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authoressofdarkness · 3 years

Note

I saw that you're taking prompts, from the dialogue list. Can I get number 20? “I’ve never had someone taking care of me before.” for starker obviously. I'm excited, I love reading your works. Thank you in advance!

Hi anon! That means so much to me and I’m v glad to be taking this as my first prompt. Thank you 💙

I kinda want to try some new things with some of these prompts, so I’m gonna go at this with omega Tony and alpha Peter and see where it goes. I hope that’s okay with you anon and that everyone likes it 😘

Same age college AU, omegaverse, alpha Peter Parker, omega Tony Stark, some angst and some fluff at the end.

—

It’s a well known fact that Tony Stark has a shitty family.

Well, at least to anyone who knows him, it is. They know how he’ll do anything to not be at home when his father is around, to get out of the endless pressures of social events and promotional things and questions of mating and management and all of the things that he hated about being born an omega and being attached to the last name Stark to top it all off—

For years, it was just him. Some flings, mainly to piss his father off, but he never had his attention for longer than the time it took to scold him or order him around, and his mother was never much help, either. He had precious few friends growing up, never really made any real ones until college when he met Rhodey and Pepper — an alpha and a beta respectively that helped him manage things there and that were the first people to truly understand the depths of struggles he had going on at home.

And they were great friends, still are, but there was never anything more there between them. They helped him float through the first year of school, and then—

And then came Peter Parker.

Tony doesn’t hate all alphas on principle, although he is often rather tempted to try to, what with how they were shoved in his face most of his life. They were great for a good fling but most of them were meatheads. As horny as Tony was, he couldn’t allow just anyone to be close to him, nothing too get to serious, because he’s got a lot of responsibility coming down to him and he needs the right partner — alpha or otherwise — to be willing to deal with that. Not that he’s particularly interested in mating right now but he also isn’t going to allow someone close enough to potentially mark him knowing the repercussions of that.

He’s the heir to Stark Industries, sure, but he’s still an omega. An alpha will have significant legal power over him once they’re mated. And he wants to be the one to run SI, to take on his legacy, to build, to create, and to run his business, and he’s not going to let anyone stop him, even if that means flings forever.

(Not that that’s legally going to fly because he can’t take over until he’s considered qualified which implies a certain amount of stability that translates into having an alpha that’s more than just a fuck buddy but—)

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters after he meets Peter.

Peter is a year younger than him in school, technically, but biologically they’re the same age. Peter just started a bit later than most — and for good reasons, as Tony comes to find out.

He’s in one of Tony’s engineering classes and his organic chemistry class and the omega would be lying if he said he wasn’t immediately taken with him.

He can’t help it. Peter is cute, with his overgrown curls and slim form and silky skin and shy little smile and—

The other man is all alpha, there’s no doubt about it. He exudes it without even trying, but there’s a shyness to him, too. He’s not a meathead; he’s a sweetheart. From day one he’s respectful of Tony in class, kind when he sees him around campus, and that makes them the perfect lab partners in chemistry, and after knowing that, it’s just the natural choice for them to partner for the project in engineering and then—

Then things spiral, and Tony doesn’t even care.

He’s seeking the alpha’s attention, and Peter, the innocent, shy thing he is, is happy to give, to dote on Tony in ways that he would resist if they were coming from anyone else.

They’re not even fucking, but it’s intimate, so intimate that he can’t even explain it, and he loves it, scarily so. It both soothes and sets all his instincts on edge at the same time.

By mid semester they both have keys to come and go freely from each other’s rooms. It’s more common to see them together than it is to ever spot one of them out alone. The whole school probably thinks they’re a couple, and even though they’ve never made it official — and he’s never allowed himself to even come close to considering it before — Tony can’t bring himself to mind.

As midterms approach, though, Tony locks himself in to focus on his work. He doesn’t mean to, really; it’s just that hours studying slip into full nights and then he hasn’t eaten and he hasn’t left the room, even missing one of his classes because he doesn’t realize the time.

Peter hasn’t come by in days and except for the occasional check in text, Tony hasn’t heard from him, either. But they’re both busy with midterms so he really isn’t surprised. In fact he barely has time to eat, let alone check his phone, so even if he was texting him regularly Tony probably wouldn’t be answering.

Except mid terms or no, of course Peter notices when Tony misses class. And when his texts go unanswered by the absorbed omega, he doesn’t hesitate to show up and let himself in.

Tony doesn’t even realize anyone is there until he feels a hand on his shoulder. He jumps so hard he nearly knocks the chair back, and when he turns around he sees Peter, stepping back and holding his hands up in the universal “I surrender” gesture, clearly not having meant to startle him.

“I’m sorry, I knocked but you didn’t answer so I let myself in. I just— you weren’t in class, and I was worried… are you okay? When was the last time you ate?” It takes all of two seconds for Peter’s sheepishness to melt into concern, and he steps forward again, closing the distance between them to tilt Tony’s chin up, looking at the shadow stretching across his jaw where he hasn’t shaved in a few days. “You’ve lost weight,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over Tony’s cheekbone tenderly — which, yeah, is definitely more prominent than it was at the beginning of the week.

Tony’s eyes flutter and he leans into the touch for a moment before refocusing and shaking it off. “I’m fine. This is normal, Peter. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Peter raises an eyebrow. “Do you even know what day it is?”

“It’s Saturday—“

“It’s Monday, Tony. 1pm on Monday, at that. You missed engineering this morning and you haven’t answered my texts all weekend.” Surprise flits across Tony’s face at that, because — yeah, last time he checked it was Saturday, and he had no new texts from Peter, so— “When was the last time you ate?” Peter continues to prod, voice gentle but insistent.

Both aspects only serve to spark irritation in him, though. Tony bats Peter’s hand away from his face, frowning. He doesn’t need to be treated with kid gloves. “I ate a little while ago. I’m fine.”

“You don’t even know what day it is—“

“It all kind of blurs together when you’re not doing anything besides working, okay—“

“Two days is a lot of blur, Tony—“

“And just because I need a shave doesn’t mean I haven’t left my desk or that this isn’t totally normal for midterms—“

“You’re the one saying you haven’t left your desk, not me—“

“That’s not what I meant! I’m just saying—“

“I’m just saying you need to take a short break, it’s not that big of a deal—“

“I don’t need a break, I know my limits—“

“Tony, I really don’t think—“

“Jesus fucking— You’re not my alpha, Parker, would you fuck off?”

The words come out before he can stop them, and he flinched himself at the hurt on Peter’s face, the way the alpha physically recoils, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I’m not— god, I know that, okay? I’m just trying to help you, Tony. Please, this isn’t sustainable. You need to eat. Just— let me find you something, and then I’ll leave, okay?”

Leave? No, he doesn’t want him to leave. But the only thing that comes out is a quiet “whatever,” and he watches Peter escape to the kitchen with a ball of guilt growing in his chest.

Peter is just trying to help. He likes Peter and he doesn’t want him to leave, he just— he panics, and then he snaps.

Because what if Peter wants more? What if he really likes him? And Tony is a fuck up that does shit like this when he feels emotions and has so much baggage attached to being with him and—

And Peter knows that, at least some of it. It’s been a few months of seeing each other nearly every day, now, and his family situation was never a secret.

So why is he still here? Oh god, did Tony just ruin it?

The thought, for reasons that he’s refusing to immediately think about, is almost too much to bear. He stands up, fumbling his way out of the chair and into the kitchen.

The smell hits him almost as soon as he enters, and he sucks in a deep breath. His traitorous stomach growls, loud and demanding.

Soup bubbles on the stove as Peter works at the counter, chopping up some fruits and vegetables. He’s already managed to put a few little storage containers of food together for him, and something in Tony’s gut feels warm at the sight. But it also drops — preparing premade meals most certainly means that Peter isn’t intending to come back.

He looks up when Tony enters, expression wary. “The soup was the quickest thing you had, and since I had to be here for as long as it takes to boil anyway I thought I would just—“

“Peter.” His own voice sounds remarkable calm for how shaky he suddenly feels, lurching towards the alpha at the countertop. “It’s okay. I… thank you, for this. I’m sorry.”

Peter looks taken aback by the apology. “Tony, you don’t have to apologize. You’re right; I’m not your alpha and it’s not my place to give you orders. I just… I care about you, okay? I just want to help. I know you don’t think about me that way, and I’m sorry I overstepped, but—“

“You’re wrong.”

“What?” The words draw Peter up short.

Tony takes a breath, looking down. He focuses on the alpha’s hands, watching him chop instead of looking at his face. It’s easier. “You’re wrong. It’s not that I don’t think of you that way. The problem is… that I do. And I… I’m not used to this. I’ve never had someone take care of me before. Not really, not in any way that mattered. And what I feel for you… it scares me.” He takes a little breath again, looking down at his own hands. “I want you to be my alpha, Peter. But I’m not really a good omega, and I just have so much shit that comes along with being with me. The thought of asking you to do that… what that could do to us… I just don’t think I could handle that.”

He hears the knife ting against the countertop as Peter sets it down, and the pitter patter of footsteps as the alpha crosses the room. He’s suddenly being drawn into a pair of lanky but surprisingly strong arms, surrounded by the musky, relaxing scent of alpha, and he practically melts into it, nestling his nose into the spot between the collar of Peter’s sweatshirt and his throat almost automatically.

Peter’s hand running up and down his back is soothing, relaxing him the rest of the way, and the press of the alpha’s chin against his head is just the perfect weight to be comfortable, reassuring.

“Tony… I’m not an idiot,” he says gently. “I know who you are. What you’ve done, where you came from, what’s expected of you — and yeah, I’m sure there’s more that you haven’t told me and that’s not public, but— I get why this is a struggle for you, and why you feel the need to put so much pressure on yourself. There’s nothing wrong with you for that and it is most definitely not your own fault that you’re not used to being taken care of. And you’ve no idea how badly or how long I’ve wanted to be your alpha.” He pulls back a little to look down at him, fingers scratching Tony’s scalp gently as he works his fingers through his hair. “But that doesn’t mean that this kind of behavior — towards yourself or others — is good or acceptable. It’s okay to let me take care of you — at least in small ways. I know you’re scared of losing your independence, but that’s not what I want for you, either. I just want to help.”

“Help,” Tony echoes, eyes drifting to the pan on the stove and then back to Peter. “I… I think I’d like that.” He bites his lip, looking up at him. They’re about the same size and height, but this close, wrapped in the alpha’s arms and scent, with his steady gaze on him, he can’t help but feel small by comparison. “You really want to be my alpha?”

“Only if you want me to be, but…” Peter looks down at him and cracks his shy little smile. “I’d like to try, if you’d let me.”

“I’d like that,” Tony admits. He shifts to press up against him, putting a hand on his chest. “I’d also really like it if you’d kiss me.”

Peter looks a little surprised, but not unpleasantly. Still, he shakes his head, giving him a little push back. “Tony, you didn’t even know what day it was. God knows when the last time you brushed your teeth is. No offense, but… ew.”

Tony just laughs a little, unable to help himself. “If I brush my teeth…?”

“Maybe. If you eat your food as well.” Peter moves back to the counter, finishing up the container he was working on. “We can’t be doing anything that’s going to burn you extra calories when you don’t have enough to begin with, hm?”

Tony finds himself grinning. “That’s an argument I can get behind. Literally and metaphorically.”

Peter flashes a grin in return, voice back to that gentle but insistent tone that he knows so well when he says, “Go, Tony.”

And for once, Tony is all too happy to obey.

#starker #ironspider #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #prompting #my prompts #my writing #kris talks #kris answers #omega tony stark #alpha peter parker #starker omegaverse #fluff

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yesimwriting · 3 years

Text

The Problem With Light

a/n i literally did not mean to write this, i was working on requests and then my mind was like ‘remember that lowkey love triangle kaz brekker x reader x darkling thing you always say you're going to write’ so yeah,, here we are :)),, two longer fics are coming!!

Summary: Kaz changes his plans after meeting the Sun Summoner and Kirigan teeters on a line the reader isn’t sure she wants.

Chapter One: The Conflicts of Prayer

Narrator.

Kaz knows a lot about patience. He knows how to bear the weight that the passage of time thrusts onto one's shoulder. He knows how to cultivate the seeds that he sews. If he wasn’t like this he’d stand no chance at one day avenging the ghost that refuses to leave him.

