#they just want us to submit fully so they can do even more damage

[lilylived]

Someone mircoagressed me last week by saying that islam doesn't let women get educated "based on what he's seen." unlike judaism and modern chirstianity, where education is led by women.

Maybe if you stop doing silly little things like decimating every single university in a muslim state that had high rates of female literacy and education ❤️

This guy is an athiest traumatized by church, but somehow it all translated to a hatred of islam over anything.

These people really don't see what huge white supremacists they are. The new norm for white people is to let go of all religion. You aren't unique or special for choosing that. It's your current norm.

And they get so mad when you refuse to drop your personal beliefs and bend to their current mainstream ideology as well. What does that sound liKKKe?

[revelboo]

Thoughts/ Headcanons

Spoilers for my storylines below the cut. Not smut, but mentions of.

• First off, I’m a paranormal romance writer- vastly different lifespans between partners is pretty common. And while it’s fun to spin that angst and drama, we do tend to write in ways around it to extend the human partner’s lifespan after we’re done with having the characters dance around each other.

• First thought, seminal fluids. Cybertronians are able to self repair to an extent, figure it’s something like nanites playing the part of our own immune systems within them. And that some of those get passed along to a partner when they do the deed. And linger, adapting and doing their thing: repairing damage. A one night stand wouldn’t be enough to do much but over and over? Each time replenishing those nanites, it would begin to slow that human’s aging to a crawl as long as they’re staying intimate with that Cybertronian and neither would probably notice anything for some time. Years, most likely.

• On spark bonds, those are a bit more complicated. Almost a symbiotic relationship. They can be full bonds if both parties submit fully to each other, trust each other. Or very one sided, with one taking everything and dominating the other.

• Intentional one sided bonds would have been taboo before the war, I’d think. Almost a form of torture with one Cybertronian claiming the other, creating a dependency in the one claimed. A need to seek out the dominant to renew that bond periodically, but without any balance, any affection between the two there might have been to begin with would fall into hatred and resentment. I’d think this would have happened more often during the start of the war, if a lover was found to be sympathetic to the other side, forcing a bond to keep them from leaving. With a Cybertronian, it’d be forcing the plating over the spark chamber open to form the bond, so it’s a violent occurrence and traumatic. But one sided bonds could still occur between two willing Cybertronians if one isn’t as certain about that commitment as the other even unconsciously.

• With humans, contact with any part of our body to a spark will bridge that initial bond. And just like with Cybertronians it can be one sided or full. With a one sided bond, a human would be dependent on the Cybertronian to renew the bond occasionally so the strain doesn’t eventually kill us. Most initial bonds with humans would likely be one sided and only become full over time as both sides get past their hesitations, doubts, and hang ups. A one sided bond can be broken with the death of one partner.

• I imagine a full bond is permanent, tethering two sparks or a spark and a soul together. With Cybertronians, it’s a combining of life forces. If something happens to one, the other’s spark falters and extinguishes. With a human partner, they’re bound to their partner’s spark and their lifespan. They’ll live as long as their Cybertronian partner does, which could be its own sort of hell, outliving everyone they know. And if the two grew apart over time, fell out of love, the nature of the bond would pull them back together at least periodically to renew the bond so they don’t both suffer. And most likely, that relationship would involve the Cybertronian just refusing to let their partner go, becoming extremely possessive of protecting that bond whether the human wants to be with them anymore or not.

• About the storyline titles: a few of you have already figured it out, but they’re all Motion City Soundtrack song titles. And I know a few of you have mentioned finding comfort in the fics and that means the world to me, so in case any of you need it, these are the lyrics for “It’s a Pleasure To Meet You” by the same band as it’s sort of become my anthem for all the storylines.

You are not alone

We've all had our battles with darkness and shadows

I'm here to let you know

It's a pleasure to meet you

Can you feel it, disappearing

It'll happen, you are not alone

I've been there, I'm still there

Oh, and better

Everything is so damn tragic

Time erodes the waves of panic

Take it in

You are not alone

We've all had our battles with darkness and shadows

I'm here to let you know

It's a pleasure to meet you

Today is all we have

So try for a moment to break from the torment

And sing this to yourself

It's a pleasure to meet you

At a distance

There's a difference

Things will make sense

You are not alone

Got to hold on for the moment

Till the next one

Everything is so damn tragic

Time erodes the waves of panic

Get up

You are not alone

We've all had our battles with darkness and shadows

I'm here to let you know

It's a pleasure to meet you

Today is all we have

So try for a moment to break from the torment

And sing this to yourself

It's a pleasure to meet you

Every damn night for years of my life

I've spent driving around this miserable city

Just looking through windows at people

Alone for an answer or reason to live

But every day since, I've been peeling away

At this counterfeit skin just got in the way

I can see my reflection and clearly can say

It's a pleasure to meet you again

You are not alone

We've all had our battles with darkness and shadows

I'm here to let you know

It's a pleasure to meet you

Today is all we have

So try for a moment to break from the torment

And sing this to yourself

It's a pleasure to meet you

It's a pleasure to meet you

It's a pleasure to meet you

[lesbojournals]

Please could you do a stucky x reader fic where reader gets back from a mission and Steve and Bucky missed her. This leads to them cuddling up in bed and lots of kisses and sweetness. I hope you are ok doing this. Also, your other fics are amazing xx

Missions (Stucky x Avenger!Reader)

A/N: thank you for submitting this request! i rlly like this idea >:) i hope i did it justice!

You, frankly, were exhausted. You’d been on a round the clock mission for days now, and using your powers was leaving you to feel quite tired (if you must admit). You had the time to send the occasional text to your boyfriends, but besides that, there wasn’t much time to focus on anything else but your mission. 

So when the time came and you finally got permission to go home, you were absolutely filled with glee. You had stripped down from your uniform at the Avenger’s compound, comfortable for your travel home in one of Bucky’s crewnecks and leggings. 

While you were being driven to your shared house you felt elated, jumping in your seat as the car pulled up. You could see Bucky and Steve sprinting out the door before you could even fully get out of the car, and by the time the door was shut behind you they had you in a huge group hug.

“Beautiful girl, we missed you.” Steve said, holding you close. 

Bucky wasted no time in taking you in for a kiss, letting Steve kiss up your neck as you moaned into the kiss. You jumped at the beep of the car, and so did your boyfriends.

“My stuff!” you exclaimed, and before you could get to the trunk, Steve was there, picking up your duffle bag with ease.

The car drove away as the three of you walked in the house.

“I need a shower,” You announced, “And sleep.”

Bucky winked at you with a smirk. “Want company?”

You rolled your eyes and laughed. “Not after what happened last time!”

The last time the three of you tried showering together you’d spent much more time than planned in the shower, simply because of the lack of space between two enormous men and yourself. You nearly died slipping from the amount of conditioner Bucky used, which led to an assortment of bottles and such raining on you (not your crazy tall boyfriends), leaving you bruised for a week. Those Costco sized shampoo bottles could do damage!

With that you hopped into the shower fast before Bucky (or Steve) could oppose, wincing at the new assortment of cuts and bruises left on you from your mission. 

“That’s rough, buddy.” You said to yourself as you cleaned the grime off your skin.

When you got out of the shower, in just a towel, both boyfriends stood waiting for you in the bathroom. 

“What the hell, guys?!”

Steve looked at you with worry, Bucky noticing your injury after the statement “What’s ‘rough, buddy?’”.

“What is this??” Steve approached, pointing at the long cut (with stitches) on your chest.

Bucky approached as well, noticing a large, discolored, bruise on your leg. “What did you do!”

“Hey!” You took a defensive step back. “Both of you out of the bathroom so I can get changed into my pajamas and then we’ll debrief. Otherwise I’m not saying shit dude, I’m not saying shit.”

Bucky and Steve knew better than to not take your threats seriously, so they reluctantly left the bathroom with angry looks on their faces.

“And you better both be in pajamas when I’m done!!” You added, yelling from the now shut door.

“Bossy.” You heard Bucky say as you slid on gym shorts.

You threw one of Steve’s shirts on. “I heard that, Barnes!”

You left the bathroom after putting your hair up for bed, entering the room that had both of your boyfriends lounging comfortably on the bed. They intentionally left a gap in between, you noticed, a perfectly you sized gap. You could also see steam coming from your favorite mug on the bedside table, smiling knowing one of them made you tea. 

“So,” Steve said, patting to the empty gap.

Bucky went straight to the point, also patting the gap. “Debrief.”

You crawled into the empty gap, telling them about your mission, your exhaustion, and the various ways you acquired your injuries. As you told your stories Steve tickled your arms, gently massaging them. Bucky went on his way to kiss each of your injuries, burying you in a fuzzy blanket and ducking underneath to continue his kisses while you talked. 

 When you finally finished, Steve pushed your head towards him for a gentle kiss. Steve was always so careful. You loved it.

A yelp escaped your mouth as Bucky nipped at part of your thigh, and you teasingly glared at him as he smirked up at you.

Bucky started to pull down your shorts. “Are you too tired for this?”

You giggled. Maybe you weren’t so exhausted after all.

[feinv]

Hi, if your requests are still open, then how about a yandere-ish John Wick? Inspired by your recent post regarding John being good to his girl while everyone else is terrified. Maybe she finds out about his profession accidentally and naturally, her first reflex is to run. But oops! The doors are locked and John is firm but gentle like "Let's talk. please calm down darling" and maybe some veiled threats? He would make such a delicious soft yandere.

soft yandere!john wick x reader. anon. anon…were you trying to send me into coma with this because i fear it worked…

a sob wailed out of your body when the door knob didn’t fully turn down. locked.

you turned around, your back hitting the hard wood, your writhing body facing john. “get away from me! you are a murderer…a killer!” tears streaming down your face, your vision blurry as you yelled at him with a broken plea.

“sweetheart. it’s not like tha-,” his gentle voice reached your ears before he cut his words mid-sentence, his footsteps stopping when he registered your horrified demeanor, sighing. “alright. look,” he brought his hands up in a surrendering position, a good feet away from you, indicating that he wasn’t planning on doing any damage to you.

“this whole time, darling, have i ever hurt you? emotionally, or even…physically? hm?” he questioned towards your direction, patiently waiting for your response.

what felt like an eternity passed by as you shook your head as in no, your lips quivering as more silent tears coaxed your cheeks.

“and it will stay that way,” he stated matter of factly, “don’t you get it? i don’t want you to be scared of me. not you. never you,” he stepped closer. “anyone, let alone raises their voice at you, i will slaughter them to pieces. right in front of your eyes,” his eyes shooting daggers of possessiveness and lust.

“don’t say that…john. please,” a headache was crippling through your nervous system as your slowly slid down the door, your body pooling on the floor as you weeped in disbelief and horror, “i don’t want to know that.”

“i mean it,” he kneeled down in front of you to be on the same eye level, sloowwly moving into your personal space. “i will cross every line, every moral i have in me to protect you.”

“i just…i- need to be alone. i need some space…just a day or..or two…” you tried to compromise, and make it sound like you just needed time to process everything, not escape.

“i’m afraid i can’t allow that,” he whispered, shaking his head softly, “don’t you get it what will happen to you out there? all alone? i can’t keep you safe if you run away from me, can i?”

you didn’t dare to pry further, submitting to his gentle yet firm voice, avoiding his eyes at any costs. you were terrified that you won’t find the warm brown loving hue you were so used to seeing every second of your time spent together.

