#Anthony i am DESPERATE for more parent interactions PLEASE

[laurenablack]

OH

OH GOD

WHO'S GONNA TELL THEIR PARENTS THEY'RE MARRIED

WHO'S GONNA TELL CASSANDRA HER SON GOT MARRIED AND HER DEAD EX HUSBAND OFFICIATED IT

WHO'S GONNA TELL GRANT AND MARCOS THEY LET THEIR KID GO TO PUBLIC SCHOOL FOR LESS THAN A YEAR AND HE MARRIED 4 PEOPLE IN SPACE

WHO'S GONNA TELL VERONICA THAT SCARY WAS NOT IN SEATTLE, BUT SHE NOW HAS 4 HUSBANDS

WHO'S GONNA TELL LARK AND SPARROW THAT NORMAL MARRIED SATAN'S SON

WHO'S GONNA FLAT OUT DIE OVER THIS FIRST

AND HOW THE FUCK IS REBECCA GOING TO BE A CENTRIST ABOUT THIS

[cherienymphe]

Bloodied Crowns (Peter Parker x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, STEPCEST, murder, violence, abusive realtionships, Tony x reader, prince!Peter, king!Tony, queen!Reader

➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ based off of this ask

summary:  When your husband, King Anthony, is killed in a coup staged by his son from his previous marriage, Peter, you are forced to marry the young man who no longer feels the need to hide his feelings.

~

Peter was only eighteen when you married the king, the stern monarch losing his wife only a few months prior. The engagement and the wedding happened so quickly, and before you knew it, you were married to King Anthony Stark. Truth be told, you’d feared that you’d never marry at all, and that you’d bring shame to your name, but a stroke of luck, or perhaps misfortune, had put you directly into the king’s path.

Your family had attended the queen’s funeral to pay your respects. It had been drilled into you to catch the eye of an available suitor, as it had been many times before, and while you were disgusted that you could not even properly pay your respects to the royal family, you understood your parents’ desperation. You were twenty-eight with no prospects on the horizon. They had no other children, no sons, your mother unable to conceive after yourself, and so the weight of carrying on the family name was solely on your shoulders.

Your family was not poor by any means, but you were far from wealthy. That being said, your mother spent an outrageous amount to get you the most captivating black dress money could buy. It was not something that would draw too much attention, but enough so that you did not look like a grieving widow yourself. When it was your turn to pay your respects, you recalled bowing to the young prince, the brunette barely acknowledging anyone’s presence. It was rumored that he and his mother were close, that he’d taken her death very hard, and the way he seemed to stare right through you confirmed as much.

When you bowed to the king, apologizing for his loss, you could feel his eyes on you. This was nothing you concerned yourself with. After all, you were speaking to him and he you, but when you rose, you were taken aback by the intensity you found in his dark eyes. Where his son seemed to look through you, the king could not seem to take his eyes off of you. No one else seemed to notice, and, brushing it off, by the time you returned home, you had forgotten all about it.

Until a few days later when a royal guard was at your door. You were being invited to dine with the king, the invitation extending to your family as well, and although you were confused, you knew you could not refuse. Even if you wanted to. The dinner was nice, and you were a bit surprised at how easy it was to get along with the king. You never thought him cruel, but you’d heard that he was a rather stern man. After supper, he extended the invitation to staying at the castle so that you would not have to travel back so late in the evening. Your mother answered before you had the chance to, and it was no surprise to you that the answer was yes.

The castle was so different during the night. It seemed less welcoming and more ominous, and you found it hard to sleep that night. Convinced that the corridors would be empty, you quietly slipped from your chambers and made your way down to the kitchens. There were still a few servants lingering about, cleaning or preparing for the next day. You felt guilty for bothering them for something to drink.

“Nonsense, my lady. I would be more than happy to get that for you,” a younger girl by the name of Guinevere told you.

“Oh...please,” you waved her off. “No one is around. Call me Y/N.”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle as you told her your name, but she said nothing more as she gave you your water. The dark corridors did not scare you, but the eerie silence was a bit off putting, especially in such a grand structure. You had turned the corner to make your way back to your room when you bumped into none other than the prince. You had almost dropped the drink, and you placed your hand on your chest in an attempt to still your heart.

“Your highness. My apologies, I did not see…”

Your words died in your throat as the prince fixed you with a look that made your stomach churn. You snapped your mouth shut, swallowing as he simply glared at you, brown eyes looking so much darker. You had not seen him since the queen’s burial, and he did not look much better than he did then. Before you had a chance to say anything else, he had shoved past you, almost making you drop the goblet in your hand, and a low gasp escaped you as your other shoulder harshly met the wall. You turned to watch him go, shock and confusion pouring through you, wondering what you had done to offend him so.

It was only a few weeks later did you get your answer.

“I...I beg your pardon?”

The king reached for your hand, a soft breeze ruffling his dark hair as he brought it to his lips. They were soft as they brushed over your skin, and the corner of them curved upwards into a smile.

“Everything is already being arranged, but...this is my formal proposal. I need a queen, Peter needs a mother, and you are everything I could have hoped for,” he told you.

You stared at him in shock, feeling as if the world had been ripped out from beneath your feet. Your mind whirled as you tried to make sense of this and where this had come from, and suddenly, the puzzle started to piece together. The countless dinner invitations, the gleam in your parents’ eyes, the hushed conversations...the prince’s animosity. You were being courted by the king this whole time...and you’d been none the wiser. His chuckle pulled you from your thoughts.

“When your mother told me that you could be quite oblivious, I thought that it was a simple exaggeration.”

He found humor in your distress, you realized, and you swallowed.

“I do not know what to say,” you slowly breathed, and you watched him tilt his head at you, a frown beginning to form.

“You say yes,” he said with a scoffing laugh as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

You realized that to anyone else, it would be.

“Your majesty...I feel as if we’ve only just met. Surely, you would allow me time to think-.”

“Think about what?”

His hand tightened on yours, and you winced. He leaned in, genuine confusion in his dark eyes as he stared into your own.

“I am a king telling you that you are to be my queen...and you are hesitant?”

The severity of the situation suddenly dawned on you. Anthony was a king. You were a mere lady attempting to refuse his proposal for marriage, and your heart sank to your stomach. You blinked at him, and his face suddenly smoothed over as he sighed.

“Ah. I understand what this is about…”

“You do…?”

He softly smiled at you, reaching up to brush his thumb along your chin.

“You come from an acceptable background. You are beautiful and smart and kind. I assure you, this is genuine. This is not some poor attempt to cope with my grief. In all honesty, my marriage to the queen was over long before she died,” he told you.

You looked away, realizing that you were not getting out of this. Whether you liked it or not, you would be marrying the king, and with reluctance and a shaky voice, you accepted his proposal. He straightened when you did, a look of satisfaction on his features, and he looked as if he wanted to kiss you. You were thankful that he did not.

The wedding took place only a couple of months later, every nearby royal, and even some across the water, in attendance. It was a grand and beautiful affair, no expense spared, and it was days later that you found out it far outshined his first wedding. You remembered feeling sick as you walked down the aisle, the feeling only getting worse as your gaze met that of the prince.

In the time since the official engagement, you had interacted with the prince only a handful of times. Each time more disastrous than the last. You told yourself that he was grieving. His mother’s death was sudden and had hit him hard and here his father was, marrying again so soon. You did not fault him for his cold behavior. He was young, after all. You would expect nothing less, to be honest, but you could not lie and say that it did not hurt.

Unfortunately, even after the marriage, he did not soften towards you. Every attempt to get to know him was met with nothing short of loathing, and you finally accepted that he would come around in his own time. The last thing you wanted Peter to think was that you were trying to replace his mother. You did not know how long this would go on, but you did not expect it to be more than a year. 

You were wrong.

“I throw that kid the best birthday celebration a nineteen year old could ask for and this is how he shows his appreciation? By not even having the decency to show up?”

Tony was angry as he sipped from his goblet, glaring down at the attendees dancing below. A wonderful number was being played by a string quartet, several single princesses in attendance, and an hour into the celebration, Peter was still absent. You placed your hand on your husband’s arm with a sigh.

“I am sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for it, Tony. He will show,” you tried to assure him.

His shoulders sagged as he slammed his drink down, and his eyes softened as he turned to you. He reached for you, and you flinched, but he paid it no mind as he brushed his finger along your cheek.

“You are far too nice to him...and he hardly deserves it,” he whispered.

“He’s your son,” you reminded him with a frown. “Do not talk about him like that.”

“He’s ungrateful,” he spat.

“He’s grieving,” you argued.

“It’s been a year,” Tony sneered. “How much time does he need?”

You sharply turned away, swallowing a sigh as anger flared within you. Sometimes Tony could be so insensitive, amongst other things, and it baffled you. Peter lost the only mother he ever knew, and Tony was treating it as if it was something minor. After a few more moments, you excused yourself under the guise of needing some air. In truth, you were determined to track down the prince.

It was not a hard task. He tended to frequent the same places when he called himself hiding. You found him deep within the grounds, lounging on a branch high up in the tree. It was getting late, the sun currently setting, and you held up the skirts of your dress as you trudged towards him. You knew that he heard you, and you resisted the urge to sigh as you stood below him. Your heart ached for him as you could not even begin to imagine what he was going through. After all, you still had both of your parents.

“Peter,” you eventually called.

He yet again pretended as if he had not heard you, a hurtful habit of his, and this time you did sigh.

“Peter, please come down. Your father is concerned about your whereabouts, and...and I am concerned about you. I-.”

“Why have you deluded yourself into thinking I care about how you feel?”

His tone was cold, venom coating every word, and your heart clenched. He rarely spoke to you, every time he did as cold as today, but this was different. You were unsure of what to say, and before you had the chance to remedy that, he was hopping down. It was a bit cool out, and his coat flared behind him as he strode towards you, face hard and nostrils flared.

