#except its animals who practice magic in secret and there's a big wall far off where mist and giant beings walk

[dapper-comedy]

“Once upon a time, there were the wolves, and the hunters. Now, the wolves, as you well know, are of the most esteemed nobles and founders of Midsummer Meadows, and we should be so thankful! But back then, they were not quite as fortunate.”

“Well, you mentioned hunters, so I would imagine so.”

The old, weathered hare turned a glare towards Adelaide, and the mouse instantly retreated to her little notepad, pencil scribbling as if something else took her attention completely. The house sounded with rain lightly pattering the roof, wind rudely tapping against the windows; and yet the crackle of the fireplace promised warmth and safety as old hare Liesel let out a quiet harrumph, sinking herself back into her worn red chair.

“If you were half as patient as you were sharp, you’d have gotten the whole story by now, miserable urchin.” She muttered, her paws folding across her stomach, feet extending towards the fire. Adelaide was quite warm enough, her cup of tea (poured out of an obligatory hospitality) already lukewarm now, and untouched, but perhaps a chill in one’s bones came with old age. 

“So... the wolves and the hunters?” The mouse prompted. Liesel made a nasty sound, waving a dismissive paw.

“Yes, yes. The wolves and the hunters. It was miserable times, then. The wolves were mighty, but the hunters outnumbered them. For years upon years, they hunted the wolves, slaughtering them, chopping their heads off, until they kenneled the wolves into a pen. Released like toys, every winter to run, and they would hunt them again. A cruel, vicious cycle.”

Liesel stared into the crackling and popping flames, eyes half-lidded and for a moment, Adelaide was fearful she would fall asleep. But the hare continued.

“It was years of slaughter. Years of hunters playing games, laughing, tossing the bodies of their prey outside the pens, while flinging their heads inside to frighten the new pups that would be born. Until enough was enough. The head of the most esteemed family here, Lord Octavius Levisay, was gifted a dream-”

“A dream?” Adelaide interrupted, leaning forward in her seat eagerly. Her eyes had that glimmer to them, and her whiskers twitched in excitement, “From who?”

“Well, little urchin, if you waited, you might find out!” Liesel snapped. The mouse let out a huff of exasperation, settling down as the old woman cleared her throat.

“As I said, Octavius Levisay was gifted a dream, from Pan himself- You heard me!” She interrupted herself, as if anticipating Adelaide’s next words, and true enough, the mouse was near trembling with emotion. “From Pan himself. He was instructed to take the bodies of the previous prey thrown, and pluck them of their fur. From that, they would craft scarves, imbued with the magic of Pan, that would allow them to tie their heads to their necks. Then, once these scarves were crafted, and held their heads to their necks, on the first night of winter, when they would be released for the hunters to ready themselves in the morning, they would hide their scarves among the bodies in the pen, and run. When they would be hunted, as they would be, their heads thrown into the pen, they would take their scarves, tying their heads to their necks, and run once more- for good. Octavius did not say where, but if it was word from Pan, then it was a blessing they would not refuse.”

“And so, they crafted their scarves, fur glistening with magic of Pan, and the love of their lost ones, and on the first night of winter, they hide their scarves among the decapitated bodies. They were hunted, one by one, their heads chopped, and thrown into the pens. Until they were all found and the hunters ended their hunt early, for there was a blizzard approaching. But this did not stop the wolves.”

Liesel let out a sigh, her lungs whistling like a moth-eaten pipe, and her shoulders hunched up higher, her twitching nose buried in the scarf she wore indoors. 

“Taking their scarves and wrapping them around their necks, they escaped into the night. Their fresh blood stained the scarves scarlet, but did not drip. Octavius led the pack, of course, but it was not an easy journey. Even a trip or fall would cause a wolf to stumble, their head tumbling from their neck, which made them realize something. Pan had not promised the longevity of the magic- gods can be fickle like that.” The hare leaned up from her chair, spitting into the fire, earning a faint sizzle, but nothing else.

“Once their heads fell from their necks, that was it. The magic of the scarves would not bring them back. Many were lost in that blizzard, staining the snow, only to be covered by it once more by the merciless winds. But they continued. Octavius was determined to find a home and safety for his family, and for all beasts and creatures.”

There was a silence, Liesel staring into the fire, and Adelaide looked up from her notepad at last, noting the pregnant pause. This time, she made no prompt or push to continue, letting the silence settle, and making the most of the tea she’d been offered (making a face when she found it now cold).

“The Levisay descendants of today don’t know how exactly they found it. There are many different versions of that part. Some say that on the first day of spring, when the blizzard cleared, crocus sprouted into a path, and led them here. Others say that they stumbled onto a river of ice, it broke, and drifted them to the Meadows.  No one really knows. But they found it. Home. Midsummer Meadows. Of course, they named it different back then- the Equinox Fields, being spring and all. They changed it once they found the wall and the Beings behind it.”

Adelaide cleared her throat, as if asking permission to finally speak, and though Liesel seemed displeased, she waved a paw and thus it was given.

“Could you explain why the Levisay family still wear red scarf-like accessories today? Is it to honor their ancestors and Octavius, or-?

At this, the hare’s eyes gleamed, and a wicked grin crossed her features as she leaned forward in her slumped position (Adelaide was near convinced she’d slide off, relieved the hare was moving up). Her voice lowered, and so the mouse leaned closer, nose twitching at the smell of cabbage and sharp peppermint.

“You didn’t hear it from me,” Liesel whispered, her voice rushed in excitement, “Some call it a curse, others call it a consequence. It’s said that each Levisay born was born with their heads detached. They claim it’s tradition, but my great grandmother worked for them years ago, so I know! I know! It’s unclear why! Whether it be the fickleness of gods, the consequence of dodging death, or the residue of magic in their blood from their scarves... No one knows. But why else do those wolves remain clear of hazards, and keep their scarves and shawls, and dainty little handkerchiefs tied so tightly?”

Adelaide lowered her notepad to her lap, astonished. For a moment, she joined Liesel as they both stared into the fireplace. The history of Midsummer Meadows weighed heavy in her mind, questions occasionally springing up, but none spilling from her lips. Absent-mindedly she sipped at the cold tea, until, as she opened her mouth to speak-

Liesel made another nasty noise, waving her paw once more, as if waving Adelaid away. The mouse blinked blankly, baffled as to what the old hare could want, until her ears twitched- the sound of rain and wind no longer there. The only sound the house cradled was the crackle of the fireplace.

“Well.” Adelaid spoke, her word carrying some finality in it. 

Liesel did not move or speak.

“Thank you, Miss Liesel, for the history lesson.” Adelaide tried again. The hare continued to stare into the fire.

Hopping off her chair, she folded her notepad, and slipped it inside her satchel, before clearing her voice and nodding a farewell, though whether Liesel saw it or not, it was unclear. 

The mouse exited the cottage, taking a deep breath of fresh air.

The sun shone down once more on Midsummer Meadows.

[theladysexpistol]

Aaaaa thank you so much for answering my ask !! Now can we get Bucci gang with the witch ask please ??

Your wish is my command!

I added Trish to this one too 🌹

~~~

I love Mista’s smile in the other one but I really needed one with Giorno

Giorno

- I think less of the Bucci gang will be attracted to witchy based on their aesthetic. 😆 Giorno has kind of a mysterious aura. I think he would have caught the eye of witchy first.

- Giorno is a charmer, too. Gifts of flowers, showing them butterflies and birds and other beautiful living things; dare I say they fall hard and they fall fast for him

- He is also very attentive and observant of others though; especially of his s/o, he’ll notice something is different about them rather quickly

- As Giorno is prone to action, sometimes even to the extreme, he’ll get them to reveal their abilities to him in some extremely over dramatic fashion - maybe he gets himself gravely wounded, knowing he can heal himself with Gold Experience should his hunch be incorrect

- Of course, it isn’t, and his s/o will spring into action to help him, revealing their magic

- Depending on how they react to revealing to him they’re a witch, Giorno will reveal his own abilities only if they aren’t upset about it

- He did also just trick the person he’s supposed to care about most in the world, that’s not exactly something to be proud of

- As far as witches go, he’s not that bothered by it. Frankly, Polpo was weirder than this. Also I don’t remember if Giorno knows his father was a vampire or not, but if he does than a witch is nothing lol

- He can use Gold Experience to create animals and plants for his s/o’s magic, which they are incredibly grateful for

- Absolute power couple, you do not fuck with the boss of Passione and his s/o, or the absolute unit of a dog that seems to be always with them

Bruno

- Witchy definitely approached him. They probably even know who he is, cuz I feel like Bruno is pretty well known in the city. I can see how a witch would absolutely, totally want to get with a member of the Italian mafia.

- Bruno is more affectionate than anyone the witch has ever had in their life. They are completely and utterly charmed by him. At first they even wonder if it was some kind of spell, but no, it’s just Bruno and how charismatic he is.

- Bruno is ashamed of the blood on his hands, and wishes to keep his s/o from that world. Witchy wants to become closer to understand the underworld

- Similar to Risotto, he finds out about his s/o’s identity after he discovers a plot to kidnap them for ransom; he arrives to find a similar scene, the hellhound spitting fire and the witch kicking ass

- He’s mostly quite relieved at first. He doesn’t have to worry about them, because they are clearly capable on their own

- Bruno is a little worried about his s/o, however. He’s protective of those he’s close to after what happened with his father, and he fears if their secret gets out that Passione might want to try and use them

- He will continue to try to keep them out of the gangster life

- He will support them the best he can, and he will dote over them as much as I can see Bruno being extremely doting over any s/o of his

- The hellhound likes him a lot because Bruno respects its power, but is strong enough on his own to protect witchy

Abbacchio

- He is the exception. He is absolutely attracted to witchy at first because of their witchy goth aesthetic.

- Witchy was instantly attracted to him. I mean look at him, he’s literally the ideal goth husband

- You’ve never seen a hotter couple

- The hellhound is not a submissive pet, it only listens to the witch; except when it comes to Abbacchio. It is entirely submissive to Abbacchio

- I kinda have this funny headcanon that Abbacchio was very into the occult when he was younger, and he started getting back into it after his life fell apart but before he met Bruno; so he picks up rather quickly that his s/o is a witch

- He doesn’t bring it up for a long time though, because he didn’t think it was relevant

- It’s just so not a big deal to him that it shocks witchy

Mista

- Also probably was a little attracted because of the witchy goth aesthetic. He thought they were way out of his league, but hit on then anyway

- He was entirely shocked when they flirted back.

- Witchy thought he was extremely cute (I mean who doesn’t??)

- They absolutely love how superstitous Mista is. Superstition goes hand in hand with magic.

- Mista is enjoying his relationship with witchy so much that any indicators of what they are go straight over his head

- When they finally tell him his reaction is about as exaggerated and comical as you can imagine. His eyes practically pop out of his head and he’s yelling to high heaven “WHAT you’re a WITCH?!”

- Witchy probably has to kiss him to shut him up

- Mista thinks it’s really hot and would absolutely be down to be a little guinea pig for them

Narancia

- Narancia was blown away the first time he saw them and was nearly love at first sight

- His earnesty and passion won them over almost instantly as well

- He loves the hellhound and the hellhound loves him

- Thanks to Aerosmith and it’s incredible tracking, Narancia always knows when someone is approaching him

- His s/o notices the pattern immediately, wonders if Narancia has some sort of ability they’ve never come across

- They approach the subject of Narancia’s abilities, to which Narancia explains his Stand to them and they are just very confused

- Narancia gets overexcited and thinks they have a Stand too

- He’s very confused when they say no. So what has he been sending all this time on his radar around them?

- S/o explains what they are and Narancia has a very exaggerated reaction similar to Mista

- He didn’t know witches could exist! Stands are about as weird as he’s seen

- Will become incredibly protective; I mean, he is already, but as soon as the idea that someone might hurt them over their powers comes to his mind, it never leaves

- He and the hellhound have an interesting relationship because they both kind of annoy each other but at the same time respect

- Also is probably okay with being a guinea pig a little for their spells, as long as they give him lots of love and attention afterwards

Fugo

(I’m so mad bcuz Fugo was the one I had completely written out and it was so good and tumblr didnt save it and I totally forgot everything I wrote so it’s just lost to the void forever)

- Witchy approaches Fugo first. He catches their attention one day, and the look in his eyes has them very curious

- Fugo is guarded, immediately suspicious of them approaching him, and wants to determine if they’re a threat to Bucciarati

- Once he recognizes that they aren’t a threat though, his walls come down

- Like Giorno, hes very intelligent and observant. The closer he gets to his s/o, the more he realizes their odd behavior

- Eventually he confronts them and they come clean about being a witch

- Fugo doesn’t believe them at first and kind of gets angry, but he can recognize the sincerity to their words

- He is a cautious person, and is worried about their safety despite the hellhound.

- Witchy constantly reminds him how special he is, how he caught their eye in the middle of the street

Trish

- Okay you know that thing how they used to say Barbie vs goth but now it’s Barbies and goths love each other? That’s Trish and her s/o

- They met because they were both trying to compliment one another

- What a goddamn power couple based on looks alone

- I don’t think Trish would catch on to her s/o being a witch. She strikes me as a bit similar to Narancia in that regard

- Witchy probably notices some weird patterns too, that things seem to turn a soft jelly consistency for a moment when Trish is around

- When her s/o tells her they’re a witch, Trish is also shocked but at the same time, she isn’t. Stands were the thing that kinda shattered her perception of reality. Learning about witches so soon afterwards I think her surprise would be tempered

- Really gets into it when her s/o shows off their abilities. She finds them amazing

- Loves the hellhound even after finding out its a hellhound. It would never hurt her, it loves her too though it might act a little tsundere toward the affection Trish gives it

