#savannah stark strange

[mcwentfandomtraveling]

Just wanted to introduce my Marvel Oc :D

This isn't a fic or story, it's mainly just like a little show and tell thingy mingy or something like that XD

Anyways, Hihi! Felt like introducing my marvel oc! I'm so glad that there's a multiverse so that fanfic writers and artists and content creators can have thier own little canon slice of Marvel! Since there are tons of different versions of earth! Who's to say yours isn't there *somewhere* in the vast multiverse? :3

Everything is canon now! Well in your own version of Marvel that is! Mine is pretty tame! Sure there *are* threats but no one dies :D

I guess for the most part...my marvel au here is mostly domestic stuff because fluff makes brain go brrrr! And I just love having Stephen, Tony, and the siblings of the Supreme fam as my found family :3 Anyways! I'd be glad to meet your ocs as well!

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG AND SHOW ME YOUR OC TOO! I'D BE EXCITED TO MEET THEM! SO WOULD MY OC! :D

Anyways! Marvel Earth-616 is great! Beloved! Muah! Love it! I just like having an au for funsies! I wonder what I'd call the earth of this au 😅 I'll have to think about that! Anyways, my oc!

Her name is Savannah Anthea Stark-Strange! Sav is what her family and friends call her!

Let me explain her name in a sec after I tell you how she was born! Basically Sav was born from a wish, specifically the wishes of Tony and Stephen who wanted to know what a biological child between them would be like!

they never really spoke about it to one another they both just silently wished to know what it would be like to have a biological child!

And that wish was given life in space and eventually Sav was formed, with memories of her family and a basic understanding of the world and at the physical age of 18.

She got her name since in that wish Stephen was thinking "awww I would want to name the kid after my Anthony, if it's a girl I'd go with Anthea, if it's a guy..."

And Tony was thinking "I would name the kid after Stephen, however we really don't need another name that starts with Ste so I'll go with Savannah since it starts with an S and has that air of importance he has! If it's a guy..."

And so that's how she got her name! :3

She loves her family very much!

Oh oh! Let me tell you about her superpower! She can manipulate her dna to be biologically related to whomever she wants! So like if she thinks of the avengers as her family, which she does! She's formed a biological attachment to them! Which gives her a watered down version of any powers like hulk or super soldier powers!

:3

As for superheroing...Sav...isn't exactly a front-liner so to speak like Tony or Stephen or Steve or any avenger is...she's more like...support for them!

Her dad, Stephen, taught her the mystic arts to a really good level as a way he bonds with her! I occasionally refer to him as "doctor-dad"

And her dad, Tony, taught her tech stuff to a really good level of understanding as a good way to bond with her! I occasionally refer to him as "Iron-dad"

So she mainly helps out as backup and support! Due to the skills her dads taught her she made herself a magical relic! :)

Technically it's a supersuit, similar concept but vastly different then Iron-dad's! So written within the code are mystic arts spells that give this supersuit a soul and a personality (Cloakie has a personality! Idk if it has a soul but 🤔 I'd like to headcanon it does!) So it's a sentient AI supersuit named Sunday (Because Sunday is way more fun then Friday XD) that takes the form of a Blue Balloon dog when she's not wearing it! :3

It's basically a fun lil' companion!

It can fight with some spells that Sav programmed into it, it can heal wounds, and it can contain stuff like in a magical cage!

Sunday can talk! But she only talks to people she cares about and trusts! Like Sav, Sav's family, Sav's close friends! If it doesn't trust you, it'll just woof and pretend to be completely useless at anything like a cheap toy dog.

Anyways Sav helps out during fights by either quickly healing some wounds of anyone or by containing threats so the avengers can think about what to do with it...

She gets along pretty well with her siblings! She's the same age as Peter, but her other siblings are Morgan, Harley, And America!

(Parker, Stark, Keener, and Chavez)

Her superhero name is Cryptex as a nod to her dna being ever-changing due to her magical abilities :)

Like the code to a Cryptex that can be changed and stuff :D

But she's not that gung-ho about fighting...she'll do it...occasionally enjoy training...but she's got stuff she'd much rather do...

Some stuff she finds interesting and random facts:

• She loves magical relics and wants to make more since it's been ✨️forever✨️since new magical relics have been made and she makes stuff that really reflects the current times, for the sanctum to use ofc! (She's made just one other sentient AI with a personality and everything a little similar to how she made Sunday for someone but I'm not going to mention for who, it's a little AI Balloon Bat!)

• She's always been fascinated with the concept of childhood since she's literally never had one, being formed already as a teenager with thoughts, memories, knowledge, of any teenager!

So she likes buying toys and plushies and stuff just for the fun of it sometimes! And she'd totally be down for riding attractions at fairs and stuff!

• She's playful but isn't really sarcastic and teasing as most of the family is for some reason so she likes sweet things like talking in a more sweet manner I guess instead of a snarky sarcastic one

• Sav is really pansexual, and ambiamorous, people are nice and pretty, her prounouns are She/her but occasionally He/him! :3

She does have a male form she can sometimes shift into, in that form her name is Savion!

Anyways!

Wow, can't believe people actually read this far! Hi! :D

Hugs!

I have a question if you don't mind!

I really want to give her sort of an adversary, frenemy, something to spice up her life in some sort of way...but I'm just not connecting with any villains :/

Does anyone know of any antihero or morally grey Villian that might be easy to empathize with so perhaps I can make another oc and give Sav an adversary?

Thanks for the help and suggestions! I appreciate it! Hugs!!!

...huh...not sure what to say now...

More potential Balloon pals :3

And Sav would be delighted to make you one! :D

If I post about her I'll call her # Marvel Sav

And if I talk about my ocs I'll put it under # Nori's ocs

#marvel oc #supreme family #kid of ironstrange #ironstrange #Marvel Sav #The avengers oc #avengers oc #the avengers #hugs! #marvel mcu oc #marvel mcu #oc workshopping #my ocs #Nori's ocs #hugs

[randomestfandoms-ocs]

🔁

Putting it below the cut!! I’ve tried to update it from the list I made way back when but I’m sure I’ve missed some 🥺😭 I’m sorry in advance if mobile makes the format wonky I will pretty-ify it after work to have headers and bullet points and a nice setup I just didn’t want to wait 4 hours 🥺

Descendants

Jax Hearts

Jax Hearts & Beatrice

Jax Hearts & Eliane

Jax Hearts & Evander Grimhilde

Jax Hearts & Gloria Gothel

Jax Hearts & Hannah Westergaard

Jax Hearts & Harley Hook

Jax Hearts & Harmony Of Atlantica

Jax Hearts & Keto Jones

Jax Hearts & Lovetta Garou

Jax Hearts & Lucette LeFou

Jax Hearts & Raina Gold

Jax Hearts & Rini Bing

Jax Hearts & Rosabelle Legume

Jax Hearts & Savina Stromboli

Jax Hearts & Trina Tremaine

Jax Hearts & Winona Sykes

Jess Hearts

Jess Hearts & Eliane

Jess Hearts & Gloria Gothel

Jess Hearts & Hannah Westergaard

Jess Hearts & Harley Hook

Jess Hearts & Raina Gold

Glee

Elliot Walker

Elliot Walker & Betty Fabray

Elliot Walker & Colton & Cece Cartwright

Elliot Walker & Jeremy St James

Elliot Walker & Jo Berry

Elliot Walker & Joy Schuester

Elliot Walker & Kendall Pierce

Elliot Walker & Savannah Evans

Elliot Walker & Abbie’s Dance Squad

Nate Simmons

Nathaniel Simmons & Betty Fabray

Nathaniel Simmons & Charlie Sylvester

Nathaniel Simmons & Dolly & Barbie Corcoran

Nathaniel Simmons & Jeremy St James

Nathaniel Simmons & Jo Berry

Nathaniel Simmons & Joy Schuester

Nathaniel Simmons & Kendall Pierce

Nathaniel Simmons & Savannah Evans

Marvel

Kit Barton

Kit Barton & Anya Barton

Kit Barton & Bianca Davis

Kit Barton & Cora Royce

Kit Barton & Dominique Barton

Kit Barton & Elizabeth Barton

Kit Barton & Kassandra Maximoff

Kit Barton & Peyton Parker

Kit Barton & Sabina Maximoff

Kit Barton & Sammy Barton

Kit Barton & Tyler Barton

Mia Barnes

Mia Barnes & Elena Barnes

Mia Barnes & Ellie Coulson

Mia Barnes & Evelyn Rogers

Mia Barnes & Grace Osborn

Mia Barnes & Jameson Barrett & Stefania Raine

Mia Barnes & Mia Pierce

Mia Barnes & Tyler Barton

Victoria Vill

Victoria Vill & Alvina Strange

Victoria Vill & Aris Stark

Victoria Vill & Athena Stark

Victoria Vill & Ava Potts

Victoria Vill & Diana Moore

Victoria Vill & Ellie Coulson

Victoria Vill & Grace Osborn

Victoria Vill & Jaden Jameson

Victoria Vill & Patti Parker

Victoria Vill & Pippa Ross

Victoria Vill & Stella Carter

Victoria Vill & Tesla Banner

Victoria Vill & Wendy Parker

Merlin

Delfine

Delfine & Elsine

Elissa

Elissa & Elsine

Elissa & Allyria

Mabel

Mabel & Aelia

Mave

Maeve & Lynette

Misc

Effie Munson

Effie Munson & Heaven

Effie Munson & Beth

Elys Herondale

Elys Herondale & Alya D’Angelo

Elys Herondale & Annabelle Bane

Elys Herondale & Cassiel Fell

Elys Herondale & Clem Wayland

Elys Herondale & Hannah Dawnwell

Elys Herondale & Rebecca Wayland

(Bonus: Jack Herondale & Talia Lightwood-Lewis)

Kayla Winchester

Kayla Winchester & Briony Harvelle

Kayla Winchester & Deborah Winchester

Kayla Winchester & Elle Winchester

Kayla Winchester & Esther Colt

Kayla Winchester & Ilsa George

Kayla Winchester & Nevaeh Murphy

Kayla Winchester & Phoebe Winchester

Kayla Winchester & Trix Stilinski

Kayla Winchester & Rachel Winchester

Miles Henderson

Miles Henderson & Angelica Hopper

Miles Henderson & Camila Nelson

Miles Henderson & Heaven Orella-Munson

Miles Henderson & Jacob Hopper

Miles Henderson & Jessica Wheeler

Miles Henderson & Kaylie Hopper

Miles Henderson & Kimberly Harrington

Miles Henderson & Rhiannon Ballard

Miles Henderson & Serena Brenner

Miles Henderson & Sidney Hopper

Miles Henderson & Stacey Byers

Miles Henderson & Valerie Rush

Rosalind Potter

Rosalind Potter & Adriana Flores

Rosalind Potter & Eurydice Crouch

Rosalind Potter & Gemini Black

Rosalind Potter & Holly Evans

PJO

Mike Lore

Mike Lore & Andromeda Jackson

Mike Lore & Ashley Wilson 

Mike Lore & Blossom Talbot

Mike Lore & Cressida Brantley

Mike Lore & Crystal Solace

Mike Lore & Desdemona Gaumond

Mike Lore & Ellie Jackson

Mike Lore & Elyana Chase

Mike Lore & Esmeralda Wilde

Mike Lore & Helena Jackson

Mike Lore & Jasper Gabriel (& Blake Castellan) 

Mike Lore & Jem Skeates

Mike Lore & Pandora Jackson 

Mike Lore & Pyrrah Jackson

Mike Lore & Stella Beauregard

Mike Lore & Victoria Blofis

RWRB

Val

Val & Margaret

Emma Spring

Emma Spring & Abi

Emma Spring & Lucy

Emma Spring & London

Lena Richards

Lena Richards & London

Lena Richards & Lucy

Lena Richards & Madi

Lena Richards & Abi

#ask #answered #ginevrastilinski #crossover ask #(if you want to reblog it go for it but if you give me like 4 hours I’ll edit it to be prettier and easier to read!)

[ironstrangle]

Ironstrange Question #41 - “Why were you a doctor?”

Savannah’s asthma scare has her visiting several doctors, so it’s no surprise that the girl is curious about doctors now. She knows her father used to be a doctor, but can’t anymore because of his hands. She’s in the back of the car with both of her dads when she asks that question.

