#if you correct me on a typo i will literally cry just let me have this

[nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius]

TBB Incorrect Quotes, Part 5

Omega: *standing at the top of the stairs* What are y'all doing at the bottom of the staircase?  Echo: I accidentally fell down.  Hunter: WRECKER PUSHED ME down the stairs because I refuse to pay HIS part of our rent!  Crosshair: Echo bet me fifty credits that I couldn't reach the bottom of the stairs faster than he did falling down it, so I slid down the banister to get my money.  Tech: I don't know how I got here. One moment, I was sleeping in my bed, three floors up, and then suddenly I was waking up here, just in time to get crushed by Crosshair.

Omega: *eating a cinnamon roll*  Hunter: Cannibalism.  Omega: *confused chewing noises*

Tech: What do you call quantums of electromagnetic radiation that don’t get along?  Hunter: What did you just say-  Tech: Foetons! *Laughs*  Hunter: Wh-what? 

Wrecker: I give up. I am so tired.  Echo: Get the emergency supply!  Tech: *carries Omega and places her in front of Wrecker*  Omega: *smiles*  Wrecker: AND I AM BACK BABY, LET’S GOOO 

Hunter: Crosshair, Wrecker, I love y’all and all, but can I ask what in the hell are you doing?  Crosshair, trying to stabilize a tower of folding chairs that Wrecker is sitting atop: Oh nothing much.  Wrecker: I love you too :) 

*In a group chat* Hunter: A pegan just flew into my window. Omega: Pegan? Tech: A what? Echo: Ah yes, my favourite bird, Pegan. Wrecker: I thought you said penguin for a second, LMAO! Echo: Just a normal day with flying penguins crashing into my window. Wrecker: You have pigeons flying into your window? Can't relate, I have penguins flying into my window. Hunter: I literally just made a typo-

Crosshair: How do Hunter and Tech usually get out of these messes?  Echo: They don't. They just make a bigger mess that cancels the first one out. 

*Tech teaching Wrecker to drive and taking Crosshair along for the ride*  Tech: That's a pothole. To the left!  Wrecker: Take it back now y'all *Drives into pothole*  Crosshair, sticking his face into the front over the center console: Cha Cha real smooth.  Wrecker: I don't think that's how the song goes.  Tech, crying and gripping the handle: Please just take me home.  Wrecker: Country Roads.  Crosshair: To the place.  Wrecker and Crosshair in unison: I Belong!  Tech, crying harder: What the fuck?

Hunter: BEHOLD, the field in which I grow my fucks! Lay thine eyes upon it, and thou shalt see that it is barren!

Wrecker, putting his hands over Crosshair’s eyes: Guess who!  Crosshair: It's either Wrecker or the cold, clammy hands of death.  Wrecker, putting his hands away: It's Wrecker!  Crosshair: Dammit.

Echo: So oxygen went on a date with potassium, it went... OK. Hunter: I thought oxygen was dating magnesium, OMG. Echo: Actually oxygen first asked nitrogen out, but nitrogen was all like NO. Wrecker: I thought oxygen had that double bond with the hydrogen twins. Crosshair: Looks like someone's a HO. Hunter: NaBrO. Tech: I'm done with all of you!

Crosshair: What doesn't kill me better start running, because now I'm fucking pissed.

Wrecker: Oh god, he texted you ‘hi.’’ Punctuation only means one thing, Tech. He's mad at you. Tech: No, it's Crosshair. He's just being gramatically correct! *meanwhile* Crosshair: And then I used a period so he'd know that I'm mad at him. Hunter: A period doesn't say 'I'm mad', it says 'you're dead to me'. Crosshair: I stand by my choice.

Echo: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast? Wrecker: Several traffic violations. Tech: Three counts of resisting arrest. Crosshair: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks. Hunter: Also, that’s not our car.

Tech: Hunter is late again. Echo: How did this happen? I called him at 8 o’clock this morning and pretended it was 11. Wrecker: I printed up a fake schedule for him saying we were starting at 9 instead of noon. Omega: I set his clock to say PM when it’s really AM. Tech: Oh boy. We may have overdone it. *Hunter bursts through the door* Hunter: WHAT TIME IS IT?

Tech: Would you slap Wrecker- Crosshair: Yes. Tech: I didn't even finish! Crosshair: Sorry, continue. Tech: Would you slap Wrecker for 10 dollars? Crosshair: I would do it for free. Wrecker: Rude...

Omega: Why isn’t the statue smirking at me? Tech: It isn’t smirking at anyone, they’re all just imagining it. Hunter: Three of us saw it, Tech. How do you explain that? Tech: *points at Crosshair* Sleep deprivation. *points at Hunter* Paranoia. *points at Echo* Delusional personality disorder.

Hunter: I think this might be a bad idea... Echo: Don't start thinking on me now!

Echo: Hey, no, you stay out of this, this is between me and Wrecker! Tech: So Wrecker knows about this? Echo, walking away: No, this is between me and me!

Echo: Wrecker- Wrecker: *sighs* Crosshair used to call me Wrecker... Echo: ...Because it's your fucking name.

Crosshair: Good morning. As you begin your day, remember that violence is always an option and often the answer. Hunter: Crosshair: Hunter: ...Please, go back to bed.

Wrecker: Do you mind if I slyly mention that you’re single? Tech: Do not do that. Wrecker: You won’t even notice! Phee, entering: Wrecker, you wanted to see me again? Wrecker: Tech's single Tech:

Hunter: I'm cold. Echo: Here, take my hoodie. *meanwhile* Omega: I'm cold. Crosshair: I can't control the weather, Omega.

Omega: Hey, wanna hear a funny joke? Crosshair: I only like dark humor. Omega, turning the lights off: What do you call a fake noodle? Crosshair: Omega: An IMPASTA!

Omega, trying her first ever cup of coffee: I am ENERGY! Hunter, an avid coffee drinker, on his twelfth cup of the day: Someone slap me awake or I am literally going to fall into a coma in ten seconds.

Tech: It's called cauliflower, not ghost broccoli. Wrecker, eyes wide: I know what I saw.

Omega: Hey, Crosshair? I need advice. Crosshair: I’m pretty useless at giving advice. Can I interest you in a sarcastic comment instead?

*Crosshair and Wrecker's house is on fire, but they don't know it*  Crosshair: Damn, it's hot in here.  Wrecker: I know, it's so hot there's smoke coming out of the vent!  Crosshair:  Crosshair: First of all, I'm assuming you have no idea what the problem with that statement is.  Wrecker: What?  Crosshair: Second of all, we need to get the fuck out of here, NOW. Wrecker: I think I did fairly well on my anatomy quiz! :)  Omega: I forgot I was doing a test.  Echo: Omega.  Omega: I said the vertebrae was the back stick because I thought it was funny....  Tech: Omega.

Wrecker: Hey, Hunter. Why did the chicken cross the road?  Hunter: To get to the other side?  Wrecker: You were supposed to say “I dunno, why?“  Hunter: Uh... fine. I don’t know. Why did it cross the road?  Wrecker: To get to the idiot’s house.  Hunter: ...Ok?  Crosshair: Hey, Hunter. Knock knock.  Hunter: No.  Crosshair: You were supposed to say “who’s there?”  Hunter: Fine... let’s get this over with. Who’s there?  Crosshair: The chicken.  Hunter: Crosshair: Wrecker: Hunter: Listen here you little shits-

Echo: You know what?  Echo: When I joined this group I thought you guys would be dealing with my bullshit.  *Crosshair, Wrecker and Tech continue screaming about mold water*  Echo: Not the other way around. Hunter: I dunno, sounds like you need to drink the mold water.

Echo: Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing. Everything is going to be fine!  Tech: How can you still say that?  Echo: Because sometimes, when things get tough, denial is all we have.

Crosshair: Come on, Wrecker! How any times do I have to apologize?  Wrecker: Once!  Crosshair: ...No.

Echo: I keep a picture of all of us in my wallet. Whenever I face difficulties, I take it out and stare at the picture.  The Squad: Awwww-  Echo: And I tell myself "If I can deal with these idiots, then I can deal with anything."  The Squad: Oh.

Wrecker: Everyone thinks I'm this soft cute person but I'm not!  Tech: Wrecker, you cried for an hour after stepping on a bug yesterday.  Wrecker: It had feelings! It was probably going home to dinner and I killed it!  Crosshair: ...It was a bug.  Wrecker: It was a BEETLE, and its wife is definitely worried sick, wondering where it is, and I really don't get why you all think I'm so sentimental because I'm not!  Tech: ...  Crosshair: ...  Wrecker: Stop looking at me like that!

Tech: Did you win? Or just not die?  Tech: Either way, hooray.  Hunter: ...Is "no" a valid answer?  Tech: The hooray is redacted and you frighten me.

Hunter: I made lightly fried fish fillets for dinner.  Crosshair: Hunter, It’s 1:15 am, what the fuck.  Hunter: Do you want the lightly fried fish fillets or not.  Crosshair: Well, I mean yeah.  Hunter: So come downstairs while they’re still hot.  Crosshair: Wait, you just made them?  Hunter: Yeah, I wasn’t tired so I decided to make lightly fried fish fillets.  Crosshair: Say lightly fried fish fillets one more time Hunter.

*The Squad when asked about their earlier confession of love*  Echo: Yeah, you're lucky. I like you.  Tech: I'd understand if you didn't feel the same way...  Hunter: *has a panic attack* What confession?  Wrecker: *winks* I know, babe. You like me too.  Crosshair: So what? Are you going to date me or not? 

*Tech sends more than 5 messages in a row*  Crosshair: I ain’t reading all that.  Crosshair: I’m happy for you tho.  Crosshair: Or sorry that happened.

Omega: Problem, I can't tell if this food is over-sauced or undercooked.  Hunter: Solution, just pop it back in the oven for another 10 minutes. There's at least a 50% chance that'll fix it, right?  Tech: Result? Food has somehow become unpleasantly soggy and unpleasantly crunchy at the exact same time.  Wrecker: No better time than this to pull out my favorite word! Slunchy!  Crosshair: ...put it away. 

Crosshair: I’m quick at math.  Tech: Ok, what’s 38 times 76?  Crosshair: 24.  Tech: That wasn’t even close.  Crosshair: But it was quick.

Echo: While I'm gone, you're in charge Tech.  Tech: Yes!  Echo, whispering to Hunter: You're secretly in charge, but I don't want him to feel bad.  Hunter: Obviously.

Omega, piloting the Marauder: We have fun, don’t we, Tech?  Tech: I have never been more stressed out in my entire life.

Wrecker: *dangling from a rope over a pit of fire* Remember when I said I’d tell you when we’re in too deep?  Omega: Yes?  Wrecker: We’re in too deep.

Hunter: When life gives you lemonades, make lemons! Life will be all like "whaAttT?"  Echo: Life lessons that schools can't teach you.

Crosshair: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Wrecker will and will not eat.  Echo: Grass? Yes!  Crosshair: Moss? Yes!!  Echo: Leaves? Ohh, yes!  Crosshair: Shoelaces? Strange but true!  Echo: Worms? Sometimes!  Crosshair: Rocks? Usually nah.  Echo: Twigs? Usually!  Crosshair: Tech's cooking? Inconclusive!  Hunter: How did you… test this?  Crosshair: You just hand him stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if he eats it, he eats it.  Hunter: ... I don’t know how to feel about this.  Tech: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

Omega, gesturing to Echo: Wrecker, look what you did! You made Mom upset!  Tech: Mom, please don’t cry, we’re sorry!  Wrecker: I’m sorry Mom... :(  Echo, near tears: I DON’T REMEMBER GIVING BIRTH TO ANY OF YOU! 

#tbb #the bad batch #incorrect bad batch quotes #incorrect quotes #star wars #featuring a lot of wrecker and crosshair because they’re my favourite duo and i miss them

[hermajestyimher]

Hi! I don't know if it's a good place to talk about that, but i found your tumblr and found it quite inspiring :)

Also I wanted to share something that happened to me 2 weeks ego: i broke it off with my bf of 1 year: (i am 24 btw)

For the history, i met him in january 2021, and it was really casual at first, i've never done that before, and looking back, i realise how toxic this kind of situation can be. We sas each other for 6 months without being actually together, and i only learned later that he saw 2 other girls at the same time... Then he left and i felt sad because i felt something for him that i thought was love.