“come on. let’s get you cleaned up,” he accepted his win when you didn’t flinch from his fingertips that wiped across the soft skin of your wet cheeks, directing your gaze towards him. “we will talk when you calm down, alright sweetheart?” he pecked your lips before leaving another kiss to your forehead, “i love you.”

he wrapped his strong hands around your waist, embracing you into his arms as he lifted you off the ground, carrying you to the master bedroom upstairs as you mutely wetted his cotton shirt, your arms tightly locked in the back of his neck.

[bloopitynoot]

Reading SVSSS: Chapter 13

For those who don't know, I am reading SVSSS for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag bloopitynoot reads SVSSS. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read.

I'm here! Finally posting yesterday's read.

Last night I was watching critical role and making flower crowns for the ren faire today and I totally lost track of time. But I did read earlier and I have the notes!

Anyways; no tea- I slammed this coke zero. The flower crowns ended up being real cute though.

Here we go; last chapter of book 2!

I'm already nervous :( this chapter is titled coercion. Coercion of who?

Well. Shen Qingqiu arrives and the mountain is already under siege- solid start. p283

This is less a reflection on this current chapter and more a thought about the longevity of this character; but I feel like Luo Binghe is going to inevitably perish. The reckless abandon in which he approaches anything Shizun adjacent is going to end this man. Like in this chapter- fully just tells everyone he's of demonic heritage- 0 fucks, no care for his own life now or in the future. Sure, he's powerful as hell but like eventually he has to sleep. p284

Oh gosh. Both Yue Qingyuan and Liu Qingge are in a bad way AND they are in the same room as Luo Binghe. p285

Okay but to be fair, when it comes to the body of Shen Qingqiu I am on the side of the sect here. Like bare minimum even if this man supposedly committed all the crimes (he didnt and they do know this) he still deserves to have proper death rites. Luo Binghe did do some unhinged things. pp 286-287

RIP Shang Qinghua LOL everyone knows you are an opportunist with nary a loyal bone in your body. Congrats on your entire sect knowing now p288

OOP. the audacity of Luo Binghe to Liu Qingge "ah! The loser I defeated" I mean not wrong but you dont have to be a dick about it. p289 Luo Binghe is so cocky!

and here we have SQQ inserting himself into mortally dangerous situations that he could have walked away from. The self sacrificing he has been doing this entire book (intentional or not) is so wild. This man cannot do anything in a stealthy way- everything dramatic and loud and at the centre of attention. p290

WAIT! "caught you shizun" p290 He did know! I had a suspicion!

What did you expect SQQ ofc he meant to draw you out. He could have tracked you but he lost the ability to do so with the other demon. p293

as an aside I am now wondering how this is going to work out. The Zhuzhi-Lang can also torture and track him at a distance- this is going to be a later problem for SQQ and Luo Binghe no doubt

oh poor buddy "you're not a fool...I am" p293

ooooooo. "didn't my sweetness make shizun oh-so happy?" p294. that's not even it oh no so much emotional damage

Also Shang Qinghua exposed again with the mushroom info p294

I am on SQQ's side with this one. How can the sect be mad about him not going there right away when he was kind of underground and also had to relearn how to move his own body p295

I am annoyed at Liu Qingge and I think, maybe, unjustifiably. I feel like his character is complicated and eventually I want to read a character study or two about him for more insight. What prompted this is: he is both acknowledging that SQQ is doing something utterly selfless for the sect but also pissed that he's doing it at all. Like- is it him feeling inadequate? Or is it how he feels about SQQ or the sect? idk- I will continue to think about him. p297

Luo Binghe was not satisfied with mushroom-zun he also wants the original body?? p299

RIP all of SQQ's dignity and his mental health "I've already submitted to you" p299 his word choice though LOL

His body is missing?!?!?!?!?!? p300

what a cliffhanger! Now I need to know who stole his corpse! If it ends up being 2 SQQ's OR that Luo Binghe's dad is using SQQ's original body I am done done LOL.

We finished book 2!

Thank you to those who have been reading along- this has truly been so fun! I appreciate all the comments and clarifications; they have been helpful and have been making this reading process super engaging. Getting to chat about the thing I am enjoying with others who also love The Thing has been a solid highlight of my days!

[omegaverse-daily]

Any headcanons about alphas submitting to omegas out of need not want. Like omegas who are so fear induced it causes anger and they become dangerous. How would that go? In what way do you think an alpha would submit, how could they make themselves small enough for an omega to calm down to allowing them near?

Hellloooo000000 beautiful peopleeeee

I like alphas submitting to omegas. Out of need or want or anything in between, I DONT CARE, I love it.

So alphas submitting to omegas headcanons, start!

This ask is centered more around the fear side of needing to submit ofc so I'll start there. I’ve thought a little about this myself so maybe I can try my best to answer even tho I’m sure others probs have better grasps on alpha behavior than me teehee.

-

So, let’s say an omega is in an extremely fearful mindset. A number of things could have happened to bring them there, and if an omega has trauma or was recently traumatized they could be dealing with a stress induced post trauma mindset started again by nightmares or triggered memories, it’s not so important aside from the fact they’re currently in a mindset that has them reacting at base instinct of aggression and lashing out in order to protect themselves or someone else, like another omega or a pup.

The omega is growling loudly, fat tears streaming down their cheeks because they’re so scared from whatever is making them feel this was, they’ve already caused some damage to other packmates who’ve been lucky to come away with injuries not deadly, but they’ve only just made the omegas mind state worse.

All packmates are good for situations like this usually, but sometimes in these heavily primal mindsets, they’ll need submission to show them that they’re in charge of this situation, so at least on a base level, especially if they’re out of their mind and again, just working on base fear instinct, they’ll know they’re no longer in danger. But perhaps, other omegas submitting hasn’t helped and betas trying too has also had no effect so the last and most unusual rung of the ladder to submit is an alpha. It’s not necessarily entirely uncommon for alphas to submit (to my verse ideas at least) but it is uncommon to do outside of an omega partner or very high ranking omega. It’s also difficult.

Alphas scents differ distinctly like omega scents and beta scents do. You’d be able to distinguish them at least most likely, so submitting to a dangerous omega as an alpha poses a bit of a threat on its own. Being an alpha, especially in a situation the omega is suffering because of an alpha, is not ideal in these situations. They’re used to being submitted to but not always submitting.

I think, the first thing to do for an alpha would be to get as small as they can if they aren’t already a small alpha. And if they were, make their presence small. (Alphas might not always have the physical size or exuberant presence that can be overwhelming, I think they too can be meek and smaller in many ways if that’s just how they look or how their personalities go, but being an alpha still means needing to adjust in situations like this to avoid danger.

So alpha makes themself smaller in anyway they need to at first. That put their presence in a much less threatening place to an omega who isn’t so aware of surroundings outside of their fear.

Next, an alpha needs to smell and sound submissive or placating. Some alphas would have a bit of shame for doing such a thing, some would even object entirely but an omega in this state requires the actions to be taken.

I think presenting themselves in a submitting way is the last thing they’d do. Barring their necks the last possible thing necessary because it’s the most dangerous of steps. Barring your neck at any aggressive wolf, be it fear aggressive or just down right so, is stupidly dangerous. That’s one of a persons most vital spots so it’s the last offered but often the most placating. An alpha submitting to an omega completely and fully can bring many omegas down from such a state. (If they can’t be brought down from this, they probably have to be taken down and sedated for their safety and others)

Ways to tell an omega is accepting the submission is a lessening in growls, defensive posture lowering and especially response to the sounds the alpha (or anyone in this case) is making. In their deepest headspace, when the alpha trying to calm them is in complete submission posture (even mindset teehee) the omega slowly scenting them is another great sign but never a sign of danger being gone. Not until they completely relax and show functioning cognition again, without that, trust can be broken and the cycle can be reverse.

This mindset can be solved simply with time but the dangers of it being left in such a raw state is not desired by packs especially if other packmates or pack puppies are involved due to possibility of accidental injury.

-

And ooog I just love alphas having to go submission brain for omegas. It makes my brain feel like mush.

Thanks guys :))))

-Puppy mod

[svt-sunnie]

SUNNIE | 엘르 코리아_ELLE KOREA ! Ask Me Anything

893K views | 91K likes | 1.02M Subscribers

Premiered Feb 29, 2024 #ELLEaskmeanything

@seolboba @allthings-fandoms @miyx-amour

ASK ME ANYTHING (with Sunnie)

10 QUESTIONS

“Hello,*waves* I’m Sunnie from SEVENTEEN, and today I’ll be answering questions from Carats that <Elle> has provided me with!”

Q1 - What is your favorite SVT/Solo Song?

“Oh, that’s a good question! For Seventeen, it’s probably Mansae, Kidult, and Heaven’s Cloud. And for my solo songs, I love Star, perfect 10, and Our Street.”

Q2 - Do you prefer Blonde hair or Red hair?

“Hmm, I dye my hair blonde quite often, but it gets damaged kind of easily, and I had my hair dyed red during Super, and I really liked how it turned out, so red!”

Q3 - I miss your song covers.. Can we expect any anytime soon?

“Well I’m kind of busy recently and I haven’t had a lot of time to do any.. but you can expect some in the next few months!”

Q4 - Noona! How did it feel to win the Daesang last year?

“I still don’t think I’ve fully processed it? *laughs* it was such a happy moment for all of us, and it felt so nice to receive it with all 14 members on stage.”

Q5 - Favorite acting role?

“Mei, since Train to Busan was the first movie I was in, it was such a fun experience and.. probably Hong Jia? I had a really great time acting as her, and I’m excited for Season 2.”

Q6 - If you could do any concept, which would it be?

“I like scary concepts; I want to do more of those definitely.”

Q7 - Do you want another pet? If so what kind?

“Another pet?” *hums* “I already have 2 dogs; still, if I were to get another pet, it would probably be a cat. But I’d have to discuss it with The 8 and Jun since we live together.”

Q8 - Which era had your favorite stage outfits?

“Personally I liked Fear, Home;Run, and Super!”

Q9 - What are Yuming’s 2024 goals?

“I feel like I have the same goals every year.. *laughs* I just want to cherish life to the fullest and happily enjoy it with my members as well.”

Q10 - How do you feel about the success of your last solo album, and what do you hope for with your new one?

“Okay, last question! Well, Obsessions' success was something I didn’t expect at all? I’m very thankful for all the support that Carats gave me and even more thankful that I won Album of the Year in 2022! “And for Good, Bad, Ugly, I just hope the album can bring my fans a lot of comfort like it brought me.”

“Today, I’ve answered all the questions submitted by Carats! Thank you so much for watching, and make sure to check out my solo album that just released, Good, Bad, Ugly!” “Bye, everyone!”

[mydearestbeloved]

so i was watching some let's play on youtube and i was wondering if you took inspired from max caulfied from life is strange when you created trial player!reader. i can't help but make a connection considered that max and reader have time-related power and butterfly motif with butterfly effect. sorry everywhere i go i see my fae queen

?System¿:

[Ask submitted.

Thank you for sending your ask, Reader!

System will now connect you to 《Author》]

.

.

.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts! It genuinely made me happy that others are taking interest in this story of mine. 💞

Now onto your ask, I'm afraid to say that this is just pure coincidence. I didn't even know Max Caufield and Life is Strange until you sent me this ask. So, let me explain a bit more on my inspirations for Trial Player!Reader's powers as of (19/11/24):

Butterflies 🦋

Let's see, Trial Player!Reader's butterflies have roughly three main powers: <Devour>, <Illusory>, and <Conversion>.