~~~

[A/N: sorry this literally took me forever some reason. I’m gonna blame it partially on tumblr pissing me off when it deleted all the Fugo I had written the first time]

[herenortherenearnorfar]

I’m waiting on a proofread on my long fic but here’s some bonus Maha content!

“To raise you is a gift,” your nana tells you in the secret language. The language that is shared between just you, your parents, and the trees. (There are two languages for you three and your garden, they just use the first one more.) “You are a treasure we have been entrusted with and we were grateful from the first moment we saw you.”

A little older you learn what she meant. You were a gift, you were given. A servant with no other family died and the king handed her baby off to the inhuman creatures who resided with him, to raise as their own.

“Are you glad my mother died?” you ask at six.

Your atha looks horrified. “No! How could we be glad?”

“Because you got me.” It seems an easy enough equation. Her death was their gain. They like kids a lot, they’re always delighted when they get to help a baby, but parents keep them away from their children. If they let parents die they might have even more children to take care of.

“Every child deserves a family,�� he says gravely, kneeling in the dark red dirt of the garden. “Their own family. You were deprived of one and we were allowed to step in to help, but there’s nothing to be happy about. That parting was a sorrow.”

“So you didn’t want me?” That servant woman, dead of a concussion when you were just three months old, is a story to you. A specter who gave you your small hands and round eyes. Her imagined death stings less than the concept that the two most important people in your life wouldn’t have always fought for you. That there’s a world where you’re a servant’s daughter and they’re the tall, gleaming eyed guests all children are warned away from, and they don’t hold you tight and tell you secret stories of their forest homelands.

“We didn’t know how dearly we loved you until you were in our arms,” atha reassures you, “Then once you were there it was like we couldn’t have known life without you.”

Your parents always know exactly what to say.

One day the three of you will leave this land, the place where you were born. Your nana and atha have stayed here a long time, dwelling among humans instead of their own kin. They couldn’t find their kin, when they went looking. Some of the places they used to live had changed or disappeared over the centuries and others had been abandoned, there was no trace of the people of their youth.

So they tarried a while with the king. But it’s been a century and they want to go home. They tell you stories, in their language, about a wet green wood full of tall folk just like them. Nighttime people, fading people. In their language, edhwellen, cwendi kind, elves.

There’s a king there too, named Oropher, and a lovely court, though your parents never frequented it much. Were older than it and above its turnings.

(Your parents are older than lots of things. Once your mother said she remembered a time before the sun.)

Instead they kept to the trees, and made their home among the wild things. They were healers and menders of broken things, just like have been for your whole life, and they lived in a pretty house inside a big tree.

“Bigger around than a tower, taller than the sky, Maha,” your atha says.

They left a son there too. Grown up and busy with his own adventures, he’s a guard in the court of that far western king. They miss him dearly, you can tell, and are quick to tell you about how much he would love know that he has a little sister.

They plan to go home some day but when you’re four they must have some sort of conversation behind your back because they start insisting that they will, if you want, stay. “This is your home, you can live here if you want. We do not mean to leave immediately, you can grow up and make your own choices.”

But you want to go. They’ve convinced you already with their tales of traveling and fairy kings and loving big brothers. (None of the children here play with you. You’re either an upjumped servant’s daughter or ward of two frighteningly high ranked royal intimates, and always the child of unpredictable magical forces.)

“Oh,” your nana says, looking at your atha over your head after you finish demanding your chance at the home they’ve always promised. “Maybe when you’re older then. Thirty—“ another look and she amends, “Twenty. Then we’ll go.”

Your parents make it clear to you from an early age not to bandy about your leaving plans with strangers. It’s easy enough to obey that order, you just don’t talk about it in human language.

When you’re eight you learn that the last time your parents were too loud about wanting to walk away the king panicked and gave them a baby— gave them you.

There are some things you’ll miss when you leave home forever. As you grow you start cataloguing them. You’ll miss the garden and all the plants there, who whisper to you and sing songs in the night. There are different plants in the west, nana and atha have told you, so you make sure to spend time with all your favorites while you can.

The herbs are your special friends, though they’re so quiet you can barely hear their little voices. Maybe that’s better when you need to rip them up to make medicine. You shower affection on the brahmi, the basil, the pennywort, and the pink lotuses in their marble pool.

You’ll miss the servants, especially the kitchen servants who are especially fond of you because your mother was one of them. A pot fell on her head when she was trying to fetch it from the wall, you’re told her death was quick but the guilt still clearly lingers enough for them to give you fruit and halva when you visit.

There’s the king too, who is always coming to talk to your parents. Even if he thought you were an anchor, he’s jolly and gentle and as desperate for your nana and atha’s attention as you are. They have been around since his grandfather’s reign, are as much a part of the kingdom as the hills and the palace. A good luck charm, the blessing of the nighttime people.

His wives are nice too, they give you dates— you are a child blessed with fruit— and sometimes let you hold their babies. Most people don’t do that, they’re too afraid that you might have become enough of a nighttime person to want to steal babies for your own. There are still stories about that, especially from villages near the rivers and the woods. Children will go missing and they’ll say the nighttime people took them.

Desperate for news of the family they left years ago (maybe before there was a sun) either your nana or your atha goes to investigate every one of those stories. They always come back disappointed— the edhwellen didn’t take the children— and they never quite want to tell you where the children went if they were stolen or given away.

You’ll miss the animals, the peacocks in the courtyards, the elephants sometimes brought to market to lift heavy goods or wear armor and make war, the tiger skins to show how brave and wealthy this land is. Atha says there are no tigers there, just bears.

The last thing about the palace that you’ll miss is the language. Of the three languages of your childhood, it’s the first and loudest. Everyone speaks the human language. For a while you don’t even realize that you might lose it, surely there are humans near the Greenwood? Then parents explain that just like there are many elf languages (they speak two) there are many human languages too. No one in the west speaks your mother tongue.

When you leave it will be lost to you forever. Except your parents, of course, but they don’t count, they’re practically a part of you at this age.

“Maybe I do want to come back,” you say thoughtful and five. “When I’m really old. A zillion years old. It would be sad to be old and not have all your languages with you.”

“We can come back,” nana promises.

At six you realize that humans die and that you’re human. Your parents are not.

“In our Greenwood,” you ask as your parents curl around you, lulling you to sleep. It’s always your Greenwood. “Will I be the only person who’ll get old?”

“I don’t know,” atha says, “there weren’t many humans there when we last lived there. That was a long time ago though.”

Nana strokes your hair. It’s baby short, not like their long, glossy black curls. They have prettier hair than anyone else in the palace. “Do you not want to be the only person who’ll get old?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, uncertain with sleep. Really you don’t want to get old at all, but that discussion has already been had. Your parents are miracle workers in some regards but they can’t give you their immortality the way you were given to them. (“Though we would in a heartbeat,” nana swore, “if that was what you desired.”)

More hair stroking. “We’ll still love you, no matter how old you get.” That reassurance is enough, though you still have a few weeks nightmares about your parents getting a new baby to replace you when you’re an old lady.

Atha teaches you to write in Sindarin as best he knows how, while Nana complains that back in her day no one wrote anything down. No one teaches you to write in the language of your birth, you’re not sure your parents know how, but you sit in the younger queen’s courtyard while the four year old prince is with his tutor and pick it up by osmosis. The curly letters of this script are like the ones atha showed you, digging a stick into the ground. Different sorts of curl, different sorts of connection.

You write stories you remember in the dirt in the garden, digging down with you stick till the pale pink tile beneath the earth shines through. You label all the plants you know phonetically and delight in knowledge.

When you’re eight there are dignitaries from a visiting kingdom at court. You crowd with other titleless, jobless busybodies— noble children, bored wives, more privileged servants— and strain to see the visitors. The bring gifts, people in chains.

There are scandalized whispers from the grownups.

“A small token of our friendship,” says the unctuous ambassador, before beginning another litany of compliments for the king. “May we forever remain allies in the face of enemies.”

You learn later that this token of appreciation is considered in poor taste. It is acceptable to keep war prisoners and ask labor of them, but to drag them away from the place of their defeat, treat them as trade goods, deny their families the chance to ransom them? The king cannot, in good conscience, accept the alliance from your desperate neighbor.

You’re glad. Anyone willing to use people as gifts is not a good friend. Even your mother, who bore you and loved you for three months, though she was a debt servant was still a person.

You don’t ask why they’re so hungry for allies, so ready to trade anything. Maybe you should have but three months later they’re conquered by some big western kingdom, sprawling, hungry, bannered by a black hand on a white background, and it doesn’t matter anymore.

There are two languages of the nighttime people that your parents teach you. The first you learn very well. It’s called Sindarin and it’s spoken in your Greenwood. You like it, its bumps and grumbles. A language for old trees talking.

The other one is Windan. There are echoes of it in Sindarin, pale traces like seeing shared features in two cousins. When your parents struggle to find a word in one they’ll reach for the other, so the two blend together in your mind. Windan is the language of the night. Long ago a people who loved the stars more than anything else lived in the forests south of your home. Your parents lived there. And even further East, past mountains and wilds, is the place where all language began.

Nana and atha left to explore. Their hearts are wild, the rest of their kind scorned them for it. Even when they settled in a green wood where the stars are strange they still loved to wander, to make friends with dwarves and pale northern men.

They sing their night songs to the stars; you learn simply by listening, till you can sing along. This is ageless and it feels like it could last forever. Somewhere in the woods you hope the rest of the nighttime people are listening too.

Your mother was indentured by debt but none of that transfers to a baby. It’s the law, supported by custom, children are free, you checked.

There is a mass of armies stationed along your border. You’re nine and these petty human affairs don’t concern you much. This kingdom has always been a place for leaving. The queens are worried but the servants are not, and the servants seem eminently more sensible than the queens (though those bejeweled, bangled ladies are kind).

You are not worried until the king comes to your parents, terrified, and says, “They asked for you. In the letter, they asked for you.”

Together, your parents take him in, make him warm spiced tea, and ask him gentle questions. There’s a reason he loves them, it’s not just because they were the last thing he had of his grandfather when he was a little king.

Very nicely, they ask you to stay in the garden. “Sing to the stars for us, Maha,” they say. Silly since it’s barely twilight, the only star that’s out is the evening star (which nana says isn’t a star at all, it’s a person).

