#but definitely left them hurt or incapacitated

[nelkcats]

Nature is watching you

It had been days since the Justice League had begun fighting the most powerful entities they had ever seen. Days since the earth itself had been against them.

It all began when the weather changed from one second to the next: Heavy storms in Metropolis, hail in Gotham, blizzards in Central City. Then carnivorous plants grew at every point on earth (and it wasn't Poison Ivy, they checked), by which point it was obvious that a larger force was to blame.

John Constantine identified them as "Vortex" and "Undergrowth", though he couldn't quite explain what they were, however he warned them not to confront them, letting them get bored would be the safest thing to do (the man looked uncharacteristically pale as he commented the last part). The League did not listen to him, worried about civilian casualties and confronted both beings anyway, they had fought Gods, surely it wouldn't be different.

It became clear that they made the wrong decision when they noticed most of their members were incapacitated or injured after a couple of days, and the beings had not been harmed in the least. Vortex laughed as Undergrowth looked at them, disgusted.

Their last confrontation was in Gotham so it was no surprise that Nightwing and Red Hood continued to evacuate civilians to a safer location. Jason noticed the moment when one of the civilians ran the other way decisively, the vigilante sighed as he indicated Nightwing that he would go after him. His brother nodded before Red Hood chased after the stupidly brave black-haired, blue-eyed boy, damn, he hoped Bruce didn't see him.

Unfortunately, he was just in time to see him run over to where the League was and stand in front of the two enemies, it was obvious the heroes were trying to push him away but they were either too hurt to move or didn't notice. Jason was about to yell at him to get out of the way when the boy spoke.

"STOP!"

The boy was clearly frustrated, and his face wore an annoyed expression. Jason noted the moment when the rest of the heroes noticed the boy standing in the middle of the battlefield. Supes had a devastated expression on his face.

Jason ran to the boy (who was strangely fast), he didn't know who he was but he would hate to see him die. He wondered if it was too late when both beings noticed him. They seemed strangely frightened? Jason guessed it was a trick of their eyes.

The battlefield was suddenly silent. It seemed like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

"I told you to stop" the black haired boy spoke again, his voice echoed in the silence, annoyance could still be heard in his tone. It was obvious he wasn't afraid. Without the heroes noticing, the plants and clouds stopped moving.

Quickly coming to his senses and noticing something, Superman shouted a warning as he looked at the hand of one of the beings pointing at the frail boy in front of him. He looked at Red Hood, who was running towards the scene but wouldn't make it in time, before looking at his own body, too damaged to move.

Contrary to what everyone expected, both beings lowered their heads, clasping their hands nervously, as if they weren't sure if they should kneel.

At the end, they lowered their heads in front of the boy in submission, looking defeated and strangely embarrassed.

"Sorry, my King" both said.

Danny snorted as he folded his arms. Jason, who had made his way over to where the halfa stood, looked at the three confused, what the fuck?

[anyasathenaeum]

Hi ! Can i request reaction vash & wolfwood ? Since y/n was a medic in the team they thought y/n weak but one day she beat up all bad guy alone it shock all the team.

Ps : I so many a idea but i can't make story or headcanon

Thank you for reading this 🥺✨

A/N: My own trisona is a medic so I LOVE THIS REQUEST. I absolutely can do this! I think this deserves to be a mini-blurb rather than headcanons. Enjoy!

Vash the Stampede

"Aw, man! Not again!"

You heard Vash exclaim from near you as you hid behind one of the many houses in the town, narrowly avoiding bullets as they ricocheted off the bricks near you. Just your and Vash's luck - a bunch of bandits had rolled into the town just as you and your team were trying to leave, and now, you were all trapped. You shared some concerned looks with Vash and Meryl, but Wolfwood, of course, was as cool and calm as ever. You tried to take a deep breath and calm yourself - you knew that if it came down to it, you'd fight.

You didn't often have to fight as the medic on the team. Your primary role was patching up the others and occasionally patching up people in the towns you guys passed through to make some extra money. So, as a result, your other team members protected you and treated you like you would be unable to handle yourself if it came down to you needing to fight another person.

However, what they didn't know was that you actually had more experience fighting than you let on. You knew them protecting you came from a good place and a desire to protect you, especially Vash. The way he would wrap his arms around your waist and tug you into cover, his eyes constantly scanning you from head to toe ensuring you weren't hurt, his gaze constantly returning to where you were even in the middle of a fight, you knew he only wanted you safe. It made your heart flutter in your chest and heat rise to your face, and you didn't feel the need to divulge that you could actually fight.

All that was about to be thrown out the window, though, as a homemade grenade was thrown by one of the bandits and landed near your group.

"Grenade!" You screamed at the top of your lungs, causing everybody to jump and scramble in any direction they could to get away from the explosive. Unfortunately, that caused you all to split up and you were each now exposed and alone.

And sure enough, a bunch of bandits surrounded you, eager to take a hostage they could use against the town to get whatever they were after.

"Well, well, well! Lookie here, a healer! You guys are rare, might have to keep a hold on you!" One of the bandits exclaimed, almost gleefully. You felt your stomach drop to your feet - there was definitely no way out of this without a fight.

In a matter of seconds, you'd glanced and tallied how many bandits surrounded you and what your surroundings were. Four bandits were standing around you, and there was plenty of rubble and chunks of blown up building around you. Perfect.

Before the bandits could even process what was happening, you swiftly incapacitated two of the four bandits, knocking them out with quick, hard hits and dropping them to the ground. You then went after the third, swinging your bag and using it as a weapon and you heard a loud "clang!" as the metal in your bag made contact with the third bandit's head, causing them to also drop to the ground, knocked out cold. The last bandit, who seemed to have some kind of sense left in them, turned and began to high tail it out of there, but you quickly threw a decently big piece of broken building and nailed the bandit in the back, causing them to fall, too. Within a matter of maybe a minute, you'd taken out the whole group of bandits who'd surrounded you.

As you brushed your sleeves off and picked your bag back up, you were startled by a voice from behind you.

"Woah... (Y/N)... I never knew you could fight like that!"

You turned to see Meryl, Vash and Wolfwood all standing there, their expressions varying from amazement to surprise to just pure awe. You recognized that it was Meryl who had spoken. As you looked back at them, you just smiled sheepishly.

"Haha... yeah. I've actually been in a fair amount of fights before. You guys just... protect me a lot. Which I don't mind, but I want to be able to protect you guys, too."

You found your gaze resting on Vash as you spoke, and you swore you saw a hint of pink creeping into the man's cheeks and the tips of his ears as he looked back at you, a soft smile appearing on his face at your words. To say Vash was impressed by you at this moment was an understatement - he found you absolutely incredible. How was he lucky enough to have somebody like you as a friend?

'And maybe... eventually, as more than a friend, hopefully...' Vash thought to himself, his blush darkening.

Nicholas D. Wolfwood

You barely had time to register the sight of the police pulling out their guns before you were yanked down hard, just in time for bullets to whizz over the top of your head, striking the wall behind where your head had just been.

"Seriously, sweetheart, have you got a death wish or somethin'?"

You heard Wolfwood's gruff voice snapping at you, and you knew that he had been the one to pull you down and out of the way of gunfire. You glanced up at Wolfwood and watched his face, watching as his brows furrowed as he evaluated the situation. You could see him trying to figure a way out of this mess, but he must've come to the conclusion that the only way out was to go out guns blazing as he was beginning to take the cover off his cross.

"Stop, Wolfwood, wait!" You hissed, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him hard to get him to look at you.

Wolfwood just shot you a disapproving look, a smirk appearing on his face and a sarcastic tone creeping into his voice, "What, sweetheart? You planning to be my human shield or something? You're just a medic, this isn't your fight so stay down."

Something about the way he said that push your buttons harder than anything he'd said previously, and you felt your anger flare up within you. How dare he assume you were incapable to take care of yourself, and just because you had chosen to develop skills to heal others instead of harm them.

Before you had a moment to contemplate what you were doing, you found yourself pulling out a small gun you kept on you, cocking back the hammer and standing up quickly, just enough so that your were just barely peaking over the little alcove where you and Wolfwood had been hiding.

You quickly set your sights on the police who had been firing at the two of you, and in a matter of a couple of seconds, you fired a series of shots so accurate that your bullets knocked the police officers' weapons straight out of their hands without harming them or even drawing blood.

"Leave!" You screamed at the police officers, reloading your gun and targeting them, "Leave now or I'll aim to kill!"

The police officers didn't have to think twice about that, sprinting away from the scene, leaving their weapons behind as they ran off, likely going to get reinforcements before returning. However, thankfully, you had bought yourself and Wolfwood time to escape now.

Reholstering your gun, you turned to Wolfwood only to see him watching you with an absolutely stunned expression.

"What?" You snapped at him, "You got something to say, Undertaker? Or you gonna sit there looking like a dumb statue until they come to arrest you?"

With that, you turned and began to sprint off, leaving Wolfwood to catch up with you. After a couple moments, Wolfwood came to his senses and grabbed his cross before running after you, a smile on his lips.

"Damn, (Y/N)," He chuckled under his breath as he ran, "You're just full of surprises, aren't you, sweetheart?"

Safe to say, Wolfwood would ensure to never underestimate you ever again and was happy that you were on his side.

[mychlapci]

Please, the “I didn’t know I was pregnant”, Dratchlock style, “everyone is dumb, ESPECIALLY RATCHET” edition:

So, I had this idea/dream where Dratchet was a thing right after Drift was rescued, up to the Deadlock stage (then, they lose sight of each others until MTMTE).

Ratcher get sparked back in Rodion, he tries to tell Drift but he just became Deadlock… somehow some senators finds out about Ratchet’s state and they terminate it because “medics can’t have sparklings..” (something about losing focus on the care of their patients, especially if they are self centered, pompous pricks).

Ratchet is crushed but theres no time in war to mourn.

He and Deadlock keep bunching into each others, Deadlock notices how Ratchet’s act around sparkling or younger bots… one day he asks if Ratchet had ever had sparklings (cause he remembers a long list of messages, all saying “I’ve something important to tell you!!!).

Ratchet answers, dead serious: Medics can’t have sparklings.

Somehow, Deadlock understands.

Skipping forward, to the very epilogue of LL, Ratchet and Drift are fragging freely, they’re both old as balls, and sadly, can’t get sparked.

At some point, Ratchet gets a little too frisky even for Drift, but they don’t really worry about it. Rodimus join, and everything seems fine.