My inspirations for them could be divided into two: from other fictional works and from real life.

I already explained the real life inspirations here, including some of the logic behind Reader's and her butterflies' current powers, and why I added <Conversion> in her arsenal.

As for inspirations from others fictional works, I was mainly inspired by Roxana from The Way to Protect the Female Lead's Older Brother.

For recap: so far, Roxana's familiars, the Poisonous Butterflies have two types that are shown. Carnivorous, in which they can devour flesh almost immediately, and Hallucinogenic, in which they can cast illusions on people. It is also shown that the poisonous butterflies can share somewhat of a telepathic link to its owner, hence why Roxana can use them to gain information as spies or trackers.

How I write Trial Player!Reader is similar.

<Devour> is when her children feast. The difference with Roxana's is that Reader's butterflies mainly feed on and use the enemies' direct energy (lifeforce), with or without eating flesh and or blood.

<Illusory> and Reader's telepathic connection to her butterflies work more or less the same as Roxana's, though I'm still trying to bring more logic into them to make this story a bit more unique in its own right.

Time-related Power ⏳️

I don't remember any particularly significant fictional works that inspired me for this one. I just love the Healer role in fantasy the most, followed closely by support and mainly-magic-related roles. For Healers, I was frustated that many of those fictional works often didn't expand on the their concept more.

Since I love mixing logic with magic, I often thought: How did Healers actually heal wounds? I want something a bit different than just "Magic makes everthing possible!"

It just came to me one day that time-related magic just fit very well with Healers. How do Healers heal wounds? By speeding up the natural healing process. I found that this concept fit more to my style as well.

If we took the route: Healers create a new patch of the damaged body part and just reattach it; what of the body's natural defense mechanism then? Our body will reject any foreign matter to protect us.

Even if Healers managed to make the exact same replica of our damaged body parts, layer by layer, how can they actually do that when, even now, we still didn't fully know all the wonders of the body? Only the one who creates us knows, so it just didn't make any sense for us, the creations, to create ourselves without any sort of intervention from above.

Plus, in that kind of route, we might as well call it creation magic instead of healing magic, which beats the point of the one doing it be a so called "Healer".

I'm not saying that my take on this is more correct or better than others, or that mine didn't have any flaws. This is just my personal opinion. And I actually would love to see other different takes on this. 🤩

Extra

I want to add one more thing: Time-related power is not the full extend of Trial Player!Reader's powers. It is just the main thing I highlighted for now because Reader is currently stuck in 'stasis'. All will be revealed in the future. 😉

---

Once again, I thank you for your interest and support in this story of mine. 💞

[wyvchard]

I'm only doing this for me.

Idea from this prompt by @annablogsposts

Content warnings: mentions of beatings, humiliation, blood, traumatic flashbacks, implications of conditioning, poison, implications of death and murder

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Stupid. Absolutely stupid." I grumbled as I grinded the grain as punishment. "Just one wrong spell and you're stuck in some kind of backwater world with revolts."

It has been a month since I've been thrown into this world as punishment for blowing a crater in the spot where the sheep hang out. She also suppressed my powers to "only use them for emergencies".

Yeah, right! I got dropped right in the middle of a freaking revolt! This is an emergency but nooo, I gotta survive without most of my powers as punishment.

Thankfully, my farming skills really came in clutch. Not so thankfully, I get a wonderful view every morning.

The former prince, dethroned during the revolt, is just outside my window, broken as ever. They threw away the rotten eggs at him once again. Sheesh. Why did they have them in place anyway? I could have used those eggs for a snack days ago.

I'll never understand these people. They're beating him once again like it's his fault. It's not. There are a whole host of factors in place for this to happen. A lot of which is arguably out of his control.

Seriously, if you're going to have a revolt, at least end the lives of every person involved. You aren't any better if you-

I sighed, only pausing when I finally noticed blood on the mud.

... I can't stand this.

I continue with my chores, making sure to keep an eye on the prince every time I could. As much as I'd want to help, I'm not an idiot. I'm here to blend in, not stand out.

At least, that's what I hope my assignment is. Playing house with people is not my strongest suit.

I watched the tiny sparks from my palm as I went as far as my range can allow and casted healing magic on him.

But I won't get rid of the injuries fully. It has to just be enough to keep him hanging on. It'd get him into more trouble and pain if they noticed.

That or kill him. It could go either way. Both are equally bad.

So, I'll have to wait for a much later time. And try to gain reputation so I can "play" with him (ugh) without anyone saying it's unfair for me to do so.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's late at night. Perfect time for my plan. I sighed, making sure to wear my ring so people would overlook me much easier.

"Hey, punk. Still alive?"

"...What do you even want?" His voice was weakened, as if conditioned to submit. Just what did those people do?

"Hold still." I cupped his face, tilting it from side to side. "Yeah. That does look pretty bad." I took a breath. "You don't mind if I check the rest of your body for scars, yes?"

He trembled, causing me to have a far lower opinion of the ones I'm living with.

A bunch of sickos.

"Don't worry. I'll find a way to shove you down in my basement. Instead of this dingy place." I grinned, trying to reassure him.

The fear in his eyes told me that I chose my words wrong. Dang it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The month drew by quickly. Well, as quickly as you could. Doing chores, watching the poor prince get "punished" all over again, pretend to ignore it, sweet talk everyone else, sneak in once every few days when I can, and heal the damage while making sure the scars stay "visible".

This town deserves to be burned. Both the deposed leaders and the "free" people are the reason I still have misanthropic tendencies.

But still. For his sake, I'd play the part they want. I need to get him outta here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The blacksmith beat him bloody all over again. Great. I'd be running out of bandages at this point. Don't you know how expensive bandages are?

It's late at night. I see his curled up form, whimpering and trying to stop his sobs. His hair has been matted, his body smelling as you would expect. If I open another light, I'd probably lose sleep from what I'll see. And it will make people know I'm here.

I came with a water basin and a wash cloth. Even with healing magic, it's a danger if he gets infections.

"Y-you're back." He shivered as I washed his limbs, holding tightly so he doesn't flinch away. "... I thought you wouldn't."

I paused, noting that he was probably referring to the other one visiting the cell, the reason why he trembled when I checked for scars. Poor thing gets beaten more after some sicko checks how badly he was hurt.

... I'm glad that dirt found its way back to where it belongs. Below the ground. No one seems to have noticed the small prick of poison that took away its life.

"Well, I'm sorry. They're probably angry at you because a villager died and they think it has something to do with you."

"Maybe they're right." His tone remained broken. I can see it in his eyes. The hesitation, the fear, the distrust.

He wanted to come with me. But I suppose it would make sense. I wasn't that proactive in trying to save him.

"Why do you want to see me anyway?" He looked away. "... Is this some kind of sick game to you?"

"Maybe. I don't understand it either." I paused when he flinched after I touched a particularly nasty bruise, continuing after a few seconds.

It was silent once again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey! Why are you so... I don't know. Passive? You're clearly just too busy to do chores to spend time with everyone. You just talk, that's it. Aren't you at least a little bit angry? They exploited us."

I looked at my fellow villager. "I just don't see the point." I adjusted my grip on the crates I was holding. "You see, I'm a jealous person. If I wanna have fun, I want it to be something only I can do."

The prince flinched at my words; he was standing there and forced to listen to the insults everyone was spouting right outside.

"I'm really... not the type to share. Whatever I decide to do with him? No one else can participate."

"... You're actually scary if you want to be."

"Eh. That's why I try to shut up." Otherwise, I'd probably cast a spell to destroy this awful horrid place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you just here to have fun with me? Is taking care of me some kind of sick game to you?" He was lying on the floor of the attic once again. Tears were threatening to fall down his face.

"I have to admit, there is some sense of satisfaction seeing your state." I approached him with a potion I made. "Take this. You lost a lot of blood over the past few days."

"W-what if I don't want to?"

"... Did someone poison you?"

The silence was all I needed to know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To whoever is in charge of whatever forces out there. How is it so hard to convince people to let me keep a single person with me for a night?!

I sigh. It's been 3 months since I came to this world. 2 since I began to sneak in to make sure the prince is alive. And 1 since he figured out I can make "medicine" that help him feel better.

I can't tell him I'm magic. It gets messy. I have my limits too.

The prince is laying on my lap as he tried to sleep. He had been whimpering at the sound of the heavy rain.

"... It sounds like screaming." He muttered, forcing his eyes to close. "It feels like every crack is the gate being broken down."

I pulled him up, handing him a cup of water. "Here. You'd been crying too much like a baby." I patted his head as he drank the water. "I don't like criers."

He laughed. He finally laughed. "I guess you don't like me too much, huh?"

I merely smiled as I finally see a sparkle in his eyes as he clung to me.

We stayed that way for a while until he finally fell asleep.

"Are you ready to return?"

I turned my head up and saw my master's magic on the ceiling.

"No. I have unfinished business."

"Do you need help?"

"... Yes." I am an expert in escaping alone. But not with someone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Do you want to get out of this rundown place?" I asked him as I was treating his wounds. "With me?"

"... With you? What if you get hurt became of me? I don't want that."

"That wouldn't happen." I smiled. "They can't hurt me."

"So you were the one helping him! I should have known you were a sympathizer!" The blacksmith shouted, leaving us trapped as the only safe way out is behind the scoundrel.

"... Oh no." He muttered. "No. Nonono. No. I-i-i'm sorry." He was shaking before trying to push me away.

But I refuse to budge.

"And you were the one who poisoned him. I should have known." I crossed my arms while using my magic to tug the prince closer to me.

"Why would you stick with that disgusting freak? He's nothing but a parasite in this world! He'd bleed you dry just like the lords before him."

"Step aside. I don't need to answer to you." I hooked my arm around the prince while I prepared my spell to carry him.

"You do. Outside this attic are the villagers who will also beat you up."

"If you can catch us."

"What?"

"If you can catch us." I grinned, showing my fangs when I took my ring off my finger. I used my magic to blast a hole in the attic. "Come on!"

He didn't need to think for a second when he took my hand and jumped with me.

And then, we were flying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"... So that's what happened." My master furrowed her brow as she saw us back in her abode. "Well, take responsibility and take care of him."

"I will." I sighed. "... Sorry. I... didn't think things through. You'd never be able to go back home ever again."

"... I don't need to. That place isn't my home. Not anymore." He smiled at me, wearing clothes befitting of his status now, not the rags they forced him to wear. "I got you."

"It's only out of a whim. Don't expect me to protect you. Once you feel better, you're going to have to earn your keep here." I sigh. Why do I have to make things harder for myself? If only he wasn't so... pitiful.

"I'm grateful. Really. So I wanna pay you back. For everything." There was a small blush on his cheeks.

"Uh-huh. Well, you're a prince so you're quite educated, yes?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I am."

"Good. I'd probably need an assistant to deal with my responsibilities here."

My master mere chuckled. "What a lame excuse. Well, that's settled. I have something else to do."

She left, leaving the two of us alone.

"... I had a feeling you weren't ordinary." He fixed his posture on the plush chair.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Your eyes. They're the most beautiful shade of blue I'd ever seen."

"Well, thank you. But you can't sweet talk your way out of helping me."

