#I'm aware that the tone of this response is abrasive

[waheelawhisperer]

If I could add my own two cents on the whole "Yang's amputation was a punishment for a moral failing" debacle, can I just say how much I hate it's counterpart "Yang undergoes enough character development that she doesn't need to be punished with amputation to learn her lesson"?

Because let me tell you, it's really freaking annoying how EVERY fic that diverges before the Fall of Beacon saves Yang's arm.

I am SO glad that Yang's an amputee in the upcoming movie! Maybe now people will stop erasing that part of her character in fics!

Okay, so, I had to think about this one a bit. I'll give you fair warning right now that you probably won't like everything I have to say.

To start with, claiming that Yang losing an arm is related to a character flaw or that her amputation is a punishment for some failing real or imagined is stupid, gross, and factually incorrect. I've made many, many posts about how Yang actually behaved correctly in that situation, that her injuries were not her fault, and that she was caught in a scenario where her best option was a low-percentage play that ended up not working. I'm not doing it again. I'm tired of this conversation. Anyone who doesn't understand this at this point is cognitively equivalent to the roadkill I saw on my way to work this morning and would be better suited to using their empty skulls to store and dispense bingo balls than engaging in literary analysis. Recapping my arguments will not convince anyone new.

I think RWBY made a very bold and powerful choice to have one of the main characters lose a limb in combat. I hate it on a personal level because Yang is my baby and I can't stand to see her hurt, but when I divorce my emotions from the decision and consider it objectively, I think it's actually one of the best and most effective choices RWBY has ever made. Any negative reaction I feel about this decision is purely emotional and stems from my extreme protectiveness of Yang in particular. If they'd done it to any other character, it wouldn't bother me at all.

As a result, it probably isn't surprising that I don't have an inherent problem with fan content that averts the loss of Yang's arm. I understand why you do, and why others do, and I recognize and acknowledge the validity of those feelings. I do think that at least some people within the RWBY community downplay Yang's disability for ableist reasons, whether consciously or not.

I think it's fine for fanfics and so on to arrange things so that Yang doesn't lose her arm. One of the great things about fanfic and other fan content is that it allows the people making it to explore alternate paths or aspects of canon and to ask themselves how events would have unfolded if something had been done differently. Fanfics aren't obligated to follow the stations of canon if the author doesn't want them to. What is even the point of writing a story, if we're just retreading everything that happened in canon with no significant changes? To me, writing a fic where Yang doesn't lose her arm is no different from writing a fic where Pyrrha survives or Ironwood manages to avoid going off the deep end.

That said, I think you have a great point about how common it is for fics to avert the loss of Yang's arm. I don't think there's anything wrong with any individual fic simply setting Yang on a different path, one where she doesn't lose her arm, but if it's happening often enough in aggregate, then we have a problem. I don't know if that is the case or not. I don't read fanfiction often enough to be able to identify common trends within it. Most fanfiction either does not meet my standards for quality, lacks a premise I find sufficiently appealing, or both, so I will defer to the knowledge of others regarding how RWBY fanfiction as a whole treats Yang's canon disability.

I'll be honest, all of the stories I have in any stage of completion arrange events so that Yang avoids permanent physical injury of any kind. I tried to write a scene where she lost her arm, I really did, but I couldn't do it. It made me cry and I had to scrap it. I can, just barely, write a fight scene where she gets the absolute crap beaten out of her and nearly dies as long as she can somehow be healed from it without long-term consequences, but that's all I can manage. I can kill other characters. I can put them through one hell of a lot of misery. I can't do it to her. She's the only one I can't do it to.

I don't give a shit about the Justice League movie. I'm not sufficiently emotionally invested in it to have an opinion about any writing or design choice the people making it made. Sorry.

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

Have a little preview of more to come for the Canary in the Gold Mine AU! (If you're looking forward to more flower fwhimmy, you can thank Sol for encouraging my vices creative spirit.)

Now on AO3!

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--

An early morning, a long day. Hours swinging a pickaxe followed by a bath neither as warm nor as long as he preferred, but appreciated nonetheless. A stretch and a rub at aching muscles as he walked back to his cell room, and sometimes, a canary waiting on a windowsill when he opened the door.

In three years Scott's daily routine hadn't changed much, and when it did it was only after his canary Jimmy let him know in advance what was happening. So when he returned from his bath to see two guards at his door waiting for him unexpectedly, a jolt of anxiety shot through Scott as he tried to desperately to think of what the reason for their presence might be.