“Why have you deluded yourself into thinking that I care about you at all?”

You reared back, staring at him with wide eyes. His words hurt, that you would not deny, and as much as you fought against it, you could feel a familiar burn behind your eyes. You swallowed, briefly glancing down as you took a step back.

“Peter-.”

“My mother was not even in the ground properly before you came sniffing around my father like a bitch in heat,” he sneered.

Your lips parted, wide eyes staring at him in shock at his words. You had never seen him look so hateful, borderline murderous, and you suddenly realized that this was about more than grief.

“P-Peter...that… That is not what happened-.”

“Isn’t it?” he wondered, taking another step towards you. “Do you think me stupid? Blind? You think I have never known of the way so many women prayed on my mother’s downfall?”

“I never-.”

“Do you think that I do not know that you all came to her funeral not as mourners, but as vultures? As desperate snakes trying to slip your way into my father’s bed so that you may take her place?”

“No! That is not what happened-!”

“You are no different from the rest!”

He was practically upon you now, glaring down his nose at you with so much disgust it finally made the tears spill over.

“I always knew that you were a desperate and conniving whore…”

You gasped, more tears falling at his insult. He raised one dark eyebrow at you.

“...but I never took you for a liar too.”

You were frozen as he looked you over one last time before breezing past you. You shook, unable to stop the tears, and you felt like you were going to be sick. You had no idea that Peter’s disdain was in fact not misplaced due to grief, but was instead as genuine as could be because he thought you to be something you were not. This knowledge made your heart hurt, and it turned out that you were not as adept at hiding your feelings as you thought.

“What troubles you so?” Tony wondered later that night, his hand on your shoulder as you sat at your vanity.

“Whatever do you mean?” you asked with a small smile.

His gaze met yours in the mirror, and the way his jaw clenched told you that he did not have much patience tonight. His fingers pressed into your skin, and you swallowed. You looked away, eyes blurring a bit as you recalled Peter’s cruel words.

“Peter hates me,” you confessed.

You heard Tony heave a sigh, and you turned to look up at him. He ran his hand through his hair as he rolled his eyes.

“That kid hates everyone and everything,” he replied.

“No, Tony. You do not understand. He believes me to be something I am not. He thinks that I schemed my way into marrying you, that I am trying to replace his mother-.”

“Peter will be just fine. He will grow to get over it in time,” was his enlightening reply, and you stood.

“But it is not true. Tony, does this not bother you? Because it bothers me! He should be like a son to me. He should be looking to me for guidance and care, and he curses the very ground I walk on. It hurts,” you spat, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

Tony’s entire demeanor softened, and he pulled you into his arms. He pressed his lips to your cheek, and you winced at the soreness before he took your chin in between his fingers. He tilted his head at you.

“I love that you’ve grown to really care about him. It warms my cold heart…”

You forced a chuckle at that.

“...but Peter has always been a bit difficult when it comes to me and anything in relation to me. His mother is really the only person he ever really connected with. This will pass, I assure you.”

You reluctantly accepted that Tony just did not care about this as much as you did, and likely never would. Against your better judgement, you opted to let it go, and softly exhaled when Tony pressed his lips to your jaw. He trailed kisses down your neck, tightening his arms around you.

“As much as I enjoy your big heart, I would rather not spend the rest of the night discussing my troubled son,” he murmured, lips finally finding yours.

You did not know if you would ever grow used to making love to Tony. The only time he had ever been anything close to gentle was on your wedding night, and you had still cried, waking up sore and bruised. It eventually dawned on you that this was simply how Tony was, but it did not mean that you had to like it. 

The years that passed did not improve things as you’d hoped they would. Tony was still the same as ever, and Peter was no different. Your conversations with the prince were rare, but every one was brief and left you with a paralyzing chill. When he was not speaking to you, his animosity was enough to force you to keep your distance. The hurt that his behavior caused never got any easier. 

“When you have a child of your own, this will mean nothing to you,” Tony would assure you.

However, it only did the opposite. Even though Peter was not your own, it did not mean that you viewed him any less, and you knew that would not change when you finally did have a child. Whenever that happened. You and Tony had been trying for years, and there was still nothing to show for it. It was a great source of stress for you both, but Tony was taking it much harder than you.

“They say that it took many tries before they were finally able to have Peter, and even afterwards...the queen was never able to conceive again,” Guinevere had whispered to you one night.

“Oh,” you sadly said. “How awful…”

The blonde girl had glanced around the busy kitchen before leaning in.

“The king will never admit it, but many believe that he was the problem, and considering he is experiencing the same thing with you…”

Your heart sank as she trailed off, and despite everything, you found yourself feeling sorry for your husband. Many would argue that you should feel sorry for yourself. After all, it was a popular opinion that the woman’s womb was always at fault, and kings have gotten rid of their wives for less, but you knew that Tony was far too possessive of you to ever do such a thing.

It was a subject you wished you could talk to Peter about. He knew his father far better than you did, and sometimes you wished you could get some insight on how to make this better for him, but Peter was disgusted by your very presence. There came a time when you reluctantly accepted that it might always be this way, but everything changed when Peter was only a few weeks shy of his twenty-third birthday.

Tony, ever the showoff, was having a ball every week for five weeks straight leading up to the night. It was the second gathering when he had dragged you out of the great hall. His hold had been tight, steps hurried, and you forced yourself to swallow down the pain. The corridor was dimly lit and equally as empty, and tears of frustration were kissing your eyes.

“Tony-.”

“I saw you,” he spat.

“Saw me what? Saw me greet one of your friends? Because that is exactly what King Steven is to me and nothing more!”

His dark eyes were hard as he pressed his fingers into your arms, lip curled over his teeth as he sneered at you.

“He desires you. It is plain as day, and he has never been subtle,” he bit out.

“Somehow I am at fault for that? Steven is a bachelor in every sense of the word. That is how he is, and you know it-.”

“Yes, but I thought to myself, surely my loving wife would have the sense not to entertain his antics!”

“I was being polite,” you told him, wincing at his tight grip. “Just because you are only ever nice to people when you want something-.”

You swallowed your words with a sharp shriek, pressing your hand to your hot cheek as the tears finally spilled over. Your eyes were on the floor as Tony shook you, a scathing remark on his tongue, no doubt, when he suddenly stilled, swallowing whatever he was about to say. His sudden change confused you, and you hesitantly looked up only to realize that his gaze was not on you. You turned to find Peter standing just at the entrance of the corridor, his wide eyes on the two of you. 

Tony was quick in straightening you up, and you hurriedly looked away as he acknowledged Peter.

“Why are you not enjoying your celebration with your friends?”

It was a while before Peter responded.

“I noticed that you had slipped out, so I came to find you. I had hoped to continue our...conversation from earlier,” the prince answered.

When you turned back around, you avoided Peter’s eye, but you could still feel the weight of his gaze. Tony’s hand was rubbing into your back as he responded.

“Of course. Sweetheart, you will excuse us, won’t you? Peter and I have much to discuss, and I am sure the other wives are missing your presence,” he said, turning to you.

He threw you a tense and threatening smile, and you shakily returned it with a forced one.

“Of course. I shall see you in there when you return. Peter,” you acknowledged as you hurried past him, avoiding his gaze still.

You did not return to the hall though, but instead made your way down to the kitchen. It was filled with servants, and Mary Jane gasped when she saw you. She and Guinevere were always joined at the hip, but the other girl had been ill for the last few days. The redhead dropped what she was doing, shooing another servant off of a stool before grabbing your arm.

“My God,” she breathed.

The other occupants tended to the food and drinks, much too used to seeing you down here twice a week or so. Mary Jane pressed a cold piece of steak to your face, and you hissed.

“Is it that bad?”

“It is swelling already, your majesty,” she said.

You shifted on the seat, holding the cold meat to your face as you shooed her off.

“I hardly notice how hard he hits anymore. It still manages to shock me every time though, and I have no idea as to why,” you whispered.

She was just about to reply when another voice rang throughout the kitchen.

“Everyone out.”

You turned with wide eyes, confusion tearing through you at the sight of Peter just at the bottom of the stairs. Everyone seemed to hesitate for a moment, worrying about the food, no doubt, before eventually heeding his order. Mary Jane, no stranger to your relationship with the prince, threw you a worrying look before being the last one out. Peter seemed to hesitate as well before huffing, quickly approaching you.

You moved to stop him, but he was already pulling the red meat from your cheek before you had the chance. He stared at your skin for a while before putting it back in place. You held it there as he leaned against the counter, a familiar look of anger on his boyish features.

“This is not the first time this has happened,” he murmured.

There was no need to respond. It was a statement, not an answer. The silence was heavy, thick with tension and filled with words unspoken. Outside of that night, this was the longest you had ever been alone with Peter, and the first time you did not feel uncomfortable in his presence.

“You did not want to marry my father...did you?”

You looked at him with wide eyes, lips parting to refute such a blasphemous statement, but no words came out. Words failed you. Peter was a smart young man, always had been, and you were sure that he would see through whatever lie you pieced together.

“Of course, it was not like you could refuse if you wanted to. He is a king, and you were a mere lady,” he said more to himself than you.

You sighed, putting the steak down as you stood.

“My father has never been kind to anyone in his life. I do not know why I thought you were an exception…”

“Peter… I do not want this to affect how you view your father, do you understand?”

He simply frowned at you, and you continued.

“He is not without his flaws, this is true,” you slowly said. “...but he is still your father. In his own way, he loves you and only wants what is best.”

Peter stared at you for a while before scoffing, a humorless laugh not far behind. He pressed his hand to the counter as he stared at you with a look of shock.

“My father does not deserve you,” he said, almost as if he could not believe it.

He chuckled again, pressing his hand to his forehead.

“All this time, I thought that the two of you deserved each other. I hated you...and now...now I just feel sorry for you. For both my father...and me…,” he quietly finished.