When he came back from his internship 6 months later, we got together (huge mistake lol). From there, it was me giving a lot to someone who didn't reciprocated at ALL. For mis birthday i threw him a party with some of his friends that lived in other cities/countries, we got him a present + i got him one on my own. He left the party to go to this girl's party (i invited her to his birthday, she knew about it about 2 months before it happened)...

Then valentine's day came around, and i bought him a gift, wore a pretty outfit, because he said he planned something, the something being staying at his eating frozen food that he sut warmed up. I felt really sad because we almost only saw each other to sleep together or go out sometimes, but he never did once do something to surprise me or anything (literally never while i always did things for him) + i always had to go to his place, which was 1 hour away from mine.

He almost never answered my texts, always saying he was so busy with school work... but sometimes i saw on his friends story that he was out partying...

Came my birthday. To set it short, i got nothing but a "happy birthday". He wasn't even present that day, he got a party with his friends this very night.

Summer passed and we didn't see each other: i was at my family's in spain and he was with his, but again, communication was non-existant.

He got an internship in another city in september and almost demanded of me to come see him every week-end but: 1/ i didn't have that much money to spend on trains and 2/ my classes and homeworks took all my free time (i am in law school). And he was so mad about it. (also, i sent 1 or 2 texts per day and he didn't always answered because "busy").

The evenings, when i wanted to talk a little he always told me he bad things to do, and when he finished those things, he was always too tired and told me "goodnight im tired".

We went on a holiday together in october and i got to live with him for a week. And let me tell you, it opened my eyes for good: he did practically nothing, staying on the couch when we were in our rental, watching netflix (my account that i entirely pay, never doing laundry or cooking or washing the dishes or anything at all. Didn't even took care of himself.

So i demanded to meet him two weeks ago, and face to face, i told him everything that bothered me in this "relationship": the fact he never answered, that he treated me more like a friend he has sex with than an actual gf, the fact that he practicaly considered me as his mom/friend/sex friend/cleaning woman...

Some people might find it silly, but never receiving a single gift from him, even for my birthday or valentines really had me crying, because i felt so worthless.

I thought it was love, but i realised it was just a strong attachement to someone who always said 'i love you' but never once showed it.

It's only been 2 weeks, but i feel so much better with myself and my surroundings, i began doing things i love again, and improving myself in so many ways...

Just to say, i lowered my expectations for him, but i am not doing that for a man ever again. I won't be the one chasing. Not anymore.

(sorry for the typos, auto correct :') )

"It wasn't love but an unhealthy attachment to him" 🎯

I loved the ending of your story because you learned from your experience instead of trying to make excuses and going back to the same toxic behaviours. I genuinely hope you've continued to do great, because you deserve much better than that dush.

#asks and answers

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

7. how does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

Thank you for the ask! From this ask game.

Welp. The amounts of posts I have typed up, shared with friends, then deleted again...

So, let’s start with Tumblr. Because honestly, it just makes me sad. There are so many posts out there, telling people to “create for themselves” and “no one owes you notes” - most often in reply to other posts, showing a several hundred reblogs to several thousand likes ratio (or dozens to hundreds) and complaining about it.

So I want to clarify, when I say “no feedback” I mean literally next to none.

Fun statistic time: In July, I did some experiments. I posted from not-so-whumpy novella length story with daily updates, some plain gory torture, some environmental whump, some recovery, some human, some nonhuman, most belonging to series, some standalone pieces. In total, I published about 50 posts, containing roughly 80k words.

If I remove the two people who, without fail, like every single one of my posts (I’d never remove you, my friends 💜 but damn, you got free reign of my google docs already :D), and the “obligatory” reblogs of the events I joined, I had a middle of 1,7 likes and 0,4 reblogs per post. That’s uh... yeah. If I did not have support outside that, I’d probably be crying into my pillow.

I am writing it for myself, but I am posting it for people to read. It took me ages to figure out a routine that lets me set up a post in a few minutes, instead of 20 like it used to be. And if no one reads it, I might as well save myself the trouble, you know? There’s no counter here, no statistic, if one doesn’t at least press the like button, there’s no way for me to know I didn’t just throw my stuff into the void.

Some days, the only thing that keeps me posting is a) hating unfinished things and b) thinking that one day, someone might stumble upon it and like it. Someone did, recently, and it made my whole fucking month. But, to be quite frank, for every new work, I will think twice if I will start putting it here. It is, for me, a huge commitment.

I enjoy rereading my work, and correcting little mistakes, and I either have to do that in several places - now including Tumblr - or live with the eternal shame of knowing somewhere out there is a typo.

I still get nervous about posting some things, even if I don’t show it here, but some of my friends are used to a trembling pile of me sitting in their pocket, running in circles, whispering “I’m sure this will be the piece that will make me get anon hate”. 

I have been clinging to the “at least one post per week” schedule since January, stressing myself out when the chapter I’m gonna need soon isn’t coming along as quickly as I need it.

I love this place, and I won’t stop posting here (at least not until all of my stories are finished, who knows what comes after that). But if I didn’t have my friends, I wouldn’t have written half of what I wrote in the last months. And while I found some of those friends on Tumblr, that support isn’t in notes on this site.

Between “this was unclear” and “this was heartbreaking” and “are you sure you didn’t mean ‘into’”, my writing got better. I have handed at least 50 “, and” over to be devoured. I’ve added full chapters, following a conversation pointing out missing details. Knowing that there’s one or two people out there who will want to read it makes me put things on paper that otherwise would remain in my daydreams.

I am creating for myself, first and foremost. But if I didn’t intend to share, the shape it would take would be much less... cohesive.

#salad-ask #suspicious-whumping-egg #This ask is not OC related #I had in fact to correct an in -> into here #Thank you I love you but goddamn the irony

[sidecast-deactivated]

Tragedy and Forgiveness

ID and galactic translation under the cut

[ID: A seven page comic of Quackity, SapNap and Karl from the Dream SMP.

First page: Is made up of five panels. The first is of Quackity from the waist up, who is wearing a waistcoat and shirt, and has taken off his beanie. He is closing the door behind himself as he says: “I came as fast as I could. How is he?”. The next two panels are of SapNap, he wears a somewhat decorative top and has a flame constantly burning above his head. The flame is big and hostile for most of the comic. He hesitates, then turns around to respond: “He’s breathing. But has a high fever.” The third panel is a closeup of SapNap, as he angrily glares at Quackity and notes: “Quackity, it has been four days.”. In the fifth panel we see a view of the room they are in. SapNap is sitting next to a bed, flush with covers and pillows and Quackity is still standing in the door. In a corner there is incense burning. Quackity gestures with his arms and says: “So? I’m here now so it’s all okay!”.

Second page: Is made up of four panels. In the first one Quackity continues to explain as his expression changes to guilty and tired: “Las Nevadas is far away and the Nether Highway can only-” he is interrupted by SapNap. The second and third panel is of SapNap as he rubs his face and sighs: “No, Q. It is not okay. The casinos and… whatevers are your business but…” In the fourth panel we can see Karl, sick, laying in the bed, feverishly sleeping. SapNap talks again “…Fuck, man.”

Third page: Is made up of three panels. The first shows SapNap from the side as he is backlit by a window. He continues speaking: “You were thousands of chunks away and I was so scared of something exactly like this happening.” He is interrupted by Quackity. In the second panel he angrily shouts: “So you disappeared without a trace, cowarding away?!” In the third panel SapNap springs up from his seat, grabbing the other angrily, shouting at him: “Now listen here you downgraded pimp!”

Fourth page: Is made up of three panels and is from the point of view of Karl. In the first panel He slowly opens his eyes, glancing at his hands. In the second he looks around, distraught as the other two’s arguing can be read in the background. He speaks in galactic font: “Cletus?” The third panel shows Quackity and SapNap on the brink of a fight, frozen, looking at Karl, surprised. SapNap is grabbing at Quackity’s collar. Both of them have tears in their eyes.

Fifth page: Is a single panel of both of them sitting at Karl’s bedside, discussing. Quackity, sitting in the chair now, looks up at SapNap, asking: “What language even is that?” SapNap, sitting at the end of the bed says: “No clue.”.

Sixth page: Is made up of four panels. The first two panels are of Quackity’s face, as Karl reaches a hand out to hold his chin. Karl keeps rambling: “Who are you? Jack… Drew?“ Quackity is confused but leans into the touch, crying. He says: “What are you talking about… I can’t understand what you are saying.“. The third panel is of SapNap, as he looks at the other two. His expression is sorrowful and anxious. The fourth panel is of Karl, as Quackity guides his hand and arm back next to his body and says: “But anything for you, Karl.“ Karl falls back asleep.

Seventh page: Is made up of two panels. They are almost identical. In the first Quackity and SapNap are looking at each other, still seated next to the bed. They share a moment of silence, marked by a “…“. In the second panel they embrace, and we can see tears flowing down SapNap’s face, the flame above his head having been reduced to a twinkling spark.

End ID.]

I’d like to apologize for putting the ID below the cut, the post was already really long.

#dream smp #dsmp #karlnapity #fanart #angst #comic #dsmp sapnap #dsmp karl #dsmp quackity #tales from the smp #digital #time traveler karl #karl memory loss #as much as i love tnt duo id like for these three to reunite please #making this took three days my everything hurts #it also ruined me mentally because keep in mind i was thinking about this for 6 hours a day #sobs i just want them to be happy #if you correct me on a typo i will literally cry just let me have this #image id #cursing cw #green #nicolart

[roger-that-cap]

all the flowers will bloom

summary: you would have never tried to leave your mother if you knew that bringing that pomegranate tree back to life was your ticket to the underworld. or, maybe you would have, because it turned out that hades was quite the opposite of the evil goddess that you had been drilled to know.

warnings: honestly nothing, really! well, i’m busting out this chapter once again, before i go into work so there are most likely typos!!

background: so this is inspired by the myth and stuff, but there are for sure some differences!! the world of mythology is so so intricate and it’s hard to get everything down and accurate- so i took the liberty to not LMAO

word count: 3.1k

You remembered having a slightly rebellious phase that lasted maybe ten years. It wasn’t long at all in the grand scheme of things, and the things that you did were simply things that people with normal parents did. The type of parents who weren’t afraid of their children being stolen from them. One time, you remembered sneaking into a forest where nymphs you didn’t know were, and they loved you on sight, without even knowing who you were. An even more grand escape involved a human celebration, the solstice to be exact, and a man with sea green eyes. He was taken by you, and for a minute, you remembered being taken by him. You were loved by everyone who knew you, and by those who only met you briefly, even the older gods. 

  So why had you not heard of anyone coming to get you? It had only been a few hours, but you knew that your mother had already gone crazy. She had some kind of danger meter when it came to you, and you were surprised that she hadn't sensed the fact that you were scared and somewhere unfamiliar yet. You used to hate the danger meter that always seemed to know when you were up to being the young soul you were, but now you were counting on that bothersome danger meter. 

   Hades had been kind enough to show you to where you would be staying herself. You expected a ghost or some sort of half dead spirit to give you a tour of the place, the one place  you were never supposed to be, but she did it herself. She was rather monotonous, and she sounded like she would rather be counting the souls in her domain one at a time, but she did it. The short tour ended with the door slamming in your face after you told her that your mother would be searching for you, and then there you were. 

 There were no windows in your room, and you weren’t even sure that you wanted any in the first place. The windows in your home showed beautiful mountains and valleys and there was even a meadow, but the Underworld was nowhere near as beautiful to you. You missed your colors, you missed singing to the flowers and coaxing soil into being healthy enough to grow crops. It hadn’t even been a full day, and you were facing from withdrawals. And you were too scared to even address the fact that you could still smell the death, and that you could still feel it lingering around you even after the Lady of the Dead cast whatever spell that she did. 

  It felt like you were being sucked from the life that was always naturally within you, and it was terrifying. 