Instead on singing you eavesdrop, and hear nothing that makes any sense. There’s a big darkness, your parents say, which is obvious, it’s almost night time, and they’ve never felt anything like this before, only heard of it. There is a great darkness and they warn the king to be careful, because they are going to have to go. They offer to take the little princes, the baby princess. This evil does not respect the old laws of war, they caution.

“Go,” the king says, “Be safe. But a king cannot run where his people cannot follow.”

“That I can respect,” atha says sadly. “Live well. Do not fear to look this evil in the eye. I hear it has been struck down before.”

Nana opens the door sharply, she has a very quiet step, and doesn’t even look disappointed to find you listening. “Come along,” she orders. “We have to leave tonight.”

You are nine and deep among the dry red hills. There are villages here, herders and farmers of plants that need little rain. Nana and atha have steered away from them. “We can’t bring trouble down where we were once welcomed,” they caution.

Luckily they are good at finding water, good at knowing what plants are good to eat. Even here, without the tree-talk to guide them, they understand their surroundings.

It’s hard to go from a palace to the woods, sleeping in the dirt and eating tubers instead of pomegranates. But every day your parents’ faces grow more grim. It’s as if they’ve seen great horrors every night in their dreams. You can’t complain, you can’t.

At night, on a hill where you can see the beginnings of the wet lowlands on the horizon, you are caught. It happens before you can wake up. One minute you’re asleep between your parents, the next you’re in the arms of a monster with a metal shell, being ripped away from safety and love.

You scream and scream until one of the soldiers in their shiny bronze breastplates hits you. Then you just cry, as quietly as you can.

No one lets you see your parents. A few of the soldiers, in the lacquered pangolin scale of your own kingdom, feed you. Above your head they whisper, “They really do steal children.”

Amid the humans are monsters, monsters you recognize from your childhood bedtime stories. Goblins, imps made to look like edhwellen, tricksy and bad where the nighttime people are true, loathing song and starlight and water. That would set off another round of screaming if you thought you could get away with it.

It’s impossible to ride in your clothes, a swoop of folded and pleated cloth. No one has ever thought you’d who’d need trousers. So one of the soldiers just scoops you up and carries you, like a sack of rice. It must help that you are small; your parents, so tall and strong, would be harder to carry.

There are heads above the gate of the city where you grew up. One of them wears a kingly turban, perhaps to identify it as it decays. It’s been days since you left the palace and in the hot sun the face is already a little bloated.

The soldiers give you to the palace guard, who know you, look at you with pity, put you in a nice little room and do not tell you anything. Neither do the kitchen servants, though they give you extra fruit.

Eventually you are brought out of your room by the king’s younger brother. He lives far away, visits as often as he can, and has only spoken to your parents a few times. The last time you saw him was at his wedding, just a two years ago. When you’re older you’ll realize how young he is, at nine he seems as much a grownup as anyone else.

“Where are my nana and atha?” you cry, used to getting what you want, used to being the spoilt elf-child. The new king’s face wrinkles up, then he realizes what you call your parents and his worried expression goes slack with sympathy.

He kneels down, as if to make himself less imposing in his finery. “Ah, child. I’m sorry, they’re dead.”

The only thing you feel is disbelief. Your parents are immortal.

You open your mouth again, to demand more answers, but he’s a king with places to be. He takes a small wooden chest from one of his guards and hands it to you. “Here, hold this and follow me.”

Terrified of more violence, more awful and unbelievable bad news, you obey. Trotting after them you peek inside the box to see the gleam of gold.

In the main room there’s a man in the king’s seat.

No, you amend. Not a man. Men don’t look like this. He’s like your parents refined. His hair gleams thrice as bright as your nana’s did, his eyes smoulder where theirs’ gently gleamed. There is a spectrum of devastating glory, from regular people, to the famed beauties and prettiest dancers, to nana and atha, to the monster in front of you.

He is speaking with a cringing man next to him. Without turning his head, he pauses his conversation.

“I take it you have found no evidence of what I seek?” he speaks your language effortlessly, though he doesn’t look like he came from your home. He looks like… he looks like a little bit of everything. The way nana and atha did. Like you can catch wisps of familiarity in his features but when you strain to catch it the sense of sameness is gone.

“No, my lord,” the poor king admits. “It is as was initially said, there’s nothing in the forests.”

“Well, if none of the Firstborn are here I have no reason to stay. What a disappointment.”

You are quaking, desperate, beginning to think that maybe your parents aren’t invincible after all, and in the midst of that uncertain grief the new king pushes you forward. “My lord, I have their foster daughter! Take her, as a gift, for your kindness.”

The compression of flame doesn’t even look at you. “A human orphan. How generous. I’ll make arrangements for us to take our leave.”

Your parents will never hug you again. They will never whisper to you in a secret tongue, tell you the names of plants and their uses, show you how to soothe a graft on a tree or a recently set bone, tell you stories about the lake where the world began.

They’ll never see their house inside a big tree again.

They’ll never see their son and explain where they went, why they spent so many years away. There will never be a joyous reunion in a bright green wood with you squished small between your family.

They’ll never see you die, never get to mourn you. Once you wished so hard for that outcome and now it feels like the worst thing in the world.

In the aftermath, when you’re not sure where you are supposed to go or who you are supposed to go to, a man with a long grey beard and a dark robe comes up to you.

“Seldë,” he says seriously, which you don’t understand. Then he tries again, in accented Sindarin. “Little girl.”

You clutch the wooden chest, containing a small treasure of gold in jewelry, a last gift before you were given away again, tighter to your chest. “Yes?”

“Can you read and write?” he asks.

You nod.

“In what languages?” After you tell him he looks pleased. “Good, good girl. I’ll take you then. We need more clever hands.”

“Can’t I stay?” you plead. The treasure chest might buy you a bit of safety. You could work in the kitchens, or live in a house all alone with a garden. Maybe they’d let you bury your parents under trees.

The old man frowns. “Why would you? You have a gift, we can use you. Come now, I’ll get you settled.”

You are told you should be grateful. You’re lucky to be in the favor of one of the more permanent appointments in this small court. There’s a bed, food, long days spent hunched over copying without leaf or tree or sunlight. You learn to write in ink rather than dirt, develop a good hand, are told you ought to appreciate your master’s patience. But shouldn’t they be glad to have you?

Aren’t you a gift?

[prongsmydeer]

Ayesha Liveblogs Tiger King 

“I think it would be fair to say that Carole is the Mother Teresa of cats” now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear

“I’d never been a person who had friends” statements like this always perplex me because surely there had to be ONE other person in however long you quantify childhood that you identified with. Like not one whole ass person? You’re not the only person who loves cats Carole

The juxtaposition between Carole Baskin’s “Animal Print for Animal Rights” and Joe Exotic’s “Tiger King underwear is our bestseller” is poetic cinema

Okay this isn’t a reflection of my opinions on this man but I Saw a Tiger is a good country ballad there I said it 

“When I first met Joe, I was like a month out of high school” well that’s not good

[Joe Exotic voice] Some people have tigers to cope

Doc Antle has only been on screen for 30 seconds and already he has made himself memorable by directing the film crew

Is Bhagavan Antle Indian in some way or did he just have a really intense Eat Pray Love journey with his guru

Also is he really a doctor orrrrrrrrr

“I am out there in the forefront so known of being this guy that is in love with big cats and has them love him back” please don’t tell me this guy does anything weird to his animals

“People only care about saving what affects them” 

“You can’t put a price on holding a baby tiger” but you did and apparently it’s $625 

The fact that multiple tigers have had albinism is probably a sign of major inbreeding practices at these zoos

You know, even if I ate meat*, there is no way I would be able to handle any kind of early prep stage of it bc seeing these cow carcasses is A Lot

*If u r reading this I don’t care if u eat meat leave me alone

“Animals just wasn’t enough, okay? So then I started adding magic” well that took an unexpected turn

I don’t know if it’s for real fair to criticize every person who has brought a big cat out in a public venue/talk show because I know at least like Dave Sal/moni is always going “THESE ANIMALS MAKE TERRIBLE PETS” 

As a sidenote from what I understand this Saff person keeps being deadnamed/misgendered throughout this documentary and I do not appreciate it 

“I grew up a professional cowboy in a family of professional cowboys” every sentence on this show is a journey

WHO is letting their ONE-YEAR-OLD lay on top of a tiger cub I know you’re at a zoo but BRUH

“It’s going to be a small Waco” to say this ON THE NEWS

This 2 minute stretch of episode is all the PSA anyone ever needs to never own a gun

Well I think we can all agree that PETA is a fucking mess

God this is like battle of the people who are terrible at doing anything good for animals

“What do you carry that gun for?” “People” AHHHHHHHHHHH?!?!!!!?!?

“I sleep with an AK-47 under my mattress, loaded, ready to roll” WILL SOMEONE HELP THE U.S. OF A

I was warned about this show and yet I was still not prepared for the level of UNHINGED it would be 

How in the FUCK does a place like this not have an on-site medic

“Why don’t you come back on another day” he said, after telling the public an employee had his arm taken off 

“I am never gonna financially recover from this” SURE JOE THIS IS ABOUT YOU

To go back to work a WEEK after getting your arm amputated... BRUH

“Any law that you think’s unfair or unjustice, it is your obligation, it is your responsibility to stand up against that bullshit law” well Thomas Jefferson was a slaveowner so clearly the injustice thing was relative for him

Traditionally don’t drug addictions fuel people choosing extreme paths with their life rather than the other way around? 

JKHGKJHGKJH this whole exchange:

Interviewer: What kind of doctor is he?

Maria: Mystical science.

Interviewer: Mystical science?

Maria, nodding: Yeah.

“How many wives does Doc Antle have?” I didn’t expect this but somehow it tracks

I’m gonna bet none of these people with subcontinental names have a single bit of South Asian heritage like okay “Moksha” and “Rajnee” did Bhagavan name you

On a more serious note: It’s really fucked up that these men keep meeting literal teenagers, making them their employees, and then also get into relationships with them. I cannot emphasize this strongly enough THIS IS NOT GOOD OR HEALTHY

It’s pretty weird that Doc Antle keeps emphasizing so frequently that one of his partners is Italian 

“I’m gonna go be a yoga animal trainer” ah, white people bullshit

“Goodbye. Don’t fall in love with your boss.” Good advice, Dad

I was not expecting all this subcontinental imagery to get under my skin this badly but what’s your problem dude can’t u be normal for like a second 

“You’re this garbage person, but if you listen to me, I’ll make you great” again this tracks but gross

Again, on a more serious note: if a partner ever talks to you this way please call a domestic abuse hotline 

Not that India is at all in a good place right now but I personally ban Doc Antle from ever entering India. Banned. Forever. I will not be accepting constructive criticism at this time

“I didn’t really know any better” is a really good way of summarizing what all of these younger partners have been through

Wow Carole is really explaining this abuse issue succinctly 

Antle’s indignation at being implied to be a cult leader despite the fact he is most definitely a cult leader

Joe’s story in his documentary is constantly “is this going to be a humanizing moment PSYCH it’s still terrible”

HOW IS THIS LEGAL PAY YOUR WORKERS A LIVING WAGE

Why is this husband-killing thing JUST A FOOTNOTE AT THE END OF THIS EPISODE OH MY GOD

We have deviated so far from the tiger thing oh my god

Why is the only man in this documentary who is faithful to his spouse the man that smuggled drugs inside of snakes

Every time I learn a new thing about a person in this documentary I have to reorient myself

This whole episode has been about this murder and I’m concerned that its title, “The Secret,” hasn’t even been revealed yet

GOD I take back what I said about I Saw Tiger, the concept of this song/music video for Here Kitty Kitty is so disturbing that this man deserves no credit whatsoever as a musician 

CAROLE WHY ARE YOU GIGGLING ABOUT THE MEAT GRINDER IT’S NOT FUNNY

Well I don’t have much to say about this episode other than yikes

I guess if you’re really out to spite someone stealing their brand and posting exactly the opposite of everything they stand for is an effective if weird and petty way to do it

Do you think the whole throne footage moment was a “Frankenstein realizing what he has wrought” kind of thing for Kirkham

This is really like watching a sports game of two teams you can’t stand except the sport is murder and other miscellaneous crime

If we’re all being real with ourselves the documentary filmmakers themselves MUST have had some issues going on to be able to walk into this situation and not do anything about it

This series really seems to present a compelling case for why every major figure in this documentary has potentially committed at least one terrible crime

Ah there’s the judgment from the woman in Florida I guess it’s two crimes with one stone

God these poor animals they do not deserve anything happening to them

While obviously people are enticed by the prospect of someone they’re into having an animal JUST GET AN ALREADY DOMESTICATED ANIMAL LIKE DOMESTICATED CATS AND DOGS EXIST OH MY GOD DO NOT USE EXOTIC PETS AS DATE BAIT

 It has been so long since we heard about Travis ngl I already forgot about him 

Why is every single person in this show SO OFF THE WALLS I mean I know why but also WHY

This documentary is also a treatise in the flaws of the U.S. prison system and how it sets up people up to fail or re-offend upon release

Take a shot every time a middle-aged man in this show mentions that he casually bought himself a big cat as a teen

“Joe was the entertainment director.... by title” I don’t think this was meant to be a burn but what a burn

I am almost certain I WATCHED that Last Week Tonight episode during that election and if u told me that 4-5 years later I would be rewatching that clip in a documentary about this man’s journey to being convicted for murder then I cannot say I wouldn’t be surprised but I would probably believe it 

Also I have to wonder what John Oliver thinks about being part of this 

[“Beyonce?” voice] Shaun Majumder?