“Peter-.”

“I have been nothing but cruel to you, and for that I am sorry. I am sorry for the things that I have done...and the things that I have said.”

You blinked, convinced that you would never hear those words. They warmed your heart, and you looked away.

“It’s alright. You believed what you believed, and if I were in your shoes, I might have believed the same. Your feelings were valid, Peter,” you told him.

He blinked at you.

“I never wanted to replace your mother. That is still not what I desire...but I am here. I know that there is only a decade between us, but I have come to love you like a son despite everything.”

Peter’s eyes softened, and you could see the guilt there.

“I never wanted to rush you, even now, but I hope that you will view me the same one day. Tony is no longer your only parent, and I am always here.”

Peter looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he held off.

“I should get back before your father comes looking for me,” you said, heading for the stairs. “Oh...and please refrain from provoking him.”

You looked to Peter.

“I may dislike him at times, but I do not want to send him to an early grave.”

Peter simply hummed, sending you a strained smile before you left him to find your husband.

You remained in the corridor as the angry voices bled through the door. Both Tony and Peter assured you countless times that their strained relationship was none of your concern, but it could not be helped. They had never had the best relationship, but if possible, it had soured even more over the years, and you were unsure of who to blame.

The minute Tony started to get more serious about grooming Peter for the throne, things had gone from tense and strained to borderline violent at times. Not only did the two have such opposing views when it came to how to run the kingdom, but your husband had been pushing the idea of marriage more and more lately. It had only gotten worse when Peter neared his twenty-fifth birthday, the party on that fateful day ending abruptly when Peter had stormed out.

You were pulled from your reverie when the door swung open. Peter was the first one out, and he held up a hand as you moved to approach him.

“Not now, Y/N,” he huffed, quickly striding down the corridor with a frustrated sigh.

Tony emerged not long after, and you moved to kiss him, knowing that it would soothe him for the time being.

“That boy will be the death of me,” he complained.

“You both provoke each other, and I do not know why,” you told him. 

“He has duties! He is twenty-five and nowhere near taking them seriously. It seems that he is determined to ruin me,” he spat.

You sighed.

“Would you like for me to talk to him?”

“You seem to be the only one he actually listens to, so by all means,” he gestured down the hall, face cloudy.

You patted his chest before leaving him, wondering if a day would come where you would be a functional family. You and Peter were nowhere near what you used to be, and for that you were eternally grateful, but his relationship with Tony was far worse than it had ever been, and you did not know how to even begin to fix it.

You found Peter sparring with his dueling instructor. The sound of clashing swords was loud, and you rounded the corner, wincing when Peter just narrowly missed a rather dangerous blow. He motioned for the other gentleman to stop once he spotted you.

“Come on his behalf, have you?”

“Peter,” you sighed.

He snapped at the other man.

“Give your queen a sword, will you? Come,” he was talking to you now. “Spar with me.”

You reluctantly accepted the other man’s sword, a grimace on your face as you stepped forward.

“I am a horrible dueling partner,” you complained.

“Nonsense, Y/N. You are far better than what you were a year ago,” Peter said with a chuckle.

Your heart sank a bit at the sound of your name, but it did not distract you from blocking the swing of his sword with your own. Peter smirked at you.

“See?”

“Peter, this is not why I am here,” you told him.

“Of course not,” he calmly said. “My father knows that between the two of you, you are the only one I actually respect. He believes that you have some sway over me...and I am not reluctant to admit that he is right.”

He blocked your blow, quick to do so again when you swung your sword down towards his legs. He eyed you, a bit of pride in his gaze.

“Very good,” he praised.

“I was hoping to talk you into agreeing to some sort of compromise with him. Any compromise, really.”

Peter let out a humorless laugh, spinning before bringing his sword down over his head. Your eyes were wide as you lifted your sword, the sound of them clashing meeting your ears.

“There is no compromising with that man. He is determined to bring this kingdom and all of its subjects to ruin, and he wishes for me to just stand back and watch. He does not hear a word I say,” he spat.

He swiped his sword at you, several times and in several different successions. Unable to keep up, you were not surprised when your sword was knocked from your hands. You did not flinch when the tip of his blade found your throat, confident that Peter would never hurt you. He pressed the tip further, eyes locked on yours, and you swallowed.

“Do you agree with him?”

“Of course not,” you honestly answered.

Peter lightly dragged his blade down your neck and towards the top of your dress, his eyes following its movement before he quickly snatched it away. He tilted his head at you, raising an eyebrow as he waited for you to continue.

“You know I do not agree with how your father runs this kingdom, but I have no say. I never did. Believe it or not, Peter, you have much more influence than I do.”

He turned away with a disbelieving laugh.

“Somehow, I doubt that…”

“Look, I am going to say something that I know you are not going to like,” you suddenly said.

Peter did not respond, so you continued.

“I think that you should consider marriage.”

You saw him straighten at that, back tense, and you rushed to say something else.

“If Tony feels that you are taking your future seriously, then he will be more inclined to take you seriously.”

He turned to you with a withering look, and you rolled your eyes.

“Do not look at me that way. I am not saying that you have to marry some poor girl right away, but at least make an effort to look around, and show Tony that you are attempting to meet him halfway,” you advised.

Peter gave you a hard stare for the longest time before eventually rolling his eyes and looking away.

“Very well. You always do get your way, don’t you, Y/N?”

Your mouth parted for a moment before you snapped it shut, looking down. This did not go unnoticed by Peter, and he neared you.

“What is it, now?”

Your eyes met his, and you tried to hide your hurt, but it must have been clear as day. Peter’s entire demeanor softened, and he stuck his sword in the dirt, reaching for you.

“What is it?”

You exhaled.

“That...is another thing I had hoped to discuss with you.”

He frowned in confusion.

“You still refer to me by my name…” you watched as his face fell. “And I do not wish to rush you, I never have, but when you say my name...it makes me feel as if I am doing something wrong here.”

“You are not,” he rushed to assure you. “Believe me…”

“I do not want to replace your mother, but if I am doing something-.”

“It is merely a force of habit. That is all,” he interrupted. 

“You are sure…?”

“Positive,” he said with a small smile.

“...okay,” you said with a nod. “...and what will you be doing after this...?”

“I will be speaking with my father,” he reluctantly told you.

“Good,” you said, Peter bending to allow you to quickly peck his forehead. “...and please be polite. I hate the way you two provoke each other.”

He roughly exhaled.

“Yes...mother…,” he seemed to bite out, eyes on you.

You looked to him with wide eyes, heart swelling as your smile grew. You chuckled, kissing his forehead one last time before leaving him to finish his instruction.

Contrary to what you had hoped, your advice did not improve things. Now that Peter had agreed to at least looking for a wife, it just gave him and Tony one more thing to disagree on, and disagreements about the smallest of things only gave room for disagreements about more serious matters. Peter hated the way Tony ran the kingdom, and you could not fault him for that.

Meals were more tense than ever, and it soon became suffocating to be in the same room as father and son. You did your best to keep the peace between them but there was only so much you could do. Especially when the arguments would get so intense that you feared for them. Tony could get so angry, and while you had never known him to put his hands on Peter as he did you, it still worried you that he might one day. And Peter…

Sometimes Peter would get a look in his eye that chilled you to the bone. He would get so fed up with his father, lips pressed together as Tony tore into him, and you would see the younger man’s eyes flash with something you could not name. It was a look that terrified you and made him look like someone that was not Peter, at all. 

Tensions only mounted as your birthday neared. You did not want either of them involved in the party planning process, convinced this would be the final nail in the coffin. Truth be told, it was also for yourself as well. It allowed you to breathe better.

“The party is tomorrow night, and Peter has yet to have the last fitting for his attire,” you told Mary Jane as you stood.

“I can finish this up, your majesty, while you go find Peter,” she replied.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely! I am almost finished, anyway.”

“Wonderful! I shall return shortly. There are only so many places he could be at this hour…”

The corridors were scarcely occupied as you decided to check Peter’s chambers first, making your way to his wing of the castle. You were unsurprised to find them empty, and you quickly made your way outside. He had a habit of frequenting the grounds, the maze especially, and you were confident that you would find him there then. 

You had not been inside the maze for a while, but you remembered how to navigate it vividly. You were deep within it, somewhere in the middle perfectly between the beginning and the end when you stumbled upon a sight you were not prepared for.

At the other end of a long stretch, were a couple, far too wrapped up in each other to notice your presence. You felt your face heat up as you stumbled upon the lovers, and you were prepared to turn back when the young man lifted his head, familiar eyes meeting yours. A gasp escaped you, and you were frozen on the spot as Peter simply stared at you.

He did not break his gaze as he continued to thrust into the woman beneath him, who you absentmindedly recognized as Guinevere. Her eyes were closed, clinging to Peter as moans tumbled from her lips, and even though Peter was silent as he stared at you, the heat in his eyes was undeniable. Finally coming to your senses, you willed your feet to move, but you did not escape in time to miss the way Peter’s deep moan rang throughout the air.

Upon your return, you told Mary Jane that you were unable to find Peter. You did not want to think of the awkward encounter, and told yourself that the tailor had never been wrong before. You were positive that Peter’s attire would fit. You did not see the young man again until the following day, your birthday, and it was only an hour or so until your party. Tony was meeting with a few of his Lords when there was a knock on your chamber door.

You were quick to answer it, surprised to find Peter on the other side. You only felt uncomfortable for a moment before you took in his attire. You beamed, widening the door to allow him in.

“Oh, Peter, you look positively dashing!”

“Did you doubt that I would?” he smugly wondered.

You threw him a look.

“I swear, you are getting more and more like your father every day,” you told him with a chuckle.

“I got you something,” he suddenly said, and it was only then did you notice the box in his hand.