"I don't plan to." He smiled. "I want to help you the same way you helped me."

"Well, you're going to be making up for it a lot. You should start by being healthy. I don't accept subpar work."

He only laughed hard.

At least he's finally happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[bl-bracket]

Most Unhinged - Loser's Bracket Round 3: Zhou Zishu (Word of Honor) vs Toh (Secret Crush on You)

[Submitted Reasons Under Cut]

Zhou Zishu: "it’s more understated cause he’s next to Wen Kexing but he is also unhinged. his main problem with Wen Kexing’s big revenge plot and killing a bunch of people is that 1) it’s messy and causing a lot more collateral damage than even WKX fully wants. If it was up to Zhou Zishu, he would have a much more effective and targeted plan that only killed and destroyed the lives of the people he wanted to do that too. 2) he just wants to retire from being evil but he can’t retire if his husband is still actively doing his evil stuff so he just wants WKX to calm down with all the villainy already so they can start their international wine tour. These aren’t the thoughts of a normal well adjusted person with all their hinges intact! Part of their whole deal is being evenly matched soulmates who are suited to each other in all things, if Wen Kexing is unhinged, then Zhou Zishu cannot be hinged based on that alone!"

Toh: "i will never forget the way he fished in the trash can to collect a tissue his crush used and threw away."

[arrancxr]

So... Since you love Cien, why not make him suffer a bit? :3. "do you know what happens when you misbehave?" with a reader that lo~ves making him whimper and throughly use him even without properly preparing him just because?

46. “Do you know what happens when you misbehave?”

On his back, he’s forced to look at you. Either that, or close his eyes and turn away— and that would be far too close to admitting defeat. You know how stubborn he is, of course, so the bullying insistence to take him like this has to be intentional. Cien hates that he lets you get away with it. 

This time, you don’t bother with preparation. With an Arrancar’s pain tolerance and durability, there’s no fear of causing damage. You can be as rough with him as you please, far more so than a human lover would allow.

The blunt head of your cock briefly taps his upper cunt. It’s half a tease and half a threat, when he knows what’s coming next. His body clenches, internal muscles fluttering in anticipation of the near-painful stretch. But instead of shoving in, you just keep staring, gaze fixed on his face like you’re watching for the slightest sign of how badly he wants it. 

“Hurry up!” Cien hisses, jabbing his knee into your side. 

“Impatient, are we?” you retort with a smirk. “That’s not a polite way to ask for something; try again, sweetheart. I know you can do better.”

Mockery. Cien starts to snarl a response, but you shift forward, pushing your cock the first half-inch or so into him, and the sudden jolt of pleasure-pain makes his barely started words cut off into a yelp. 

Your expectant stare sends humiliation prickling up his spine. You fully expect him to submit, to roll over and beg just because you won’t fuck him until he does. In a moment of furious impulse, Cien tries to twist out from under you— if he can switch your positions, put you on your back instead, he can take what he wants without giving in to the command to plead. 

It doesn’t work. As if expecting him to struggle, you have two fingers around his clit the moment he starts to move— then pinch. 

“Do you know what happens when you misbehave?” you ask while Cien is still breathless with shock. The slightest shift, applying more pressure, and his voice returns in the form of a gasping, broken wail. 

His body locks up under the onslaught of sensation, uselessly trying to arch away— and that’s when you decide to split him open on your cock, as deep as it’ll fit, all in one rough shove. It’s too dry, too tight, hurts as badly as being impaled with a blade, but his lower cunt still aches enviously in response to the fullness above. Cien whines incoherently, too stunned by the pain to manage anything else. Mercifully, you allow him time to adjust. 

“Better, sweetheart?” you ask, though you surely don’t expect an answer. Another rough pinch to his clit makes him spasm beneath you— and by now, Cien is too desperate with lust and pleasure-pain to resent it.

[cringelordofchaos]

It's really difficult to write bullies for a multitude of reasons. Primarily cuz many people have been bullies in their life before - they just don't know.

Which makes everything so fucking difficult. Because, when writing a fictional character, especially one with noticable flaws, you want to explain their behaviour - not excuse it, necessarily, but show the audience why they are the way they are. For example, a character with trust issues may be that way due to being lied to and deceived in the past by those they loved.

But, for whatever reasons I find this becoming more difficult to nail down with bullies, specifically.

Because, again - most bullies don't think they're bullies. In their eyes, they might have not noticed the actual damage they've done to others, or maybe they were just focusing on how much fun they've had with their friends, or the laughs they shared over teasing others. We're the main characters in our own lives so, for us, we fail to realize when in other people's lives, we become a form of an antagonist. I would know

For bullies, writers typically try explaining why they're bullies - it's typically family issues or other forms of inner emotional conflicts.

And y'know what? I think it makes sense. I'll make a concession - briefly, I've bullied others before as a result of peer pressure. I've never fully "fit in" with others, and in middle school that feeling only became more abundant, and my bullies only got worse, so when others told me to do dumb or mean stuff to other kids, I'd... Submit, because when they laughed over or even just desired me doing... Anything, I felt more loved and accepted. I admit it was stupid of me and overall a bad thing to do, and when I realized it, I quickly stopped (though I failed to apologize, and now it's too late). So yeah; bullying can stem from issues and problems from childhood and such.

Though I typically see people saying that bullies being the way they are due to trauma or similar stuff is "unrealistic", and they usually just do it because they're bored - and while I do believe this very well can be the case as well, usually the people that say this (from my personal experience) tend to be ones who say they've been victims of bullies, rather than bullies themselves - so I don't fully understand where their arguments stem from, or why they believe they fully understand the internal mindscape of every kid that anyone can deem to be a bully.

Also, from personal experience, I tend to notice my past bullies have struggled a decent amount themselves over all sorts of things. While I've never come to fully understand them, it was pretty obvious - to me, at least - that their bullying was simply a way of coping or seeking attention, positive or otherwise.

And also, a kid that bullies others just because they're bored makes up for a pretty boring antagonist IMO. i mean, you could probably make it work, but it's more interesting to give them complex family lore and coping mechanisms, even if it's not always the case.

There also comes the subject of prioritizing how much the bully is sad or how they feel, over... Those they're bullying. One time, in a middle school class focused on primarily mental healtn, the topic of bullying was the subject of the day. It wasn't anything too special - just a typical Powerpoint presentation that almost no one really payed attention to (especially since literally no one cared about the class and it was extremely unserious - I can't blame them, I didn't care either). However the presentation exclusively focused on how the bully might feels rather than the victim.

And like, yeah. We should talk about why some kids bully others. But we need to point out now anyone can be a bully, even you - but, from what my forgetful mind remembers at least, the Powerpoint presentation failed to achieve that.

I feel like the concept of The Bully has been a bit... Romanticized??? Is that the right word? So people just see it as a vague fictional concept rather than something anyone can be realistically

I don't know. But long post short - most people don't think they could possibly have been bullies ever, but they want to write bullies, some - due to lack of personal perspective - heavily rely on tropes such as parent issues while I've seen many people criticize these tropes due to being "unrealistic" but those people tend to not have been bullies themselves (or at least don't think they've been).

[aelaer]

⛓

Okay so. THREE YEARS AGO, back in early 2020 before The World Went To Shit, I posted a "whump prompt request" thing with icons to basically request fics based on the whumpy icon. I answered 2 or 3 of them before I basically stopped writing for like, over a year.

This year I'm doing my damnedest to finish the 6 whump prompts I have from early 2020 and the last (anon) prompt I have from 2019. That's my goal. (If I can get to the 2022 user-submitted prompt as well this year, that's an extra bonus).

I don't think this user is even in the fandom anymore (possibly not even on tumblr), but I'm still doing the prompt fics. As always with tumblr prompts, my tumblr followers get them first, and I'll post it on AO3 at a later time.

Obviously the prompt is chains. For 2 years I was trying another fic to fill this, but when it just wasn't happening, I threw out the original idea for this new one below.

So I've done alternate meetings between Stephen and various Avengers before, but I wanted to try something different and have a different set of Avengers meet him in different circumstances. Well, not that different because I just enjoy seeing Stephen suffer. Sorry love. But it's a different crew of Avengers, so it's at least a little different. I don't think I've seen this particular group meeting him before in this timeframe, either.

This fic stars Steve, Nat, Sam, and Stephen, and is actually written from Steve's POV! First time writing from Steve's POV so it was a lot of fun. Not betaed, but this is still about 7,000 words long, so enjoy!

—--

Ever since aliens attacked New York in 2012, alien technology was a major part of the arms dealing scene in the black market. Nuclear missiles were old school; Chitauri-powered weaponry was the cream of the crop. And as the United States' Department of Damage Control seemed to have done a very lousy job at controlling all the weaponry leaving the country the last several years, Steve Rogers figured he'd put his time out of the country to good use and clean up for them.

From all the people that came back from the Raft, only two were with him now. Clint and Ant-Man—Scott, nice guy—had families back home and went for a plea bargain. Wanda asked to be dropped off in Europe and Nat provided her with a new ID and enough money to get by for a couple months without any sort of job. Bucky—well, Bucky was getting help in Wakanda.

That just left him, Sam, and Nat. When he told them what he planned to do, they were fully on board. Nat even had some old KGB connections to get them started.

And that's how they had spent the last year, going from city to city, country to country, chasing leads on illegal alien weaponry across Asia. They started in Yemen and Oman, then went north to Syria (where they got into a tight spot and found Nick Fury of all people waiting for them. How he got to Syria in the first place, Steve had no idea.) After a tense conversation with him, he parted with him in Lebanon, then they started their way east to Iraq, Turkmenistan, and Afghanistan.

It was another old contact of Nat's that pointed them to their next destination: the state of Uttar Pradesh in northern India.

With most of their hits, it was clear that terrorists, insurgents, and other sorts who dealt with black market arms were getting types of Chitauri weapons. With their information out of India, it was less clear what the nature of the weapon was.

"From how they're discussing it, it sounds alien," Nat said as she read over her contact's notes. "And they're guarding it fiercely. But it appears they don't know what to do with it."

"Who has the weapon?" Sam asked. "Lashkar-e-Taiba? ISIS?"

She shook her head. "It's a small splinter group of revolutionists. No household names here."

Steve frowned; these small groups were more difficult to determine how to respond to. "Are they considered terrorists by the United States?"

Nat shook her head once more as she looked through the notes. "Strictly Indian. This group doesn't go beyond their borders."

"Then let's go for a nonlethal encounter, as much as possible. We're not here to say who's right and wrong about such things, so long as they're not hurting anyone in their actions."

She half-smiled. "They do have a weapon, Cap." They've likely hurt people, she didn't say.

He quirked his lips in return. "And that's why we're going to relieve them of it." In the end, it was up to the local authorities to take care of the people themselves and to put them through due process. If Steve could, he'd do the same for every terrorist, too—but he didn't have that luxury when they were caught in the middle of a gunfight, or when it was just the three of them versus dozens in enemy territory.

He wasn't happy with the fact, but he made do with what he could. He didn't particularly enjoy killing others in the war, either—and the fact that he still had to from time to time was an unhappy reality.

So when he could get through an incident without death, he gladly took it.

"All right," Sam said. "Next stop, India."

—--

Nat's connections made getting the quinjet from country to country actually possible. From there, they paid someone enough cash to both keep an eye on the jet and to keep quiet about it. These people made a living on such gigs, so after a year of seeing such deals, Steve was a lot less worried about it than when they first started.