Stephen thinks about the question and smiles, remembering his medical days fondly. Sure, he hadn’t loved the person he was then, but the medical field had been his calling once. “I liked to help people,” he says, a simplified answer, “and I also really liked solving big problems. A lot of people who need help have really big problems.”

“He’s kind of a genius,” Tony says, squeezing Stephen’s hand gently and winking. “He likes to solve puzzles.”

“I wanna be a doctor,” Savannah says. “Doctors help people who are sick and scared.”

“You could definitely be a good doctor,” Stephen promises, chuckling, because that’s about the third career aspiration their daughter has had in the last week - behind pirate and basketball player. 

“Do you wish you could still be one?”

Stephen looks at Tony for a moment, then down at their little girl and shakes his head no. “I loved it, but I love being a dad even more.”

“And a wizard!”

Stephen laughs. “It’s sorcerer!” he says, in time with Tony. The three of them dissolve into giggles.

#ironstrange questions #ironstrange #lil bit of fluff #supreme family #savannah stark strange

[like-a-bag-of-potatoes]

Our Story - Prologue

theA/N: My first Chris Evans series. This is just a fluffy little series that has been floating around in my brain for a while, and because I've recently fallen head first into the Chris trashcan, I figured he’d be the perfect person for this little love story AU. I mean absolutely no disrespect with this, it's just a work of fiction. I also want to give a huge thank you to @percywinchester27​ and @girl-next-door-writes​ for being my betas for this story. You are both amazing and I'm so grateful for your help on this. 

Chapter: One

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader (unfortunately no Chris in this part) 

Warnings: Absolutely none. 

Wordcount: 1850

Four weeks after my twentieth birthday, I left my childhood home in Savannah, Georgia, and pointed my nose towards New York. It was hard to believe that eight years had passed already, but my twenty-eighth birthday approached in large strides to remind me of how much time had passed, and how much had changed. New York City was a stark contrast to Savannah, the city that never sleeps VS the most charming city in America. When I first moved here, it was my intention to stay for only a year, then I would be back in Savannah with my family and the man that I loved so deeply, Josh. 

However, life never really turns out how you intend it to, no matter how much you plan for your future. Josh and I used to talk at length about our future together, and I honestly couldn't wait to get started on it all, house, careers, and then a family of our own at some point. Then, after eight or so months of long-distance we finally broke and admitted to ourselves that it was just too hard. I know you might think that since we had stuck it out for that long, we surely could manage a few more months, but by then I had been asked to stay on in what was supposed to be a temporary position, and I had fallen in love, not only with the city, but with my work. I asked Josh to come to me, told him we could find ourselves a little apartment in Queens, or the East Village, something we could afford, and we could spend a few years together here before moving back home to start a family. I guess you’ve already figured it didn't turn out that way, and it ended, as long-distance relationships often do, in heartbreak. It was my first real heartbreak- amicable, civil, and soul-crushing. It was also then I realized, as we all, unfortunately, do at some point in our lives, that love does not, in fact, conquer all. 

If I'm being completely honest, I knew within my first month in this magical city that I would never want to leave, and after things ended with Josh, I felt as though I had deceived him in some cruel, unintentional way. Every conversation we had, had after that had been filled with lies and promises I never intended to keep. I had fooled myself as much as I had fooled him. After our break up, although completely heartbroken, I felt free and unburdened, which strangely made me feel even worse about the whole thing. Our love didn't end in some big blowout argument, or because we didn't want to be with one another. It ended because of the thousands of miles that separated us, and because in the months we spent apart, I changed in a way that could not have been foreseen. Never did I imagine myself in a big and busy city, but as I said, New York and me, it was love at first sight. 

You might be wondering what job took me from my safe and comfortable life in Georgia, thinking that it must have been some grand, once in a lifetime thing. It was not. It was a temporary job as a personal assistant. I found it as I sat by my computer one night, daydreaming about what kind of life I would live if I had all the money in the world, what life Josh and I could create for ourselves. That's when I came across the ad. A woman, Mrs. Wallace, needed an assistant. She was a very wealthy woman in need of someone to keep track of her very busy social calendar, amongst other things. I knew she was wealthy because she lived on Fifth Avenue, not that I had ever been to New York and really knew what that entailed, but I had seen movies and read books placed in the city and knew very well that Fifth Avenue was a very expensive street. There was little to no description of the job or what Mrs. Wallace was looking for in an assistant, other than that they had to be organized and were able to juggle multiple things at once. Beyond that it really came down to compatibility. I was nothing if not organized, so before I knew it, I had compiled an application letter and sent to her email. I told no one about this, because it was ridiculous for me to think I'd even get a reply back. In all honesty, it had all been forgotten by the next morning, and I didn't think of it again until three days later when, at dinner with Josh I might add, I got an answer. She would like for us to meet. We sent a couple of emails back and forth where I tried to, as politely as possible, explain that I did not have the means to travel to New York just for an interview. I stated that I appreciated her interest, and apologized profusely for not being able to make it out there. It was then she asked for my details, and about fifteen minutes later I got a confirmation from American Airlines that my ticket had been booked and paid for. Two days later I was sitting opposite Mrs. Wallace at a restaurant that I would never be able to afford, listening to her talk about the job I had applied for and what she expected of me. 

The very first thing that struck me about Mrs. Wallace was her age. For some reason, I had imagined someone in their fifties, full of botox, fillers, and whatever else middle-aged women put into their faces to look younger, but Mrs. Wallace was not that much older than me. At the time we met, she was twenty-seven, so younger than I am now, and strikingly beautiful. Thick, black hair that looked professionally blow-dried and sculpted so that not a single strand was out of place. It draped over her shoulders in loose Hollywood style waves and stood in sharp contrast to the white blazer she wore. Her skin was olive, her eyes deep brown, and her cheekbones could probably cut glass. When you put that together with her long, model-like legs, an hourglass waistline, and a very ample bosom, the woman looked like a greek goddess. To top it all off she had a warm and kind smile, and a kick-ass sense of humor. Kate, as she insisted I call her, was far from the stuck up, nose in the sky, botox filled woman that I had imagined in my head. We hit it off, and before dessert was served, I had a job offer. 

It's hard to explain, but I felt as though I needed to take this opportunity, that this was an experience I was meant to have in some inexplicable way, and I accepted right then and there without a second thought, or even a conversation with my family or boyfriend. Josh was angry with me at first, but supportive, so two weeks later I stood in front of 1040 Fifth Avenue and looked up at the towering building with its limestone and intricate carvings here and there. Kate greeted me at the front door as I stepped out of the car that she had sent to pick me up from the airport. This place even had a porte-cochere to protect the residents from rain as they walked from the door to their private chauffeur-driven vehicles. I would be staying here with the Wallace family, in the staff quarters with the rest of the staff of course, so that I could be available to Kate at all times. And that's how my New York adventure started. 

Eight years later, I am still working for Kate, still living in my little room in the staff quarters, but I love it. I have a little bathroom and everything I need. Food is prepared for us all by the cook, Rosalia. She is a little, plump woman in her mid-fifties, kind and compassionate, not to mention deeply passionate about the food she prepared for the whole household. Along with me and Rosalia, the other staff in our quarters are Magdalena, the housekeeper, and Mitch, who is Mr Wallace’s assistant. There was more staff, of course, like the private chauffeur’s, who didn't live on-site and throughout any given day, people would be in and out of the place like it was a busy office space as opposed to the home that it actually is. 

Now, Mr Wallace was a very busy man, working non-stop whether it be at his office, or at his home office. It seemed as whenever I saw him, he was walking in fast strides, either on the phone, or confirming things with Mitch who half sprinted behind him with his I-pad, trying not to trip over anything as he tried to keep up and take down notes at the same time. Henry, that was Mr Wallace’s first name, was a little older than Kate, not so much that you could accuse her of being a gold digger, but he was approaching his fifties now. He didn't look it though, he was a very handsome man, and kind. Imagine George Clooney, a man that just seems to get more gorgeous with every passing year. Kate and Henry were busy, always had their hands full with whatever it was, but somehow they always found time to share a meal together every day. Even if it meant having Rosalia heat up some leftovers for them at midnight. They were very much in love, and it was clear in the way they looked at one another, and how they always made sure to have that little moment to themselves every day. A couple of years ago, Kate had confided in me that she could not have children of her own, it was something that had weighed on her since she was only sixteen years old, but with Henry, she said, ‘I have all I need with that man, all the love I could ever wish for.’ It was a shame really, because I knew that Kate would have made an amazing mother, and Henry a great dad. ‘I'm alright,’ she had assured me. ‘I've come to peace with it, and learned not to dwell on something that will never be.’ 

So, that's the short version of how I ended up here, doing a job I adored in a city I loved with all my heart, so I think it's about time we move forward. Jump to the part where my real story starts. Spoiler alert; it involves a warm summer day in Central Park, a ruined dress, and an extremely handsome man named Chris. 

******

If you liked what you read, how about slamming that reblog button and help spread my work? If you leave a little comment on top of that, you’ll be in my heart forever. 

Want a tag? I got you!! Just send me an ASK and I'll add you. 

Tags: @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss

#Chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #Chris Evans series #chris evans au #OS #chris evans fluff

[moons-rising]

for crystalline gala, the frosty boys of clan two moons:

KRIARASIN & DUSHAKO, the only survivors of the doomed Glistening Woods research expedition of 4E 16′024.

The Glistening Woods are a small location found just within the border between Cyrwend-Ede and the Great Wastes, the vast desert stretching out to the north-east of clan territory. In late 4E 16′023 various arcane intruments within the Lunar Library in Sunstone Keep suddenly came to life, indicating to the researchers present that a powerful eruption of magical energy had occured somewhere within clan territory. In the days that followed, clan scouts searched the land far and wide until the source of the magical disruption was found:

Rising from the arid landscape of the north-east has always been a large, ancient crumbling tower ruin, dated long ago by clan researchers to the Second Era. Containing a small natural water source and surrounded by a sparse forest, it had for centuries been a welcome landmark for dragons entering clan territory from the desert. Now however, instead of the sandstone-yellows and leaf-greens, scouts circling above the ruin only saw one thing: crystalline ice, glistening in faint shades of blue, stark against the surrounding savannah.

Over the next months, the clan prepared a research expedition to investigate magical anomaly, including hiring two ice dragons, life-partners from a clan home to the Snowsquall Tundra: Kriarasin, to serve as a guard as the only large dragon in the group, and Dushako, whose small serpentine form would help scout the area, as none of the clan’s dragons had much experience with the ice element beyond theoretical study. The expedition set out in early 4E 16′024, consisting of five researchers (a skydancer, a fae, two pearlcatchers and another spiral), all carried on Kriarasin’s back along with equipment.

They reached the anomaly two days laters, set up camp not far from the outer edge of the frozen forest, and then made their way into the anomaly. They quickly found that the forest had not been just covered in frost, but had in fact been replaced completely by ice: every tree, every leaf, even every small forest animal, every living thing had become a cold, faintly see-through statue of itself. The expedition reached the actual tower ruin not long after, finding every stone covered in snow, with long spikes of ice radiation out from the structure.

What happened next remains largely a mystery, as even Dushako and Kriarasin remember very little beyond entering the large, ruined inner chamber of the tower, finding a massive floating crystalline orb, followed by an explosion of blinding white. When they came to, Dushako found himself cradled by Kriarasin’s massive form, in an attempt to shelter him and the rest of the research group from whatever had happened... though with little success.

Carefully unfolding, the two ice dragons found their companions frozen where they stood, surprise on their faces, cold and see-through just like the trees and animals outside. Dushako himself felt chilled to the bone for perhaps the first time in his entire life, a strange and utterly uncomfortable feeling for an Ice dragon. Kriarasin however... Hit by the full brunt of the magical anomaly, the Imperial had been altered somehow. From his head to his shoulders, along his wings, torso and tail, his flesh had partially turned to crystalline ice much like the other dragons, but unlike them... he was still alive.

