#iroman

[alix-almeida]

Spiderman conoce a Batman.

[extraordinary-heroes]

Iron Man Vol 6 #5 (Cover art by Alex Ross)

[tinovalduvieco]

10 e IRONMAN Calella.Maresme

Calella.Maresme.Catalunya 06-10-2024

©Tino Valduvieco.

[ni-idea-07]

Can you write a yandere Steve rogers who is a yandere for Tony Stark's wife, the reader. The reader and Tony are inseparable, and are very loyal to eachother. She is the only one to actual be able to make Tony settle down and she is spoiled by him ect.

Hello Anonymous! Of course. I'm so excited, it's my first request and I hope you like it.

Enjoy.😚

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TW: Yandere, stalking. Courts hip of a married woman. English is not my language, I translated all of this using a translator. I apologize in advance if there are any mistakes 😞.

Everything for her.

Tony had always been a complicated guy; that was a fact. But with you, everything was different. Since you got married, it seemed like he had found something he didn’t even know he needed. His sarcasm was still there, of course, but with you, it softened, and his days as a frantic genius ended with you both curled up on the couch. Iron heart? Nah, when he looked at you, it seemed to melt.

You were crazy about him. You adored him as much as he adored you (and yes, Tony would also be a yandere, but more chill, okay?). Sometimes he drove you nuts, but you knew it was part of the package. For his part, he spoiled you with affection and details: private dinners on rooftops, ridiculously expensive jewelry you told him you didn’t need (which he gave you anyway), and most of all, a love so steady it made you feel like you were the most important thing in the world.

But someone else was watching.

Steve Rogers.

From the first time he saw you at a party in Stark Tower, he knew there was something about you he couldn’t ignore. You were with Tony, laughing at some silly comment he made, but Steve couldn’t take his eyes off your smile, off the warmth in your gaze. That night, he tried to shake off the strange feeling. Spoiler: he couldn’t.

Every time he went to the tower, he found excuses to be near you. He always showed up at the most random moments: when you were alone in the kitchen making coffee or while Tony was in the lab and you were resting on the couch. At first, the questions were casual.

–“How are you doing? Everything okay?”–

But over time, his comments began to change.

–“It’s amazing how you manage to calm him down”– he said once, with that soft tone he used only with you. –“I never thought Tony could change, but you… you make him different.”–

You laughed, a little uncomfortable. –“Tony’s always had a good heart. You just have to know how to see it.”–

Steve nodded, but in his mind, things were very different. Tony didn’t deserve you, not like he did. Tony was selfish, impulsive, and in Steve’s eyes, didn’t know how to value what he had. He, on the other hand, did.

And that’s when things started to get messy.

Steve found ways to plant doubts, to get into your head.

–“Did you know Tony’s getting involved in another dangerous mission?”– he casually mentioned one day. –“He didn’t tell me, but you should talk to him. Sometimes he doesn’t measure the risks.”–

Of course, you got worried and confronted Tony. But laughing, he simply said, –“Since when is that idiot so invested in my life?”–

The weird part was that Steve kept showing up more than necessary. He was always there, like a shadow. His comments started making you uneasy.

–“How do you put up with him? It’s complicated, isn’t it?”–

–“I love him”– you replied without hesitation.

Steve’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

And that’s when strange things started happening. Your favorite necklace disappeared. Your phone appeared in places you didn’t leave it, with messages opened that you didn’t remember reading. And the feeling of being watched, even when you were alone, became constant.

Tony noticed right away. –“What’s wrong, love?”– he asked you one night.

–“I don’t know. I feel like… someone’s watching us.”–

He hugged you, kissing your forehead. –“As long as I’m here, no one’s going to touch you, got it?”–

But the danger wasn’t outside the tower.

One night, while Tony was in the lab, you went downstairs to grab some water. As you crossed the kitchen, you saw him there, standing in the dark.

–“Steve? What are you doing here?”– you asked, taking a step back.

–“I wanted to see you”– he said, taking a step toward you.

–“At this hour?”–

–“I always want to see you.”–

The tone put you on edge. –“I think you should leave. It’s late.”–

Steve grabbed your arm—not hard enough to hurt you, but firm enough to make you tense. –“Why are you with him, Y/N? Tony doesn’t deserve you. You know it.”–

–“Steve, you’re crossing a line”– you said, trying to stay calm.

–“Everything I do is for you”– he insisted, with an intensity that scared you. –“Tony can’t protect you like I can. He can’t give you what you need. I can.”–

Before you could respond, the door to the lab opened.

–“What the hell is going on here?”–

Tony.

Steve let go of you immediately, but the tension didn’t drop.

–“We were just talking”– Steve said as if it were nothing.

Tony looked at you. You were trembling slightly as you moved closer to him. –“Tony…”–

–“Don’t ever go near my wife again”– Tony said, his voice so cold it made you shiver.

Steve clenched his jaw but said nothing. He left, though you knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

That night, Tony didn’t let go of you. He held you like he wanted to fuse with you, whispering that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. But even with him by your side, you couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes watching you in the dark.

What you didn’t know was that Tony was already planning how to get rid of Steve. If he had to turn the rest of the Avengers against him, he would. If he had to ruin his reputation, he was willing to.

Because for you, Tony would do anything. And his hand wouldn’t tremble when it came to sending the “damn shield idiot” to hell.

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Thanks for reading.

Bye bye 🫠

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 33 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: As the Valyrian houses gather for the anticipated dinner party, King Viserys has an unexpected announcement to share. Word Count: 6070 CHAPTER WARNINGS: We're still talking about menstrual blood. I also only proof read this once, cause ya girl is getting lazy. So apologies for types/grammatical errors, and odd sentencing/wording.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: This is another one of those chapters I'm not particularly happy about. I think my problem is that I absolutely LOATH writing scenes where there are more than four people. Because there are just too many moving parts and I feel like I need to acknowledge everyone's existence. It's tiring. Anyway, I hope this reads better than I feel like it does.

The Small Council Chamber was at its fullest for the first time in years. Though there was a single marble left unclaimed in the centre of the table, a white and grey granite sphere that would belong to the Master of Ships. Alas, with Lord Corlys occupied near a decade in the Step Stones, and now incapacitated to near death, the subject of anointing a new master of ships was broached several times in the past, and that day was no different. 