After some time (cause off course, their pregnancies last fucking years), after a very intense coupling with the ambulance in the middle, Ratchet feels strange, his abdomen start cramping and his pussy hurts… they all think it related to the intense fucking, but after some time, pacing, confusion and panic from Rodimus and Drift, Ratchet pops out first one, then another sparklings… the sparklings are small (still way bigger than whatever Ratchet has been putting up his valve), and Ratchet’s platings never bowed out, and his last reframe was already rounder and softer…

They’re all very confused, especially First Aid, who can’t believe how little maintenance Ratchet does on himself.

ooOOoh that's what i'm talking about baby. Ratchet is perfect for this... He's old and he believes the abortion he had to have back at the start of the war might have straight up sterilized him (the autobots couldn't have had their best medic incapacitated by carrying, after all, so it would make sense they'd take the ability from him in the first place...) so he wouldn't worry about leading a carefree sex life with Drift. Besides, Drift has it in his charts that his transfluid is weak. Rodimus, though? Oh, Ratchet definitely didn't take Rodimus into account.

mhmmm I can imagine them all exhausted after some really intense, messy interfacing and Ratchet is panting more than normal... He feels odd cramps down in his abdomen, valve gushing. He noticed that he'd been much wetter today than normal but maybe he just begrudgingly admitted to his speedsters that he's missed them during his shift and didn't think much of it. Drift sees him wince but Ratchet just brushes him off, tells him they just might have gotten a little too rough with it, even if they all know that that's not true. They didn't do anything out of the ordinary...

After a while the pain just gets unbearable. Roddy and Drift want to call First Aid but Ratchet insists he's fine. Maybe he even tries to get up to prove it but he ends up doubling over himself, and then the first sparkling slides out of him with a single strong push, accompanied by a puddle of birthing fluids. Drift and Rodimus are speechless. Ratchet just pushes again and its twin falls out of him in quick succession... the pain finally stops and he's left staring between his legs, at the freshly birthed babies, wondering. What the fuck.

First Aid probably bursts into the room shortly after – either Drift or Rodimus or both have called him in secret because Ratchet really didn't look fine. He sees the birthing fluids covering the floor and the bed and the two sparklings held shakily in Ratchet's hands and he just sighs. Doctors make the worst fucking patients, man. How could he have not known he was pregnant? He's lucky the sparklings came out relatively healthy because at his age, having a complication-less carriage was a one in a million chance.

[oliversrarebooks]

fuck you, I'm a goddamn menace: the truth is...

Prev > Masterlist

This came about as a result of the Choose Your Own Whump poll! The winners were:

secret underground facility

whumpee who is traumatized and hiding it badly

creepily intimate whumper

the corruption was infecting their thoughts, turning them against their allies

tw: restraints, beatings, physical and emotional abuse, drugging, needles, poison, truth serum, mind control

One year after the city's second-most notorious villain, the technomancer Morgan, was taken in by the hero team for medical treatment...

Morgan cracked his eyes open and immediately had to shut them again, blinded by obnoxiously bright lights.

He was woozy, barely awake, and his entire body hurt -- especially his right hand, which was throbbing with pain. It almost felt like some of his fingers had been broken, but he knew from experience that that would hurt far worse than this, unless...

The dreamlike haze slowing down his mind confirmed it. He was on some pretty strong painkillers. It was the sort of thing that would have sent him into a blind panic before, terrified of being incapacitated, but lately he'd been getting used to it. When he'd worked for Salcedo, the city's nastiest supervillain, he never received any form of painkillers, his boss far preferring to use his painful, torturous healing ability to re-injure Morgan and heal him back wrong again and again. A punishment for meeting his defeat at the hands of heroes, or looking at Salcedo wrong, or anything else the boss dreamed up.

That had all changed since he'd officially switched sides. No matter how badly he screwed up, no matter how much he irritated the shit out of the heroes, they always provided him with proper medical care, complete with ample medication. The feel of a hospital bed underneath him confirmed it: he must be in the heroes' infirmary, and that meant he could actually relax. 

He'd have to deal with Arthur, the team leader, and his unwanted concern and pity later, of course. That was absolutely a thorn in his side. He was definitely not looking forward to it.

Morgan shifted slightly, his wrists sore, and realized that he couldn't. He was restrained? And not with soft, comfortable restraints either, but hard metal ones. 

That couldn't be right. The hero team hadn't seen fit to restrain him in almost a year. He'd somehow managed to establish trust with them -- an uneasy, fragile trust, but trust nonetheless -- and he couldn't remember what he'd done to break that trust. The last thing he remembered was fighting his former boss at the city power plant, Arthur shouting his name... and then it all got blurry. He'd been injured, somehow, and he had a vague memory of collapsing into a dirty puddle with the sounds of the fight still raging around him.

He'd been fighting alongside the hero team, on a mission with them, taking out Salcedo's communications equipment and drones left and right. Why would they restrain him now, when he'd been helping them? He used his technomancy to feel out any nearby machines, and found it unresponsive. They'd used power suppressors, too.

The realization forced his eyelids to fly open, and as he adjusted to the painful light, an all-too-familiar ceiling swam into view. Harsh, bare, buzzing fluorescent lighting flickered too close to his face.

He wasn't in the heroes' infirmary at all. He wasn't even in a civilian hospital or a jail infirmary or a psychiatric ward. No, he was in Salcedo's lair, drugged and restrained. The first time he'd been captured since he'd betrayed his boss and started fighting by Arthur's side to stop his plans.

Oh, fuck.

The surge of adrenaline cleared his mind enough to think. Salcedo was going to torture him, that much was certain. Salcedo punished Morgan with beatings, starvation, and torture even for small mistakes -- one of the primary reasons Morgan had finally defected -- so he didn't even want to think about what his punishment for open betrayal would be. The fact that he was still alive at all could only mean that Salcedo was plotting something truly nasty.

Why was he drugged, though? The restraints and power suppressants had him entirely at Salcedo's mercy, and drugs were never a technique he had favored, since he didn't want Morgan's mind dulled to the pain and stress. Since he was already physically restrained, the only answer Morgan could come up with was that the drugs were necessary to compromise his mind. And that wasn't a comforting thought in the slightest.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He would be rescued, wouldn't he? The hero team would definitely notice he was missing. They'd figure out what happened to him. He'd have to deal with Arthur's smug fucking face over rescuing his stupid ass again, but even that embarrassment was a vast improvement over whatever Salcedo had planned. There was no way Arthur would pass up the opportunity to preen and gloat over his heroism. He'd definitely go out of his way to rescue Morgan for that reason alone.

Unless he didn't.

Unless the hero team decided a half-reformed villain barely in control of his own powers wasn't worth it. Unless they were only putting up with him because it stopped him from being a nuisance. Unless they thought back on the things he'd done as a villain and decided he deserved whatever Salcedo had cooked up for him.

God fucking damn it.

He hated them sometimes. Hated their easy laughter and their camaraderie. Hated the way they awkwardly tried to include him in the group like a weird kid at recess. Hated Arthur's flawless smile, and his sickening dedication to doing the right thing, and how quick he was with a reassuring word, and how he worked so hard he had to practically be forced to rest --

Yeah, he hated them all, and they probably hated him too, and they'd be glad if Salcedo lobotomized him. He never should have defected in the first place. 

Morgan heard footsteps approaching the door, and shut his eyes again just as it opened. The sound of Salcedo's heavy combat boots approaching him was enough to send panic spiking through his heart, but he tried not to show it on his face, stubbornly pretending to be out still.

"I know you're awake, Morgan," said his former boss's deceptively smooth voice. "Don't embarrass yourself."

Morgan didn't twitch a muscle.

"You're a smart man. Or at least, I thought you were before you went and pulled this little stunt. The point is that you know very well where you stand right now."

So do whatever torture you came here to do and spare me your self-important monologuing, he thought. I'd rather have my fingernails pulled out than listen to you.

"You betrayed me, Morgan."

Here it comes.

"I gave everything to you. An unhappy teenager from an unhappy home, like so many others, but you were different from them, weren't you? You had potential. You had brains. And most of all, you had that wonderful little gift of a power. And I gave you everything. I trained you, I funded your lab and your inventions, I gave you food and a roof over your head. I forgave you for all of your many mistakes with only... sensible punishments." 

Morgan tried not to flinch as Salcedo got even closer.

"And yet, you betrayed me."

Morgan tensed for Salcedo's fist a moment before it connected with his cheek, pain blossoming from his shattered cheekbone. The pain was chased by a warm stinging feeling, Salcedo's healing power, before he was cracked across the face again. Breaking faces only to heal them and break them again was one of Salcedo's signature moves, and Morgan could almost tune out the familiar beating, especially since the painkillers dampened the sensation. His ears were ringing, and he knew he'd be severely concussed with his face swollen beyond recognition if it weren't for Salcedo healing him after each punch, allowing him to prolong the beating as long as he liked.

It was only when Salcedo slowed down and gave Morgan's mind enough time to recover from the assault that he finally decided to crack his eyes open. "Is that all?" he said, knowing that his fate was sealed whether or not he provoked the supervillain.

"That was just your punishment for the time you broke into headquarters and damaged some of my henchmen and equipment," he said. "Your punishment for betrayal hasn't even started yet."

"Hm, let me guess what it will be. Is it punching me in the face? Or maybe you want to mix it up a bit and punch me in the kidneys. Or get spicy and kick me in the --"

With no change in expression, Salcedo grabbed Morgan's injured hand and twisted, the bones audibly cracking. Morgan couldn't retain his straight face, and a sad little whimper escaped from his lips.

"Now that I have your undivided attention, allow me to explain exactly what is going to happen to you. Anticipation is half the fun, you know," he said, the sickening green light from his fingertips mending Morgan's bones back into place, a process almost as painful as the initial injury. He pulled a capped syringe full of a clear liquid from his pocket.

"If you're banking on me being scared of needles..." Morgan bluffed while internally screaming. He'd rather have the beating. At least those were predictable.

"Of course not. I'm banking on you being scared of what Marcy in the chemistry department has been cooking up since you've been gone." He tapped the side of the syringe. "It's not quite a mind control drug, but it's a good start -- a combination of potent truth serum that dulls your mind, and a sedative that makes you highly suggestible. The tests we've conducted on henchmen have been most amusing."

"...So what? A truth serum? You think the hero team trusts me with some secret information? They don't. And they have official protocol to change out the passcodes when anyone's captured, so you're not going to get anything useful."

"Oh, Morgan, don't worry your pretty little head. I'm not expecting you to be useful for your information. I have much better plans than that." 

Morgan's struggles were futile as Salcedo pushed the syringe into his arm and pushed the plunger. He didn't know what the fuck Salcedo thought he was going to accomplish with this and didn't want to find out, and he especially didn't want his mind put out of commission for any length of time. 

Salcedo's smug face was both infuriating and unreadable. What was his game? Morgan knew he had better figure it out before -- before --

-- before whatever was in that syringe shifted his mind out of gear. He pulled against the restraints again, shaking his head, as though it would somehow stop or slow the deep fog settling in over his mind. His eyelids grew heavy and lidded as he blinked slowly up at his wretched former boss, the intense sense of dread muffled as it became more difficult to think clearly.

"That looks to be kicking in nicely. I'm guessing you're ready to tell the truth now. Just let it all out," said Salcedo, grabbing his chin and looking into his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Morgan wanted to spit in his fucking face, but instead... "Groggy. Out of it. What the fuck is in that stuff?"

"It's a miracle drug, isn't it? That's why Marcy is a star employee and you're an also-ran. I only wish I could use this on Arthur. See what the city's shining hope really has buried deep down inside."

"There isn't anything buried," said Morgan before he can think twice. "He really is just that fucking heroic. Makes me sick. ...And jealous." He shook his head again, trying to could do anything to clear that uncomfortable fog. He had the dim feeling that he hadn't meant to say all of that, that the drug was working, but he didn't seem able to resist. The words came out before he could measure them.