But Jesper is almost an hour late. Kaz has been standing in a dimly hit branch of a relatively important hallway in the Little Palace. Jesper was supposed to come while in disguise to bring Kaz his new disguise and his newly repaired cane. Kaz’s hand flexes again, wishing he could feel the detailed head of one of his few comforts beneath the broken-in leather of his gloves. A bitter part of him claims that if Jesper isn’t injured once he arrives, he’ll be injured once Kaz gets his hand on his cane.

He shifts his weight, the pain in his leg starting to take its toll. The slight relaxation disappears once he hears footsteps. Kaz turns, ignoring the ache the motion brings him. His entire body hardens, preparing for a fight. He doesn’t look like he belongs here yet and there’s nowhere to run. The person crossing his path will need to be taken care of--knocked out or something more permanent.

The person only pauses to look at him when Kaz angles himself forward in a fighting stance. He watches the person, a girl, shifts back slightly, eyes wide and defensive. She’s a mess--hair disheveled, nose slightly bleeding, and dirty kefta. Her appearance isn’t why Kaz finds himself frozen, not because of the girl’s appearance but because she’s her. Y/n l/n. The Sun Summoner.

“Sorry! I--” She almost winces, but then her eyebrows furrow together. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Kaz’s jaw locks. He could take her physically, but for all he knows she could raise her arms and blind him permanently with her light. “That’s okay,” she breathes, something in her looking a little relieved, “I’m not supposed to be here either.” Kaz watches her oddly, wondering if her trustingness is a trap in itself. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

It’s a joke. That much is clear by the gentle uptilt of her lips. It’s as if she doesn’t know she’s bleeding and looks like she just ran out of a fight. Her expression doesn’t harshen at his silence. Kaz finds himself disliking that. It’s not enough that she can summon the sun, she also has to seem like it.

He needs to say something. Jesper was supposed to be watching her and now he’s not here and she is. The plan is unraveling and if he talks she’ll stay here or reveal where she’s going to next. That’s the kind of thing he needs to salvage this.

His lips part, but he’s not sure what to say. “You’re not supposed to be here?”

She shakes her head once. “No--I’m supposed to be in personal training, but I kind of got my ass kicked in group training and my pride needs a break.” The admission leaves her sheepishly. “It’s probably for the best, becoming a Sun Summoner overnight has given me a bit of an ego.” She sighs, the sound strangely light. “Then again, I kind of need an ego for what’s wanted from me and if one bad fight is all it takes to kill it then it’s not strong enough, considering--” Kaz tenses as she cuts herself off. “Sorry, I’m rambling, we both have places to be.” Hope presses into him stiffly. She’s going to say it. “Where--where are you supposed to be?” She shifts back slightly. “Not that I have to know, but you’re not from here, and--”

Kaz steps forward, pushing through the stiffness in his leg. Y/n’s gaze drops. Kaz’s discomfort worsens, someone like her doesn’t need to know his weaknesses. “Are you here for me to pray for you?” She scratches her arm, “I-I can, but I tell everyone I pray for I don’t consider myself a Saint.”

The honesty of the comment twisted something in Kaz’s thoughts. “Yes,” he lies, partially distracted by the beginnings of a scheme. He can feel Inej’s future anger as he lies again, “I’m here for prayer.”

“I spent so long rambling,” she says in a tone that implies apology.

He nods once, wondering how someone could be that apologetic and survive. The weight of such power must strangle someone like her. That could be a good thing. Someone like her must be spiraling with all this change and sudden strength. Maybe this could be simpler than an abduction plan, a few choice words and he could convince the girl to come with him. He could get her to believe there was something she needed to do in Ketterdam. If she went there willingly, things could be much more efficient.

Inej won’t like this, and for this to work he’ll have to think of the right way to present the plan to her. He weighs his options and the details as y/n whispers words with her eyes closed and hands folded together. The words he can make out are kind. He expected that, but what he didn’t expect was the earnestness of them.

She means each part of her prayers. Kaz regrets noticing that.

“I can’t promise my prayers do anything,” she finishes, voice returning to its normal volume, “but I hope you get what you need.”

What he wants is within his grasp now that he knows what to do. “I’m sure good things are near.” It’s the most honest he’s been since her arrival.

Y/n nods once, “I should go before my reprieve costs me more than it's worth.”

He watches her disappear down the hallway. Her movements are light, calm and unweighted.

“Boss,” Jesper’s appearance is brash, “I’ve spent this entire time looking for her. She was in training like she was supposed to, took an awul blow, delivered an even meaner one, and then disappeared.”

Kaz tries to imagine the same hands that were just so neatly folded in prayer as fists. “You just missed her.” He doesn’t wait for Jesper’s reaction, he just takes his newly repaired cane back. “And we’re changing the plan.”

Y/n.

I tried going to Baghra. I told someone who believed my prayers meant something that I was going back to training. But then I remembered her words from last time and the shame I felt when I could not create light. I haven’t summoned light once without Kirigan’s touch.

I’m the Sun Summoner--I am the person that summons the sun by themselves. Kirigan and I aren’t the Sun Summoner together. I’m pathetic. And instead of trying to get better, I’m wandering the library because all anyone can talk about is the way Zoya punched me in the face.

Baghra picked me apart when I looked shiny. I can’t imagine the kinds of comments she’d make if she saw me with a bloody nose and dead leaves in my hair. I’ll go tomorrow, once Genya fixes both my matted hair and cracked self esteem.

For now, I have the one thing that’s always comforted me. My books. I wander the library, trying not to think of anything. Of Baghra, of Zoya, of the strange man in the hall.

He seemed weighted by something. I always wish I could do more for those that ask for my prayer, but the longing is sharper now. I don’t know him, so it’s ridiculous to want to help him so badly, but my uselessness itches beneath my skin in a way I’m not used to. I don’t know why I feel more protective about this stranger than others. I’ve had people fall to my feet weeping, begging for me to save them. That hurt me, but the desire to help this one stranger burns in a way I’ve never felt before.

“I don’t know why they don’t look for you here every time you disappear.” His voice is as soft and subtle as a shadow. “They’d save so much time.”

I fight the urge to defensively grasp the first book I can reach. “You’re making it sound like I have a habit of vanishing in order to make a point.” My defense is weak. We both know that this isn’t the first time I ran away from something here. “Sometimes absence is just that.”

“When you’ve waited for someone as long as I have, all absence is significant.” The words are not harsh but they should be. I don’t know how I could respond to that.

He steps forward easily, as he always does. I keep myself still despite the way that warmth settles against my chest uncomfortably. I manage to hold onto my stillness even when he raises a hand, one gentle finger brushing above my top lip. I tense at his lingering touch.

Kirigan turns his hand slowly, exposing the red on his fingertips. “How di--”

“Training,” I interrupt quickly, “I promise I got a decent hit in as well.”

When he nods, his expression is clearly weighted but I cannot interpret it. He almost always looks like that. I shouldn’t find anything about the man that stole me from everything I’ve ever known (even though he had good reason to do so) alluring, but I want to understand him. It’d feel like knowing a secret the rest of the world is desperate for.

For a moment we just stand there, Kirigan closer than he’s ever been. Sometimes when he’s quiet I think he knows my secrets. All of mine. Even my curiosity about him. “I don’t doubt that.”

At least he tries to be nice to me sometimes. It’s more than anyone else here can say. Except maybe Genya. “You don’t have to say that.” He knows it’s true. “Keep in mind you found me in the library, hiding from Baghra.”

He hesitates. “No one likes training.”

“I think I’d find it tolerable if…” Can I say this to him? Admit the extent of my helplessness? He looks at me patiently, waiting for me to give something to him. “I’m the Sun Summoner--that’s supposed to be me. That’s supposed to be mine, and I can’t do it by myself.”

The patheticness of my struggle hits me in full force. I drop my head as he weighs my words. “It’s in you,” he says it so surely I don’t think I could argue.

I smile politely. “Thank you.”

Kirigan reaches downwards, towards my wrist. He latches onto me so quickly I’m too surprised to back away. “Light,” he prompts like it really is that easy.

I know I can do it with him, so I don’t see the point in showing it. “It doesn’t count if I get help.”

“Y/n.” Sometimes I think his voice is softer when he speaks my name.

I raise my hands, overlaying them, letting the hand that he touches make up the base of my cup. Reaching into myself, I search for the power beneath my skin. With him, that power seems to sit directly beneath the surface, desperate and greedy. I don’t call to it, instead I simply let it flow. The light bleeds from me, a sphere of blinding light bursts into my hands. It’s bright, burning, and desperate to escape my control.

My mind clamps around the power tightly, restraining it without choking it out until the light in my hands is exactly as small as I want it to be. I hold it there, letting its warmth melt away all of the bad. I let it grow, the light illuminating a path I can barely see--a path in which I do not disappoint those that need to have faith in something and for some unknown reason decided to place it in me. I hold onto that feeling, and then I let the light disappear.

I smile at my hands. The only good that’s come from this is the way the light makes me feel. “Y/n.” I look up at Kirigan, who’s showing me both of his palms. “That was you.”

A feeling better than the light coils up my stomach and into my heart. I grin. I did it without him. I can do it without him. “That--how did you know that would work?”

“I knew that you could do it, you just needed to see it.”

Warmth fills me, light and easy. A little too light. I have to work at not reaching for him, not because I need to, but because I want to. “Thank you.” This time I mean it.

“Your gratitude is premature,” he warns, but nothing about it is harsh, “I’m here to send you back to training.”

At least the thought of facing Baghra no longer devastates me. “There’s always a catch.” I smile, hoping he understands what he’s done for me. “But I think this time it may be worth it.”

He almost smiles. “Tell me if you still feel that way after spending time with Baghra.”

A fair warning. It’s more than I expect from him. “Will do.”

Kirigan’s expression threatens to soften, but he turns away from me with a soft nod before I can try to decipher the look. I let him leave before disappearing down another hall, forcing myself to look for Baghra. I think of my interaction with both Kirigan and the stranger, at least Baghra won’t be the weirdest part of my day

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amaraudermind · 3 years

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So I just finished a rewatch of Batman Beyond, and I have Thoughts.

Because I love the show. I love Terry. He’s an interesting character, and a new Batman. He has so many overlapping characteristics with Bruce, while still being entirely his own person. He has nearly as many differences to Bruce as similarities.

I also really like Terry’s relationship with Bruce. I like their interactions, their banter, the obvious ways they care about each other without ever really wanting/needing to spell it out. Even with their disagreements, they still manage to have an understanding. Even with their differences, they manage to work it out and work together well.

But with Bruce? That’s honestly where my liking of his characterization ends.

Well, I suppose that’s not quite fair. I don’t hate his overall characterization in the show itself. I don’t like his implied characterization in the way the past is spoken of.

Specifically, I hate the idea of Bruce cutting everyone out so completely. I don’t know, there’s just something about Bruce severing every tie, ignoring every attempt at re connection, and hiding in the manor away from everyone, getting more cynical with every passing day that feels...wrong.

I know Bruce has the tendency to pull away from everyone. It’s not farfetched at all. This turn of events, by all means, feels plausible. But it still feels off to me. And there are a lot of reasons why, but I sat for a while trying to figure it out.

And so I started trying to figure out why I felt Bruce wouldn’t do this. And what could be different in this universe to make this happen when it feels off to me.

And I realized that it could potentially all come down to one character: Tim Drake.

Now, I know technically, the DCAU has a Tim Drake. He’s a pretty important character in the universe, after all. But Tim isn’t really Tim at all. He’s much more closely related to Jason.

And along with that, his role in the story, is very aligned with Jason’s.

He’s a catalyst for a downward spiral for Bruce. Though in this case, that spiral was him ultimately giving up Batman, and pushing away the entire family. Permanently.

And here’s where it’s important: in this universe, after Tim, there isn’t anyone else. There’s no little kid shoving his way into Batman’s life. There’s no young boy insisting that Batman needs a Robin, that Batman needs help. There is no one to take that weight.

And it’s an interesting thought to me. It puts Tim’s role in everything in a bit of a new light to me. Maybe it wasn’t that Tim saved Bruce by keeping him from dying. Maybe he didn’t save him even from tumbling over the edge into that abyss that Bruce knows he’ll never come back from.

Maybe he saved Bruce by keeping him from shutting everyone out, from isolating himself and becoming a cynical, bitter old man.

I don’t know, I’m rambling again. But yeah, stuff I’ve been pondering.