Their contact got them a van and from there, they fit everything they needed into it to get to a safehouse and gather more intel from there.

Uttar Pradesh was a land of extremes. As the most populous state of India, it also saw some of its richest and poorest citizens, some great beauty and great ugliness, and both wondrous joys and terrible suffering. Steve didn't interact with the locals—Nat did all that if they had to, as she somehow knew Hindi as well—but he could see it in the people's faces as they went from city to village, and back again.

It took them a couple days to secure their safehouse to their liking, then another few days to find the location of their target. It took Nat and Sam another 48 hours to break into their security and tap their communications, and it wasn't too long that they got the location of the weapon.

"They're not giving any further description on what this weapon is," Nat said with a grimace as she leaned back in her chair. "I don't think the guys we bugged actually know what it is, just where it is as they were guarding the building. On the second floor, so that narrows it down further."

"That's annoying," Sam said. "I'll look up the address and see what I can find on the building. This city's large enough to have blueprints."

"Not sure how much you'll find," Nat said. "I'll drive out there and scout it out tonight."

"You can add it to what I do find," Sam said, grinning.

—---

When Nat came back from her scouting just before dawn, Steve woke up to find her thoughtful. "What happened?"

"The building was unusually busy, considering the time of night," she said. "The good news is that I found the most likely room in which they're keeping the weapon."

"Should be an easy snatch and grab?"

"Absolutely; this is a group of amateurs. You and Sam can probably stay in the car."

Steve snorted. "Well, if we would just get in your way."

Nat smirked, then went to get herself some breakfast. "I'll listen in today to see if anyone says anything more about the weapon."

About two hours later, Sam and Steve were mapping out their route away from the building once Nat had the weapon. From the corner of his eye, Steve saw her frowning as she listened to the tapped broadcast. He did not like that frown. "What is it?"

She listened for about ten more seconds. "It sounds like they have a prisoner."

Sam jerked his head up. "What?"

She paused as she listened, then after two minutes she shook her head. "These idiots know nothing. They think he was after the weapon, naturally, but for all they know he could be a political prisoner or hostage." She sighed. "Should've bugged someone more useful."

"This changes things," Steve said.

"A rescue mission makes this more complicated," Nat pointed out.

"Are you suggesting we leave him?"

Nat smiled slightly. "Just making sure you were aware."

"Well, I've never been one to back down from a challenge." He looked at Sam. "You'll be fine alone in the car?"

Sam shrugged. "I can keep the engine running. You sure you won't need help with sneaking in?"

"No. Show me what blueprints you found again, Sam." He had learned several things about subterfuge and stealth over the last year from Nat. He had to.

With their combined intelligence gathering, Steve was able to map out his own route to search for this prisoner. It was likely he was being kept in the basement level of the building, so Steve would start there and work his way up, if need be. As decided before, Steve wanted to go for the non-lethal route, and they had just enough drugs to knock people out to make it happen (one of the good things of running into Fury all those months ago was getting supplies of that nature).

With their plan set, all they had to do now was wait until nightfall.

—----

Nat was right: these guys were amateurs. Steve was certain that she'd be in and out of the building in five minutes, tops. He had the longer route here just because he had to find the room this prisoner was actually being held.

Half the people in the building were asleep on the second floor; those awake were either guarding the mysterious weapon (Nat had them handled) or posted around the perimeter. He only encountered one other guard on the first floor before making his way into the basement. Those he did encounter he stashed away in dark corners so they weren't easily spotted by anyone passing by.

The basement was a little busier. The stairwell led to a long hallway filled with several tiny rooms, one of which was easily seen as occupied the moment he came to the floor. Steve took out two guys in a room at a pair of computers and kept them propped in their chairs. The other rooms in the hall were empty of people, largely filled with storage and detritus.

At the edge of the corridor was another hallway and Steve carefully peered beyond the corner to see if anyone was there. There was a man sitting outside of a door playing on his phone; that was very likely the door Steve was looking for. It was child's play to sneak up at him and jab him in the neck just as he had done with the rest. 

He lowered the guard to the floor before he could fall out of his chair, then peered through the small window—hole, really—within the door to take a look inside.

Well, he had definitely found the prisoner. While the light in the room was dim, he could tell that their prisoner didn't appear Indian; his skin was just too light. Steve frowned; what was a foreign national doing dealing with a group that largely dealt with Indian affairs?

It appeared that he had crossed them in some way because the man looked terrible. Bruises and bloody scrapes blossomed across his face; they appeared to be recent hurts, gained in hours or days rather than weeks or months. His dark hair was pressed damp against his head, though from sweat or water, Steve did not know. His clothes were unlike anything Steve's seen in the future so far, at least outside of movies. 

Despite his poor state of being, this group had considered their captive enough of a threat to chain him to the wall itself. Steve had no idea wall fetters like that still existed. The man was leaning his head against one of his arms pulled up, though sleeping or unconscious, he couldn't say.

Steve soon discovered neither. As soon as he took the cell door key off the unconscious guard and slotted it into the lock, the man's eyes snapped open and he straightened his position as much as he was able to. And he didn't appear afraid at all. Resigned, perhaps, but not afraid. Interesting. Nat would have quite the analysis on him from just this.

The man's grim resignation turned into outright confusion as Steve opened the door to reveal himself.

"Keep your voice down," Steve warned as he dragged the guard's body from the hallway and into the cell. He carefully shut the door to make it look closed, but left it open a crack in case it locked from the inside. He turned back to the hostage. "We'd rather avoid a full on confrontation if we can."

"Captain America?" Disbelief dripped through every syllable, but he kept his voice low. And he sounded American; that wasn't expected at all.

Steve could not help his unhappy smile. "Not so sure I can call myself that anymore."

The man remained still as Steve closed the distance between them. "Let me get these off," he muttered as he brought up the key again. But he could see the problem immediately—the key was too large for the manacles.

The man was watching him and seemed to catch his realization. "I imagine that one of the leaders has that key," he said, voice flat. Not panicked at all like many others would be if they thought they were so close to freedom and were stuck.

This man was no normal civilian, that much was clear.

Steve, though, had another idea. "Hold on." He took hold of the left manacle and chain, then paused as he caught long scars on the hand accompanied by a tremor that certainly wasn't fear. "This might pinch. Brace yourself."

The man said nothing, but hissed softly as Steve snapped the chain from the manacle as the rough metal scraped against him, despite Steve's best efforts.

"Okay?" Steve said as he slowly let go of the manacle still around his wrist, allowing the man time to gain control of his arm.

"Fine. Don't worry about it."

Steve moved to the other manacle and saw the same patterns of scars on his right hand, as well. He broke the chain with as much care as he could, and this time the man remained silent at the break.

"Can you stand?"

The man was already standing—or at least attempting it. He managed to get up to his feet, but he was leaning heavily against the wall. His eyes were focused on the corner where Steve had deposited the unconscious guard near the door. Steve followed his gaze and saw that beyond the guard was some sort of red fabric in the corner.

"I need that," the man said, leaving no room for argument in his voice. With some bemusement, Steve gathered the long length of red fabric in one hand (a coat?), and with the other dragged the guard to where the hostage once sat so anyone looking in the dimly lit room would make out the figure of a body. So long as no one took a closer look, it would hold until morning.

The man took the red fabric as soon as Steve offered it to him and slung it over his shoulder. Steve caught the glint of silver of what he assumed was some sort of clasp on his coat, and while he was no expert, it looked like the real deal. 

"Surprised they didn't take those," Steve said as he nodded to the ornamentation. "Lean on me."

The man did so without protest. Steve couldn't see what was causing the other's inability to fully stand, but that would have to be examined later. He did mutter, though, "They couldn't rip the clasps off. Then they thought they were maybe cursed." For some reason this seemed to amuse the man.

Right, then. "Follow my lead," Steve murmured.

He locked the door behind them and dropped the key in one of the storage rooms within the basement. Steve was slower going out than coming in, but he had been thorough in jabbing everyone and placing them in either hidden areas or in discrete positions, should anyone pass. But for all the rumors of having a powerful weapon, as their security personnel was not what Steve would consider top-rated, he wasn't expecting any change of guard anytime soon.

The building was thankfully small enough that the journey from the cell to the exit was less than five minutes, even at the slowed pace they were forced to go. From the corner of his eye Steve saw the man turn his head at the sight of one of the men stashed on a chair, positioned as if he were asleep rather than drugged.

It wasn't until they were past the building's outer fencing and around a corner that Steve breathed more easily. Perhaps the man sensed it, because he spoke for the first time since they left the cell. "Did you kill them?"

"The guards?"

"Yes."

"No. Just drugged."

Steve felt the man exhale beside him. "Good."

That… wasn't expected. But then again, nothing about this man met any of the preconceptions he originally thought about the person he would be rescuing. "What's your name?"

"Strange."

They turned another corner. "Your name is Strange?"

"Yes."

Fair enough.

"How far are we going?" Strange asked. Steve was supporting more of his weight now, his hidden injury seeming to do a number on him.

"Not far," he assured him. "I've got a car waiting."

"Great." The 'great' sounded oddly sarcastic.

The van was only a couple minutes further, which was good because Strange only seemed to be getting weaker with every step. By the time they turned the final corner to meet it, Strange's left leg fully gave out on him. Steve caught him before he could totally collapse, but he noticed Strange's attention was fully on the van.

"I'm not the only thing you're taking from that building, am I?" he asked between clenched teeth.

How could he possibly know? Steve didn't know how to answer, but before he needed to, Sam was stepping out of the van to assist him. He took in Strange's interesting fashion choices with a raised brow, then took on the role of medic immediately. "Where are you injured?" he asked as he took Strange's other arm. He spared a look at the hand and the manacle, then gripped him on the forearm as he slung it over his shoulders.

"It's complicated," was Strange's cryptic answer. "Nothing you can—" He sharply inhaled, "—help right now."

Once they loaded Strange into the back seat (with his coat on his lap—though it was rather large to be a coat, now that he took a longer look at it), Steve asked Sam quietly as they rounded the car, "You found the weapon?"

"Well, we definitely found what they were hiding, though I'm not so sure I'd call it that," he replied.

What on earth did that mean? Steve sent Sam a look, but held off on any further questions until they were out of immediate danger.

Nat had slipped into the driver's seat as soon as Sam was out of the van, and Sam gave it up with the roll of his eyes. Steve decided to sit in the back with Strange to keep an eye on him as they drove back to their safe house about thirty minutes away. Somehow Strange seemed worse resting in the van than moving. Yes, the road was bumpy and unpaved in many spots, but he would have thought walking from his prison would have been more taxing on him. 

As he eyed Strange's clenched fists, tight eyes, and pallor face, he wondered where these hidden injuries lie—and if they were all physical in nature.

Perhaps more importantly, he was wondering what on Earth another American was doing all the way out there in the middle of Uttar Pradesh and far away from any sort of tourist destination (and they had done their research—this was absolutely not an area for tourists). 

Apparently he wasn't the only one wondering about him. "So, you gonna tell us who you are and what on earth you're doing all the way out here?" Sam asked, turning himself partially around to look at him.

"If we could save the interrogation for when we're stopped, I would greatly appreciate it," he said without moving his eyes from the center of the windshield.

"Carsick?" Nat asked in that casual way that was anything but casual. 