With nothing they could do to help their frozen companions, the two ice dragons fled the tower and the ice forest, leaving behind their small camp, running until they could no longer see the silhouette of the tower looming behind them. Unable to fly with his wings partially frozen and his entire body radiating pain, Kriarasin carried his small partner for days through Cyrwend-Ede’s arid, light-flooded landscape, following the Tsona’Vakka river, shivering even in the full light of the sun, until they finally encountered one of the clan’s hunting groups who rushed to their aid, helping them back to Sunstone Keep.

In the city, the Kriarasin and Dushako were placed in the care of Bones and his healers, retelling all they could remember of the expedition as they recovered from the ordeal. Dushako, sheltered from the direct energy of the anomaly, recovered completely, the light and warmth of the coastal Sunbeam Ruins slowly thawing the strange, unnatural cold from his body. No one could figure out how to free Kriarasin from the ice that had claimed large parts of his body, but the clan’s healers worked day and night for weeks until they could figure out how to at least free him of the pain that came with his new condition.

In the months following the failed expedition, other members of the clan visited the newly named Glistening Woods, conducting further research and careful experiments, but there was little further information to be found. The frozen corpses of the five lost researchers were recovered by brave volunteers so they could be laid to rest properly in the clan’s burial grounds. The massive crystal orb remained floating in its place in the center of the tower chamber, unfazed by anything happening around it. Over the following years, the clan’s arcane instruments would record more magical outbursts from the tower at random intervals, but whatever had first woken the strange orb remains a mystery.

Now, in 4E 16′179, Kriarasin and Dushako have been a part of Clan Two Moons for over 150 years.

Kriarasin, forever scarred by the anomaly, now guards the clans underground vaults, sparkling frost spreading wherever he goes, covering and preserving everything left in the vaults with him. Dushako, unwilling to abandon his life-partner, made his home in the small above-ground structure built over the vault entrance, and regularly visits his friend. Dragons of other elements enter the vaults less often, the effects of Kriarasin’s condition uncomfortable and sometimes even painful to many of them, but many make the effort to go personally and have at least as small conversation with the imperial whenever they need anything from the vaults.

Dushako took up scouting work for the clan, exploring his new home and exploring the many ancient ruins that dot the local landscape like bleached bones. Energetic and curious, he also often spends time at the harbour and sky-dock, chatting with visitors from all over Sornieth and especially seeking out any travellers from the Southern Icefield for news from home. When he’s not out and about he’s in the vaults, spending time with Kriarasin and sharing stories. The two of them still sometimes miss the familiar snowy landscape of their home but they are happy with the place they found with the clan.

#full story under the cut #i've meant to write this out for a while #changed up the actual dragons so this was a good time #flight rising #clanlore

[roccoxstone]

From the moment Savannah left, Rocco wished she hadn’t. Her leaving wasn’t his intention. He would rather it have been him to go. Danny was off around the world, and he could have gone there to cool off. As a second choice, he could have gone to the Starks, though given the current state of things, that was a distant second. What Piper had done had left him too embarrassed to even face David and Lindsey beyond what was necessary. That had definitely contributed to his crippling loneliness. But she had gone. She had left him there alone, with only ghosts for company. 

It would have been easier if Piper or Caesar were there. Neither were anywhere to be seen. For Caesar, this was normal. Their mom had once joked that he was part feral tomcat, roaming through the city at his leisure and only returning home once hunger kicked in. Without Mom there to feed him, and provide the small amounts of love and affection he needed, there was even less reason for him to return home. For Piper, the radio silence was strange. Rocco had called and text her so many times, but now, the phone didn’t even ring anymore. The notifications on his texts showed that they hadn’t been delivered. Her phone was off. He couldn’t even leave her messages - the automated robot on the other end of the line informed him, time and time again, that her inbox was full. He still called sometimes, just to hear her chirpy voice explaining that she couldn’t come to the phone right now. It seemed like a relic from a time where things were better. Maybe that’s why he liked to hear it so much. That, and the fact nobody else seemed to be worried. Hearing her voicemail made it feel like things were okay again, if only for a few seconds before Miss Robot denied him of the option of leaving her a message to let him know he was thinking of her. 

Time almost seemed to stand still once Savannah had left. The sun outside had set and rose again, but he hadn’t slept. He had barely even rested, drifting aimlessly from room to room looking for something, anything, to occupy his time. But Piper’s room was empty. Caesar’s room was empty. The beds were neatly made and totally untouched, everything in them still. He knew his mom’s room would likely be the same. It took a long time for him to build up the courage to even open the door. Once he did, he was hit with a wave of nausea. The room, like his siblings, was untouched. However, nobody had been in to clean up. The door had been shut for the day she died, and if not for the slightly dusty smell, he could have sworn she had only just left. The sheets had been kicked to the bottom of the bed, as she always did, never bothering to take the time to actually make it. The pyjamas she had taken off that morning had been tossed carelessly onto the chair by her desk, and a book sat on the bedside table, open and facing downwards to save her place.

Rocco kicked off his shoes, padding cautiously into the room. A part of him didn’t want to disturb the world inside of it, a place where his mom was still here, running errands or singing loudly in the shower or filling the apartment with laughter. It was a world that was far better than the one he found himself in now. It was a time that he could never go back to, and it hit him in that moment how little he had appreciated it at the time. Frankie Stone was always so unshakably present that he assumed that would always be the case. 

He bent to pick up the pyjamas on the chair, raising the top to his face, rubbing the fabric against his cheek. Immediately, he recognised his mom in the smell. It was the most comforting thing in the world. He almost wanted to drop them again, leave them unsullied by him, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he let himself fall onto the bed, clutching the pyjamas close, and pulled the cover over his head. Cocooned in the scent of his mother, Rocco finally slept. 

He wasn’t sure how long he was there for. When he awoke, it was still light outside. It could have been the same day, or a week later. Rocco couldn’t tell. For a moment, he forgot everything. Frankie’s smell was still strong around him, and it took a moment for everything to hit him again. In that exact moment, he realised what it was that had woke him up. Somebody was at the door, knocking to be let it. It was probably Savannah, and he wasn’t sure he had it in him to speak to her right now, but he got up anyway. Painstakingly, he rearranged the covers at the bottom of the bed, wanting to make sure the room was exactly as his mom had left it. Leaving the room, he shut the door. That was a place just for him, now, and if Savannah was at the door, he didn’t want her in there. He held on to her pyjama top, though, gripping it tightly in his fist like a comfort blanket. He couldn’t bring himself to let go of that just yet. Bracing himself for what was to come, he opened the door. It wasn’t Savannah at the other side, though. He blinked a little, unable to register that it was Casey who had come to see him, and cleared his throat. 

“Um, hi.” His voice sounded like it belonged to someone else, so hoarse and distant the he didn’t recognise himself in it. “Uh... is everything okay?” 

@caseylarson​

#c:casey

[alexsfictionaddiction]

12 New Thrillers To Take You Through To Autumn

As the nights start to draw in, you may find yourself hankering after a chunky darker read to match the view outside. Maybe you’ve still got a cosy staycation on the horizon before the end of the summer and want to throw yourself down a twisty path of secrets and lies. I’m a magpie for good, page-turning mysteries and complex, well-written characters, so I wanted to share my favourite 2020 thrillers with you in the hope that you’ll find something intriguing. Enjoy and stay safe! -Love, Alex x

1. Dead To Her by Sarah Pinborough.

In the sun-soaked, wealthy social circles of Savannah, Georgia, Marcie Maddox has finally managed to establish herself as the centrepoint of this lavish, sumptuous world. Then her husband’s boss brings a beautiful new wife back from London and Marcie’s place in Savannah society begins to look a little precarious. How far will she go to maintain her position and keep the wandering eyes of her husband firmly on her? Flawed, unpredictable characters and curveballs everywhere, Dead To Her is a revenge thriller that incorporates sun, sex and superstition.

2. Invisible Girl by Lisa Jewell.

When vulnerable 17-year-old Saffyre Maddox goes missing, the entire Hampstead community have their own ideas about what happened to her. With local reports of sexual attacks on young women, Cate Fours, mother-of-two and wife of Saffyre’s former psychologist Roan, has her suspicions about Owen Pick, the odd single man who lives opposite them. Invisible Girl is unnerving, twisty and highly addictive with believable characters who you both suspect and empathise with. A unique, mind-fuck of a domestic suspense novel.

3. The Octopus by Tess Little.

Despite not having spoken for ten years, Elspeth is invited to celebrate her ex-husband Richard’s 50th birthday at his stunning LA mansion, so she is surprised to discover that there are just seven other guests in attendance. The next morning, Richard is dead and of course, everyone is a suspect. Including Richard’s pet octopus Persephone. This strange, heady mystery has strong Christie vibes and explores the haziness of memory, the horrors and repercussions of abusive relationships and the dangers of power.

4. Nothing Can Hurt You by Nicola Maye Goldberg.

When a student is killed, her boyfriend confesses citing temporary insanity. His acquittal rocks the community and everyone has questions, creating a relentless search of justice and explanation. Inspired by a true story, this riveting mystery reads like a collection of short stories, as we hear from a multitude of voices of varying degrees of closeness to the victim. Focusing on gendered violence and white privilege, it’s a very timely haunting read.

5. The Search Party by Simon Lelic.

Sadie Saunders has been missing for a week and the whole town thinks she is dead but her brother, boyfriend and three of her friends are determined to find out what really happened. However, the search party quickly takes a dark turn and all of them are under suspicion, when secrets gradually start to spill out. Stephen King-esque character dynamics and a completely unpredictable ending, The Search Party is a claustrophobic multi-layered mystery that will keep you hooked.

6. Imperfect Women by Araminta Hall.

Nancy Hennessey has been murdered and naturally, her two best friends Eleanor and Mary suspect her secret lover to be behind it. When the investigation turns up nothing, Eleanor and Mary each struggle to deal with their grief amidst questioning how well they really knew Nancy. Imperfect Women features highly frustrating characters and an intensely intriguing mystery with themes of motherhood and lifelong female friendship. A stark reminder that life rarely sticks to our plans for it and that we should learn to love our imperfections gives this dark story a glimmer of light.

7. You Let Me In by Camilla Bruce.

Reclusive writer Cassandra Tipp has disappeared and no one knows whether she’s dead or alive. She has left her huge fortune and a manuscript addressed to her niece and nephew, full of instructions to follow and the truth behind all of the gossip and rumours that have haunted her life. Elements of magical realism and Gothic horror thread through this gripping original and imaginative novel.

8. Heatstroke by Hazel Barkworth.

During a sweltering summer, 15-year-old Lily fails to come home one afternoon. Her English teacher Rachel’s daughter Mia is Lily’s best friend and Lily’s absence leads Rachel to confront some painful home truths. Thought-provoking and intense, Heatstroke follows a woman’s mental spiral and obsession, exploring mistrust and power in an atmospheric setting.

9. The Wives by Tarryn Fisher.

Despite never having met them, Thursday has always known that her husband Seth has two other wives. Then she finds something that suggests a very different narrative to her husband’s life than the one she thought she knew. Be prepared to be taken for a very twisty unsettling ride through the depths of a complex polygamous arrangement and everything that entails in this compulsively readable thriller.

10. The Other Girl by C. D. Major.

Set in 1940s New Zealand, Edith has been locked in Seacliff Lunatic Asylum for 15 years, since the tender age of five. When her entire ward burns down, a new doctor Declan Harris begins to question whether Edith’s childhood stories have any truth to them. This fascinating historical thriller offers a unique insight into the horrors and injustices within a broken mental health system and throws in a haunting Gothic vibe for added creep factor.

11. Keep Him Close by Emily Koch.

When Alice’s son Lou is found dead, Indigo’s son Kane is accused of his murder. In an attempt to find out why her boy died, Alice befriends Indigo, keeping her true identity a secret, as Indigo fights to clear Kane’s name. But how long can this secret stay buried? If you like a few tears mixed in with your domestic drama, Keep Him Close is the moving, tense and sensitive read for you.

12. The Silence by Susan Allott.

When the disappearance of a neighbour from decades ago yanks Isla out of her lonely Hackney life and back to her childhood home of Sydney, Australia, she starts to question everything she thought she knew about her family and community. Is her father really capable of the unspeakable? Do the secrets run deeper into the past than anyone imagined? Set across two time periods, The Silence is a literary debut that is dark and slow-burning with heartbreaking Australian history to feed your thoughts.