Sidenote: Until this exact moment I thought of Shaun Majumder as Ben Mulroney even though Brian Mulroney is white as hell I guess I have faceblindness but only for Canadian talkshow personalities

I have been aware of this before now but the fact you can buy a GUN at a Walmart what in the FUCK is U.S.A. doing

Man does this campaign manager really want to take ownership of anything Joe Exotic has ever done

Ngl I was wondering why someone who had at one point clearly had a lot of money seemed to have such poor dental care access but meth certainly does explain it

I mean people can be attracted to both men and women (hello) but since Joe was fuelling their drug addictions since they were teenagers attraction is at best a null factor and at worst an added layer of terrible to this whole mess

It’s hard to even respond to this in a meaningful way because this is so fucked up. Don’t own guns.

“That was a big fucking mistake,” he said, right after someone explained that he was driving large groups of people in an enclosed space in a busy city with wild animals that could maim or kill them

Padlock penls piercing really does not seem like a first date bombshell

“We went to dinner and he never went home” well if that doesn’t set you with a sense of foreboding

TWO MONTHS AFTER WHAT IN THE HELL OH MY GOD also I hope Dillon is okay

“It wasn’t about the animals anymore” you THINK

“It was sort of funny when they started but it’s gotten really dark” how meta

Of all the reasons Joe could’ve abandoned his zoo, I really didn’t think embezzlement would be what pushed him

“He won’t tell anyone where he’s at, not even me,” said Dial, with no acknowledgement of the fact that Joe is also theoretically still married and would maybe tell his husband???

Oh Dillon spotted??? Yikes get out dude

Take a shot every time a white person who really doesn’t understand where the word “karma” comes from starts talking about karma as if it is the Law of Revenge

The fact this man brings a film crew out with him while he’s on the run evading a federal investigation..... incomprehensible

“Joe just wanted to put it in somebody’s name and continue to be the tiger queen, I mean king,” really REALLY of all the reasons to object to Joe you’re going to choose homophobia wow

Is this about an attempt to have someone murdered or does something happen to Baskin it is very unclear

This documentary has an interesting format of switching focus from crime to crime to crime 

“I’ve never been as proud of being married to anyone as I am being married to you” It’s weird to compliment your husband by comparing him to all your other husbands

How is the lesson for Jeff Lowe in this “let’s build another zoo” surely at that point it’s better to just cut your losses

[Garretson voice]: You should pay me for being a bro, dude

“I’m a libertarian, so technically, fuck the Feds,” I’ve never heard an intonation that better suits a conservative millennial 

I mean I don’t think it was advisable but honestly why are people surprised Joe took the stand isn’t delusions of grandeur kind of his thing

Sometimes it’s just that they’ve added in other moments to break up the awful immoral crimes with just run of the mill douchebaggery like the nanny/gym thing huh

I guess the silver lining in this is that potentially these big cat zoos will shut down but like where do these animals who have been raised in captivity go??? I don’t trust anyone in this documentary to not exploit them in some way ugh 

“Not a single animal benefited from this war,” correct, Saff

“I was wrapped up in having a zoo,” not really an excuse but ok

[marshmallow-phd]

Secret in His Eyes

Spinoff of Sins of the Father

Genre: Mafia Au

Pairing: Luhan x Reader

Summary: A vacation exploring China’s famous city was supposed to be relaxing. When you witness a horrifying murder, you instead find yourself in police custody, unable to run. Trying to stay alive, you meet Luhan, and you believe you can trust him. You never imagined that he might be the one you should be running from.

Part: Prologue I 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I Final

**

This city was beautiful. The touristy parts, anyway. You were sure that – like every other city in the world – Beijing had its ugly scars, too. But you stayed in the areas that all the brochures and websites bragged about, saving you from having to see those not-so-shiny places.

You’d been saving up for this trip for the past year and a half. All your life you wanted to experience just one place new. Then you’d be perfectly content going back to your ordinary life with your office job. Or maybe this trip would just make you eager for the next one. It was kind of a toss up at this point in your youth. But you wouldn’t worry about whether or not you could be content with your boring routine until you were back home. For now, you’d continue exploring, taking in the beautiful, ancient architecture that was so unique to the region, visiting the art and history museums to learn more about what you were seeing, and trying all the street food you could get your hands on. Your main focus was to take in all that you could and not forget a single moment.

When you’d first arrived in Beijing, a nauseated feeling had bubbled up in your stomach. You were in foreign territory, completely on your own, with very little knowledge on how to navigate this roaring city. The feeling refused to die down as you checked into your hotel and searched the maps you’d been given by the front desk worker for something to eat. Even with as exhausted as you were from traveling, sleep didn’t come easy. By some miracle, however, you woke up the next morning much more at ease with your surroundings. Still nervous about getting lost or accidentally offending someone, but it wasn’t as threatening a feeling as it had been before. Going throughout your day, you nearly forgot all about your worries, too absorbed in your findings to pay attention to it.

By day three, you were practically a local. It was so magical, each new finding, that you couldn’t believe this was truly your reality, like soon you’d wake up to find it was all a dream.

“Oh, back again?”

You blushed as you bobbed your head in greeting. There was one vendor in the market place near your hotel that you kept coming back to. A mother and daughter team sold the most delicious baozi you’d ever tasted. Granted, your experience was limited to a few blocks, but it was a common street food and none compared to this dynamic duo’s. While the mother didn’t speak English, you were able to communicate with the daughter well enough.

“It’s my favorite treat,” you admitted shyly. The daughter waived you closer before pulling out two steaming, fresh buns, wrapping them carefully before holding them out to you. When you started to pull out your wallet, she shook her head. “No. These are just for you. Since you like them so much.”

You pursed your lips. “That doesn’t feel right.”

“You’ve been a loyal customer,” she laughed. “It’s the least we could do! However,” she rounded the cart, coming up close to you as she lowered her voice, “tonight is the Shangyuan Festival. My mother will be staying in, but if you would like to join me to make her happy that I won’t be alone, we’ll consider that payment.”

It still didn’t seem fair, but you laughed anyway. “Yes, of course!” You’d noticed the streets being decorated with paper lanterns since your arrival – some were the traditional round red ones you were used to, but others were shaped like flowers and animals, beautifully crafted and painted, making you stare in awe. “It’d be nice to have someone show me the festival.”

“Good! It’s settled then. We will close before the sun sets, so meet me here then. We’ll walk my mother home and then I will show you the festival!”

You nodded eagerly. Before parting so you could hurry to your other planned activities for the afternoon, you finally learned the daughter’s name: Shishi. It was cute and not something you’d really heard before.

The afternoon hours seemed to fly by and before you knew it, the sun was beginning to disappear from the sky. As quickly as you could, you ran back to the stall, careful not to ram anyone down in the process. Shishi was still waiting for you patiently, her mother shaking her head at you in a scolding manner.

“I’m so sorry,” you huffed, half doubled over from your exhausting sprint.

“It’s okay,” Shishi laughed at you. “Let’s get Mother home and then we’ll attend the festival.”

You nodded and stepped back for her to lead the way. Their home wasn’t too far from the stall and once Shishi saw her mother inside, the two of you took off towards another district in the city where a big crowd had gathered near the Chaobai River.

Lanterns of all shapes and sizes hung from nearly ever ledge. Children ran around the streets while carrying sticks that held small paper fish on the ends of strings, making it looking like schools of fish were swimming through the air. Different sweet scents drifted up to your nose, making your mouth water.

Perhaps seeing that ravenous look in your eye, Shishi pulled you over to one of the vendors, getting each of you one of those sugar coated sweets made by the true experts of the trade. The artists didn’t have fancy, expensive culinary schooling; they simply had tradition and a love for the for food.

You continued to walk along the street in order to take in all the sights happening around you. This was the reason you’d come to the beautiful city of Beijing. The joy and laughter around you was infectious and you felt as if you were on the receiving end of a precious gift. All the pictures and blogs in the world couldn’t truly capture the feeling, the essence of the festival and the deep rooted traditions happening before your very eyes. No matter what happened to you on this trip, you knew tonight would be something that you would never forget.

**

Luhan leaned back in his chair and waited rather impatiently for the underling to arrive. It was ten minutes past the time he was told to be here and Luhan was losing his patience.

For the past month, he’d had a man inside the main police department of Beijing and he needed his updates. Lately, the cops had been one step ahead of him while conducting his deals, putting several of his suppliers behind bars and ruining his business. His own customers were getting antsy, hence why he needed the information to squash the rat.

Leaning up against the wall to his right, Kris chewed on a toothpick between his teeth. “I thought he was supposed to be here by now.”

“Unfortunately, Xiaofei isn’t known for his punctuality,” Luhan huffed. He picked up the glass ball he kept on his desk and inspected it, although there was nothing wrong with the small paperweight. In the low lighting of his office, he could only make out a faint shadow on the smooth glass rather than his reflection. The small globe was almost completely see-through except for the etched continents covering the surface. While he couldn’t quite say that he held the world in his hands, the little globe gave him a sense of accomplishment, even when things went a little askew.

“I still think we should have sent someone else,” Tao whined from the couch. He was staring up at the ceiling, hands folded behind his head for a pillow as he reclined on his back. His suit jacket was draped across the back of the couch to save it from wrinkling.

Luhan rolled his eyes. He was tired of having this conversation over and over again. “Xiaofei already had connections within the office, I’ve told you that. Plus, he’d be able to blend better than most.”

There weren’t many people in the world Luhan could trust, the top two being in this room. Everyone who worked for him was under constant surveillance and he occasionally had to clean out the filth with little crumbs of fake information. It was how he survived all these years. The Chinese underworld was ruthless. He hardly had a moment where he wasn’t watching his back.

Just then, the door to the office creaked open. Tao sat up, eyeing the crack that wasn’t quite big enough to let a human through while Luhan placed the globe back down on the desk with a heavy thump. The vaguest outline of a shadow, visible against the white door frame, flinched at the sound. Luhan could practically smell the stench of fear radiating off of the underling from his seat.

Picking up his feet and placing them back down on the floor, Luhan growled, “Just come in before I lose my patience and shoot you through the door.”

That little threat did the trick. Xiaofei scurried inside the office, closing the door behind him with a sound that was halfway between a click and a slam. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as if he was trying to keep the contents of his stomach from spilling out onto the rug. The police uniform Xiaofei had been given was wrinkled and half untucked. Were his men really such slobs?