He hadn't committed any infractions that he was aware of. He had thought about committing plenty, but Jimmy's happy chirps or beaming smile always chased away whatever temptations he had to slip past a distracted guard or test the locks in the prisoners' quarters. As far as Scott knew, he had been a model prisoner since the day King Fwhip handed down his sentence. He came to a stop in front of the guards and willed his heart out of his throat while he bowed his head, waiting to hear what they wanted. At least Kesk and Ran were familiar faces.

"The king summons you for an audience," said Kesk. He eyed Scott for a moment, then grinned. "Technically we're supposed to bring out the manacles for transport, but you'll behave yourself, right?"

Scott managed a weak smile in return. "Of course," he promised, and dutifully followed the guards through the city. "Did he say what he wants?"

"Nope, and I don't have any guesses either," said Kesk. "But I'm sure it's fine. Don't look so nervous!"

Scott expected to be led into the throne room, but instead he was escorted into what looked to be the king's private quarters, and his confusion and curiosity grew. The guards stopped and bowed to the figure seated at a desk, and Scott knelt at the light pressure on his shoulder from Kesk's hand.

"The prisoner you requested, your highness," announced Ran.

Fwhip looked up from the paper he had been frowning at. "Thanks. You can go." The guards bowed again and left, and Fwhip moved over to the sofa. "You don't have to stare at the carpet the whole time, you know," he said in an amused tone. "Actually, come have a seat."

Scott looked up as Fwhip patted the cushion next to him, and after a brief moment of hesitation he moved to take a seat where the king indicated. "May I ask the reason for this summons, your highness?" he asked cautiously.

If he had been brought before a king he feared, Scott would have held his tongue unless it was clear a response was expected. If he had been brought before a king he disdained, Scott would have demanded answers the moment he entered the room. But Fwhip, over the time Scott had been an unwilling guest of Gobland, had become something rare: a king he respected. The uncertainty of what was going on still made him nervous, but Scott neither feared retribution for asking a simple question nor had any desire to be abrasive.

Fwhip watched him closely, and as Scott glanced around the room he was careful to not let his gaze linger too long on anything shiny or valuable. "Ran tells me you're a hard worker," said the king. "Kesk tells me you don't cause any problems. And Jimmy, of course, tells me anything and everything he can." Scott might have been trying his best not to look too long at anything pretty, but he made an exception for the way Fwhip 's face softened when Jimmy's name crossed his lips.

"Yes, your highness," said Scott, unsure of how else to respond.

Fwhip scrunched his nose. "Just call me Fwhip when we're alone." He drew his legs up onto the sofa and crossed them under him. The casual posture, the lack of circlet, and the smudge of coal on his sleeves from the mines reminded Scott that the goblin king preferred to be seen as more goblin than king. Scott had only seen Fwhip from a distance since the day of his sentencing, and every time Fwhip had been hard at work right alongside the goblins he ruled over.

"You expect I'll be alone with you often, then?" asked Scott before he could help himself, and let his smirk stay when Fwhip laughed.

"I certainly wouldn't mind," said Fwhip with a grin as he lounged back and rested an elbow on the back of the sofa. He gestured around the room. "I think you've noticed by now, but I like to collect pretty things. You would fit right in."

Scott didn't feel very pretty in his prisoner's garb and a three-year beauty routine of harsh soap and nothing else, but he felt a flush attempt to cross his cheeks anyway. "I imagine that's why you collected Jimmy," he deflected.

Fwhip's eyes danced. "It's more like he collected me, kind of like how he collected you. But it's unimportant. Jimmy is why I wanted to talk to you, actually."

"Is he all right?" Scott hadn't seen Jimmy for almost two weeks, and he couldn't help the wave of worry that washed over him even though Jimmy had told him he would be on the surface for a while. Winter was beginning to settle in, and the canary's duties were keeping him busy while he helped the farmers finish everything that needed done before the first snows began.

"He's fine." Fwhip studied Scott's face. "You cared about his safety the day you were brought to me, too, even when you thought it would be at the expense of your own."

"Of course I did." Scott's heart was light as he thought about Jimmy, and he couldn't help the smile that hovered on his lips. "I've come to care for him a great deal."

As soon as he spoke Scott wondered if he was crossing a line, if he was risking bringing out a jealous side to Fwhip that he was unaware of. It wouldn't be the first time he had unwittingly invoked the ire of someone powerful over the affections of someone beautiful. Scott treasured his friendship with Jimmy, and in another life might have even dreamed of more, but right now he fretted about treading on thin ice with the man who held Scott's fate in his hands.