"Is that so?" Salcedo chuckled. "Is that why you betrayed me?"

"No, I betrayed you because you're a fucking miserable sack of dicks who beats me for fun," said Morgan, fire cutting through the fog. "You think consequences will never apply to you, that there will never be any repercussions for treating your henchmen like shit smeared on your shoe. I can't wait until they all turn on you. I hope they kick your fucking teeth in."

"How charming," said Salcedo in a strained voice. "Now, I realize you can't help expressing your true feelings while you're high off that drug I gave you, so it would be unfair of me to punish you." 

Then he smashed his fist across Morgan's mouth, allowing Morgan to cough up a mouthful of blood before healing him.

"Listen to me, Morgan," said Salcedo, this time grabbing his face with more force and purpose. "You will listen to me, and you will absorb everything I have to say."

"No, no --" Morgan tried to pull himself free, but he'd always been physically much weaker than his boss, and the drug cocktail wasn't helping.

"You've always been a villain, haven't you? I found you and I molded you int a villain, one capable of terrorizing the city on so many occasions. Have you forgotten that?"

"No..."

"And you enjoyed yourself. You loved making your gadgets, you loved watching the civilians scream and cower. You loved the feeling of power and control. And you still love it."

"I... I do..." he said. He'd been fighting so hard to suppress all of that lately, to show the hero team he could be more than just a villain, that he could do something helpful for a change... but deep down inside, a part of him missed laughing maniacally while riding some mechanical monstrosity through the city.

The truth was, heroics was fucking hard. Civilians were unpredictable and frequently ungrateful, and with the hero team, he was no longer allowed to blow them off and make them someone else's problem. He had to work had. He had to care.

"That's right, Morgan, you miss being a villain." Salcedo's voice was like a snake tightening around its prey. "It's all you were ever good for. It's all you'll ever be good for."

That was exactly what Morgan often felt late at night, in his bunk in the heroes' headquarters, wondering what the fuck he was doing there and how long it could last. "I'm..."

"It's all you'll ever be good for," said Salcedo with more force, letting it sink into Morgan's compromised brain.

"It's all I'll ever be good for," he repeated in a dull voice, resistance crumbling. 

"You hate trying to be a hero. It's too hard. You're awful at it. You're tired, and you want to give up. You want to give in."

He really was so, so tired. "I want... I want to give up..."

"You hate working with the hero team," Salcedo hissed in his ear. "You're jealous of them, aren't you? How they're praised and fawned over while you rot in the shadows, fighting for the smallest scraps of recognition. How they don't trust you."

"I..." A memory flashed through his mind. Arthur convincing him to join in on the team's horror movie night. Julie, the youngest, screaming, while Toshiro criticized the effects. Laughing, eating popcorn, forgetting for a moment who and what he was.

He couldn't forget for long. He could see it in their eyes, in their hesitance, how fragile the trust was.

"You'll never be one of them. They'll never trust you. You're a villain, and that's all you'll ever be."

It was true, wasn't it? They would never trust him. He'd escaped Salcedo, only to spend his time scraping and clawing to get the hero team's trust. Fighting to be something he wasn't, when he knew, he knew, he'd never be good enough for them.

And this was the proof, wasn't it? They weren't coming to rescue him. No one was coming to rescue him.

"You hate them, Morgan. I know you do. You hate them more than anything."

"I... I hate..." The corrupting voice was twisting his thoughts, making it hard to think anything but what he was told.

"That's right," he coaxed. "You hate them. And you hate Arthur most of all."

Arthur. That's right, he hated Arthur. Arthur with his perfect smile. Arthur with his words of encouragement. Arthur telling Morgan that he believed in him, believed he could be something better, as though he had any right. 

Arthur, who probably knew by now that he was wrong, that Morgan was no better than any other villain, who wouldn't be lifting a finger to rescue him from the trap he'd inevitably found himself in.

"You hate Arthur," Salcedo insisted.

"I..."

It should be so easy. It was the truth: he did hate Arthur. And he hadn't been able to resist the serum up until now. Why was he choking on these words?

"You. Hate. Arthur."

"Of course I don't hate you," said Arthur, once, on a quiet, moonlit night, sitting on top of a building, guarding a museum from an impending heist. "You're a clever guy and a hard worker, and you can do the right thing when it really matters. And the villainy? I'm not saying it's okay, because it definitely wasn't, but I get where it comes from. I do. Any of us powered people could've gone down the same path."

"I don't," said Morgan under his breath.

"What was that?"

Morgan's voice caught again. He did hate Arthur. Hated how much he wished he could see Arthur's dumb fucking face as he kicked down the door. Hated how much he wanted to be in the heroes' infirmary, with Arthur checking up on him and delivering a snack or book of puzzles, instead of here.

He hated how Arthur made him want to be something more than just a villain, and how fucking hard it was, all the time.

"I don't hate Arthur," Morgan said more clearly, unable to stop it. "I want to hate him, because it'd make everything so much easier, but I don't. I can't."

Salcedo recoiled in disbelief, a look of shock and disgust on his face. "Oh, for fuck's sake. You can't be fucking serious. He hates you, you know. He's foiled your plans so many times --"

"He doesn't hate me," said Morgan with more confidence. "He said it himself, every time I asked him. And he doesn't fuck around with that kind of thing. If he says it, he means it. It's infuriating."

"Fucking hell. I suspected, but --" Salcedo grabbed Morgan by the front of his flimsy medical gown, pulling him close enough that he could feel hot breath on his face. "Are you in love with him?!"

Morgan froze.

No. Fuck no. That's what he wanted to say. No, obviously not.

But he couldn't.

His head pounded.

"I don't know."

"You. Don't. Know?" Salcedo screamed in his face.

"I don't know!" The fog in his head was so thick, making it impossible for him to think through his words. "I don't know how I feel about him -- or about anything -- or if I'm even capable of --"

Salcedo grabbed his head and slammed it against the medical bed, sending his ears ringing. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck! The one fucking thing I wanted you for, the one fucking thing you were going to be good at and you can't even do that right -- what kind of useless, idiot villain can't even hate the man who beats him into the ground once a week --" His laugh was harsh and bitter. "Oh hell, maybe you actually like that. I bet you do. Fucking little freak."

Morgan ignored the insult, trying to push aside the insinuations that he really, really didn't want to think about in this state. Salcedo had wanted him for something. There was a point to all of this apart from psychological torment. He tried to grasp that thought with his slippery mind, recognizing its importance. "What were you going to have me do?"

"Be a sleeper agent. Stoke the fires of hatred within you. Let the hero team rescue you, pretend everything was normal, and then when their guards were down, kill them all."

His chest tightened. "No -- I don't want to -- I won't!"

"Oh, it's beyond obvious you won't. I can see that now. You're not only useless, you're fucking delusional. So it's on to plan B."

"Plan B?"

"Remember these?" Salcedo held up a glass vial. Tiny, iridescent insects were flitting around inside, crawling up the glass and bumping against the lid.

Morgan surged forward in the restraints. "My babies!" he said, in the tone of someone reuniting with a long lost pet. He certainly did remember them -- his mechanical mosquitoes, one of his favorite inventions, which he'd had to leave behind during his semi-involuntary heroic turn. These small drones were easy for Morgan to control with his technological powers. They could be used for surveillance or distraction, equipped with tiny tools, or used to inject small amounts of potent drugs, incapacitating enemies and guards with sedatives or hallucinogens. On one memorable occasion, he'd laced them with the common cold, ensuring that the heroes would stay home while he raided the semiconductor factory. Good memories.

"They're my 'babies' now, I'm afraid," said Salcedo, pulling the vial further out of reach. "It took a while to override your protocols and reprogram them, but I think the effect will be worth it. You always used them for disgustingly non-lethal purposes. I've always wanted to change that."

He shrank back, not liking where this was going. 

"They're fitted with a potent and especially painful neurotoxin, but they won't sting you immediately. No, they're programmed to hide in your clothing until disturbed. When Arthur comes to save you, that's when you'll get the privilege of watching his excruciating death, knowing he died in agony trying to save you."

"No, no, there's no way. He's not even going to come save me, you know, he's --"

"Oh, you fool. He's already on his way." Salcedo shoved a gag into Morgan's mouth, clasping it firmly shut. "Don't want you warning him. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more important business." He opened the vial, and the little mosquito drones flew out and nestled in Morgan's medical gown, in the restraints, even in his hair. With his power suppressed, he was helpless to control them. He could only watch as Salcedo left the room.

Morgan screamed through the gag, accomplishing nothing but straining his throat. He had to come up with some sort of plan, but his head was swimming from stress and drugs and he couldn't hold on to any one thought long enough to formulate a strategy. 

It didn't matter. Salcedo was wrong. No one was coming to rescue him.

...He must be imagining the sounds of a fight, drawing closer...

Prev > Masterlist

@cardboardarsonist @zeiniszein @crystallizedmidnight @mistythedritten @pigeonwhumps @sowhumpshaped @sparrowsage @sunshiline-writes @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @i-eat-worlds @a-formless-entity

[semehere]

Armand wants absolute control, to the point of paranoia, which is precisely his downfall. 

We are presented with two puzzles regarding Armand’s decisions, because logically, they are unnecessary: 1/ his killing of Claudia (indirectly or directly), and 2/ his memory wiping Louis in San Francisco. Armand doesn't have to torture Daniel over Louis' faintest interest, nor does he have to eliminate Claudia and Lestat from Louis' life through the orchestration of the trial, nor is he forced to wipe Louis’ memory in San Francisco. These actions ironically had the unintended effect of causing a rift between him and Louis. Here I want to argue that Armand took drastic, unnecessary, even risky action out of paranoia and his deep need for control.

1/ The part where Armand wiped Louis' memory of the San Francisco night - let's assume that he wiped Louis' mind without his consent. (This is up for debate - the show so far leaves enough ambiguity for it to go either way.) But why? Armand already won the fight. Louis apologized to him repeatedly, renewed his vow to Armand, and rejected Lestat by begging Armand not to call Lestat. That makes Armand’s memory wipe so puzzling at first to me, since I think there would be no need for such a drastic measure. 

My best explanation is down to Armand’s personality - he doesn’t want even a slightest crack in the relationship, when what he wants is perfection. He doesn’t want Louis to remember the hurtful things they spoke to one another, and definitely doesn’t want Louis to remember that Armand’s words pushed him to go out to the sun. He doesn’t want Louis to recall all the cruel behaviors he exhibited while Louis was incapacitated in the bed - torturing Daniel, taunting Louis, calling Lestat. Armand was also extremely jealous of Louis’ slightest attention to Daniel, so that he also wiped that part where Louis begged for him to spare Daniel’s life. Those are why he wiped Louis’ memory.

2/ Another way Armand exhibits his paranoia is through the trial. The narrative shows us there is no need for him to kill Claudia to “unburden” Louis of her. Claudia was gone, off with Madeline, and had to be away from Paris out of necessity, effectively removing herself from Louis’ life. Armand, again, does not have to eliminate Claudia, especially if he doesn’t care about maintaining power in his coven and coming off as weak and ineffectual as coven maitre.