You blinked in surprise, eyes widening when he opened it to reveal the most beautiful necklace you had ever seen. The ruby heart in the middle was positively blinding, standing out against the rest of the diamonds that made up the band. You pressed your hand to your chest, mouth parting.

“Happy Birthday.”

“Oh my… Peter, this is so sweet of you,” you told him.

“Well,” he started, setting the box aside as he took the piece of jewelry into his hands. “It is not every day that one turns thirty-six.”

He motioned for you to spin around, and you obliged.

“This might also double as an apology for yesterday. I regret that you had to see that,” he chuckled.

You joined him, waving him off.

“Nonsense, Peter. It was a bit of a shock, but nothing more. You are a young man, after all, and I could never fault you for doing what young men do. You are treating Guinevere well, I hope? She is a sweet girl.”

Peter groaned.

“Yes, Y/N.”

Your heart sank at the sound of your name, and you frowned a bit.

“I am treating her just fine,” he assured you.

You chose not to comment on his use of your name, wondering if you had done something wrong.

“Would you ever consider marrying her?” you pushed.

Peter was quiet as he brought his hands over to lower the necklace at your neck. It was not one that rested at your décolletage, but at your throat instead, and your eyes widened a bit when he pulled it back. You reached up to your neck, forced to stumble back into his chest to keep from choking, relaxing a bit when he finally clasped it together.

“No,” was his simple answer. “It is not like that.”

He rested his hands on your shoulder, turning you around to admire you. His dark eyes took you in before finally focusing on the necklace, the corner of his lips lifting a bit. He pressed his finger to the ruby heart, drawing patterns over it before eventually stepping away.

“It looks great,” he told you.

“Thank you. We should track down your father before they start my own celebration without me,” you replied.

It was not long after that the three of you were entering the great hall, a smile on your face as everyone greeted you. Tony and Peter were at your sides, and both of their hands rested at the small of your back as they guided you to the royal table at the head of the room. Everyone only quieted down when you took your seats, and you looked down at the familiar faces with a smile.

Your attention was drawn to Peter as he stood, raising his glass as a servant came by to fill them. He only filled yours and Peters, but another quickly came to fill Tony’s. Once everyone’s glasses were filled, that was when Peter spoke.

“I would like to propose a toast…”

He turned to look down at you, dark eyes unreadable as he swallowed.

“...to the woman who loved me even when I did not deserve it.”

Your heart swelled as you smiled at Peter, so happy that you two had come this far.

“No one could ever replace my mother...and I would not want them to, but you, Y/N, you are the next best thing.”

Your eyes softened, realizing that while maybe Peter did not see you as something akin to a mother just yet, he still loved you, and that gave you hope. You could live with that for now. Peter’s eyes fell onto his father, and he suddenly smiled.

“...and to my father, the king. If it were not for you, Y/N would never have come into our lives.”

His voice was even, but his eyes glinted before he turned to the rest of the royal court, his glass held high.

“To the king and queen. Long may they reign,” his voice traveled over the room.

Everyone else repeated his words before taking a drink, you and Tony following suit. As you set your glass down, you watched, a bit concerned, as Peter swallowed all of his wine, a look of satisfaction on his face as he lowered his glass. You turned to Tony, prepared to ask him if he wished to say anything, just as he let out that first cough.

It sounded nasty, and you frowned, prepared to ask him if he drank too fast when he coughed again, blood staining his bottom lip. Your heart fell to your stomach, eyes widening as you reached for him, hands trembling. You were prepared to call for help when you noted the sound of several coughs reaching your ears, followed by screams.

When you turned towards the rest of the room, you saw every single one of the royal court coughing up blood, and you stood on unsteady legs as understanding dawned on you. You reached for Peter, your hand gripping his arm as fear and horror clung to you.

“P-Peter…”

You looked to him, but his face was stony as he looked down at everyone. The only people who were okay were you, Peter, the servants, and the few guards. You watched as Peter waved his hand, confusion filling you as two guards opened the door to let more in. You were frozen as they all drew their swords, stomach churning as you realized what was about to happen. You turned back to Peter, but he was already moving past you.

“Peter, what- what is happening? What are you doing?”

You lunged for him as he drew a dagger, hand fisted into his fathers hair to pull the struggling man’s head back.

“Peter, no!”

He shoved you away, right into the arms of a waiting guard, and you did not turn your head in time to miss the way he dragged the blade across his father’s neck. A scream left you, belonging to a voice that you did not recognize, and you continued to scream and cry as the guard backed up. Peter pointed at you, his father’s blood coating his hand, his face unrecognizable to you.

“Get her out of here…”

His eyes met yours, dark with a harmful intent that terrified you. Who was this man? He ran his eyes over you.

“...and do not let her get away.”

You fought against the guard as he dragged you away, kicking and screaming all the way. Your efforts did not even cease as you made it into the corridor, having been forced past the dead bodies of your friends and acquaintances. The guard towered over you and was easily double your size, so all of your efforts were useless. 

He only let you go when you reached Peter’s chambers, dragging you through the receiving chamber to toss you onto the floor of his bedchamber. The impact made your head spin, and by the time you pushed yourself to your feet, he was already pulling the door shut. You slammed your hands against it just as you heard it lock, and another sob threatened to escape you.

You had only ever been in Peter’s room a handful of times, and you wrapped your arms around yourself as you looked around. Your chest hurt, heart breaking as you recalled the way Peter had so callously taken his father’s life. Your husband was dead, and it was no secret that the man was far from perfect, but his absence scared you. What would become of you now? Why did Peter not poison you like the rest? God, had his feelings never changed, at all? Had he still secretly hated you this whole time and wanted to get some sick satisfaction out of killing you here?

You lost count of how many times you tried the door before moving to the balcony doors. They too did not budge, and you kicked them in frustration. You could barely form a coherent thought, and more tears spilled over as you realized just how alone you were. You did not understand anything. Why would Peter do this?

As you heard someone enter his receiving chamber, it occurred to you that you might get your answer.

Your eyes met Peter’s as he entered his chambers, and you stumbled back, afraid to take your eyes off of him. You watched as he locked the door behind him, and the sight of that made your face crumble.

“What have you done?” you shakily asked.

The room was quiet save for your soft sobs, and you flinched when Peter took a step forward. He did not look like the young man you knew. He stood there in the dark attire he had picked out for your birthday, looking every bit like the murderous man you now knew him to be. A dark strand of hair kissed his forehead, jaw clenched as he eyed you. It started to lightly rain outside, and your eyes fell to the blood on his hands.

His father’s blood.

“Have you come to kill me too?”

Finally, his face shifted, and he frowned at you.

“Kill you?”

Peter scoffed, laughing to himself as he tilted his head at you.

“You could not be farther from the truth…”

“Then what do you plan to do? What are you doing, Peter? I do not understand…”

“My father was going to run this kingdom into the ground. We both know it…”

You started shaking your head before he was even done.

“Something had to be done.”

“Not like this! You killed him- you killed everyone,” you cried.

“...and here I thought you would be thanking me,” he sneered.

“Thanking you?”

“Unless I was wrong, and you enjoy being slapped around,” he threw at you.

You felt as if you were just slapped then, and you pressed your back into the wall, tightening your arms around yourself.

“Not like this, Peter. Not like this,” you tearfully murmured.

The rain got louder, filling the otherwise silent room with some noise, and you flinched when lightning flashed, shedding light on the room and on Peter’s dark gaze.

“What will become of me? Did you ever think about that? I am the widow of a murdered king. A king murdered by his own son in a coup!”

“...and the future wife of the next one,” Peter calmly stated.

You froze, his words failing to make sense despite the fact that you heard him just fine. Something about them did not sound right, and your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping you.

“What...what did you just say?” you hesitantly questioned. 

Peter took another step towards you, and you slid along the wall...away from him.

“Do you have any idea how much it pained me to watch you with him?”

“Peter…”

You shook your head, still moving away as he moved closer.

“Do know what it was like to watch him mistreat you again and again only to turn around and reap the spoils of his marriage as if he had not just caused you harm only moments before?”

His voice was low, thick with something you were too disgusted to name. Your eyes were wide, filled with tears as the reality of the situation dawned on you. Peter’s feelings, his father’s murder...the two of you alone in a castle full of people that have proven their loyalty to him. Peter was only eighteen when you married the king, standing face to face with you, but now, eight years later, the young man towered over you.

He suddenly chuckled, and the sound terrified you more than anything now.

“I find it funny… My father was always telling me that royals take. We take what is ours. We take what we believe we should have. That is what we do, son,” he mocked. “We take.”

His cold eyes bore into yours as you stumbled away from him. In a circle the two of you went, and you pulled on the handle of the door as you pressed your back to it. Fresh tears spilled as it refused to budge.

“Now look. I have taken his life, I have taken his kingdom, and I have taken the woman he thought belonged to him-.”

He swallowed the rest of his words as you suddenly dived to the other side of the room. Peter followed, and you reached up to pull the portrait from the wall, tossing it at him only for Peter to evade it. You frantically crawled across the bed, kicking Peter in the chest as he reached for your ankle. You fell to your knees on the other side, running to the balcony doors with tears in your eyes.

Again, the doors would not budge, and you were prepared to throw yourself through the glass when Peter was suddenly there at your back. He enclosed you in his arms, and you reached back to fight against him and push him away, but he only pinned you between him and the glass. The sound of the thunder drowned out your screams, and you yelped in shock when he fisted a hand in your hair, yanking your head to the side.

Peter was determined to taste you, tongue and teeth brushing your skin as he ground himself against you. Nothing you did seemed to deter him, and it suddenly felt hard to breathe. The storm raged outside, wind pushing rain against the window. One of Peter’s hands dragged up your leg, pushing the skirts of your dress with it, and you slammed your hands against the window, attempting to push back.

This only egged him on, and he moaned in your ear.