#dc #batman #batman beyond #bruce wayne #terry mcginnis #my post #yeah there's just something i really hate about the idea that bruce would end up old and alone you know #i just don't see that really being the right conclusion to his arc.#also that's depressing as hell but really it's so far beyond that being such a bleak story for him #i just don't see it being the case for bruce. it's always painted like it's inevitable. that bruce will be such a bitter cynical man #but it just feels so much more natural to me for him to inevitably retire from being the bat and just. be okay with that.#just surround himself with family. his kids. his grandkids. his friends. their families. just.#just. bruce being old and still just as gruff. but kind and having the best stories and being the house that's always open #where everyone can come to rest or hide or feel like they belong or visit or just have a nice meal with better company #wayne manor becoming a busy place for family instead of an empty museum of mourning #anyway

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years

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Ooh! I would love to hear your thoughts on how Twilight is like Othello!

So, in a nutshell, it goes like this: Carlisle is Othello, Edward is Iago, Aro is Desdemona.

The Beginning

Our story begins with Carlisle departing Volterra on amiable terms. Yes, the diet became a non-negotiable difference between him and Aro, but none the less he views Aro as a very close friend and an uncorrupt and wise ruler.

On his end, Carlisle is the only true friend Aro has (now that Marcus is out of commission). While Carlisle was able to leave Volterra, I imagine Aro both expected and hoped that one day Carlisle would return after realizing for himself he was unable to find the like minded in the wide world.

However, it didn't end up that way. Carlisle turns Edward and rapidly builds himself a coven.

However, there's still no ill feelings towards the Volturi, quite the opposite. We don't hear much from Carlisle himself, but of all Carlisle's many friends, it's only the Volturi who get featured in Edward's story. And, speaking for Carlisle when he's not in the room, there's a giant ass picture of the Volturi on the wall.

Edward loathes that painting.

And this is where the tiniest seeds are sown.

Edward never really likes the idea of a Carlisle before the Cullens, before him, that is to say. When he tells Carlisle's tale, there's this pervading sense of narcissism throughout it. Carlisle's life was miserable and damned until he saw the divine spotlight hanging over Edward and turned him.

The Volturi, oh, yeah, guess they were around and important BUT NEVER MIND THEM.

Edward never outright says anything, not even really to Bella or to himself, but his internal narration and what he does say speaks for him. He doesn't like the painting, he leaves only the bare minimum of their influence in the story, he doesn't even tell Bella what they really do and why he may have fucked up in telling her the secret.

He doesn't want to think about them and never wants to meet them.

If he ever does, it is only under the pretext that they will be the tools he uses to kill himself when Bella dies.

New Moon

As Edward told Bella, when he thought she died, he travelled to Volterra and asked for assisted suicide. They said no.

And that, that is the moment that they become corrupt tyrants.

Before then, Edward didn't necessarily like the Volturi, he certainly didn't like the threat they represented to Bella but he had no real thoughts on them. Indeed, he viewed them with enough respect that he thought they would grant his suicide request.

But then they didn't.

And granted, we don't know what Edward witnessed in Volterra, we don't know what he heard going around in everyone's head, but given that this is Edward I think this alone is enough.

They didn't give Edward what he wanted. Then, worse happens, they become a legitimate threat to Bella Swan.

They have now seen Bella in person, Aro lays down the law, Aro shows interest in her gift, and everything's spiraling out of control. By the time we hit the meeting in New Moon that Bella is present for, Edward is accusing Aro of openly being a corrupt tyrant.

However, ultimately, Edward, Bella, and Alice do return to Forks unharmed (though with Bella's turning hanging over their heads). And Edward does not forget that.

We don't see Edward's immediate reunion with the family, we don't see exactly what he says to Carlisle about what happens, but I imagine Edward tells Carlisle what he tells him later in Eclipse: that Aro is a power hungry monster who will stop at nothing to collect Edward and Alice (funny how Edward always leaves Bella out of that when she's the one Aro would actually want but never mind that).

Given what has happened so far, Carlisle very likely does not believe this. Yes, Edward has his gift, but he hears so little of what people think and things are easily misinterpreted.

Had Aro wanted Bella, he would have demanded she be turned and stay there, it was well within his rights. As it was, he did something very generous for the Cullens and Carlisle at least will be grateful because of it.

Edward goes and smashes another TV after having smashed the first after the vote.

Eclipse

Then the events of Eclipse happen.

First, we start with the ramp up.

Seattle is being terrorized, it becomes clearer and clearer that this is not gang violence nor another Ted Bundy, this is a newborn army. The Cullens, Carlisle, wait on the Volturi to arrive: they never do.

Edward continues to disparage the Volturi but now... Now Carlisle is starting to listen.

Aro is letting Seattle burn because he wants Edward and Alice, he has this vision of total omniscience by holding on constantly to Edward and Alice's hands and he will be utterly unstoppable. He'll use this as an opportunity to wipe out the coven so he can take the gifted members.

As for Bella, a vampire has been sneaking into her bedroom, it's likely a Volturi agent sent by Caius or Jane under Aro's implicit orders. (Though everyone actually disagrees with this one, even Alice, who helpfully tries to give Edward an out of "maybe it was Jane!" Carlisle just sits in the corner looking pained and dubious.)

Carlisle likely doesn't believe all of this. Yes, Aro collects gifts, and yes the Volturi's absence is bizarre and damning, but what Edward is saying is... well, evil.

But then Jane shows up, just after the battle has ended, strolling in like she has all the time in the world. She tortures and murders Bree Tanner, a girl who never even had a chance to know what the law was, and leaves with a parting threat that Bella better be turned or else.

Carlisle's faith in the Volturi is completely shaken, such that, when the Renesmee debacle happens, desperately gathering witnesses is his family's only means of survival.

Now, where the Othello comes in, is I don't think Aro's guilty. His having given that order makes no sense on any level. More, for all Alice was stretched thin, she was certain that she would see any major decision coming from Aro during Eclipse. She did not, implying that someone else was behind it (my money's on Caius).

However, by allowing this to happen, any of this to happen, and with Edward spewing poison, Aro becomes everything Edward is saying and more.

And there is nothing he can possibly say to make up for what happened and so he says nothing.

Which, of course, just makes everything worse.

Breaking Dawn

Irina goes to the Volturi and tells Aro that the Cullen coven has created an immortal child. Less than six months ago, the Volturi subtly tried to wipe the Cullen coven off the map, and now Irina has just handed them every excuse they need.

Carlisle doesn't question what happens next: he gathers witnesses.

If his coven stands alone, they will fall and they will die, and if the Volturi act then there must be many vampires watching this go down so as to hold them accountable.

Of course, gathering witnesses quickly turns into gathering an army, which is not what Carlisle wanted but what he got.

In the meantime, Edward and Eleazar are riling each other up and painting a very bleak history of Volterra: of what has happened to other gifted covens in the past.

And then it happens: the confrontation in Breaking Dawn.

Renesmee is clearly not an immortal child, the Volturi admit as much, but the confrontation continues regardless. It becomes about whatever Renesmee is, about the wolves, about anything and everything.

Then Aro does it. He uses every gifted vampire he has against them. Jane, Chelsea, Alec, through Bella's gift alone the group is spared but if Bella hadn't been there.

I imagine Carlisle thought he and every witness he gathered would have died that day.

(For the record, I don't think that was Aro's intention.)

And just like that, it's done, whatever man Carlisle thought he knew in Volterra was a lie. Edward was right, this man is utterly corrupt and will sacrifice everything for power.

And the end isn't here yet.

There will be another confrontation and, the way canon will likely go, the Volturi will lose.

Which is very bad for all of us.

Back to Othello

The important thing here is that, throughout all of this, while a series of the world's most tragic miscommunications and events took place, you also had Edward on the side insisting the worst about Aro at every turn.

Hence, Carlisle is Othello, Edward Iago, Aro Desdemona.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #othello #edward cullen #anti edward cullen #carlisle cullen #aro #the volturi #meta #headcanon #opinion

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cherryjuicegf · 3 years

Note

Hello! If you're in the mood for it, i have a prompt I'd love for you to write: Geralt having an anxiety attack (or something like it) and Jaskier showing him how to deal with it. If you're not comfortable writing this then that's also fine, no worries!! Hope you have a lovely day <3

it takes two

thank you for this prompt sweet anon!! sorry it took me weeks, i hope you see it :') soo it's modern au still witcher geralt and it turned out long?? i didn't expect this, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless!! 💞💞

1,2k, modern au, emotional hurt/comfort, tw anxiety attack, implied injury

The sun is setting.

Geralt doesn't remember how long it's been since he last saw the sunset.

If he thinks about it, it isn't so long ago. Four days at the most. Yet it feels like a thousand years.

Fair enough, Geralt thinks and then he realises. He hasn't slept in four days. He almost laughs at himself. Almost, because the sound that accompanies the broken huff escaping his lips is more like a silent sob.

It's all a blur and he's afraid that if he tries to make it clear, he'll lose the last string of sanity remaining. He doesn't want to make it clear. Struggles not to. A moonless dark night, tall trees rising above their heads, as though ready to devour their pray, forest sounds that resemble choked wails more than leaves rustling. Silence, a sudden one. Claws, glistening. A scream. That wasn't his.

A desperate cry. That was definitely his.

And then red, and voices, and white. A line. Moving. He's grateful it's moving but he doesn't remember exactly why as he sits.

Wrong. He does.

The air is too hot. It should be colder, Geralt wishes it was colder. So that it can hit him in the face, slap him, drive him out of his spiral. He clenches his fists. Water. He needs cold water.

Am I dying? Geralt, am I dying? Don't let– don't be silent Geralt, Geralt, please, am I– Geralt– Ger–

He puts his feet on the floor but they can't support him. He falls on the chair again, takes a deep breath. Clenches his fists as if to fight an inexistent threat. Oh, it's clear now. It got clear.

Geralt?

Too clear, too hot, too loud, like a laughter mocking him, screaming as though for revenge, you weren't there, you weren't there, you weren't–

Geralt!

His voice. Oh, his voice, clear as a song, and yet too loud, too loud, still echoing like that scream in the forest. He shuts his eyes, tight as if to drive the image away, as if thinking that if he closes them hard enough he will wake up and this will be a dream, all a dream, a nightmare where there are claws and a heart beating and voices and he's choking with a blood that is not his and oh, how desperately he wants it to be his, how desperately he craves to seep the blood gushing from the wound, wipe it all away, and the wound, and only choke, choke, choke–

"Geralt! Geralt, look at me!"

Cold hands are holding his face and suddenly he gasps. His breath hitches. He can't open his eyes, it's still too loud. Still too weak, those hands, clinging on his, trembling, shaking, just like now, just like he's trembling...

Oh. He's the one trembling.

"Geralt, love, can you look at me?"

It's soft now. Barely a whisper. The hands are still there, still cold, but now firmer, strong. He swallows.

"It's me, love. I'm alright. We're alright. Look at me, please."

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and finally, finally opens his eyes. And his heart skips a beat.

He's there. Alive. Huge blue eyes, staring at him almost terrified. He hates that look in those eyes. Yet there is something else now too. There is worry. For him.

A smile, bittersweet. "There you are. Stay with me?"

He's not sure if the voice he hears is coming from the same lips smiling at him but he complies. He knows that voice. Trusts it, especially now that it's smooth like velvet, not hoarse and crying anymore. He feels his eyes wet.

A thumb wipes a tear running down his cheek. "Hey there. Breathe with me, okay?"

He does. Watches as the other's chest –Jaskier's, he realises with a sudden relief– moves with each heaving breath. Follows its rythm. In, out. In, out. Three in, one out. Again.

Jaskier nods and smiles at him again. "You're doing great, dear." The world is less blurry now. As he squints, Geralt can discern the city lights tangling between Jaskier's hair as he's sitting before him. He can discern a faint sparkle in his eyes. He meets them, eager and suddenly warm.

Stroking his face and still holding eye contact, Jaskier sighs silently. "Can you tell me five things you can see, Geralt?"

A game. They'd done this before. Geralt swallows but doesn't dare close his eyes. "I see..." His voice quivers in his throat. "I see the chairs we chose for the balcony.... I see the lights–" a sob chokes him "–the lights down the street... I see the sun setting..." He pauses and Jaskier nods encouraging. "I see the stupid hawaiian shirt you bought last month..." He huffs a laugh. "I see your eyes looking at me."

"That's great!" Jaskier exclaims with a whisper and tilts his head. "Now, what about four things you can touch? Only if you can."

Geralt trails the iron armrest of the chair. "I can touch the armrest..." He reaches out to Jaskier. "I can touch the fabric of your shirt... I can touch," he swallows and raises his hand, "your hair... it's soft." Jaskier chuckles and now the hands on Geralt's face are gentler. He holds them in his. "I can touch your hands."