Clearing his throat, Xiaofei straightened up and then bowed at a ninety-degree angle. He was putting on a brave front, they all knew. And Luhan would let him play his little act.

“Sir, I have not been able to find the leak within the department as of yet.” The voice that left Xiaofei’s mouth didn’t match the round, burly face he was born with. It was of a higher pitch, not fit for his age. The face that Luhan imaged the voice belonging to was one of a rat, pointed and sharp, all the features focused in on the center. It was a face that fit Xiaofei’s character much more closely.

“Did you even really try?” Tao spat. His dark eyes were narrowed at the underling. He was not one to take kindly to a lack of results.

“Y-yes, sir,” Xiaofei bowed quickly to the silver-haired boss. “The department is very tight-lipped. They don’t take too kindly to new faces. It’ll take me another few months to get them to trust me.”

“We don’t have another few months,” Kris snarled, flicking the toothpick at the trembling man. The little piece of wood stuck to Xiaofei’s shoulder, but he made no attempt to brush it away, accepting the small but humiliating action.

Luhan let out a long sigh in order to make his displeasure known in a much more subtle manner. “Xiaofei.” The man flinched at the sound of his name even though Luhan didn’t raise his voice above a causal level. “Before I sent you in there, you swore to me that you had connections inside. Now, that wasn’t a lie, was it?”

“No, sir, I swear!” Xiaofei staggered on his feet as he tried to plead for his life. As soon as Luhan stood, the coward fell to his knees in a showy sign of respect. “My connections are good. It’ll just take a little more time. Please. I will find the leak. I swear it.”

Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, Luhan bent down and stared Xiaofei down. “You have one month left. I suggest you bring me back something viable at the end of that time frame. If you don’t, then you’ll be replaced.” Letting him go with a forceful shove, Luhan headed for the door. He only paused long enough to give one last warning. “I like to think of this organization as a well-oiled, well-maintenanced machine. The only way to keep it working is to upgrade the parts that have become useless. And there’s only one thing to do with useless parts, isn’t there?”

Though Xiaofei didn’t look back at Luhan, the shiver that ran down his spine and shook his shoulders was visible enough proof that the message had been received. With confident steps, Luhan glided down the hall of the mansion he called home. Soon, he would find out who was undermining his operations and he would make sure they regretted ever going up against The Deer before he ended their life for good.

**

Your feet were aching and throbbing, but you still weren’t ready to go home for the night. Stuffed full of delicious street food made only during this special time, you continued to follow Shishi through the crowds, stopping every once in a while to watch a choreographed dance by a group of performers ora magic show put on by a man you suspected might be tricking the audience in more ways than one.

The stars above were beginning to come alive for the night, adding to the mystical atmosphere. Only the strongest were able to be made out against the fading backdrop thanks to the stronger lights of the city. It made you a little sad, not being able to see a sky full of twinkling stars, but you pushed that emotion away, preferring to focus on the happier commotion around you.

However, when you brought your eyes back to the festival, Shishi was gone. You whirled around several times, but you couldn’t find her. Over and over, you called out, but no reply was ever sent back your way. Frantically, you shoved through the crowd. Had something happened to her? Or had you simply been separated? It was your own fault for dawdling and not paying attention. Panic was starting to set in. Until you saw a familiar bun of black hair resting on top of a head that was about Shishi’s height.

You followed the bun through the crowd until the owner disappeared into an alleyway. She took a few more twists and turns before you finally caught up to her, grabbing her shoulder in relief.

“Shishi!”

When she turned around, however, you were frustrated to find that it wasn’t your friend, but a stranger you’d never seen before. She threw you a snarled look even as you bowed out an apology over and over again. Soon you were alone again and utterly lost. The only light to see by came from the more occupied main streets, but you weren’t sure which one you should head towards to try and find your way back. Every direction looked the same. You cursed yourself for not paying more attention the further you got from the main street.  

Crash!

You jumped back against the brick wall, collapsing down to hide in the shadow of a dumpster when you saw a man fall to the cracking asphalt, his head bouncing off the ground as he landed hard on his back. Even in the dim light, you could make out a stream of blood running down from his nose and over his lips before dripping off his chin. When another man stepped into your line of vision, you shrank farther back, practically melding with the grime-covered trash bin.

The man who was still standing pulled out a gun and pointed it down at the one on the ground. As if knowing that his end was near, the first man simply groaned and turned his face upwards towards the sky. The man with the gun chuckled and began speaking in Mandarin. You couldn’t understand a majority of the words leaving his mouth, but one word did stick out to you: Lu. He repeated it a few times, mixed around in sentences that you couldn’t make out.

Then he shot the man on the ground, the bullet slicing through his forehead.

You couldn’t stop the gasp that your shock and horror forced out. Immediately, you slapped a hand over your mouth, praying that he hadn’t heard you. Seeing that there was just enough space between the wall and the dumpster, you scrambled to better hide yourself, hoping that you weren’t simply jumping into the barrel for an easier target.

Footsteps slowly headed in your direction, crackling the loose pebbles under his shoes with each step. You squeezed your eyes shut and sent up a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening. And apparently, someone was.

Sirens blared from a street close by. You barely caught the man disappearing around the corner when you risked opening your eyes. Slowly, you crawled out from behind the dumpster. Your hand landed warm and sticky, making you jump back with a scream when you realized it was blood pooling out from the dead man’s head.

Two new voices shouted and you threw your hands up to show you were unarmed. A bright light made you squint and you couldn’t tell who was approaching you, but you hoped it was the police. The light finally lowered. You let out a sigh of relief. The two officers lowered their guns and exchanged dumbfounded looks.

You had no idea what kind of mess you’d stumbled into.

[marvelcinematic]

The Name of the Game (Peter Parker x Strange!reader)

Summary: In which Peter meets the reader, who is Doctor Strange’s daughter. (Prequel to Slipping Through My Fingers)

Warnings: Some cursing, implications of smut

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Word Count: 7568

From the moment you met Peter Parker, you knew he was the one. You had been with your father for a year, training in the mystic arts when you met him. You had been homeschooled since reuniting with your father, and you just needed a friend.

Things weren’t perfect all the time between you and your father. He would push too far, and you pushed back until you ran off. It never changed really. It could have been his hands before he found himself, insulting you and Christine, sending your money down the drain. Or it could have been him trying to shove a spell down your throat at three in the morning, when you needed sleep, but he kept pushing because he wanted you to be better, prepared. He wanted you to be better than him, but for some reason you felt that didn’t only apply to the mystic arts.

You loved him, and you knew that he loved you too, now more than ever. And yet part of you felt like running away like he did. You didn’t need to go through an Eat, Pray, Love stage in Kamar-Taj to do that. You just needed to be regular, connect with humanity again.

Today you were fortunate enough to only be reading with Wong. Skimming through the books of various spells you started, “So, Wong.”

“Yes, (Y/N).” Wong said without looking up from his book. He would never admit it, but you were his favorite. Perhaps it was the charisma, the hope in your eyes, or the fact that sometimes your arrogance could beat your father’s. Plus, you baked him cookies when you were trying to destress.

“Who’s your favorite Strange?” you said cheekily as you leaned forward. You knew the answer.

Without hesitation Wong said, “If I had to choose someone to fight with to protect the world, your father,” Stephen was the more seasoned Strange, “But if I were to have Beyonce tickets, you would be the only person I would invite.”

You feigned hurt at the first part but suddenly your eyes lit up when he finished, “Oh you do like me.” You swooned as you fell backwards from your chair. Wong’s eyes were still glued to the book as he opened a portal with his sling ring that landed you in your chair before your back could touch the floor.

You smirked as you leaned forward again, your arms on the table as you put on your best puppy dog eyes. Slowly you pushed Wong’s book down with your hand. Wong glanced down, trying his best not to look into your eyes. He swore he gave in everytime he looked into those eyes. He didn’t know if it were some magic you had known that no one else had, or if you had practiced since you had such a stubborn father like Stephen. But with little to no control he slowly looked up to those eyes and he sighed, “What do you want?”

“Break please.”

“And what will I tell your father when he comes to visit?”

“Oh he won’t find out, I assure you that Wrong.” You said with a wink as you stood up.

“Three hours, he’ll come by for dinner.”

“I’ll be back before you know it.” you assured him as you started making a portal.

“Where are you going?” Wong asked as he tried to peer over your shoulder to view your location. Alas you blocked his view as you turned around, “Not far from home.” You smiled as you went through and closed it behind you.

You weren’t lying. You were somewhat close to the New York Sanctum as you had appeared in Queens. More specifically, Midtown High. It was the high school you had seen before. It was pretty average, but it was the only place you could place an image on as you opened the portal. You sighed contently as you looked at the building before you. You could only dream of the brilliant minds in--

Your thoughts were interrupted by a deep voice yelling from the building as the bell rang, “Hey Penis Parker, catch this!” Out came a dark haired teenager with a football in hand throwing it straight towards, well, you and at that moment you realize three things. One, this boy had terrible aim. Two, the ball was going to hit you, even though it wasn’t supposed to because you weren’t Penis Parker. Three, when you had opened the portal, you didn’t realize that you popped right in front of someone. That someone being Penis Parker.

It took every ounce of your willpower not open a portal in front of you that would lead right back to that boy’s head. So instead you stood there in shock, preparing for impact until the Parker boy came to your side and caught the ball while it was mere inches from your face. You looked back at the person who caught and gulped as you made eye contact. He maintained the eye contact as he lowered the football down. For some reason you couldn’t look away, and he couldn’t either.

“Hey who’s that loser dressed up like a monk. I bet you it’s a weirdo like you Penis Parker.” Flash cried out. He was embarrassed that the football didn’t hit Peter, but he could only try to redeem himself. Only, by now the teenagers ignored Flash, consumed to draw their attention to conversation and their smartphones.

“Hi,” you breathed out with a shy smile tracing your features.

“My, uh, names not Penis by the way.” the teenagers said, gulping as he threw the football to the side. “Then what is it?” you ventured, ignoring the teens that pushed past the two of you who seemed to be stuck in your own bubble.

“Peter. Peter Parker.” he said softly. All of a sudden, you popping out of nowhere in a tunic didn’t seem to come to his mind as he kept his eyes glued on yours.

“I like that name.” you blushed as you started walking away. I like that name? Even you knew you could do better. You didn’t know if it was the lack of teenage contact, hormones, or the fact that he was just handsome that attracted you to him.

Peter said dreamily, “Thanks.” as he trailed behind you, magnetized by your, well, everything right now.

You had walked into a nearby alley and turned in surprise to see him still behind you. You turned to look at him and said seriously, “Did you see how I appeared?” You hoped that he didn’t. The last thing you needed was your father lecturing you on the dangers on showing people magic.

“Yup, but your secret’s safe with me!” Peter said as he raised his hands up. He suddenly realized how dangerous you could be, and how your powers reminded him of one of Tony’s friends.

“How can I trust you?” you said with a raised eyebrow. You didn’t want to erase his memory, or do anything of that sort. You just wanted to be treated regularly.

“Because I’m Spider-man,” Peter burst out without a second thought. He didn’t know why, but he felt that he could trust you. Maybe it was the fact that you were a teen like him, and you were so keen on keeping your abilities safe, like him.

“What?”

“See, watch,” Peter started as he started climbing up the wall beside you and pushed himself off to land on the opposite, “We know each other’s secrets, you can trust me.” What was he doing? He didn’t even know your name.

You watched him in awe as a genuine smile crept up your face. There he was, a teenager just like you. Except he had the luxury of not being contained to one space like an animal. “Tell me Parker, is there one place that you wish you could ever go to?”

Peter hopped down in front of you, “Well, I think London would be pretty cool. I don’t know I’d like to kind of explore--What the hell? How did you do that?” And right before him was Big Ben in all its glory. You smiled up at him as you took his hand and pulled him through with you, “Magic.” Peter took in his surroundings, baffled at how fast the two of you went from the streets of Queens to the London at eight o'clock at night. “Are you like Aladdin?” Peter said softly as he looked at you.