"Yes," Strange said, but Steve wasn't sure if he fully believed him. It was the tight anxiety in his gaze that pointed to something else. 

But what it was wasn't important for him to know. Every man had his demons. So Steve said, "His name is Strange."

Sam looked between the two of them, gaze settling on Strange. "Seriously?"

"Yes," Strange said, curt and tense.

"Right," said Sam. He cleared his throat. "Well, Mr Strange, when we get to our little base, we'll take a look at you and see what we can do for your injuries."

At first, Strange didn't seem like he would reply. Then a moment later, after Sam had already turned around and Steve was getting ready to settle in for a long, silent trip, Strange said, "Doctor."

"Pardon?" Steve asked. Sam slightly turned his head.

"It's Doctor Strange."

Well, that just created more questions than it answered. 

—---

Doctor Strange could barely walk by the time they made it to the safe house. His lips were pressed tight as he contained what appeared to be excruciating agony. Steve had seen that look on men's faces before in war as they lost limbs and burned from napalm fire.

What sort of wounds was he hiding underneath all his clothing?

"He can take my cot," Sam said. The cots were in a separate, smaller room to the side of the larger room that held their base of operations. Their vital equipment didn't exceed what could fit in a single van should they need to leave fast, but at this point they had acquired decent bedding, more fresh clothing, and a mini-fridge alongside the basic necessities of the trade: their tech, a well-stocked first aid kit, non-perishables to last for several weeks, and a few weapons.

Sam already had their first aid kit by his side as they got Strange to the cot, and Strange collapsed as soon as they let him go. However, when Sam started to undo his belts to his—robes, Steve guessed—to get access to whatever hurts he was hiding, Strange stopped him by grabbing at his arm. But the grip was minimal; Strange's hand was shaking badly enough to continuously jiggle the ugly manacle still there. 

"Not—not hurt—physically," he panted.

Sam raised his eyebrows incredulously at the comment. "You've got bruises all over you. Look, with this weakness, you could have a bad internal bleed—"

"No," he hissed. "Listen." His weak grip readjusted itself on Sam's arm. "Move the statuette—away from me."

Steve turned a confused look to Sam, but Sam had stilled and was looking at Strange with narrowed eyes. "How did you—"

"200 feet," he interrupted. "For an hour. You'll see." With that, he finally passed out.

"Statuette?" Steve asked. 

"It was what they were protecting." Nat appeared at the door and frowned at Strange as Sam, obviously, ignored his protests and started stripping him down to both attach him to a BPM and to look for any signs of massive trauma. "He shouldn't know that we took it."

Steve frowned. "He said something of the same just as we got to the van."

Nat's eyes narrowed. "Did he, now."

Steve shook his head. "But that doesn't make sense. They were supposed to be holding onto some powerful weapon."

"Whatever our intel, the statuette was definitely the only thing they were truly guarding," Nat said. "Had two men at the entrance and one on the ground below—even more than last night." She kept her narrowed gaze upon Strange. "Maybe he is what caused all the disturbance last night, too."

Steve frowned at the information. "Did anything about it seem suspicious?"

Nat shook her head. "Not from a cursory look. It's just a rather ugly statue made out of stone. Weighs no more than 10 pounds. I was saving the closer examination for when we got back here, though."

"This makes no sense." It was Sam this time, and he was looking at the diagnostics on his small handheld that he had hooked up to Strange.

"What is it?" Steve asked. 

"His vitals are not what I was expecting. His blood pressure is higher than normal, which is opposite what you'd see with internal bleeding, and none of this bruising is severe. I mean, he should still get himself to a hospital when he can to double check, but I'm not seeing any obvious signs of hemorrhaging."

Nat looked back at Strange. "He's not faking it. He's out."

"I know." Sam worked on cleaning up some of the cuts on Strange's face because they were, apparently, the worst wounds they found. "But from what I can see, he shouldn't be unconscious. I found no head trauma, no major blood loss, and his temperature's stable."

Steve pursed his lips together in thought. The world had gotten very weird the last few years.

Nat read him like a book. "You're going to entertain his idea?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, the world isn't exactly what it used to be," Steve said. "We can try for an hour. Just to see what happens."

Nat canted her head, then nodded slowly. "I know a spot. Be back soon."

—--

Fifteen minutes later, Steve had his chair at the doorway between the beds and the rest of the space as he kept an eye on Strange. Sam was working on repairing some of their surveillance tech while Nat was looking up something at the computers after having returned just a couple minutes ago.

"He said Doctor Strange, right?" Sam asked. "You think, being an American with robes and a cape and all, that he's playing at being some sort of superhero with a secret identity or something?"

Steve blinked and took another look at the red pile of cloth resting at the foot of Strange's cot. Huh, yeah, he supposed it could be a cape. A red cape like Thor's, to boot.

"I'm not so sure," Steve said as he eyed the man. "He didn't act like a civilian playing hero that got in over his head when I found him."

"Not a fake name, either," Nat said, causing the both of them to turn her way. She recited, "Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange, MD, PhD. Neurosurgeon. And yes, I found images. It's him, just without the beard and a little less grey hair."

For some reason the name sounded familiar, though Steve had no idea why. He definitely hadn't met the guy before; he was pretty sure he'd remember him if he had.

Sam raised his eyebrows high. "What in the world is a neurosurgeon doing dressed like that in the weeds of Uttar Pradesh?"

"Former neurosurgeon, actually," Nat said with a thoughtful frown. "Last news I can find of him is from early 2016 after he got into a bad car accident. His hospital doesn't list him as a doctor there, anymore."

Steve frowned softly as he looked back at Strange. That would explain his hands. But as Sam said, it didn't explain what he was doing all the way out here. Then he narrowed his gaze as he saw Strange stir—or he thought he saw him move.

Then Steve blinked as he saw the edges of the red cape start rising upward. It reminded him of a cobra. He blinked again, and yea, it was definitely moving a bit like a snake. It was slinking.

"Hey uh, Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"Clothing generally doesn't move on its own in this century, right?"

"Uh, what?"

"You better come see this."

Steve felt both Sam and Nat beside him as they watched the cape—definitely a cape, not a coat—extend itself upwards until it was no longer a bundle of cloth at the edge of the bed, but fully extended and covering Strange from the bottom of his neck to his feet.

This cape might've been bigger than Thor's cape.

"So that's definitely not normal, yes?" Steve reiterated.

"Yes, Steve, that's not normal," Nat repeated. "You two sure there wasn't any sort of tech embedded within it?"

"Surveillance would've picked up something," Sam said, which Steve knew that Nat knew.

"Right," she said. "I'd ah, I'd keep my distance from it, gentlemen."

"Right."

"Yep."

—------

Another twenty minutes passed before Steve heard a groan coming from the cot. He looked up from his sketch to watch a minutiae of expressions cross over Strange's face before it settled on the blank expression of a man who woke up in unfamiliar, potentially dangerous situations. Steve saw that expression all the time once, a lifetime ago.

Strange was not just a neurosurgeon, no matter where his internet trail ended. Nearly two years had passed since early 2016, after all—and much of the world had changed since then.

Steve pushed away the troubling, all-too-personal train of thought before it went somewhere dangerous. "Welcome back, Doctor Strange," he said. He kept his distance.

Strange glanced his way with a furrowed brow before a light of understanding came to his eyes. "Ah. Right." He slowly sat up, grimacing softly, frowning down at what was obviously rumpled, disturbed clothing. Speaking of clothing—the cape was floating a bit more now, its collar at the same level as Strange's head.

"Oh, good, I'm glad you're starting to feel better," Strange said, and he was definitely talking to his cape. Steve was certain about it.

"Uh," Steve started, causing Strange's eyes to focus again on him. They were no longer clouded in pain, and he could see the man had an unusually sharp gaze. "Nat was going to remove those manacles off you, but then your cape started moving…" He trailed off.

"It's a cloak," was Strange's absolutely absurd reply.

Steve was saved from replying by Sam joining him. And just out of sight of Strange, Nat lingered, listening. "Hey, doc. How're you feeling?" Steve was pretty sure Sam was mostly staring at the half-floating cape—cloak.

"Much better. Thank you for moving the statuette." He frowned at the manacles on his wrists before making something of an effort to straighten out his robes. The red cloak moved behind him and settled itself upon his shoulders with Strange saying nothing about it.

"Uh, you wanna tell us what that is?" Sam jerked his chin to the cloak as it moved.

"It's a cloak," Strange replied. With eyes that sharp, Steve knew the man was being purposefully obtuse.

"Funny." Sam crossed his arms. "You wanna tell us why it flies?"

"It's called the Cloak of Levitation. That's what it does."

Steve wasn't sure if he should be annoyed or amused by the obfuscation. He settled for something around the realm of exasperation. "Doctor Strange, please." Strange stilled his adjusting and settled his gaze on Steve. "If you would sit down with us," he gestured past his shoulder to the main room, "Natasha can remove the manacles while you answer a few questions."

Strange pursed his lips. "I don't suppose you'll let me go without answers," he said dryly, but he stood up. Steve stood as well to give Strange ample room to pass.

Steve could feel Nat stepping into line of sight just behind him. "Consider it payment for us getting you out of there."

Strange huffed as he stepped through into the main room; with his so-called cloak, his whole ensemble had an odd feeling of completion that was missing prior. "I thought the Avengers were meant to be altruistic." Steve had been pretty certain that Strange knew who the other two were, but that at least confirmed it.

Nat smiled. "Some of us are more altruistic than others." She nodded to the table where the laptops were sitting a minute ago, but were now closed and set aside. "Sit."

Steve was more than happy to leave the bulk of the interrogation to Nat. He retook his chair and Sam went back to his tech maintenance corner while Strange sat adjacent to Nat at the center table.

With her left hand, Nat slid her fingers underneath the manacle to offer some cushioning between the metal and Strange's skin, certainly raw from the metal and more sensitive with whatever lay underneath his skin now. Steve knew, only after being with her for so long, that it was yet another way she could better tell truth from lies by being right on top of his pulse.

She had never forgotten her years and years of training.

"Why were you being held in that building?" she started as she flicked open the pick.

Strange narrowed his eyes at the question. "The same reason you were drawn to it."

"And you were caught trying to take it."

"Well," Strange said, "I was not expecting to have such an adverse reaction."

Nat kept her gaze on the manacle, seemingly. Steve wouldn't doubt that she was looking up at Strange through her lashes at pertinent moments. "We came because we heard there was a powerful weapon being held there," she said slowly, "but it seems only to affect you."  

Strange didn't reply, at first. "Was there a question in that statement, Miss Romanoff?"

Nat smiled. "You know my question, Doctor Strange."

Strange, again, considered his words. "And what would you do with that knowledge?"

Something that looked like true confusion flickered across Nat's expression. Steve doubted Strange caught it, but after all these years, he did. "What do you mean?"

"Don't be obtuse," Strange said, and there was an edge to his voice, suddenly. "After all, it was not even four years ago that the very agency you worked for created a weapon to kill millions. What am I to think of a person who worked for such an organization?"

The flash of something real crossing through Nat's eyes was so fast that Steve wasn't entirely sure that he hadn't just imagined it. "And all of us here were part of the team that exposed that plot." The first manacle clicked open, and Nat removed it, allowing Strange to take his wrist to rub it. "And when the worlds' governments tried to force us to sign a document that we believed endangered the world's freedom, we ran. And here we are."