"Three things you can hear? You can do this, Geralt."

Jaskier's voice is not as loud as before. This time, Geralt closes his eyes. "Your voice... The cars on the street..." Takes a deep breath. "A cat meowing in the corner."

A small pause and Geralt can practically hear Jaskier's grin. "Can you smell a thing or two?"

Geralt hums. "That cherry shampoo you wash your hair with..." He smiles faintly. He likes that scent. "And pizza... It's heating in the oven."

"Oh, you're a darling," Jaskier mutters and shakes his head. "We're almost over, dear." Geralt sighs and now the warmth is running all over him. "Something you can taste?"

He feels Jaskier's breath hitting his skin and, eyes still closed, he leans over. Meets his lips halfway. Slow, sweet, nothing like the taste of blood there was in them once. Jaskier's tongue is teasing his lips.

He pulls away, opens his eyes. Still close.

And there, Jaskier's gaze brighter as ever in the sunset, his smile enough to make him forget all the times he almost lost it. Geralt's hand squeezes his cupping his face and he presses their foreheads together. "I'm here, Geralt. I'm alright."

There's a lump choking his throat and Geralt lowers his look, lips tight. Under the shirt, he can discern a white bandage wrapped around Jaskier's torso, slightly red. There was a time when it was soaking. "I wasn't there," he says and it feels like echoing his darkest nightmares. "I was too late. You could've–"

"Shh. No need." Jaskier shakes his head. "You were there and will always be there for me. And I'll do the same for you, I promise." His hand trails on Geralt's chin, holds it up to make him meet his eyes. "Are you okay?"

Geralt stares for a second. Then, feeling his feet returning to the ground, he sighs. "Only if you are."

With a small laugh, Jaskier places a kiss on his lips. "I am." He moves strands of hair behind Geralt's ear and Geralt leans into the touch. His hands feel like home and he smiles. "Like that, we're alright."

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #chrysa writes #prompt fill #>2k #anxiety attack #tw anxiety attack #dealing with anxiety #hurt/comfort #also the fact that you'd love *me* to write this... anon i love you <333 #geralt x jaskier #modern au #fic recs

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justletmeplayminecraft · 3 years

Note

It doesn't happen often, but sometimes Mumbo will find himself frozen in place, struck down with fear and doubt.

He'll find his mind echoing with the "but what if" and "you're not good enough to stop them leaving" and he'll begin to lose his vision as his eyes become clouded with tears.

He'll take out his communicator and, with shaking hands, send a message into chat;

<MumboJumbo>: Hey I need some reassurance, could someone stop by?

And the hermits will always stop by. Sometimes just one, sometimes many, but he'll always get at least one hermit at his side in a matter of minutes.

"It's okay" they'll tell him. "We'd never abandon you" they'll say.

"Wherever we go, you'll always be welcome. Until the end of time."

oh my gosh this is so good ;-; hold on lemme see what i can write

warnings for self-doubt, fear of abandonment, implied anxiety attack

Mumbo knows what caused it this time. A combination of late nights, feedback on the HCBBS and being in Scar's base. Everywhere he looks is an incredible creation, more amazing than he could ever hope to achieve. He's felt the thoughts building over the past few days, shoving them down as deeply as he can. Which is always a mistake.

Ironically, it all spills over when he's looking at those same tiny mushrooms that excited him so much before. It's just so clever! It's so smart! And it's something Mumbo would never think to do. He's not smart like this, doesn't have Scar's creativity. He has no idea why the hermits keep him around when they could have more people like Scar. Probably because they know he has nowhere else to go, because they're good people and-

No, no. He tries to remember Xisuma's advice. He needs to breathe. Don't spiral. Long breath in, hold, long breath out. In, hold, out. His vision is blurry, eyes stinging with tears.

He keeps that mantra in his head as he pulls out his communicator. Hands trembling, he manages to navigate to the global chat. He doesn't bother reading the previous messages.

<MumboJumbo> csb somebody come over? need somrone rn

<Xisuma> mumbo? where are you?

<GoodTimeWithScar> Mumbo?

<ZombieCleo> where are you mumbo?

<MumboJumbo> msgic village

<ZombieCleo> omw

<Xisuma> let me know if you need back up

<ZombieCleo> will do.

By the time Mumbo hears rockets overhead, he's curled into the base of a tree. The bark presses hard against his back, his face hidden in his knees. He focuses on his breathing. All of those thoughts are blocked out of his head. He knows they're stupid, he knows. The hermits must be so tired of this by now-

"Mumbo." A voice calls, derailing that notion. "Where are you?" He raises his head, rubbing his eyes with a sniffle.

"I'm over here." Mumbo's voice shakes as much as the rest of him. There's a crunching of grass, and he flinches when he hears a twig snap. Soon enough, a wave of red hair falls in front of him, Cleo crouching to his level. She has a gentle smile that is in such contrast to her usual sarcasm.

"Hey, Mumbo. You want to go inside?" He nods. He can't quite find the words to say, so he accepts Cleo's hand as she pulls him to his feet. His suit is crumpled, pulling in all the wrong places and it only feels more stifling. Cleo walks with purpose, searching each building until she finds one that's mostly liveable, with a fair amount of grumbling about Scar and chestmonsters.

It is nicer inside the house. She sits him down on an old sofa, ruffling through already messy locks. The suit jacket is discarded and laid carefully over an armchair. Mumbo tucks his feet onto the edge of the sofa, wrapping his arms around long legs. A blanket is soon wrapped around his shoulders. Mumbo snuggles into it, disappearing until he's a head and two black socks in a pile of blue fabric.

"There you go, do you want some tea?" Mumbo nods. Tea sounds nice right now. He gets a good hair ruffle before Cleo vanishes in search of the kitchen. He can still hear her moving around, cursing under her breath as she tries to navigate Scar's overflowing storage. Mumbo laughs softly, more air than noise. He closes his eyes, resting his chin on his knees.

Cleo's good to him. She came here so quickly, like she often does. If not Cleo, then it would've been another hermit. They always drop everything to come help him. He just- is he really worth that effort? He doesn't do anything in return for them. Maybe it was a mistake calling someone over, he should've just dealt with this on his own, they're going to get frustrated he keeps doing this-

"Mumbo," Cleo calls. Mumbo blinks as he finds himself back in reality. "I can hear your thoughts from here. Do you want honey in your tea?" Mumbo squeezes his fingers into the soft material of the blanket, listening to a distant kettle boil. He breathes in a scent similar to a library. Something old, with a hint of magic.

"Yeah, honey would be nice."

"Got it!" He occupies his mind by looking around the room, naming each of the things he can see. There's a bookshelf against one of the walls. The top two shelves are decorated by various trinkets. Little statues and toys, sentimental items that Mumbo doesn't know the meaning of. The bottom shelves are filled with books from various designers. Scar showed him some recently, pouring over the art with a bright grin. Mumbo hung onto every word he said. A solitary redstone book sits amongst them, and Mumbo huffs an amused breath.

When Cleo returns, he's looked at the curtains, one of them pulled tied open, the forgotten mugs on the coffee table, the various doodles scattered in sheets of paper, the plants that are somehow alive and Cleo, who isn't. She smiles, passing Mumbo the mug. He curls his hands around it, pleased the heat isn't unbearable.

"So which ones do I need to fight this time?" She asks. Mumbo chuckles. The blanket has slipped further back so his hands can stick out.

"You don't need to fight anything," he replies. Cleo crosses her arms, dropping into the space next to him.

"Really?" He looks into the steaming tea. Cold isn't a problem in the jungle, not during the day. But the heat is a good grounding point. Though he could get lost in the way the steam catches the light, shimmering white patterns painted in the air.

"It's the usual," he finally concedes. "With some added 'I'm only bothering you and you're all going to get tired of needing to help me.' You know." Cleo hums. She does know. Mumbo sometimes wishes his doubts would get more adventurous, and then remembers what a terrible idea that would be.

"Do you have the book?" She asks. Mumbo shakes his head.

"I think I left it in my- no, Scar's base." He would usually keep his book of affirmations in his enderchest, but he was a bit flustered with the whole move. He thinks he left it under his pillow.

"I'll ask Scar to bring it over later."

"You don't-" She gives him a look. "Okay. Thank you," he amends. Taking a sip of the tea, he sighs. Cleo knows just how he likes it. The honeyed taste is a much-needed treat.

"So, you know what I'm going to say?"

Mumbo smiles, telling her, "Say it anyway."

"Mumbo, you could be the biggest spoon in the world, and we'd still keep you around, right?" Mumbo laughs, falling into the script with ease.

"Right."

"You're our family. We don't care if you don't achieve these incredible feats, though you do, by the way. We're lucky to have you here, and it makes me smile everytime I see what you're up to. Big or small." He hides his wet smile behind a sip of tea. There's no hiding the tears gathering in his eyes. "Mumbo, you're an amazing person, alright? The best annoying baby brother I could ask for. Wherever we go, you can come with us. As long as you want to."

"And if that's forever?"

"Then it's forever. And I'll consider myself lucky everyday you decide to stick around." Mumbo sinks back into the sofa, finally letting go of the tension he was subconsciously holding. "Right. Now let me read all the chat messages."

Mumbo laughs, reaching up to wipe his eyes, "Seriously?"

"We care about you, you dork." Cleo sits forward, holding her communicator up. She takes a deep breath, continuing in her best gameshow voice, Mumbo laughing the moment she speaks, "And first up, we have Xisuma! Asking me to tell you that he cares about you and he's always here if you ever need to talk." Mumbo settles back, a wide grin on his face, content to listen.

Cleo carefully takes the mug from Mumbo's hands, the redstoner offering no resistance as he yawns. His eyes are half open, blinks growing longer every time. She brushes hair from his face, gently lying him down until he's resting in her lap.

"There you go," she soothes. Mumbo quietly rearranges, hugging Cleo's legs. "You've done so well. You can rest now." Mumbo's sleepy hum brings a smile to her face.

She watches as Mumbo's breath evens out, his body growing heavier on her. She carefully tucks the corner of the blanket in before pulling out her communicator, snapping a quick photo.

<ZombieCleo> mission successful

<Xisuma> :-D

<Stressmonster101> awwwwwwww <3

<iskall85> some much needed sleep i'd say

<GoodTimeWithScar> I'll be over with the book when I find it

<ZombieCleo> don't worry, i think he'll be out for a while lol

She smiles at her communicator and the lanky redstoner in her lap. There are very few sights that warm her undead heart more than this. She leans back, and settles in for however long Mumbo needs her.

#hc #mumbo #cleo #my writing #ask #scarred-but-still-smiling #i feel like i should maintag this because i like it #but also. no. jkjggfd #but yeah i had to write this #the image was very vivid in my mind

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accursedarchives · 3 years

Text

Okay but the new Dragalia Life comic implies that Leonidas learned to make curry from his dad, or maybe because of his dad, and that’s really humanizing for him. That his iconic (and likely favorite, if going by the Stranded Scions event where he was pissed that he missed Chelle’s curry) dish is a connection between him and Aurelius is... surprisingly sentimental for him. Sure, we saw a softer side to Leonidas in the aforementioned Stranded Scions event, and even hints of it in the main story after his...redemption? After becoming less of an asshole. In how he explicitly and non-derisively refers to Euden as family now at least :) But back to the curry.

I don’t know what’s a more striking image. A little Leonidas in the kitchen with Aurelius as father teaches son his new recipes, before work and crises piled up. A simpler time that Leonidas can remember each time he cooks the dish; he remembers his fathers voice telling him how to chop vegetables properly, and insisting that spice measurements are something you feel in your soul rather than something rigid. He’ll never forget the smile on Aurelius’s face when Leonidas made his curry “just right” for the first time.

Or maybe it’s a little Leonidas, chasing the curry recipe his father made when he was still young, when they still had time to bond together, when things were a little bit easier. Aurelius changed, after... something happened when his youngest brother was born, and he left to the North to find a solution. It’s hard to notice, because Aurelius tries so hard to continue being the same goofy, loving father Leonidas grew up with. And it’s true that Aurelius’s change isn’t very noticeable— when the man is around, which is becoming less and less. He’s busy, as a king should be. And Leonidas, as the eldest son and heir to the throne, is very much not upset that his father is spending less time with him. He must be a model prince, and a model prince does not whine after his father’s affections.

