K_S
Unrepentent Giovanni and Rocket fan
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Summary:
Set pre-Civil War, where “underoos” is barely starting out… learning how to swing and getting his toes wet, the multiverse, and even his Stark apprenticeship are on the distant horizon. So for now, it’s a tale about a boy, a purloined cloak, and an endless argument about tide versus downy.
Ranked Teen for occasional swears and rabid bouts of geeking out.
No content warnings yet.
a/n: A new intro chapter for the forum!
If you give a Cloak a cookie… it may follow you home, billowing and flapping to show off its newest grease stain and crumbs. There might have been some accusation to the motions. Maybe. Possibly. The smack atop the head definitely hadn't been friendly and the rat tailing after had been more than a mite mean.
Not fluent in “cloak” the starting spider hero wasn’t one hundred percent sure what it wanted or why it followed him home, or lead him to the complex's laundry ro-
Oh, well once the communal tide was wheeled down, Peter got the message. Sorry, he left his copy of "cloak for dummies" at school.
That line got him a head twack from a fancy do-dad on the Cloak's collar, sheesh tough crowd, he'd just have to do better next time.
So he'd bribed the cloak with the promise of extra detergent for it to stay folded, and right there, and hustled home. Shucking off his hero suit and snapping a few other red things, he got a load going. And the washing room was cramped and noisy, with only the rattle of the washer's drum and sloshing water and... taps from within as something tried to drum out a melody while being tossed around within.
"Sorry don't know it."
Silence then, save the drum and the hum of a fluorescent light.
While the Cloak was washed Peter's brain was looping over the insanity of where the cookie, that he'd given the thing to say "sorry for accidentally webbing you", went.
Oh, it wasn't a real mystery, he'd seen the whole thing go down. Hence the looping and whatnot. But his apology gift for their crash hello had not been eaten, munched, or even ground up and scattered. No no no, that'd be too tame.
The red fabric had CONSUMED its peace offering.
And the CONSUMPTION had been a horrifying melding of “right back at ya’s” waddle dee scene, with the sound effects courtesy of a b horror flick that’d taken its sound bites off of a butcher room floor.
So suffice to say Peter needed a minute, and looking at the timer on the machine figured he had thirty of them to go, so great. Yay.
He head desked the nearest wall, gently not wanting to get stuck again, and groaned. How was this his life?
He'd wanted to go out and help the little guy. Do those good things that everyone, even the best of the best heroes, kinda forgot in their bigness to do. Recusing cats, webbing up guns so people wouldn't get shot, stopping muggers, webbing guns, walking little old ladies,, returning bikes, and webbing up more guns... You know the small but important stuff like awesome guys like Iron Man and Captain America couldn't.
Magic outerwear was not in the bargain.
The "walk back home" had been rather embarrassing. He'd scrambled up a wall, sideways, skittering away, eyes wide, his fast streamed babbling of "wow look at the time" had been taken as an invitation to follow. Peter could still sorta hear the screaming as the last crumbs were dissolving into a seam, and the baffled fabric floated and flaunted its stains in equal measure until Peter'd just... given up anything like tact.
"I should go home, you should too, bye!" hadn't been smooth. But it'd been to the point. Peter swung off into the sunset, to get a start on homework and other sane things, wanting to leave insane outwear behind.
Except flying cloaks could fly, go figure, and this one twisted itself into a question mark, without a dot on the bottom, whenever Peter swung to a stop to get his bearings. And Peter tried to lose it, really tried, really hard, swinging through construction and side alleys, and no luck. He'd come home winded and aching with the red cloth trailing after him and that had been that.
Still… Peter might not get... Cloak talk, its language of wrinkles and flapping, but the question mark had been easy peasy. It'd been asking a question.
And not being able to ask a question, one that Peter knew the answer to, that pushed a button deep in Peter's soul. It was that irrelevant fanboy button that lay deep within Peter’s very psyche. Nearly as ingrained as his altruism, because he'd babbled out the references on his first attempt out. Spoken the very mainstream and perfectly understandable comment about "wow that's a nice real-life reinterpretation of the waddle dee scene," and it had skated right over the thread count of his... cloth companion.
And that, that was not ok.
Legend spoke, of the almighty fanboy button hat when pressed the wise quaked, and found other greener pastures to be at. Cloak didn't have a clue, didn't hear a thing. But Peter's sharing trait had kicked in hard, and Nerd Herd did not leave nerds out in the cold about references. No matter how Grimdark.
So, coming and going, coming back with detergent, because no one left that in stock in this laundry room, and with his cell phone, because May wasn't due back until stupid late so he could slack a little, Peter tapped the glass.
He tapped "shave and a haircut", old enough it might be recognized, and deliberate so that Cloak had a clue that this wasn't an accident. A spot of red, a flap or fold, rapped back. An echo of the tune and Peter tipped his phone down so the fabric could see hopefully around the suds.
"Hey, do you know what a waddle dee is? Tap one for yes and two for no."
And that was a nope. Well, there were ways to fix that. Peter popped open his account and hunted up the relevant scene, and tipped the phone so hopefully, the red thing inside could see.
"Wanna find out?"
One tap was all it took for one fate to be sealed, and for Peter to maybe burn up all his battery life catching the Cloak up on all the memes, nerd stuff, and begin, the awesomeness that was StarWars, the OG experience.