“What?” you said bewildered as you looked down at your clothes. No wonder that mean boy made fun of you, you were way behind fashion. Suddenly you conjure a spell, and you traded your tunic for a t-shirt and jeans with black boots.

At this point Peter was unfazed because he assumed at this point he was either dreaming or you were the girl of his dreams. “You know? Three wishes? I can show the world.” He sang the last part as he fiddled around.

“Shining shimmering splendid,” you sang in response before straightening up and saying, “Mr. Parker, I’m not a genie nor is my magic derived from one. I’m a sorcerer, well one in training. Now are we going to stand here in front of Big Ben or are we going to explore London, because I am on a time limit.” You said as you offered your hand, “We can go back if you want.” you added.

Peter had to think about this. How could he be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if he was across the Atlantic. But then again, New York still had that wizard, and Tony Stark. Heck, he can go three hours, besides May was going to come in from work late that night. What other day would he get to explore London with the most magical girl he had ever met.

“So?” you said expectantly, praying that he would say yes and amuse you. You yearned just for one night with a regular boy, who had remarkable abilities. You saw yourself in him, and more. He seemed so kind and honest, and handsome.

Peter coughed and looked at you before pulling an awful fake British accent, “Should we go for fish and chips then?” To which you couldn’t help but bursting out laughing. Something about him was so funny, or maybe you were just used to plain humor between Wrong and your father.

“Oh my God!”

“God save the Queen!” Peter started as he grabbed your hand and started walking.

“Keep it up Parker and I could leave you here.” you teased as you walked with him, hoping no poor soul would overhear him and get offended.

“The game is on my dear Watson.” Peter piped, to which you responded with a groan. You were in for a long night, but boy was it worth it.

Hours later you were still giggling as the two of you made your way through the streets of London, wandering aimlessly in the night, not tired because both of you were running on New York time.

“So your homecoming date’s dad...Was the bad guy?” you said in bewilderment as you looked at him. Boy was that dramatic. How could a teenager go through so much. He told you almost everything, from Aunt May, to Uncle Ben, to his unlucky love life. He was so open.

“Yup,” Peter said as he looked at his feet suddenly a sudden realization hit him, “Wait, I don’t know your name!” How could he not ask before when the two of you had met.

You paused as you looked up at him, “Huh? In my excitement I seemed to not care for myself. I’m (Y/N) by the way.” You didn’t want to say the last name. You knew that in someway he would know it.

“I like that name,” Peter said as he beamed at you. Your gaze softened as you looked at his smile, brighter than the moon. He leaned in closer to you, pulled in by your magnetic gaze, “You don’t happen to have a father with a grudge towards Spider-Man.” You almost hesitated at this, before brushing it off and keeping your eyes on him, “Nope.” Suddenly his eyes flickered towards your lips as he carefully placed his hands on your cheeks as he pulled you towards him--

Right as your lips were about to meet his the clock chimed at midnight in London to which you jolted up in response. “Fuck!” you yelped as you realized you how far the time had gone by. It had been four hours since you had left Wing, your father should have been there an hour ago. You gulped as you ran your hands through your hair and your hand shot towards your pocket for the sling ring, and you opened a portal to Queens where you met Parker.

“(Y/N) wait!” Peter begged as you started pushing him towards the portal.

“I don’t have that much time Peter, you need to go home.” you said as you tried to even out your voice. Why were you tired? Had you used too much magic? You then remembered that yesterday you had trained your ass off with your father and suddenly you were feeling the after effects. It was the lack of sleep, over exertion, and overflowing emotions that were weakening you. “Y/N you don’t look so good.” Peter started as he looked you over. Had you always looked that tired. Suddenly he grew concerned and he said, “Y/N, you need to rest.”

“You need to go home.” you snapped as you pushed Peter through and suddenly your knees faltered, “I’ll be fine Parker. I know my way home.” You reassured him with a smile and a wink.

Peter looked you up and down sceptical. He was concerned, but he knew you were more than capable of taking care of yourself. Still, you looked so tired, and he wanted to be with you. “Will I see you again?” He asked as the portal slowly shrunk.

You smiled at this and gave the teenager a wink before closing the portal. You were definitely going to see more of him. You let out a sigh as you sat on the pavement, suddenly exhausted more than ever. You lied down and closed your eyes, thoughts filled with Peter and the magical night you had talking. You opened your eyes and let out a content sigh before gasping, realizing that maybe it would have been wise to go with him to Queens. At least you would be in New York and not in London. But part of you knew that you had to keep him away from your father. He was your precious secret, that you would protect with your life and you would make sure your father wouldn’t ruin it. You would rather be across the ocean that let your father tear him up.

You stumbled up, and tried to make another portal, trying your best to think of the New York sanctum and yet no avail. “Fuck.” you groaned as you looked around. Here you were, in London, with limited powers and no cash worth any value. Your only option was to go to the London Sanctum and get there manually.

You walked along the streets of London searching for the glass that was so familiar. God were you tired. Your eyes were heavy as you pushed by strangers, looking at building until you found the one. You still couldn’t believe your dad messing around with time restored the sanctum. Taking in a deep breath you knocked on the door to be met with the master of the sanctum. “Strange.”

“I know, it’s late.” you said as the man stepped back and let you in.

“No, I meant you’re Strange.” You were still unaware that he was referring to your last name and not just describing you.

“I know, I shouldn’t be here.” you mumbled and let out a yawn. Your eyes grew heavier, unable to focus on what the master was saying, nor his concern for you. Before you knew it you fell to the ground, plastered against the floor and sleeping like a baby. You didn’t feel when the poor master picked you up and took you into the New York Sanctum, your home.

You woke up to hands running through your hair slowly. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know it was your father’s comforting touch. You took in a deep breath, wondering if you should just pretend to be asleep until he left or if you should face the music. Was what happened last night a dream? It had to be, it was just too perfect until the last moment when the two of you departed.

“I still can’t believe you let her go on a break.” Stephen said sharply from your bedside, still running his hand through your hair. It was something he did when he was nervous, more specifically worried about you. You were comforted by the thought that he was a really caring father, but you knew as soon as you opened your eyes you would be scolded.

“I told her to go London to check up on the Sanctum, I think she just got lost. Besides, she’s been tired. She’s a teenager Strange, she needs rest.” Wong replied calmly. You couldn’t believe it. Wong out of all people was covering for you. You tried to stop the smile from appearing from your face, but alas you couldn’t. Boy did you love Wong in that moment. “She’s waking up,” he shushed at Wong before removing his hand and peering over you with concern on his face, “Darling?” He said softly as you opened your eyes to meet your father’s soft ones. You had expected the sharpness that he gave Wrong, but maybe Wong’s lie was good enough, and he did feel guilty about pushing you.

“Dad?” you said softly, innocently as you tried to feign weakness. If it was one thing you were good at, it was acting. Alas, even Stephen knew when you were trying to deceive him, and the last thing he needed was you being dramatic. Annoyed by this he pulled back and snapped, “What were you thinking? You know I can’t keep an eye on you when you’re near someone else’s sanctum.” he snapped as he looked at you expectantly. Beside him his cloak floated giving you the same body language of disapproval.

You flinched and said softly, “I just needed to get out.”

“You got distracted.”

Well, he was right, but you weren’t going to tell him the truth. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

“I know it won’t,” Stephen said as he held your sling ring in the air, “Because you’re grounded.”

“Dad!” you pleaded as you tried to reach for your ring.

“If you can’t handle your training you need to grow thicker skin, if you got weak from a sling ring you don’t get the sling ring.” Stephen snapped as he stood to walk away. He knew he was being harsh, but he also knew that you were hiding something and Wong was covering for you. He couldn’t let you be distracted, especially when he needed to defend yourself when he was gone.

You sat deflated as your father walked away, the cloak following suit while Wong stayed behind. “What’s their name.” Wong said as he crossed his arms and looked over at you once Stephen was out of earshot.

“Peter Parker,” you said with a dreamy look on your face, “He’s perfect Wong, he’s funny, smart, handsome, gentle, kind, brave, and---”

“He’s Spider-Man.”

“I mean yeah, that’s a great plus. I mean, he’s so capable and selfless.” You said as you sighed. Your thoughts suddenly went to that boy, and you swore he was the love of your life from the few hours you spent with him.

Wong looked you over, a million thoughts racing in his head. He should have not encouraged you, but he knew the life your father and him lived wasn’t the best for someone so young like you. “I’ll help you, but if you get caught---” He was cut off by you, as you jumped from your bed and gave him a hug. “Thank you.” you squealed as you pulled away excitedly after you realize that Wong wasn’t much of hugger. You didn’t mind, because you would see Peter again.

So for months, Wong would help you get to Queens to visit your Peter. He would walk with you to Midtown high until he was able to open a portal there every time you had to spend the day with him. From then you would spend hours with Peter, talking, laughing, and just having fun until you walked home to Greenwich village. And it had worked, your father never found out, until one day when it all went crashing.

“Y/n.” Stephen called from down stairs, waiting for you. He was hoping to surprise you with news. He had felt bad for limiting your freedom, but he had to make sure you were being responsible.

“Yes Dad?” you said as you walked down the stairs, with a book you were pretending to read in hand.

“We’re going out?”

“Where?”

“A party, and you’re my date.”

Any other time you would have said yes. But you were supposed to see Peter today, and you didn’t expect to go out with your father. “Ask Christine.” You said sharply as you turned away. For months you pretended to be mad at your father for grounding you, but in reality you didn’t care because you had what you wanted, just in secret.

“Y/N, I know you’re mad,” Stephen started, “but please, forgive your old man. I just want to make sure you’re safe.” Okay, maybe you were mad at that part, so you gave him the cold shoulder and didn’t say anything.

“Forgive me.” He said softly as he appeared next to you, with the cloak nudging your face softly to look up at your father. You gave in when you saw the genuine look of guilt on your father’s face, and you couldn’t help but suddenly feel guilty for the first time in a long time about your actions. You took in a deep breath and gave in, “Fine.” You made a mental note to text Peter for a raincheck for your date.

Your father gave you a small smile, “Great, well, get dressed it’s in thirty minutes.” You rolled your eyes as you hurried to your room to put your makeup on. “What’s the dresscode,” suddenly with a simple spell your father pulled out a long blue dress, “...one these days I have to go shopping.” It was a nice dress, but this was one of those things where you wished you had more independence. Your father appeared before you in a suit with the cloak trailing behind in sadness as it realized it wasn’t going. You gave the red cloth a sympathetic look before straightening up, “Well, let’s go then.”

When your father said a party, you thought it meant one of those boring ones where he was honored. Although, you figured it would be more of a mourning party for him and his loss of talent through the car accident. You didn’t expect to be in the Avengers compound, at a party thrown by the man that your father could not stop complaining of: Tony Stark.

“Wizard! Glad you could make it.” grinned the billionaire as he greeted your father before turning to you, “And this must be your date. I didn’t take you for a supermodel type, but she is pretty you--” He knew exactly what he was doing, he was killing two birds with one stone: flattering you and annoying your father. He knew who you were, Peter had introduced you to him a while back and he was more than supportive of your relationship. He just had to play his part in acting like he didn’t know you. You couldn’t help but smile at the older man as he gave you a wink once he got the reaction out of your father.

Your father gave him a glare and snapped, “This is my daughter, Stark.” He didn’t bother to introduce you as he maintained his glare on the man.

“Well, I’ll be damned, you did something right Strange,” Stark before turning to leave. Boy was this night going to be a fun night.

Stephen glared after him before looking at you, “Y/N--”

“Dad, I know better. These people are all too old for my anyway.” you mumbled as you looked around. The room was filled with interesting people, and yet none of it appealed to you. That was, until, he walked in. In came a nervous Peter Parker, looking around the room shyly as Tony lead him in, and pointed him to you with a wink. Suddenly you forgot all about your father as a smile spread across your face as your Peter made eye contact with you around the room.