Still, he sets to recreating that childhood curry recipe with the same fervor he puts into battle tactics. It’s something he does only in his spare time— something he has increasingly less of. It doesn’t help that in each batch, there’s something missing. His men eat it eagerly anyway, praise Leonidas’s skill; it’s only natural that the first scion is good at this, too. But, to someone who remembers something else, something better, something warmer in a way that has nothing to do with the food’s temperature and the spices used... it’s hollow.

Leonidas only ever gets to share his curry with his father once, towards the end of things. Aurelius feigns hurt that his son never offered him a bowl of his “famous” curry; he was something of a curry master in his day, after all! Leonidas doesn’t say that it’s because he feels as if his curry never matched up to his father’s. Still, he serves him a bowl, because what else could he do?

Aurelius’s wide smile and genuine praise for his son’s curry stick in his mind, after that. Leonidas does not react with much visible emotion, thanking Aurelius for his words. Internally, though? He’s warm in a way he hasn’t felt since he was a child.

Even though Aurelius asks to try Leonidas’s curry again, the opportunity never arises. Euden goes off to make his pact with the Windwyrm, and things spiral out of control quickly from there. Before Leonidas knows it, his father is possessed and then dead in short order.

But, as he looks after the Halidom in the seventh scion’s absence during the debacle in the North... Zodiark often comes by when he smells Leonidas making curry. The two don’t speak, but Leonidas always leaves him a bowl.

#dragalia lost #long post #this got away from me #ive been feeling a certain kinda way lately and somehow it’s the fucking father/son curry that broke me #consider also: Audric eating Leonidas’s curry. it’s not the same and could never be the same. but it’s something #don’t look at this kelzkdncndn

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bytheangell · 3 years

Text

Reclaiming Power

(S02E13 inspired fic) (Read on AO3)

There’s a knock on the door of Jace’s room and he knows who’s on the other side even before Alec’s voice calls hesitantly through the wooden barrier between them.

“Jace? Are you in there?”

Jace considers not answering. He’s avoided Alec all day since Imogen told him that he was going to be named the replacement Head of the Institute. He knows he has to tell Alec at some point - sooner rather than later, since Alec deserves to know before it’s announced to the entirety of the Institute the next day. The problem is that Jace doesn’t know how he’s going to look Alec in the eye and break the news.

“Jace?”

Jace sighs. “Yeah,” he answers, still making no move to get up and open the door.

“...can I come in?” Alec adds, sounding even more uncertain. Jace wonders how much of his anxiety is coming through the bond for Alec to feel.

“Yeah,” Jace repeats, this time standing up and walking over to unlock and open the door.

“What’s wrong?” Alec asks before he even clears the doorframe, and Jace winces. Not ‘how are you?’ or even an ‘are you okay?’, but straight to ‘what’s wrong?’, implying he already knows that something is wrong. Of course, he does.

“That obvious?” Jace stalls, wandering over to the window so his back is to Alec. He hates this. he hates this so goddamn much.

Alec doesn’t comment. Instead, he closes the door behind him before sitting down on the edge of Jace’s bed in a clear sign that he isn’t going anywhere until they talk, no matter how long that ends up being. Jace isn’t naive enough to think he can wait this out - on some of Jace’s more stubborn nights Alec has sat in silence for hours until Jace was ready to talk about whatever was on his mind.

The silence stretches between them for a minute, and then two, and into a third before Jace finally speaks.

“It should be you, Alec. I told Imogen it should be you, but she wouldn’t listen.” Jace still can’t bring himself to say the words, like maybe if he can avoid speaking the title aloud it might be less real.

“What should be-” Alec starts, confused without any context, then trails off. Jace is still facing away from him but he can picture the look of recognition that crosses Alec’s face as his parabatai finishes that thought with a quiet, “Oh.”

Worse, Jace feels a flash of disappointment across their bond before Alec manages to reel it back in.

“Congratulations, Jace.”

“No,” Jace shakes his head. “We’re not celebrating this. I don’t deserve it. You do.”

There’s the sound of shuffling behind him, booted footsteps that stop only inches away before Alec’s arms slide around his waist, pulling Jace back against his chest. The touch, the pressure of Alec’s gentle but firm embrace, grounds him from the spiral he was about to enter - the same one he’s experienced more often than not during the majority of the day.

“This isn’t your fault,” Alec reassures him. “We both know that position was yours from the moment the world found out you’re a Herondale.”

It’s true. Not too long ago, when everyone thought he was a Morgenstern, Imogen would’ve as easily seen him returned to the Clave dead as she would’ve alive. Now she’s just as quick to appoint him the Head of an entire Institute, all because of a father he never met and a bloodline he feels no allegiance to.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to be a Herondale,” Jace mutters. “I’m a Lightwood. And if this Institute goes to a Lightwood, it should be you, not me.”

Jace feels the rise and fall of Alec’s shoulders against his back when he shrugs. “If it makes you feel any better, even if it wasn’t you, I still don’t think it’d be me. Not after… everything.”

‘Everything’ being walking out of his own wedding to be with Magnus, and Madzie breaking into the Institute for Valentine, and the demon possessions, and his parents’ history with the Circle… though they both know all of that is just an excuse to punish him for choosing Magnus over one of their own and showing sympathy toward Downworlders.

“Not really.” Unsurprisingly, that doesn’t make Jace feel any better. In fact, it only makes him feel worse for fitting so seamlessly into this broken system of theirs as a perfect soldier. Jace pulls away from Alec and sits on the edge of his bed. Alec follows close behind, sitting next to him a moment later.

“You’re going to be a great Head,” Alec says. “And I’ll have your back every step of the way. You can do this.”

As comforting as it is to hear Alec’s reassurances, Jace doesn’t doubt that he can do this. He’s a smooth talker, a skilled fighter, and one of the best soldiers of their generation. He can give orders as well as he follows them... when he feels like it. And he’s never backed down from a challenge, especially when his personal reputation is on the line. No, he’s positive he can do this, but that isn’t the point.

“Sure I can, but I shouldn’t have to,” Jace sighs, sounding defeated. Talking about it isn’t helping, especially since there’s nothing either of them can do about it. “It isn’t fair.”

Alec shrugs again, looking about as helpless as Jace feels. “What about our lives has ever been fair?”

---

This is ridiculous. The longer Jace stands in front of Imogen as she addresses the Shadowhunters the more he fights the urge to simply walk away before she can announce him the future Head. He shouldn’t be here. Looking at the faces of Shadowhunters much better equipped to run an Institute than him, he knows there’s a very long list of people who should be in his place right now… and he knows that Alec is at the top of that list.

He woke up resigned to playing out this blatant favoritism because he couldn’t imagine what else he could do at this point, but at this moment he has a sudden flash of inspiration… or insanity, depending on how it plays out. Jace figures he’ll find out which way the scales tip soon enough.

“In this time of crisis, it is essential that we maintain strong leadership. That is why-”

“Actually, if I may?” Jace says suddenly, interrupting Imogen with a disarming smile, not giving her a chance to answer one way or the other before turning back to speak to the Shadowhunters gathered before him. “This Institute has been through a lot lately. These most recent attacks on Shadowhunters notwithstanding, we’ve been tried and tested time and time again the past few weeks. And, time and time again, one of us has risen to the occasion and proven himself a true and dedicated Shadowhunter, son, brother, and most of all, trusted leader of our people.”

At this point Imogen realizes what he’s doing, and moves to stop him, eyes wide in a satisfying mixture of panic and anger. “Jace-”

“And after sharing my opinion, Imogen agreed. That’s why it is our honor to name Alexander Gideon Lightwood Head of the New York Institute.”

Applause mixes with murmurs with all eyes darting from Jace to Imogen to Alec. Alec, to his credit, keeps a mostly neutral expression despite the surprise and hint of panic Jace feels spike in their bond. After the clapping dies down all eyes turn back to Imogen. For a moment he’s afraid she’s going to take back everything he said, but then he watches as the flash of anger from before melts into a bitter resignation, lips pursed tight. Jace knows the position he’s put her in - if she calls Jace a liar now, she ruins his credibility. No one will know whether they can believe him or trust any order that comes from him.

He’s left her with no choice, not if they both want to come out of this with their heads held high and Jace’s newly established association to the Herondale name a respectable one.

“Yes. As my grandson so generously stated, there’s no one else better suited to run this institute than Mr. Lightwood, who will take over upon my departure back to Idris,” Imogen says. Jace breathes a sigh of relief.

“Dismissed.”

Jace tries to make a beeline for Alec, but a firm grip on his shoulder stops him dead in his tracks. “Not you,” Imogen says, her voice low so only he can hear. She waits until everyone else has scattered before speaking again. “What do you think you’re doing, pulling a stunt like that?”

“Giving this Institute the leadership it deserves,” Jace says. “We both know it. And don’t worry, when he’s the best Head the New York Institute’s ever had, you’ll get all the credit for appointing him. It’s a win-win.”

“We’ll see about that,” Imogen mutters, turning to leave in a huff.

Alec is by Jace’s side in seconds.

“What the hell was that, Jace?!”

“That was me stopping Imogen from making a huge mistake. Congratulations,” Jace says, an echo of Alec’s sentiment from the night before. Except this time the word is full of nothing but genuine joy - no hesitation, no disappointment.

“There’s no way she’s going to let that stand,” Alec insists.

“Sure she will. She can’t go back on it now. In a few days, you’re going to be right where you deserved to be all along. I meant every word of what I said up there, too. You’ve earned this,” Jace says, clapping Alec on the back.

He hopes Alec believes him. This isn’t just some ‘spit in the face of authority’ move, or a selfish desire to avoid responsibility and paperwork. Alec deserves this, and Jace wants nothing more than for Alec to get everything he deserves in this life and beyond. After two decades of constantly drawing the short straw, he’s earned this chance to properly show everyone else what Jace already knows: that he’s damn good at what he does.

Alec returns the motion, pulling Jace into a quick hug. “Thanks, Jace.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jace grins. “Now c’mon, boss, let’s get back to work. We’ve got a rogue warlock to track.”

#jace herondale #alec lightwood #imogen herondale #shadowhunters #gotta catch up on these!#and surprise MORE JACE POV #I've actually had this canon divergent scene in my head for ages and never got around to it so this was perfect!#elle writes a few deadbeat lines #long post

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thebadchoicemachine · 3 years

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Yall want some MYCT Magnus Archive Headcanons I may or may not draw? (Pt 1?)

I will try to include individual trigger warnings at the beginning of each explanation as much as I can think of. They may seem a little overboard but better safe than sorry. Remember, TMA is a horror podcast.

(ALSO, EVERYTHING HERE IS /RP. EVEN WHEN I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT A ROLEPLAY VIDEO PLEASE KNOW I’M MAKING UP A CHARACTER BASED OFF THEIR CHANNEL AND AM NOT ACTUALLY ACCUSING THEM OF BEING A SERVANT TO A MALEVOLENT FEAR ENTITY.)

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Philza

1. An End Avatar (TW, Numb/Apathetic Mindset)

He’s a reaper. An immortal. You only live once but life’s become, not meaningless, more like desaturated. He doesn’t care in a cheery “oh well” way. He’s pretty chill about it. He’s extremely chill about it. He is disturbingly chill about it. At first it seems great, he’s just a nice chill guy! No evil schemes or vicious plots. Just spending time with him seems to calm your nerves. And then you spend more time and you begin to understand why, things aren’t as important as you make them seem. You catastrophize a lot. Then a catastrophe happens and you’re not... upset. Why... why would you be? It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. It won’t in a hundred years and it doesn’t now. would end the same anyways. And then he starts to be less and less relatable. Why is he so happy? Why does he bother to go meet people and smile and eat or laugh or frown. You can’t belive you ever complained that he was so mild about everything, any amount is more than is worth. Why bother? Why... bother...

2. A Vast Avatar (TW, Heights?)

He just fucking tosses people into the sky instead of being upset with them. Do anything he doesn’t like? SWOOSH. It’s to the point it’s not even a malicious thing, it’s just routine. He gets up, goes to the store, picks up some groceries, sends a person who cut in line to a void of dusk with swirling black clouds where you fall so long you can’t tell if you’re flying up or down or left or right, maybe gets some mints, goes home, puts groceries away, does the dishes, etc.