 The room was just as dark and dismal as the rest of the Underworld, or, at least what you had seen of it. It was depressing and gloomy, and it made you feel like a prisoner. With every passing second, you regretted not listening to your mother. You sat on the stiff bed, your eyes welling with tears as the extent of what happened started to sink in. Your hands shook as you wiped your cheeks, even though the action was useless against the new army of tears that were marching down your face, rounding the curve and clinging to your skin. 

You knew what was happening. You replenished the tree. You fixed it, and with fixing the historical tree that you should have known about, you ultimately and unintentionally signed your life away, consenting to being stolen down into the Underworld until you could fix the entire Elysian Garden. You thought it was an impossible feat, and if by the grace of all the Olympian Gods you did succeed, it would be years before you finished. A sob escaped your throat and you turned to lay on your stomach, sobbing into the pillow that was less than comfortable. 

You were going to be dead before you even got a look at flowers again. 

§§

Before you even realized that you fell asleep, you were being woken up by the feeling of death grasping at you, tickling every hair on your body. You rolled to the side to catch your breath on the hard bed and let yourself cry again, the pitiful noises so loud that you didn’t even hear anyone approaching you. 

 Two hands grabbed you and turned you on your back, and you coughed weakly at the ceiling. “It should work,” you heard a voice mutter, and then there was a warm palm right on your throat, the other above your sternum as you tried to catch your breath. All you could focus on was the warmth, the sheer warmth that you expected to find nowhere in the realm of the dead. As your airways unclogged, you turned to the side and hacked again, breathed in and out a few times, and then turned to look towards the person who saved you. 

  She looked different. Somehow, she looked even more intimidating in the all black clothing she was wearing. It was a far cry from a dress, and closer to the suits that you saw humans wear. She was staring down at you with her calculating and cold eyes, examining you and surely judging. You made your own judgement. “Why are you so warm?” 

 Her hard expression faltered. “What?”

You narrowed your eyes at her, forgetting for a moment that she was as old as dirt and that she could easily take your breath away without any effort. “How are your hands so warm?” you got utter silence from her, and you knew that she was cursing at you in her head. “You’re dead.” 

 There was the tiniest hint of a smirk on her face. “I’m not dead. I’m a god, I don’t die.”

You didn’t think you could, either, but you had been at Death’s door twice already within twenty four hours. “How are you the Goddess of Death and the Underworld if you’re not dead?” 

“Are you not the Goddess of Agriculture?” She asked, one of her brows arched. “Then why are you not a stalk of corn?” 

 You shook your head. “That’s not the same.” 

She gave you a look. “It certainly is.” 

“How are you ruling over a group of people without ever knowing how it feels to be the way that they are?” You asked. 

 “You do not know how it feels to be a flower, yet you make them grow.” She reasoned, and you shook your head adamnely. “I do not have to be able to die to know how someone feels. I have witnessed it for years and years.”

“But I do know how it feels to be a flower,” you corrected, voice soft as you began to slip onto the mindset you got when your bare feet touched the grass. “I feel every living thing near me, all the time. I can feel the energy that comes from flowers. I can feel the way they drink up the sun and the rain, and the way they weave their roots into the ground. I can feel seedlings sprouting from the soil, and I can feel buds coming alive to show petals. I know how it feels to be a flower, and a tree, and a shard of grass, and a stalk of corn. That’s why I do so well with them.” 

  It was silent between the two of you as you got an eyeful of her, and she did the same to you. You found  yourself staring into her eyes, and you noticed that they held more color than Bucky’s seas. Her eyes might have been the most colorful thing in the kingdom she ruled. She blinked, and you stopped your staring. “Will you bring that same confidence to my garden?”  

“I do not know if I can fix something so dead.” 

“My tree had been dead for thousands upon thousands of years, and you made it bloom again.” 

“It wasn’t surrounded by death,” you pointed out, and she crossed her arms. “I mean, well, it was, but not like everything down here is. This place drains me.”

“It will until you accept that you’re here,” she said, and you scowled at her. “You will wake up in pain until you understand that you’re here. It’s a side effect of dying.” 

  Your heart raced in your throat. “Dying?” 

“You’re not dead, not yet.” When you gave her a horrified look, she smirked. “A human would be dead the second they arrived, but because you’re a god, it will work slowly for you.”

  “Are you saying that I have a literal deadline?” You asked, voice wavering slightly as you tried to be brave while thinking about all the ways you could possibly get the godforsaken garden to grow, and as fast as possible. If you didn’t see your mother again in one piece, there would be hell to pay. She would find a way to resurrect you to kill you all over again. 

 “As long as you let me take the death out of your system, you’ll live long enough to fix my garden.” 

You figured that was what her touch was doing to you. You remembered someone touching your throat after you fell, and you knew it was her. She took the death out of you, but it still hovered over your skin, anxious to get back inside of you and eat you whole. It knew just as much as you did that you had no business being there. At least, not alive. 

You knew that the likelihood of you being able to fix the garden was slim to none. Part of you wanted to say no to save yourself from the humiliation of pushing yourself. You were supposed to be an expert at growth, some even said you were better at growing than your mother. She focused on the big picture, getting out as many crops as possible and sometimes forgetting quality, but you took your time. She was more powerful than you by miles and miles, but maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe you could do it. You were going to have to, if you wanted to leave. “Has anyone else ever tried to grow your garden?” 

 The Goddess of the Underworld was so silent that you thought she didn’t hear you, but when you looked over at her, she was staring right at you with her undead eyes, an unreadable look on her face. “One.”

  You nodded and looked at your hands, and the flowers that were hanging on to life by a thread. You shook your head and sighed, and then sighed again. “I would like to see what I’m working with.” 

     §§

Hades walked quickly, but her steps lacked urgency. She walked with her head held high without even knowing it, and her steps were so loud that it cleared every dark and bare hall that they echoed in. Her subjects held the image of her with respect, and you saw every single one of them at least bow their heads to her. She kept her eyes forward, never once looking back at you to check that you were following. She stepped into an elevator-like contraption and looked forward once you stepped in the space next to her, and looked at the buttons on it. 

“This is… fancy.” 

“Did you think there were stairs to every single level?” She asked, and you pursed your lips. “That’s a lot of walking.” Her finger hovered over a button, number two, and then you realized that you were on the middle ground, the third level. “You aren’t to go on any of the levels but the third by yourself, do you understand?” 

 You held back your scowl at being told what to do. “Why not?” 

“The first level is the entrance to my kingdom. There are plenty of wailing souls and rivers that no living thing should ever see. It would give you quite the shock.” Your brows shot up. You didn’t expect for her to give you a reason, and maybe it was because your mother never really gave you any good ones. “The second level, which is where we’re going, is for the best of humanity. It’s full of honorable humans and demigods. That level is called Elysium.” 

You knew of that level. Everyone who had swooned and fawned over Achilles made sure that Hades put him in Elysium after he died, where he would be with all of the other warriors and scholars. Even your mother favored the young man, but it wasn’t enough to get her to beg to Hades. You were starting to irrationally fear that nothing was going to be enough to get her to beg the woman, maybe not even you. 

“The third layer is the Asphodel Meadows. There's not many things left that make it a meadow, but it’s for the typical human. It was designed for people who haven’t done wrong nor good, the ones who didn’t particularly make a mark on the world and those around them in a good or bad way.” 

“I’d bet a few people I used to know are there now,” you said softly, and she looked over at you with a confused look on her face. You shrugged at her, thinking that she was judging your human friends  for not doing any spectacular deeds in their short lifetimes.  “My friends, I think they may be there now.” 

“You make friends with humans?” 

“I make friends with anyone and anything,” you said. “If they allow me to.” 

She stared at you for a long moment, and then started to talk again before finally pressing the button. “The fourth level is nothing more than a thick layer between the third and the fifth, which is Tartarus. You know that.” You did. You knew that only the worst of people, and the Titans, resided there. Humans who killed for fun or did major harm went to Tartarus, the lowest level of the Underworld, and the most torturous.  “Never attempt to go into the fifth level.”

You didn’t want to. No one wanted to see Tartarus with their own eyes, and hear what no doubt was screams and sounds of pain and anguish. It was a world full of punishment for horrific crimes, and it was no place for someone like you to be. She surely didn’t have to tell you twice. 

“Where’s your dog?” You blurted, and she gave you a mildly annoyed look as she waited for you to elaborate. “You have a three-headed dog.” 

She breathed in through her nose and rolled her eyes at you, but you were looking at her face closely enough to see that a small smile was threatening the corners of her mouth. “Cerberus is destructive. He guards the gates of the Underworld, which means you will probably never meet him.” 

“Oh.” You couldn’t deny that the idea of seeing such an unusual and rumored to be humongous dog was enticing, but you didn’t want to see souls getting carted off while screaming, either. The doors opened, and she stepped put first, once again not even worrying about if you were following her. The second that you stepped out of the closure of the four walls, you were met with something that you never thought you would see in the Underworld. 

  There were remnants of colors all around, like there was once a beautiful set up that could have rivaled the above ground. You saw dead ivy crawling on walls of the cave-like walls, and you could feel the crunch of dead grass beneath your feet. Death was swirling all around you, and even though you felt sick, you couldn’t help but push that feeling aside for curiosity. You could almost picture everything in your mind. This place was without a doubt, once very alive. 

  “How did it use to be so alive?” You whispered, mostly talking to yourself as you forgot that the Goddess of the Underworld was standing feet from you, watching you take everything in. “It used to be gorgeous, I can feel it.” Your frown quirked upwards just a bit as you stepped forward and then went downwards again once you felt a familiar yet faint feeling, and once you touched a leaf with your pointer finger, you were slammed with it. “This… my mother did this.” Your head whipped towards Hades, who was watching you with a bored expression. “This is my mother’s work, that’s why it felt so familiar. She was here?”

“She’s the one who made this garden, young god.” When your face went slack, she smirked. “Not out of the kindness of her heart, I will admit. Steve made her.” 

“Why?” 

“Because even the dead deserve something beautiful to look at.” When you started to open your mouth, she held a delicate yet strong hand up, halting your lips from moving. “I know what the above grounders think about us. It’s called the afterlife for a reason, you know. These are people down here, regardless of whether you want to believe it or not. So, yes, they deserve something as simple as a meadow.” 

You let her words sink in and echo softly against the walls as you stared at the dead plants, struggling to hold onto the last bits of your mother’s energy that still lingered. “Did they die because she left them?” 

Hades frowned. “They died because she killed them.” 

You shook your head adamantly, quickly denying her claim. “My mother doesn’t harm land. She never has, and she never would.”

“What makes you so sure that she’s not spiteful and hateful towards me that she wouldn't do that?” 

“My mother-”

“Is a harsh woman. She is as punishing as she is gracious, and you know that. Your mother and I never liked each other, and it only got worse as the years went on.”

You knew that your mother’s hatred for the goddess before you ran deep. You doubted that it was deep enough for your mother to harm the earth, but you never knew. Hell, you never knew that your mother had ever even been to the Underworld.  “I don’t think I’ll be able to revive what my own mother has destroyed,” you admitted. “She’s much stronger than me. If she really did kill it like you said she did, then I don’t think I’m powerful enough to reverse it.” 

A staring competition happened right there between the two of you, her eyes the same calculated look as always and yours holding the one that pleaded for understanding, for release. “You’d better figure it out, flower girl. Preferably before your mother decides to wage a war for you.” 

 The goddess turned to walk away, and when you caught sight of her back, your lips opened before you could even stop them. “What’s your real name?” 

  She stopped in her tracks without turning around, but you saw the tension grow in her back. “Why?” 

“I’m not going to call you by the name that the humans do,” you said, not even bothering to contain the scoff you wanted to give. “I try to call everyone by the names that they have given themselves.” That, and the name was meant to be scary. It was supposed to intimidate and incite fear into people, and you weren’t scared of her. She showed no side of herself that made you think that she was anything like your mother said she was. 

  She turned around slowly, her face expressionless and she looked you right in your eyes in a few moments of silence. “I renamed myself Natasha.”

  Natasha. For a split second, you wondered where she got the name from. Did it come to her in a vision? Did she read it in a book somewhere? Did she take it from a human she admired? Did she even spend time admiring humans? “Then I will call you that.” 

“You can call me whatever you want to,” she sighed out, turning on her heel again to stalk away from you. 