Tony whispered something in Peter’s ear before grabbing him and leading him back to Stephen and you. Oh no. God forbid Tony ruins this whole affair for the sake of annoying your father.

Stephen tensed beside you and murmured in your ear, “That’s Peter Parker. He is in the same grade as you.”

You played dumb as you looked over and said dryly, “And why is he here in a room of heroes.” You knew he knew better than to expose the boy.

“He’s an intern for Stark.” he said plainly as he turned to greet Peter who was with Tony.

“Strange Jr...Sorry I didn’t get your name,” Boy was Tony a good actor, “this is Peter Parker. He works for me and he thought you were pretty.” He winked at the two of you as a blush rose to your cheeks and Peter’s.

Stephen coughed as he nodded in Peter direction, “Parker.”

Peter wouldn’t look at you, as he was terrified at what was just revealed. And suddenly it all made sense. You were Doctor Strange’s kid. You finally recalled that you never introduced yourself by your full name and you gulped. “Mr. Doctor Strange sir.” Peter said timidly as his eyes widened in terror.

“This is Y/N, my daughter,” he motioned towards you and you extended your hand, “Hi.”

“Hi.” he said softly as he took it and shook it awkwardly. Your father couldn’t help but look on with satisfaction. He couldn’t help but take pride in preventing any trouble between the two of you.

The two of you stared at each other, searching for something to say. You knew what you had to do, you just needed his reaction. Tony looked between the two of you and suddenly everything registered. He turned on his heel and sped away, trying to find someway to save the situation. Thinking quick he jogged to the DJ and said into the mic, “Alright, we’re going to kick things off with a slow song, so grab your favorite hero or android and get to it.” And with that Moondance by Van Morrison played and he sped to Helen Cho. “Hey Helen, I haven’t seen you in a while.” He grabbed her shoulders and started pushing her towards your direction. She glanced back at him in confusion, but at this point she figured there was no point in trying to find any sort of logic with the billionaire.

Your father gazed at the two of you, “If you would excuse us Mr. Parker I think my daughter and I will d--” And then he was cut off by a frantic Tony, who shoved Helen into Stephen and said, “Hey Doc, meet Helen Cho. Your both doctors, dance.” By now Helen got the idea and looked up at Stephen hopefully, who looked at you and you gave him a shrug. He took Helen to the dance floor while Tony turned to the two of you, “You two, sort this out on the dance floor.” And with that he shoved Peter into you.

Peter gave you a nod as he wrapped he settled one hand on your waist, and the other held yours. The two of you started dancing to the rhythm and making sure you were out of ear shot you said softly, “I’m sorry Peter, I should have told you.”

Peter looked up at you and murmured, “I just wish I knew before, I mean, we could have done this right. I think if I had known we wouldn’t be running around in the shadows around your dad.”

“He wouldn’t allow it.”

“Y/N, he can’t control everything.” “I know, but we’re all that we have left. The only thing we have in life is each other, and I don’t want him to be upset.” Maybe you were afraid of leaving your father alone, you could picture him lonely and senile in that sanctum.

Peter nodded before saying, “You look gorgeous.” He looked into your eyes and you swore you melted in their warmth. He pulled you close, his hand snaking to your other side while your hand pushed his back so your chests were only a few inches apart.

“You’re a dork Parker.” you said softly, holding yourself back from kissing him in the room full of adults.

“I’m your dork.” he said cheekily. He couldn’t help himself. None of his past endeavors mattered when he was with you, heck at this point he didn’t even care that your father would kill him.

Suddenly your father appeared next to the two of you, Helen still in his arms awkwardly. He had watched as the two of grew closer and suddenly he went into a defensive mode. “Parker.” he hissed as your heads shot up to look at him in terror.

Peter gulped, moving back so your chests were further apart. Strange continued to glare at him in silence, and Peter pulled his hand farther away until his fingers were barely brushing your waist. Stephen motioned towards his other hand, and Peter’s hand that was holding yours shot to your other side. And suddenly the two of you were in the ‘leave room for Jesus’ position that you thought you left behind in middle school.

Stephen smiled in satisfaction until he looked at you. You were fuming and glaring at him, holding his gaze until he scooted away with Helen. You turned to Peter and said, “We’re going to settle this.”

“You saw how he looked at me Y/N! He’s going to kill me.” Peter hissed at you frantically, suddenly realized why you hid your last name.

“Peter, listen to me. He’s going to find out one way or another. Might as well embarrass him in front of the Avengers.” you smirked.

“Yeah but he’s going to kill me!”

“I have a plan.” And so you told him your plan for the rest of the song and he looked at you with a terrified look on his face.

“Oh my god I’m going to die.” he said softly, in shock as you walked away.

A few hours later, the party died down to the heroes and you. They all sat in the common you while you walked in from the bathroom. You had been gone for quite a while, and your father had grown concerned.

“Does anyone know where Y/N is?” Stephen said as he shifted uneasily in the seat. He didn’t mean to seem clingy, he just wanted to protect you. But the Avengers didn’t buy it.

“She said she needed a breath of air.” Natasha pointed out as she glanced over at Tony who gave her a slight nod. All was going according to plan. A pregnant pause filled the room, half of them noticing that Parker was also gone, while the other half knew what was about to unfold.

To sum up, half of the room knew the plan, because they had to make sure Peter didn’t die. Those who knew were Tony, Natasha, Sam, T’Challa, Bucky, Thor, and Loki (who was a pivotal part of the plan). The ones in the dark like your father were Wanda, Scott, Steve, Vision, Clint, and Bruce. You needed the natural reactions from them and the compliancy from the others to succeed.

“Where’s the spider-boy?” Thor said out loud, making sure to make eye contact with the doctor as he did it. He was probably enjoying himself too much, but he couldn’t help it, he was enjoying being part of the mischief with his brother for once. Loki elbowed his brother’s side, casting him a short glare before looking back nonchalantly at the Midgardian sorcerer.

Once again, silence filled the room as the sorcerer suddenly grew anxious, he started thinking about the worse. Bucky snickered as he shot a glance at Sam who rolled his eyes and looked away, trying not to laugh.

Stephen gulped, before Tony gave him a wink and said, “I’ll ask FRIDAY, don’t worry Doc.”

Tony said out loud, “FRIDAY, where’s Miss Strange?”

On cue, the AI responded, “She’s with Mr. Parker, in the guest suite.” Stephen’s eyes practically bulged out of his head as he avoided the other’s gaze as he bolted down the hall. He didn’t know the place well, so he couldn’t really magic his way there. The remaining adults looked at each other before following suit, trying to either prevent the drama or watch with amusement.

Stephen started opening doors frantically, only to be met with unfamiliar and empty room. “FRIDAY, which one is it?” he panted as he rounded the corner.

“I’m sorry, voice recognition has failed.”

Stephen groaned as he skidded to the bedroom in the middle of the hallway, by now a very exasperated T’Challa and a laughing Thor trailing next to him. They were the muscle that was going to hold him back as he opened the door to find a sleeping figure, and a shirtless Peter walked towards him with a towel wrapped around his waist.

If there was a song that came to Stephen’s mind, it was the Kill Bill siren as he growled and lunged at Peter.

At that moment, three things would be noted by the father Strange. One was, his sling ring was gone, having been snatched earlier at the party when you accidentally bumped into him when you went to get a breath of fresh air. Two, that wasn’t really Peter, because as soon as he made contact he was met with a flashing green light. Loki had created an illusion of the two of you. Three, he had completely made a fool of himself in front of nearly every heroic colleague of his. Because as soon as one and two added up, he realized he was screwed as webs shot around his wrists and ankles from behind and a portal opened from under him.

And thus, Peter and you created the most iconic team up of all time, with an aid from Loki. You and Peter waltzed out from separate rooms a smile lingering on both of your faces as the remaining adults turned to look at the two of you. Sam, Thor, and Bucky burst out laughing while Natasha and Tony gave each other a rather friendly high five. T’Challa couldn’t help smiling at the incident that unfolded while Loki started chuckling to himself, “Second-rate sorcery .” The other half of the room was still in shock, shooting questioning glances as those who did react.

Finally, Scott spoke up, “Hi, what just happened? I’m really confused and slightly concerned?”

Bruce shook his head as he walked away, “Nope. Nope. Not dealing with anymore of somebody else’s family drama, I’m calling it a night.” He tried to shrug the whole incident off, but even he didn’t know what happened.

Clint finally started laughing, catching up on what just happened while Wanda just shrugged at Vision and then left.

Steve looked over at you, “Is he going to be okay?” He didn’t want your father to get mad at you, although he didn’t know the whole story.

“He’ll be fine Captain.” you reassured him as you reached to hold Peter’s hand, “I’ll talk to him when he’s ready.” And with that you opened a portal to Central Park, stepping out while Peter waved at the Avengers, “Bye guys! Thanks for inviting me to the part--” He was cut off when he was pulled by you all the way through and you shut the portal.

Tony sighed as he looked over at the rest of the people remaining, “Cute couple. I ‘ship them’ or whatever kids say these days.” And with that he walked back to the common room.

“Yeah, I still don’t understand what just happened. But okay we’re being normal now.” Scott said as he followed, probably the only one still lost at that point. You linked arms with Peter as you strolled along on the pavement in the Parker in the moonlight, you sighed softly, “I know it’s not London, but it was the clearest thing in my mind then.”

Peter didn’t say anything, as he walked with you. He was admiring you, studying your features as he contemplated what had happened. He loved you, and he knew you knew. It was something he never felt before, he had crushes before, but he was sure that if you weren’t in his life things would be duller. Maybe he wouldn’t say the question now, but he knew in his heart he would ask it later. He wanted to do it right with you. He stopped walking as he looked over at you, “Y/N?”

“Hm?” you couldn’t help but feel scared. It would be awful if he broke up with you after what you pulled with your father.

“I want to do this right, we need to come clean with your dad, no cool tricks, no more hiding in the dark,” though the rush was exhilarating, it wasn’t fair that the man was the only one who hadn’t known, “Anyway, why didn’t you tell me your father was Doctor Strange?”

You sighed as you looked down. You knew he was right, you just wanted to waltz around everything with him. “Look, I love my dad, he’s great, he loves me. But he is overprotective, he is rude to others, and he is just a jerk know-it-all. I mean, before you I spent every waking minute with him, like he was trying to compensate for leaving me to go join a cult--”

“Woah, that’s pretty intense.”

“Right? I think you’re the one thing that makes me feel normal. Which is weird because your alter-ego isn’t. I love the mystic arts, I don’t mind being homeschooled. But I can’t help but feel i’m missing out on everything, and maybe, maybe if I never found my dad again, I could have met you sooner.”

Peter grabbed your hand and said softly, “Y/N. You are the weirdest person I’ve ever met. I mean, yeah you can do magic, but you have no idea how to drive, you are not ticklish--you’re laughing now but you have to admit it was awkward when it happened!--you have the brain of a genius, and the lack of vine-expertise of someone who still uses Facebook. I wouldn’t change you for the world Y/N, I don’t care if you’re dad banishes me to a weird magic place, or if he refuses to work with me again. You’re worth it, no matter when or where. I love you.”

You sniffled as you looked up at him, a smile gracing your face as you pulled him in for a kiss. It was soft, warm, and bordering along chaste and passion. You were going to marry him someday, you could have sworn, even if it meant you had to be the one who got the ring and proposed. You pulled away to be greeted by a goofy grin on the teen’s face as he let out a breath, “God, you have all the magic you need right there.” You rolled your eyes at him as you pushed him away to create a portal to the sanctum. “Are you sure about this Parker?”

Peter nodded, preventing himself from saying no out loud as he followed you into your home. He was kind of scared, even though he knew you would protect him.

You gulped as you were meet with three figures of disappointment. There was Wong, who looked exasperated as cut the remaining webs from your father’s wrists. Then there was the cloak of levitation who was in front of you, looking very disappointed as the edges crossed over each other. And then there was your father, fuming as Wong tried to hold him back from trying to grab Peter.