(the rest of the cast below the cut)

Tubbo

1. A Corruption Avatar (TW, Body Horror Surrounding Lungs, Swarming Insects, Implied Murder.)

He has bees in his lungs and he loves them very much. If he ever gets something stuck in his throat or has water go down the wrong pipe he will FEAK OUT. He often has to cough up honey (and sometimes bees). It’s... a process. He just sits over a bucket or jar and hacks his little heart out. He sometimes saves the honey and offers it to people. Amazingly, his friends never take him up on the offer. Unsuspecting people who don’t know the.. supernatural origin of the honey find they have some... unpleasant side effects. (Bees. The side effect is bees. Specifically ones trying to fly down their throat.) Oh well, being a part of a hive isn’t for everyone. The really unfortunate ones make good fertilizer for his flowers, though! His lungs are literally a hive. If you tried to listen to his heartbeat you’d hear buzzing. He will sometimes hold flowers over his open mouth to let the bees get some easy pollon. He doesn’t usually actively seek out “prey” but when he is trying to feed on that good old fear he’ll act super sweet, too sweet, and then open his mouth and let the bees fly out. It’s very creepy but to him it’s just funny. (Also, all of the bees have names and he has a funeral for every single one that get’s killed.)

Quackity

1. A Spiral Avatar

I- I mean have you seen a single one of his videos?

2. A Stranger Avatar (TW, Unreality Depersonalization )

He mocks people as their own reflection, hopping from pond to mirror to camera to scream at them (sometimes literally) that they do not know who they are. It starts off subtle (Wasn’t your hair a bit longer? Weren’t your eyes a shade lighter? Did you always have that birthmark?”) but grows and changes until it gets to the point you stand in front of a mirror and every time you blink you look completely different. You feel your face, you look at your hands, but it’s no help. They change too fast. Your pictures change too, every single post on all your social media looks like different people posted it- wait... did you always have this platform? You don’t remember ever using it before. You have so many posts... none of them match up. You throw your phone away, noticing you never had the case on it. You turn to real photos for help but they are none. Of course not. You feel like just giving up as you shuffle through photo after photo, you don’t know what you really look like, so what? But then something catches your eye. A photo of you in the 5th grade concert. You don’t remember going to that school. You’ve never played an instrument, have you? Something screams yes and no at the same time. You throw the box down and grab your phone. You need to call someone. You pace throughout a house you recognize less and less searching for clues, reminders, as the phone rings. Your best friend answers. You throw the phone down again. You don’t have a best friend. You’ve never really been one for friends. No, that’s not true, you had a few really good ones but you’ve grown apart. No, that’s not true, you only have one real friend, your boyfriend. No, you don’t have a boyfriend, just a close friend. No, you have many friends just none that are close enough for this bullshit. You stop. No. No you don’t like swearing, do you? Do you? Who are you? Who are you? Your reflection laughs. It’s eating popcorn and making you do a stupid dance. What a bitch.

3. A Flesh Avatar (TW, Body Horror Surrounding Faces and Skin)

You’re a piece of meat, he’s a piece of meat, everyone’s meat. Like Chicken Nuggets.He’ll steal your face right off it’s skull and dance with one in each hand. He’ll put words in your mouth like you’re a puppet with bones. He’ll make you say the dumbest shit because it’s funny. Even when it’s obviously not YOU talking.

Technoblade

1. A Hunt Avatar (TW, Stalking/Genocide)

Many people have suggested a slaughter avatar but I don’t see it. Yeah, he kills (blood for the blood god and all that) but I don’t see it. The Slaughter is about the moment. The unplanned snap. The sudden outbursts. I don’t see that in techno. You know what I DO see that also involves quite a bit of bloodlust? The chase. The planning, the target, the unstoppable dread and panic that overtakes his victims once they realize who is after them. The power. Calculated genocide of victim after victim. The HUNT. My two pain points of evidence: His potato war videos, that time he took over the world, and his stalking speech to Quackity. Go watch an animatic of Technoblade chasing down Quackity and tell me he is not a Hunt Avatar.

Wilbur

1. A Desolation Avatar (TW, Abuse/Torture)

Everything he touches burns and hurts. Sometimes it’s on purpose, sometimes on accident, but either way he’s caught up in enjoying the drama. I’m gonna be honest, my main inspiration was the Villainbur aesthetic but the more I thought about it the more it made sense. Look at nearly any of his 100 player videos; designed to create maximum pain for hs enjoyment. Even the Dream SMP where he was mostly a good guy and more tragic than anything else fits. Maybe that Villain Arc was his first dabble as an avatar of destruction and pain. Even making his own father kill him could have been along the lines of “how can I milk as much despair out of this as possible.”

TommyInnit

1. A Slaughter Avatar (TW, Straight Up Murder)

Now HERE is a character right up that slaughter’s alley. No thoughts, not plans, just unbridled passion and rage and violence. He just stabs people whenever he feels like it (which is often) sometimes just with sticks. Like a rabid raccoon just jumps straight at people’s faces out of nowhere, always starting shit and stoking fires to make people angry at each other.

2. A Buried Avatar (TW, small tight spaces)

Tunnels and caves and sticks and spots. He’ll burry you under a mountain, he’ll lock you in a tree. Dirt man. His usual MO is trapping people under an avalanche of stones and rocks and rubble. Basically just lava casting your bones. Everything he makes is ugly but not just in a ”that’s literally a pile of rocks in the middle of the road” way in a bit of an indescribable “looking at that makes me feel like I’m breathing in straight gravel.”

Bonus: Ranboo as a Dark Avatar/Victim. He is not a willing avatar like Jude or Helen, he’s more along the lines of Oliver and Jon.

#dream smp au #dsmp tma au

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musicalluna · 4 years

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panning for gold

@bardingbeedle here is your birthday fic!!!!! ily, i hope you enjoy <3

Tony is not a stupid man. So when Captain America asks him if he wants to “step out” with him, of course he says yes.

He’s amused because Steve plans the date and picks him up at six o’clock on the dot. His amusement must be written on his face because Steve ducks his head like he’s embarrassed and says, “Ah, I know this isn’t exactly how things are done anymore, but it took it out of me just to ask, so...”

He’s sweet, painfully so, and Tony couldn’t stop himself from smiling if he wanted to. “Hey, who’s complaining?”

Steve smiles back, his shoulders relaxing a little, sweet and appreciative. He’s really something else and if Tony’s not careful he’ll be in trouble. Steve’s a good guy—the best, really, but there’s no way Steve is interested in dating Tony long term. It’s probably not conscious, but he’s interested in the experiences Tony can provide. Fancy dinners, lavish vacations, expensive presents. Sure, maybe there’s some attraction there, some connection, they’re friends, aren’t they? But it always comes down to Tony’s money. He’s not about to hold that against Steve. They can have a little fun. “Come on,” he says, slipping his arm through Steve’s. “Take me out on the town.”

Steve beams, hand curling around Tony’s on his elbow.

–

They go to a place called “The Big Gay Ice Cream Shop” and Tony barks out a laugh. Steve smiles, glancing at him slyly out of the corner of his eye. “I thought it seemed appropriate.”

“You aren’t wrong.”

Steve holds the door open for him, which is another charming gesture. They spend a little while at the counter sampling flavors and leave twenty minutes later with waffle cones the size of their heads. Tony automatically goes for his wallet at the register, but Steve catches his hand and pushes it back into his jacket.

“My treat.”

Tony blinks, surprised. “Oh.” He shrugs after a moment and grins. “Okay, then.”

He can’t remember the last time someone paid for him for...anything. It may have never happened. He’s always been the one with more means than sense. The experience is novel and he can’t help the way it lingers in the back of his mind through the rest of the date, which is a long walk back to the Tower.

Steve is funny in the driest way and smart as hell in a way that’s unlike Tony’s own intellect, but that just makes it all the more fascinating to talk to him.

Plus, he’s gorgeous, which Tony is reminded of when they finally meander up to the Tower and into the elevator. Steve leans back against the elevator wall, hands in his pockets, his head angled toward the floor, and he smiles at Tony, looking at him through his sandy eyelashes.

It knocks Tony for a loop.

He still hasn’t quite figured out how to breathe again when Steve says in a low voice, “I had a really good time tonight, Tony. Can we do this again?”

Tony works his tongue around his mouth for a second, trying to get some moisture back into it. “Yeah,” he says faintly, “me too. This was fun. How’s, uh, next Tuesday?”

Steve glows at him. That’s the only way to describe it. Tony’s stomach swoops like he’s pushing Mach 5 in the suit. “Six?”

“Yeah,” Tony rasps.

Steve pushes off the wall as they arrive at the floor that holds his apartment and Tony feels his passing like electricity over his skin. “Okay. See you then.”

Oh, Tony thinks as the doors close, yeah, I’m in trouble.

–

“IFC is playing The Shining,” Steve says while he and Tony head downstairs on Tuesday. “I thought we could go see it?”

“You’re into horror?”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know, but I hear it’s a classic. One of the best of all time?”

“I saw it when I was ten so I can’t comment on anything other than the fact that it scarred me.”

“You were ten?” Steve says with a look somewhere between incredulity and amused of-course-you-did, which is a look Tony is used to getting.

“Dad kept telling me I was a baby and I wanted to prove him wrong. I snuck into the theater. I couldn’t sleep for a week.”

“Well, now I’m really curious.”

“Wow, asshole,” Tony says.

Steve shrugs, hands in his pockets again. It’s like he thinks he’s too big—taking up too much room. “I keep tryin’ to tell people...”

It feels like Tony’s heart grows in his chest. God, he’s so fond of Rogers. He’s a shit.

–

Steve pays for the movie and their concessions, too.

Tony thinks about saying something, but he’s not sure what exactly he’d say. Stop it? I have money (obviously)? He can’t come up with anything that doesn’t sound ridiculous. So he just keeps his mouth shut and watches the movie.

It’s definitely not as scary as he remembers, but there are still some creepy moments. Some of it just gets him because of how much it reminds him of Howard.

When they leave the theater, Steve is in a somber mood.

“That was...interesting,” he says, obviously struggling for words. “They implied that Jack was in the hotel in the past, too.”

“Yeah.”

Steve goes quiet, mind obviously churning.

They walk in silence for nearly a block before Steve finally shakes his head. “Sorry, that was… I wasn’t expecting that.”

He’s unsettled Tony realizes. “Are you okay?”

Steve looks over at him, a flush creeping over his cheeks. “Yeah, uh,” he scrubs a hand over the back of his head. “It’s just—the way he lost control…”

“Reminds me of my dad,” Tony says, before he can think better of it and he only just manages to stifle a wince when Steve looks over at him, eyes wide.

“Howard was like that?”

“I mean he never tried to axe me, but—” Tony shakes his head, brushing that all away. “He was your friend, let’s not get into that—”

Steve grasps Tony by the wrist, bringing him to a stop on the sidewalk with barely any pressure at all. Tony gets the sudden urge to shake him off, but he mashes it down. Steve’s face is serious, tinted orange in the sodium vapor lights. “You and I are better friends than we ever were, Tony. If he ever did anything like that to you—” His mouth goes tight. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Tony stares at him, feeling strangely overwhelmed, so much so that he can’t speak. He can’t find the words for—anything.

Steve’s face softens and he puts a hand very lightly in the small of Tony’s back. “C’mon. Ice cream?”

Tony nods and lets himself be led.

–

He’s doing it deliberately, Tony realizes after they’ve gone on three more dates. On their fourth date, Tony pulls out his wallet early trying to beat Steve to the payment, but Steve says, “That’s okay, Tony. I’ve got it.”

“You’ve gotten it every time so far,” Tony says.

“Yeah,” Steve says mildly, handing over his credit card, “what’s your point? I want to.”

Tony doesn’t actually have a good argument to counter that, so he lets his hand drop. Steve smiles at him and it’s like Tony can feel the Pavlovian neuro-paths forming in his brain. Jesus, he’s a sucker. This was supposed to be a fun little fling because when you’re offered the chance to date Captain America you don’t say no, but Steve keeps asking him and Tony keeps saying yes. And Steve’s sticking around even though he’s the one paying for everything. It doesn’t track at all.

Coney Island is a blast, partly because of the attractions, but mostly because of all the stories Steve tells him about what a scrappy little cuss he was. He even tells Tony about a time when Bucky made him go on the Cyclone and he threw up and he actually manages to smile during the story. It’s the first time Tony’s heard him talk about Bucky without a thread of raw agony in his voice. It sounds stupid, but he’s honored. It’s taken the team two years to start cracking through Steve’s walls and it’s humbling to realize Steve feels like he can say these things to Tony and that it’s helping.

They stay until well after sundown and Tony can’t stop looking at Steve under the kaleidoscope of multicolored lights. He’s relaxed, happy, and it’s beautiful.