But, maybe the ice wasn't as thin as he feared. Fwhip smiled, and Scott relaxed a little at the pleased look the king gave him. "Good. He needs that, someone willing to care for him and protect him. Not that he isn't capable of taking care of himself, but he's social. He doesn't do well on his own."

"But he's not on his own." Scott frowned, mind whirling as he tried to puzzle out where Fwhip's train of thought was headed. "He has you, doesn't he? He adores you."

There was that soft look again, and oh, how long it had been since anyone had looked at Scott like that. He missed being treasured the way Fwhip so clearly treasured Jimmy. But he tucked the thought away, storing it in the same place he stored thoughts of everything else he missed about life, and watched Fwhip curiously.

"He does have me," agreed Fwhip, and absently ran his fingers down the strap around his neck to the yellow feather at its end. "But sometimes my duties mean I have to be away for a while. Gobland has a treaty with one of the largest piglin factions, did you know that? But it was hard-earned and is still fragile. When they want to talk, I can't just send an ambassador in my stead."

"So you'll be away on a diplomatic mission for a while," guessed Scott. "But what does that have to do with me? I'm just a prisoner, and will be for another two years."

"One year," corrected Fwhip. "I counted your time in the cage as part of your sentence, remember? You only have a year left. And it's my decision how you spend that year." Scott went completely still and stared at him. Fwhip smirked, and Scott had the thought that the king might be enjoying, just a little, the way he held Scott's fate in the palm of his hand.

"I'm having you moved to a room in here," continued Fwhip. "The one next to Jimmy's. I'll be gone all winter most likely, and I want you around to keep him company. You'll still be a prisoner, so don't get any ideas about leaving. Where Jimmy goes, you go, unless he doesn't want your company, and any time that's the case you are not to leave the house. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Scott, hoping it wasn't obvious how the news sent him reeling. The house where Fwhip and Jimmy lived might not be as vast and elegant as the palaces or manors he had seen other rulers choose for their residence, but it was still beautiful and comfortable. No more small cell, no more straw mattress. No more mining. No more of the same stews and gruels day after day, he hoped, not unless Fwhip had a sadistic streak after all.

"Good," said Fwhip. "I'll have someone collect your things and bring them over. You have a few little gifts Jimmy's brought you, right?"

Scott nodded, grateful for Fwhip's consideration of something as unimportant as the personal possessions of a prisoner. Nothing tucked in the top drawer of his dresser was particularly valuable, but every item was something Jimmy had brought clutched in his beak in the hopes of making Scott smile. Scott wouldn't trade a single one of them for all the gems in the world, maybe not even for his freedom.

His freedom.

He wasn't going to be working in a heavily-guarded mine or sleeping in a heavily-guarded cell block.

He didn't doubt there would still be guards around, but he couldn't imagine someone like Jimmy being comfortable with the same level of scrutiny Scott had reluctantly adjusted to. It would be so, so easy...

"What makes you think I won't just run for it?" he asked. "Why are you so certain I'll stay put?" Fwhip was easygoing and quick to laughter, but he was sharp and thoughtful too. There was no way he had neglected to consider the possibility.

Fwhip grinned. "For a few reasons. One, you're not stupid, Scott. You're almost at the end of your sentence. Why risk giving up guaranteed freedom for the very slim chance to leave just a little earlier?"

"Okay, compelling point," said Scott. "Especially if this remaining time comes with a real bath and better food. I do get a real bath and better food, right?"

Fwhip laughed. "If it's within reason and doesn't interfere with your job, you can have whatever you want. If I know Jimmy, he'll want to spoil you rotten." He sat up straight, and his gaze took on a look that reminded Scott that sharp meant more than just intelligent. "Reason two: Jimmy will be sad if you leave without saying anything. Heartbroken, even."

That was an even more compelling point. "I don't think I could do that to him," he admitted quietly. "He's been good to me. I can't hurt him."

"Good. Because that's related to my third point." Fwhip stood up and in front of Scott, putting his hands against the sofa on either side of Scott. He leaned into Scott's personal space, his mouth close to Scott's ear.

"If I come home and find my Jimmy crying because of you," he said in a low, dark tone, "there is nowhere you can go and no force in this universe that will prevent me from finding you. If you hurt him, I will hunt. you. down."

His breath was hot against Scott's ear, and it made Scott shiver.

"Has anyone ever told you you're kind of hot when you're being scary?" he said as soon as he trusted his ability to speak again.

"...What?" Fwhip pulled back and gave him a wide-eyed stare. "Uh. No. No, that's...not something I've heard while making death threats before, no."