“You didn’t even ask my name,” you called out, heart racing slightly at the idea of benign left alone in the Underworld, outside of the protection of the room that you had woken up in. 

  “I know enough about you to last me many lifetimes, Persephone.” 

“I-it’s Y/N,” you muttered, but the doors to the elevator shut right on your words, and then you were left alone.   

****

taglist: @teenwonder @saamwilscn @messuhp @username23345 @dontmindmejustreading @bitchuwish @blackxwidowsxwife @anxiousgoldengirl @russianredassassin @dailyavengering @blackluthxr @coxmicbabygirl @alytavzla sorry if i missed anyone!!! you can ask to be removed or added at any time!

#natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x female reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff fluff #lgbt marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #my fics #natasha romanov x reader #hades!natasha x persephone!reader #hades!natasha #greek mythology au

[zutaraplatter]

Avatar: The Last Airbender Critique

There are already a million of posts like this one, and I might be saying things that’ve already been said a million times but I’ve recently become reheated about the ATLA ending and wanted to let it out -_- No one asked, this is true, and this may or may not be a way to stall from this final project I still have to complete, but here’s 10 things I didn't like and/or would change about the show that likely shouldn’t need changing because they should have been done in the first place.

1. Katara should have apologized to Sokka after TSR

It should have happened and it didn't. In my canon-avoiding mind, Katara and Sokka have a heartfelt conversation where she apologizes for the awful things she said, Sokka says he forgives her and he's sorry if he wasn't as there for her as much as he should have been, which he follows up with "but I'm happy you listened to Aang and took his advice," leading into my next point

2. Katara should have said that not killing Yon Rha was her choice

And thats why it was the right one. Not because Aang already said it was wrong. No no. It was the right choice because that's what she chose. I love my mom to death and can't imagine losing her in any way, let alone the way Katara did. And I can't say for sure that if I was in her shoes that I know what I would have done f that yes I do I would have killed that motherfucker. But I also know that if Katara decided not to kill him, then that was one of two correct choices because they were Katara's choices to make. Not Aang's or anyone else's and this should have been clarified. I know it's a kids show but I said what I said. Next point.

3. Katara should have said more after telling Aang she was unsure at the Ember Island Players

Katara hasn't had any trouble saying how she feels, especially when it comes to helping others and making them feel better, whether she was right or wrong. But she holds back or overly softens blows and seems to even shrivel up at times when it comes to Aang. And me no likey. I had a boyfriend who I adored and admired and just genuinely looked up to. I'm also a shy and anxious person who hates confrontation, but because I loved him, I never refrained from telling him when he was wrong. I might have been a little shaky about it but I did it tho because when you want to be with someone you walk through the grass and stomp through the mud. And I personally feel like either in that moment or later on in an added scene that Katara should have voiced to Aang how unheard and disrespected she felt about his words before TSR and his actions on the balcony. I hate being uncomfortable and my secondhand embarrassment is toxic but I would love to see a scene of this. I always imagined Katara saying stuff like "But I'm not you Aang, and I'm not an Air Nomad," or "Zuko could understand why I needed to go, and I'd hoped you would too," or...I'm out of ideas but you get the idea. And you know what, I know I'm a hard Zutara shipper, but them having this conversation would honestly make me respect their relationship a whole lot more should it be believably written to end on a good note (I don't see how it could be but hey I'm an open minded person and I did think they were cute together once upon a time). Basically, all I'm saying is that Katara is no small voice and she should have been written that way when with Aang. Boyfriends can make you shy but should never make you weak. Period. Next point.

4. No rock! ONLY GROWTH!!!!!!!!!!!

I still squint my eyes whenever I remember that rock that unblocked Aang's chakra. What even was that? The laziest writing possible in my opinion. That's what. And Aang deserved better. What should have happened should have been that Aang started to lose to Ozai. And then as Ozai's about to deliver the finishing blow, Aang has flashbacks of everyone he's trying to save and honor, ending with a very prominent flashback of Katara with the guru's disembodied voice reminding Aang to let go of his attachments to become all he needs to be...then BOOM! Baby boy is back on his feet, chakra unblocked, he kicks Ozai's ass, I'm crying hysterically on the floor, as are the rest of us, and he wins. Then at the end of the series, instead of a kiss, he gives Katara an apology. She accepts, everyone else comes to join them on the balcony, cinematic group hug, camera pan into the sun. I don't know lol. Basically what I'm saying is that Aang did not deserve some deus ex machina. He deserved to grow and become his best self like everyone else got to.

5. Aang should have heard differently in The Storm

Katara is a very fate-minded person and this is when I saw potential for her to become a toxic character in regards to Aang. When he admits that he ran away from home 100 years ago, Katara tells him that that was basically a good thing because he was meant to be here and now. Like...no? What Aang did, though understandable for someone so young, was still wrong. Yes he would have maybe been killed but I'm like 10000000% sure they had a plan to protect and evacuate the literal avatar. And what was technically "meant to be" was a new avatar. But hey, what's done is done and kicking Aang while he's down is a no-no in this household. But that doesn't change the fact that Aang needed and deserved honesty. Maybe the fisherman could have said this, I don't know, but I feel like Aang should have been told by someone that although running away was wrong, it's a blessing he and Appa were able to survive and be able to help save the world now with his amazing friends found-family. Maybe this is too harsh, and maybe even outright wrong, but I felt like Aang deserved a truer answer here to support and comfort him.

6. MAILEE!!!!

Do I even need to go into detail?

7. Spiritual sigh*

Don't make me go into detail -_- I will say though that although Aang and Katara are both amazing individuals capable of earth shattering things, they were not a healthy fit for one another. This is evident in the original series and especially in their children from LOK. They both deserved the best but better than one another.

8. ZUTARAAAAAAA

This is a Zutara blog you KNEW this was coming, as it should. There's just too much. There's too damn much. I would give a real paragraph to this too, but, I mean, there's already so much proving that this was the pair. Fics, metas, rants, this site. Scroll through my blog or any of the ATLA related blogs I follow and...dude. These two were meant to be together and I'll mourn the narrative brilliance WASTED for no good reason every day for the rest of my life. No reason these two shouldn't be married with three kids. sob. I will take this part to say thank you to the amazing fic writers that gave Katara, Zuko, Mai, and Aang what they deserved that the writers didn't have the guts to give them themselves. Next point tho.

9. AANG AND ONJI

Good God almighty. Why not this? WHY NOT THIS? I'm putting on my bullet proof vest and I'm going to say this; Aanji is cuter than Zutara. Now before you scorn me or whatever, let me explain. Zutara for me is like steak. No. Chicken parmesan. I like chicken parmesan better. The point though is that Zutara is savory. You know? I don't see them as cute, I see them as Obviously. Aanji on the other hand is like a bag of my favorite candy. They are like a brownie. A cookie. Girl Scout Samoas!...I don't know what words are anymore. This post got way out of hand. I guess what I'm saying is that for Zutara, I scream, but for Aanji, I squeal. I hope that makes sense. But here's the main point I want to make. Onji never knew who Aang really was. And Aang was always, at his core, himself. She very obviously had a crush on Aang for his personality and that was crazy cute and frankly preferable to Katara's "I...guess he is." (you know exactly what I'm talking about) Anyway, I kept wanting more of them together. I wish all the time that we'd gotten to see her again, with a more fleshed out character and all. And in the way that I imagine the show should have gone, she could have been the perfect love interest for Aang, during this episode or way later, even in the comics! Another WASTED opportunity for greatness and I will, again, never recover T-T

10. Iroh get your ass back here

Maybe this is a misguided critique but I hated that Iroh just left Zuko alone in the fire nation at the end of the series. Baby was in trouble in every sense of the word and Iroh was just like "See ya! You got this nephew." I'm expected to believe that? I'm expected to accept that? No no no. He should have at least stayed for a few years to help Zuko stay upright and, you know, alive. And by "upright" I don't mean "good." I just mean been there to support him because Lord knows he needed it, at least in the beginning of his reign. It was cute that Iroh was able to settle down with his own teashop after all those years of violence and mourning and running and this and that. I was more than happy for him for being able to have that peace finally. But I still think it could have waited a little while longer so he could support Zuko.

That's it I guess. I know not everything I've said makes the most sense in one way or another, but I enjoyed putting it together all the same. Thank you for reading and have a great day. I'll go finish my final now.

(Edited for a typo)

#zutara #katara #aang #aanji #avatar the last airbender #uncle iroh #onji #on ji #Im wasting more time with these tags #avatar the last airbender critique #avatar critique #mai #avatar mai #ty lee #avatar ty lee #tylee #avatar tylee #the southern raiders

[thenightling]

The Internet has forgotten what real ableism

The word Ableist is thrown around a lot where it doesn’t belong.

The way it is thrown around on the Internet it has been diminished an lost some meaning.   It's like the boy who cried wolf.

I’ve been called ableist on this Hell site twice.  Once for referring to the character Rumplestiltskin from Once Upon a Time as having a disability (The character walks with a cane because of a shattered ankle).  

Someone decided that acknowledging Rumplestiltskin has a disability is ableist because he “did it to himself.”   The character can’t walk without a cane.  But because they don’t like him and don’t sympathize with his backstory, he “doesn’t count” and if you say he has a disability “you are ableist” by default.   This... really happened...  

The other accusation was pretty recent.  It was someone angry at me for debunking Reality Shifting to F--king Hogwarts. Apparently explaining what Lucid Dreaming and maladaptive Daydreaming is now counts as Ableist.

The irony?  I am legally blind.  I’m not actually blind, it just means extremely poor eyesight.  

Hell, I saw Daredevil (the blind superhero) called ableist on this Hellsite because he called a serial killer “crazy.”  The character, in question, was The Punisher.  Yes, The Punisher was sympathetic.  But the blind Superhero, chained up by a known murderer, and being goaded to kill, is NOT “Ableist” for telling his own kidnapper that he’s crazy.  It’s not the most polite term but when you’re chained up by a killer you get a little slack, for God’s sake!  That doesn’t mean you forever call the blind character “Ableist”.

Neil Gaiman (the famous author) was called ableist right here on Tumblr and Facebook because he corrected the spelling of someone who sent him an antisemitic ask.  That’s right.  The Jewish author was called an ableist for... correcting a antisemite’s typo...   He was even sent an ask, asking him to defend himself, because someone had shown his reply to the antisemite to their Facebook group and the members said he was being ableist. The Jewish man was... being ableist... for correcting the typo... of someone sending him hate...  You can probably still find it on Neil’s blog.  You can’t make something like this up!   It’s just too profoundly stupid.  

Tumblr (and other sites) don’t know what ableism actually is and it’s infuriating.  You want to know what REAL ableism is?  

Ableism is being in kindergarten and for “safety” reasons they won’t let you play on the nice playground equipment all your friends are playing on because they’re afraid you’ll fall off with your poor eyesight but you can play on old, rusty, metal ones, making recess socializing really awkward and difficult.  THAT one is okay for some reason! Ableism is swinging around a toy animal with a long tail, accidentally hitting someone because you have no depth perception, the teacher KNOWING you have no depth perception, but still dedicating the afternoon to teaching the class why hitting is wrong, so it’s a humiliation fest because of an accident.

Ableism is being fifteen-years-old in high school and being the only kid who has to call home first to make sure “someone is there for you” to allow you to leave if school gets let out early.  Every... single... time... Ableism is knowing how to swim but the class fieldtrip to the public pool requires a permission slip and even with the permission slip you are only allowed in the wading pool.

Ableism is when Special Ed teachers treat you like you’re mentally disabled because it is the only disability they are used to. (This happens a LOT.)  It makes you feel like you’re stupid or that the world must see you as stupid so that when IQ tests arrive in the mail saying you have a superior intellect you break down crying.

Ableism is going to a school Speech therapy because you have a lisp (I lost my two front teeth when I was a two and they didn’t grow back in until I was almost thirteen).  And the speech teacher is used to neurological conditions where the student can’t shift topics in a conversation and decides you don’t need Speech therapy because you can hold a normal conversation.  Yes, but, I still couldn’t pronounce “Shh.”  I was there for a lisp!