“Let’s ride the Ferris wheel,” Steve suggests, and Tony just says okay. He’d say yes to just about anything Steve suggested at this point.

It’s a warm night with a cool breeze—pretty much perfect as far as nights go. Despite the fact that the line is fairly lengthy, they end up in one of the fixed cars alone. Tony’s stomach flips when Steve sits and pulls Tony down next to him, wrapping his arm around Tony’s waist. The midway is all lit up below them, backed by the beach and the dark water beyond. This is the first time Tony’s been on a Ferris wheel in years and it’s making him feel like a kid again. It’s goofy, but there’s something magic about it.

“It’s pretty amazing this is still around,” Steve says, and Tony drags his gaze away from the view. “There was a big fuss when it opened. It was called the Dip-the-Dip back then, but it was just like this.”

“People do some incredible things,” Tony says, and Steve meets his eyes.

“They sure do.”

Their car reaches the apex of the wheel and rocks slowly to a stop as the wheel pauses. The breeze is cool, blowing Tony’s hair in his eyes and he reaches up to push it back. When he can see again, Steve is close enough Tony can feel the heat of his skin against his cheek and he sucks in a breath, heart breaking into a sprint.

“Gonna kiss you now,” Steve says, voice low. Then he cups Tony’s face in both his big hands and kisses him so gently it feels like his thoughts go spiraling away on the breeze.

The blood roars in his ears and he only realizes he was holding his breath when Steve draws back and Tony sucks in a gasp, his hands clutching at Steve’s leather jacket. Steve is warm underneath it, but the lining is cool and smooth against the back of his knuckles.

Steve smiles at him, sucking Tony’s stomach right back out of his body, and then leans in again and presses another featherlight kiss to his mouth. “Been wanting to do that for weeks.”

Tony makes an inarticulate noise and shifts impossibly closer to Steve, the heat of his thigh like fire against his leg. “Well, don’t stop now,” he rasps.

Steve lights up, his eyes reflecting back all the colors of the lights as they go by, and then he’s kissing Tony again, tongue easing into Tony’s mouth and sending sparks through his scalp. He moans, blown away by how good it feels to kiss Steve. Oh, god, he’s supposed to give this up? Like hell.

–

After that he’s plunged from “getting in over his head” to “in way over his head”. He tries so goddamn hard to protect himself from the inevitable heartbreak caused by people who don’t realize they’re in love with his money and not him, but he wasn’t ready for Steve Rogers.

Steve who hasn’t let him pay for a single thing in the three months they’ve been dating. Not so much as a coffee. What is he supposed to do with that? What is Steve getting out of this if he won’t take Tony’s money?

“STOP,” Tony bursts as Steve takes the check holder, “Stop. I can’t take it anymore. What is this, the world’s longest con?”

Steve blinks at him and the waiter slowly backs away from the table and disappears. “What?” Steve finally says.

“You won’t let me pay for anything! But people date me for my money. So I don’t understand what’s going on here. Are you trying to lull me into a false sense of security? Because, if I’m being honest, I’m already fucked. I’m into you. Way into you. So even if you are, you can just cut it out. You can have whatever you want.”

Steve’s face pinches and he puts a crease in the check holder, his fingers are gripping it so hard. “No, Tony. It’s not...it’s not a con. I didn’t want you to think that I even might be interested in you for your money.”

Tony shrugs, feeling small. “Everyone is.”

“I’m not,” Steve says firmly. “And I’ll keep paying for things as long as it takes you to believe that. I don’t need or want your money. I want you.”

Tony swallows, shoulders hunching and his fingers curling reflexively when Steve reaches across the table to put his hand over Tony’s. “You’d...pay for stuff forever? Even though I can afford—basically anything?”

“I’m dating you to spend time with you, Tony, not so you can buy me things. And I don’t want you to feel like it’s unfair or I’m coddling you or something. If you want to pay for your share, that’s fine. But I don’t need you to pay for mine. And I’ll never expect you to.”

Steve really is unbelievable, Tony thinks, staring at him across the table. “You would,” he says, knowing it’s true even as he says it.

“I will,” Steve says, like a vow. A shiver goes down Tony’s spine.

He curls his fingers around Steve’s and looks down at the tabletop, flicking aside a crumb. “And what if I wanted to buy you things?”

Steve is quiet for a long moment. “We can talk about it. The idea makes me uncomfortable, I won’t lie.”

“Because you feel like you’d be taking advantage.”

Steve smiles crookedly at him. “You thought I was running a con on you.”

Tony huffs and digs his fingers into the corners of his eyes. “Okay, fair. I’ve...I’ve never dated anyone like you, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes soften into something almost like sadness. “Maybe after awhile then, Tony. We can start with splitting the bill and see from there.”

Tony nods jerkily. “Yeah. Okay.” After a beat, he blurts, “Thank you.”

Steve sighs and smiles ruefully. “You don’t have to thank me for caring about you as a person. But you’re welcome.” He kisses Tony’s knuckles and it sends a chill up Tony’s arm. “Now can I pay for dinner?”

“Please do,” Tony says, hooking his ankle around Steve’s under the table. “I’m ready to go home and give you a very...thorough thank you.” To his delight, Steve’s eyes go dark. He pulls a stack of bills out of his wallet and tosses them into the check holder without looking.

“Let’s go.”

Tony laughs all the way out of the restaurant. Maybe this is going to work out after all.

#stevextony #musicalluna writes #steve rogers #tony stark #iron man #captain america #bardingbeedle #fluff #get together #money #tony stark has issues

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friendofspidermannedleeds · 3 years

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Fictober Day 2

Prompt #2: “you have no proof” Fandom: Spider-Man (MCU) Rating: Teen+ Warnings: None Characters: Ned Leeds & Peter Parker Words: 1618 Summary: Ned gets kidnapped and does not play it cool.

Nothing Like the Movies

Ned startles awake in a small, dingy room with crappy lighting.

All he can see is brick walls and a metal door, and all he can think is that his head is spinning and he’s horribly nauseous.

He tries to rub his eyes but find his hands tied tightly, painfully behind his back and overtop a metal chair. He takes stock of the other aches and pains that come into focus—his entire body is stiff and sore, and he’s desperate to stand and walk it off—but his feet are tied, too.

Oh.

Oh no.

Ned’s pretty sure he’s living through his first real kidnapping.

He shuts his eyes, attempting deep breathing exercises and trying not to panic.

Ned’s been awake for all of ten seconds and this is already nothing like he’d imagined a few years back when he first saw Peter in the suit. He’d thought then how cool and exciting it’d be if the bad guys realized how vital the Guy in the Chair was to Spider-Man’s operations and brought him to their evil lair with their evil cronies. He would play it just like a hero in a movie—remaining calm, cool, and collected in the face of adversity.

Yeah. He’d been an idiot.

Because this isn’t like an exciting at all, this just sucks, and he’d rather be anywhere but here right about now, and he has a college visit planned for this weekend and his family is probably freaking out, and how long has he been missing and has anyone noticed yet and Peter sure as hell had better notice because it’s almost certainly his fault Ned’s in this mess and he’d like to be rescued now before some evil mobsters come in and do that monologuing shit he assumes all villains do.

But no, he can’t start spiraling, he’ll need to have his wits about him when the cronies do come in, he has to get his story straight—but what is his story, exactly?

It’ll depend on the reason they kidnapped him, obviously, and he honestly has no idea why he’s here, unless someone figured out Peter’s Spider-Man, which, duh, of course someone has, it’s not like villains are in the habit of picking up random high schoolers off the street and tying them to chairs in random warehouses (he assumes that’s where he is, it’s always a random warehouse), and anyway, if he’s somehow been captured by a random serial killer and not an enemy of Spider-Man, at least he’ll be featured on MJ’s favorite true crime podcasts.

His heartrate increases exponentially at that thought, so yeah, okay, maybe let’s not think about the serial killer stuff…

Ned returns his focus to the breathing exercises. How do those work again? In for four, out for seven… no, hold for seven maybe? Seven seems like an awfully long time, that can’t be right, holding your breath that long would surely make it worse, at the very best it’s not helping Ned at this moment. When they taught him this shit at school to “relieve stress during exam week” he never thought he’d be using the techniques here, in the den of a killer.

Ned wiggles in his seat as much as the tight cords will allow.

He really, really has to pee. Of all the injustices, this one suddenly takes top prize. Because this is never a problem in the movies, the kidnapped hero never has to pee while tied up, and now that he’s here living this nightmare, he can confirm that is utter bullshit and who cares if it doesn’t make for great TV, kidnapped characters should have access to a bathroom dammit, this is entirely unreasonable and he’s thinking he might even try shouting into the void to see if someone will come untie him.

He’s not sure how much longer he can sit here like this—his shoulders are starting to cramp up from being pulled back so tightly, his head’s still spinning and setting in on a dull ache, he’s minutes away from pissing himself—who knew being kidnapped would be such torture?

Oh.

Oh shit.

Torture.

Ned cannot, he absolutely cannot, afford to be tortured. If the bad guys come in here and ask for information on Spider-Man he’s for sure going to tell them, he cracks under pressure on the daily for the most inconsequential of things, like his mom asking if he’s finished his homework, or MJ asking if he’s practiced his AcaDec flashcards, or Peter asking him to hack into a multi-million dollar suit.

Okay, so maybe that last one wasn’t so inconsequential—is there a possibility they know he’s Spider-Man’s hacker guy?

He hopes not, because if he’s tortured he will absolutely crack. It’s not a possibility, it’s a fact. Ned is simply not made for this kind of situation.

There’s a loud crash somewhere outside the room, then voices—angry voices arguing about something, probably what to do with the prisoner, and oh shit, Ned hasn’t even planned what he’s going to say or do yet, what if the bad guys come in and ask if he knows Spider-Man??

He has to think of something—something that won’t make him look like the weakling he is, who has more or less already thrown in the towel, who will, at this moment, gladly turn Peter Parker in for the promise of using a toilet.

He sets his teeth.

No.

No, Ned can do this. Ned has to do this.

Okay. He’ll play it cool, like it’s a scene from a movie.

He shuts his eyes.

They’ll say: “We know you know Spider-Man, kid. And we know he’s your best friend, Peter Parker.”

And he’ll say: “You have no proof!”

Ooh. That’s good. Ned’s pretty sure he’s seen that in a movie somewhere.

But wait—that implies he thinks there is proof, and they just have to find it—shit.

He’s better off just saying he doesn’t know what they’re talking about, he’s just a kid who was walking down the street, minding his own business.

Speaking of the street, he’d do anything to be walking down a street again—anything not to be tied to this stupid, freezing metal chair in this stupid, cliché of a room.

Ned hears the voices again, louder, then shouting, then really shouting, and it sounds like maybe there’s some sort of scuffle occurring, and then—

The door busts open.

Ned’s heart beats faster than he’d thought was humanly possible. He instinctively looks at the floor, terrified of what he’ll see, unwilling to look the devil in the eye because this is not a movie, and he is not an action hero, and he sure as hell shouldn’t have to be.

“Ned?”

He looks up. The voice was the last thing he expected, and yet, the most welcome sound he could ever have hoped for.

“Peter?”

He’s wearing the Iron Spider suit, fully masked and already kneeling down to easily break the cords that secure Ned’s limbs.

“Oh my god Ned I’m so glad you’re okay—you are okay, right? You’re not hurt or anything?”

Ned winces as he bring his arms around the back of the chair and tries to rub life into his shoulders. He stands stiffly, supported by Peter’s hand under his arm.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I think. Just—that really, really sucked.”

Peter hugs him. “Ned, I am so, so sorry.”

And Ned has lots of thoughts and lots of questions, but none of them seem to matter right now, and all he can blurt out is—

“ialmosttoldthem.”

Peter’s mask retracts, and he stares at Ned. “What?”

“I don’t know what these kidnappers wanted, but if they’d come in and if they’d asked who you were or wanted to know something about you and threatened me I feel like I would’ve caved for sure and I just know I—I would’ve told them.”

He doesn’t know why he felt the need to share that information, or why he couldn’t seem to stop talking once the confession began pouring out, and he’s wishing he hadn’t said anything but he’s sure that wouldn’t have made him any less guilty, and—

“Good.”

Ned blinks. “I—what?”

“I said that’s good,” Peter says matter-of-factly. “Look Ned, I don’t know yet what these guys wanted—they were amateurs, pretty dumb actually because they didn’t get rid of your phone and that’s how I tracked you here—but honestly, if anyone ever kidnaps you or anyone else and wants information about me, you give it to them.”