Scott's heart was still somewhere in the rafters, but he smirked at the king. "Well, you have now," he said cheekily, and he absolutely wasn't going to try to read more into the way Fwhip's eyes moved to Scott's lips for a fraction of a second. "And as thrilling as being hunted down by you sounds, you have my word that I won't do anything to hurt Jimmy."

"Good. Excellent." Fwhip took a step back, smoothing down his tunic and finally wiping at the smudge of coal dust on his sleeve as he cleared his throat. "I'll call someone to show you to your room, and you can rest until dinner is ready. Jimmy should be back soon. He'll be happy to see you."

Scott stood and bowed, and followed the goblin who came at Fwhip's call. One year was a long time for someone like him to be a prisoner. But, he was beginning to suspect that once he did have his freedom, he wasn't going to go very far for very long.

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[variantia]

BELLUM. whenever Renata is called in bc Spinner is having a bad time

no matter what time of day it is, afternoon or morning or middle of the night

she comes into the room, closes the door, sets her bag down

sits on the bed in front of him if possible, and on the floor if not

and (depending on what exactly is going on) says in the most gentle tone

"ay, Shuichi, pobrecito. what's going on? I'm here. what do you need?"

if he needs to talk, she'll let him talk. she'll talk back. they'll have a conversation ; about what's going on or about something else

if he needs to not talk, she'll sit there in silence with him, rubbing her thumb over his hand or playing with his hair or just BEING THERE existing in the same space as him so that he knows he's not alone

if he doesn't know what he needs, she'll guide him through a meditation or mindfulness exercise so he can figure out what he needs or at least be aware of his thoughts and emotions and just let himself BE without judging what he's feeling, just observe it and sit with that feeling and exist and that's okay that's enough

she's here for him. even when it's not easy, even when he's struggling, even when he can't be in his own corner

Renata can be ... an abrasive, loud, sometimes aggressive personality

but she is very, very gentle and understanding when she's actually in the midst of helping someone

she's very Mother Vibes with him and just wants to take care of him and help him as best she can

sorry he's HER responsibility now and there is nothing he can do that will chase her off or make her give up on him <3

[helicrazy]

Vortex flinches and nearly gasps as the shot goes off. A small movement he doesn't expect anyone to catch, yet it's exactly what the enemy was looking for. It doesn't help that his face is exposed to the environment, making the situation difficult to hide his expressions properly. So when the larger mech appears over him he gives a glare, refusing to give them any more satisfaction despite being very concerned about where Blaze is being taken.

On the positive side, Blaze doesn't need to be here and watch as Mismatch beats him, starting with a swift kick to the side of his abdomen. Vortex grunts, holding back any sneer remarks he so desperately wants to make, having learned his lesson from last time.

Mismatch reaches down to grab one of his broken rotors, but Vortex jumps off the ground to violently bite down on their servo, sinking his fangs deep before being pulled off and tossed into the wall. The mech says something, but the copter tones it out, his attention more focused on how light their attacks are.

Before he was tossed around like an uncared-for toy, but now they're settling for minor abrasions. It was almost like they were saving the harsher stuff for something else.

And that worries him.

Mismatch strikes the Combaticon a few more times, sending him colliding into things so it can be heard in the room beside them. He is then dragged over to a chair where his limbs are strapped down by tough material, leaving him unable to break free even if he attempted his little tricks. It wouldn't do him any good as he passes out soon after Mismatch leaves the room. Aside from being drugged and knocked out, he hasn't had a moment to rest properly.

He might as well take advantage of it before he is disturbed again.

The sound of someone entering the room stirs Vortex back online. Without his HUD he's not sure how long it's been but he's more concerned about Blaze's whereabouts and well-being.

"Did you have a peaceful recharge?"

Vortex looks up to see the colorful limb mech has returned with a few of their friends. He blankly stares at Mismatch while giving no response to their question.

"Good. We can get started on the next part." Mismatch declares as he motions to one of his main soldiers. A mech who appears to be lost in the abyss, deep in conversation with the voices in their helm. They step out to bring a certain black helicopter into the room, still tied up yet not a single scratch on him.

It relieves Vortex, even though he's aware something is up with whatever the enemy is holding in their servo. Regardless, he is glad to see his companion again, despite himself not looking great compared to him. His expression never changes as he glances at Blaze before returning his attention to the enemy. As if waiting for another monologue to be spoken.

"What? You got nothing to say now?"

Vortex scoffs. "You said you got plans. I'm waiting for your speech on that unless you want to tell the sad sob story of what I did to you."

Mismatch grins while waving a servo to the others to bring Blaze to a chair with no back piece. "I don't need to explain as it'll be self-explanatory. You'll get a front-row seat for it."