“Peter, please,” you begged

You could feel the air against you, and your efforts to get away only increased when you felt him moving to release himself. The hand in your hair moved to your neck, cutting off your airway as he pulled your head back to rest against him. You struggled to breathe, nails scraping against the glass. He leaned down to cover your lips with his own, kissing you for the first time, and you sharply inhaled.

He moaned at the taste of you, his tongue meeting yours, tasting the wine that you wish had killed you too. You both struggled against the window, your hands turning into fists when he pushed his leg between yours, quickly followed by the other. You turned your head away, your small victory overshadowed by your ultimate defeat as he thrust into you. You yelped just as Peter shuddered against your back, a long sigh escaping him as he pressed a hand into the glass beside your head.

He pressed his face into your hair, grinding against you, the sound of him breathing you in reaching your ears. Your own forehead was pressed to the glass now, tearful eyes taking in the storm as Peter dragged his cock in and out of your unwilling core. Your body shook from both your sobs and his ministrations, and again, you pushed against the glass in hopes to push him away.

He merely shoved his chest into your back, forcing you back against the glass before wrapping his arms around you again. One hand pulled at the neckline of your dress, ripping it straight down, and your lashes fluttered when he slipped his hand beneath the fabric to roll his fingers over you. His other arm came across your middle, pinning your own at your sides.

“You are finally mine,” he breathed after a while.

You shook your head in denial, another lightning strike bathing the room in a glow. It was gone as quickly as it came, and you were forced to focus on Peter’s reflection in the window. He was lost in the euphoria of you, the feel of you wrapped around him, sucking him back in again and again.

“Finally,” he groaned. “At my side and in my bed as my queen…”

His hand slipped from beneath the torn fabric of your dress, dancing along your skin before his fingers brushed over the diamond choker at your neck.

“I have all night to claim you as mine, and no one is around to stop me.”

“Peter, this is not you-.”

“Oh, but it is,” he sighed. “This is the man you loved when he did not deserve it. This is the man you will marry, bear children with…’

You let out a choked sob, fresh tears falling at his words.

“Oh, please. Everyone knew that my father was the problem. He was the only one in denial about it, and I have a feeling that by the time I am done with you, you shall be with child by tomorrow.”

“Peter, please,” you screamed.

His hand tightened on your throat, pulling your head back so you were forced to stare at the ceiling, back arched to take his slow and purposeful thrusts. He kissed the corner of your eye before doing the same to your cheek. His breathing was choppy, heart pounding in his chest, and the way his hips stuttered told you that he was close.

“Oh God,” he moaned, stilling against your back as he spilled himself into you.

You froze against him at the feel, realizing that there was no turning back. You shook in his hold, feeling the urge to be sick when he suddenly pulled out of you, replacing his cock with his fingers. You gasped, reaching down to grab his wrist as he shoved a second finger inside of you, the wet sound of it reaching your ears even with the rain outside. He pressed you to his chest as he curled his fingers into you.

You bucked your hips, ashamed with your actions as he pulled pleasure from you like it was nothing. LIke he somehow knew your body better than you did. His lips were at your ear, brushing against your skin before he trailed them to your neck again, pressing kisses there. Your nails dug into his wrist, but he paid your efforts no mind as he thrust his fingers into you, setting a pace that had your legs shaking. You knew that if it were not for his hold, you would have collapsed already.

Peter hummed when your breath hitched.

“You are close...aren’t you?”

“Peter...stop,” you shakily begged.

“I shall stop when I feel your arousal dripping down my hand,” he purred.

His words had you clenching around him, and he moaned against your neck.

“I suppose I cannot blame my father for being so possessive of you. Your walls feel like heaven…”

“Peter…”

“I do not know how I will ever allow you to leave our bed-.”

“Peter-.”

“I guess I shall just have to keep you tired…”

“Please-!”

“Come for me, Y/N. Fall apart for your king,” he whispered.

And you did. You seized in his arms, walls clenching around him, your arousal coating his fingers and dripping down his hand. Your nails drew blood, but he only moaned with you, cursing as you rode yourself on his fingers, your other hand reaching back to twist into his shirt. That was the hardest you ever came, and shame filled you.  As you came down from your high, Peter lowered the both of you to the floor.

It was only then did you notice the bloody handprints on the glass. The same blood on you, no doubt. More tears sprung forth as it all seemed to hit you, and Peter forced your head onto his shoulder as he shushed you. You obliged, and he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, rocking you as you sobbed in his tightening arms.

~

tags:   @xoxabs88xox @harryspet @readermia @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @hyoyeoniie  @cocoamoonmalfoy @mandiiblanche @gotnofucks @oneoftheprettynerds @doozywoozy @mcudarklibrary @melli0112 @buckybarnesplumwhore @dramaholic18​

[mystical-magician]

Ironstrange fairytale AU idea

I need your ideas and thoughts! I have an idea for an Ironstrange fic based on the fairytale ‘Donkeyskin’ that I might actually write some day if I can flesh out some ideas that I am currently very vague on. More likely I’ll chuck it over to the prompt queue, but we’ll see.

Too young to take the throne upon his parents’ deaths, Obadiah stepped in for Prince Anthony as regent. Not that Tony minds. He’s much more interested in inventing and blacksmithing, staying mostly out of sight of the court, which Obadiah encourages. Not only does he create new and powerful weapons, out of sight of the nobility and court means less support and a weaker position.

But Tony is still the rightful heir and the day of his coronation approaches. Unwilling to give up his power, Obadiah manipulates Tony into a ‘friendly’ wager. The regent sets him three impossible challenges that he must complete before being crowned as king. How to even phrase this, though? 1st challenge weapon to do with the sun, 2nd the moon, 3rd the stars. For the first, Tony completes the (fairytale equivalent of the Jericho missile? Seriously, help). Next he creates (fairytale equivalent of) repulsor tech, which glows like the moon and manipulates/rules over gravitational forces (or something like that; i.e. flying, repulsor shots, even though I think in MCU that was more like energy?). He creates the arc reactor last to save himself when Obadiah secretly contracts mercenaries to kill him. Tony was getting too close to succeeding and taking up his hereditary mantle.

With a star in his chest, powering his heart, Obadiah cannot deny that he fulfilled the impossible tasks. But perhaps he was too hasty in his assassination attempt. The prince was still useful, has more than proven it. There are other ways to get what he wants. So Obadiah declares that he and Tony will marry (how would he justify this?) and with this move not only will this basically legitimize his power, he will also have Tony close to either create for him or kill more easily if it becomes necessary.

Tony protests, of course, and ends up locked away and guarded in his rooms. Desperate to escape, he uses his three impossible creations to create a suit of armor (donkeyskin) with the strength of the sun, the power of the moon, and the energy of a star, and flees into the night.

He ends up in hiding as a blacksmith in another kingdom. Notable for refusing to make weapons, he eventually comes to Stephen’s attention (I can’t decide, should he should be a sorcerer king, court sorcerer, or just a traveling sorcerer? I just know I want him to have magic) with his ingenious innovations (what would be considered ingenious innovations? Pipes, pulleys, farming implements? Help). Tony ends up using his armor publicly three times, though no one knows who the mysterious knight is. Of course, this also draws Stephen’s interest. The first use was to defend poor families on the fringes of the city against a group of raiders. The second use was in a tournament for a prize he found that he needed (what prize? Or should it be a boon from the king/sorcerer instead?). No idea about the third use. Against Obadiah, maybe, who is either trying to expand his power by invading other kingdoms, or who has heard rumors of Tony’s exploits and inventions and realized who he must be.

And of course, not only does Stephen visit Tony’s forge, he also interacts with the mysterious knight those times he shows himself in public.

My ideas for the ending are very vague too. Of course Obadiah is defeated, but how? What does he do, and what do Stephen and Tony do to fight back? Of course Stephen and Tony fall in love. Does that merge the two kingdoms or is there someone else – maybe Pepper – who can legitimately ascend to the throne while Tony remains with Stephen?

The more holes I see – the bold and italic font, just to be clear – the less it seems like I might write this after all. So any ideas at all for those holes would be amazing.

And if someone else wants to write this instead, please, please do! Just tag me or drop a link if that happens.

[m34gs]

Top 5 Favourite Anime/Manga and Top 5 Favourite songs of all time.

Thanks for the ask friend! (from this post here)

You make me make hard decisions, friend. Hard decisions.

Alright, let's get started (I'm assuming you want a logic behind the ranking too so this may get a little wordy, lol)

Top 5 Favourite Anime/Manga:

5. Michiko and Hatchin: This is up here in the top 5. It really is a good show. I love the relationship between Michiko and Hana (Hatchin), how even though they are totally different they grow to care about each other so much. I love how although it looks like the show is going to be mostly about Michiko's romantic love for Hiroshi and Hana's need to feel accepted and protected by a father, it actually ends up focusing more on the bond between them...they really have a parent-child relationship; a Found Family. :D (To anyone who may want to try this show, warning for: gore, blood, violence, gang violence, suggestive themes, gang wars, police violence, abuse, child abuse, bullying, murder)

4. Death Note: Because why? Because yes. I love this series a lot, love the idea of power corrupting, how different people view justice, the way the masses are easily swayed with fear and admiration, the way it delves into characters and analyzing them, knowing what they're going to do next, the idea of 'does the end really justify the means', all of that makes me so so so happy. Why, then, is it only at 4 on my list? Because after a certain episode, in which we lost a certain character, I actually stopped watching and didn't even look at the show or anything related to it for about three months. Because that was my favourite character. Is that a biased reason? Yes, yes indeed. But this is my list, so anyone who thinks that's a silly reason can deal with it :D

3. Bleach: Does this surprise anyone? Anyone at all? No? Good. I love Bleach. I really enjoy all the different characters, the different abilities, the different relationships...there is just so much to love. Is the plot a bit repetitive in certain arcs? Particularly the filler ones? Yeah, a little. But that doesn't mean we don't get some quality character interactions out of it. Also. Kenpachi. Enough said.

