"
"What are you afraid of?"
"What have I done this time?"
"What if someone catches us?”
"What sort of noise was that?”
"What the hell do you think you’re doing?"
"What were you thinking?"
"Where did you find this?"
"Where do you even find this sort of thing?”
"Who’d have guessed you could pull such a face?”
"Why are you wearing that?"
"Why yes, I am as think as you drunk I am."
"You could have killed someone!"
"You don’t need to be so gentle.”
"You have ten minutes, so make it quick.”
"You mean everything to me."
"You. Come. Snuggle. NOW!"
"You’re all out of ____."
"You’re pregnant and It’s mine"
"You’re really good at this…”
"Little too late, don't you think?"
"Oh, you never know, the restraints might suddenly decide to turn into marshmallow or something." Spidey grunted, trying to break free from the rather sturdy steel bindings that held him to the table. These were exactly the kind of situations he hated. "Whatever you do, make sure to fill me in on your evil plans first. It makes me feel included."
"What if someone catches us?"
"They won’t. Besides, you can just beat them up with all that superstrength I gave you." Peter’s words slurred a little but he managed to get across the general idea. Sitting up in the chair while he hacked into Hydra’s secure files was taking all the energy he had left.
He’d been curious about what it would feel like if Rogue ever took his powers and now he’d learned, and kinda wished he hadn’t. It was, well, for lack of a better word, draining. “So.. what’s it like being Spider-Rogue? If you get a weird tingling feeling at the back of your brain, that means something bad is about to happen, just go with your instincts and you should be fine.”
"Is that my shirt?"
Gwen looked down at the over sized E.S.U. tee. She had been hording many of Peter’s t-shirts and sweatshirts since their break up—though she had thrown away many of the more sentimental ones. But still, she didn’t think that he had any right to judge what she chose to wear at one in the morning.
"I’m sorry, did you come into my room through the window to discuss my sartorial choices?"
That fresh bruise on her heart had dulled, becoming more like a paper cut she forgotten to tend to. Paying it attention caused it to throb, but not nearly as much as the initial injury. Of all the things Gwen had expected when Spider-Man climbed through her window, this would have been the last of them. More along the lines of: “Is Mary Jane here? Have you seen Mary Jane? What’s going on with you and Flash?” She hadn’t thought of their relationship in so long, that she had almost convinced herself it had never happened.
But first loves were not so easy to forget.
"It’s—" she worried her fingers, pulling against the knuckles and causing sharp cracks. ”I don’t want to say no. More than anything, I wish we could just go back to being friends like nothing ever happened. We’ve both obviously moved on to different relationships that it seems silly that anything to do with you still causes any hurt. It’s just—” She stared down at the mask in his hands, how he played with it just as she did her own hands. “It still feels like betrayal, you and MJ. And I don’t know how to get around that.”
Honesty was never kind. Usually, it was the sharpest knife.
Peter winced at those words. That whole saying about sticks and stones felt awfully silly now. Those words hurt more than what any supervillain could hope to do to him. Looking down, he was silent for a long moment, uncertain of what he should say, if he should say anything. “Gwen.. What am I supposed to do? No matter what I choose, you end up hurt, and it drives me insane. The more I try to keep this family together, the more it seems like we’re drifting apart.”
He was silent again, letting out a soft sigh as he stared down at his mask, “Um.. Thanksgiving is coming up and, well, I was hoping we could all sit down together again. Even if its just for one night, maybe we could pretend like we were a family again. And if we pretend hard enough, maybe it’ll be true. For a little while, anyway.”
Rallying the Troops | Spider-Man + Agent Hummingbird + Hawkeye + Agent Smith
If someone had told Clint Barton three months ago that Director Fury would have assigned him and his chosen team a mission that entailed breaking into what once were S.H.I.E.L.D cells, to release prisoners aligned with S.H.I.E.L.D, he would have blatantly laughed in their face. The archer leaning, almost casually, against the side of the building, if anyone were to pass him they could simply think him another bystander -leather jacket still wrapped around his broad frame. The tapping of thumbs against the illuminated screen could be heard in the din of the alley if one listened quietly enough, blue eyes flickering up to the text box to scan what calloused fingers had typed before send was pressed and the process repeated.