“Word has it that the Cannibal has moved all the way north west, settling in the mountains around Iroman’s Bay. Dalton Greyjoy told me himself that the Ironmen have begun preparing ships with scorpions, and arming themselves with harpoons, ready to take down the beast,” Larys leaned back in his chair, eyes casting over the nearly full table before landing on the King. “He said that he is willing to take down the nuisance at your pleasure, your Grace, and all he asks is for a seat on this Council and a bride with a generous dowry.”

“Of course he did,” Lord Bartimos rolled his eyes.

“Your Grace, we do need a Master of Ships,” the Lord Hand reminded, and everyone’s eyes strayed to the lone marble in the hexagon. “Lord Dalton is an exceptional sailor and captain, and has one of the largest fleets in the Seven Kingdoms, next to the Redwyne’s.”

“Yes, but might I remind you of his reputation,” Daemon shot Otto a look. “He’s done far worse than I, and yet you kept me farther away from this Council.” 

“Daemon, please,” Viserys lifted his hand, already tired. “We are not going to bring up the past today…” He turned to look at Barty, who appeared to agree with Daemon, predictably. With a sigh, Viserys lifted his arms, “Tell Lord Dalton I will think on it. Until then, there are many others that we must consider.” 

“Like who, your Grace?” Lord Wylde raised an eyebrow. 

“Lord Manderly, for example, or Ser Cedric Redwyne, Lord Corwyn’s most accomplished son,” The King answered swiftly. “Not to mention, Lord Clement and Arthor Celtigar, Bartimos’ sons. Clement has possessed the seas since his youth, and knows Lord Corlys personally.”

At the mention of his sons, Barty’s chest swelled, “It would be a great honour, my King. My boys would make you proud, should you have them.”

Rhaenyra glanced at the Hand of the King; he appeared as if he was holding on by a thread. His mouth opened to say something, but instead he clamped it shut after sharing a look with his daughter beside him.

Having a Celtigar on the Small Council again would impede Otto’s ambitions. With Bartimos back, Rhaenyra could tell that the Hand was becoming more irate and impatient, making his motives clearer with every desperate attempt at salvaging Hightower power. His plan was thwarted when Viserys’ health improved; he was no longer addled with Milk of the Poppy and strained with pain, making it easier for Otto to manipulate by the power of suggestion and urgency. Ever since Lyonel Strong had stepped down as Hand and was tragically killed in the Harrenhall fire, Otto’s re-admittance into the position was merely due to the lack of better prospects. At that point, Viserys’ relationship with Bartimos was strained, otherwise the Claw Isle lord would have taken Lyonel’s place. 

However, now they are friends again, it was only a matter of time before Viserys realized he could replace Otto with him. The man’s presence in the Small Council while not having a title to belong there was enough of an implication. It would only take a few pushes until Otto finally snaps, forcing the King to do so. Ultimately, that would be a win for Rhaenyra, ensuring that there is no more Green influence whispering in her father’s ear.

Rhaenyra swiveled her eyes to Alicent for a moment, before moving her gaze onto her hands folded on her lap. She and the Queen have been cordial since Visenya’s funeral, though they have yet to share any true moment of reconciliation. At most there were glances of pity, sadness, longing, mutually understanding that they both wished to bury the axe. It was just a matter of who was going to lower their weapon and make the first wave of the white flag. After her conversation with Jacaerys the night prior, it would appear that she would be one to do that. 

Otto was wrapping up the final details of the Tourney, after making suggestions for possible low-born men to be knighted and even chosen to be a Kingsguard. Then he asked if there was anything else that needed to be brought up before they departed, and Rhaenyra felt a sense of deja vu. 

“Yes, there is, as a matter of fact,” she stood up slowly as everyone remained seated. “Several years ago, I stood in this Council Chamber with what I believed was a wise and honourable offer… I said it then, that we are one house, but we have since been divided all these years.” Her eyes roamed the table, noting everyone's expressions one by one. Daemon looked expectant, Otto looked too controlled, Alicent appeared conflicted, and her father’s pleasant smile of encouragement filled her with hope. The first and last time this was mentioned in this room, Alicent barred more mental strength than he. 

“His Grace wishes this to be a season of peacemaking, which I heartily agree… As does my son, Jacaerys, who was the one to bring this up to me.” Bartimos tilted his head towards Daemon, his brow furrowed.

 Rhaenyra turned to address him first, “Lord Bartimos, your daughter is simply lovely. You know well that I adored her when we both resided in the Red Keep, as I did her mother… A union between our families would have been ideal, yes, but I made a promise to my son that I would give him the liberty to choose, as my father gave me when I was his age.” 

The Lord of Claw Isle seemed to deflate in his seat, his eyes seemed to age as he blinked defeatedly, “My Princess, I would like to apologize for any insult my daughter has—”

Rhaenyra smiled and lifted her hand up to stop him, “Apologies are not necessary. There was no insult to be had… On the contrary, Jacaerys and Valeana got along well enough, but nothing beyond cordial companionship. Instead, your daughter has inspired my son…” Rhaenyra trailed off and looked back to Alicent. “He has approached me to inquire about the possibility of taking Princess Helaena’s hand in marriage. As it happens… He has already discussed it with her privately.” 

Alicent straightened in her seat, her mouth hung open with the incapability of articulating a response. Her eyes casting over to her father did not go amiss, and neither did Daemon’s look towards Bartimos. 

“Helaena has not mentioned this,” Alicent stated, her tone betraying her need to disbelieve her ears. 

“It appears to be a new development,” Rhaenyra folded her arms in front of herself diplomatically. “Though Jace has said he wished to court her quietly and without stress to ease Helaena’s mind.” 

“Well now,” The King finally spoke, his smile widening. “I did not wish to say it… But this was something I always wished had happened all those years ago.”

“But your Grace, we have already discussed betrothing Aegon with–” Otto was promptly cut off by Viserys.

“It was discussed and I made the decision of it not being discussed further,” Viserys looked at Otto, his purple eyes wide with the unquestionable authority of a King. “Helaena is too soft for Aegon. You of all people understand his appetites, as you spend most of your day containing the deplorable truths he hides in Flea Bottom. I know he loves his sister, but it does not go beyond that… And I believe everyone in this very room could all agree… He does not wish to marry Helaena, as much as she does not wish to be married to him.” 

The Lord Hand visibly sunk into his chair, his hands lifting in a feeble attempt to convey surrender. “Aegon is your first born son, your Grace. If there were anyone to marry first, it would be him. He is well past the age.” 