#thrillers #mystery #summer reads #autumn reads #book recommendations #books #bookworm

[meshkol]

Title: Souls for Bargain Pairings/Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange (IronStrange) Warnings/Rating: Endgame spoilers!!! Summary: Stephen makes a bargain. Notes: Fuck you Marvel, fuck you Russos, and fuck you Feige.  Burn in hell. Fix-it #1 of who-knows-how-many. Unbeta'd af. Fill T-3 for the Tony Stark Bingo 2019: Reunion

***IF REBLOGGING, PLEASE TAG FOR SPOILERS!***

Stephen takes a deep breath and opens a portal to the Soul Realm.

He goes inside after performing a spell to keep his feet dry and closes the portal behind him, leaving him ‘alone’ in this realm, and he begins to walk, not knowing where he’s going in this empty place but trusting his gut instinct to guide him nevertheless. He supposes that he could use a tracking spell, but despite taking years to gather the nerve for this while simultaneously doing research and fighting battles, he finds that he’s still not quite prepared for the confrontation.

He couldn’t look into the futures of this realm so he’s flying blind, he knows – the Time Stone is powerful, yes, but it can’t interfere with the realities of the other stones. He doesn’t know how this is going to go or what to expect, and while he would make the same decision again in giving up the Time Stone, he still wants to suffer for it. He’s lived millions of lives, died millions of times, seen millions of futures, and it still hurts that the choice was on his shoulders. He’s seen the pain and grief in the eyes of everyone around him, seen the judgement in their glances, and he doesn’t blame them. He made this choice, no one else, and the guilt is eating him alive. He needs to atone for that, and what he’s doing now is a damn good start.

“You understand that you’re interfering, yes?��� a voice says from behind him.

Stephen doesn’t startle, just keeps walking and walking and walking in this barren world, and replies quietly, “I’m very good at interfering. I’m not planning on changing anything, and would you let me even if I was?”

There’s a moment of quiet, save the wet footfalls of Stephen’s boots and his even breaths, and then Warlock asks, “Then why do you come to this place?”

Stephen’s feet leave the shallow water in exchange for the dry, sandy shoreline, eyes taking in the expanse of silent desert and savannah in front of him. He’s thankful for the spell on his boots even more now that he’s on dry land, and leaves it intact in order to have more stable footing on the dunes as he responds, “Closure. Absolution. For both of us.”

“He knows, Sorcerer Supreme,” Warlock says. “He understands the sacrifice that he made, and understands the role everyone played. I do not believe he is happy, but he has accepted his fate. Do not give him hope where there is none.”

Stephen resists the urge to spin around and shake Adam Warlock like a ragdoll because he needs to play nice here. It’s necessary to not antagonise him needlessly, not when Stephen needs something that only Warlock can grant.

“Come, this way,” Warlock says, finally stepping ahead of Stephen though his feet do not touch the sand. “The sooner you get your closure, the sooner you can stop disturbing the peace of this realm.”

Stephen follows Warlock without replying, watching the dim red light turn his bright blond hair into strands of sharp vermillion, and tries to steady his heartbeat. He knows that his physical form is still safely absconded in his bedroom on Bleecker Street and that it’s not a real reaction, but it still feels real, despite being muted. It’s been three years since the end of the War, three long years of celebration and battles and piecing the decaying planet back together again after so long being neglected, but the distance of time between that final battle and now hasn’t erased a lot of pain and suffering. He’s terrified that it’s all in vain, terrified of the reactions from the people he’s going to see, terrified that Warlock will deny him even despite the case he’s going to make, but he has to stay focussed and calm, needs to stay in control. After all, there’s no point in fretting – he has the Time Stone, so he can always rewind and try again until he’s successful. Stephen’s always been tirelessly persistent, and he refuses to accept defeat.

In the distance, a shape comes into sight like a mirage. It’s simple and calm – only a small oasis in the middle of the endless desert – and three figures are sitting around a copse of palm trees and dry grasses. He knows who they are, knows that they were summoned by Warlock’s will alone, and his heart returns to its racing staccato, sweat dampening his palms and the skin above his upper lip. He forces himself to not wipe his hands on his robes and drag his hand through his hair, nervous ticks that will only give away how apprehensive he is, and by the time he can make out the individual features of his peers, he feels overly damp despite the lack of temperature.

They stop right in front of the figures, Warlock taking a seat on the grasses next to a small pond of red-tinted water, and Stephen swallows, trying to get his thoughts in order so he can speak coherently. His hands are shaking, both from the nerve damage that he feels even in an astral form and from nerves, and he has the sudden urge to start pacing. He refrains, despite the itch, and swallows again, opening his mouth to speak to his companions.

Except Tony gets there first.

“Hey Doc,” he says, looking fit and healthy (not half-charred and lifeless, red- and yellow-tinted eyes bulging out of socket and blood seeping from his wounds sluggishly as his heart fails, so quiet and haunted as he of-so-slowly finds rest from the agony in his broken body), but there’s an edge of desperation to his eyes, and Stephen doesn’t even have the chance to wonder why before Tony’s letting it all out. “Morgan...how is she? Is she alive, happy? C’mon, you’ve gotta know. I don’t need to know what’s happening on the other side, or how everything is, not even Pep or Peter, I—I just—please.”

Stephen feels a bit of tension leave his shoulders and he replies quietly, “She’s doing well, Tony. She’s seven now, and apparently quite the firecracker, smart as a whip and with a streak of mischief a mile wide, just like her father.”

Tony laughs, wet and harsh even as he sinks to his knees in clear, bone-deep relief, and he whispers in a croak, “Thank you. Thank you.”

“Clint? What about Laura and the kids?” asks Natasha, green eyes big and damp, and she steps over to Tony to rest a hand in his hair, stroking through the strands in absent comfort as if they’ve done this a thousand times. They probably have, stuck in the Soul Realm for all eternity, forced to simply exist without form or reason, without purpose.

“Good. Pardons came fairly quick, but he opted out of joining the Avengers once again except under extenuating circumstances,” Stephen explains. “They seem to be happy and at peace, and I can think of no better life for them. I know your little namesake is deep in cahoots with Morgan, as they’re always hotwiring something or another. It drives Pepper and Clint insane.”

Tony laughs, even as he begins to sob with his face buried in his hands, and Natasha drops to her own knees, wrapping her arms gingerly around him. “Good for them,” she teases. “Nothing better than having your own personal Stark to make things interesting. Or outrageously dramatic.”

Stephen smiles, a bit weakly but honest, and turns to Gamora. “Your family is well. They check in frequently, and are keeping in high spirits. Thor’s with them, and from what I hear around the universe, they’re causing mayhem as to be expected.”

Gamora smirks, though her own eyes are wet with moisture, and she rubs her arms with the palms of her hands as if she’s cold. “That’s a massacre waiting to happen. I’m surprised that Peter hasn’t thrown him overboard yet.”

“I’m sure he’s tried,” Stephen admits honestly, “but Thor’s a tough one when he’s motivated. They...have a lot in common.”

Her face stays mostly impassive but Stephen can physically feel the pain, which is somewhat surprising. He’s not naturally empathetic, and he’s not using any spells to be so, so he figures it’s part of the Soul Realm. He’s torn from that brief train of thought when she asks calmly, “Why are you here?”

“Ah, that is the question,” Warlock chimes, fingers tapping against a knee. “I cannot let them go, and I know you know this.”

“Your peaceful existence was decimated when Thanos destroyed the stones,” Stephen says, fighting to keep his own voice calm. “If it hadn’t been for the sacrifice of these three individuals, you would still be lost, you and all the people that have been claimed by the Soul Stone.”

“Should I help all of them leave this realm then?” Warlock argues evenly, betraying none of his emotions. Stephen sees the others stiffen from the corner of his eyes, eyes widening with the sudden possibility of freedom, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the man who was originally gifted the Stone by the powerful High Evolutionary.

“That is not my decision, and would likely consume a significant amount of power,” Stephen replies. “I am only interested in these three, to put them back where they rightly belong for the coming conflicts of this universe. We cannot do it without them.”

“Have you even asked them if they want to fight?” Warlock questions, a twinge of sardonic amusement in his tone. “This realm is peaceful, if a bit lonely without their loved ones, and returning would only lead to strife and further grief. Would it not be kinder to let them rest?”

“I don’t have to ask them,” Stephen says. “Their loved ones are under constant threat – do you not think that they would suffer through anything to keep those people safe? All three of them have already made their sacrifice for those loved ones, and they will continue to fight on the side of life until they are unable to do so.”

“You act like there is a great calamity coming. What do you know?” Warlock demands.

Stephen takes a deep breath and says with as much flatness as he can muster, “Galactus, Adam. He’s on the move.”

Gamora inhales sharply as Natasha says, “Who is that? What are we facing here?” It’s comforting to hear, as if it’s already been decided that Warlock will help release them and she’ll be joining some unknown fight. He shakes his head, silently asking her to ask questions later and opting instead to focus on Warlock, who looks pale and troubled. He knows that Warlock has experience with the Devourer, but the system containing Earth hasn’t faced such a threat before. The Infinity Stones and Thanos had been mere child’s play in comparison, and yes, Stephen needs to atone for his actions during the War, but Earth needs defenders too and besides, Tony Stark is a man that Earth needs. Between him, Reed Richards, and Bruce Banner, they cover every specialty and science known to man, and Stephen knows that Earth desperately needs that to face the coming threat.

“I cannot create bodies, Sorcerer Supreme,” Warlock says eventually.

Instantly, Stephen retorts, “You don’t have to.” There’s a beat of silence, one of Warlock’s eyebrows quirking up in a silent inquiry and slight incredulity, and Stephen swallows once again before he says quietly, “I am the master of the Time Stone. I retrieved all of the bodies and, with the help of select individuals who I entrusted to keep silent, utilised both magic and Tony Stark’s modified Extremis to repair the soulless bodies before putting them into cryo. Putting their souls back into their own bodies is less troublesome than corpses.”

“Pepper...” Tony whispers, jaw dropped and looking horrified.

Stephen understands where Tony’s head’s at, so he explains as gently as he can, “I wouldn’t have told even her, but I needed the Extremis, and honestly, I would not want to be on her murder list if this does work and she wasn’t in the loop. I made sure to emphasise that this was a gamble and might not come to fruition, so she has no exuberant hope for your return, and I can assure you that your daughter has not been made aware of any remote possibility.”

“My God,” Gamora says almost silently. “This is actually possible.”

“Theoretically, yes,” Stephen says. “I’ve done the research and he—” Stephen gestures to Warlock, who looks carefully expressionless. “—is capable of it even without my assistance.” Stephen takes a deep breath and says with heavy finality, “Adam. I need them. This universe needs them. You have to help us or Galactus will devour us all. You know what he’s capable of, and you know the stakes here.”

There is nothing but silence, and then Warlock seems to steel himself as he says, “Alright, Stephen. But I’m coming with you.”

Tony opens his eyes.

Everything is stiff, which he supposes he should’ve expected considering that he was frozen for over three years, but ultimately he’s unconcerned in the wake of everything else. In his immediate vision, blurry as it is, he can see Pepper and Happy, Peter and Harley, and a tall, young girl with his own brown eyes and dark hair, a wide grin on her face and tears streaming down her cheeks. She’s beautiful and perfect, his precious little angel, and all he can do is reach helplessly towards her despite his shaking, weak arms, his own tears already starting to trickle down his face.

She rushes towards him despite a few half-hearted words to take it easy, but he doesn’t care that she’s crushing him with the strength of her hug if it means that he can hold her, doesn’t care that he can feel his hospital gown growing wet and sticky with mucus and tears if he can bury his own face into her sweet-smelling hair, doesn’t care that she’s sobbing so loudly that it hurts his ears if he can just cherish the fact that he gets to hear her voice again, slightly different with age but just as precious and familiar. He loves this tiny little human, his flesh and blood and soul and heart, with every iota of his person, and it is an immeasurable gift to be able to hold her once again, to hear her choke out I love you daddy I’ve missed you so much though the tears.

He weeps and whispers soft words into his daughter’s hair, and breathes.

“Hey stranger,” he hears echo into the empty front from of the Sanctum.

Stephen recognises the voice but doesn’t stop his reading until he gets to the end of the chapter, humming slightly under his breath as he closes the finished book. He glances up, taking in the very-much-alive man standing a bit awkwardly in the door, fiddling with a phone in his hand like he’s itching to tear it apart for something to do.