The teal copter feels like purging. None of this sits right with him, and it takes everything in him to not show it, or even look at Blaze to tell him everything will be okay.

Because he knows he'd be lying.

Some luck seems to have turned up in their favour for once. Arguing like this almost never fails, given only very few mechs know Blaze. To them, he is a regular, a nobody, unlike Vortex with his very notorious Decepticon past and present.

However, it does have its fatal flaws.

Mismatch listens and for a brief moment he stares at the floor to digest the new information. No doubts he is consulting it with his other companions through private chats. His face remains unchanging as the guards wait by Blaze's sides.

"Ah," Mismatch finally breaks the tense silence, "I see how it is. Hold him steady." He commands the mechs keep their hold on Blaze steady. It is a shame. Had it not been for their past mishaps, Blaze would have been long free. But Mismatch, just like his crew, knows better than to play it risky. Last time was plain and simple disaster. Mismatch would hate to repeat the same mistake again.

Again, what a shame, to have his own servos coated in the blood of innocent. Suppose to say, he can at the very least offer Vortex's to-be victims a swifter, merciful end.

In the end, it's still business.

A revolver is unholstered from his hip and he places a single bullet in its ammo holder. "My genuine apologies. No witnesses. That's the rules."

He dismisses the informant who's trying to interject.

How long has it been since Blaze stared death in the eye? Not too long ago, too soon, too soon— It's squeezing, tightening, it's firing— Too soon. Too soon, Vortex.

No time left.

...

But that moment never comes.

The digits remains relaxed over the trigger. Blaze finally peels his optics off the barrel, down the length of Mismatch's arm and to the mech's optics. His attention is solely focused on Vortex.

"How important is this mech to you?" Mismatch asks absent-mindedly.

The room feels frigid.

Blaze wants to do something. Anything.

He has to.

...

He can't.

But he has to—

BANG.

...

...

...

The bullet bounces off the wall and rolls not too far away from Blaze.

It has missed him by mere inches.

Mismatch can barely hide his wry smile.

"I see how it is." He declares, the words now carrying a different weight. "Take him to the other room." A shadows casts over Mismatch as he looms over Vortex.

"I have plans for both of you."

[theinnerunderrain]

Inhumane [Yan!Young.Dottore x Fem!Reader]

Art credit: @SaivurPeshu

Inhumane - without compassion for misery or suffering; cruel.

Warnings: Yandere themes, abuse, dehumanization.

Note: I did get inspiration from a manga I read recently called 'Ogeha', so there are similarities.

+

"What a strange creature."

Zandik whispered, staring down at a creature that laid on the ground with both of its arms crossed to one-side. The creature resembled a female human in some ways, but he could see there were minor distinctions that distinguished it apart from the typical human. With a thick wooden stick he had discovered on the ground, the blue-haired boy prodded at the human-like creature, the tip of the stick roughly brushing against the flesh of the creature's face.

Your body shuddered as the sharp stick pierced your skin; your vision was blurry, and you could hardly make out the silhouette of the person towering above you.

"You're still alive! Just a little filthy, but I suppose it's nothing to worry about."

When the man above you noticed your twitches as an indication of life, he exclaimed in a somewhat eager tone and threw the wooden stick to the side. In response, you merely mumbled, your throat throbbing, your words coming out as incoherent and slurred.

"You seem interesting; it shouldn't be difficult to bring you home."

You let out a low gasp as you felt Zandik's rough hand grab hold of your ankle; his nails dug so deeply into your flesh that it pained and most certainly would leave a scar. You weren't sure which hurt worse—the stones on your back or the man's fingernails digging into your flesh.

It was clear that whoever this man was, lacked any empathy.

A little more alert, you attempted to wriggle away from the man's hold, but your movements were awkward and sloppy. Even though you were flailing around and he didn't even turn to look at you, he probably didn't even notice your struggle because you weren't exactly doing much.

"Why are you struggling so much? Considering that I'm not even the most athletic, your efforts are very feeble."

He finally inquired, but he didn't bother stopping or turn to glance at you; he just continued walking. His hold on your ankle became somewhat tighter, prompting you to let out a choking sob as your hands went up to seize his, but all you managed to do was fall backward onto your back.

"See? Absolutely useless. Perhaps I wouldn't need to use more force if you weren't resisting."

Upon being woken up, you acknowledge that you have no prior recollections. But you were aware that the man standing in front of you was a threat, possibly even a liar; his actions may have been abrasive from the start given that he had poked you with a sharp stick like some strange creature, instead of helping you like the average person.