2. Madoka Magicka: This may surprise some people as my #2 fave, because I don't mention it a lot. At least, not to many people. I absolutely love the way it turns tropes upside down and inside out. I really like the realistic emotions the characters portray, and I always cry at some point when I watch it. Another reason this one is up here on the list is because I actually have watched the original show multiple times. (I haven't looked at the latest addition yet though, and I know I'm behind but I've just been so busy :/)

1. Blue Exorcist: Not sure if this would shock anyone or not as my current number one. I've been in the fandom for a few years now, and I thoroughly enjoy the series. I like where it's going with character development, and the art is very pretty to me. I love the aesthetic of the blue fire, and Rin as a character is so precious to me. He tries so hard to be 'good' and make friends, and part of me can feel that desperation because I did not always have the easiest time making friends growing up. In a way, I identify with him a lot.

Alright, now it's time for Top 5 Favourite Songs of All Time:

5. Rebel Love Song by Black Veil Brides: This one is my ring-tone :D

4. Forest Fires by Lauren Aquilina: This is just a really heart-wrenching song to me. It's pretty, the words are meaningful, it's a ballad that I can just lose myself in...and try not to tear up when she sings "Who would wanna be around me?" because that is such a vulnerable line, one that can tug at the heartstrings of anyone who has ever questioned if the people they love really love them back. It just really speaks to my soul.

3. I'm Not a Vampire (Revamped) by Falling in Reverse: Ok, so this one has a pun in the title, which ~yesssss~. Plus, I love the original version, it's fun, funky, makes me giggle to sing along to. And then they came out with this version. And. I. Lost. My. Mind. Slowed down, more drama, orchestra????? in the background????? CHORAL SINGING AND CHANTING IN THE BACKGROUND????!!!!! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS. Ok, I think I made my point :)

2. His Work and Nothing More from Jekyll and Hyde, particularly the one sung by Anthony Warlow, Carolee Carmello, Philip Hoffman, And John Raitt: I like the drama~ Also, the way they sing against each other? *chef's kiss* phenomenal. Fantastic. Absolute perfection. like really, the part where he goes "Have I become my work and nothing more?" and I just AHHHHHHHHHHH because my brain does the happy electric slide. Then when Lisa is all like 'Don't be unkind, the problem's all in your mind!' and I just a;sljdf;ljdhgj hi yes hello let me sing all the parts please give me all the parts I wanna sing the entire song by myself while simultaneously singing against myself, do you see my issue because I am full of issues but do you see this Specific One????? Ok. I'm done ranting about this one, I have to move on or I'll write you an entire encyclopedia on why I love it. Lol.

1. The Sound of Silence cover by Disturbed: I don't even know if I could explain it. It just makes my brain so satisfied. I can listen to it over and over without getting sick of it. I can listen to it when I'm happy, sad, angry, hungry, melancholy, excited, nervous, doesn't seem to matter what I feel, I will always be able to listen to this song.

There you go friend! Hope you enjoyed these answers. I put some pretty colours in there because I felt like it, lol :)

[theherothechampiontheinquisitor]

12.16.1991 - Chapter 1

Rated: G - Canon Typical Violence

Realtionships: Pepperony, Howard/Maria Stark, Iron Dad, Rhodey & Tony Friendship

Summary: On December 16th, 1991 Howard and Maria Stark were killed in a tragic car accident. Or at least that's what their son and the world is left to believe. 25 years later, Helmut Zemo lures Tony, Steve and Bucky into a Siberian Hydra base to reunite a family...and use The Winter Soldier to destroy it once and for all.

OR

Howard and Maria were kidnapped by The Winter Soldier and forced to work for Hydra. Through a turn of events they are reunited with Tony, and Howard sets out to make good on the promise he made to himself when he was captured...to begin the long road of making amends with his son.

Some additional thoughts/warnings: This is Howard Stark friendly. I know a lot of people hate him and there's comics where the character is abusive to Tony and Maria but that's not this world. I am going singularly off of the Howard Stark presented to us in Agent Carter and the brief glimpses in the MCU. Do I think Howard was a good parent? No. He has definitely made a lot of mistakes, but I don't think he is an irredeemable monster either. The second half of the story will be him trying to fix things with Tony and working through why he behaved so distantly. If that is not your bag then I can't say you'll enjoy this. Please don't come at me with Howard hate.

Not everything will be exactly like the movies.

Also HUGE HUGE thank you to @takadasaiko, my faithful cheerleader, idea giver, all around fantastic motivator. I would have never gotten this far without your help and our mutual appreciation for layered characters. <3

READ IT ON AO3

***********

December 16th, 1991

“Asset?”

The voice brought him out of his daze, thoughts finally cleared and focused, pain falling away like a mask from someone else’s body. His cold eyes focused on the man before him.

“Ready to comply,” came the hoarse rasp that always accompanied his awakenings.

“Mission critical. Search and retrieve. First the serums and then the witnesses. I want them brought in alive.”

He nodded his head affirmatively. This would be an easy task.

“Mission marks?”

The scientist smiled slowly exposing crooked and slightly yellowed teeth. “Howard and Maria Stark.” He waited to see if the name would spark any recognition but the Winter Soldier’s face was expressionless as always. “There is a son… Anthony. We are not concerned about him. Do not engage.”

The assassin nodded in acknowledgement and stood, his restraints having finally been removed. His metal arm felt stiff and he rotated it around until he had full range of motion. He towered before the scientist but the man showed no visible fear aside from the quiet rise and fall of his throat as he gulped back a breath of air.

“Mission launch time?”

“Tonight. Prepare yourself.”

The soldier nodded. He had his orders and he knew what he must do. Soon Howard and Maria Stark would be nothing but a ghost of a memory to the world. He needed to prepare.

***

The short ride from the house and to SHIELD headquarters had mostly been silent and Howard knew enough that it meant he was in trouble. He stole glances across the car to his wife but she remained glued to the window, watching as small flakes of snow began to fall over the road.

He reached out to take her hand but she didn't let his touch linger. She pulled away and rested her hands back in her lap and out of his reach.

"Maria…" he sighed. This was not how their vacation was supposed to begin. Of course it also wasn't supposed to involve him transporting a possible trial replication of the super soldier serum either, but he had a job to do too. All he had to do was work now and he'd be free to shoot golf and spend time with his wife by the time their plane landed in the Bahamas.

"It would be helpful to know what I've done so that I can begin to make amends for it and skip the sulking altogether," he offered in the darkness. It was difficult to discern her features in the dark, the only light coming from the street lamps brief flashes as they drove the winding road.  

Howard had been married long enough however to instantly recognize that particular glare and upturned lip she leveled him with.

It was about the boy.  It always seemed to be these days.  So, he waited, allowing her to gather her thoughts in the silence. Maria was never one to hold back long.

He wracked his mind in the meantime of all his interactions with Tony since he'd returned from Europe on Friday. They'd exchanged a couple barbs and sarcastic comments but this was positively tame compared to how they normally got on. Neither of them had even raised their voices once.

The next bend came across steeper and Howard adjusted his speed in the winter weather.  He didn't need them to get into a car accident on top of the already heavy atmosphere he found himself faced with.

"Would it kill you to say something kind to him, just once? It's Christmas," Maria exclaimed as if that was the answer to repairing the chasm between father and son.

He resisted rolling his eyes knowing it would only make her more upset. Tony had always been a delicate subject between them. He was her baby, 21 years old and throwing toga parties behind their back or not.  She always saw him as that wide eyed baby boy she brought screaming into this world.  

Howard used to be envious of their effortless connection. They always understood each other without words and yet Howard for all his genius couldn't even break through the defenses to his son who was so much like himself. He told himself it wasn't from lack of trying but he would be kidding himself. The best he could do was a half drunken confession on an 8mm Tony would probably never see. Or even want to see at this rate.

He never was able to dwell on their relationship for too long. There was always something else he needed to do for Shield, some other invention that Obadiah was breathing down his neck about to create or a tip about the possible crash site of his long gone best friend, Steve Rogers. Tony fell away to the back burner more and more until Howard blinked and his son no longer wanted his attention.

"What did you want me to say Maria?" He asked tiredly, the subject of his failed parenting sapping his energy. "Thank you Tony, for not making international headlines for the second time this year, the PR team appreciates the break? He's not a child anymore Maria. He needs to be preparing to be a CEO, not a Playgirl cover model."

That had been a fun and unexpected month of damage control when that surprise magazine cover dropped to newsstands.

"How many times do I have to tell you that he's acting out for you? He's desperate for your attention Howard, and you're hardly one to be judging lifestyle choices. I seem to remember you not being much different around his age," she reminded him, eyes not leaving his face, daring him to refute her comments.

"Before I met you perhaps, " he conceded.  "Before we lost Cap…" Howard shook his head once to clear it even as his hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. Even now Steve Rogers was a sore subject. A constant reminder of his first greatest failure in life.

Maria softened a little and reached for him, her hand offering his thigh a gentle squeeze.  "An I love you goes a long way, you know? It won't fix everything but I refuse to believe that this can't be mended Howard. Talk to him. Really talk to him. He loves you so much and you won't let him show it. God forbid if something were to happen…would you really want that interaction this morning to be the last words you said to him? Think about it."

Howard said nothing, keeping his eyes trained on the road, windshield wipers turned up as the snow fell harder. He really needed to get them to the airfield before they ended up stranded on these lonely back roads.  There were no chains on their tires and they'd surely be stuck if it continued sticking to the road.

He wanted to argue with Maria,  tell her she was wrong, but she hadn't been wrong in their marriage yet. Tony was crying out for help, negative attention being better than no attention at all.  He should know. He had done the same to his father, for all the good it had done. His father died before Howard could ever make something of himself.