“Tony,” Stephen greets in return, pleased when his tone remains calm despite the nerves in his stomach. They’ve interacted a lot over the past year, coming up with plans for Galactus while managing the veritable madhouse that is Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff Are Alive! He’s seen Tony in so many ways (a father, a friend, and champion...a complete arsehole) and he understands why people are always saying that Anthony Stark is a conundrum. He’s the type of man that can only be loved or hated, no grey area in between, and oh, Stephen loves him. Desperately so.

It’s only gotten worse since everything settled, because he knows it’s not appropriate nor is it the right time. They’re preparing for the next conflict, and despite a year to come to terms with it, Pepper is still married to Happy Hogan now, and Stephen knows that Tony’s both gutted and happy that she’s moved on with a great man who’s treated his daughter right. And regardless, Stephen did send Tony on a suicide mission, and no amount of casual flirting or playfully sarcastic banter can erase that, he knows. Stephen’s going mad with want, but he’s not an idiot – he hasn’t got a chance with Tony and he’s accepted that.

Tony huffs out a laugh, then says without fanfare, “If you’d told me that I was going to die during that fight, I would’ve still done it, y’know. I had my priorities, and my priority was Morgan and Pepper. I’d do it again, even if I hadn’t gotten out of that boring-as-hell desert.”

“I couldn’t take that chance,” Stephen replies. He hadn’t even thought to look at a future where he had told Tony how it had to end, because they hadn’t had enough time when Stephen had had the answer already. He doesn’t think Tony’s lying, honestly – he’s self-sacrificing and pure-hearted like that, despite his reputation – but it doesn’t really matter anymore.

“Yeah, I know,” Tony sighs, then leans against the Cauldron of the Cosmos with a smirk on his face.

“Stop it,” Stephen drawls, fighting a smile.

“Make me,” Tony parries back, grin widening and a spark of mischief in his eyes.

Stephen’s entire body throbs with want, and even as he’s fighting the urge to rise from his chair and pull Tony against his own body instead of the cauldron, he hears himself saying lightly, “And how would you like me to do that?”

“Well,” Tony says airily, eyes rolling up to the ceiling as if thinking, “you could send me to an alternate dimension, but that would null all your efforts to bring me back to life and where would you all be without my sparkling personality and charm. You could also portal me to Tasmania, but that just seems needlessly dramatic and a tad bit rude. Personally, though, I vote for dinner. Le Bernardin, eight o’clock sharp? I’d hate to miss our reservation, and God knows you’re dragging your feet on asking me out yourself. Idiot.”

Stephen stares at him for a long time, mouth open and eyes wide, and then he replies quietly, “Sounds like a date.”

Tony grins.

Also read on ao3.

#tony stark #stephen strange #iron man #doctor strange #gamora #natasha romanoff #adam warlock #morgan stark #pepper potts #happy hogan #ironstrange #avengers endgame #endgame compliant #fix-it #endgame spoilers #tsbd19 #tony stark bingo #rowan writes

[twistedsimblr]

“ Trust Me.” Pt 2

I had no idea that bringing Meg to one of these “meetings” would result in an ass-whooping I never forgot.

Apparently, you had to be part of a clan, Yeah everyone who knows me well in this community knows how I

Feel about fucking clans.  Bunch of cliquey bastards   I don’t care how polite they seemed. I was never

Going to be one of them, I was an outcast a freak a mongrel  I wasn’t pure  But I was still a Grand Master

Of Brindleton Bay that had to be respected.

But I was wrong. Everything seemed to be going fine we ate food was okay. But I found it kinda odd that

Meg was getting a lot of attention.

She handled it pretty well and seemed flattered but nothing seemed to “work” on her

Next thing I knew we were separated.  They were onto us. They didn’t look too kindly on those who didn’t belong to something.  I didn’t think I needed to do as much as I did, it was just a misunderstanding. At least I’ll call it that.

But I did bring my gun just in case,  equipped with silver nitrate bullets I managed to take some out with a shot between the eyes and in the eye at one point When I finally was able to defend myself and my wife.

I stuck it out, as best I could despite scoring one very dead or a vampire that was going to have a very bad headache or migraines for the rest of their life.  

But my ass was beaten pretty badly  All I and Meg were doing was taking a walk outside a courtyard it had a beautiful garden. That’s where we were jumped.  to my surprise, I started taking damage quickly and even bled.  my healing factor wasn’t keeping up to the damage I was sustaining in my dark form  I was being beaten down so quickly I didn’t have a chance to act right away. They said something about

Being a fool for coming here with a human, and that I didn’t have the protection of a clan.

To which I replied... Before they nearly knocked me out of my misery. “I don’t need protecting...  but you... might” And fuck clans and fuck you.  

I hunched over defeated. But I could feel this power coursing through my veins I never felt before. I felt warm but most of all I felt angry. Like something within me was begging me to be released. I started hearing voices..Voices I hadn’t heard in a long time. A very long time... I honestly have no clue what my origin is but in a strange way  I would hear occasionally a female voice.  But it was not Megs... I still to this day do not know whose it was,

I felt myself being lifted. Whilst this was happening. Until Meg's voice cried out. “STOP!” and she fell silent sniffling her voice shakey  “ brushing the hair away from her neck she said ”  Just no more. Leave him alone...”  “ Have at me!”  Meg was clearly in distress but not willing to watch me maybe die. I could hear her crying but faintly. One already eagerly took upon themselves to almost help themselves

I had to act fast before they did anything to her.  I fell to the ground and the moment I did things started to get really.... really dark.  Like I was creating this dark bubble of dark emotions and dragging everyone involved in it. Not only that it basically knocked out the other vampires' ability to do anything.  But bite her one was frozen in that state. Meg closed her eyes seeing her life flash before her eyes. But everything went quiet too quiet and dark. And she’d become confused. “What... the? “ She looked over at the vampire who was posed to bite her and almost succeeded

“ I ... I hear  growling?” Her voice was quivering full of fear and puzzlement ..  I managed to say a few words to her.    “ It’s me... now GO”

I shoved her hard the impact sent her skidding a few feet but I had to do what was necessary. When she turned over her shoulder to see what was about to transpire I’ll never forget the look on her face of horror. Yet curiosity but now wasn’t the time to act on it.

I’d temporarily slowed time to allow Meg a chance to escape.  And to deliver my killing blows  I also didn’t have much time this takes a lot of out of me so I had to act fast as well.

Roaring would be a stupid idea here I didn’t want to draw attention to myself,  I mean I was already going to come out of this naked because who needs clothes when you’ve completely faded into darkness and shadow. They were frozen in time like statues.

I slashed through them  As they stood in place one still thinking it was going to bite my wife. I slapped him across his face distorting it for laughs sometimes I forget I can do that.  I mean it literally looked like his head wasn’t on straight  healing factor or not he’ll never get a chance to use it. This would be a long recovery period if there was one We’d be long gone by then hopefully.

My teeth were a little larger than the average vampire and I also had a double set of fangs so when I bite it hurts a lot because my fangs have a tendency to get stuck. Also, I can cause a severe allergic reaction in some people like a bee sting or a mosquito bite causing people to blow up sometimes even though I close up the wound afterward everytime. Must be my spit or something.

Vampires have a blood pool, so do I and if I don’t keep this... part of me fed I’ll also die It can literally kill me.. The process was nothing short of hilarious .  when that played back in real time.

 He didn’t know what to react to first the scream only lasted a few seconds before his face twisted like a wet rag being rung out before he finally fell to the ground in pieces in a zig-zag pattern  I kinda butchered him too.

When I’m as black as the night. I am able to quickly slink away. I made sure my work was done quietly not only did I tear them to ribbons and their pieces could be quickly sold off to the nearest meat market here if there was one here. I had to feed quickly  I grabbed what I could

And ran myself I also didn’t want Meg like this to see me cannibalize my own kind I’m not like other vampires.  I don’t even think I was a vampire at this point  .. What the hell was I anymore?

There is a bonus to this side of me eating them grants me temporary abilities for a time. As well as their weaknesses which sucks.

So I gotta stay out of the sun for a while after this.

What I didn’t know was this entire time I’d been being watched... By my biological father. Who would have thought I’d be related to Vlad Dracul  I mean can you get any closer to Dracula or is that just a last name...

Anyways. He’d ensured Meg made it to safety. I still couldn’t speak I mean maybe I could but barely. I had to force myself to try at least if it came to it.

I didn’t trust him at first  and I continued eating... like some lion on the Savannah I had blood all over me my face  you could see it glisten in the pale moonlight that shone down on the clearing I decided to dine in as it dripped from my  chin The light revealed I wasn’t pitch dark just a very very dark shade of indigo or navy blue that looked almost black.

My tats started to glow red as a warning to stay away.. I growled lowly you know that cool growl that lions do I kinda did that.

I had a complete turn around when I heard these words. “ Incredible..... such power .”   Immediately I perked up when I saw these two strange glowy eyes looking at me from the darkest of shadows I bared my bloody teeth ‘Easy my son” He said putting his hand out  I  mean no harm.

“Son? I hoarsed through this form. My parents were dead at least one of them were anyway.  Go away with your preachy bs I thought.

“ Malikor is it?,  I only nodded. And returned to gorging.  “ I am in awe .”  “That’s  great?”  I thought where was he going with this.  He started to come closer and I was getting angrier. Every hair on my body stood on edge like some crazed beast which I kinda was anyway on guard.  “ I sensed your power and it brought me here, to you. I was not expecting to find... you... Conceived from a secret a secret  I wanted nothing more than to be kept as such and didn’t actually happen. But now that I see you I am glad it did... You are indeed a lost child of mine.

  “The fuck? This guy was pulling my leg. But holy fucking hell was he tall

Taller than I had to be at least 6’7 maybe taller.   “Your wife is safe..”   I...  he began.. 

Could have said that first, before you went on a strange almost senile tangent about some nonsense about being related to you You know something I actually care about. I thought to myself. 

 As he took a good look at me.  I watched him intently. Ready to fight should he challenge me. This could be a diversion.

A distraction. “ Don’t.... feed... me ... bullshit. Stop.... wasting.... my ... time ” I warned... still in this form. Forcing words to escape my throat as I tore off pieces of bloody flesh and continued my feast of shame. I hated when people saw me like this. I mean I don’t have much class but I at least  wouldn’t mind my dignity not being disturbed this is kinda gross hell Meg hasn’t even seen me do this

I want to keep it that way.    I was starting to lose this form  I was growing more and more tired so my snacking on leftovers became more frantic. . He stood there for a moment staring it made it increasingly difficult to continue eating it was almost like he was strangely infatuated with me.  So I stopped entirely it was too awkward.

“. I don’t have time for this crap I grumbled.. mad at myself for putting my beloved in so much danger. And being still hungry.

People were fucking nuts here and at that point, I reverted mostly back to my regular self completely but I was in pain for once. And didn’t know what to do.

“You need to rest in a coffin to gain your strength back.”  this massive vampire said behind me.   “Yeah no, I’ll stick with a comfy bed thanks,” I grumbled.

“I suppose that would work too..”   I started to hold my side and walk I was pretty banged up  humans naturally can’t really hurt me physically but  supernaturals  on the other hand, if they got the upper hand, could

... And he was still following me.  “Come on man I’m stark naked do you really have to follow me?” Who are you anyway?

“I am Vlad the Impaler.”    ‘The what?”  I half looked over my shoulder listening to my surroundings.

“ Would  you like to search for her in that state on your own without knowing where to start in that state, because I can leave.” He said with an eyebrow half-cocked and a smirk forming across his face

“Ugh...” I rolled my eyes I suppose it can't get any worse. “Alright lead the way.”  He ushered me through a rather heavily brushed area  

Of course, he did Ow... vile weeds!   He took me to a marsh-like area  Where I found Meg seated on a rock her dress muddied and torn from running and likely tripping a few times she’d been sniffling. But she was humming a tune to obviously self soothe her self.

She kinda loses it after a bit when she’d been waiting for a while it’s a weird tick she has  ...She had a big stick in her hand drawing something in the mud.