You open your mouth, in an attempt to speak once again, yet before you could speak. You felt your head hitting against something hard, way harder than a tiny pebble. Another shriek against your lips as you realise that he was dragging you down a flight of stairs, the starry night becoming somewhat nonexistent and you could make out more of the man's back.

A thick coat of blue hair with curled ends covered the back of his head and stopped just behind his ear. He appeared to have rather pale skin, a young man-like build, and was dressed in a uniform, suggesting that he was probably a student from the academia. While it was impossible to determine what kind of expression he was wearing, you couldn't help but wonder if he was grinning while carrying out such a cruel deed or if his face was impassive and icy as he treated your body like a corpse.

As he descended a particularly big stairway step, your thoughts abruptly came to an end. This time, your head struck the step roughly enough to cause you to lose your breath. The back of your skull began to ache excruciatingly, and you once more experienced nausea as a loud ring pierced your ear.

"Oh, I should have exercised more caution."

The man murmured, ultimately stopping when he saw the agonised look on your face and the fact that you were barely keeping your eyes open and clinging to the last vestige of consciousness. Even when he turned to face you, you were only able to make out the colour of his red eyes because the rest of his face was obscured by the fuzz with your eyesight. In addition, despite having a slight smile on his lips, he had somewhat dead eyes, as if he had lost all sense of humanity.

"Just go to sleep."

He chuckled, stooping until his face was a few inches above you, and patted the side of your cheeks with his palm as if making fun of a parent soothing their child to sleep. It seems to work, and your tiredness becomes worse and your eyes are almost completely shut.

"You'll be in a much better place when you wake up."

The world fell into a dark abyss.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 12

Click here if you are a first time reader.

Summary / TWs: Steve Rogers does not pass the vibe check yet again, le sad face. Loki is a good bro. Bruce fluff but what else is new? Literally everyone is a good bro, yo. Reader has best people. Tony's in there, kind of. Parents still suck.

For taglist: please send an ask if you changed your @! I noticed several people are unavailable :(

As always, my baby gay @miscmarvelwritings is the bestest beta!

"I think I am going to murder your father." Bucky's angry statement didn't surprise me. Neither did Steve's initial reaction, or anybody else's mostly pitying looks.

Bruce, my Bwucie, was calm and dejected. That worried me. I expected him to be at least a little bit green around the edges when Steve forcefully sat me down and made me explain the drunken, drugged stunt I'd done the night before, but alas, it seemed like Jolly Green was just sad. Or disappointed. And I didn't know which was worse.

The more I thought about it, the more defensive and abrasive I became. "And you'll kill yourself trying, he'll drive you fucking nuts" I responded to Barnes. "Honestly, I don't fucking see the problem here. My dad shows up five times a year at best. It's been like that forever. And it's not like I'm some kind of junkie," I defended myself, and my dad, because I really didn't see the huge deal about it. Relaxing once in a while doesn’t hurt anyone.

"It's not right!" Steve exclaimed, loosely banging a fist on the table. The self-righteous prick, seemed like he wanted to pick a fight just for the sake of it.

"And who are you, exactly, to say that? The moral police?" I blew up, standing and turning to the blonde man, hands on my hips. "Or you've decided to be my parent without asking me first? Keep your hopes up and maybe a fuck will magically appear, so I could give it to you."

He stood up in turn, getting uncomfortably close to my face. I was suddenly reminded of the fact that he was a very large, very strong man. "We want what's best for you! Can't you see it?" Rogers was getting red in the face, crossed arms, staring at me down like I was dirt under his shoes.

"How about..." I seethed, having to stop mid-sentence to swallow the scream that wanted to erupt. "How about... You FUCKING ask me what I want?"

"I suggest the Captain leave to go calm down," Loki suddenly piped up. He stayed silent throughout the whole conversation, picking at his food instead. Only after his sharply uttered words I noticed he had stood up. His hand hovered over my shoulder, body discreetly wedging between me and the Captain.

I heard Steve growl before he stormed off, throwing an annoyed look at Loki. A pregnant silence hung in the room. The longer it lasted, the more I wanted to crawl out of my skin, suddenly hyper aware of all these people - strangers, save a few - debating on what to do with me. Like I wasn't a person. Like...

"Ugh, fucking hell," I growled, beelining for my bag. I had definitely overstayed my welcome.

"Where are you going?" Bruce asked, standing up to follow.

"Home," I replied curtly, nodding my thanks to Loki for the intervention. He nodded back, walking off. I would have probably started swinging at the Icicle Dick if not for the raven haired Asgardian's timely interruption.