“I’m aware, Lord Otto,” The King smiled ironically. “Though as you are all aware by now, Aegon is in a very unique situation. And if the whispers have any merit,” His eyes flickered over to Larys, “It’s the same situation as my other son.” 

The King fell quiet, looking down at his four fingers as they drummed the marble sitting in its nest in front of him. Then he moved his eyes onto his friend, Barty, who sat at his right. Bartimos stared back, his jaw taught as they silently communicated the obvious. 

“I am inclined to allow the chips to fall where they may,” Viserys finally says, lacing his eight fingers in front of himself. “For my daughter, Helaena, however, I wish the world for her… And what better world can I give her than one where she is to be a future queen of the Realm, to be married to a honourable, compassionate, and strapping man like my grandson? Alicent, my dear, do you not agree?”

The question was a challenge, to gouge a reaction out of his wife. If Alicent did not agree, she would voice it. But something kept her lips buttoned, and she looked wide eyed between her husband, her father, and her former friend. If only Rhaenyra could read her mind, to know what she knew, to feel what she felt. Instead, the Princess waited with baited breath. 

Alicent slowly stood up from the table, her fingers anchoring her body on the table as she did. Her eyes found Rhaenyra above everyone else’s, effectively avoiding the imploring eye of her father. With a swift movement, she grabbed her goblet, and raised it to the Princess. 

“I agree,” her answer fills the room, stirring emotions. “It is time we repair the rift between our families, and make our house whole again.” 

When Valeana woke up that morning, it was earlier than she typically would find herself in. Shyla was missing from her bed, which only reminded her of her dream. A wave of nausea hit her; it felt like guilt, it felt like loss. It was so much simpler then, to choose both and have them willing. But it was not reality, as much as she curled back into her pillows, hoping to fall back into that dream that ended so unsatisfyingly. 

There was a distinctive squish between her thighs when she moved, and she internally groaned and threw her head back. She must have bled through her rag during the night. Carefully she moved her body over to inspect the sheets underneath her, finding it clear, thank the gods. Then, Valeana quickly strapped on Lady Footlyn so she could clean herself at the washing basin in the corner. A meticulously humiliating process she had to do every single morning the last few days; every moon for the last 8 years. Only 40 more to go. 

Though when she pulled up the damp cloth, she didn’t find what she expected. Her moon’s blood was over, what remained was slick, translucent, with a pinkish hue (likely remnants of her blood). Cringing at herself, she resumed her cleaning, ensuring that her thighs were thoroughly dry. At least she didn’t need to plug herself with cotton anymore. 

Over breakfast, it was collectively decided that Shyla should no longer suffer another night trying to sleep next to Valeana. Apparently, she had snored so loud and stuttery, Shyla had to check to make sure she was breathing several times.

“You sounded like you were a street cat being mounted by a direwolf, Val,” Shyla rubbed the corners of her eyes. An apt description, considering what she was dreaming that night. Unfortunately, there was a lack of Cregan. Perhaps another night. 

Floris was violently reluctant in giving up her single bedroom, but it was put to rest when Shyla expertly handled it. 

“It’s alright, Floris. The settee is kind of comfortable… I guess I can stay there for, what…two more moons? My neck won’t hurt forever.”

So, it was decided. Floris’ single room would be Valeana’s. The transition between rooms was a series of glares and muttered remarks as trunks of clothing were moved from one room to the other. When it was all settled, Val collapsed on the larger bed with a sigh. Floris’ former bedchamber was smaller, situated just above the one Valeana shared with Shyla. Stairs lead to it, a circular room in the spired tower above their family’s wing of the Holdfast. There was a larger tower on the opposite end, where her parents’ were. Unlike her former accommodations, this one’s balcony was considerably smaller, just enough for a lounging chair and a tea table.

Aemond would have a harder time climbing up there. 

Val lolled her head towards the inconspicuous bookcase, now empty of Floris’ belongings. Almost forgot about that. She lifted herself up on her elbows and looked around the room, now truly taking in how blissfully removed it was from the rest of the apartment.

A smile crept on her face, slow and devious, just as her hand moved up the hem of her skirt. 

The highly anticipated, but even more dreaded gathering of the Valyrian houses would take place that evening for supper. Valeana had spent the entire day making Queen Alicent’s dragon dress with Rosy in the private confines of her new bedquarters to kill the day. While her maid could not talk, she was actively listening as Valeana imparted ideas for her own gown for the Creature Ball. In the end, she decided to be a white lioness, a homage to her mother.

By the time it was time for her to get dressed for supper, the Queen’s dress was practically finished. All that was left was a final fitting to ensure everything was in place, which they had plenty of time for. The Creature Ball would not happen for another moon, at least, some weeks after the Tourney and the Victor’s celebration in the pavilions was over.

There was, however, a formal dress code for the evening. Everyone must wear the colours of their house, which meant that the Celtigars will be garbed in whites and reds, including Floris. 

“Why was she even invited,” Valeana ranted to Rosy as the girl helped her pull the solid vermillion dress over her head. “She’s not a Celtigar, she’s not Valyrian.”

And yet Floris wore Celtigar colours, a red bodice with matching tiered layer, an ivory skirt underneath and trumpet sleeves. A ridiculously extravagant dress that expressed something that she clearly is not. All that was missing were crabs embellishments, like Shyla’s. 

Her younger sister’s dress was mostly white, save for the inside of the corset in the front, and the stripe of red on the hemline of her skirt, sleeves, and square neckline. Her mother wore a solid red dress, much like Valeana’s, but hers had far more bedazzlement with pearls and polished quartz, which matched her statement necklace. 

Valeana had a fair amount of vermillion and ivory coloured dresses, enough to fill two trunks over had she brought her entire wardrobe with her to King’s Landing. Though there was one in particular that was her favourite, one that she had only worn once at her coming out ball on her 18th name day two years ago. It was a bit romantic, perhaps a little much the evening, but the King did request his guests to wear formal attire. And Valeana was feeling particularly romantic that evening. 

The skirt was slimmer than her usual gowns, but still held a petticoat underneath to keep shape. Though unadorned with embroidery, it was flowy and delicate. What made the dress her favourite work was the sleeves and the neckline. The sleeves were trumpet shaped, though entirely made out of vermillion dyed veil-type lace that exposed her arms from shoulder to wrist. The dress itself was designed around this fabric, so the lace was the focal point. The bodice had a lace corset in the front, and the neckline was sweetheart shaped, bordered by more lace that framed the tops of her bosom, clavicle, and over her shoulders with a patterned fringe. 