Yet Armand feels threatened by Claudia nonetheless, because she is competing for Louis’ love and attention. It definitely doesn’t help that Louis’ slit his wrist and let himself bleed out on the couch the night he turned Madeline because Claudia left him. (recalling the moment he contemplated sitting on the bench waiting for sunrise in S1) Louis can get suicidal and depressive over Claudia, but so will he if Claudia is put to death over the trial. 

The trial serves a dual purpose - to eliminate Claudia (through death) and Lestat (through betrayal) from Louis’ life. It’s killing two birds with one stone because Lestat caused Claudia’s death by showing up at all, and then testifying against them. I think there is no world in which Louis would return to Lestat, if he ever loved Claudia at all. That makes Armand’s cowardice for inaction come off as a much better alternative.

Armand’s decision is not so much out of physical, circumstantial necessity but out of a psychological, internal necessity. Armand doesn't just want control, he wants complete control, absolute annihilation of the opposition to his goals and wants, which ironically will forever prevent him from ever achieving his desires.

[fisherrprince]

“Ch’ari. What are you doing.”

The aetheric silhouette that is the Warrior of Light freezes in the middle of hobbling across the hallway. “I am… getting… a drink?” He says. 

“Oh?” Y’shtola raises an eyebrow. 

His aether flickers. The shape inches forward slowly, as if she were a dinosaur and couldn’t see him if he moved really slow. “I am… getting a very specific drink. From… Othard.”

“Are you now.” 

“…You are getting me a very specific drink from Othard?” Ch’ari tries. 

Y’shtola reaches behind her for her staff, and Ch’ari turns and scuttles as fast as his body will take him back into his room where he’s supposed to be. 

-

Alisaie scowls. “I am bored.”

“No kidding,” Ch’ari whines. “When are we allowed to leave?!”

“I am allowed to leave tomorrow. You will be staying here until you have resolved not to be a fool and throw your life away for a victory lap,” Alisaie snaps, and then her expression turns down. “Or at least until you can walk again.”

“Seems hypocritical to me. They’re letting you out early.”

“I’m almost healed!”

“By the loosest definition.”

“It wasn’t even a wound, Ari.”

“Hm.”

“Look—“ Alisaie says, pride in being Not Bedridden stoked by his dismissals, and pushes her way out of her bed at Dawn’s Respite to march over to Ch’ari’s bed, indignant. And still, notably, a bit shaky, after concentrated lightning magic left her too hurt to stand. Ch’ari still thinks they’re all stupid, every Scion, right back at them, for not tending to their own injuries well enough to heal themselves before pouring almost the entire Ragnarok’s worth of aether into him. Stupid, dumb, idiots. They’d already saved the universe at that point. We don’t need eight incapacitated scions when we could have had just the one. 

“You look like a baby amaro,” Ch’ari says, instead of voicing any of those thoughts. “Like a newborn foal. Damnation, looks like you’ll have to stay here and keep me company.”

Alisaie flicks him — gently, even though he’s not even got a head wound. “Ari. I promise we’re not going anywhere. And you know if you asked him to, Alphinaud would stay with you for days reading fantasy novels or textbooks at you for entertainment.”

His ears droop. “I know. But he needs to sleep.”

“And so do you.”

“And so do I,” Ch’ari grumbles in concession. “I am just not used to not moving. I want to kill something.”

Alisaie coughs out a startled laugh, and Ch’ari grins. “Gods, as do I, but we have our orders! Two weeks. No travel, no fights.”

“Sneak a coblin in here when you get out of this joint and I’ll pay for your sweets for a month.”

“Not a chance.”

-

“Not that I doubt your s-sSS-killed hands, Krile, I would never. But do bandages need changing thisoften?”

“In this specific case, yes,” Krile says, clearly not willing to entertain him while he chatters distractingly. “Might I remind you you were falling apart before we got to you with healing magics, and therefore you will be suffering the consequences for as long as a normal wound takes to heal naturally.”

“Peachy,” Ch’ari groans. He should have been better at avoiding that dumb voidsent Zenos summoned, but it always hid right out of his line of sight until it pounced. Clearly, a cheater, even if its master wouldn’t do a thing like that. Nah, he’d challenge him head-on, evening the playing ground until it was just strength against strength, no tricks, no unfair advantage. Pure, untouched adrenaline, bloodlust, the hunger for feeling alive. 

… Ch’ari will not miss him. But he will think of their encounters as long as it takes him to find something like it, if he ever does. Which is exactly what the prince wanted, drat. He should have taken Zenos to the Gold Saucer. Maybe he’d get really into chocobo racing instead of death matches. 

He’s jolted out of his thoughts by a sharp tug in his ribs. “Ow!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” Krile says, already casting a light soothing glow over the sticky mess there. Ch’ari buries his head further into the pillow with a groan. 

The door creaks. “My, someone sounds grumpy they’re being tended to,” comes a voice, and Tataru trots in with a small box in her hands. Ch’ari’s ears perk up. 

“Am not grumpy, I’m injured. What’s that?”

“Medicine,” Tataru says bluntly, and then gets a sly grin. “And a handful of pastry fish, fresh from the oven.”

“Tataru you’re my favorite. Have I ever told you you’re my favorite? You are. Hands down,” Ch’ari says, already sniffing the air to catch the smell, his tail whacking the edge of the bed. “I don’t even care that it’s bribery to get me to drink that foul tincture, I love you.”

Tataru laughs, bright and open, and even Krile huffs a bit in amusement. 

-

Alphinaud is asleep when he wanders into the main rooms, and Ch’ari considers dropping something onto the table to wake him up, but decides against it. He’s not all that sure how mana works — or mana overexertion, or… well, Lyse called it a chakra, but Ari isn’t a monk, and he’s not sure what straining or breaking one of them entails. He just knows the kid needs to sleep a bunch to get his aether back, and Ari shouldn’t be startling him so bad he breaks something again. If that’s how that works. He’d rather not risk it. 

Instead, he wanders over to Estinien, who is brooding in his Dragoon Corner. Also seemingly asleep until one eye cracks open, trained on his approach. 

“Dragoon,” Ch’ari says.

“…Cat,” Estinien replies in greeting. Ari snorts, the joke he made about having nine lives clearly amusing or at least annoying the Elezen to this day. 

“Guarding your nest, are we? I didn’t think we’d see you stick around this long.”

Estinien grunts. “Aye. Under normal circumstances I’d rather be off by now. But as long as…” he frowns. It’s always difficult for him to differentiate between draconic instincts and his own, and then subsequently translate them into human words, something he and Ch’ari have only spoken of briefly when Nidhogg’s lingering presence wanted to clash with what was left of Hraesvelgr in Ch’ari’s body. Simultaneously feral and overtly made of higher thought, the presence of the dragon is as long-lived as the beasts themselves. “As long as my ward is in need of protection, I will stay,” he settles on. And then his expression squishes, pained. “And… the pink one threatened me if I were to leave without a clean bill of health.”

Ch’ari laughs, then covers his mouth quickly to muffle it. “Ah, the jailer. No escaping that.” 

“Indeed.”

-

“Raha, you need any help with anything?”

G’raha looks up from his books, surprised. The Warrior is standing over his shoulder, swath in bandages and a simple shirt and slacks, his tail swishing. “Do I need any help with anything?”

“Yes.”

“Well, no, I don’t think so… resigned to being monitored as we are, I have no new tasks which require my attention, and so…”

“Let me rephrase,” Ch’ari interrupts. “Please do you need help with anything.”

G’raha blinks. And then splits into a smile, ears giving a quick one-two wiggle. “My friend, I am quite sure we can find something to do. Something very calm and stressless, but something nonetheless. What is your opinion on magic circles?”

[space-mermaid-writing]

Consort and King [IronStrange]

Summary: Anthony Stark, King of Midgard, needs a spouse. Whether he wants one or not. So he accepts an arranged marriage with the Prince of Kamar-Taj – a man he has never met in his life to the day they are standing in front of each other at the altar, speaking their vows. Is it possible that the feeling of duty grows into something more? Will their future be happy?

Relationship: Tony Stark / Stephen Strange

Tags: arranged marriage au, royal au, strangers to husbands, enemies to lovers, slow burn, idiots in love, fluff, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, all the good stuff

Author's note: This is one of my favorite chapters in the whole fic. Beta by @kvjjjjjj

Ko-fi | Read it on AO3 | Series Masterlist | Word count: 2.6k | Previous | Next

Chapter 8: A lost ring

For his hands, Stephen had good days and bad days. And on other days he almost didn’t feel them at all; they were numb.

He preferred that than those days when the pain almost incapacitated him. On those days, his hands were useless even with the use of magic to stabilize them. The simplest tasks became difficult.

Today was such a day.

Fortunately, Tony had business to do outside of the palace, so Stephen was able to withdraw into his study, only dealing with some light tasks.

In the morning he wrote some letters with his magical quill, for which he didn't need his fingers. After he showed Tony how this particular spell worked, his husband agreed that this method of writing was the best for Stephen and did not take away the work of formulating the content of the texts himself. He merely used a different kind of tool to write.

Stephen had lunch with Wong in his chambers – the other sorcerer served simple finger food and tea.

Afterwards, Stephen went for a walk in the garden to clear his head. He wasn't wearing gloves today, as they only irritated him on days like today; and besides, Tony had already seen his scars. The king had reacted well, even understandingly. Not like Stephen, when he had seen his own hands for the first time after his accident.

Or his parents.

Maybe the Strange family wasn't a good comparison.

Stephen sat down on a bench next to the rose hedge and twirled his wedding ring on his finger – a gesture that became familiar ever since he got this piece of jewelry – except that his finger was empty.

The sorcerer looked down. There wasn’t a ring on his finger. Nor was it on the ground below him.

Shit.

He tried not to panic yet. Sometimes he took the ring off; just briefly, to massage his fingers or use an ointment on them on bad days. Maybe he had left the ring on his desk.

With big hasty steps he went to his study to look.

The ring wasn’t on his desk. Nor was it on the floor under it. It also wasn’t on his bedside table. Not on the food table. Not in the cup he drank from earlier. Not in his pant’s pockets. Not in yesterday's trouser pockets. No, it wasn’t even in the pocket dimension he sometimes stored stuff in.

Shit.

He tried to think about when he saw it last. Stephen had a good memory – a great even – but the fact that he couldn't feel his fingers today made it difficult to remember.

He had definitely slipped it on after waking up; Stephen was sure of it. It hadn't been easy to pick it up from the smooth wooden surface of the bedside table.

After that, Stephen hadn't paid any more attention to it.

He must have still been wearing the ring at breakfast, because he remembered that he had once bumped the ring against his mug of tea with a 'clink'.

But after that?

Did he lose it somewhere?

This was a disaster! Stephen had to find the ring before Tony returned. He couldn't possibly tell him that he had misplaced his wedding ring - a family heirloom of the Stark's.

Unfortunately, Wong had gone to Kamar-Taj's library after lunch, so he couldn't ask him for help. But he had someone else. Someone who knew every bit of the palace.