Ableism is being bullied by other kids who pretend to miss their own mouth when eating to mock how poor your sight is. (Because you... see your mouth when eating?!?) Ableism is when a kid sings “O say can Amanda see” every single time we’re made to sing the Star Spangled banner so you come hate the National anthem  or “Three blind Pikes.”  (My name is Amanda Pike).   Three Blind Mice is already unpleasant enough.

Ableism is a teacher telling you she'll have your poetry published in an anthology but it must contain a short bio that says you're in the vision Impaired program.  As if that's the extent of who you are and the reason you'd be published and not because your writing is actually any good... Ableism is the head of the high school's "Vision impaired program" wanting to do "Vision awareness week" by pinning the names of everyone with visual disabilities all over the school.  Because that's not humiliating at all when there are kids already mocking you for your eyesight. Ableism is someone stealing your bookbag in Jr. High, and finding it later with the word “Cyclops” written across it in permanent marker.

Ableism is multiple reviews (including professional ones) whining that Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman audio drama adaptation should have been “updated” for modern audiences with certain parts taken out because it’s “problematic” even though this was literally the first version of the story accessible for the visually impaired or dyslexic. None of these reviews caring that anyone with a disability might want to know the story as it was originally written without having to have a friend read it out loud to them.  That’s ableism disguised as being “woke.”   “This thirty-four-year-old story doesn’t fit modern sensibilities. It should have been re-written.” while ignoring that for many this was their first time even having access to the story at all, warts and all, and sometimes you want to know how a thing was originally written- the good and the bad, not just the polished up and “updated” version.  Deliberately denying access to a story, as it was written, because you don’t like it, is ableist.     That’s ableism.

But...

When you’re called ableist for referring to a character who has a disability as having a disability simply because the person in question doesn’t like him...

When a blind character is called ableist for calling the man beating him up, chaining him up, and murdering people, crazy...

When a Jewish man is called ableist because he corrected the typo of an antisemite sending him hate...

When you’re called ableist for explaining what maladaptive daydreaming is and telling someone they aren’t magically gaining control of the universe where Harry Potter is real...

The word “Ableist” has lost all meaning.   And it’s infuriating.  As someone who has experienced genuine ableism since I was four-years-old, before the term was even coined, it is infuriating.  I knew some teachers, and students were treating me unfairly just because of my eyesight, but the term didn’t exist / wasn’t common yet.   And now the term is thrown around for stupid reasons so it’s diminished.

[princess-geek]

Love Lesson

This fic is dedicated to my guardian angel @storyofmychoices. Besides she's a wonderful a writer, she's an incredible human being whose kind and light are endless. I never could thank her enough for what she has been doing for me.

Dear Dani, I know you usually don't read Hunt's fics written by other authors, but I hope you accept this one.

I hope you enjoyed it 😊💕

Choices Book: Red Carpet Diaries (a couple of years after Book 3)

Characters: Thomas Hunt, Miss Taylor (@storyofmychoices ), mentions to Jessica Massena (my RDC MC) and Matt Rodriguez.

Words: 1748

Warnings: none

Notes: English is not my first language. Please, excuse me any typos /or grammatical errors.   

Special thanks to @alj4890 for be by beta reader.

Jessica Massena exclusive pregnancy photos -  The most handsome Hollywood parents to be talk about the challenges of parenthood.

Thomas sighed and poured some more of the expensive scotch in the glass. He has no idea why he was wasting his time reading garbage press. He'll be the baby's godfather. He knew every detail about the issue. All the sacrifices she did to conceive...how the first months of nausea got her down. But now, she was radiant...healthy...happy...with Matt. 

She had woken up his senses and melted his heart unlike any other woman in years. He never actually had confessed his feelings because it was clear like crystal whom her heart belonged to.  For a while, it drove him crazy. Nowadays, he had made peace with his feelings and he came back to his old self. He also recognized that it was nothing more than a crush, a fever of an almost middle-aged man caused by her infectious joy.  Jessica Massena was a closed chapter in his life.

He abandoned the magazine and refocused on his research. A tragic death of a beloved teacher in a shooting at a high school inspired him to approach the question of USA public schools’ problems. He had read tons of news and academic papers about it, but they were too theoretical. He needed to breath that air, step on those dirty floors, hear the sounds. So, he decided to visit some public schools in area.

Since he was invited to speak at a university conference in New York, Thomas decided to visit some schools there too.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Kids and teens. Many. Too many. It was a banal New York school. Perfect.

As he wandered through the corridors, he saw a girl crying, hidden in the corner of lockers. Thomas wanted to do something, but he didn't know what to do or even what to say to calm the girl down. He never had a good way with children.

While Thomas was still distressed in his dilemma, a brunette stopped her hurried march, stepped back, placed a giant coffee cup on the floor and knelt beside the girl.

She gently wiped the girl's tears away. Thomas couldn't hear clearly what they were talking about, but he noticed that the girl calmed down as the woman spoke to her and stroked her hair.

“After class, I promise I'll go with you to talk to the principal. They can't do that and get away with it!”  the brunette promised hugging the girl tightly.

It was the last thing Thomas heard before the bell rings.

With confusion in the crowded corridors, Thomas lost sight of the girl and the brunette. 

The school board recommended him to visit Miss Taylor's class, classroom no.51. It took a while, but he finally found the classroom. Before knocking on the door, Thomas suddenly felt nervous, with a knot in his stomach.

‘In the name of art, Thomas, in the name of art …' he murmured before knocking.

The door opened. Many pairs of expectant eyes looked back at him with curiosity. When the door opened a little more, it revealed the brunette he had seen with the girl.

His eyes fixed on her sweet chestnut for a moment, and, no matter how cliché and cheesy this may be, his heart literally skipped a beat. Thomas felt an inexplicable warmth come to his face. Fortunately, the beard would camouflage his rosy cheeks. Whatever happened in those seconds, it didn't seem to affect the brunette who looked away.

“Is this Miss Taylor’s class?”

“Yes.”

“I have permission from school board to attend your class. I’m…”

“I know who you’re... please come in,” she smiled shyly, “I apologize for not having a seat for you ... the room is at its maximum capacity ... but if you want you can sit at my desk…”

“No way, Miss Taylor! Don’t worry about me. I am going to the back of the room. You won't even notice my presence. Thank you for having me.”

 She just nodded.

“Class, let me introduce you Mr. Hunt. He is a famous director…”

“We watched one of his movies a few weeks ago, didn't we, Miss Taylor?”

“Yes, we did…”

“Mr. Hunt, Miss Taylor is a huge a fan of you…she said she watched all your movies…”

Miss Taylor's cheeks changed to increasingly reddish tones.

“Kids let me finish, please…”

“Is it true that Jessica Massena blow you off?”

“Samantha don’t be nosy! I’m so sorry, Mr. Hunt…they’re well behaves kids. I'm sure this is the excitement speaking for them,”

“I'm not making anything up ... it's in all the magazines!” Samantha protested.

“Miss Taylor is single, and she already has a soft spot for you…You could ask her out!” another girl added.

“Children, you’re crossing the line ... one more inappropriate observation and you are grounded!”

“That’s okay, miss Taylor…they’re just kids.” Thomas said.

“Thank you for understanding, Mr. Hunt...As I was saying, Mr. Hunt will be here at school for some days and attend some classes for research proposals.”

“This is for a new movie?”

“Can we be part of it?”

The students were even more excited.

It took some time for them to calm down, but little by little, Miss Taylor, in a sweet and serene voice, managed to calm them down and refocus their attention on her.

After correcting homework, Miss Taylor started her Math lesson. The way she explained it was truly remarkable…inspiring. She put in those numbers the same passion he had seen in the greatest actresses.

She was very affectionate with the students. One of them was having troubles in understanding an exercise. Miss Taylor explained it once, twice, three times ... always calmly and patiently.

“Very good! I knew you could do this.” Miss Taylor encouraged the student.

Jessica Massena was a consuming fire, but the brunette teacher was warming his soul, a kind of heat that settles on the skin, on the bones and makes us feel good and at peace.

From time to time, when she thought he wasn’t looking, Miss Taylor threw him a discreet shy look. When their eyes locked, she blushed, adjusted her hair nervously and looked away.

Thomas found himself completely mesmerized. In fact, he felt like he was in one of those cheesy movies where the main character is completely lost gazing at the girl, there is a pop romantic ballad playing in the background and the sun shines brighter.

 He didn't notice time passing, delighted to hear and observe her. The bell woke him from the trance.

“Sorry again for the kids... and for and the indiscreet remarks.”

“No need to apologize. It's part of the children's charm ... at least that's what people say.”

“I hope you found our class useful for your research.”

“Yes...thank you for having me...”

There was an awkward silence for a few seconds. Whenever one looked, the other looked away.

“The pleasure was ours. If there is anything that kids or I can do for help...”

He barely heard her, captivated by her natural features. Her lips were two beautiful pink lines. Thomas had never thought of his life being enchanted by a nose, but Miss Taylor's nose was the cutest nose he had ever seen. The director was so distracted that he didn’t notice he was leaning against a desk, which, at some point, gave in to his weight, causing him to lose his balance.

She tried to grab his arm to hold him, but the force of gravity had no mercy and the director ended up falling on the floor dragging Miss Taylor with him who landed on top of him.

Just a couple of inches were separating their lips. “Kiss her!” a voiced shouted in a corner of his head, “Are you crazy, Thomas?” another inner voice replied, “You’ve only known her for a couple of hours ... What would she think of you?”

I must have hit my head very hard... his rational self thought.

“Oh Lord, I’m so sorry, Miss Taylor...Are you okay?”

“Yes...and you? I’m so sorry. I was trying help and my clumsiness got things worse like the usual…”

“No, it was all my fault, Miss Taylor.”

Her perfume. It was not like the expensive signature perfume the women who he usually crossed paths. Her hair smelled like honey and her perfume was soft with hints of flowers.

“Maybe we should get up?”

“Yes, of course, sorry.” Thomas babbled.

She got up first and held out her hand to help him. Thomas declined delicately. A gentleman must help the lady and not the other way around.

However, when he got up, he fell out of balance again, falling once more.

Miss Taylor smiled to avoid laughter.

“You can laugh. This is absolutely ridiculous,” Thomas said, allowing a smile to appear on his lips.

He rose from the ground with as much dignity as possible, shaking the dust and smoothing his blazer. Moved by the instinct of help, Miss Taylor helped him to clean up. At some moment, their fingers touched and grazed each other’s for some seconds. She blushed and took her hand from his arm.

“May I offer you to a coffee? I mean, offer a coffee to you…as an I’m sorry coffee,”

“You don’t have to do it, Mr. Hunt…”

“Just Thomas, please…and I insist…It’d be a pleasure for me.”

“I…I'd love it…”

“Great! Do you recommend any place special?”

“Wait , I can’t…I’m sorry, I promised to help a student after classes…she really needs me today…I’m sorry���”

“She…your students are lucky to have you.”

Miss Taylor blushed. “I’m not that special…I just love what I do…I think you can understand me on that point…You used to be a professor too...and, you know how it is...When we love our job, we don’t just do it...we breathe it.”

Yes, he could understand that. And he was understanding that this he was feeling was something he shouldn’t ignore.

“I’ll come back tomorrow to Mr. Somerset’s classroom. Maybe, after classes tomorrow?”

She smiled.

“Until tomorrow.”

Thomas gently grabbed her hand, taking it to his lips and planting a gentle kiss on it, “I’m counting the minutes. Have a lovely evening, Miss Taylor.”

He made his way out of the classroom, but not resisting to steal some glances of her along the way, which cost him a blow to the shin, courtesy of desk’s iron leg. When he threw a last glance at the doorway, she said:

“Danielle. My name is Danielle.”

#choices stories you play #play choices fanfic #choices red carpet diaries #red carpet diaries #rcd thomas hunt #choices thomas hunt #thomas hunt #thomas hunt rcd #thomas hunt hwu

[warcats-cat]

Fragile

I’m so glad I got to participate in the @goloveday exchange! I don’t do fic exchanges often, but this one was a lot of fun! Special thanks to @miniaturefern for beta'ing this for me. @saer-m, I really hope you enjoy your gift! It was wonderful to write this for you!! <3 

Also cross posted on Ao3! 