Rosy plaited her hair intricately, though its loose appearance made it appear effortless to anyone who didn’t look too close. Four smaller braids beginning from her scalp met in a knot at the back of her head, and the rest of her hair was pulled into two thick messy braids. 

Valeana stood after strapping on Ser An-toe-knee Woodsby, then shook her hips around, making the dress swish around her legs. Looking up at Rosy, she asked, “How do I look?”

The mute girl communicated with her hands, a language that Val slowly learned over time. Her fingers made a crown on her hand, and then she covered her left eye before pointing at her heart. 

Prince Aemond will love it. 

Valeana smirked bashfully, “And what about Prince Aegon?”

Rosy stared at her with a tilt of her head as she considered the question. Then she motioned with her fingers around her chest, and made a squeezing motion. 

He will enjoy that part.

Valeana threw her head back in a laugh, then turned around to go find her shoe for her right foot. Her eyes glanced at the bookcase, the one that hid the hidden passageway, and she couldn’t help but involuntarily swallow at the mere possibilities this room offered. 

The dinner was being hosted in the Holdfast’s private ballroom, designed for family-only events and intimate parties. The Celtigars are the first to arrive, Bartimos leading the charge in his ivory doublet, trimmed in red, marching red grabs on his shoulders. Ursula behind, then Clement in a dark red doublet, and Arthor wearing similar. The girls filtered in right after, Floris, Valeana, Shyla. 

There were two tables positioned in a T shape, but separated by a platform. The smallest table sat horizontally on the platform with larger chairs. Two in the middle that faced the hall itself were the tallest, and the most ornate, a visual indication that it belonged to the King and Queen. The longest table was placed vertically below the platform some distance away; it had a total of fourteen chairs.

“I suppose that is where us kids sit,” Arthor comments as he moves around his family to take a gander around the ball. 

There was a band in the corner, playing lightly to create a background ambiance. Drapes were pinned to the ceiling, red, black, white, aquamarine; the colours of the Valyrian houses. Valeana noted green was distinctively vacant in the decor, as were the Hightower banners. On poles that flanked the fringes of the ball room, the sigils of House Targaryen, House Velaryon and House Celtigar stood proudly one after the other. At the very end of the ballroom, beyond the modest dance floor, was a statue of a dragon with three hands, candles were placed on its pedestal, illuminating it from below. 

Valeana stared at it for a moment, examining each head closely, particularly the one in the center that faced the room, eyes trained forward. 

The dragon must have three heads, a voice echoed in the back of her mind.

Not long after their arrival, Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon strode in with their litany of children, save for the younger ones, Viserys and Aegon, who likely were put to bed by then. After the obligatory formal greeting, the growing crowd began to mingle. Clement went to crowd Daemon, and Jacaerys slowly made his way towards Valeana, who lingered around the statue. 

“The milkweed plant worked,” Jace said cheekily, his hands behind his back. 

Val grinned at him, “I told you. Did you talk to your mother about it?”

He nodded, “I did. She told me she had wished for it years ago, but was thwarted by Alicent. I’m guessing the Queen wished Aegon and Helaena to be wedded, but that was not going to come to pass…”

She hummed in understanding, “And what does Helaena think of it?”

“She has told me she cares for me, but she does have reservations about being Queen. I assured her that if she wishes it, she will be Queen in title only, and that she does not need to be obligated in affairs of the court. I only wish for her to be contented, and not forced into a loveless marriage where she is not appreciated.” 

Valeana smiled softly and placed a hand on his bicep, “You’re a sweet man, Jace. She is very lucky to have you.”

He looked down, suddenly overcome with bashfulness. Jace nodded his thanks, and then lifted his gaze up at her, “You look very pretty, by the way. That colour suits you.” 

She pursed her lips sheepishly, “Thank you, my Prince.” 

“Are you sure I can’t change your mind about us? Aegon the Conqueror had two wives—”

“Don’t push it.” 

Upon entering the ballroom, Aemond’s eye immediately found her, like a moth to the moon. The vibrant red of her dress contrasted greatly against the canvas of grey stone and wooden floors, like an orange-red rose growing on a vine along the face of the castle. He barely registered the formal greetings towards the King, he was too busy examining the narrow space between his Valeana and Jacaerys. He locked eyes with his nephew, and the insufferable bastard smirked at him before turning to her and saying something. 

Aegon appeared at his side, just in time for Jace to walk away from her, “Does he believe he still has a chance with her?”

Aemond could only grumble in response as Jace strode by them. “Uncles,” he greeted with a short nod of his head, and a faint smirk at the end of his lips. Aemond’s body prickled; he was so worried about Aegon, he had forgotten about Jace. He did not seem to appear a threat anymore, with Valeana very obviously showing disinterest in the forced courtship, but that was contradicted by their show of friendliness. 

Did she grow close to him during that day in the Godswood? He didn’t ask how the ride had gone when he was on her balcony, he was too consumed with the need to be with her, he had pushed it out of his mind completely. 

His father and mother moved to their centered seats at the table on the platform, which signaled everyone to do the same. Without being instructed, it appeared that everyone knew where they were to be seated. The elder generation took their place at the King’s table; Bartimos on Viserys’ right, and Otto on Alicent’s left. Rhaenys sat across from him, Daemon across Alicent, Rhaenyra across her father, and finally, Ursula sat across from her husband. 

At the longer table, it was a bit more chaotic as people scrambled to claim seats next to people they wished to be rooted next to, and actively avoided those they didn’t. Aegon and Aemond shared a look before they practically scrambled towards the approaching Valeana, who was about to take a seat next to her brother. Aegon, though, rested his hand on the small of her back, and guided her to the other end of the table. 

“Where do you think you’re going, Lady Valeana?” He smiled against her ear as he pulled out a chair near the end of the table. After he tucked her in, Aegon settled into the seat on her right, next to Helaena. Aemond took the seat on Valeana’s left, the very end of the table. 

Even though everyone in the room presently was aware on some capacity of his affection for Valeana, Aemond still had to keep the appearance that he wasn’t. He hadn’t the opportunity to end things with Maris, and the servants and guards that milled the room were just as responsible for the whispers as the ladies of court were. The last thing he needed was for Borros Baratheon to learn about his dishonourable snubbing of his daughter through a maidservant. 