<text> 34th and 59th. Spandex a must, Spider. Serious business. - Hawk
<text> Manhattan. You can track me for the rest. - Your Favorite Bastard
The former sent to Peter Parker and the latter to Grace Hummingbird, the former chosen due to the already present animosity toward Osborn and the knowledge that the hero still remained on the same side as him (and he hadn’t seen Peter in a while, but that would not be vocalised as a reason) and the latter for her penchant in coding, decoding and all measures of technological alterations that he didn’t want to begin to understand. Fury had said they were going in blind, if the assassin was right about what he had heard that would mean that both Peter and Grace would be an asset with their knowledge of the facilities on top of his own.
He had chosen Hell’s Kitchen as a meeting point, the archer knowing that Fury would have notified them to await contact from him before proceeding, had chosen the place due to the slightly quieter atmosphere there (not because it was also called Clinton on occasion, he would never be that vain.)The screech of tyres at a stop light, the mutterings of the people that passed each other by and the undeniable smell of early morning coffee from the shop across the street invaded his senses, his mind full of several potential plans that could be acted out by the soon to be trio (before they met with Agent Smith, at least).
All he had to do now was wait.
When her phone vibrated against the coffee table, Grace almost fell over her own two feet trying to get to it. Blue eyes scanned through the text, a smirk crossing her face at the content. Scraping her hair back into a tight ponytail, the hacker pulled out her old S.H.I.E.L.D suit, getting into it in record time. It felt a little odd to be doing this again; it had been so long since she had been on a mission, the whole ordeal felt new to her again. Pursing her lips, she accessed the programme on her phone that would allow her to track Clint’s whereabouts. Entering the coordinates into the GPS, Grace left her home, moving quickly toward her car
It still felt weird, knowing that she was about to go on a mission. It had been too long — the few months she had been out had made her feel almost as if she were a rookie again. But of course, she wasn’t, and she wouldn’t have a supervising officer with her throughout. All she had was her team, and she had to trust them with her life. Whilst she was at the traffic lights, she fumbled around with the radio — a confused expression crossing her face as she tuned into one station. Listening carefully, she then understood what had happened. Steve Rodgers was dead. Captain America. Dead. Anger surged through the agent, slamming on the gas when the lights turned green. Whatever their mission was, it had to do with bringing H.A.M.M.E.R down, or at least starting it. Sweaty hands clutched the steering wheel, soon pulling up outside of Clint’s location.
The hacker shut the door of the car with a loud SLAM. Following the GPS on her phone to the archer’s location, she came across him down a narrow alley. “Barton,” Grace said with a nod of her head, approaching him. “Nice jacket.” The agent smirked, going to lean against the wall opposite him, attempting to mask the anger she was feeling at the recent news. “Who else are we expecting?”
"Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man!" The red and blue clad wall crawler lowered down into the alleyway, hanging upside down from a strand of webbing that seemed too thin to support his weight. He looked between the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, "Sorry, I would have been here sooner but I was waiting for a dramatically appropriate moment. Thanks, by the way, Grace."
Things had developed a certain equilibrium recently, enough that Peter was managing to keep things relatively quiet. But with Cap’s televised execution, well, the city had gone crazy. There were going to be riots, no doubt Osborn would crack down as brutally as possible. But it was clear that no matter what was going on, Norman was slipping. After all, no sane man would kill Captain America in front of the entire country. There would be a backlash for this, and with any luck he would be a part of it. Rogers’ death hadn’t quite sunk in yet. Peter felt like he’d hear from the Star Spangled Man with a Plan any moment now. But when it did sink in, he wasn’t sure what he would do when faced with ‘Commander’ Osborn.
"I got your text, Barton. What’s the plan?"
"I want you. Naked. In my bed. Now."
MJ raised an eyebrow and turned her face to where Peter was standing by the window. “Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Parker?”
Peter laughed, sitting on the window sill and raising one of his legs, setting the foot on a nearby dresser in that classic Anne Bancroft pose and idly slipping off the red, web-patterned, boot, “Am I?”