TW: a little bit of insecurity, crying, references to past trauma. It’s that good good hurt/comfort tho. <3

Crowley had everything planned perfectly. Really. He’d tagged along on one of angel’s trips for some special book that Crowley didn’t fully care about; he just liked to hear Aziraphale’s voice. He liked the way the angel’s face literally lit up, he started almost glowing out his eyeballs, when he got excited. Crowley liked it when Aziraphale was happy. Crowley would damn his soul all over again to see that glowing smile forever. So he’d come with Aziraphale on a little trip, listening to his angel babble about botched phrasing and hilariously disastrous typos and watching from the corner of his eye as the fluffy head bounced and soft hands jittered.

And of course, as soon as Crowley found out they were going on a trip of any kind, he started planning. This was their first trip, after all.

Well, their first as a couple at least.

And it was a little weird, being officially a thing and having the freedom to hold hands or press into each other’s sides at night; knowing that, for once, they didn’t have to worry about “them” watching. If “they” were watching, it didn’t really matter. And Crowley wanted to celebrate the idea.

So he had driven his angel out to Satan-Knows-Where in the middle of autumn. He had watched his angel barter and chat with people milling about in shop fronts and street market stalls. He had listened to his angel prattle on and almost drifted away on the sound of his voice.

God just wasn’t interested in his happiness, apparently.

See, the opposite of that exciting feeling of holding hands was being able to feel Aziraphale’s hand tense when they got dirty looks from passersby. The opposite of the warmth coming from Aziraphale’s soft side was the coldness he felt when the angel tensed, just slightly, and pulled the nearest breadth away. "They" may not have been watching, but the humans certainly were. And the humans around them lately were making Aziraphale upset. And Crowley didn’t really know why.

So Crowley had taken to planning things. A picnic in the park near their hotel, late evening, and maybe some stargazing (since Aziraphale seemed to love Crowley’s stories as much as the demon enjoyed his angel’s.) Quiet and away from prying, judgmental eyes. Crowley only hoped it made Aziraphale feel safer.

It didn’t.

Crowley could feel it right off. Aziraphale was tense; he chose to carry the basket instead of holding Crowley’s hand. He kept himself carefully apart, not even bumping Crowley’s shoulder affectionately as he had the morning before. Crowley was chilly in the warm night air, feeling alone despite the angel at his side.

The picnic went carefully; Aziraphale sat opposite the demon, and resolutely fixed his eyes just above Crowley’s glasses. He poured wine and nibbled bread and cheese and very purposefully made small talk, as if Crowley wouldn’t notice something amiss after six thousand years of knowing the bastard.

After almost a hundred years of loving him.

After almost a full year of getting to say it out loud.

“Angel, what the Heaven is wrong with you?” Crowley finally blurted, interrupting Aziraphale’s droll observations on cicadas or some such insect with all the grace of a newborn elephant. Aziraphale’s face sunk as the angel huddled into himself, and Crowley began tripping over his own tongue in an effort to course-correct. “No. That’s not- I said that wrong. Uh. Yeah. I don’t mean it like, ‘what’s wrong with you’, but like, ‘you’ve been weird lately and I don’t know if I did something’ but if I did do something you know you can tell me because I want to fix it, right?” Crowley stammered out, as if trying to catch Aziraphale’s heart as it sank.

Aziraphale stayed quiet for a long time after that, staying in his little hunched position, looking like the picture of sadness to the demon in front of him. This was not going to plan. He’d brought the angel’s favorites and yet Aziraphale had barely eaten or drank anything. He’d tried to have a nice outdoor meeting because Aziraphale loved picnics, but the angel had shuttered at every passerby for the last fifteen minutes. He’d talked about nothing more in-depth than the weather, and had ignored all of Crowley’s digs and efforts to start debates in favor of remaining passive and demure. Finally, Crowley couldn’t stand the quiet; whispering softly into the darkness before him. “Angel?

The angel swallowed and took a light, steadying breath, before leaning in and softly pressing his forehead to Crowley’s.

“My dearest, I think I should like to go inside…” he said, barely murmuring himself. Crowley could feel the bridge of his angel’s nose pressing the bridge of his glasses. He could feel the warmth from the angel’s skin on his forehead. And he could feel the barest tremble of the body underneath.

“Okay, angel; anything you want.” He replied quietly. “Do you want to walk there, or..?” When Aziraphale’s answer wasn’t forthcoming, Crowley chose to snap his fingers, bringing them right into their room and onto the plush bed, barely a pop to denote the change. And yet, Aziraphale didn’t move for several minutes.

Crowley knew, of course, that Aziraphale didn’t do well being rushed, but he was also acutely aware of warm tears dropping down between the pair. So the demon chose instead to tilt his head, just slightly, and gently nuzzle the angel’s face, hoping to bring comfort. Aziraphale’s cheek twitched, and he let out a soft, shaken sigh.

“I’m old.” he said quietly.

Once again, Crowley’s handling of the situation was eloquent and sensitive;

“Well duh, we’ve both been around for six millennia! They could be studying us in the Royal Museum, angel!”

Aziraphale let out a wet “Ha!” and started to cry harder, at which point Crowley realized he hadn’t quite soothed the situation like he’d thought, and wrapped his arms around the angel tightly.

“Oh, you know I don’t know what to say you prissy bastard. I haven’t got near the high-and-mighty education you do.” That brought a more earnest chuckle out of Aziraphale, and the angel reached to wipe the tears from his cheeks, wiggling from Crowley’s grasp for a moment. “You’ve gotta tell me what you mean, when you say something like that,” the demon continued.

“I suppose I mean old-fashioned,” Aziraphale began, “And really even then I can’t explain.” He sat quietly for a moment, trying to recompose himself. Crowley moved to pull Aziraphale into his chest, wanting to hold the angel. Once again, however, Aziraphale tried to pull away.

“I’m afraid.” Aziraphale said softly. “I’m afraid because I feel the archangels' eyes on me even when I know they aren’t, and that lot have plenty of other things to do. And I’m afraid because I love you very much, but I worry I’m not right.”

Crowley’s heart leapt at hearing the little ‘I love you’ in the angel’s confession, since the pair had only said it out loud a few times since their retirement; but it sank right down again at hearing the rest of what Aziraphale had to say. He tried to give the confession the appropriate amount of time for consideration, before finally asking, “I don’t know what you mean?”

The angel’s eyes became wet again, and he let out a heavy sigh; “Oh, Crowley.” He had a sad but fond smile, and pulled Crowley back onto the bed, finally cuddling up into the demon’s side.

“You’re you, my dear. You’re clever and tall and fantastically dapper, and you’re constantly swaying about as if you haven’t got a care in the world for what the people around us think, and I’m most certain you really don’t . And I suppose it’s not really my worry what the humans think of us. But…” He quieted once more, and all but buried his face in Crowley’s side. “I can’t just let go. They were my family, Crowley, and they said such awful things to me, and I want to just forget but I can’t and I’m afraid I never will and I don’t want to just be your constant reminder of my own problems that I can’t solve. I don’t want to do that to you.”

“So you’ve been thinking about the self-obsessed pigeon again,” Crowley teased. Aziraphale turned delightfully red at that, and smacked Crowley’s chest, smiling despite himself.

“You really mustn’t call him that. It's terribly rude.” Aziraphale said, sniffling.

“Oh! Rude! You didn’t tell me he didn’t like the nickname!” Crowley teased back. He snuggled closer and planted a kiss right on Aziraphale’s cheekbone. “I didn’t know we were being nice to the pigeon now! After he's treated my dove so terribly!” Crowley attempted another nuzzle and won a beautiful little wet laugh from the angel.

“Look, angel. Angel, I..." He looked up at the ceiling, then back down. "Angel," he said, "my love is not fragile. Do you really think I care if you still wake me up in the middle of the night because you’re feeling insecure a thousand years from now? Granted, I might be a little grumpy about it. 'Gotta get my beauty sleep in after all. But..." he paused, suddenly a little self-conscious, "I'll... I'll still love you. No matter how many times I have to remind you.”

Aziraphale’s tears were soaking Crowley’s shirt, but the demon couldn’t bring himself to care. He could sense the change; they weren’t borne strictly of sadness any longer. Crowley held his angel for a long time after that, letting the night wrap around them. They could picnic and stargaze tomorrow. Drive back to London later in the week. Tomorrow Aziraphale would brew tea and Crowley would tease him about the new book. Right now, Crowley was exactly where he wanted to be, planning be blessed.

The demon pulled a hand up, for just a moment, and snapped his fingers. The pair became cocooned in soft, heavy blankets. They held onto each other, two stars so close they might as well have been one.

#warcats writes #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #goloveday2021 #hurt/comfort #good omens fluff #tw insecurity #tw references to trauma #tw crying

[mysticaltigersorceress]

STORY TIME: LUNCH LADY STYLE

hi so I work at an American elementary school kitchen. (Yes, I’m a lunch-lady.) (Disclaimer, I work at a charter school, and we make most of our own food. Not going to get hung up on this fact, let’s keep going.)

So by government regulations, we are required to offer milk to the kids every meal. We go through a LOT of milk in one week. Their favorite is the chocolate milk. We also offer strawberry and plain milk. 

Every Monday and Thursday, we have until school gets out to alter our milk order before it comes the next day. About a week ago, we barely missed the deadline, but needed to alter the amount of strawberry milk we were receiving, so we called the person at the factory who could change our order for us. Let’s call him Jerry.

My manager asked Jerry to change our order to 400 half pints of strawberry milk. There are 50 half pints in one milk crate, so it would be 8 crates. Jerry says “400 half pints.” Manager says “Yes, 400 half pints.” All is well. We shall receive the correct number of milks to serve all these children their milk.

Wrong.

The next morning, the milk guy comes in. He asks us how much strawberry milk we ordered. We ask the manager, she says she only ordered 400. Well. Apparently there was a mistake when Jerry put in our order. Instead of 400 half pints, he put in 400 crates. 400 CRATES. multiply that by fifty. That is 20,000 half pints. 20,000 half pints.

Let me illustrate this better for you. This was 8 palates worth of milk. 20,000 half pints would be 10,000 pints. 1250 Gallons of milk. 4732 liters of milk.

Bless our milk delivery man, he has an ounce of sense in him. Out of every stage of milk production to milk delivery, NOBODY took a look at this order for over 20,000 milk (we still have our normal order of white and chocolate milk) and said “Hey, that’s a lot of milk. Is that a typo? Or are they going to give milk the the whole damn city?” But the milk delivery man saw that order when he went to load up his truck and called Jerry, because we do not need that much milk. 

So since Jerry made a mistake, we got a little extra strawberry milk, but they sent most of it back. 

Here’s the deal.

Today, we didn’t get our normal order of chocolate milk.

We got a ton of extra strawberry milk.

Because they made so much extra strawberry milk, they needed to get rid of it, so EVERYBODY who orders from this milk company is getting extra strawberry milk and little to no chocolate milk until we get rid of all this stinking strawberry milk. Even the schools that normally don’t order strawberry milk.

