#iron mother

[hurtspideyparker]

Peter places an envelope on Tony's desk.

Tony looks up confused, "huh? What's that for?"

"It's for you," he points awkwardly at the plain blue envelope, held closed with a Darth Vader sticker.

"It's not my birthday kid." He snaps the protective face shield back down as he picks up his soldering iron, sparks flying as he gets back to work.

"I know that I, uh. It's from, it's for. It's yours. I gotta go, see you later Mr. Stark!" Peter hikes his backpack up tighter as he skips out of the lab.

Tony grunts in acknowledgement without looking up, eyes focused on the searing metal in front of him.

* * *

"Tony? I thought you were gonna have dinner with me after Peter left," Pepper saunters down into the workspace in a flattering pair of jeans and baby blue blouse.

"I was. I am. He left like five minutes ago," Tony waves at her without taking his eyes from the computer he's typing on.

"Happy drove him home two hours ago. Come, have a nice sit down meal with me." Pepper wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind, kissing the top of his head.

"I can have a sit down meal. I'm sitting right now, bring the carbonara down here and it'll be a proper date," Tony replies.

"Yeah, you me and your computer. How romantic. Tony, come upstairs- what's this?"

Tony glances up to see her holding a blue envelope.

"Uh, it's the kids."

Pepper flips it around, "it says To Mr. Stark From Peter on the back."

Tony just shrugs and goes back to typing on his computer.

The delicate glue of the sticker is undone under Pepper's sharp nails as she opens up the envelope and pulls something from inside.

"It's illegal to open someone else's mail y'know," Tony teases.

"Tony this- god you are such an asshole!" Pepper smacks Tony on the back of the head with the envelope.

"Ow! What the- what did I do now! I was just joking about the carbonara thing... mostly."

Tony finally meets Pepper's eyes of scorn. She tosses something in front of him with a huff.

"Tony, he even used a Darth Vader sticker. Do you know how adorably geeky and topical that is? You have got to start paying more attention to the living breathing people in front of you instead of your machines. Dinner is ready, please come upstairs."

Tony watches her leave as the clack of her heels fade away with every step. He's not sure what Darth Vader has to do with missing dinner, but he's quick to get up and start to follow.

He pauses before he makes it out the door, turning to finish the last line of code before he forgets the function. He pushes something off of his keyboard to type and press save.

Tony can't remember the last time he looked up from his work long enough to consume solid food. He's so ready to carb-load with some Italian food, turning away from the computer and blue envelope.

Tony's eyebrows furrow. Hm. Darth Vader sticker.

Tony turns back around and picks up the envelope from beside his keyboard.

This must be what the kid was yapping about earlier. Tony sticks his hand inside and finds a card, pulling it out.

"Father's Day it is," the front says in bold lettering with a picture of Yoda crudely hand-drawn with a sharpie and green highlighter. Tony flips it open, "celebrate you we must" is written in the middle of the page.

Below is a message in smaller writing; "Thank you for everything Mr. Stark, we wouldn't be here without you!" with a blob of sharpie that looks suspiciously like it's scribbled out a small heart, then signed "From Peter, Dum-E and U" each name written in their own unique handwriting.

"Friday, what day is it?"

"It is Sunday June 16th, also celebrated as Father's Day in countries such as the United States, Canada, and the UK."

Hm.

Tony stands there and stares at the card for longer than he'd ever admit before looking up at Dum-E.

"You help with this?" he asks, pointing at the card.

Dum-E chirps happily, twirling his claw around.

"Your hand writing's terrible."

* * *

Peter enters the lab slowly, an unsureness to him that's out of character.

It's Wednesday, his usual day for coming over to Tony's workshop. He hasn't heard anything from Tony since Sunday, not that he usually does. Still, the quietness has unnerved him. He's not sure what he was even expecting from his mentor; silence is probably the nicest response he could hope for after embarrassing himself like that.

"Hi Mr. Stark," he greets once he spots the older man sitting next to a complicated tangle of wires.

"Hey kid, can you go to the computer and run the command I have open for me?"

"Sure thing!" Peter says as he dumps his backpack onto the floor and jogs over.

The two get into an easy rhythm and Peter's practically forgotten why he was nervous in the first place when, "hey grab us some sodas will you," Mr. Stark asks him.

Peter walks up to the fridge in the corner of the room when he notices something new.

In the center of the silver metal lies a single piece of paper, stuck to the refrigerator with a plain magnet seemingly scrapped from some old hardware in the lab.

Tony has his Father's Day card displayed like some dorky parent whose kid got a half-decent report card, showcased on a fridge like a toddler's finger painted masterpiece.