Also kind of weird but she was surrounded by fireflies but she glowed it like this pond glowed she looked even more attractive to be honest with this eerie bioluminescent glow highlighting her curvy chubby frame.

The sound of us rustling through the bushes Sent her over the edge she grabbed the stick not that it was going to do anything, and held it like a spear.

“ Who's there? Show yourself!”

EEEK...   she took off to hide behind the tree the huge rock was jutting out from getting slightly bogged down in the mud.

“Meg?” I called out to her “ Mal?” Meg peeked around the tree   “Is that you?”

“ Are you blind woman?”  Meg cautiously approached big stick still in hand, I can’t really blame her I kinda taught her to be wary.

Not every supernatural can be trusted. And it might not have been me.   I, however, let my guard down I went to reach down and embrace her and she conked me with this thick stick on the head. Snapping it in the process.

“OW WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!  a devilish grin crossed her features that wit I loved so much about her shining through.

“I was just making sure.” She looked up and smiled at me putting her hand on my chest to which I kissed and enclosed my much bigger handover and held closer to my heart. Our deep intense stare was broken by that huge vampire clearing his throat.

“They’ll be looking for you.” It’s best you leave  - Just then Meg spoke up and walked up to Vlad showing no fear to him she reached out a tiny hand to shake his hand.  Vlad thank you... for keeping me safe. Maybe we’ll come to visit you in Forgotten Hollow.

“I’d ... I’d like that  .”  He genuinely seemed shocked like someone actually wanted to visit him. And his family. The family I’m apparently related to somehow.

“There is a Tree love, he began in this vale that is a portal to your home world the portal opens at midnight and 3 am  Why    I don’t know but you and Malikor can get home safely  I will remain until I know you have left the area safely I will stand watch. Until then you should rest you, unfortunately, missed the midnight bus.”

“WELL, THAT’S JUST FUCKIN GREAT.”  I piped up a few feet away.  ‘Do get some rest until then.

Meg found a spot a few feet away from the glowy pond and made a small bed out of dry grass and found her self asleep within minutes having tuckered out quickly from running and she ran for a bit apparently.

And then there was me naked like the day I was born, but I didn’t care at this point I wanted answers.

I didn’t even have to ask he saw me approaching still half staggering feeling weak with this look on my face.

“SPILL IT.” I half yelled while whispering

“ Very well, Though  I don’t have much your mother was an alien disguised as a human researching the human race.

 Earth plant life and animals and of course us vampires ... But then she discovered a different breed of humans, humans that could use magic that ... he paused and gritted his teeth becoming angry. Can become vampires as well as those who could wield magic it for even darker purposes including... Necromancy.

She wanted to know more, she had to know more, this was an extraordinary find for her aliens had no idea about magic or anything of the sort  but it  did cost  her  she’d been tricked about given the opportunity to learn more and became possessed by a succubus summoned by a newbie warlock by mistake  which found itself to me.. resulting in you.

“That would explain me being blue.” I half chuckled. Trying to find anything to make this less strange to me. 

 So what happened to her, my mother?”   I asked.  “ She is deceased as far as I know.”  She had died giving birth to you.... supernaturals aren’t exactly kind on the body that carries them many of them are parasites to the body often depriving them of nutrients from the inside basically eating them alive.

I am not sure of the fate of your other mother.

“Wait I had two moms?”  The succubus Malikor that does, in fact, make you half an incubus...or half demon

”Not a bad band either...” I added.  We both went quiet. “Then it is true you.... really are my father.”

Before I could ask more questions or even talk some more It didn’t even feel like a few minutes before a bright light came within a trunk of a tree it opened up revealing the hollow we were waiting for  It must have been pretty late to begin with. It required me to cross the pond to wake Meg up so we could head on our way.

“That was fast.” I coughed. Standing over Meg.

. I carefully picked her up.  Which aroused her. But she huddled into me like the clumsy ass damsel she didn’t want to admit she was.  I  winced a little “I’m going to feel that tomorrow Oof...”

“ Wh--- wha what’s going on?” She sleeply rasped

 “We’re going home that’s what’s going on. I  glanced at Vlad before walking through the portal that would take us home...

#LONG POST #pt2 #story

[calculatingminutiae]

And Then He Was A Zombie

Ch. 1/?

You are beginning to regret your life choices. Mostly, you ponder as you sink nearly shin-deep into slowly fermenting brain, you lament your audacious decision to exist.

Not a soul has seen height nor hair of Mituna Captor for weeks, which is concerning considering that he's seldom let you forget about him before. The four sweeps you've known him have felt like a neon-coated, caffeine-laced retro fever dream, and the stark absence of that unabashed presence, that sheer bravado from someone so contemptible is tangible. You.

You don't miss him. Not really. You may have, once, but the long nights of your friendship passed as you grew up on diverging paths, as his unwavering confidence in his abilities (outwardly; you were privileged with the knowledge that his "natural psychic talent" came from practicing with his psi until odd hours of the morning in order to make his anxieties and excess energy recede until he could sleep) eroded at your patience, until his unrepentant criticism of your studies and etiquette (you are most certainly not a "TToTTal fuckiin bulgewrench hiigh off [y9ur] own ego iif you TThiink you're TThe only guy people are giiviin' 2hiiTT TTwo for b2 rea2on2," nor any variation thereof, thank you very much) became so great (why does she have to like him so much can't she see he won't treat her well, not like you can, he can't even treat himself well) that you drifted apart. You haven't spoken in at least two perigees, and even then the last two sweeps have only included game-related correspondence. Even if you find him irritating, even if his "prophecies" and grim predictions are clearly nonsensical and demoralizing, you must admit his abilities are valuable to the team. You are aware he must know that all twelve of you will be at a great disadvantage should any of his several, several deaths stick.

So how dare he? Drag you out here? (#unsanitary, #b9dy h9rr9r, #w9uld it kill you t9 have a deep pers9nal quest that includes air c9nditi9ning?)

Except he hasn't actually dragged you out here at all. His absence has started to concern your mutual friend (his datemate, somehow) to the point of anxious episodes, which you should have known he'd cause sooner or later. Selfish as he can be, you'd almost thought she meant more to him than this, leaving her high and dry in the metaphorical torrent of suspended ambivalence. He could well be fine, could well not. She has no way to know. Neither do you, but you foolishly volunteered to find out. You hadn't exactly thought about the consequences of reconciling, let alone explaining to her, what it is you really find.

Brains. Fire. Case closed. You knew that going in, of course, as did she, but the name of this planet seemed significantly more superficial before you had to smell it.

The air carries the caramelized odor of constant decay, beyond the blood of your own ironically-clad planet and into the territory of viscera you are entirely certain that no soul should ever actually witness outside of a morgue. The smog only makes it worse. Each sweltering, ragged breath is physical pain, and you are certain you've been burned from exposure within the first two minutes of your journey. Cranial nerves serve as pale-pink branches on trees formed from the wet, undulating flesh forming the islands you stand upon as not to plummet into the infernal abyss below. You need to throw out these shoes. Immediately. And your sweater, and yourself, a pitter-patter of droplets from above, finally, r

It's cerebrospinal fluid.

That is definitely cerebrospinal fluid.

God.

Damnit.

And, by the game's logic, it's flammable too, stirring a flare-up of the fires roaring near the borderline of this islet over the horizon, at which point you decide that you  can afford to burn all of your clothes after this if it allows you to sit in the dubious shelter of one of these brain-trees and wait out the storm.

The terrain directly in your line of sight is vast, but you feel an incessant need to give your status updates to the group. Calm down. Stare at your phone, your eleven (Ten? It may well be ten now, you consider, a shiver as you banish the thought) remaining followers in this post-apocalyptic wasteland will no doubt praise your perseverance. Even as your fingers become so disgustingly slick with Actual-Fucking-Brain-Juice that you have to give up your comprehensive progress report and actually bother to take in your surroundings.

There aren't any enemies on this island. No imps, no ogres, no basilisks or other "no-thank-you's" which you stopped having a use for long ago, their resources trivial when you consider yourself to have made a rightful living quarters at long last. Finally, no cullers to tell you what to do. Just a meager living, one you miss at the moment as you idly watch the glistening "rain" wash its way over small pale rocks in this sparse savannah.

You'd thought you were walking into woodland, but consider you may have been mistaken. The thick woods behind you beg to differ, however, but you elect to ignore that little fact just as well as you ignore the treads in the ground from what you are positive must have been a battle with more than a few psionic lasers. You must admit, you still aren't entirely sure how he does that.

He's always been psionically gifted, of course, for as long as you've known him, and he's always had the audacity to complain. To be culled by the empress herself, to be of the highest rank in his class, to be lauded and loved and lucky, so, so lucky, and complain. Even his headaches could reveal incredible things, privileged facets of the near-future, while yours. Yours bought you time locked up in your block, bouncing from culler to culler as your health fluctuated, so fragile, you, and nobody cared to deal with you. Nobody listened to your ideas, nobody took you seriously, no matter how hard you tried to become an educated, upstanding member of society on your own. And yet, once, you tried to vet his problems. "Problems," when he'd argue with you at odd hours about rock bands and the oxford comma, or putting on matching socks or not or the heat death of the universe. Problems when you'd stay up, some mornings, just to see when he'd finally run out of steam. Problems when you knew you'd helped him tire himself out and all that pent-up anxious energy released and sometimes you'd smile to yourself for a job well done from halfway across the district.

You find yourself laughing a little. Almost fond.

He'd trusted you with his insecurities, as you trusted him with yours. You thought you weren't tall enough, that your pants came up too-too high on you if you wanted the legs to fit. (He'd told you to wear them anyway;"iiTT'll be a TThiing by nexTT 2weep, The hiigh waii2TT. iiTT'll be, liike, riighTTeous, dude, you're a TTrend2eTTer 2o long a2 you own iiTT. TThey ju2TT don'TT geTT you yeTT." You have, truthfully, under your sweater, in spite of another dear friend telling you exactly how you dress like a travesty. You won't be controlled. Entirely.) He thought he was only ever given a second look because he has his ancestor's face. You.

You wish you would have told him n9, Mituna, y9u're a w9nderful individual as y9u are, but instead, you were too focused on his new co-op partner. The same girl playing some MMO with fanciful hats and discussing legal precedents on forums you'd found in your research,  it was far too unlikely to seem true but once you'd made the connection it was inescapable. She'd gone inactive, disappeared because of him. She gave into that anti-intellectual sniveling drivel because of him, a brilliant mind squandered, he ruined your chances with

The flames rise in the forest behind you, driving you into the clearing. At least, if you want to keep your ass firmly un-toasted. You do.

It's strange, anyway, his actual, tangible absence from your life. You're by no means co-dependent, but it doesn't feel quite right. Like a building on your commute's gone out of business, or perhaps like an old tree in the schoolyard has been hacked to the ground, leaving behind the stump where it once joined the ground, it's. Surreal. You find this surreal, but maintain confidence that you will, eventually, get over it. Life moves on. (It is Doom that lingers.)

The rain abates, leaving you temporarily distracted from the direction you were initially headed in and entirely susceptible to tripping over something in this clearing while you idly admire how nice and tan your retinas must be getting from looking at the sky so much.

C-rRck .

A trail of bone shards fly from your shoe, much to your temporary horror, until you realize the crucial factors that A. this skull is not that of a troll and B. it's actually partially buried in the ground, so it may well be a fossil of some kind, you suppose. In fact, it looks as though it's been picked clean by time, or some very efficient fungi. You almost feel bad for this poor ex. . . Snake? This may well have been a snake, at one point, you determine by looking under the hands that prevented you from faceplanting into cerebral cortex and discovering that what you thought were "rocks" are actually the ridges of a very, very large snake's spine. The ridges etched into the surrounding brain matter, truthfully, deviate from the folding pattern of the rest of the ground. There is a stick planted at the head of the site that you hadn't initially noticed, a ruler hastily wedged into the mush. Penance, you ponder, for the additional rocks washed up in this clearing. Perhaps that explains why you have failed to run into any friendly lizard civilians in this place to offer you directions. Surely, you've merely committed a lizard-social faux pas by wandering back-asswards into an Important Game Landmark. Yes. Obviously.

You decide this will not appear in your reports, and press on.