Strange stared at her wordlessly, and they held a battle of wills. He had seen this expression on Nat very few times. The first she started showing it to him was when they really started working together, when—

Steve suddenly remembered. "Hydra!" At his exclamation, the battle of wills was dropped as everyone looked to him, but his eyes were again on Strange. "During Project Insight—one of their high level goons mentioned your name, your name and a few others—as he explained exactly what the algorithm was written to do." He looked at the other two. "Sitwell on the rooftop, remember?"

Realization came to them and they looked again at Strange, perhaps in a different light. "He did mention you," Sam said, pointing a screwdriver his way.

Strange cleared his throat. "That was in 2014, years before… this. They couldn't have known this would happen to me."

"And what is 'this', Doctor Strange?" Nat asked. She gestured for his left hand, and Strange gave it to her wordlessly. As she slipped her fingers underneath the metal and against his wrist, she asked, "What makes you different from us that the statue would only be an effective weapon against you?"

The silence sat. Strange said nothing, and it remained steady until the second manacle clicked open. Natasha removed it and stared at him for a moment, but when he remained still, she simply nodded and stood. "Steve can help you make arrangements to get back to where you need to go," is all she said, and turned to leave.

"Magic."

Nat stopped mid-step.

"The statuette has an adverse effect upon people who practice what you would call magic."

Sam was the first to break the silence. "Wait, do you mean 'You're a wizard, Harry,' type of magic?"

Strange's carefully blank expression fell away into a look of distaste. "The preferred term is sorcerer."

"A sorcerer is just a wizard without a hat," Sam said in return, and Strange's expression went through the whole range between gobsmacked and irritation, and back again.

Steve stepped in before Sam was completely eviscerated. "Right, so the statuette's bad news. What did you want to do with it?"

Strange seemed surprised by the question. "If it were up to me, I'd have it destroyed; were that impossible, burying it several miles deep or throwing it into the Mariana Trench is a good alternative. I'd say it could be placed in another dimension, but I'd be worried about another intelligent species potentially coming across it."

Right, dimensions. That was—something. Steve just nodded, as if all of that sounded perfectly reasonable and not completely insane.

Still, there was something Strange wasn't saying, and Steve had to make sure. "And these adverse effects—they're not permanent?"

"They're not."

"You sure?" Sam asked. "You were pretty badly off there for a time."

Strange cleared his throat. "I had been within near proximity to the object for almost a day, and the car ride's enforced closeness simply exacerbated the symptoms. They were unpleasant, but not permanent for the length of time I was exposed."

Steve narrowed his eyes; 'unpleasant' was a soldier's word for 'agonizing, but it didn't kill me so I'll be fine.' And Strange had the gaze of a man who had seen battle.

The other two noticed, naturally. They were both soldiers too. But it was Nat who prodded, to see just how much she could glean. It was almost instinctual for her to do so, Steve thought. "Sam is right to be concerned. You were near catatonic by the time the drive was through."

Strange's lip twitched upward in displeasure. He would allow some prying to establish—what? Some sort of basic trust? Whatever it was, it only went so far, and when Strange said, "I'm fine, thank you," Nat laid off with a raised hand and a slight smile.

Steve switched topics. "If you knew this statuette was so dangerous, why did you go in alone?" At Strange's quirked brow, Steve explained, "I assume there's more than one sorcerer around. You had to learn it from someone. You needed backup." Steve allowed a tone of disapproval to shine through his last sentence.

Strange heard it and rose up to it. "The statuette hasn't been encountered for quite some time, so its intensity wasn't known to any living sorcerer. Besides, we thought it was something else entirely here. If we'd known it was the statuette, we would have used a completely different strategy in retrieving it. On that note," he said, tone moving to decisive and unrelenting, "I'd like my phone call, now."

"Your what?" Sam asked. 

"Well, Miss Romanoff said you'd be assisting me in getting out of here," Strange said. "To do that, I need to call somebody."

Steve nodded, though that statement led to more questions as to how Strange got out here in the first place. Did that mean there were other sorcerers in the vicinity?

They had several burner phones as part of their stash. Nat selected one not on their persons, so not yet in active use. Depending on what happened here would determine if they kept it or threw it out after this.

Strange nodded in thanks and dialed a number slowly enough that it didn't take a spy to read his movement, should he decide to steal the phone for some reason. Steve didn't think he would. Besides, if he was more concerned about keeping the number private, he certainly wouldn't have dialed it in front of Nat.

Regardless, it took about ten seconds from Strange lifting the phone to his ear for him to start talking. He stood as he did and began to slowly pace during the conversation.

"Wong, it's Stephen. I have good news and bad news." A pause. "The good news is that it wasn't the Jade of Antioch. The bad news is that it's the Empirikul Statuette."

Another pause. "Oh yeah, it's as bad as the books say it is. Can't say I recommend the experience." His cloak was swaying quite a bit. Was that natural? "The Avengers. Or, well, three former ones, I guess." Another pause. "Yeah, them. And yes. Where do you think I found a phone?" Pause. "Why would I have my wallet on me? That's an awful idea. It would've been taken from me if I had brought it."

Strange paused mid-stride as the response on the other side went for a few seconds longer than the other replies. "It wasn't—you're exaggerating. No, it wasn't that bad. The issue was the Empirikul Statuette, not the guys holding onto it. It wasn't even a day. I'm fine. But they did take my sling ring, so."

Strange rolled his eyes after another pause. "Look, it could have happened to anyone. It was just my luck that I went searching rather than someone else." He huffed in annoyance. "I just need someone to pick me up. Can you do that?" Another pause. "It's not in my immediate vicinity, but it's still too close. Give me ten minutes to walk—not going to chance the Cloak right now." A beat. "Yep. Right. Bye." He snapped the phone shut and looked at Steve. "If that's all, I should be on my way."

That phone call had only made him more curious about Strange. And when Steve exchanged looks with Sam, he could see the same on his face.

And apparently Nat wasn't going to let it go so easily, either. "This area can be dangerous at night," she said. "We'll escort you to a safe spot."

"That won't be necessary," Strange said. He set the phone back down on the table. "I can take care of myself."

Sam asked, "Your powers are fully back, then?"

Strange pressed his lips together at the question. He answered, "As I said, I can handle myself."

"So that's a no," Sam supplied.

"We wouldn't want anything to happen to you," Steve added.

Strange looked between the three of them, then exhaled in resignation. "You'd follow me regardless, wouldn't you?"

Nat smiled at him. "Wouldn't want our hard work to go to waste."

Strange rolled his eyes and gestured to the door. "Lead the way to this 'safe spot', then. Away from the statuette, if you would."

"Gladly." Nat headed to the door and Strange followed. Sam followed and Steve did as well because of course he wanted to see where this went. Before leaving, he swiped the burner phone Strange had left and slipped it into his pocket.

Nat led them through the dark back alleys southward of their hideout. In a few minutes, they were at a dead-end corridor nestled between three silent industrial buildings. "How's here?" she asked as she looked at Strange.

Strange's brow furrowed and he looked at his hands and made a gesture, then suddenly a bunch of golden sparks appeared on the tips of his fingers. "Here is far enough," he said.

Steve exchanged a look with Sam, and the latter asked, "So… what exactly can you do with magic?"

"Many things," Strange said as lowered his hands again.

Steve frowned at the vagueness of the answer. "And what is it that you do use your powers for, doctor?"

Strange looked at Steve again, his gaze considering. After a moment, he said, "When I was still learning the Mystic Arts, I was told that the Avengers handled physical threats to the world, while sorcerers handled more mystical threats—a countless number of them."

Sam folded his arms. "And that statuette is one of these so-called mystical threats?"

"In a way. In the wrong hands, it could cause a catastrophe." Strange waved his hand. "But I was thinking more along the lines of extra-dimensional entities that would enjoy consuming the Earth."

Nat tilted her head. "And do you come across those often?"

"More often than you would think," said Strange. 

Suddenly, golden sparks appeared in the air behind Strange up against the wall. Nat took a step back, hand on her holster, and Steve felt Sam tense beside him. Strange, however, just turned and said, "And here's my ride."

The golden sparks widened into a circle large enough for anyone to walk through it. On the other side was a room and another man, Asian, dressed in brown robes and looking exasperated. "Strange."

"Wong." Strange stepped through the circle to the other side.

This so-called Wong glanced at Steve, then Nat and Sam. "Thank you for the assistance. We'll take care of the relic from here."

"Relic?" Sam asked.

"The statuette. You won't find any use for it, I assure you."

Nat narrowed her eyes but didn't argue. Steve decided to keep it simple. "Happy to help. You can, uh, call on us if you ever need assistance." He held the burner phone up.

Strange shot him a raised eyebrow. Wong's expression, however, remained even. "You should hope that day never comes, Captain." With that, the golden circle closed, leaving the three alone in the dark once more.

"Are we just gonna let them take the statuette?" Sam asked.

Nat's lips were pursed. "They may already have. He was able to get to Strange without knowing where he was physically. And if they were able to find the statuette in the first place without any sort of scouting and they now know it's in this area, I suspect that they could have moved it since they can travel with portals like that."

"He was right in that there's not much we can do with it," Steve said as he opened up the burner phone. "We can take a look to see if it's in the hiding spot or not anymore." He pulled up the last called number. "Either of you know what country code +977 is for?"

Nat was faster with searching. "Nepal."

"Huh. They're right next door." Steve closed the phone. "Still, I'll keep this phone handy. They may prove to be useful allies in the future."

Sam sighed. "So I guess it's now the big three rather than the big two that we gotta keep an eye out for."

"What?" Steve asked as they headed out of the alley.

"Well, it was just robots and aliens before. Now it's robots, aliens, and wizards. Or at least magical 'entities', whatever that means."

Steve huffed in amusement. "Well, we certainly do live in interesting times."

"Can't argue against that."

—----

The history of going after weapons in Syria then Lebanon, and getting picked up by Nick Fury are actually from the MCU Prelude comics! Those are considered backstory canon so I definitely recommend giving them a read, they're really interesting and fill in some holes for a lot of Avengers-related stuff around AOU, CW, and IW. (The Doctor Strange ones are really great, too.)

According to Wiki, Nat spoke *at least* 11 languages. I'm not sure how much of this is from the MCU or not. But I figured her having another language under her belt wasn't the most insane thing in the world.

The "jab to instant unconsciousness" isn't a thing in the real world, but it was established as existing in the MCU in FFH, so it makes these non-lethal special ops missions much easier. It's a fun trope so I certainly don't blame Hollywood for having it.

Finally, the Empirikul Statuette is a made up item, named as a nod to the Empirikuls, who in the comics kill all magic—items, books, users, etc. So an item that makes magic inert and makes magic users suffer in its presence seemed an appropriate item to name after them.

[guardianvets]

Outsourcing After-Hours Calls: How a Virtual Veterinary Team Transforms Emergency Care

It's 11 pm on a Saturday night, and your veterinary practice just got an emergency call. A loyal client's dog was hit by a car, and they need guidance on what to do next. Of course, you want to help, but your staff left hours ago, and you're wiped after a long week of back-to-back appointments. What should you do?

This familiar scenario highlights the around-the-clock demands veterinary professionals face when it comes to delivering care. But juggling after-hours calls shouldn't mean compromising your own health and home life. That's where outsourcing emergency call management to a veterinary answering service can transform your practice.