Christ he needed a drink, but that would have to wait until they made it to their plane. He increased the pressure on the gas slightly, Maria's words filling his mind.

***

The Winter Soldier watched as the Stark's Lincoln passed by the dark bend of road where he lay lurking in patience. As soon as they were around the bend he turned his motorcycle on with a rumble, light shining across the snowy road.

The cold had never bothered him and he found it easy to increase his speed to match the vehicle in the distance. He trekked safely behind them at first,  watching and waiting for the narrow stretch of road he'd make his move on.

***

The car had been silent since Maria's last request. She had resumed looking out the window dutifully until her eyes slowly grew heavier and closed altogether.

Howard loved watching her as she slept. For a moment all the cares and worries were gone from her face, wrinkles turning to smooth skin. She looked younger. Happier. A disconcerting thought that her happiest moments lie in the hours she was not awake, and Howard knew he had to try harder. If only for her.  

He didn't think much of the vehicle that came up behind them, seemingly out of nowhere. These roads were quiet but well used. He adjusted the rear-view mirror as the vehicle's headlight burned bright into the front end, making it difficult to see.

Asshole.

The vehicle continued trailing them, but soon picked up the pace, alternating between riding on their bumper and backing off. Howard didn't like this at all. He had one hand on the car phone in the center console when the vehicle made its move.

It was a motorcycle and it swung around to the passenger side with skill and ease, the slippery roads seemingly having no effect on its capabilities.

Howard pulled the phone off the hook immediately and held down on the number 1 speed dial to Peggy Carter.  

The man on the motorcycle used that time to attack and brought a glint of metal crashing against the back passenger window.

The hit was powerful. Howard dropped the receiver to the floor, both hands flying to the wheel trying to steady the already swerving vehicle, but it was no use, the brakes had locked up and were unable to gain traction on the snow covered roads. Howard could only hope to lessen the speed of their impact.

The last thing that went through Howard Stark's mind, as the metal impacted upon the tree trunk, was not the terrified cry of his name from Maria or the loud voice calling his name from the receiver of the dropped phone.

It was an image of his son the last time he saw him, Christmas hat jauntily covering his face,  wearing that old Mister Softees ice cream shirt that Howard had always hated but Tony had always loved.

And he thought, maybe an I love you every now and then wouldn't have been so hard.

Instead, he knew, his son would always wonder if his father had ever cared about him at all.

***

The Winter Soldier watched satisfactorily as the vehicle swerved off to the side of the road and into a tree. A severe impact but not fatal. He passed by them and then looped back around, pulling off the road a safe distance away.

He detected movement from the front seat as he approached the vehicle, but it was slow and dazed. They were no threat to him as he crashed his metal arm against the trunk and opened it. He pushed aside golf clubs and suitcases of clothing until he found what he was looking for.

The slightest indentation of fabric revealed the false trunk bottom and directly beneath was a silver suitcase.

He heard a thump from the driver side door and shuffling through the snow but it didn't matter. The suitcase was opened and the serum contents confirmed. The soldier removed the case and gently replaced the false bottom, smoothing the panel out and covering it back up.

"Maria...help my wife," the dazed voice rang out, not realizing he called out to his enemy.

The soldier looked the white haired man over finally approaching and grasping the man's head in his palm, forcing him to look up. He was bleeding from a head wound and from some cuts where glass had hit his face but he would be fine. His mission was a success.

***

"Please help her…" Howard heaved out to the stranger again, desperately trying to catch his breath in the cold air.

When his eyes were finally able to focus his confusion only grew.

"Sergeant Barnes?" Impossible. He had been dead for over thirty years now.

The Winter Soldier froze for the slightest moment, a spark of recognition lighting in the back of his mind as Bucky screamed to break free. Unnerved he shook it off, quashing the memory.

"Marks ready for transport. The serums are accounted for," he spoke into a small communication device hidden in his sleeve.

Howard shook his head again trying to swim through his confusion to grasp hold of the situation.

"The serums?" He looked and saw the silver suitcase in the man's mechanical hand. This was bad. He had to get those back. Get Maria, get the serums and get the hell out of here and to safety.

"Howard?" He heard his wife’s voice croak miserably from the car.

"Stay," the soldier said releasing his head with a shove, sending his body down into the snow and began making his way around to the passenger side of the car.

"No. Leave her alone," he called weakly. His ribs screamed in protest as he tried to right his body but he had to protect his wife. And he needed to get the phone. He needed to call Peggy. She would help them. She always did. He turned and began to pull his battered body forward towards the open driver's side door.

Maria Stark sat in the passenger seat and looked up at the winter soldier in terror. She also had bleeding from her head but she seemed more in shock than anything. She screamed as he reached in and pulled her from the car,  Howard’s name on her lips as she struggled vainly.

The soldier came around the car and threw the woman to the ground quickly when he realized Howard had moved from his position and was reaching for something inside. He grabbed him by the back of his jacket and tossed him backwards again before inspecting the inside of the vehicle.

There on the floor a phone receiver dangled precariously. He grasped it with his metal arm and held it to his ear, listening for anyone on the other end. There was nothing but silence. He lingered a moment longer before placing it back on the hook in the center console.

A dark van came to a halting stop in the road, several men in dark clothes jumping out and removing what looked to be two large body bags. The ones not busy with the bags rushed across the road and the winter soldier supervised as they grabbed the injured Stark's and hauled them to their feet, leading them towards the vehicle.

Howard Stark struggled against the Hydra agents as they lead him, and the winter soldier delivered a swift blow to his side. The man groaned and was involuntarily compliant after that.

The pair were loaded into the back of the vehicle, roughly, the soldier monitoring the scene.

"You won't get away with this," Howard mustered through measured breaths, eyes scanning over the familiar man.

"We'll see," came the quiet response before black hoods were shoved over the couple's heads and the door was slammed shut in finality.

***

Peggy Carter had been getting ready for bed when her phone began ringing. Only a few people would call her so late at night and only one of them was on a mission of sorts.

"Howard?"

No sooner had she spoke before she heard the sound of what could only be Maria in the background calling out for Howard before there was a loud crashing noise.

Peggy nearly dropped the phone the crash was so deafening.

Instantly she jumped into action, thankful now for the new cordless phone Howard had introduced her to. She moved to her 2nd phone line and dialed into Shield. She called for a trace to be placed on the first line, hazard of the job, to narrow down the pair's location and a team to be on standby as soon as the trace came through.

Peggy tried calling out to Howard a couple times but it was clear he couldn't hear anything she was saying. She heard some more indistinct chatter in the background and so remained still, listening for anything that could give away the location or what was happening.

She held her breath when a deep breath came through the receiver, Peggy sat there like that, not daring to make a single noise. Then there was a click and a dial tone as the phone was disconnected.

Peggy let out a deep breath, anxiety welling within her at whatever had just transpired. She could only hope that they had enough time for the trace.

[sydneysmuses]

✘┇ ❛ it's like sweet serendipity

“Alright then, let’s get started. Welcome to Brooklyn, New York. Here’s the home of fuckboys and lames but I’m sure you can survive. Just steer clear from Anthony. He’ll fuck up your shit in a hot second. Anyway, who are you?”

Hello beautiful human beings of the internet, my name is Syd. I suppose the normal things to talk about in this part would be that my pronouns are she/her and that my time zone is PST (California), though at times I find myself staying up until the butt crack of morning so maybe I’m an honorary member of another time zone for my weird hours of ‘awakeness’. ALSO warning that this is a little long, I went a bit overboard and if anything please just check out the site linked down where I talk about Yos’ loft because I made something special. (Or at least it was special to me).

My activity level is completely dependent on the activity of others. Which may not be the exact answer you are looking for, so I will explain. I think it’s very obvious that groups have been dying lately and when the dash is slow I certainly don’t want to clog it – so I do my replies and try to post a starter (but not to much avail) and then wait it out. Conversely, when the dash is moving quickly I know it is my duty to keep up and be just as active with my responses (unless I’m showering or sleeping or shoving food inside of my body). It is not a lie that I am on my summer break and am itching for things to do and am desperate for a group that isn’t going to fizzle out (translation: i’ve got no life what so ever give me something to do i’m begging). Even when I’m not on summer break – I work in a creative field and constantly need a way to continue to write imaginatively, but not necessarily for anything regarding my actual work.

“Okay. I totally blacked out on whatever you were saying but whatever. Let’s pretend it was the twisted tea and not your boring synopsis on who you are. Have you ever been in Brooklyn before?”

I am nearly 700 years old and have been roleplaying since I was in grade 8. So I’ve been pretending to be people I’m not since I was like 13? 14? I lived a large chunk of my roleplay life on a completely different side of roleplay that is vile and includes no writing/paring what so ever so this side is just so refreshing now that I’m an ancient lady looking for peace. I’ve been roleplaying in groups for 5-6 years now. I’ve gone through the days of the large 500 gifs. I’ve also been an admin of a few groups, only one that was successful and managed to last a solid six months, so I praise you for putting in this work.

I’m currently in one and a half groups? The ‘half’ group referring to a group that is actually ‘closed’ where interactions are completely voluntary as not many of the members are active anymore. And the one being a group that I think will be shut down before you even accept apps … so what is the real answer?

While I have been in lots of groups and probably should link you to something more current, I figured I would link you to my most beloved little angel who has been revived MANY times in groups run by a nice lil’ fellow in the community named Nicholas. I’m particularly fond of this character because she was hands down the most developed (since it was a long lasting group) and because there were lots of things that I got to do in the group as her character.

Links (the first link is about a year old hence hq/medium sized gifs): http://olliecoopz.tumblr.com/, http://olliescooper.tumblr.com/, http://olliepls.tumblr.com/ .