Aemond was about to place his hand discreetly on Valeana’s knee underneath the table, but he looked up to realize he was sitting directly across from Lucerys, who watched him with oppressive entertained scrutiny. Valeana must have sensed the tension, because she turned to him with concern etched in her features. No words were said, but her hand reached under the table and squeezed his thigh comfortingly. The corner of his lip twitched at the contact. 

The long table was quiet as everyone settled, only the sound of music and the shuffling of servants were heard. Even the King’s table was subdued with its chatter, reduced to murmured compliments. The tension hung in the air like the wrought iron candelabras that were suspended from the ceiling with thick chains. The weight of Vaemond’s sudden and brutal execution was still a fresh memory, but there was also something else amongst the adults that appeared to keep their shoulders squared. Particularly the Lord Hand, who’s eyes were darker than usual. Aegon caught his eye before their grandsire moved it onto Aemond. A silent reprimand, though neither prince knew what they were being scolded for. 

The first course was gradually spread along the tables; smaller fare such as mutton stew, fresh bread and soft butter, cured sausages and spiced olives. Grilled vegetables and various sliced cheeses, accompanied by jams from different fruits; fig, grape, strawberries. Salt water oysters were piled high on a bed of salt, next to it were steamed mussels in a red sauce. 

“Let us pray before we begin,” Queen Alicent said loudly enough for all in the room to hear. Her piousness is not shared with most in the room, but none seemed to protest, save for the slight exasperation found on Daemon’s features. Everyone collectively bowed their heads and wove their fingers on their laps, everyone except for the Blacks, who only folded their hands. 

Aemond respected tradition, even if it was from his mother’s side. He and his siblings may have been raised to worship the faith of the Seven, but They held very little value in their life. Aemond, too philosophical, too agnostic, would say that Their existence is both plausible and impossible. If the Father was just, the man sitting in front of him would have paid for the sin of slicing Aemond’s eye clear from his head. If the Mother was merciful, the woman sitting next to him would have both of her legs. Life was not fair, the gods less so, but out of respect for deities that he may one day face, he bowed his head and prayed when he was supposed to.

Aegon, on the other hand, was different. He believed in the Seven, sure, but also believed they didn’t love him; that they turned their backs on him the day he was born, and decided that he was their mistake that they were trying to forget. It should have been Baelon that survived, not him. Baelon would’ve been the heir his father always wanted. 

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love,” Alicent led the prayer. “May the Smith mend bonds that have been broken for far too long. May the Maiden shower us with love and light during this Royal Conclave. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.”

There was a notable shift to the atmosphere that could be tasted on the tip of everyone’s tongue at the mention of Vaemond. Lucerys’s mouth pinched and his eyes roamed the table before resting them on his lap; his step-sister beside him blinked rapidly, as if she was trying to keep a stoic face; Rhaenyra stared vacantly at a spot on the table, her nostrils flaring; Daemon rolled his eyes to the back of his head; Valeana gave a barely audible sigh through her nose, the creases between her brows deepening. 

Before people could tuck into their meals, the King pushed himself up, his weight held up by his cane; ivory and ironwood, a dragon nesting on the top. Everyone looked up at him expectedly and he looked at all their faces with a smile so contented, so peaceful, it was enough to forget that all other individuals in that room hated the other for one reason or another. 

“This is an occasion of multiple celebrations, it seems,” his mouth widened as his teeth peaked from behind his lips. “Tonight is the first night in generations that the three great Valyrian houses are united under one room. The Targaryens, the Velaryons, and the Celtigars all survived the Doom of Old Valyria.”

Aemond’s eye drifted over all the faces here present. There wasn’t a single true Velaryon by name present; the only two that held blood of a Velaryon were Targaryens by name. No, the Velaryons were nearly a dead line. Vaemond’s sons were the last true Velaryons, but they were not here. They were no older than Aemond’s nephews, Viserys and Aegon the younger, and by now they would be learning that their father was dead. That half his head rolled around like a flipped coin on the flagstone floors of the Throne Room, less than a minute after he shouted ‘bastards’ at the top of his lungs.

“And we sit here today, as one house: The House of Valyria. Proud, ancient, and forged in fire and blood, in salt and sea,” Everyone raises their goblets in murmured agreement. “It truly gladdens me to be part of this historical moment. Our families will now no longer be divided, but blended. My grandsons, Jace and Luke are set to be married.” 

Aemond felt his blood drain from his body instantly. His brow furrowed, his heart ached in a pang of betrayal. His brother felt no different; they both turned to the woman seated between them. Valeana hadn’t seemed to notice this, as she was looking at Jace with a slight smirk upon her lips, and that made it all the worse.

The implication of their father’s speech was thick in the air, and hard to ignore. Both Princes exchanged glances of disbelief, and yet the way Valeana and Jaceaerys were speaking with each other when they first entered… What the hell was going on? Was… did Valeana…? No, no, surely not…

Aemond’s fingers were visibly trembling under the table, his eye prickling, and his ribs felt like they were going to crack under the pressure of his rapidly beating heart. Aegon was less conserved than he; his mouth twisted as if he was trying to swallow down bile. He lifted his hands and placed them on the edge of the table, ready to push his chair away and leave the room. 

But then the King continued. 

“Luke will marry his cousin, Rhaena, and together they will one day become Lord and Lady of the Tides. And as for my eldest grandson, Jacaerys, my daughter’s heir… Well, he has asked for the hand of the purest soul in this room. It fills my old heart with immense joy to announce the betrothal between Prince Jacaerys and my little butterfly, my daughter, Princess Helaena, the future King and Queen of Westeros. I wish them a lifetime of happiness, peace, and prosperity.” 

“Here, here,” someone had said through the sounds of clapping. 

Aegon had made a brief screeching noise with his chair in his failed attempt to leave. He instead spun to Helaena sitting next to him, who held a sheepish, shy smile, lavender eyes avoiding everyone in the room, other than Jacaerys who was watching her with fondness. 

“Helaena and–” He began, but cut himself off, turning back to Valeana. “Were you aware of this?”

Val leaned back into her chair, her fingers laced innocently in front of her, “I kind of had a hand in it.” 

Aegon practically sunk in his chair, his hands raking into his scalp. The adrenaline seeped out of his pores and landed on the floor. He lulled his head to look at his sister, and then back at Valeana, “I do not know if I feel better.”