It makes Peter so happy he can't wipe the stupid grin off his face the entire time he's grabbing sodas and delivering one to Tony.

The older hums a thanks without looking away from his project, but as Peter turns away Tony's own face contorts into a pleased smile all of his own.

The two share identical smiles all afternoon, hidden behind soda cans and computer screens.

[sapchat]

It’s always “I wanna fuck Xaden Riorson” and “I’d let Xaden Riorson do xyz to me”

Just let me fuck Bodhi Durran. Let me fuck him. Make fics about him.

He’s literally described as being “closely resembling Xaden, just less angular”

[nickpeppermint]

What's up MOTHER lovers

[fotibrit]

Tour guides are just professional info-dumpers.

For this reason, I firmly believe that Tony has a means of disguising himself in order to be a tour guide every once in a while when he’s bored and unmotivated.

Of course, Tony is feeling especially bored and unmotivated the day that Peter’s class tours SI.

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was a half-vampire (like my mom was a vampire) but all I got was an iron deficiency and I had to drink fish oil water daily.

[ironlily1413]

Queen Daenerys Targaryen ( The Mother of Dragons)

[kierreras]

a tragedy in three acts

THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY s2e06 «love fest»

[notbecauseofvictories]

my parents got me a "flower of the month" subscription, and I have to say, I'm really digging the opportunity to take dramatic photos without leaving my apartment.

[sableeira]

there is something about magic systems that borrow from a specific craft that makes them so special. Maybe it’s because they feel more tangible and it’s very easy to get swept away by the passion for the craft that is clearly written on every page.

Whether it’s the art based magic system in Witch Hat Atelier. Or the translation based magic system in Babel. Or the alchemy/chemistry based magic system in Fullmetal Alchemist.

The relation to a specific craft makes the characters passion for their magic feel so personal and relatable. Because there is magic in art, in translation, in chemistry and any other craft that people partake in. The magic system becomes a love letter towards creation and everyone who creates and there is nothing world building wise that could be more charming.

[itsabouttimex2]

Fiery Reunion: Part Two

(Part One) (Part Two)

From the moment the Demon Bull King opened his eyes, he had assumed the worst. How could any father not? After five long centuries spent in stone slumber, he had awoken to nearly everything a conqueror could desire.

His prodigal son, grown and proud. His loyal wife, composed and ever-gorgeous. An army of reminiscent machines ready to obey his every whim, obedient and powerful.

All that a man could crave stood before him, with one singular exception. He had scanned the area subtly, eyes narrow and intense, searching for his youngest child, who was very conspicuously absent.

And when his search came up empty, he considered you dead.

It was not an easy fact to accept, but his children had not been born equal.

His son had come into this world with a dangerous abundance of power, so great that it had to be ripped out and split into pieces for his own safety. And although some inherent, internal flame still burned within his elder child, it did not hold to a torch to the strength of the Samadhi Fire.

You, though…

You could not have been born further from grace.

Sick from your very first breath, you were born into a body unfit for life. A deathly pallor clung to your skin from conception, proof abound of weakness and frailty.

And you had not made a sound.

Even when Princess Iron Fan held you away from her warm chest, or shook you, or; wearied from her post-partum state and frayed from desperation, struck you across the thighs- you had not cried. Nor would you scream. Not when you could only barely manage your own weak breathing.

It was only when your older brother Red Son; still just a child himself, clambered into your crib and held you that you made any noise at all.

He wasn’t supposed to be in there. He wasn’t supposed to even be in your room, let alone your crib… but curiosity had overtaken his obedience and led him right to you. With unsure hands, he had scooped you up and lifted you towards his face, inspecting his newborn sibling.

Nearly inaudibly, you had sounded a feeble giggle, pulling at his pince-nez glasses and reaching for his eye-catching crimson hair.

With wide eyes and careful arms, Red Son held you against his small chest, a long-lingering warmth left behind by the otherworldly fire keeping you cozy in his arms. Just a few reaches towards his face and scalp had worn your sickly body out, drifting off to sleep without any further sound.

In the morning, Princess Iron Fan and Demon Bull King had awoken to find you in your brother’s arm, alive and breathing, if barely.

And they hadn’t the heart to separate the two of you from one another.

———————————————————————

Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan alike knew that you would never become a great warrior. The notion was contradictory to the make of your flesh, foreign to the skin of an ill body.

It was impossible to train someone so young, to teach someone so physically impeded.

It had taken you six years to speak your first word, seven to take your first step.

Both of them had been for your prodigal elder brother.

And though your (severely delayed) milestones had managed to somewhat quell the long-standing fear that you’d forever be weak and helpless, you remained ill- thus, your family remained worried.