_________

Peter entered Strange’s study. By now he was familiar with the room; he was here often to play chess with the sorcerer. But normally he didn’t get summoned by him.

So, of course he wondered about the reason.

His mind immediately went to places. Had he done something wrong? Was Strange unhappy with him after all?

But he immediately dismissed these fears when he entered Strange’s study and saw the consort nervously walking in circles.

Stephen turned towards the boy as soon as he noticed him and looked at him hopeful. As if he was the only one who could save him from an impending tragedy. “Peter.”

“Sir Strange.”

Stephen had told him to drop the formality of ‘your Majesty’ and use the same title as with Tony after the boy almost won a chess game for the first time.

“I need your help.”

Peter stepped closer.“Uhm, sure. What can I do for you?” Strange looked atypically disheveled today: two strands of his usually perfectly styled hair skewed to the side and his blue robes were rumpled – not that Peter would ever judge him about something like that.

Instead of answering the question, Stephen emphasized, “It is important that you’re absolutely discreet about this.” He waited until Peter nodded, before he continued. “I need you to help me find my wedding ring.”

Peter would never have guessed this. He didn’t even know where to start. “Where did you lose it?” he asked unhelpfully.

Stephen sighed. “I wish I knew. I looked everywhere.”

The boy didn’t like the defeated look on the man and he was willing to do his best to solve the problem. “Then I guess we have to look everywhere a second time.”

_____________

Tony had a bounce in his step when returned to the palace. His visit to the city had been successful and in the last few hours he had completed a project that he had been working on for some time now.

He had been to a blacksmith's shop that he had often visited as a young man, but wasn’t able to visit as much ever since he became king.

The project now lay in a small box in his coat pocket, waiting to be handed over later today. He just needed the right opportunity. And for that he needed Stephen.

On his way to the consort’s study, Tony found Peter kneeling under a table in the salon.

“What are you doing?” Tony asked. He was familiar with the boy’s antics but this was new.

Peter hadn’t heard him enter and at the sudden sound of his voice, Peter jumped up, causing him to hit his head on the underside of the tabletop. “Ouch!” Rubbing his head, he got to his feet. “Oh, Sir Stark. You’re back already. I’m… I’m doing nothing. Just looking for something.”

Tony tilted his head, finding this behavior rather suspect. “What are you looking for?”

“What am I looking for?” Peter shuffled his feet. “That's a good question. I’m looking for… a spoon.”

“A spoon?”

“Yes, a little teaspoon. It fell from the table. Maybe it’s under the divan.” Peter dove under the piece of furniture and looked for the ring. “Nope. No spoon here.”

Tony decided to let it slide. “Have you seen Stephen?” he asked instead.

Peter’s eyes became big. “What? Why? No! I never see him.”

“Don’t you two play chess anymore?”

“Uh, I mean beside that. Hey, did you hear that? I think May called me.” The boy practically fled the room and Tony was very concerned about what the boy was up to.

He continued his way, shaking his head over Peter’s behavior.

He found his husband in his study, where the sorcerer was rummaging through all the cabinets.

“Stephen.”

Stephen whirled around. “Tony!” He hid his hands behind his back. “You’re back. I didn't notice it was getting this late.”

“Yeah, you seemed pretty focused.” The king looked at the chaos, thinking back to his encounter with Peter. “Are you also looking for something?”

Stephen waved it off, suddenly wearing yellow gloves. “No, I’m merely re-organizing some things. Please don’t mind the mess. What can I do for you?” He was all back to business now.

“Well, it’s a beautiful day and still warm outside. So I wanted to ask if you want to have dinner on the terrace later?”

“Yes, that sounds lovely,” Stephen said a bit too fast. “I’ll see you then. I really should clean this up.” He gestured to the books lying around on the floor and Tony chuckled.

“You do know we have servants for that, right?”

Stephen just shrugged his shoulders in a well-what-can-you-do? kind of matter and waited until Tony had left his study before he let out the breath he was holding.

He must find that ring!

As Tony walked down the corridor, he came across Peter again, who was hurrying in the direction Tony came from. As soon as the boy caught sight of the king, he slowed down, but didn't stop completely. He smiled awkwardly as if he was trying to be anything but suspicious – and failed at it immensely.

Tony decided to ask Pepper or Rhodey if they knew what the boy had been up to. But first he had other things to do.

Peter sneaked into Strange's study after making sure that no one, not even a servant, was around. He took the task that the consort trusted him with very seriously.

Stephen ran his trembling fingers through his hair. He was ten seconds away from a panic attack and didn't even notice Peter entering the room. When Peter's voice rang out through the silence, he wheeled around in surprise.

“Sir Strange!” The boy smiled. “I found it!”

The sorcerer’s eyes darted to the small golden band Peter held into the air triumphantly. Slowly he approached him. “You found the ring?”

“Yes. I checked the kitchen and found it between your lunch plates. They hadn’t been washed yet.” The boy beamed, feeling proud to have been successful.

Clumsily, Stephen took his ring. He had used a lot of magic to stabilize his numb fingers in order to search for this little piece of jewelry today and he felt emotionally and physically exhausted. Still, he slid it back on. Then he hugged Peter.

“Thank you.”

The boy was surprised by the gesture, but then he hugged him back.

Peter really was a great boy.

“Shall I help you clean that up?” Peter asked after he took a step back, looking at the messy state the room was still in.

Stephen’s eyes followed his, before they wandered down to his shaking hands. “You know, I think I’ll save that task for tomorrow.”

____________

It was indeed a beautiful early summer evening, and the table was set for dinner on the terrace with a great view of the garden.

As night was approaching fast, a candlestick had been placed in the middle of the table and the candlelight added a romantic touch.

Tony had had the table arranged so that he and Stephen were sitting side by side instead of opposite each other. It felt more personal for what he had in mind.

Stephen arrived shortly after him and right on time – as he always did. Sometimes – Tony thought – Stephen was more punctual than any clock.

In contrast to earlier in the study, when he seemed rushed and stressed, Stephen was in a much better mood now – if perhaps a little tired. He had also taken off his gloves.

Since Stephen had told him about his accident, Tony had seen him without them from time to time and he made sure to show that he didn't mind the scars.

It was Jarvis who served them food today, and again it was food Stephen could easily eat without using silverware if he preferred. At first Stephen thought that Wong had been talking to the other manservant before he had left, but when dumplings from Kamar-Taj were served as the second course, he realized that Tony must have bought them at the market today and that the menu had been his idea.

The stuffed dumplings were delicious and he let out a satisfied sound that wasn't really consort-like – but they were in private and he had become comfortable enough around the king to relax in his presence.

Tony was clearly amused seeing him this carefree. “I take it you like the food?”

“It’s been ages since I’ve eaten dumplings. They were my favorite food growing up.”

The king stored that piece of information away for later. Tony looked at his husband with a smile on his lips and it took him a moment to realize that he was staring. He covered it up by changing the subject.

“I wanted to give you something. As my husband and consort I should bask you in jewelry and finery and the fact that so far I didn’t is an error on my part.”

“You don’t have to give me anything,” Stephen objected. “I didn’t expect that when coming here.”

“But I want to.” The king clarified, meeting his husband's eyes. “I want you to have something to wear that reminds you of me.” He pulled a box out of his jacket and placed it in front of Stephen. “Please have this.”

The sorcerer hesitated and looked from the small box back to Tony, who motioned for him to go on. So Stephen took the box and opened it.

Inside on a cushion lay a golden bracelet that looked like an exact replica of their wedding rings. Except bigger in size.

Stephen took it out of the box and discovered that the inscription on the bracelet’s inside was different. It had both their initials, but he also read:

‘On good days and bad days – as long as we face them together.’

Stephen was speechless.

“Until recently, I didn’t know what to gift you,” Tony explained when Stephen didn’t say anything. “But then I thought you might prefer this to your actual ring sometimes. Or maybe in addition to it. I don’t want to assume anything.”

“It is perfect. Thank you, Tony.” He noticed Tony blushing under the praise and sitting a little bit straighter. He held the bracelet to the other man. “Can you help me put it on?”

The king nodded and took the piece of jewelry.

It turned out it had a hidden hinge, so that the bracelet could be opened and Stephen didn't have to slip it over his hand to put it on. It closed with a magnet that snapped into place and was easy enough for Stephen to handle alone, even when his hands trembled. The mechanism was almost invisible when the bracelet was closed.

And of course it fit perfectly on his wrist.

Stephen teared up and took Tony’s hand in his own, for the first time not caring about how much it shook – and it shook badly after today.

It was at that moment he realized his feelings had shifted over the past weeks. It had been slow, hence he hadn’t noticed it right away.

It wasn’t just companionship he felt – had been feeling for a while. He knew Tony was handsome – he would have been blind not to see it – and they had been flirting every now and then.

But this felt deeper. More personal.

It was something Stephen wished to explore. Even if he was insecure about it. He wasn’t used to this kind of feeling. So he approached it like a complicated spell he studied: one step at a time.

Tony smiled and gently stroked his thumb over the scarred back of his husband's hand before bringing it to his lips and blowing a soft kiss on his knuckles.

“I’m happy you like it. I just finished it today.”

“You made it yourself?” Stephen was even more impressed. “That’s incredible craftsmanship.”

“I used to spend a lot of time in the forge before I picked up the crown,” Tony explained, happy to share a part of his life, this interest he had a passion for. “Although, I made mostly weapons back then.”

“Peter told me he sometimes helps you in the forge,” Stephen remembered. The boy had talked a lot about it actually.

Tony smiled fondly. “Yeah well, whenever I find the time for it.”

Conversation flowed easily after this but their hands stayed together.

_____________

Taglist: @goopierthenyou (tell me if you want to be added/removed)

[undercat-overdog]

So I was reading some of your older answers to questions about your fics when I became curious about something. Let’s pretend that there’s an AU where a more corruptible version of ‘Bones’ Celebrimbor accepts Sauron’s proposal to marry and rule with him. What would happen to Sauron if Celebrimbor were to die? (Let’s say in battle fighting for Sauron) Comparing it to Melian’s reaction to leave everything behind after Thingol’s death.

Hey anon! Thank you for the ask, and sorry for my delay in replying.

You know, I was thinking about it a while back and I definitely think there's a tack Sauron could have used that could have led to Celebrimbor's darker side coming through. I thought a bit a while back about how to do that and mostly they wouldn't work as an AU from that particular point in Bones (things like insidious mind control using the One, C being captured and through a mix of stockholm syndrome and wanting to make S's rule less horrible comes to participate - if you're curious about such AUs, simaetha on ao3 has some fantastic fic), but had Sauron framed it as less "let's rule the world together" and more "Gil-galad's not ambitious enough, you are, those less knowledgeable and skilled and smart as us 'wander here untaught', we need to raise them up, even if not all of them like it at first, etc." Basically the appeal he made to the Elves of Eregion in the Silm but upping the imperialism. Because Celebrimbor is prideful and is ambitious and does have a sense of superiority, and I definitely think it could be appealed to more.