(Yes, i’ve been laughing my ass off during this whole process because it’s that or cry over how much strawberry milk there is. It’s just so funny because its such an ungodly amount of milk and NOBODY NOT A SINGLE FUCKING SOUL THOUGHT TO THEMSELVES “hey this seems like a lot of milk is this correct?” nope just “okay looks like they finally got over chocolate milk and are in favor of the strawberry milk)

#oh my god someone save me #i love this job but i can't wait to quit #mvchat #storytime #lunch lady #work stories

[the-gayest-tree-you-ever-did-see]

i’ve always been jealous of people who are like oh when i heard the word asexual/demi/aro i knew it described me perfectly- like it was never like that for me. you’re so right about trying to fit into a label that i googled and thought eh well close enough. honestly sometimes i feel the world queer isn’t right for me either, but it’s the closest and the most comfortable (like dan mentioned who the fuck invented labels?!! or words?!! i don’t know what the fuck i am!) all this to say i gay

cassie’s a rick stan too, in the beginning of chain of iron she thanks him for letting her use his character name. apparently there’s a nico di angelo in the shadowhunter world. I haven’t read chain of iron yet either though!! i want to read it so bad, but i get the families and characters confused sm lmao.

ahhhHh i’ve seen one of those text memes where magnus is like i hate all shadowhunters and then alec is like hi (this makes no sense i’m sorry lol)

dans video came out! i lost my dinof virginity and daddy dan penetrated me hard with his upload... this is the grossest thing i’ve ever typed out, i hope your proud tree. also i single handedly ruined dan’s pride celebration.

i have so many thoughts about the video but my brain is all sludgy rn so i’ll save them for another ask to save you from reading that mess.

i love you and all our tiny children who randomly pop up on your blog.

mwah! mwah! mwah! (i missed you more so you get three)

also i write these to you right before i go to bed like a little good night letter. that also means most of me is unfiltered indi lol, also kudos to you for always deciphering my typos. i can’t help them i have fat thumbs like daddy dan (okay that was the last one i’m sorry).

i don’t even know what i’m typing anymore but ilysm and you’re so pretty and nice

with a forehead kiss

- indi <3

completely agree, a lot of my friends came out as some form of queer close before and after i did, and they all had specific labels for themselves that they loved, and i was So Jealous of them for already having something they were so comfortable with it, and it made me feel horrible whenever i told them i was changing a label or adding on to something until i quite literally broke down and decided to just use queer bc it was easiest, and then i realized it was "easy" bc i was most comfortable with it. (this led to me crying for an hour on the toilet because why am i so goddamn stupid but technicalities)

oh and that reminded me, i know we havent talked about it recently, but going way back to being queer and having to kind of cut off your heritage, it hits me a lot when im trying to find a name for myself, bc on one hand, i can have an english name and its fine bc its my choice, but i almost feel like im betraying my culture? and i know, deep down, that im not and its fine, but some part of me doesnt believe that. and then on the other hand, the names i find cool, like arjuna or mahesh, work, but then im like do i really want to spend my whole life correcting the pronunciation? bc the thing with picking indian names is that i have to like both the actual way to say it, and the english accent way to say it. and i like Arjuna (even though im not cool enough to pull it off lol) but i dont like the weak way its pronounced by english people. and i definitely like the nickname Aru for it, but i dont like the ahrhoo way english people say it. and i dont want to correct it. and my deadname is telugu and its one where you know what it means immediately, so do i want to carry that theme over to my new name (ex: a name like Anand, or Dharma)? but again, pronunciation. idk im just ranting a bit, ignore me lmao

no yeah, theyre both so supportive of each other!! i just got chain of iron and the dedication says "di Angelo" so maybe a character has that last name? idk, ill read it in a week or so, im super excited!! i get the families and everyone confused but im too lazy to go back and reread so i just suffer 😌 eventually i get enough of a grasp to understand it though, so all's well that ends well

no but thats exactly what happened lmaooo, magnus was like "fuck shadowhunters" and saw alec and was like "...😳 fuck shadowhunters 😏👉🏽👈🏽" and yk, thats valid, alec is a snack tbh. so's magnus but he doesnt need to be told that lmao, he knows.

*sniffs* i am... 😢 so proud 😭 the student has become the master 😓 in all honesty, the video made me cry and i loved it, like there were definitely parts where i was like k move on but the whole thing put together was 😥 im definitely rewatching it at some point (in three years when i have another hour of free time)

feel free to dump i cant articulate anything right now!!

🥰 i love you more, and our tiny children know theres cereal in the kitchen so please dont bother your parents lovelies /j

😊😚 no I missed you more!! *groans fill the air, i am kicked out of the swamp*

🥺 a little good night letter? :(((( thats so sweet, and dw there arent even that many typos (or maybe there are and im too dumb to notice 😌 either one works) (and sTOP)

🥺🥰🤗 thank youuu, but you know you're prettier, and lovely and i love you so much <3

#asks #the tree speaks #indiphannon #my beloved <3

[obligatorynasty]

The Weight of the Knife, Part 2: Whetstone

Part: [1] [2] [3] | Read on: AO3 | WC: ~7k | Please excuse any typos.

Main Tags: BadBoy!Tony, Highschool AU, NFF, Angst, TW:Mentions of Blood, TW:Abuse, TW:Graphic Depictions of Violence, TW:Bullying, TW:Underage Drinking and Smoking, Bruises, Hangovers and Mentions of Puke, [Read all tags on AO3]

Dedicated to @starker-stories, whose love for this AU kept me motivated to write more.

~*6*~

With the sheen of the morning sun and the general lack of partygoers and trash in the front lawn, Steve’s house was actually much nicer than Peter remembered. A proper dose of suburbia, complete with a neutral color palette and a brick mailbox. In the driveway, Steve, Sam, Happy, and Rhodey were packing the cars. Pepper, Bruce, and Bucky were chatting on the porch, while Tony was parked near the curb, leaning against his car with a cigarette perched between his lips. As for Quentin, he hadn’t arrived yet and, for that, Peter breathed a sigh of relief. 

As MJ parked her car and went to join the group on the porch, Ned and Peter hopped out to help move the groceries into coolers, grabbing handfuls of bags from the trunk and walking them up the driveway.

“Hey, Peter,” Rhodey greeted, a friendly smile on his face as he took the bags. “Thanks for inviting us to this.”

“Of course,” Peter nodded, trying on a smile of his own, hoping it came off as genuine. “You guys are Tony’s friends.”

“Speaking of Tony,” Rhodey handed the groceries off to Happy and ushered Peter away from prying ears, whispering a wary, “I don’t know what’s going on between you two but Tony is really beaten up about it.”

Peter’s fake smile dropped into a concerned frown as he stole a glance at the brooding bad boy. “Did he say anything?”

“It’s less of what he did say and more so what he didn’t,” Rhodey crossed his arms. “He’s been working on Jarvis non-stop, like no sleep, no talking, no nothing for the entire weekend. The last time he was like this was when Pepper dumped him. So, as his friend, I’m asking: did you dump him?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“No,” Peter answered without hesitation, shaking his head, eyes widening in worry, “Does that mean he’s... is Tony dumping me?” He whispered, his heart beginning to race as he nervously gripped at the bottom hem of his shirt.

“No, no way!” Rhodey shook his head, lightly laughing, “He would never. Not with the way he talks about you.” He placed a reassuring hand on Peter’s shoulder. 

“What do you mean? He talks about me?”

“All the fucking time,” Rhodey explained. “He literally won’t shut up about you. So when he just stopped, I got worried,” He shrugged, gesturing over to Tony.  “So can you go talk to him? See if you can stop him from being so angsty. Try to keep him from sucking the life out of the air.”

“I don’t know,” Peter sighed, shaking his head, “Talking has not gone well for us and I don’t want to start a fight, especially when everyone is trying to have a good time.” 

“I see,” Rhodey nodded, eyebrows furrowing in thought before flashing a bright smile. “Then, if talking doesn’t work, just go over there and hug him or something. I’m sure that’ll work.”

“Wait, w-what?” Peter asked but Rhodey was already urging him towards the sidewalk, guiding him by the shoulders down the driveway, leaving him to take the final steps.

Peter hadn’t seen Tony all weekend; it was the first time that’s happened since they started dating. The older boy was wearing a black tank top, his arms exposed and crossed. Only moving them to toss the cigarette that was nothing but its yellow end. The sunglasses he wore were tinted so dark that Peter couldn’t see his eyes, but he guessed, by his relaxed chin and still face, that his eyes were expressionless.

“Hi,” Peter whispered, standing a couple of strides away, idly twiddling his fingers.

“Hey,” Tony’s voice sounded deeper than usual but Peter couldn’t tell why – if only he could see his eyes.

Peter gestured to the sunglasses, “Can you- um… take those off? Please.” 

“Why?” 

“Just because,” Peter mumbled, stepping towards his boyfriend with caution. Standing a mere inch away, close enough to inhale the lingering cigarette smoke and feel the heat of Tony’s body. “That okay?” He asked, eyes gentle and pleading.

Tony clenched his jaw, grumbling a short, “Whatever.”

Peter reached up, gently tugging the frames away from Tony’s eyes and frowning when he saw how red and puffy they were. The sight was heartbreakingly relatable. Over the weekend, Peter had cried in waves; tearing up at the thought of their arguments, or the bruise on his wrists, or the memories of their happier moments. He managed to hold back his emotions this morning because he had MJ and Ned to distract him but the state of Tony’s eyes had him biting the inside of his lip. He inhaled slowly, willing the emotions away and asking a careful, “Were you crying?”

“No,” Tony lied – blatantly lied – and didn’t bother coming up with an excuse either.

So Peter didn’t bring it up. Instead, he opened his arms and dropped his body against Tony’s, wrapping his arms around the older boy’s torso. It just felt right, even more so when Tony reciprocated. The hug was a wordless comfort; an apology through touch; a feeling of mutual understanding. An agreement to put it all aside; to enjoy their now and fix it later. Yes, they fought – yes, they were fighting – but this hug meant they still felt for each other and that made all the difference.

Peter nuzzled his face against Tony’s chest, relishing in the familiar comfort before gazing up at him, “Can we ride to the beach alone together?”

“Yeah,” Tony whispered, kissing Peter’s forehead and bringing a hand up to cup his face, using his thumb to caress his boyfriend’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”

Peter gave a solemn smile, “Me too.”

“Okay, lovebirds, that’s enough. We’re not done packing the cars yet. You can fuck each other later.” Rhodey interrupted, making the group burst into laughter.

And Tony laughed too, letting Peter put the sunglasses back before turning to Rhodey with a smile on his face. “Anything you say, Platypus.”

After that, the tension seemed to dissipate. Tony’s friends and Peter’s friends were peacefully mingling with each other, chatting and working to pack the cars. Everything was relaxed and fun and, for a brief yet amazing moment, stress free. 

Then Quentin showed up.

“Hey guys!” He waved, stepping out of his car to introduce himself to Tony’s friends. He was bleeding charisma, managing to get some laughs as he helped put the remainder of supplies in his trunk before walking over to Peter.

“Hey, kid,” Quentin playfully smiled, throwing an arm across Peter’s shoulders like it was second nature. “How are you doing today? Is he giving you any trouble?” He asked, gesturing to Tony, who was visibly tense and scowling at Quentin like he was the scum of the earth.

“No,” Peter shook his head, awkwardly pulling away from Quentin’s hold and stepping closer to Tony.

Quentin audibly tsked, “Of course you would say that with him standing there.”

Tony flinched at that, briefly clenching his fist before taking a deep breath to calm himself. “I’ll be in the car.” He said, turning and walking towards his car

“Tones, wai-” Peter called out, being promptly cut off by the slam of the car door before turning his attention back to Quentin. “Honestly, Beck, you don’t have to worry about it. Me and Tony are just working through some stuff.”

Quentin sighed, “I get that but – I don’t know, Peter – he just seems dangerous. I’m worried that you’ll get hurt again.”

“I appreciate it but Tony isn’t dangerous,” Peter assured. “He’s more complex than that.”

“Fine but, at least, would you ride with me to the beach?” Quentin asked, grabbing Peter’s hand. “It will give me some peace of mind to know you’re safe.”

Peter quickly pulled his hand away, shrugging, “Sorry, Beck, I can’t. I already said I would ride with Tony and, like I said, he isn’t dangerous. I’ll be completely fine.”

Quentin clenched his teeth, “But you-”

“Okay everyone!” Steve interrupted. “We’re all set to go. Let’s try and get there before the sun goes down.”

With that, everyone piled into the cars, ready to road trip. Steve, Sam, Bucky, and Ned rode in MJ’s car and, naturally, Happy took Rhodey, Pepper, and Bruce. Peter was the only one left but his choice was made. Although he felt bad for leaving Quentin by himself, he would ride with Tony. 

So Peter jumped into the passenger seat, wary at first that Quentin’s words had stoked a flame but happy to see Tony calmly selecting music. He smiled, soaking in the familiar scent of cologne and cigarettes, glad to be in Tony’s car without an argument brewing. Sounds of the whirring engine and the passing scenery were not as nerve-wracking with the gentle hum of his boyfriend’s singing. The moment was soothing and the temporary peace was the exact kind of comfort Peter needed. He was grateful. He really, really was – but he also wasn’t.