It had been hard for you. Perhaps it had been harder for your family, living in fear that by the next time they woke you’d be cold in your bed. It wasn’t a good way for any family to live.

Red Son had grown particularly protective of you in your youth, rarely letting you out of his arms or lap no matter how much you would protested. No amount of arguing, squirming, or struggling would free you. The most you could of was strike at him with your open palms, and even then, your uncoordinated hands bounced right off of his skin.

It was a convenient way to keep an eye on you, so your parents never intervened, setting what would become a long-lasting precedent: allowing Red Son to do as he pleased with you, because it was probably best for you anyways. He kept you out of trouble, and kept a close eye one you. There wasn’t anything wrong or harmful about it, after all.

Not back then, at least.

Red Son would only grow more protective as you aged, as it turned out. You went from being a helpless infant who genuinely had no way to escape his well-intentioned coddling to a child that was capable or arguing or hiding away from him. This shift had prompted him to grow more vigilant and insistent on your safety, even when it meant clumsily strapping you to his chest and bundling you around as you shrieked and bit him.

It was harmless. A little bit cute, even.

And then your father had been buried under a mountain, sealed by a staff that only one known living being could wield- who then disappeared from the world for centuries on end.

Red Son had changed in seconds. From a bright-eyed boy who was a little too eager to follow in his father’s wicked footsteps to an angry pyromaniac with a short fuse.

And his leash on you had only grown tighter. One family member that he had lost, and one that he could lose at a moment’s notice. An admittedly reasonable and well-intentioned protectiveness had quickly morphed into a much less tolerable possessiveness.

There’a a nasty dichotomy here for Red Son: his little sibling is weak and frail, and therefore needs his protecting, making them useless. But they’re also his little sibling, and therefore unimaginably valuable and precious, requiring him to protect them at all costs.

So he keeps you at an arm’s length while also keeping you under his thumb, attempting to satiate both aspects of his feelings, all while he strives tirelessly to free his father.

A strange distance grows between the two of you, Red Son both viciously protective and distantly standoffish.

For a time, you seek his affection and attention, vying for his warmth and praise. Even if it was annoyingly overbearing, your brother’s prior love was important to you. Try as hard as you might, Red Son’s response is always to order a Bull Clone to take you (gently) back to your room.

You’re still a bit too young to understand why, however, so you take his restriction of love much worse than he would expect- you shut yourself away in turn.

In time, you grow distant from your mother, as well. Iron Fan hadn’t pushed you away, per se… but her unwavering determination to free her husband left the two of you distant.

You had changed with them.

The effect of isolation has settled in deep, rooting through your mind, reflecting on your body- you look tired and sad, weary from the constant reminders of your result, guilty for not remembering your father.

“How can you dare to call them your family, if you contribute so little and remember even less,” a wicked voice within asks.

Do you deserve to call them your family?

“My Queen,” you say for the first time, and Princess Iron Fan raises an eyebrow and frowns. Her hand softly cups your cheek, dark eyes peering into your own. It’s impossible to miss the fatigue plaguing your face. Your mother wrongly assumes that it’s your own way of coping, that you’re trying to distance yourself from them, and therefore from your father. Given that it’s still respectful and proper, she’ll allow you to refer to her as such.

“My Prince,” you say for the first time, and your brother laughs, loud and harsh. Red Son thinks you speaking to him so formally is funny- for a while. He’ll allow a few uses of the phrase before he cuts you off and informs you very clearly that the ‘joke’ has turned stale, and you should really stop.

“It wasn’t all that funny to begin with,” he informs, sharply flicking your forehead. “And it’s certainly lost what little charm it had by now. Give it up, Y/N.”

And he’ll send to you your room to ‘lie down or whatever’, because he’s still desperately worried for your safety, deep inside. He just won’t admit it.

“My King,” you say for the first time, and Demon Bull King is left with few words, getting to see just how much you’ve grown without him, speaking clearly and standing steadily. How much has he missed? Have much have you grown without him?

But none of that really matters to you.

“Titles are more appropriate,” that little voice reminds you, keeping you insecure and humble. It keeps you from noticing how badly your family wants to be a whole unit again. It keeps you from seeing how much they love you.

And it will keep you blind, until everything builds to a single tipping point-

and you drown in obsession.

[rosemaryyuri]

it's so hilarious how a large chunk of the homestuck fandom actually and genuinely believes everything rose lalonde says about herself and her life. she would be so happy. You think I'm cool, calm, and put together? You think I'm a reliable therapist for my friends? Tell me more.

[iamleesi]

THE PRINCE(SS) THAT WAS PROMISED

DAENERYS TARGARYEN YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS.