Of course, Sauron didn't think he needed to hide his eventual plans, though he certainly planned to keep hiding his rather unique biography. He is also hiding his current extra-Eregion activities - he is at this point (c. SA 1200-1500) occasionally traveling around working on his evil empire. I like to imagine he sent back regular letters to Celebrimbor talking about how lovesick he is all the cool, definitely not evil-empire-related stuff he's seeing. Probably some rock samples or pressed flowers. He is being dishonest and deceiving Celebrimbor about a lot of stuff, but he is for the first time open and honest about his true goal in the proposal scene.

Anyways! In the scenario you propose, Sauron would react very, very poorly to Celebrimbor's death. Many people would die horribly. However he felt about Celebrimbor at the time - and I think he would probably end up respecting him less and Celebrimbor becoming somewhat less important in his life, thought certainly still very important - Celebrimbor is his and it is unacceptable that someone (else) hurt him. And elf soulbond! (I do love elf soulbonds.) I think it would cause a lot of pain to Sauron. Emotionally of course, he would be incredibly distraught and bereft, but metaphysically too.

To go to Melian's reaction, there's the interesting question of how she returned to Valinor. She is shapelocked, due to "begetting", but I find it logistically unlikely for her to have left Beleriand physically; I imagine she shed her form, which implies to me some sort of metaphysical change? She is no longer capable of being tied to Thingol physically (maybe a little desperate necro, but Thingol's no longer in that body). Likewise, in a situation where S loses his elf husband, I imagine it would create some sort of 'wound', if you will (and that Melian experienced that). Different in scale and effect than the loss of the One in canon, certainly not permanently incapacitating, but not too different in quality. A part of Sauron was wretched away, leaving a gaping, bleeding wound.

Many people would end up dying, horribly. But Sauron certainly isn't going to Valinor, as Melian did. I imagine the timeline and plot here would draw closer to canon. If the One wasn't already made (and I'm uncertain if a married Sauron could make the One as it is: his soul isn't just his own anymore, there's another soul that's intertwined with it*), I don't know if Sauron would make it, because I'm not sure there's the same incentive as there is in canon, but maybe something like it. But certainly going full on dark lord, Sauron the Great, King of the Earth, as he called himself in canon.**

*as a general rule I prefer 'soul' in writing, but yes, technically eala and fea and the two are different. Sauron has no "true" physical form and is whole without a fana, but Celebrimbor or any other elf are only whole when his fea and hroa/soul and body are together. But for the terms of a marriage bond, they function more or less interchangeably.

**what name he ended up using here is also open to debate. "Sauron the Great" is a title he did use canonically, but does anyone know he is Sauron/Gorthaur in this AU? Maybe not, aside from some Orcs! He's probably going by Annatar in this AU and he might end up keeping it. Well, as one of his names: I imagine he had many in different local languages.

(Also, please don't worry, your asks made me very happy to receive!)

[blarefordaglare]

Febuwhump day 1 - helpless

Why not rip War’s wings off and make the Hyrule watch in horror (well technically the entire chain but their all basically dead and Hyrule is the only one using his braincells (despite being exhausted and on like 17 potions))

p. S. This was originally meant to be a song fic adele’s skyfall but I quit midway lol

Blood pooled around the grass as the captain inserted his sword through the Bokoblin. He was alone, there was no doubt. Of course, he wasn’t really alone, but the rest of the chain was left incapacitated leaving the traveler to exhaustingly heal them. 

His scarf lay without a holder on the ground, its blue fabric mixing with the blood until it turned to an eerie purple. This is the end. The clinking of metal rang through the normally peaceful terrain. But waters were tainted with red now. 

Warriors heaved as two cracked, sharp hands wrapped around his neck. The boy had to fight the urge to continue choking. He needed to kill these damned monsters before they got to his brothers. Hold your breath and count to ten.

It wasn’t enough, he was surrounded. As he felt the Earth move and then cease, he knew he wouldn’t make it out scratch free. “You wanna play dirty? I’ll play dirty.” The captain grumbled. He could hear the traveler’s protests as he dropped his shield on the ground, and instead took the master sword. She was dull, and tired, yet willing to fight.

“Don’t-“ Sky whined as Hyrule tried to lay him back down, “Don’t do diagonal- diagonal strikes?” He tried to call out but it only came out as a whispered question as traveler tried to hush his lips. If they were found by the Bokoblins they would be definitely dead.

…

Something felt wrong. 

Something felt really wrong as Warriors felt an aggressive tug on his wings. While growing may give you extra height and strength, in return you could easily assume your wings are like paper, ready to be ripped. No. Nayru’s wisdom no. The captain felt as the tugging soon turned to tearing,  the feeling as if he was being separated. 

“No!” Wind shrieked, “Stop it! Don’t hurt h-“ The traveler covered his mouth, even if he wanted to scream the same. He felt hot tears drip onto his hand, and the vibration of muffled sobs. One thing that wasn’t muffled though was the sobs of the captain, as the tearing of his glass blue wings grew louder and louder.

Hyrule just wanted to cry as he watched his brother fall.

[undiscovered-horizon]

Hello ❤❤ can you write something for the ragnarson family( vikings, both female and Male please) where the reader and them are together and somebody breaks into their house while they (as in not the reader) are injured and the reader defend them. You can decide if you want to go either an angst route or an happy route 🙏❤

Vikings preference: You try to defend them

🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀

Ragnar: Numerous times he has fought while theoretically incapacitated, so what made you think that this time was going to be anything different? When you grab the nearby axe in a futile attempt to fend off the trespassers, he yanks it out of your hand and fights in his own name. Afterwards, he'd be one to mock you: you never did learn to fight so what were you expecting was going to happen? Despite that long rant of showing you how irresponsible you were, the moment he's fully recovered and back on his feet, Ragnar will surprise you with a spar, beginning a long process of him teaching you how to properly fight. And making fun of your inability to do so yet but it's all in good faith - it's just his humour.

Bjorn: Just one word: angry. Although your intentions were pure, they were largely misplaced in his opinion. Never having learnt how to fight, your decision to stand between him and the aggressor was at least stupid. Maybe you were doing it out of love but Bjorn loves you too and that only fuels his anger - what if you got yourself killed and left him alone in Midgard? What was he supposed to do then? He never wanted you to be in a situation where you can get hurt and now you got yourself into one because of him. Don't think he'll want to teach you - you're permanently banned from everything sharp.

Ubbe: He's definitely upset but the anger quickly subsides as he makes sure you're okay. You can tell he's seething at the possibility of you ending up wounded or worse but Ubbe is doing a great job controlling his emotions. Gives you a lecture on not putting yourself in danger you can't take on and how he's the one who's supposed to be protecting you. But Ubbe also notices your spirit: you definitely have the heart of a Viking, no matter what land you were born to. Maybe he'll teach you how to wield a sword but reluctantly as Ubbe is afraid you'd grow too confident in your nonexistent skills and get yourself in grave danger. Similarly to Bjorn, he's very protective of those he loves and if he wants to settle down with you, he might be a little too protective at times.

Hvitserk: "Impressed" doesn't cover what he's experiencing. You have no training in sword fighting and you did surprisingly well, putting your well-being at risk just for him. Of course, he doesn't want that to become a habit and makes sure to tell you that unless he's stepping into Valhalla with one of his feet, you shouldn't try something like that again. But just like Ubbe, he takes notice of your Viking spirit and decided to teach you how to fight, although do not be surprised when spars start to get a little, well, obscene - that's part of the reason why he likes teaching you sword fighting.

Sigurd: At first, he's a little offended that you'd think he couldn't protect himself but that thought disappears as swiftly as it had appeared and, instead, is replaced with only one idea: you love him enough to risk your life. If he ever lacked trust in your relationship, that one lark makes all of his doubts go away and Sigurd knows that the two of you are in deep. Also, if he ever worried about your safety, mainly from Ivar rather than other citizens of Kattegat, he's a lot more comfortable with that thought - quite clearly, hurting you is not an easy thing and whoever tries will not manage without getting injured themself.

Ivar: Feels offended but it's not really your fault - he just compares himself to his brothers a lot and assumed that they wouldn't need protection from their significant other. Ivar might project his own insecurity and ask whether you think that he can't hold his own. His hurt ego might take a while to heal but when it does, he'll notice the amount of love he holds for you and that your sudden show of loyalty and courage was nothing more but a confession of your undying affection for him.

Aslaug: Impressed by your vigour and skills but definitely expected you to do so. She's no fighter and doesn't hide it, so part of her simply assumed you were the protective component in the relationship. The more you fit her imagined ideal of a life partner, the more devoted she becomes to you. The story of you standing up to protect her life and honour is definitely quickly well-known throughout Kattegat, only bettering your social status. After all, what to call the protector of the queen if not a true hero?

Lagertha: Upset but very calm about it. In a gentle and firm voice, she'll tell you that what you did was stupid as you do not know how to fight and she wishes you'd never try that again. Then, in the same breath, Lagertha will offer to teach you. You should better accept that proposition as it's a very exclusive one - to be taught sword fighting but the Lagertha.

[raineandsky]

#18

Considering the agency sold the heroes to the public as the protectors of the people, they sure are violent.

Most of the run ins the villain has had with heroes recently have all ended with him having to escape the moment he gets opportunity. He’s had to nurse bruises and scrapes and cuts and deep wounds and near broken bones on multiple occasions by now. They never used to be this bad – they’d just incapacitate their opponents enough to arrest them, but a policy must have changed somewhere. Now they beat villains into the ground as hard as they can and they don’t even stop there.

He’s the definition of can run can’t hide – he narrowly evades death time and time again, and yet his reputation has made him a person of interest. He’s long since left the business of villainy, simply minding his business and going about his day when heroes try to start fights with him. He’s basically gone into hiding because of it, and on the days he’s forced outside he tries to keep his wits about him for any lurking do-gooders. He’s well out of touch with his pride and competence that came with being a criminal – and being good at it.

Instead of the smug expectancy that used to come with happening across a hero in the streets, all he feels is dread as the hero stalks down the road towards him. “Out a little late, [Villain]?” she greets coolly. The villain backs away slightly, and she grins at his response. “Oh, we’re not scared already, are we? I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“I– I’m not scared,” he defends, and he cringes at the obvious stutter in his voice. “I’m trying to eat my dinner tonight without my jaw hurting, is all.”

His attempt at a show of confidence is falling flatter by the second, and the hero is clearly revelling in his fear. “Oh, don’t worry.” She leers dangerously closer, and the villain takes another subconscious step away from her. “The food in jail is just slop. No need to chew anything that could hurt your precious jaw.”

“I’m not going to jail. I’ll be eating solid food at home with my unpunched jaw that doesn’t hurt.”

“This is a lot of warming up, isn’t it? Why don’t we skip the small talk and get to the dancing, hm?” The hero asks, her fist already balling as she continues approaching. He’s trying to think of a way out, but the best way out is past her, down the narrow alleyway. Maybe he could turn down this street, but it’s a deadend. It just delays the inevitable.

The hero takes a shorter step forward to lean into her swing. The villain barely manages to duck out of the way, feeling the air whizz by him as her fist passes by a hair's breadth. He goes to return the gesture but he doesn’t get the chance. The hero’s other fist punches into his gut, and he doubles over with the explosion of pain the contact brings. Here it is, he thinks distantly. The beginnings of another narrow escape and another agonising evening recovering.