I figured I would also link another character that I played with a similar title to Yos’ (the activist) so I figured I should link that too: http://brynnism.tumblr.com/

“Hm, okay. So in other words, no. Well – why are you here?”

The character I would like to play is Yoseline and the primary reason is because of her title as “the activist”. I will admit that it’s absolutely frightening when the character you like the most has a popular face claim because I feel like that aspect alone lessens my chances – and it makes me want to pick someone else so the let down will be a lot easier. However, playing strong, female characters that care about philanthropy is what I’m all about. Obviously it helps that there are predetermined head cannons as well because it’s even more inspiring to me that even through a failed career Yos was able to flip the switch and find a useful purpose for her time. Switching gears back to her title, I can imagine that philanthropy and philanthropic groups in New York are just as in demand for help as they are here in Southern Calfornia, so what she does and why she doesn’t would be realistic and that much easier to portray even in this fictitious world. Being a mixed latina who is heavily involved in philanthropic groups that support school and college readiness as well as groups that support research study for Cystic Fibrosis naturally PULLED me towards this character. And in mentioning the connections, I like that the only real ‘enemy’ connections are with men (I know Xan is a frenemie, but for the sake of what I’m about to say..) because I feel as a female activist I would have to imagine that empowerment of females and female bonds/relationships would also be super important to Yos. So I’m grateful that the majority of her close-knit, predetermined relationships are with other powerful young women.

“O–dude, are you sweating? Seriously? It’s not that deep. Here’s a tissue. Yeah, good. Alright Sweaty McGee, why should I pick your lack of experience, weird, boring self over the other thousand cooler people that I meet daily? What makes you such an asset to me and my friends? Choose your words wisely because I’m being dead on serious.”

‘Bullet Point’ Biography //

**** Yos’ Loft **** // I wanted to do something a little different to make myself stand out. (Hopefully? Unless this is a thing people do and I’m just super behind.) I was really inspired while I was looking at the character’s homes when I realized that Yos lives on her own – with her dreams. At first I admired the fact she was so young and could afford it, then I realized that regardless of her show getting cancelled, it could have still provided her with a substantial bit of money as well as a following via social media and what not. So I wanted to play up this idea of her having her own space and come up with what the rooms might look like when her mind and imagination took over. It’s nothing too crazy and I’m sure I could have been a little more extreme with the idea, but I hope it’s kind of entertaining for a few clicks! It really helped me get inside of how she is or how I would write her by surrounding her in a comfortable living environment. http://718yos.tumblr.com/

Yos has become very independent ever since she made a huge life transition and found out what she wants to do / who she wants to be. It has always been easier on her to be on her own and away from her family. While she loves both of her parents, she knows they don’t love each other – haven’t for as long as she can remember. However, given their faith and religion they wouldn’t dare break their union after making a promise to the church.

Her view of romantic relationships is a bit warped. With her parents and with the relationships people tried to force upon her while she was in the industry, it seems as if real romance isn’t necessarily tangible. Which is why most of her relationships have never really made it do the next step or are full of lust / friends with benefits.

However, she does believe that love is real because she has an older brother who she loves with all of her heart. She is grateful that he lives near by, but misses him often when he is away for business.

Obviously it’s already predetermined that Yos tried her best to be a successful actress, but the show that was supposed to be her big break didn’t end up doing so well. However, I believe she would take that passion she used to have and combine it with her love for philanthropy and support programs such as Save The Arts. Surely the importance of the arts in school around where her and all her friends live is important so she is driven to help out that organization. I could also see her wanting to help young girls who are beginning to get into the industry and make sure that they are treated fairly, are fighting for equal pay, and aren’t being taken advantage of by older men.

Back to religion – self-discovery has become a huge revelation for her, especially in regards to the religion that her parents had forced upon her and her brother for so long. The views of the Catholic Church do not necessarily reflect Yos’ views. And while she is struggling to find ways to let her parents know, she is in the process of taking classes at a local university on Eastern Religions and their impact in the modern world. The idea of spirituality over organized religion is becoming more appealing as she gets older.

I have more ideas, but naturally I’ve already created a novel worthy application.

“Again, another boring answer. Cool. Do you have anything else to add or whatever?”

All I can say is thank you so much for creating a diverse group and putting so much detail in to making sure that all the roles weren’t just similar copies of each other. Regardless of what happens or who you choose I wish you all the best of luck with your group! Also i’m sorry if the formatting messed up – I had it open in microsoft word.

“I think I remember who you are now. I think you’re my brothers friend…right? Oh yeah, you owe me ten dollars for even taking the time to talk and give you the proper city welcome. My brother said you would pay because you were desperate for friends or whatever. Ten dollars isn’t much and I want Panera so–c'mon.”

Can we talk about the fact that as I was reading the rules I was like, “oh god, oh no they are asking for real money!” And as I continued to read and sweat bullets over the fact that I’m a fucking broke ass loser my whole mind cleared when I saw that all I had to do is agree to the ten dollar fee. So I agree. (And I feel blessed that it’s not really real because I would have had to act fast to send this in when I wanted.)

[katiezstorey93]

Women Are Scary (and Other Big Lies Modesty Culture Teaches Men)

“Thats the big lie: Keep them at a distance, lest you be snared. The result? Men who are scared to interact with half of the human population.”

ByJonathan Trotter

I am sad. I live in Southeast Asia, and theres a massage parlor a few blocks down the street. In fact, there are several.

$2.50 is what the sign reads. And then there are the KTVs (karaoke bars) with rows of plastic chairs holding property: young women in skimpy cocktail dresses waiting for clients. Several of them within a mile of my house. Ones called Dubai, ones called Las Vegas, and ones simply called J. I know the names because theyre on the main streets. Theyre not hidden.

I see it everywhere: men objectifying women.

Do you remember about a year ago when a list of users on the affair-facilitating website Ashley Madison got leaked? And right about the same time one of the famous Duggar kids was found to be involved in a shocking sex abuse scandal. Lately, it’s been the sexual impropriety of Anthony Weiner, and his wife publicly announcing that she was leaving him after he was once again caught sexting. Sadly, there will surely be something else soon.

My worlds collide.

I grew up under the same teachings as Josh Duggar. Same home school group. Same emphasis on modesty and purity.

But my parents werent all in. I was much more into it than they were, actually. As a young teenager, I was upset because my dad wouldnt sell his dental practice so we could move into the country to be more holy. I stopped listening to rock music and even left a Christian concert once out of my strong convictions.

My parents stayed.

My parents still took us to the (agh!) public pool, but when I decided that was too “dangerous” for me, I recused myself.

So, yes, I did grow up under the same teachings. Sort of. But because we had friends outside of the movement, and because my parents were very loving and too compromising, I was spared much of the devastation.

But many people weren’t spared. You see, there are lies modesty culture teaches men.

Also, I have daughters. And sons. I have a bunch of younger sisters. And brothers. I have a wife. That makes this all very, very personal.

Lie 1: Women Are Scary

Yes, you should treat them like sisters, but really, you should be terrified of them.

Thats the big lie: Keep them at a distance, lest you be snared.

The result? Men who are scared to interact with half of the human population. Men who must look at the dirt when a woman walks by instead of looking her in the eye. That cannot be right.

Many men grow up so scared of women they never develop healthy relationships with any of them; they dont actually get to know a girl as a co-equal member of the human race.

Lie 2: Men Have a Responsibility Not to Look (but Women Have More Responsibility Not to Be Looked At)

I grew up learning of the guys responsibility to not look, and thats great, but what I really heard A LOT about was the girls responsibility to not be looked at. Practically speaking, this is just really stupid. And its offensive, because its basically saying that guys cant help themselves, and we need women to save us from our own urges. Please, ladies, put this blanket on.

Seriously, men? Give it up and guard your own heart. Not. Her. Job. You cannot blame your lust on a woman. Ever. Period. If you fall into temptation, thats on you, man.

Furthermore, lets assume for a second that every Christian woman on the planet agrees to dress modestly (however you define it) in order to help you “stay pure.” What are you going to do about the rest, who dont follow those sorts of church rules and dont care about protecting your heart? The ones Jesus still calls you to love and serve?

Modesty culture shifts blame; Id like to shift it back.

Because I cant really imagine Jesus saying, Dont lust, but if shes really attractive to you, and shes not wearing much, then I totally get it. And really, if shes pretty and is walking in front of you, its not really all your fault. She doesnt follow me or care about you, but she should know better than to dress like that. Ill assign her some of your guilt. Carry on.

Lie 3: Dehumanizing Is OK

So much of modesty culture dehumanizes women.

It reduces their complexity and unique personhood to their sexuality. In an effort to guard sexuality, it actually makes it all about sexuality. In our strong reaction to the sexualization of our culture, weve done a pretty good job of turning people into sex objects. And many have lost the ability to have healthy, close relationships.

This type of thinking about modesty also causes us to judge people who dont live according oursometimes arbitrarystandards, and says that clothes determine who we can hang out with.

Jesus hung out with all sort of seemingly unlikely people: tax collectors, prostitutes, outcasts. How could He do that and stay pure? Wasnt He afraid His followers would follow His example and fall miserably into the abyss of sin? I dont think so.

In fact, I believe Jesus wasnt afraid because He saw their humanity. And He knew that their humanity desperately needed His divinity. To love people is to be with people. And people dont always follow “the rules” or dress “appropriately.”

If we cant figure out how to deal with that, were going to have a heck of a hard time sharing Jesus with folks who dont know Him and act like it.

And that just might be the saddest thing of all.

** This article originally appeared on trotters41.com.

About the Author: Jonathan has lived in Southeast Asia since 2012, where he serves as a pastoral counselor and helps lead an international church. He tweets @trotters41 and blogs at trotters41.com.

Read more: http://www.faithit.com

from network 8 http://www.nsorchidsociety.com/women-are-scary-and-other-big-lies-modesty-culture-teaches-men/