The planet maintains itself, just as before, equally disgusting in its crags and valleys and hills and rivers of you've-stopped-caring-keep-trudging. Really, if she hadn't seemed so upset, you question whether or not you could have brought yourself to look for him. He, by and large, had his shortcomings. Bouts of belligerence in violently vacillating mood swings, calloused comments with so little tact that it was hard to excuse his lack of social etiquette; he hardly seemed to be trying. Verbally belittling himself, constantly, even in the presence of those doing quantifiably worse than him in the same categories. You know social cues didn't come easy to him, he told you as much. You still don't think that's an excuse not to correct yourself the nth time you laugh at a "fail" compilation including serious injuries.

He was as sore a winner as loser, in those days, considering himself accomplished for having posted artwork before and thereby actually knowledgeable on the subject, or at least moreso than anyone who told him that he could not, for the life of him, draw properly-proportioned arms and hands. He'd repeat the same mistakes, content to call them inevitable or very much a choice. He poured himself into his favorite games, between practices, to the point of obsession. To the point of being outwardly off-balance should he be knocked from his proud number-two (for number one, evidently, was for those unskilled enough to calculate exactly where they need to be) spot on the leaderboard. Always in twos. Two different socks, two different shoes, two different bright red-and-blue eyes, always even, lest something go amiss. "The FaTTe2 don'TT liike TTwo be mocked," he'd tell you on the subject of threes and parallelisms during your early-morning chats, though you'd never truly understood his fascination yourself. It's an old legend, in the community of psionic yellowbloods, that three incarnations of fate bestowed them with the powers of electrokinesis and prophecy, "TTwo make 2ure TThe Dyiing are wiiTTne22ed when TThey, liike, reTTurn TTwo TThe bounTTy of co2miic liifeforce and whaTTever. TThaTT 2omeone geTT2 iiTT before you go, yknow?? 2o nobody ha2 TTwo be alone."

You sigh, officially Hopelessly Lost. You take a seat atop some maroon rocks, which you are absolutely confident are actually. Bricks. And scraps of drywall, the rough texture under your fingers as they drift over this cleft piece of what was part of a block, at some point. His block, from the oil pastel staining your fingers. You run like you didn't know you could before, overtaken by a sudden need to know exactly what happened here. The pastel isn't quite baked to the surface yet, and it may not be too late. You hope for her sake, that it is not too late. You hope for your sake, that it is not too late. You need to tell him something before he's allowed to leave again.

Your name is KANKRI VANTAS and you, begrudgingly, have regrets.

The hive is in complete disarray once you find it. You let yourself in, considering the entrance is missing, let alone the staircase to the top of the tower the two of you had built upon entering the Medium. You remember that he didn't want this wall here, or that block there, and his load gaper is still firmly defenestrated and stuck in the ground even though you know he could have put it back by now. It's much easier to look at that than the maelstrom of dirty laundry and magazine pages covered in ambiguous tv-dinner sauce in the main livingsblock, a proper mountain of crushed cans of toxic Appleberry Blast that nearly cancel out the smoke encrusting your lungs.  You knew he was somewhat a slob, compared to you, but if the place weren't still standing you'd swear a tornado went through here. Old microwave trays are covered in mold. There's no telling how long this has been this way.

"Mituna…?"

There is no answer. You can't say you expected one, heading further up through the vertical labyrinth.

The floors pass you by in slow motion, blurring into a singularity as you refuse to acknowledge the little things about the remains of his hive. How it feels you've walked into a ghost town, how there's a deep ochre staining the carpet at the bottom of the stairs, how the smell of decay somehow only gets worse as you ascend. Worse, and. Sweeter. Sickeningly sweet, like candied excrement, the tang of touching your tongue to an outlet emanating from a block you haven't seen in a very, very long time.

The roof to his respiteblock is missing. Entirely. It's been blown off, debris around the room, the place soaked from the rains and exposed to the enemy and yet apparently untouched. He did not come up here often, so it seems, the block mostly barren save the diagrams and prophetic scribblings on the walls, a leather-bound book and a pile of broken glass.

You, in spite of your better judgment, take a look at the book.

It's his sketchbook. One with pictures you've seen before, of )(er Radiance and Meenah, younger and almost caricatures of a happy household. It's immediately followed by Meenah's snaggle-toothed grin, by Radiance (dubbed "Radz", in these pages, the marked messy handwriting of a younger child ) and her icy, gaslighting "disappointed" pout. Abstract works, impressions of his old biclops, experiments with colors (always the primaries; he can only trust the primaries, so notes the back of the page, upon learning he is colorblind) and drawings of the psionic roundtable he was forced to sit at. A child sits surrounded by people ten times his age because of his visions of the end of days. He's exaggerated them, made fun of them, save the ones he liked. A childhood spent drawing, trying to capture the likeness of the Archiver, connector of the stars, among other things. The portraits have odd titles. "maybe ii can'TT iinvenTT The iinTTerneTT, bu7 ii'll be 2omeTThiing you'd be proud of."

There are large gaps in drawing quality, from then on, from starting and stopping and meeting new people. You find he's drawn portraits of you, even, and of Latula, so many of Latula. Never flattering ones, either, in the strictest sense; he seems to have poured a lot of time and effort into a drawing you've never seen before, a sketch of her laughing over the webcam during their matches. Her nostrils flair a bit, a few hairs out of place, and yet every freckle on her face has a degree of life to it. He may have held himself to an impossible standard, but this picture you are certain would make her cringe is so thoughtfully put together that you are positive that she has never seen it.

Then you entered the game.

The sketches rapidly deteriorate into scrap paper, holding notes and lists written in a hurry. Prophecies, you gather, in a shorthand reserved for the empress's board of elite psions. A way to convey ideas quickly and efficiently in the confused daze in the wake of a vision (a way to keep anyone from effectively snooping, as you are, since the symbols appear near-incomprehensible to you). The text only becomes sloppier over time,  to the point that you don't hazard to guess what it could possibly mean. You suppose he'd distilled the important parts into his reports in the groupchat.

The less important parts are written plainly,  without a care for who may see. Notes like "Charon ii2 a liil biiTTch abouTT TThii2 whole que2TT junk, hone2TTly," and "noTT enough iimp2 come by TTwo ju2TTiify TThe TTrap2 anymore." Like "ii2 a popTTarTT really a raviiolii," or "by TThe TTime you 2ee TThii2, ii have noTThiing for you." Scribbled prophecies in purple, drawing your attention to the pink and violet powder of pastel on the ceiling, what must have once been a drawing. A gaze staring directly into his heart, artificial, requiring him to always blink first.  Unless he could act first.

The next several pages are stuck together with a highlighter-yellow substance,  the source of the sweetness in the air. If you were to peer under his desk, you'd note the glass shards fit perfectly into the shape of an empty jar.

A sprawling note on the next available page, stained by the toxic honey and pale yellow tears. You fail to stomach reading beyond the first line.

"laTTTTiie,

    iim 2orry."

You skip to the end. At least,  the end of what you can see. It's another portrait, one of an event you recognize, of the first anniversary of your entrance into this hellhole. Meenah baked you all a cake,  as you recall. The group quickly split up and stratified, but in this sketch. In this sketch you can stand one another,  huddled together around the mystery ahead, in various stages of smiling and excitement. You all were happy, then. Most of you. Most of you were just as happy as he paints.

You realize that, in all of these pictures, including this group shot, he hasn't once drawn himself.

There is the unmistakable sensation of a hand, not gentle nor rough, planted firmly on your left shoulder.

You came to this planet alone.

The shadow looming over you does so by about half a foot, your immediate instinct to tack on "n9 matter what he says" identifying the corpse it belongs to long before you raise your head. You can tell it's a corpse because of the sudden intense smell of putrification in your immediate vicinity, of rot and decay, of something seared and burnt like overcooked grubloaf disposed of with lighter fluid and a careless match. Your epic quest, as shitty as it's been, is over, and your prize is presenting itself to you on a bloodstained, honey-soaked carpet.

It could be looking at you. He, could be looking at you, this thing that used to be a friend of yours. He could be looking above your head, for all you know, or at the glimpse of his psyche you've stolen, claws curled into fists, venom dripping from his fangs, frozen in space and time when you finally look at him. Overgrown bangs obscure his eyes. It wouldn't matter much anyway, considering you can't tell where those hidden eyes point when they begin glowing a bright, bilious green, either.

His bright yellow jacket (you should have known you'd never see him without it, even in death) is singed and slashed to shreds, more obviously steeped in dark ochre than the plain black shirt underneath. Torn jeans can no longer contain a leg broken at such an extreme angle, dragging behind him as nothing more than a counterbalance to the tall, spindly form. His ribs art particularly obvious now, looking as though he should snap in half at the waits with a breeze that, of course, never actually comes, on this planet. A hand (hesitantly?) reaches for your shoulder, calloused and scarred, showing off the kinds of skin-boiling horrors only concealed by the general unassuming dark neutrality of (most of, spare that damn jacket) his attire. Webbing red and blue scars, like veins, like lightning travel up from his fingers to his wrist, creep up his neck, epicenter unknown but almost certainly obscured somewhere in the cesspool of a body lumbering towards him. The figure-- no. The shell of Mituna, advances, pauses, and keeps advancing.

You are aware that he must know.  Must know your guilt, your conflictions, the overpowering sense of dread sweeping in with the scent rotting flesh. The bright, bright green light flickers,  flickers, and glows. You could swear you see a slight sly smile on his face.

Someone finally understands.

#homestuck #homestuck au #homestuck kankri #homestuck mituna #hs #hs fanfic #hs kankri #hs mituna #kankri vantas #kantula #kankri #land of brains and fire #mitula #mituna #mituna captor #mituna's incident was fatal au #zombiestuck #zombies #pre-incident mituna #latula pyrope #latula #hs latula #classpect

[slowlypsychicsublime]

It's Not An Act! Clint Barton x Reader

Summary: Agent (Y/L/N) and agent Barton have been recently promoted meaning that they need to participate in a important high risk mission in Savannah, sounds easy enough? Well like every other fanfiction ever written there is a catch, if these two agents want to get Shields valuable data back they will need get new identities, new backgrounds and a partner… And their partners happen to be both of their crushes. How will they react? Will they fail the mission? Or will they succeed? Read to find out!

Warnings: Possibly some swearing and the characters being rude about rich or luckier people. That is not how I see things just the characters idea if a joke.

Hope you enjoy, I love you all!

It was quite a shock really, being told that you (Y/N) (Y/L/N) are now (temporarily of course) Mrs. Elizabeth Rouldra. Married to Ezra Rouldra, both of the stuck up snobs are insanely rich and completely fake, made only to get Shield their data back. All of this may have been fine had Ezra Rouldra not be expertly played by Clint Barton himself. Who coincidentally is your two year crush, but without any sign that the extremely talented assassin returned your more than platonic feelings you have kept your romantic feelings to yourself therefore leading the assassin to the conclusion that you did not like him that way. But trust me trusting you to trust me, he is dead wrong.

The morning that you left to go to Savannah was no different from any other, excluding the part where you haven’t talked to Clint. But that didn’t matter anyway, you two will have hours in the car to talk… Unfortunately. In the hotel Mr and Mrs. Rouldra will have to sleep together, eat together, know everything about each other, act like regular madly in love couples do, plus participate in basically everything together and yet your flawless avoiding skills have lead you to not properly speaking to Clint for weeks. But that’s only a small speed bump right? As you aggressively shove your rich bitch bags into the shiny new trunk of the expensive car and hop into the front Clint appears, walking confidently with big strides and a smirk making a bee line towards Stark’s convertible. He gracefully slides his packed bags into the car and hops into the drivers seat as you start to go over part one of the plan without so much as a hello. “So after we get halfway we will stop at Drongo’s Roadhouse and get changed into Mr and Mrs. Rouldra, after we get changed we are not Clint Barton or (Y/N) (Y/L/N) we are married and rich, snobby and in love, got it?” You finish with a small exasperated sigh and a quick frustrated glance at the assassins smug smirk. “Hey, how are you? Haven’t seen you in a while, wonder why that is…” You give him a small smile and a loud obnoxious “Fuck you, start driving” as you rolled up your window and grow silent wondering what would happen if theoretically we fail. Probably some minor severing of some of our limbs and non essential organs, maybe I’d have to watch him die. Sharp knives and puncturing guns may not be able to kill me but the death of Clint could and the most terrifying thing is that it definitely will, no hesitation. And with those haunting thoughts and the soft hum of the car you fall into a dreamless sleep.