“Parker…” he growled, which earned a gulp from Peter as he shuffled behind you.

Wong glanced over at you, silently communicating whether or not he should help. You signaled for him to leave which he slowly did, making his way to the kitchen, just in case you needed him.

Stephen walked up to the both of you frantically, by now Peter was crouching behind you, not daring to try and web the man again. Suddenly he lunged, to which Peter quickly broke into a sprint. Alas, this didn’t help because your father just kept on worldshifting. You sighed as you closed your eyes to try and fight off the constant dizziness. “Dad.” you kept on saying as Peter shot past you, in the library, to which Stephen simply shifted to other side, where suddenly Peter slammed into a bookcase. You opened your eyes just to see your seething father looming over Spider-Man who tried to look for an escape. And suddenly, something within you was triggered.

Without thinking, you snapped, “Dad sit your ass down.”

“Christ Y/N...” Peter whispered.

Stephen glanced over his shoulder, “Watch your language, you are adding more to your group--”

“I said what I said, sit your hypermasculine ass down.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, I’m your father.”

You glared at him as you stomped up to him, growling, “Fine, stand up. But you’re going to listen to me.”

“I don’t have to--”

“Listen to me or I’ll find somewhere else to stay.”

“Where would you go?” Stephen maintained eye contact, not trying to falter at your bluff. It was a good ultimatum, he just wouldn’t admit it.

“You think I would tell you?”

“Fine, I’ll let you talk.”

“Okay. Well first of all, I’ve been dating Peter Parker for a while, so there’s that. Your behavior at the party was embarrassing, like, my sex life or lack of it is none of your business. Second of all, the real problem here is you’re too overbearing. To the point that I didn’t feel comfortable about telling you about Peter because of the thought of a bad reaction, which I was right about. And I hate the hypermasculinity you get when you think me being your daughter is more important than me as a person. Yeah, I’ll always be your daughter, but I can defend myself in my own way, and if I get hurt I’ll deal with it. Now can you be a cool dad and apologize to Peter.”

Your father took in your words reluctantly, thinking back to his actions and how he seemed so different from his calm and collected self. Sighing he nodded and helped Peter up and he mumbled, “Sorry Parker…”

“Oh it’s all right Mr. Doctor Strange sir.” Peter said timidly as he glanced over at you with a smile. You were so powerful, the fact that you got your own father to shut up like that. Oh yeah, he was definitely going to marry you.

Stephen brushed himself before mumbling, “I’m a cool dad. I’m the coolest.”

“Oh yeah?” you ventured with a smirk.

“Yeah, of course. I’m down with the times…No sexism here.”

“Alright, well if that’s the case then I’m pregnant.” you piped.

“Wait what?” Peter exclaimed, suddenly paling as he looked at you with wide eyes.

And without little to no thought, Stephen punched Peter in the face. Any other boy would have been hurt, but Peter could go head to toe with a super soldier, and Stephen had the weakest punch due to his accident. So, in reality Stephen winced in pain as Peter kept on staring out you, trying to process everything.

“Just kidding!” you exclaimed, not knowing whether to be satisfied at your father blundering or disappointed in his action.

“What the hell! You can’t just throw that out there!” Peter hissed as he walked over to you. He swore you were going to get him killed one day, and the perpetrator may be your father.

Stephen groaned as he gripped his hand, trying to regain his composure. Taking in a deep breath he said, “Right. I’ll be a cool dad starting now.”

You looked over at Peter who smiled at you, his anxiety of the situation suddenly gone. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you in to give you a kiss on your cheek.

“Gross.” groaned Stephen as he walked past the two of you. Smiling to himself as he suddenly realized that everything would be fine with the two of you.

[republicstandard]

Kill Your Baby at Home. Doctors are Finding Abortions too Traumatic

The abortion industry is in trouble. Big trouble. If you run a hospital you need doctors. If you run a slaughterhouse you need butchers. If you run an abortion abattoir you need doctors who will double up as butchers.

It’s a bit like the execution industry in countries that still have the death penalty. They just can’t find good staff. The profession of executioner is a highly coveted specialism and since the jolly ol’ days of Albert Pierrepoint, England’s longest serving hangman in recent times, kids in India and Zimbabwe are specializing in programming computer strings rather than in knotting ropes for the noose.

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I was reading about Pawan Kumar, who learned his trade from his father and grandfather—I’m not sure if there is a hangmen’s caste. The Indian government pays him a retainer of £30 a month to be a registered executioner. When he’s not stringing up vicious murderers and rapists, Kumar sells shirts from the back of a bicycle in the north Indian town of Meerut.

So far this is one profession feminists haven’t infested. So, Kumar doesn’t get harangued on Channel 4 by the likes of Cathy Newman asking him why there are no hangwomen or female executioners. Naturally, Kumar’s job is also safe from the bile of bellicose gender gap activists. But Kumar’s son wants to study banking and in a country of 1.2 billion people, prisons are struggling to find hangmen.

Zimbabwe is having similar problems. Chikurubi prison has been trying to fill the post of hangman for five years and 50 men are on the waiting list but there’s no one willing to hang them. Again, there’s horrible sexism in the applications process—not even equality of opportunity, let alone equality of outcomes—and the advertisement in the Zimbabwean Daily News categorically states: “The hangman’s job is reserved only for men”. Zimbabwe needs its own battalion of feminists in pink pussy hats.

So we return to the killing industry in our green and pleasant land of Britain. The Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists is urging Health Secretary Jeremy Hunt to allow women to kill their babies at home. Wales and Scotland already allow DIY baby-executions so why not import the Carry on Killing series into Ye Olde England as well?

One in three women are already having abortions and surely the queue must be very long if you can’t find doctors who are willing, a la Pierrepoint and Sons to do the excavating, hacking and dismembering of a woman who has the right to choose because it’s her own body, er… um … except it’s not, or she’d be dead, not the baby.

So if doctors are not applying in droves to be butchers, the mother can finish off her baby by popping two pills, mifepristone, and misoprostol, between 24 and 48 hours apart. The abortion starts within 30 minutes of taking the pill. And when the pills have done their magic, simply flush the baby down the toilet. It’s simple. It’s cheaper. It’s a great victory for womankind.

The government has acquiesced to this barbarity. By Christmas 2018 when the country is celebrating the birth of Jesus, lots of non-virgin Marys and Elizabeths will be popping their pro-choice pills and flushing their babies down the bog as the Salvation Army band outside their window plays “Unto us a child is born”.

But why are many doctors deciding to call it quits? Why are the men and women in white coats not willing to do your dirty work any longer?

In America, medical colleges are opting out of abortion training. In a 2005 survey of U.S. medical schools in the American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynaecology, only 32 percent of respondents said they offer a formal lecture specifically about abortion, and 23 percent reported “no formal education” about abortion at all. In the same survey, 55 percent of medical schools reported that they offered students no clinical exposure to abortion.

Then there are doctors who are “conscientious objectors” for religious or moral reasons. There are also pro-life humanists and atheists who condemn abortion as murder using scientific and philosophical arguments. According to the report Unconscionable: When Providers Deny Abortion Care (2017), there is evidence of “a worrisome and growing global trend of health care providers who are refusing to deliver abortion and other sexual and reproductive health care”. Over 70 jurisdictions around the world, including 21 EU countries allow “conscientious objection” in providing abortions.

In Italy, 70 percent of obstetrician-gynecologists are registered with the Italian Ministry of Health as objectors to abortion. In the UK, one-third of those training and 10 percent of obstetrician-gynecologists object to abortion, and in Hong Kong, 14 percent of physicians are objectors.

But even those doctors who do not have religious or moral objections to abortion are now backing out because of the traumatic effects of abortion. Dr. Rachel M. MacNair in her book Perpetration-Induced Traumatic Stress: The Psychological Consequences of Killing has a chapter on doctors suffering PITS as a consequence of performing abortions. These doctors suffer from symptoms associated with Post-traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).

MacNair poses the same questions to “medical personnel involved in euthanasia or abortions, Nazi officials in the discharge of their duties, researchers whose experiments may harm subjects, and those who kill animals”. Her research is nuanced and non-judgmental and does not push a moral line on abortion. She is careful to cite only pro-choice doctors and nurses in determining the effects of trauma on medical personnel involved in abortion.

“I have fetus dreams, we all do here: dreams of abortions one after the other; of buckets of blood splashed on the walls; trees full of crawling fetuses,” MacNair quotes abortion nurse Sallie Tisdale. “There are weary, grim moments when I think I cannot bear another basin of bloody remains, utter another kind phrase of reassurance,” says Ms. Tisdale. “I watch a woman’s swollen abdomen sink to softness in a few stuttering moments and my own belly flip-flops with sorrow,” she adds.

Earlier studies done by pro-abortion researchers note the high prevalence of PTSD symptoms with “obsessional thinking about abortion, depression, fatigue, anger, lowered self-esteem, and identity conflicts”. Another study reports “nightmares, images that could not be shaken”, and “deep and lonely privacy within which practitioners had grappled with their ambivalence”.

Such-Baer’s study, done in 1974, a year after Roe v. Wade legalized abortion in the U.S., describes how “almost all professionals involved in abortion work reacted with more or less negative feelings”. Those who have contact with the fetal remains have more negative feelings than those who do not. Nevertheless, “All emotional reactions were unanimously extremely negative”.

An article published in American Medical News, published by the American Medical Association talks about “the conflicting feelings that plague many providers. … The notion that the nurses, doctors, counsellors, and others who work in the abortion field have qualms about the work they do is a well-kept secret”.

Even a paper presented at the Association of Planned Parenthood Physicians does not shrink from narrating the case of two abortion practitioners who dreamed “of vomiting fetuses along with a sense of horror”. The writers conclude: “In general, it appears that the more direct the physical and visual involvement (i.e., nurses, doctor), the more stress experienced”.

A nurse working in an abortion clinic said her most troubling moments came not in the procedure room but afterward. Many times women who had just had abortions would lie in the recovery room and cry, “I’ve just killed my baby. I’ve just killed my baby.” “I don’t know what to say to these women,” the nurse told the group. “Part of me thinks, ‘Maybe they’re right.’”

In 2105, the obstetrician and gynecologist Dr. Antony Levatino testified at a House Judiciary Committee hearing about Planned Parenthood’s medical procedures after videos were released showing how the mega-abortion provider sold fetal tissue to researchers. Levatino testifies performing the brutal dismembering of a baby who has just been kicking in its mother’s womb by taking apart its legs, hands, intestines, heart, and lungs.

Levatino was asked why he ended his abortion practice after performing 1,200 abortions over a four-year period. Levatino tells his story of how he and his wife adopted a girl because they suspected they were infertile. However, his wife got pregnant the very next month and the couple had two children ten months apart. Their adopted daughter was killed in a car accident when she was six. Sometime after burying her, Levatino went to perform an abortion and got sick after pulling out an arm and leg. “For the first time in my life I really looked at that pile of body parts on the side of the table … all I could see was somebody’s son or daughter,” he says. Dr. Levatino could no longer kill babies.

If abortions are so traumatic for the doctor, isn’t it even more traumatic for the mother? Dr. John Bruchalski is a former abortionist who is part of a network that provides abortion pills. He says that because the mother has to see the aborted baby abortions by pills are more traumatic than surgical abortions. He says:

“There’s lots of contractions without anesthesia, lots of clots, that’s not even the issues that come with seeing the tissue with the baby.”

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The mother has to make sure that all the body parts have been ejected otherwise any part remaining inside her can cause serious infection. Women have to flush their baby down the toilet. But many women panic once they see their baby and don’t know what to do.

Vicki Thorn, of the National Office for Post Abortion Reconciliation and Healing, says some women in late-term medical abortions who did not want to bury their baby were at such a loss that they kept their baby in the freezer.

The abortion industry is in big trouble. They are running short of executioners. Women conned by the abortion industry into believing that abortion is safe are in even bigger trouble. The abortion industry is turning them into hangwomen.

Killing her own baby and flushing it down the toilet could leave a woman traumatized for the rest of her life.

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