In this post, we'll explore how partnering with a virtual veterinary team for after-hours call coverage can benefit overwhelmed vets, keep clients happy, and elevate the level of emergency care. Read on to learn how call outsourcing helps veterinary practices thrive day and night.

The After-Hours Dilemma: Burnout Risks for Vets

First, let's look at why after-hours calls pose such a big challenge for many veterinary practices.

Nonstop demands - Animals don't just get sick 9 to 5. Emergencies happen at all hours, yet most clinics operate on a standard business schedule. This leaves vets constantly "on call" even during off hours.

Staffing challenges - Hiring additional staff to cover nights and weekends isn't always feasible for small or rural practices.

Risk of burnout - Constant stress from 24/7 availability leads many vets and veterinary staff to eventually burn out. Burnout fuels turnover, negatively impacting practices.

Work-life imbalance - Without boundaries, vets struggle to unplug from work, damaging their quality of life. This also diminishes the quality of care they can provide.

Outsourcing Solutions for Seamless After-Hours Coverage

This is where outsourcing overnight and emergency call management helps. Options like veterinary call management services allow practices to hand off after-hours calls to a dedicated team of professionals.

How does it work? Your practice's calls get routed to the service outside of regular office hours. From there, trained veterinary technicians can:

Field client questions using your practice's protocols

Triage emergencies and advise clients on the next steps

Schedule urgent appointment slots for the next day

Submit prescription refill requests

Update your team on critical cases to prep for

This seamless support delivers immense benefits:

Reduced workload for your team

More focused patient care

Higher quality of service for clients

Decreased risk of burnout for vets and staff

Let's explore these advantages in more detail...

Benefits of After-Hours Call Support for Veterinary Practices

Outsourcing overnight and emergency calls lifts a huge burden from your practice's shoulders. The right virtual veterinary team like at Guardian Vets provides round-the-clock support so you can deliver elevated care focused where it's needed most.

Key benefits include:

Increased rest and reduced burnout risk - With someone else monitoring after-hours calls, vets can fully unplug and recharge during time off. This is huge for avoiding exhaustion.

Better work-life balance - Without the pressure to be "on call" 24/7, veterinary professionals maintain healthier work-life integration.

Ability to focus on urgent cases - When a true emergency arises, vets devote full attention to life-or-death situations without distractions.

Consistent care and communication - Clients appreciate talking to real veterinary professionals after hours who know how to triage situations. This provides continuity of care.

Seamless scheduling - Appointment slots get filled so urgent needs are addressed promptly the next day.

Higher client satisfaction - With calls fielded around the clock, clients feel attended to and are less likely to switch practices.

Revenue preservation and growth - New business is captured instead of lost by unanswered after hours calls. And happier existing clients remain loyal.

Smoother operations - Detailed call records allow practices to easily follow up on any overnight developments.

When it comes to elevating emergency care, outsourcing after-hours call triage checks all the boxes. Your team stays energized and focused on delivering their best care while clients enjoy an improved experience. It's truly a win-win.

Make the Switch for Radically Improved Emergency Care

Is your veterinary practice still handling all emergency calls in-house? Outsourcing after-hours support to a virtual veterinary team is a game-changer.

Partnering with a trusted provider to outsource veterinary after-hours calls gives your team the relief they need while elevating the care clients receive whenever an urgent situation arises.

To learn more about solutions for seamless overnight and emergency call coverage, reach out to Guardian Vets today. Their compassionate approach and veterinary expertise provide the ideal after-hours extension of your practice.

[iviarellereads]

The Shadow Rising, Chapter 5 - Questioners

(THIS PROJECT IS SPOILER FREE! No spoilers past the chapter you click on. Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Wheel of Time, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Silhouettes icon) In which no, not THOSE Questioners, different ones.

PERSPECTIVE: Egwene suggests that "they" should be back by now, fanning herself. Moiraine had promised them an hour, for the first time in days, then disappeared with Elayne after just five minutes. Egg feels a little guilty that they've been letting everyone think they're fully trained Aes Sedai and not just Accepted, but Moiraine hasn't contradicted them about it.

Nynaeve mutters the name Tanchico, and there's nothing for it but to go there. After half a page of narrative musing on what they’re each wearing,(1) Egg says she's not convinced.

They have Joiya and Amico in the room, the two Black Ajah they'd captured during the siege on the Stone. Amico was fully stilled, but they still have a shield weave on Joiya. Amico tells them (apparently not for the first time) that they should go to Tanchico, that none of them knew more than two or three others in the Black before they left the Tower. There's something in Tanchico that could bind Rand.

Nyn says she's heard enough, let's see if Joiya has anything new to say. Egg is grumpy that Nyn is still acting like she's higher ranked than Egg, and this time Elayne isn't there to smooth things over.

Amico submits to being bound again, and when she is, Aviendha, who also seems to have felt Egwene channeling, asks why her face looks different, is it because she was stilled? Egg looks closer at Amico, and has to agree: she looks younger, but not the agelessness of Aes Sedai any longer.

Egg, pretending to be Aes Sedai, hates to admit that she doesn't know if it's related or not, and Nyn rescues her from having to come up with some reasoning by saying that so few women have ever burned out or been stilled, it's hard to know. It's not something that you'd choose to study. It's accepted to be irreversible, and it's a traumatic experience: those who lose the ability to channel rarely live more than a few years.(2)

They free Joiya to talk, and she starts spouting repentance, too smoothly. Egg commands her to tell her story again, and use different words. Joiya says that Liandrin plans to free Mazrim Taim, declare him the Dragon and have him go by Rand's name elsewhere, and unleash destruction on the world. Rand would be blamed for the damage, and there will be no satisfactory proof that they're different people: who knows what the Dragon can or can't do? Even those who would declare for false Dragons before would hesitate at indiscriminate slaughter in Rand's reputation. Nations will unite against him, the Dark One can break free unopposed, and win.

It was a plausible story, more plausible than Amico’s tale of a few eavesdropped sentences, but Egwene believed Amico and not Joiya. Perhaps because she wanted to. A vague threat in Tanchico was easier to face than this fully fleshed plan to turn every hand against Rand. No, she thought. Joiya is lying. I am sure she is. Yet they could not afford to ignore either story. But they could not chase after both, not with any hope of success.

The door banged open, and Moiraine strode in, with Elayne following. The Daughter-Heir was frowning at the floor in front of her toes, lost in dark thoughts, but Moiraine. . . . For once the Aes Sedai’s serenity had vanished; fury painted her face.

=====

(1) First, a "wrist-thick" braid on Nynaeve makes me so jealous. Mine's not much more than two fingers thick at the top, about the thickness of my thumb near the bottom (classic length, aka "covers the butt when loose"), and when I tie it off it's about as big as my little finger. This is considered pretty average, wrist-thick is either fluffed intentionally to look thicker, has hair pieces added in (unlikely, though courtly types probably would be using hair rats to puff up their volume as that's extremely well historically founded), or is like, several standard deviations out from average or median. Second, Egg wishes she were wearing Berelain's gauzy barely-there gowns because they look cooler than the linen she's wearing. Shame on you, Robert Jordan, linen's as good a fabric for cooling as any natural fiber, and historical women's fashion keeping everything covered (even to using a kerchief on any open neckline when they were outside or working) served to keep them cooler and sun-protected. Even wool can be woven into a summer weight. And in linen? A full dress in a light colour like Egg's "pale red" would have air movement in the skirts like your own personal breeze around your legs, and the more of you is covered, the more that linen is wicking away the sweat and keeping you cooler in the absence of air conditioning or electric fans. (It's a pet peeve I've picked up since starting to watch more of sewing YouTube.) (2) Rough. But, it makes some sense, same as the monitoring of "gentled" men as we saw with Logain. And, it's generally accepted to be impossible, especially after failed attempts… but, this is an era of upheaval looming before our heroes, who's to say what might happen in a whirlwind like the end of the world?

[anemia-rp]

I do believe there a quite a few things that can mess with how your brain is wired and I also do believe the damage and severity of it differs from person to person. What will break one person might barely scratch the surface of another. Who knows maybe day goblins lose their soul too once they turn into one. I also have no idea how souls work and if there really do exist. Strangely enough I think they do and everyone has them. There surely is something that gets us to like and dislikes things. And there surely are more things in the mix than we might imagine.

I think having your own ideas for what to sew makes it a more interesting hobby. And I don't doubt it does take skills. I imagine you can be either fully focused on this task so no other thoughts have room or your hands are on autopilot so you can think about everything and nothing. It is like this for me if it comes to drawing. Maybe at some point you can show me some of the things you made. I'm simply curious what ideas your mind comes up with if it comes to fashion.

It's true that most people hope that they villain will treat them differently of all people. Some of them may hope they can change the villains ways and others might hope to use them to get revenge on people that wronged them. Feeling special certainly is something people long for. A tiny part of me wonders what it might feel like, but I don't have high hopes I will get to experience feeling special or make someone feel special.

I have some lose wires and I enjoy simply not thinking now and then. But in fights and games in the other world I like to calculate too and make plans. I know how to use my brain and I enjoy using it. I personally feel there are times where using your brain is required and times when you can let loose. The same goes for bedroom activates, huh? So you plan out what you will do or do you mean you plan when you want to start such fun?

I think there is truth in what you say about dominants being the best submissives you get them to submit that is. They surely will keep having their own will in some way even though you can make them bend to your will so to speak. Loving someone requires to take some risks so to speak. You can't know how long it will take someone to show you all their sides. Humans can't wait years and years to decide whether they like all of the sides of someone. But maybe if you really get lucky that person will show you all their sides naturally and rather quickly so you can feel this is a deep and real love.

I enjoy technology, but I will admit that I dislike the idea that only robots and artificial intelligence will stick around. Supernatural beings on the other hand doesn't make me feel that way. And humankind surely overestimates itself, but technology is still pretty flawed in certain ways.

I came to learn that a lot of people just fight for themselves in extreme situations. It's strange to see what things you are capable of you feel like you have no other choice. And yes you can win a lot of them games if you use your brain and sometimes it also requires to work in a team. Other times strength will help.

Pretty sure there's some scientific explanation for why we like and dislike other things. Some is certainly caused by influences, but dunno. Having a soul sounds nicer actually. I like to imagine there's some core inside you which roots can't be changed.

It's like that for me to some amount when I'm standing behind my DJ kit. It's a great feeling to have power over people just through some beats and basslines, to make them dance and let them have a good time. I love it, otherwise I couldn't do it almost every night. The music is my number one. My clothes are pretty gloomy, and my label is called Seen Better Days 666 so guess that already tells about the vibe.

Guess I'm something special for lots of people, but everything starts with finding yourself special. I agree with them, yeah, however there are situations when I don't wanna feel like standing alone on a pedestral because I'm so fucking special and no one can reach me. It's about some weird kind of balance.

Nope, I don't plan bedroom stuff. It becomes shitty if I do. Some people, especially when it comes to BDSM stuff, have something like a choreography in mind I guess. It would feel too much like a performance for me when dominating someone. I just do what I want and feel like doing at the moment.

And once I read somewhere the best dominant is a submissive. Anyway, who knows if everyone even /has/ the abilities to love someone truly? Or themselves? Guess at first one gotta has to open up to themselves about the things they really crave, even if it's embarrassing at first.

Would you prefer to be around all kinds of supernaturals or rather humans?

Guess lots of people would grow on the challenge while others would break. And maybe that's something the soul determines, too. How much it can endure and so on.