Valeana raised her eyebrows, “Did you think he was referring to me?” 

He leaned into her, his voice a whisper, only loud enough for her ears, “Darling, I was very nearly going to kidnap you right here and now.” 

Aemond physically felt like he nearly avoided a landslide; visually, he remained impassive, if not a bit bothered around his one expressive eye and flared nostrils. Still his shoulders relaxed once the relief washed over him like a cool breeze on a humid day, which softened the blow of the knowledge that Jacaerys was marrying his fucking sister. A development that he realized was his second least favourable probability, right next to Jace marrying Valeana. 

No, he thought as he glanced at Aegon, leaning into her space like she was the only source of heat in the middle of winter. The third least.

Facade be damned, he could not sit silently by while his brother was allowed to publicly stake his claim on his woman, like she was some newly discovered, unoccupied patch of land. Aemond leaned back in his seat haughtily, and without a word spoken, he reached under the table and scooped up Valeana’s left hand that sat idly on her thigh. Ignorant to his intentions, she instinctively wove her small fingers in between his large ones, likely believing for a split second that he simply wanted to convey relief in the shadows. However, he had no intention of keeping it in the dark any longer, not now when the stakes were growing too high. 

It was a simple gesture, but one that conveyed a very large statement. Aemond pulled their conjoint hands above the table and laid it between them, his thumb moving rhythmically over the back of her palm. Those closest to them had their attention ripped away from their plates and conversations to stare. He could feel her hand tense in his, and he watched her in his peripheral as she turned to him, mouth ajar, eyes wide. 

Aemond tilted his head in her direction, eye lifting to meet her marbleized peridots, blinking up at him in shock. His smile coiled at her reaction.

“Ao jurnegon gevie isse bona grēza, ñuha jorrāelagon (You look beautiful in that dress, my love),” his voice was velvet on bare skin, soft, sensual, erotic. “Absolutely stunning.”  

On her otherside, Aegon leans forward into the table to openly glare at his brother. His jaw rotates as he grinds the back of his teeth; the only visual proof of him trying to contain himself. In the end, he huffed an ironic laugh, and then smirked at his brother’s brazenous. 

Aegon moved his chair closer to Valeana, the legs roughly screeching against the floor hollowly. With his side now flushed against hers, he draped his arm around her shoulders and leaned in to give her a peck on the corner of her mouth. 

“How lucky am I to have the most gorgeous creature on earth at my side,” his tone was saccharine and sanguine, his eyes were predatory and possessive. 

Valeana could do nothing but remain trapped between them, not knowing where to rest her eyes. When she found the most neutral point, it was Lucerys and Rhaena who sat across from them. The latter looked partially mortified, partially intrigued, and the former seemed like he was about to combust from amusement. 

On the other end of the ballroom, on the platform, seated at the end of the shorter table, Otto Hightower watched the whole thing from his perch. His chest swelled with a sigh of exhaustion and growing impatience. He was getting too old for this shit. 

“Seven bleeding Hells,” he muttered, loud enough to garner the attention of his daughter beside him. 

“What is it?” Alicent asked in a low tone, her brow creased in concern. 

Otto turned to her slowly, “Your fucking sons.” 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR SNEAK PEEK Slowly he turned around, his one eye peeking over at Luke over the bridge of his nose. His nephew was laughing; eyes squinting in a mischievous glint as he stared at Aemond, and then back at the roasted pig…  And then onto Valeana, who was unaware of it all.  Suddenly the table jostled, the bang of Aemond’s fist on the table immediately halted everyone’s chatter and movement, bringing their collective attention to his side of  the table.  Fisting his cup, Aemond ascended from his seat and extended his arm, his eye trained on his nephew in front of him. “Final tribute...”

Notes: F I N A L T R I B U TE Get ready for a whole chapter dedicated to fucking speeches XD Because by god... I'm never...I'm never gonna watch that episode again, I've seen it too many times to write this chapter and the FemAegon oneshot.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[artverso]

Ron Lim - Iroman and Emma Frost (White Queen)

[stonystark]

Guys I make text posts now uuuhhhhh iroman and captn amrica kissinf

[bulkyphrase]

Cap-IM Rec Week - Absolute Faves Monday

I'm not on dreamwidth and am not a part of the cap-iroman community, but they do a lot of cool events and I'm always looking for an excuse to compile and post a rec list.

Here are some of my all-time favorite Stony fics and podfics.

Falling Backwards (Till it Turns Me Inside Out) by Aeraneth (@aeranethwrites) (MCU | Teen And Up Audiences | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | 5,706 words)

Summary: It’s Nomad against the Avengers, a Hydra patch on his shoulder, a gun pointed at Iron Man’s head, and a doomsday machine running down the clock behind him. He’s the only one standing in the way of them saving the world. Steve doesn’t know how he got here.

girls can't play guitar by isozyme (@isozyme) (Ults | Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | 4,209 words)

Summary: On nights when Tonia fucked Eve, Eve left her bed sated and woke up with a guilty desire to walk into Tonia’s room, strip off her kevlar uniform, and surrender herself to whatever Tonia wanted to do next. Captain Eve Rogers has a complicated relationship with sex and masculinity. Tonia Stark has a really big strap.

More below the cut!

This Thing of Darkness by MassiveSpaceWren, Mizzy (@mizzy2187) (616 | Teen And Up Audiences | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | 18,525 words)

Summary: X-Factor #231 AU. It's been five years since it happened, but Deathlok has spent every day since M-Day wishing he was less human, so going undercover as a human in order to find more humans to slaughter…? It's tough, but Deathlok agrees to do it. The target is Pandora, a base that Deathlok thought was just a rumor, the biggest undercover human resistance camp in the world. The mission turns out to be tougher than Deathlok expects, though, because the leader of the ragtag resistance camp is Tony Stark. Tony, who always has more than one ace up his sleeve. Tony, who Deathlok used to know. Tony, who refuses to call him anything but by his disgusting human name: Steve.

The Least Difficult of Men by isozyme (@isozyme) (Ults | Explicit | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | 46,153 words)

Summary: It isn’t until Tony watches Steve lean into the punch that he thinks oh, this is going to be a problem. Steve’s taking hits on purpose in the field, so Tony suggests a safer option. It's simple: Tony smacks Steve around, Steve gets the pain fix he’s looking for, everyone leaves happy. Things do not stay simple. The one with repressed masochist Steve and sadist Tony and everyone getting off on pain a whole bunch.