"I'll drive you," Banner trotted after me like a dejected puppy. I didn't have the mental capacity to deal with this, at all.

"I need to see Tony first. Meet you downstairs?"

Bruce nodded, looking even more confused.

Tony kissed me hungrily, in between promises to kill Steve and cancel my dad and get me my own apartment in the tower. Believing in fairy tales wasn't something I was ever prone to; I smiled, nodded along and did my best to shut him up with my own mouth on his. I left with the promise to text him as soon as I got home.

"How are you?" Bruce asked me as we once again drove through the busy city. This was becoming a nice habit but we really had to meet up when I wasn't going through another one of my turmoils.

"All things considered, I am great. Better than I've been in a while." I answered honestly, meaning it. However brief Tony's attention would be, it still satisfied me. Then and there I decided to always, always cherish what happened during my brief stint in his arms.

"Really?" Banner's warm smile was an unexpected but pleasant surprise. "Care to share?"

It threw me for a loop. I didn't know how much Tony wanted to disclose regarding what happened between us. I didn't know the extent of his friendship with Bruce. I didn't know...

"Tony," I choose the usual option. Admit what you can't deny, deny what you can't admit.

"I know the feeling," The good doctor chuckled, companionable-like and meaningful. "He tends to go all the way for the people he cares about. Too much, if you ask me."

"What do you mean?" I was confused. Sure, me and Tony were friends. But not, like, super close or anything. We'd fucked, or more like messed around, so I expected our friendship to grow colder. That's what happened when friends decided to bump uglies.

"I mean... He'll move mountains and challenge the government and bully them into dropping charges against you," There was a hint of sadness in Brucie's voice. I vaguely recalled seeing something on the news, something about the Hulk and a massive destruction spree. It didn't take long to put two and two together.

I reached out, putting a hand on his knee. He covered my palm with his own, giving it a brief, warm squeeze.

"It must be great having a friend like that. You're both wonderful and brilliant. You deserve no less," The smile threatened to split my face in two.

Bruce returned the smile but the sadness didn't go away. "You realize that extends to you, right?"

"Me? I'm just me, Bruce." I wasn't sure where this was going. "I'm Peter's classmate and the resident hot mess express."

Bruce frowned, deep and long, up until he parked. Life seemed to be taking back all the happiness it gave me previously-in fucking buckets. The strap of my bag was going to get its threads pulled out with the way I was fiddling with it.

"Baby… Princess?" The scientist turned to me, tone torn somewhere between stern and pleading. "Listen to me. You are brilliant. Incredibly smart, talented and beautiful. Don't ever, ever think of yourself as less than any of us." I gaped at him.

Did he mean us as the Avengers? Us as Tony and Bruce? Meanwhile he continued, "In fact, I think you are the one who deserves so much better. I don't know what Tony found in me… Or what you found in me."

Was the man an idiot or yes? That was the question of the day. Cursing Tony's affinity for small cars (bless me and my own SUV), I only hesitated a moment before grabbing the dumb Banner by his face and startling him into looking straight in my eye. "If you don't quit talking all that fake-ass bullshit, I will kiss you. On the mouth. With tongue."

"Uh," Was his articulate response. I watched him squirm, blush and lose the heat to his argument.

"Exactly. I've had it all with you idiots today. Next time someone says some stupid ass fucking thing, I will kiss them. On the mouth, with tongue. Pass it on," I exhaled, releasing his face and dropping my head onto his shoulder.

"Some way of solving conflict you have," Banner chuckled weakly, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "I'd like to see Steve's reaction."

"A boner, probably, because he needs to get laid before he spontaneously combusts," I grumbled venomously, still bitter about his reaction. The Capsicle needed to chill. Hehe.

"I'll pass it on too," Bruce remarked wryly. "See you next week?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Bwucie, you're the fucking best," I kissed the scientist on the cheek, giving him a tighter than usual parting hug and walking up the pathway. Home.

Mother was nowhere to be seen - and the obvious reason for that laid on the kitchen floor. Couple of smashed dishes, a bottle of whiskey laying half-empty in a puddle on the grey tiles. The living room rug bore more stains and the smell of alcohol, bitter and acrid (like my soul, hardy har), hung heavily throughout the whole house.

At least I wasn't the only one who fought for myself that day. Mother probably had landed a good one on dad, too, by God the woman could be ruthless with her icy words. Dad never stood a chance. I've felt begrudgingly respectful of the way mother put people in their place with her words ever since I understood sarcasm.