Set pre-Civil War, where “underoos” is barely starting out… learning how to swing and getting his toes wet, the multiverse, and even his Stark apprenticeship are on the distant horizon. So for now, it’s a tale about a boy, a purloined cloak, and an endless argument about tide versus downy.
Ranked Teen for occasional swears and rabid bouts of geeking out.
No content warnings yet.
a/n: A new intro chapter for the forum!
If you give a Cloak a cookie… it may follow you home, billowing and flapping to show off its newest grease stain and crumbs. There might have been some accusation to the motions. Maybe. Possibly. The smack atop the head definitely hadn't been friendly and the rat tailing after had been more than a mite mean.
Not fluent in “cloak” the starting spider hero wasn’t one hundred percent sure what it wanted or why it followed him home, or lead him to the complex's laundry ro-
Oh, well once the communal tide was wheeled down, Peter got the message. Sorry, he left his copy of "cloak for dummies" at school.
That line got him a head twack from a fancy do-dad on the Cloak's collar, sheesh tough crowd, he'd just have to do better next time.
So he'd bribed the cloak with the promise of extra detergent for it to stay folded, and right there, and hustled home. Shucking off his hero suit and snapping a few other red things, he got a load going. And the washing room was cramped and noisy, with only the rattle of the washer's drum and sloshing water and... taps from within as something tried to drum out a melody while being tossed around within.
"Sorry don't know it."
Silence then, save the drum and the hum of a fluorescent light.
While the Cloak was washed Peter's brain was looping over the insanity of where the cookie, that he'd given the thing to say "sorry for accidentally webbing you", went.
Oh, it wasn't a real mystery, he'd seen the whole thing go down. Hence the looping and whatnot. But his apology gift for their crash hello had not been eaten, munched, or even ground up and scattered. No no no, that'd be too tame.
The red fabric had CONSUMED its peace offering.
And the CONSUMPTION had been a horrifying melding of “right back at ya’s” waddle dee scene, with the sound effects courtesy of a b horror flick that’d taken its sound bites off of a butcher room floor.
So suffice to say Peter needed a minute, and looking at the timer on the machine figured he had thirty of them to go, so great. Yay.
He head desked the nearest wall, gently not wanting to get stuck again, and groaned. How was this his life?
He'd wanted to go out and help the little guy. Do those good things that everyone, even the best of the best heroes, kinda forgot in their bigness to do. Recusing cats, webbing up guns so people wouldn't get shot, stopping muggers, webbing guns, walking little old ladies,, returning bikes, and webbing up more guns... You know the small but important stuff like awesome guys like Iron Man and Captain America couldn't.
Magic outerwear was not in the bargain.
The "walk back home" had been rather embarrassing. He'd scrambled up a wall, sideways, skittering away, eyes wide, his fast streamed babbling of "wow look at the time" had been taken as an invitation to follow. Peter could still sorta hear the screaming as the last crumbs were dissolving into a seam, and the baffled fabric floated and flaunted its stains in equal measure until Peter'd just... given up anything like tact.
"I should go home, you should too, bye!" hadn't been smooth. But it'd been to the point. Peter swung off into the sunset, to get a start on homework and other sane things, wanting to leave insane outwear behind.
Except flying cloaks could fly, go figure, and this one twisted itself into a question mark, without a dot on the bottom, whenever Peter swung to a stop to get his bearings. And Peter tried to lose it, really tried, really hard, swinging through construction and side alleys, and no luck. He'd come home winded and aching with the red cloth trailing after him and that had been that.
Still… Peter might not get... Cloak talk, its language of wrinkles and flapping, but the question mark had been easy peasy. It'd been asking a question.
And not being able to ask a question, one that Peter knew the answer to, that pushed a button deep in Peter's soul. It was that irrelevant fanboy button that lay deep within Peter’s very psyche. Nearly as ingrained as his altruism, because he'd babbled out the references on his first attempt out. Spoken the very mainstream and perfectly understandable comment about "wow that's a nice real-life reinterpretation of the waddle dee scene," and it had skated right over the thread count of his... cloth companion.
And that, that was not ok.
Legend spoke, of the almighty fanboy button hat when pressed the wise quaked, and found other greener pastures to be at. Cloak didn't have a clue, didn't hear a thing. But Peter's sharing trait had kicked in hard, and Nerd Herd did not leave nerds out in the cold about references. No matter how Grimdark.
So, coming and going, coming back with detergent, because no one left that in stock in this laundry room, and with his cell phone, because May wasn't due back until stupid late so he could slack a little, Peter tapped the glass.
He tapped "shave and a haircut", old enough it might be recognized, and deliberate so that Cloak had a clue that this wasn't an accident. A spot of red, a flap or fold, rapped back. An echo of the tune and Peter tipped his phone down so the fabric could see hopefully around the suds.
"Hey, do you know what a waddle dee is? Tap one for yes and two for no."
And that was a nope. Well, there were ways to fix that. Peter popped open his account and hunted up the relevant scene, and tipped the phone so hopefully, the red thing inside could see.
"Wanna find out?"
One tap was all it took for one fate to be sealed, and for Peter to maybe burn up all his battery life catching the Cloak up on all the memes, nerd stuff, and begin, the awesomeness that was StarWars, the OG experience.