“(Y/N) wake up we’re halfway and I will hold a annoying protest if you so much as think that I will be driving any further…” A groan and a whimper of protest leaves my closed mouth and you swore you felt him kiss your temple but you couldn’t be sure. Suddenly the surface that you had earlier laid upon was removed, making you fall backwards into a sturdy surface which you originally thought was the car door but that had been opened a second ago. As two sturdy hands wrapped themselves around your waist you realize that it was indeed your crushes chest, at this pleasing thought you nestled your half awake body into the warmth that radiated off of his chest. “If you don’t get up and get changed Mrs. Rouldra I will do it for you.” At this slightly weird and strangely exciting sentence you spring up and travel around the car to the trunk, getting one of your many suitcases and setting out in search of the Roadhouses’ gross bathroom accompanied by Clint’s soft, fading chuckle. Once inside you throw open the grey suitcase cringing at what you have to work with, you are young and although it is always hidden you have a very tall curvy body. Every single item of clothing showcases that, no sweaters or sweat pants just lacy bras and V necks or shorts that look like underwear and singlets that could appall anyone with how skimpy they are. However now you could finally get Barton’s attention, slipping on a expensive looking push up bra and a thick showing grey singlet you shimmy into ripped black jeans and put on the golden chocker that matches your lip gloss. You load up on mascara and eyeliner and quickly do your contour, slip on some black heals, brush your hair and look at yourself in the mirror… You looked like the goddess of sirens and god were you ready to show it, with a click of the heals and a small bend to grab the suitcase you were out of the mouldy bathroom and back outside. Clint’s back was turned as he sipped from his water bottle. Deciding to approach casually you slip you luggage into the back if the car and jump into the drivers seat, shutting the door and like s silent signal for Clint to get in the attractive man hops into the car before slamming the door shut. “You know if you slam the door to hard you’ll have to deal with Stark asking why we came back with door slowly dragging on the ground, hanging off if it’s hinges, right?” The sarcasm in my voice was enough to turn him around to get a look at the almost unrecognizable woman sitting to his right. As he looks a spray of his spring water goes propelling out of his mouth and onto the dashboard, handing him a tissue from your bra with your left hand you start the car with your right. Monetarily forgetting how to speak you force the only words that you could think of out of your glossy mouth. “Let’s go bitch!” A loud laugh echoed around the car as a hand hit the dashboard as you sped off. “I don’t think rich people act like this…” Clint says with humour lacing his melodic voice. With a over exaggerated wink and a lopsided smirk you reply, “I don’t think they do either… We haven’t hit a poor person.” A snort and a giggle left is smiling face as he shifted in his seat beside you. “Yet…” A uncharismaticly weird laugh bubbled out of his throat, making him go into to a frenzy and making me try and not piss my pants. After the laughter died down we got to work, because happily married couples generally know everything about each other and we are meant to be happy so I think you can guess the small problem. We already knew the big things like, your spouses parents name, your spouses birthday, even your spouses favourite thing to do but no the little things. Less noticeable yes, but none the more important possibly even more so. Little things like their favourite flowers or chocolate, all of their unintentionally cute quirks. Unbeknownst to the both of you the more you two talked the further you two fell in love, and not one of the two lovebirds tried to stop it. As you pulled up a butler bursted past the huge oak doors that lead you inside of the marble mansion, rushing to open your door with a toothy smile and grab your suitcases from the roomy trunk. With a quick introduction speech and the mention of his name (Henry) he beckoned you two to follow him into the majestic holiday house that Mr and Mrs. Rouldra will be sleeping in for the next week or so, and man were the both of you gonna have some fun…

  Thank you to anyone who actually read this, please give some advice it’d be really appreciated. I might also do the week that they stay in the mansion who knows? Anyway I wish everyone a safe and happy day/night goodbye and I love you all! Xoxo

#Clint Barton x Reader #Clint Barton #Avengers #Avengers x Reader

[ironstrangle]

Ironstrange Question #39 - “Is she breathing?”

thanks to the anon who sent me this prompt. it was oddly satisfying to write, even if it was a terrifying moment for poor Tony.

Tony knows fear. He has seen it in every form possible. Gods, monsters, death itself... None of it is as terrifying as the morning he asked Stephen in a breathless tone “is she breathing? Why’s she gasping like that?”

It had taken them all of two minutes to grab Savannah and transport her via portal to the nearest children’s hospital, but in those moments, he was certain that he was going to die. If anything happened to her… He couldn’t do this, he wasn’t strong enough… What was wrong? She had to be okay!

“It was likely an asthma attack,” Stephen tells Tony, as they sit in their daughter’s hospital room. Savannah is asleep, the trauma of the day exhausting for her. The hospital’s lead physician had opted to keep her over night, so that he could make sure she was taking well to the medication. “A rather bad one, triggered by her pollen allergy. She went to that garden yesterday. That’s all, Tony. She’s okay.”

“We didn’t know she had asthma!” Tony yells, and then immediately hushes when the sleeping child turns onto her side, murmuring to herself in her sleep. He stands up and walks toward the window. Stephen follows and puts an arm around Tony’s shoulder. “You’re a doctor and I’m supposed to be smart. How did we not know?”

Stephen rubs his hand down Tony’s shoulder. “For one, not my specialty,” Stephen says, trying to lighten the tension. “Not yours either.”

“I just...when she woke up gasping like that...for a minute I swear she stopped breathing…”

“I called around and she has a family history of respiratory issues,” Stephen says, the calm to Tony’s chaos.  “It’s in her file from before the adoption. She had several respiratory infections as a baby too.”

Tears roll down Tony’s face and he groans, trying to keep quiet for Savannah’s sake, suppressing the urge to just scream. “I was so scared,” he whispers through his sobs. “Stephen, how the hell do we do this?”

“We’re parents, Tony,” Stephen says, placing a kiss on his temple, a gentle gesture intended to soothe him. “We’ll get her some tests, monitor her breathing and make sure she has emergency treatment for the future. That’s what parents do.”

“Do all parents feel so afraid?”

Stephen meets his eyes and nods.

Then, Savannah turns around and looks up at them with big eyes. “Daddy?”

Stephen nudges Tony over to the bed so he can go hug his little girl. When Tony holds her, he knows that fear is just a way of life. He has to live with it.

#ironstrange questions #ironstrange #supremefamily #strangefamily #savannah stark strange

[vitorsdm]

Orchids to Dusk

“Orchids to Dusk is a short, online wandering experience about an astronaut stranded on an alien planet, with only a few minutes left to live”

It’s impressive how much a mood can colour an experience. I arrived home exasperated and exhausted from a long day at work. Sitting down, I found myself with a myopic view of the negatives. The repetitive pitter-patter accompanying every step taken were all I could hear. The scenic savannah rolling out before me was a mere background note to the incessant prattling of padded footfalls. The stark, minimalist backdrop with its skyline of pulsing flaxen hues did nothing to calm me.

Yet, in the midst of all this, something clicked. I knew that the game was networked but this wasn’t at the forefront of my mind until I came across him. Or her. A still, lifeless figure wrapped in fawning fauna that nested around their lonely corpse. This is how far they got. This is where they came to die.

Every body I found wasn’t placed by designer to tell a tale of barren, inhospitable lands and the follies of those who dare to skirt their boundaries. This wasn’t set dressing for my story. Rather, it was the denouement of someone else’s.

The reading of my oxygen metre was roughly half full, 55%. The music crescendoed and urged me to keep moving although it did not point to where. That was for me to work out by myself. 54%. So I turned and scanned the horizon. I wasn’t searching for escape but for closure. 53%. I set off along the sparsely canopied landscape, cresting over the small, undulating hills that swept across the land. 45%.

My pedestrian prattling was finally muted by beating drums that ordered the serene, digital melodic chimes which cut through the air. As I sloshed across the first miniature oasis, and then a second, I found myself settling into the rhythm of the gameworld, scanning the horizon for a place to rest. 37%. But not just any place. My place. I pushed through an underbrush speckled with hues of rust and evergreen, a truly alien landscape that seemed both inviting and dismissive in equal measure. Streaks of emerald dashes crested the tree tops, propelled through the air in concentric circles. 32%. Taking on the appearance more of buzzing botanics than hovering insects, their spinning halos enshrined the only visible landmarks on my path. All of them, except one.

A jutting ridge stood out against the void, a single jagged peak slicing defiantly into the sky. I’d found it. 27%. I made my way, ambling along like before. Setting the game to auto walk, a flick of the wrist panned the camera, its motion now mimicking the verdant pirouettes that danced across my periphery. The isolation, the beauty; I drank it all in. 21%. I was nearly there.

Coming to a stop, I felt relieved. As I admired both destination and journey, my avatar slumped downwards, knees bent and right arm resting across them. This was it. This was the end. 16%. But I wouldn’t be alone. Right at the bottom of the peak, where two patches of underbrush crisscrossed, lay another traveler. Same white suit, same globed glass helmet, with only a blanket of dust to tell us apart. 11%. I found a strange comfort in knowing we’d shared a common goal.

I’d reached my spiritual Ziggurat, accepted it all. At that moment my visor flashed red as I hit the final 10% of oxygen. I saw no point in prolonging the inevitable. I accepted the prompt that blared on screen to remove the last thing that kept me truly apart from this strange new world. A message flared and asked me if I was sure. I didn’t hesitate.

Streams of air jetted out in the four cardinal directions. 0%. And, as it slid away, a seemingly unnatural nature took me back into its grasp, foreign flowers and petulant petals sprouting from me in a flurry of destructive colonisation. My body disappeared soon after. All I left behind was that empty fishbowl, resting next to a kindred spirit I had never met. That, and footprints so that others may follow.

#orchidstodusk indiegames

[ironstrangle]

Ironstrange Questions #14 - “Why do you go to school?”

Savannah and Stephen are waiting outside of Peter’s school when Savannah looks at the big building and asks the question.

Stephen smiles, picking up the little girl carefully. Since he doesn’t have the hand strength for it, she has learned to climb him and cling to him tightly with both arms and legs. She’s a smart one, that’s for sure.

“What do you mean?”

“Peter goes to school,” she points out. “Why?”

“You go to school to learn,” Stephen says, brushing back her hair and making her laugh. “Peter’s in his last year of high school and he’s working really, really hard. You have to go to school to get even smarter.”

“When do I go?”

“You’re going to start preschool next year,” he tells her. “Then you’ll go to kindergarten when you turn five… Very soon. Sooner than you’d imagine.”

“And I’ll be as smart as Peter?” A loud bell sounds and Savannah winces. “I don’t like that,” she says. “Too loud.

“Well, that’s the bell for Peter to come home, so I think you’ll like it soon,” Stephen says.

“Peter!” she shrieks when she sees him across the yard. “Peter, I’m gonna go to school soon!”

#ironstrange #strangefamily #supremefamily #ironstrange questions #savannah stark strange

[ironstrangle]

Ironstrange Questions #15 - “What’s your favorite color?”

It’s a silly little question, but in their house it’s a big one. Savannah looks at her parents and her adoptive brother and she’s totally stumped. They’re sitting around the kitchen table and talking about the silliest thing.

“I dunno,” she says, as though that’s something to worry about. “What’s yours?”

Stephen thinks about it for a moment and looks to Tony, grinning at their daughter’s charming concern. “I’m fond of green,” he says after a moment. “I think I could say green is my favorite color…”

Savannah looks at Tony and Peter expectantly.

“I like red,” Peter says decisively. “Like your dad’s suits.”

“I like that color too,” Savannah says, but she still hasn’t decided on a color just yet.

Tony thinks for a minute and asks Savannah, “Do you think we have to choose just one?”

Savannah looks confused for a moment, head tilted to the side. Then she smiles. “Can you have more than one favorite?” she asks.

“I have a lot of favorites,” Tony says. “I like red like my suit too, and blue, and yellow and the pretty color of your papa’s eyes. I like gold and silver too. I think I like all of the colors. Oh no, what do I do?”

“I think you should like rainbows best.”

Tony winks at Stephen.

“You heard our girl.”

#ironstrange #ironstrange questions #savannah stark strange #supreme family