First things first, I cleaned up the mess and opened the windows a smidge, cranking the air recuperation system to the max. Hanging around a place that smelled like a bum on a good Friday night was a horrible way to spend free time. Having successfully cut myself and bandaged the cuts up, I retreated to my room, not wanting to spend more time than necessary in the quiet, stinky, creepy house that my home had become.

My phone was long dead so I plugged it in, waiting for the 2% to appear, turning it on. A few messages from Peter, first cheerful, then worried and then relieved. Tony must've placated the spider child and told him I was staying at the tower. Good call, Tones, or else poor Peter would've worked himself into an anxiety attack and crashed in a dumpster while patrolling. Or something. I still didn't quite get his spider-hero side-gig.

A text from Bruce - rather, a photo, of a disgruntled Steve with his eyebrows raised, titled "I told him the next time he freaks out, you will kiss him. With tongue. Barnes cackled for about ten minutes until he ran out of air."

And a text from Tony. My chest tightened when I opened it. "Good tactics. Sneaky, clever, I'd give it a B+."

I snorted. Then the phone beeped again and I froze. A text ordering me to be ready tomorrow, for a date night? Unreal. I was torn. A part of me was elated, thinking Tony wanted to keep me around like that. The other, more sensible part, was firmly telling me to chill TF down. He'll most likely kindly reject any further intimate interactions, maybe have me sign a few NDAs.

I still answered positive, mushy and cute and all. Feelings aside, I wasn't about to change my texting style for any man. My God, I was turning into a monster. A horribly cheesy, pink, soft, fluffy monster.

The next day, school was nearly unbearable. People talked. Not to my face, of course, since the rumours of me putting away Flash Thompson were still fresh enough for everyone to be cautious around me, but the whispers followed me throughout hallways, tongue in cheek remarks thrown at me from the bathroom stalls, behind the teacher's desks. Did I care? Nope.

Okay, I did, but not in the way one would think. The little spring in my step, a slight smirk. My thoughts were occupied with my upcoming dinner with Tony.

Peter and his pet nerds stood at my side, the ever watchful guards. I had no idea why they decided I needed reassurance or their comfort (I did not), but I had to admit it was cute. MJ, in particular, glared her Death Ray Stare at any male-identifying student that dared to as much as look wrongly in my direction. I mostly ignored the trio. Pete himself did a great job with entertaining his friends, he babbled on as usual, about everything and nothing in particular. Mouth ulcers. He was going to get them one day.

Dad called me during third period, saying he was flying off to California. I would have been lying if I said I didn't know why he scheduled the sudden trip; mother's total radio silence and the absence of her laptop in her own office spoke volumes about the state of my family's affairs. They had a fight and ran off to the opposite ends of the continent. I didn't understand why mother was upset with me, though. I saved her face during dinner at Tony's, so why is she mad about me going to a party with dad? Baffling woman.

Admitting the house felt like home when either of them were absent was hard. Or, perhaps, I felt nothing at all. Spending so much time around the Brady Bunch- the Avengers made me too soft for my own liking. It wasn't just Tony that lived in mind rent-free all the time now; there was Bruce, with his kindness, Bucky with his overgrown teenager attitude, Wanda with her wit and hair that smelled like cheap shampoo - seriously, I absolutely had to show her the benefits of decent hair products. That was just to list the few little quirks. There were so many people, all of them different and wonderful in their own way.

To summarize it, I was both happy for them and bitter for not having any of that to myself. Although it made me kind of glad I didn't have a sibling - looking after someone in the mess that mother and dad created would've been a nightmare. They say it's always a better place where we are not.

I went through a whole pack of cigarettes in a span of a couple of hours. Plagued by strangely melancholic thoughts, trying to push down the anxiety over my upcoming date, my choice of outfit proved to be a cumbersome task while in process.

Expensive but simple dress with spaghetti straps, in my favourite colour. That was the easiest part. A good base for any accessories. Would Tony like it? Would the press make outrageous comments?

Either way, it would. Dad's comments cut deeper than I probably realized it until now; in a sudden bout of self-awareness and a couple of mouse clicks later... Tony wouldn't care. Tony wears suits with sneakers. The Manolos flew back, towards my shoe closet, and a pair of Chanel trainers made their debut. A Hermes 2002 barely weighed down by my wallet, keys and phone. A nice coat, too, appropriately light and so very conceptual and fashionable.

I spent way too much time deciding on what to wear. A stern talking to, however, didn't help me, and I had to redo my make-up - the "nude", "all natural" look was one of the hardest to nail. Or so Marie Claire said. Whatever, my highlighter game was, as usual, on point.

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