The villain only gets to get back upright when her fist returns to connect with his face, sending him tumbling to the side and onto the floor. The world is spinning, his daze fixed blurrily onto the red splatters on the pavement in front of him. Is that his?

There’s a hand on his shoulder. He turns to throw it off but the hero is already on him, shoving him onto his back and pinning him to the ground below. The gravel is digging into his back, the stickiness of his own blood on his face making his head swim. It takes a moment to realise the warm feeling on his neck are her hands.

Fuck, she’s faster than the other heroes. It’s been less than a minute and he’s already at this point. He always found in the past that there wasn’t much escaping once it got here, and with the ferocity of the heroes recently he doesn’t stand a chance–

“Please…” The word tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop it, no more than a hoarse whisper. He makes a vain attempt to push her off of him. “Please, I don’t want to die.”

The hero snorts, the sound grating in the haze of his own pain. “You wish I’d kill you. There’s no getting away from me tonight.”

His struggling only gets more frantic at the nonchalance of her voice. She hasn’t struck yet; why not? What is she gearing up to do? She says something smoothly but he doesn’t hear her – can’t hear her – over his own shallow breathing and the scraping of his boots against the pavement. He has to get out, right now. She’s going to kill him. He can’t die. Not yet.

“Easy, cowboy.” The hero’s voice finally breaks through the distressed fog of his mind. His neck is cold where her hands have released him, and she’s kneeling next to him instead of over him, her hands gripping his shoulders worriedly. He wastes no time scrambling away from her as soon as he gets his wits about him.

“I’m– I’m not like that anymore,” the villain blurts. “Please, please, please, don’t kill me.”

She gets to her feet, a frown creasing the features of her face, and she closes the space he just opened between them without a thought. He tries to clamber to escape her advance, but his back connects with the wall behind him and within a second her body is boxing him in, crouching entirely too much into his space.

The villain can feel the warm tears streaking his face, but he doesn’t care enough to stop them. “Please–” It’s all he seems to be able to say right now. “– I didn’t do anything. I just– I’m not– I don’t want to die.”

“I can tell.” The hero scrutinises him, but not cruelly. Her gaze is soft, concern lining her expression. “What’s going on, hm? What’s got you so scared of me? I know I’m a hero but I’m not the scariest guy out there.”

“You– you’re not going to kill me?” The question asks itself before he can stop it, and her eyebrows raise disbelievingly.

“Am I… meant to?” she asks confusedly, and she blanches when the villain’s eyes widen in predetermined terror. “But I won’t! I’m… I’m not going to kill you. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Everyone’s been trying to kill me.” He brings a hand to wipe at his nose, staring in grief at the red streak that it leaves on his skin. “Something– something’s changed. No one’s aiming to just arrest us anymore. We’re all on– I don’t know, a hit list or something.”

The hero hums. “I know the agency’s been coming down on you guys harder recently. I’m kind of old school though, so I’ve stuck to my ways. Other people seem to have taken the new orders more to the extreme.” She pulls a tissue out from her pocket, tipping his head back to start wiping some of the blood off his face. He flinches at the contact, but she just tightens her grip on him to keep him steady. “I assume you’ve met some of them.”

“Yeah…” is all he can be bothered to say, and the two of them fall into a not quite tense silence. The hero carries on gently cleaning what she can of the blood, and the villain sits with obvious nervous rigidness as she works.

“Some of the heroes are poor excuses of morality. I think they just wanted an excuse to go around punching people,” she says lightly once she’s finished, scrunching the now crimson tissue into a ball. “If you come across them and they give you a hard time, you just let me know, okay?”

“How do you expect me to–” The villain is cut off as she presses a piece of paper into his hand.

“Just call,” is all she says. She turns to disappear back down the street without another word, leaving him sitting there – miraculously alive and relatively unharmed. She even tried to help.

He unfolds the paper, careful not to stain it red, letting his eyes trace over the numbers inside. He’s lived his life in fear of the heroes, of what their agency lets them get away with. But he has a protector from the inside now. Maybe at some point he’ll be able to go outside without always looking over his shoulder.

[los-ninos-tortugas]

(Throws this at you because I love your blog)

Rewatched Touch and Go today and it's such a GOOD 03 Raph episode!! It tells us so much about him!!

The mob chasing him? Not that big. He has fought and defeated bigger groups of actually trained and armed assailants. (Heck, he did it BLIND in Lone Raph and Cub.) This group didn't even have guns. If he had chosen to fight, he would have won - but he didn't even CONSIDER fighting them until his back was against the wall and he couldn't see another way out. This is punch first ask questions later RAPH choosing to flee because he didn't want to hurt ordinary scared people.

His interactions with Mrs Morrinson are just BEAUTIFUL. First of all his face when she pulls him through her door and essentially kidnaps him is hilarious and adorable. Secondly, he didn't have to let her do that!! He is so much stronger than her - he could have pulled away, but he didn't!! And then he spends a couple of hours at this random old lady's house THAT HE HAS NEVER MET BEFORE moving boxes and keeping her company and drinking tea. And he clearly has a good time!!! I don't even think it occured to him to try and leave - SHE has to tell him that it's getting late and he should go home. And when Mikey and Master Splinter suddenly have briefcase full of money? Raph's first impulse is to give it away to someone he has only known for a couple of hours. (Sidenote - this episode is the third time the Turtles are in possession of a stupidly large amount of money. The first time they hand it in to the police, the second time they insist April uses it to rebuild her shop, and the third time they give it away to somone only one of them has met. What does that say about them, when literally everything they own is other people's refuse? They are poorer than poor, and yet they give away life changing amounts of money with no regrets. I love them so much)

This episode really showcases how GENTLE Raph is. He is so good with vulnerable people. He doesn't treat Mrs Morrison as a convenient escape - he treats her like a person. And yes, there is a lot to be said about the fact that she is blind, and that that means she is treating him like a person - but he could have left as soon as he knew it was safe. He didn't have to move boxes and be kind to her. He didn't have to speak to her respectfully or drink tea with her or even let her pull him into her house.

Just... the 03 boys are such GOOD boys. They are extremely kind, and I love that about them. This episode showcases that for Raph so well.

(There is more I wanna say about this but my brain is melting due to the heat so I'm going to leave it there)

Thank you I do try my best <3

ALSO THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME A REASON TO TALK ABOUT MY BOY (I do love all the 03 boys but 03 Raph is my fave)

So I decided to rewatch the episode too so I could refresh my memory. And omg you’re sooo right. While 03 Raph is definitely one of the more straightforward Angry™️ iterations of Raph, he’s also one with a really strong moral compass. The crowd isn’t that big, they’re not armed, they’re still on edge from seeing their city torn apart. Could he have very easily incapacitated them single handed? Yeah probably, but it’s just not in his moral code. This Raph is very much a protector of the innocent, even when they don’t appreciate it. The fact that he only draws his weapons when he thinks he has absolutely no choice says a lot about how violence was his absolute last resort. And even then, as soon as Mrs. Morrison emerges from her apartment he puts his weapons away again.

His face when she pulls him in is so shocked but like, Raph you’re letting it happen! He really didn’t have to let her pull him into her house and he seems so surprised by it but he also doesn’t resist even a little bit. Also the way his voice goes from his usual kind of gravelly roughness to a slightly more gentle tone, like he’s almost speaking in a slightly higher register than he usually does and it’s kind of sweet? Little old lady is here better use my Polite Voice. And yeah, there is something kind of interesting about her being blind because yes, it means she’s not immediately hostile to him, however she gets pretty touchy when she’s pulling him into the apartment. She takes his notable three fingered hand and then she puts her hand on his shell when she pushes him in. Not going to lie when the mob asks her about “aliens” and she says there’s no aliens she sounds just like… mildly insincere (but maybe that’s just the New Yorker in me talking. We all say shit we don’t mean when we want someone to stop bothering us).

There’s something really funny about the fact that we don’t see the conversation that presumably happened right after they’re both inside, we just cut straight to Raph moving boxes 🤣 he really went, “well while I’m here…” and just started doing whatever she asked of him. And he just met this woman but he was already curious about why she was packing up to move! (Which is kind of a trend with this version of Raph and it’s part of what really makes him endearing to me. In spite of his tough guy exterior he gets invested in people soooo quickly. Even though Casey annoyed the (s)hell out of him when they first met, Raph also became incredibly invested in making sure his fellow hot head didn’t fist fight his way into an early grave. And you mentioned Lone Raph and Cub, where, despite the kid (I forgot his name at the moment) initially resisting Raph’s help and telling Raph to leave him alone Raph only becomes more determined to help him out.) I think even if Mikey and Splinter hadn’t conveniently come home with a suitcase full of money Raph still would have found a way to help/stay in touch with Mrs. Morrison because that’s just the kind of guy he is. (But also kind of makes you just how convincing his argument was to get Mikey to give him the money, these boys are very generous as you rightly pointed out and knowing it was going to a good cause I think Mikey would have agreed pretty easily but also Raph did just meet her that night so he must’ve had to have been reeeeaaal convincing)

My brain is also soup from the heat ✌️

[vampirehizzies]

What do you think about Mother's role in characters' life of The Hunger Games series?

Do you think there is correlation of their situation with their action?

Thank you :)

@curiousthg

you know i was thinking about this ask and then realised that literally most of the characters either just don't get information about their families or have dead mothers. that's rough!

so i assume this is about the Main Three (although i barely consider gale a main character) and their moms. and maybe snow's mom since we technically did hear about her as well, so she counts. i doubt i could say anything very nuanced about the role of the moms since i don't really think about them as much as the other characters and there's actually relatively little said about them and their personalities/lives, but here goes.

if we start with the obvious main character, katniss, her relationship with her mom is obviously complicated because of the neglect and abandonment. i think those are strong words especially since mrs everdeen was grieving her dead husband, and i sympathise with that since i never went through that pain. regardless, katniss does have a point: yes, mrs everdeen is entitled to a mourning period and was in unimaginable pain, but she had an obligation to her children that she unfortunately wasn't capable of fulfilling.

i don't blame or condemn her for how she acted, i think she's a good, kind, and lovely lady, but katniss was correct in believing she was in the wrong for not being there for her children. i think she was representative of katniss's fears about falling in love - losing a husband to the horrible cruel world that snow created, being left incapacitated and utterly broken, being weak enough (katniss's words, not mine) to abandon her own children. katniss carried the generational trauma of her mother's pain with her, and her mother was the reason she blocked herself from others so thoroughly and wanted to remain guarded and defend herself from emotional intruders. her mother wasn't the source of strength and dependability that katniss needed in her life, which was why katniss so often chooses to be alone rather than lean on others, especially her own mother who has broken her trust. her mother perpetuates katniss's greatest fears, and it was only with distance away from her and time in that relationship (since mrs everdeen didn't go back to twelve and we don't hear from her in the epilogue) that katniss could move on and be with someone who was willing to provide that emotional support and hope.

then we have peeta's mom, who is by far worse than mrs everdeen ever will he because of her abusive and generally terrible behavior towards others. she's mean, unkind to katniss, and physically hurts her own son. because we know so little about her situation, it's easy to assume she's just a Dragon Bitch Monster Lady since she wasn't relevant enough to katniss's story to go into more detail with, but like mrs everdeen she probably had her own struggles and human trauma and her own dreams and feelings of love. there's no excuse for her behavior but i doubt that she's just an emotionless monster. as for her role, she's an example to peeta of what not to be, and he became gentle and morally principled despite having a terrible role model for a mother.

hazelle's the only one with an actual name, and katniss definitely seems to respect her a lot - going off of what i remember from the book. katniss acknowledges hazelle's hard work for her family and her attitude of always taking care of her children. while mrs everdeen does love her children and even katniss knows that,i think hazelle was more of a role model of how a mother should behave in the face of grief according to katniss.

if you're asking about how the moms act, then there's definitely a huge correlation of their situation with how they behave. that's true for any character or real person - how we act depends on the situation and how we ourselves see fit to respond. the women, while maybe being from different socioeconomic backgrounds within the bounds of district twelve, are all in the same poor system of oppression and poverty, and their different personality types defines how they respond to that fact.

i don't remember much from tbosas, but snow's mother was supposedly a better person than him or his father. he clearly felt a great emotional attachment of love for her, and she was the only woman who made sure he felt as if he was loved. that did make a heavy impact on him, as we can see from his thing with the handkerchief. honestly, i couldn't say much more than that since i don't remember anything else from the book or the movie about the mom.