Ned shakes his head. “But—but—”

“Ned, I’m a literal superhero. I don’t need protecting, I can handle pretty much anything. If you’re in a shitty situation, your job is protecting yourself.”

Ned’s shuts his mouth as he realizes it’s gaping open, and he doesn’t know why it was, because he’s really, truly not surprised.

Of course Peter would say that. Even if he wasn’t a literal superhero, he would say that. That’s just who Peter Parker is, and if being kidnapped every once and a blue moon is the price to pay for being his best friend, it’s worth it to Ned.

And the next time it happens, (hopefully an if, not a when), Ned’s not telling those kidnapper punks anything.

“Let’s go,” Peter heads out the busted metal door as Ned follows, “the police are coming for those idiots and we need to get you checked out. You need anything?”

“A bathroom,” Ned says immediately.

“Dude,” Peter nods with an empathy only someone who’s been kidnapped multiple times can share, “I am so sorry. Literally the worst. And like—they never acknowledge that in the movies!!”

“Right??”

#fictober21 #ned leeds #peter parker #spider-man #spider-man fic #my fic #fos fic

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greatearthquakestudent · 3 years

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My Nico Psychological Analysis

I’m interested in psychology, I don’t study but do analysis fictional characters like Nico Kim. Once take you a deeper took Nico’s character, analyzing many serious scenes, you could you have a better understand of this characters

Nico is a classic Grey’s Anatomy character. I put him in a category for characters who suffer life long of trauma and abuse before Seattle Grace Mercy Death. The others include Jo Wilson, Alex Karev, and Meredith Grey. Characters like Callie Torres, Arizona Robbins, Lexie Grey, Mark Sloan, Amelia Shepherd, the others aren’t in this category because they didn’t suffer life long trauma and abuse.

Let start the beginning of Nico’s time on the show, to back the episode, season 15 episode 1, With a Wonder and a Wild Desire. When Nico was of the 2 new hot ortho surgeons. The episode where sweet Levi started to fall in love with him. How he got nervous around him. From Joe’s Bar to the odd Ortho case to the kiss the in elevator.

When the poor boy said that was this was his first kiss with a man, said Nico “ I done my coming out already, I can’t go through this again”. Many people think that this is the same as Ms. Arizona Robbins but Arizona never connected Callie being a newborn lesbian or bisexual to her coming out. This could’ve mean that he came out fairly recently but it didn’t go well.

Then next, he said this, “ This is exactly what I didn't want, I don’t need the drama, the hurt feeling, the freshly coming out, I don’t need the shame spiral”. Maybe this to could be implied to how he felt himself. He also said “ Look your sweet, I can’t you guide to of the closet like a gay Sherpa”. When he said that he can’t guide him out of the closet, this could heavily mean to his parents which he does not have any experience or willingness to do for his.

Dr. Grey narration are very inspirational. Like where Levi is trying to put in contract, she said this, “we’re afraid of look of not being of tough”. This could mean to Nico too.

Okay, Nico got mad when Levi didn’t tell his mom but didn’t he never said anything the sounds like push him to come out. Many people understood this said Nico doesn’t want Levi to hidden from his mom. It’s true these thing also depend the type of family you have. When Levi told him his reason Nico understood because the reasons are good.

Just like how Levi collapse when in sight of blood, Nico’s things could two thing could causing patient death like to Josh in one. You could see the fear, the guilt in his eyes. Something like having a nail get stuck in brain, it cause neurological problem. This could mental and emotional problem for Nico. Dealing with that you he think he’ll okay. The song they delivered the news the Josh’s grandpa, it sang i’m feeling so small, small could mean helpless and weak, something Nico might’ve felt. When Just like how Levi collapse when in sight of blood, Nico’s could two thing could causing patient death like to Josh. When he could see the fear, the guilt in his eyes. Something like having a nail in brain, it cause neurological problem. This could mental and emotional for Nico. If dealing with that you he think he’ll okay. The song they delivered the news the Josh’s grandpa, it sang i’m so small, small could helpless and weak, something Nico might’ve felt. When told him Levi told him that the saved the dying fire chief life it made how he would react to that. Remembers Levi just surgical intern saved a fire chief life while he, a fellow/attending killed some college student to do the math.

I don’t Link knows anything about Nico but it seem that Nico needs time to process things. When Helm and Richard made jokes about dude breaking ass, that is funny but remembers that Nico’s did that he doesn’t want to kill patient again. Link mention his attitude it’s there pretty obvious wrong. When was that patient that gain her the ability to move her again everyone was while he lowkey seem to experience FOMO. When mentioned it to Levi it’s like he never experience the kind of thing his life. Asian including my people, emotionally reserved. While watching that sad movie, he said to your amazing. He finally felt with he wanted to feel. His clearly who strong-spirited told his mom all his own. That cry also guilt being for as strong-spirited as Levi is.

Season 16 has very nice Schmico until the trial. I have this theory reason his was in his phone is because of the text. His parents visit could’ve planned at that point, but since gonna happened later Nico was very loving to Levi. When after his mom house Nico acted little for like off. I would if your parent are coming the boyfriend that they didn’t know.

When he did told him the truth, the shame spiral doubled he seemed more ashamed now because he didn’t tell him.

He when said his parent are critical, pretty much mean strict, which Nico second thing. That two thing that mention Nico isn’t that egoistical. it’s seem more like trigger effect anything else.

The snowstorm where it all went to hell. Jo Wilson is kinda of bitch to Levi, Levi tries to patient who could’ve killed someone, and oh yeah, the on-call scene, not a scene to for Nico. Nico just sex doesn’t describe his the depth of his character. Callie also wanted to sex after the plane crash incident while Arizona is still recovering. The family seem to go hell too. People are saying Nico emotion abusing Levi. That talk about like self-worth and if it is emotional how you think Nico would that. Nico probably emotional abuse himself. But he remain somewhat civil even during the break up his words were respectful.

Season 17, he didn’t see much of Nico’s character this season, but had better understand of him. Nico seemed hesitant to talk to Levi. he is always the guilt and fear in him.

But clearly understood that Levi wasn’t doing well, the closet it was for Levi more and something to him feel better.

The episode things are very awkward, yeah in just blown him, not if he’s proud of that.

Don’t listen to Jo she was worst as Nico back in during her domestic abuse drama. Put Jo seem to have impact on Nico. She said might’ve him as in his worth as partner. Seem like he went outside to break things before could get worse. But when Levi made the right decision, seemingly assured the he isn’t a bad partner.

The day of Deluca’s memorial, Nico said said his go to feelings for things like in numb. Numb means not feeling anything which feel focus habit caused by family or trauma.

Levi changed, we didn’t see much, but how many times have they hooked up? how many time did Levi give a monologue? There could’ve plenty of offscreen character development going.

When Nico ask Levi move to it’s because he gotten to point Levi made feel comfortable.

I’m glad Levi chose Nico, he deserves him so much, he deserves ever good and health in life. I hoping Mason Post is gone because having a triangle would break Nico mind and love in million pieces it’s gonna for Levi the get again if this happened.

#nico kim #schmico #levi schmitt #levi schmitt and nico kim

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eucat · 3 years

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Headcanon spiral about how things go down when Faramir and Denethor realize Boromir is dead. Faramir sees the funeral boat in the middle of the night, he has to wonder: is it one of my dreams? But even if it’s a dream he’s not very hung up on whether it’s a dream or reality, he just understands that it’s a foreboding message. But he’s obviously troubled over it, and finally decides “I should try to talk to Denethor about this...” and he’s sincerely trying to be vulnerable and close to Denethor, thinking that if there was ever something they could come together over it would be this.

So Faramir, with uncharacteristic humility, tells Denethor everything and seeks his counsel. And Denethor is...not overtly mean to Faramir or anything, but he does shut him down. And Denethor’s response is largely to be in denial. And possibly Denethor even loses his composure a little bit and says (or implies) a few unnecessarily harsh things: “look, you were sleepwalking...you’re anxious...you’re not strong like me! I’m strong enough to see HORRIBLE things!!! Do you think I’m not tormented by visions of my worst possible fears coming true [i.e. in the palantir] day and night?!?!” And Faramir’s just like ... And Denethor basically concludes, “this is only a test of your fortitude, and I sincerely hope you pass it, if not for your own sake, then just keep in mind Gondor needs you--especially if what you saw is true. But it isn't!!”

Faramir is needless to say not the most consoled by this stern lecture...and then a few days later the broken horn washes up and Denethor is very clearly horrified, there’s no room for denial now. He truly believed Faramir’s vision was just that, a bluff, a taunt from the enemy...and then the broken horn is sitting in his lap and suddenly it’s all too real. Grief pierces him. Complete silence. Faramir doesn’t know what to say. There’s no “I told you so...” moment...THAT comes later, it’s suppressed until it jumps out the day Faramir clashes with Denethor in front of Mithrandir during the siege of Gondor. But for now it’s silence. The window for closeness, understanding, grieving together is swept away because there are hundreds of other things to do, and they don’t talk about it privately. Faramir leaves and goes off to Ithilien where he’ll meet Frodo and Sam...so it’s an agonizingly painful distance that they don’t know what to do about. It’s too terrifying for them to be this vulnerable in front of each other, Boromir’s not there to triangulate, they have long established a dynamic in their relationship that is utterly unprepared for this exigency.

They both feel pushed: externally, it’s the harrowing circumstances, their duties, and internally...Denethor feels like he’s been cruelly betrayed for the vigilance he’s carefully built, that he’s HAD to build, to withstand the slow wearing down of the palantir use. He feels foolish!!! He didn’t believe Faramir, and now he’s annoyed that he was wrong about Faramir, that it was a true vision. He basically feels constantly gaslit by Sauron via the palantir, so this is a huge issue for him, when it becomes a question of his visions versus Faramir’s visions, and the way their gifts are operating differently and doing different things. It’s deeply annoying and demoralizing for Denethor. And there’s also this...resentment, Denethor is aware it’s somewhat beneath him, but it hurts so much that Faramir got to have this final glimpse of Boromir while Denethor, who loved Boromir so so so much, is striving in his tower and doesn’t get that mystical experience on the river, he doesn’t get to see his son’s face wearing the expression of hard won peace after doing “some good deed.” And on top of all this Denethor feels paranoid. Part of what was driving his whole outburst and lecture when Faramir approached him about the vision was this attempt to convince HIMSELF that things aren’t as hopeless as they seem, that it’s always this game of chess with darker forces that are trying to dominate your mind and mood. So this conviction that Denethor was trying to build up in himself is suddenly severely undermined. And yet in spite of this almost unbearable blow to his sense of safety and security, Denethor pushes through the grief and doesn’t give up, yet.

From Faramir’s point of view, his internal defenses are up...he’s wounded from being shut down and downplayed, and feels like Denethor was utterly uninterested in him when he first tried to share what he saw in a genuinely loving way. It’s about his pride, too, and Faramir just decides to walk away from it than risk more misunderstandings. And that’s the deep tragedy of the circumstances in all of this...if there had just been a little more time, just the smallest bit of space, an extra breath to take, it could have all come out between them and Denethor and Faramir could have truly looked each other in the eye and decided together: “look, we’ve spent SO MUCH energy being angry at each other to distract ourselves from being completely destroyed by losing Boromir. But we’re tired. Let’s just start over and be on each other’s side.” But of course their situation actually almost makes it more advantageous for them to both stay angry, because otherwise it would be pretty grim...and they can’t afford to be depressed. And in some sense anger is fueling them to move forward in their duties even as it’s depleting their capacity to love each other.

#denethor #boromir #faramir #IT'S SO SAD #they could help and support and understand each other like no else could #but instead it's constant emotional sabotage!!!

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

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do you have any fics of john flirting with sherlock over text? maybe sherlock being utterly clueless? thank you & and much luv ❤️

Hi Nonny!!!

Ahhhhhhhhhh AGES ago, I did an Epistolary / Texting / Letters fic rec list, back before I had A System™, so it’s a bit messy but it is there :) I don’t have a lot of new ones to add to it, BUT I decided I would pull all the Texting fics from that list since I now have neater organization with tags and Chapters, and then just add my NEW fics onto that one, how about that? Would that be okay? It wouldn’t be specifically just flirting, but I think that the list is long overdue anyway!! Hope you like something on this one, and I’ll TRY to tag the flirting fics WITH flirting so that you can pick them out :)

And as always, add your own fics, Lovelies!! <3

TEXTING AND SEXTING (JULY 2020)