A Real Boy by Sineala (@sineala) (616 | Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | 11,468 words)

Summary: When Steve shows up for the Avengers' team meeting, he quickly discovers that the version of Tony in attendance this week is the artificial intelligence. But Tony is still Tony, the man Steve has loved for years, and him being a hologram doesn't stop the two of them from falling for each other. They just have a few kinks to work out. Also available as a podfic read by M_Samro (@msamro)

Living on Your Breath by Sineala (@sineala) (616 | Explicit | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | 110,343 words)

Summary: The Avengers have faced Onslaught and come home. The team has assembled again. And Steve is finally together with Tony. They're in love. Everything is perfect. But this happiness is all too brief, as Tony is kidnapped by forces unknown. Steve rushes off to rescue Tony, only to find that Tony has been brainwashed and turned against him. Now Steve, captured and tortured by the man he loves, must sacrifice everything he has to stop Tony from becoming a monster. Their relationship will never be the same again... if they both get out of here alive.

Super Villain Dating Tips - Or How Steve Won Over Tony Through The Art of Kidnapping by forgetmenotjimmy (MCU | General Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply | 46,265 words)

Summary: Steve isn't evil, he's just trying to do the right thing whilst hiding from an insane General who's out for his blood - literally - but when he is forced to kidnap Tony to help him escape the cops, his plans to take down the Secret Division that experimented on him, well, they get put on the back burner. How does a villain date a hero? More kidnapping of course!

Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree by Annie D (scaramouche) (@no-gorms) (MCU | Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | 21,098 words)

Summary: Steve doesn’t mind that Tony doesn’t return his feelings. He just would've preferred if it didn’t come with the side effect of his coughing up flowers and possibly dying.

Relativistic Heat Conduction by BlossomsintheMist (@blossomsinthemist) (616 | Explicit | Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death | 69,298 words)

Summary: Age of Ultron-based, but not entirely canon compliant. Written for the 2013 Cap-Iron Man Reverse Big Bang. Ultron has attacked, obliterating most of the world's superheroes and resistance in a matter of hours. The remaining heroes band together and share what strength they have to get through it, to survive, and defeat Ultron once and for all. Steve Rogers grieves in the wake of the disaster and the heroes' defeat, and no one knows if he will be able to provide the leadership they need--but Tony Stark isn't about to let him slip away that easily. Also available as a podfic read by Pywren (@phyrrhicvictory)

A Hundred Times, Once by FestiveFerret, SirSapling (@festiveferrets, @sirsapling) (Ults | Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | 24,761 words)

Summary: The shrill tone of his SHIELD beeper pulls Steve out of sleep and into battle. He fights robots, he fights Tony's shameless advances, he fights the exhaustion that threatens to take over him, drown him. And then the next morning, he wakes and does it again. Exactly the same. And again. And again. And again.

Mercy in You by Sineala (@sineala) (616 | Mature | No Archive Warnings Apply | 9,598 words)

Summary: When Tony comes back from a very bad D/s date, in pain and abandoned by his dom, Steve offers to help Tony out and give him all the aftercare he so desperately needs. Also available as a podfic read by Pywren (@phyrrhicvictory)

Straight on till Morning by Sineala (@sineala) (616 | Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | 109,848 words)

Summary: Tony Stark resigned his commission in Starfleet five years ago, after a disastrous away mission, and he swore he'd never go back. He just wants to be left alone to build warp engines in peace. But the universe has more in store for him than that, as he discovers when Admiral Fury comes to him with an offer he could never have expected and cannot possibly refuse: first officer and chief engineer aboard the all-new USS Avenger, a starship of Tony's own design. What's more, the Avenger's captain is Steve Rogers, hero of the Earth-Romulan War. Believed dead for over a century, Steve is miraculously alive... and very, very attractive. But nothing is ever easy for Tony. As he wrestles with his secret desire for his new captain and his not-so-dormant fears, another mission starts to go wrong, and Tony becomes aware that Steve has secrets of his own -- and the truth could change everything. Also available as a podfic read by M_Samro (@msamro)

The Prize by sabrecmc (@sabrecmc) (MCU | Explicit | Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con | 318,625 words)

Summary: Steve ends up as a concubine in the royal harem.

I (created from fantasies) exist solely for you by Mizzy (@mizzy2k) (MCU | Teen And Up Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply | 62,917 words)

Summary: Six years ago, without the Avengers Initiative there to save the day, scientist Dr. Eric Selvig sacrificed himself to save the world, the almighty demi-god Thor was lost to a terrible storm, and vigilante Iron Man – spotted with a nuclear weapon trying to take advantage of the situation – was forever labelled an enemy of SHIELD. This is a comic book office AU, where Steve is defrosted a year too late, Thor has forgotten who he is, and no one knows Tony is Iron Man. Also includes: office pranks, inappropriate post-it notes, and superheroes who like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. Also available as a podfic read by badfinch (@read-by-badfinch)

[ahoranoticiasuruguay]

Critica sin spoilers para antes de ver la serie. Es interesante el retrofurusimo presente en muchos juegos hace décadas pero que estamos viendo recientemente en las adaptaciones a este tipo de series. Serie similar al Silo pero menos seria mezclada con Logan Run, una peli de vaqueros y la primera de Iroman. Recuerda también a la serie donde había una nave generacional que había partido en los…

[ramrodd]

What are the implications of rewriting history classes to adhere to right-wing mythologies?

Re-writing history to fit a new mythology is where Marx went wront and what Hitler and Trumpers have in common.

COMMENTARY:

It’s a typical Fascist waste of time based on the same Libertarian logic that inspired Thomas Jefferson to waste his time going through the Bible cutting out the references to God and//or Jesus.

Ayn Rand’s Virtue of Selfishness is the classic case study in Jefferson Davis’s State’s Rights theory of property, labor and the means of production. It’s the logic of the Lost Cause and the January 6 rebellion. The Jesus Seminar or organized by the same conceits. If you cut Jesus out of the Gospels, the ethic of Jesus conveys, partially, through the theology of Paul. From that point, it is easy to re=arrange the historic timeline of the Gospel of Mark, the first published account of the events leading up to Resurrection as a military ghost story that actually happened, is somehow derivative of Paul’s Epistels.