[maleyanderecafe]

What qualifies as a yandere? How can you be sure if a character is one?

That is... a good question! I actually can't seem to find a post on where I defined a yandere, but I usually go by this definition.

Generally what I define as a yandere is someone with an unhealthy and extreme love and devotion to a specific person. This can be either romantic or platonic (though mostly romantic, as there are discussions that yanderes cannot be platonic). They generally have both possessive and obsessive traits and are usually extremely persistent in being with the person they love unless they are killed, incapacitated or otherwise redeemed. They usually will go to extreme measures to be with their loved one, though how they do it from more violent/physical means to more manipulative means is dependent on yanderes- some might even be only in thought though they tend to be on the lighter side. In general the idea boils down to "I will do anything to be with my love." There's probably some more things I might be missing, but that's the gist of it. People have various different definitions of yanderes though, so it really depends on who you ask.

The second question is... a bit more difficult. Unlike other blogs I don't really have a concrete way of determining if a character is a yandere or not since I feel that I can't really boil it down to numbers or certain traits. While there are very strict baselines for yanderes (for instance, the obsession of one person is very important for a yandere, and the fact that they have to love that person), I usually try to be more open with what a yandere can be, since there are always new stories that surprise me or otherwise make me think of other avenues of how a yandere is written. Which is great! I love learning about different ways yanderes can be used in stories.

Making sure of if a character is a yandere is a bit more difficult. I'm sure that there are people who would disagree with some of my opinions on whether a character is a yandere or not, and it's interesting to see what kind of discussion goes around it. There's things like "yanderes shouldn't hurt their loved ones" or "yandere's can't cheat" and all of those answers really boils down to it depends on the context. Some characters can be a bit more difficult to determine if they are a yandere because they have traits that clash with a yandere (like in Raise wa Tanin ga li, where the yandere sleeps around with people while still having a devoting to the main character- something that's usually uncharacteristic of a yandere character despite being otherwise pretty yandere like), or uncertain because we don't know their exact feelings on the person since it's either left vague or done in a way where their "love" is sort of unfathomable (for instance, in Dead Wishes, Mateo does a lot, and I mean a LOT of horrible things to the main character to the point where you wonder if he even loves them- which is why there's generally debate on if he is one or not. I believe he is one because to me, it's less like what we would consider as love and what the yandere considers as love. If a yandere believes that their way of showing love is through violence, then I would consider them a yandere, even if that's not what you would define as love, since this is how they genuinely feel that they would ). Sometimes you have to make assumptions if it's not clear, and explain your reasoning to why a character is a yandere or not. Sometimes, it's just based on gut feeling in a lot of cases when it's not as clear.

So hopefully that answers your question? As with most asks, this is kind of train-of-thought, so I might have forgotten something or ended up going on a tangent. If it's not feel free to let me know, and you can shoot me another ask.

[hillsofuhhtennessee]

Velvet von Ragnar whump HCs going both ways because they’re cute in both roles.

Caregiver:

-Velvet can be an uncaring asshole who’ll sell you to satan for a corn chip, but if you’re useful and valuable to them they also definitely enjoy “playing mommy” to sick underlings

-You WILL be cuddled, kissed, stroked, and held close until you fall asleep on their lap.  Velvet is incredibly physically affectionate and will provide literally any kind of massage or touch desired.  

-probably the type to incessantly offer you food and make sure you eat

-If on the go, there’s a high chance of being wrapped in one of their huge coats 

-it’s probably harder to get them to leave you alone vs baby you because their parental instincts are shockingly strong if you manage to trigger them.  It can get downright obnoxious if you just want to be left alone but they’re humming and holding you and trying to get you to have another popsicle.  

-while generally very busy, in the off chance they do have free time they’re easily entertained and will curl up with you to watch TV or something

-has no actual medical training but honestly can be nice to have around if you have a cold or other minor ailment since they’re well-versed in home remedy/low tech things for that.  They’re also completely unfazed by gross things and bodily fluids LOL

-high likelihood of being wrapped up in one of their big coats or fluffy robes, especially if you’re smaller.  I like to think they value soft/smooth textures in fabric for linings and more casual clothes and a lot of their stuff is very heavy and cozy and be wrapped in.  Velvet is also probably fond of cute robes and jammies for lounging around in general which brings us to…

Whumpee

-Velvet is probably pretty durable if we extrapolate from Gene but does enough stupid crap that they inevitably will get hurt/sick.  They try so hard to hide real weakness or pain but if they’re really wiped it’s hard to hide it.  Probably leans on the side of “I’ll deal with it myself/it’ll resolve itself” vs getting medical help for most things unless it really goes south or is something acute like falling off a dam.  I think part of them does secretly enjoy being coddled if they feel safe enough around someone, though.  

-The main signs that something is wrong that they can’t hide are lethargy, avoiding touch, poor appetite, poor color, or looking thin/worn.  Velvet is naturally excitable, wiggly, and tactile, and is very warm-looking and full-bodied physically when in at least decent health.  When one of those is gone something is definitely wrong.  

-Physically injured, they can be a total ass to deal with.  Hyper without an outlet to burn it off, agitated that they can’t do things, incessantly flirting with literally any nurse (or antagonizing them), and often pissed at who/whatever hurt them (or whatever dumb thing they did)

-If genuinely exhausted or incapacitated though… that’s when they can be surprisingly calm and gentle.  When that tired, they’re more mentally stable, very comfort-seeking, and too wiped to lash out.  They’ll often be mostly nonverbal and just gesture and nod, especially if their throat hurts.  

-physical touch can calm and coax Velvet into doing a lot of things.  It’s comforting for a lot of milder ailments and a bribing them with a head scratch or cuddle will convince them to take their meds or eat.  Tummy rubs are also a secret cheat code for getting an angry/anxious/otherwise emotional Velvet to calm down because their moods and belly are SO closely linked and affect each other.

-If you become known as a free back/foot/etc rub dispenser in their mind they’ll start getting demanding FAST though

-In rarer cases where they really don’t want to be touched they’ll still seek pillows and blankets to curl up with.  

-They still hate feeling vulnerable.  They tend to treat caretakers more like teddy bears and want them to be the little spoon or sit on their lap still.  They’re pretty shameless about bodily fluids and being gross as long as it isn’t something humiliating or too much of a sign of weakness. 

-they love being bathed by others, but again, will usually end up trying to flirt with them unless REALLY tired.  Then they’ll just silently enjoy the tactile stimulation and lean into it

-Can be tough to coax into eating if they don’t want to, but once they get at least a nibble in of something they’ll definitely eat more than enough and aren’t picky at all with food.

-they have a lot of cute jammies and robes to lounge around in.  

-They get scruffy and scuzzy really fast when they don’t have the oomph to clean up every day and hate it.  If someone is willing to do it for them, they’ll probably cry.  

[parkitaco]

can I ask for details abt this amnesia fic that once has so much promise? 👀

also fun fact I too have an amnesia fic that once held so much promise but is now functionally abandoned until further notice. hive mind moment

hello elli YES omg idk what it is apparently amnesia fics are just that fucking difficult. or smth. idk but!! yes i will share everything that is still in my brain involving this fic (under the cut tho i'm abt to infodump so hard)

this idea was originally planted by an anon who left a very cute little amnesia prompt in my inbox (anon if you're out there i'm so sorry i swearrr). i've since deviated from the og prompt which was fairly lighthearted (amnesia will sees mike hovering over him obsessively and assumes he's his bf. and mike short circuits. which was an excellent idea my brain just wouldn't accept it) and went for angst bc well. i'm like that. and basically my idea was just that will wakes up in mike's room very recently post-apocalypse (the wheeler's house has been a base in the apocalypse and mike offered his room bc of course he did), having been in a coma for a few months. the idea behind it was that vecna / the hive mind tried to possess him again, but this time will was strong enough to fight back, and though he couldn't fight *through* the possession he was at least able to kind of incapacitate himself so that he couldn't be used to hurt his friends (yay angst!!). while he was asleep the others managed to stop vecna / kill the UD, hence freeing will from possession. yay he's awake!! unfortunately, since he was in the coma for so long, the virus ate away parts of his consciousness, namely his memories.

basically i took s2 and birthdaygate and made it bigger and more dramatic and worse. yay parker!!

the way i was planning on having will's memories come back is very slowly and methodically (i.e. it takes him a while to remember stuff but once he does it pretty much sticks), mainly through him being reminded of them through sensory recognition or people sharing stuff - he also has vague feelings attached to people, and can definitely recognize when a face belongs to someone important to him (cough cough mike wheeler) but he doesn't remember names or details and this drives him INSANE.

the bylerification of this would be mike, post-apocalypse and broken up with el and having had some Very Important Realizations, frantically fumbling trying to give will love confessions and apologies when will literally doesn't remember any of their fights. so not only does mike have to apologize for everything, he also has to make will relive it first, and Then hope that will doesn't reject him. (hehe.) this sucks for him, but yada yada it all works out and they make out sloppy. the end

i abandoned this fic for a lot of reasons, many of which i no longer remember, but the main ones were a., that is a lot of backstory for a story that ultimately doesn't have much plot beyond Mike Is Stressed And Will Is Confused, and b., at the time i was kind of burnt out on writing/reading apocalypse stuff, and c., i wasn't a big fan of the concept of everyone saving the world with will still incapacitated bc i know my boy is more of a key character than that!!! (this is small and ik people could get over it for This One Fic but it Really Bothered me Ok)

that being said,,, writing all this out did remind me of how much i liked the concept and i think taking the pressure off of myself for a couple months did help, as did taking a break from apocalypsey concepts for a while. so. Maybe. and that is all i will say about that <33