[incorrectquotesmcu]

Natasha: Can Y/N and I have some privacy, please?

Tony: Ha, they’re gonna do it.

Natasha: No, we’re gonna fight! … And then maybe afterwards we’ll do it.

[dcbnam-aep]

everyone saying alicent is a bad mother and focusing on the moment she left rather than the moments (plural!!) that she stayed. the maesters tell her they’re getting to the hard part and instead of leaving the room she just steps back because she cannot leave her son alone in his state. she tries to become queen regent so that she can act for him rather than provide aemond the opportunity to do more harm. and then, despite her own sick history, she returns to the same bed where she cared for a dying viserys and sits with her son. we don’t know how long she sat there before she left. it could have been hours. can we not give her the benefit of the doubt unlike the men on the council who stripped her of any and all authority despite her proving herself time and time again!?!?

(this is the same woman who Did Not Hesitate to step in front of a dragon to protect her son even though it has been established from ep 1 that she does not like dragons!!!)

I’m not saying she’s perfect - she’s flawed like Literally Every Other Character in the show - but she does love her children and only wants the best for them.

[quitealotofsodapop]

When Tieshan told Macaque of the scarf, she knew what she was doing. She may not know much of Ancient Stone Monkey culture, but she had 500 years, a mountain full of lost stories and secrets regarding the clan, and quite the incentive to learn as much as she could. After all, it could literally be the difference between life and death for Wukong and his second try at parenthood. She wasn't going to risk sowmthing as simple as a lack of knowledge from stopping her...

So somewhere on that island she came across a depiction of Stone Monkey mourning rituals, including how some monkeys would choose to bury themselves beside their mates during the Stone Egg ritual, or lacking a proper resting place, with their mate's former items so that the dao of their mate would be absorbed by their Egg. A way for their mate to live on through their child, so to speak. This means she knows what it means for Wukong to have buried himself with Macaque's scarf and continue to wear it as a waist wrap even now. And she knows Macaque and Marshall Ma knows it, too.

Pigsy asks her how she knew mentioning the scarf would get Macaque out of his funk.

Pigsy: How the hell did you know that would work!?

Tieshan: Because despite not being raised by them, Macaque is still a Stone Monkey of the Lotus-Eared variant. In their culture, to bury oneself with something covered in their mate's dao is to wish for the cub to absorb the dao and have a piece ofntheir mate pass on to the cub, if not in blood, then in spirit. We can see in Xiaotian's coloration how Wukong and Macaque's dao had mixed together to create a child that looks like both parents.

Marshall Ma: Wukong would have known about this as well, the Elder whom led us before Wukong had taken the throne of the Stone Matriarch had raised him with as much knowledge about the Stone Monkeys as he could before he passed.

Xiwangmu, interested: Stone Matriarch? I have not heard of such a being.

Marshall Ma: 'Tis the title of Wukong's predecessor, the one whom Azure claims to be Lady Sonzi's reincarnation. We know her as the Stone Matriarch of Flower Fruit Mountain. She had led our predecessor tribe before the Floods. It is said she had left an egg bearing her Heir upon the Mountain, the very same one Wukong had hatched from. It is why we made him the Monkey King once he had discovered the ancestral palace behind the Water-Curtain Cave.

Prev.

Tieshan did spend about 500 years watching the island as it's vigil, and protector. She and the Stalwarts had many times come together for meals and chats. The topic of mourning rituals came up when she expressed a comparison to Wukong's state to that of a funeral burial. The Stalwarts were quick to show her the murals inside of Water Curtain Cave, relaying the stories Elder passed on to them from his time. How the Stone Monkeys not could form a vestal child from their own Dao, but from the Dao of lost spouses - given that they buried themselves at their side or with their belongings so that the couple had a chance to produce a shared child.

Tieshan recalls how her sworn-brother's favourite scarf was last seen in Wukong's arms...

The reveal that Macaque is Xiaotian's other parent (spiritually and genetically) is enough for him to shake out of his funk - not only did Wukong still love him after all that happened, but he made an effort to ensure that his second child would be born with Macaque's life energy!

I like to think that before they leave Flower Fruit Mountain; Xiwangmu and the Jade Emperor make a point of finding one of Shíhuā's shrines/statues and sitting down to just... talk. Both to each other and to their daughter (or whomever she became). They ask her if she was happy in that life. Mention how her son can be such a handful at times but they care for him still.

Guanyin witnesses this from a distance. Tears roll down their face as it hits how the two royals truly see them their kin. They weren't lying when they called Guanyin their daughter, and Wukong their grandson.

[blue--ingenue]

oh, so someone in command definitely had Violet’s father killed because he knew too much. my money is on Dain’s father.