Christianity began as a Roman Secret Society , the Italian Cohort of the Praetorian Guard, from the get-go because of the hostility of the allies of Sejanus to all things Tiberius. Historically, from astronomical records, it has been established that Jesus was crucified in 33 CE., April 4th or 6th, I forget. The thing is. the historicity of the actual day and hour of the events of Mark 15 are pretty well nailed down. In the Acts of the Apostles, everything that happens after Acts 10 operates on Roman Standard Time. Everything that happens after Acts 17 is real time journalism of a medical professional trained in the Hippocratic Oath. The Hippocratic Oath is an ethical bench mark that is equivalent to Romans 13:1 - 7 as the basis of the oath of office of the Speaker of the House, twice removed. Romans 13:1 - 7 is not the basis for treason. Romans 13:1 - 7 is the ethical link between the 2nd Amendment and the Congressional Medal of Honor, Romans 13:1 - 7 is the basis of the Uniform Code of Military Justice.

In any event, the Romans didn’t see Resurrection coming and the Messianic Secret was that the Roman centurions were already doing for Rome what Jesus was training his disciples to act as the servant-leaders of Judaism. Nobody in the Roman bureaucracy in Caesarea knew shit about any of this stuff we can now identify in Jesus’s methods, but Pilatesent a report up his chain of command to Tiberius that was the highest priority routing, Euangelion, or “Tidings of Joy” for the eyes of the Emperor immediately under the iRoman intelligence case file entitle “Christians” that compelled Tiberius to propose adopting this divine sanction for the Republic, that got voted down by an angry Senate which immediately tarred Christians with their visceral hatred of Tiberius.

Everybody in the Roman legions knew about Jesus by the time Tiberius introduced “Christians” to Roman society. The new covenant was between God and the centurions as a divine structure in human governance based on Romans 13:1 - 7.

The thing is that Fascism is always very complicated and complex, Marxism being the obvious extreme. Re-writing history is the sort of waste of time Fascist thinking requires to sustain the illusion of rational integrity,

The ethic of Jesus is based on the KISS principle: Keep It Simple, Stupid. In Mark 12: 29 - 31,he enlarges the Shema to include Plato, abrogates the 613 Laws of the Babylon inspired Talmud with the Socrates

s clause, Love our neighbor, the Free Will absolution of Christian atheism. Like David Hume.

The line of demarcation between mythology and history isn’t nearly as distinct as historians like to believe. History is a sub-genre of literature and literature is the captured narrative of the mind of humanity as a life-style choice. Among other things, Jesus is the divine endorsement of Socrates’s example of civic duty as the submission to the secular rule of law as the bases of a democratic society. The cup of hemlock is a symbolic parameter of Romans 13:1 - 7. and the cross and the cup of hemlock are morally equivalent instruments of Romans 13:1 - 7 and the secular rule of law.

Jesus was a secular humanist. MAGA Christians like MAGA Mike Johnson are anti-secular humanist in the same way Td Cruz is anti-woke.

Think about all the time that being anti-woke reprsents. Being woke is learning from history and not wasting time re-writing it. Everything about the January 6 rebellion is like Gym Jordan: a gigantic waste of time.

Now, as an exercise in critical thinking, taking a class in re=writing history as creative writing would be intellectually enriching, as long as you don’t base your social engineering on the new version instead of the gestalt of the old and the new.

[ballata]

Con gli #iroman quelli veri....3,8 km a nuoto, 180 km in bici, e una maratona da 42 km ...e le palestre coi pesoni le lasciamo ai teenager......con @supergnagno in #sbt ....ah! Dimenticavo sa anche cucinare molto bene....dove si balla con i cinquantaduenni?

#sanbenedettodeltronto #gliaudaci #robertonicolettiballatibonaffini #summer2023 #sup #sea #adriaticsea #friendzone

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[ao3feed-hulkeye]

De Cero A Hacero ||Superiron|| AllTony||

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/46615489

by Ramc95

Jamás creyó que coquetear con un tímido reportero llegaría a una persecución de un alfa tras su culo

(.....)

 Jamás creyó que estar en una manada fuera el infierno.

 Jamás se imagino las violaciones que tendria que sufrir por la qie creia seria su familia

Words: 646, Chapters: 2/?, Language: Español

Series: Part 1 of Superiron

Fandoms: DCU (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel (Comics), Constantine (Comic), Constantine (TV), Shadowhunters (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Other

Characters: Clark Kent, Tony Stark, John Constantine, Magnus Bane, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Bruce Wayne, Bruce Banner, Victor von Doom, Clint Barton, Alec Lightwood

Relationships: Superman/Iroman, Clark Kent/Tony Stark, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, John Constantine/Bruce Wayne, Alec Lightwood/Magnus Bane, Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, Bruce Banner/Clint Barton, Bruce Banner/Victor von Doom, Bruce Banner & Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Bruce/Bucky/Clint/Pepper/Steve/Natasha/Tony/Thor/Sam

Additional Tags: Omega Tony Stark, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Magnus Bane, Omega Jhon Constantine, Omega Bruce Banner, Alfa Natasha Romanov, Violacion Omega

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/46615489

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

De Cero A Hacero ||Superiron|| AllTony||

by Ramc95

Jamás creyó que coquetear con un tímido reportero llegaría a una persecución de un alfa tras su culo

(.....)

 Jamás creyó que estar en una manada fuera el infierno.

 Jamás se imagino las violaciones que tendria que sufrir por la qie creia seria su familia

Words: 50, Chapters: 1/?, Language: Español

Series: Part 1 of Superiron

Fandoms: DCU (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel (Comics), Constantine (Comic), Constantine (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Other

Characters: Clark Kent, Tony Stark, John Constantine, Magnus Bane, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Bruce Wayne, Bruce Banner, Victor von Doom, Clint Barton, Alec Lightwood

Relationships: Superman/Iroman, Clark Kent/Tony Stark, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, John Constantine/Bruce Wayne, Alec Lightwood/Magnus Bane

Additional Tags: Omega Tony Stark, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Magnus Bane, Omega Jhon Constantine, Omega Bruce Banner, Alfa Natasha Romanov

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/46615489

[legacy-snk-vs-capcom]

War machine school days test the proto canon - follow @capcom_legacy

[housepartyprotocol]

Chapter 8

Summary: a series of messages to the wrong person

Warnings: swearing, and sex references

series masterlist

Taglist: @bi-lmg