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m still upset,” Peter whispered. “It’s not going away.”

Tony nodded, breathing a deep sigh, “Yeah, me too.”

~*7*~

“Peter, wake up, we’re here.”

Peter roused from his slumber, lifting his head off the window and wiping a drop of drool from the corner of his mouth. He stretched, glancing at Tony as the car came to a stop in the driveway. “We’re here? How long was I asleep?”

“The whole ride,” Tony laughed as he pulled the keys from the ignition and reached across to fetch his cigarettes from the glove compartment.

“Oh,” Peter flashed an apologetic look. “Sorry, I should’ve stayed up to keep you company.”

“I didn’t mind. You’re cute when you snore, bab- uh... I mean, Peter.” Tony stumbled on his words, shaking his head as he exited the car.

And despite the awkward correction, those words were enough to make Peter’s face go warm, tinted pink in the evening sun as he stepped out of the car and into the sea-salted air. 

The beach house was gorgeous with its glass-enclosed sun room, its soft pastel tones, and its large stilts to protect from the tides. The deck was well equipped with a fire pit, some lounge chairs, a grill, and stairs that led directly to the beach, which was by far the best part. The sand was picturesque – a perk of being on a privately maintained beach – and the water was a mesmerizing blue, at least in the orange hue of the budding sunset.

“Steve, this place is amazing!” Ned exclaimed as he ran up the front steps. “Let's hurry and swim before it gets dark!”

Peter laughed to himself as the group seemed to mobilize around that sentiment; unloading the cars in less time than it took to pack them and promptly settling sleeping arrangements. Naturally, Steve, Sam, and Bucky took the master bedroom, disappearing in there without question. Ned, Bruce, Rhodey, and Happy stole a room with two double beds, boasting about their en suite bathroom. As for the remaining three rooms, MJ and Pepper claimed one with a view of the beach, Quentin took the smallest one at the end of the hall, and Tony and Peter settled for the room with one window.

“This place is really nice,” Peter made small talk as he laid his suitcase against the floor of their room, unzipping it to unpack his things. 

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, tossing his duffel bag to the floor before sitting against the edge of the bed. An uncomfortable silence washed over the atmosphere. The only sounds were the rustle of Peter’s bag and the whoosh of waves from beyond the window.

“Hey.” Tony broke the silence.

“Hm?” Peter turned towards his boyfriend, surprised to find an outstretched hand beckoning him to the bed. He didn’t question it. He simply made his way over, taking a seat next to Tony and glancing at him out the corner of his eye.

Without warning, the older boy clasped his hand in Peter’s, squeezing gently, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter breathed out, keeping his words scarce, fearful that more would cause their interaction to spiral. 

For a few long minutes, Tony just held Peter’s hand, idly dragging his thumb back and forth, caressing the younger boy’s skin. Then, he skimmed his hand down towards Peter’s wrist, brushing his fingertips against the tender bruise before whispering, “Can I kiss you?”

“You don’t have to ask,” Peter assured, turning his head to be kissed but blushing when he realized what his boyfriend meant. 

Tony didn’t lean in. Instead, he lifted Peter’s wrist and left a flurry of soft kisses on the bruise. Slowly trailing upward, peppering kisses across Peter’s palm and fingertips. He paused, whispering against Peter’s skin, “Can I touch you more?”

Peter gave a soft smile, “Yeah, Tones.”

And Tony smiled – but it wasn’t all happiness – no, somewhere in his eyes Peter could see the worry lurking. Even as he grasped Peter’s waist and pulled him into his lap, he was so oddly careful. Careful in the way he skimmed his fingertips against the tops of Peter’s thighs. Careful in the soft trail up Peter’s back and the faint grip on his sides. Careful in the way his eyes flickered between those big brown orbs and those smooth pink lips. Deathly careful in the tone of his voice, so tender and desperate, “I don’t want to upset you anymore.”

Those barely-there words were like sirens in Peter’s ears, leaving a twisting pain in his chest as memories of their fights flooded his thoughts. All the confusion, all the insecurity, all the hurt. Feelings so vivid in his mind as he pressed his lips against Tony’s, seeking comfort in the very source of all his strife.

Their kiss was gentle and innocent, paired with soothing touches that sent static tingles up Peter’s spine and a flurry of emotions that brought tears down his cheeks. Silently trickling from the corners of his eyes as he brought his hands up to caress the stubble along Tony’s jaw. Thumbing tiny circles into the older boy’s cheek, guiding their lips even closer before pulling away slow, hovering just beyond that sweet sensation.

A blink sent cascades of new tears down the contours of Peter’s face as he stared into the pools of anxiety that were his boyfriend’s eyes. “I’m so mad at you,” He whispered against Tony’s lips, his voice shaky as the taste of warm breath and tears swirled inside his senses. “But I’m weak,” He breathed out a soft, defeated laugh. “I’m so fucking weak for you, Tony.”

For a moment, Tony’s lips trembled, parting and closing as if to vet the words that lay beneath. “I-” He spoke, his face hot against Peter’s fingertips before he tucked his forehead against his boyfriend’s collarbone, tightening his hold to further convey the message of his simple, yet curated words. “I missed you.”

Peter smiled through his tears, bringing his hands to Tony’s dark locks, threading his fingers through to the nape of his neck, where he rubbed mindless shapes into the flushed skin. “I missed you too, Tones.”

“And I’m so lucky to have you,” Tony muttered, his breath tickling the curve of Peter’s neck.

“But you hurt me,” Peter’s voice was borderline unstable and each deep breath he took only caused more tears to flow. “You have to tell me why. Please.”

Tony inhaled and held it, lifting his head and locking gazes with Peter, revealing the single tear stain that streaked across his cheek. As he exhaled, he struggled against the wetness pooling on his lashes, “Because I’m broken... and jealous—”

“Tony,” Peter breathed out, worry painted across his tone.

“—and everything was so out of control.” Tony paused, clenching his teeth and taking another breath. “The shit at home has gotten bad and seeing you with Quentin scared me,” His hands trembled against Peter’s skin, “It made me feel like you didn’t want me anymore.”

“Tony," Peter gave a small, reassuring smile. "You’re the only one I want.”

“But I’m scared you’ll leave.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah.”

The next moments were filled with nothing but the echo of heartbeats and breaths as they embraced not only each other but the breakthrough they yearned for. A conversation that ended without anger; a conversation they needed; one they craved.

Yet again, Tony was the first to break the silence. This time with a more lighthearted tone. “You look hot today.”

“You like the shirt?” Peter softly giggled, wiping the tears from his face, “May bought it so I could look floral and beachy.”

“You look so cute in it, baby,” Tony smiled, pressing a kiss against Peter’s cheek.

“T-Tones,” Peter stuttered, averting his bashful eyes.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, do you know that?”

“Tony-”

“Do you?”

“Yes!” Peter laughed. “You tell me all the time.”

“Yeah, but it’s still not enough,” Tony grinned, squeezing his arms where they sat at Peter’s waist. “You’re beautiful, baby.”

“Thank you,” Peter’s laughter trailed off as he pressed a kiss to Tony’s forehead. “Now, I don’t want to ruin this mood, but we should probably join the others.”

“Or we could stay here,” Tony’s tone dropped low, husky and tempting against Peter’s ear. “And you can let me apologize to you properly.”

Peter’s breath hitched in his throat, “W-We shouldn’t r-right now.”

“Not right now, hm?” Tony whispered against the skin beneath Peter’s ear, “What if I say I’ll do anything you want?”

Those words sent chills across Peter’s skin. “A-Anything?” 

“Anything you want, baby boy,” Tony assured.

A small whine escaped Peter’s lips as he posed a shaky, “Later t-tonight?”

Tony smirked, grazing his hand against his boyfriend’s inner thigh, “If you can even last till then.”

Peter’s face exploded in a dark blush. “I c-can!” He exclaimed, sliding off of Tony’s lap and walking over to his suitcase to grab his swim shorts, facing the wall to hide his embarrassment.

Tony snorted, “Whatever you say, baby.” The bed creaked as he stood and in a few short steps, his palms were pressing against the wall on either side of Peter’s frame. “But if that changes—”

Peter spun around, intending to interrupt but being dazed by the sight in front of him. Somewhere between the bed and wall, Tony had managed to remove his tank top. Fuck.

“—I’ll be here to help in any way I can,” Tony whispered, staring at Peter with a suggestive glint in his eyes as his tongue shot across his bottom lip. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Peter squeaked, his face much redder than before as he ran off to the bathroom to change. 

In the honesty of the bathroom mirror, Peter could see how much of an impact Tony had on him; from flushed face to racing heart to budding erection. It was actually a nice feeling; to have that pain, which lingered inside him over the weekend, slowly evaporating. To know the bruise on his wrist would be easier to bear. To feel that his strife wasn’t eternal. It was nice.

Peter changed into his swimwear, opting to leave his floral shirt on but unbuttoned. He splashed his face with cold water and took a few deep breaths, calming his arousal before journeying back across the hall to their room. 

Tony was lounging across the bed, shirt still off, swiping through his phone. “You could’ve got changed in here.”

“No, I couldn’t have,” Peter laughed. “And you know it.”

Tony gave a sly grin, “Yeah, probably not.”

“What are you looking at?” Peter asked as he tossed his clothes atop his suitcase. “Aren’t you going to come swim?”

“I will. I’m just checking this notification about Jarvis.”

“What about him?”

“I spent a lot of time improving him this weekend,” Tony explained. “Upgrading his processing and, before I left, I ran some diagnostics.”

“Is everything working fine?”

“Yeah, he can even access Stark Industries now,” Tony smiled. “I’m a genius.”

“Okay, mister genius,” Peter rolled his eyes and couldn’t help but to grin, “I’m going to go swim so hurry up and get changed!” He giggled at Tony’s lazy Yes sir! as he exited the room and headed out the backdoor to the deck area.

Outside, nearly everyone was in the water or on the beach, save for the small group standing around the grill. Music, that Peter could only categorize as beach vibes, was pumping through the giant standing speaker Bruce brought. And the smell of grilled vegetables and barbecue permeated the salty air. This was the most spring break of a spring break trip Peter has ever taken and honestly, he couldn’t complain.

As Peter approached the grill, Bucky and Sam started whistling, playfully catcalling him. “Someone looks real glowy,” Bucky mentioned, gesturing up and down Peter’s body. 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, lightly laughing along. “Some might call it that after-sex glow.”

“Guys,” Peter covered his face, “We didn’t!”

“Sure you didn’t,” Bucky teased.

“What didn’t you do?” Quentin asked, walking over with Steve, who was carrying a nearly empty platter of grilled kabobs.

“You see, Peter took so long because he was fu-” Sam began.

“I was nothing!” Peter interrupted, shooting Sam an exasperated look. “Let’s not talk about me,” He shook his head, nervously smiling, “Let’s talk about this food! It smells delicious.”

“You want some?” Quentin offered, grabbing the last kabob from the platter and holding it up to Peter’s mouth. “Have a bite.”

“Um, o-okay,” Despite being caught off guard, Peter took a quick bite, enjoying the savory flavors as it was fed to him and pulling away with a smile. “Wow, the sauce is good, guys!”

Sam sighed, shaking his head, “Quentin, you really have bad timing, bro.” He pointed to the back door, where Tony stood staring at the scene.

“Whatever, man,” Quentin just scoffed, unbothered, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

But Peter froze, watching as the bad boy strolled towards them, genuinely worried that he would be set off again by Quentin’s actions. “Hey, Tones, we were jus-!”

Without warning, Tony grabbed Peter by his waist and leaned in, licking some stray sauce from the corner of Peter’s mouth. The sight made Steve, Sam, and Bucky erupt into a symphony of Oooo’s and oh shit’s but, most importantly, laughter.  

Tony pulled away, smirking at the flush on his boyfriend’s face. “That is good, did you make that Rogers?”

“Yeah,” Steve said through his laughter. “Well played, Tony.”

“I try,” Tony shot a smug grin towards Quentin, whose face had dropped into a scowl.

And Peter had no time to respond before Ned and MJ were calling him to get in the water and enjoy your spring break, dude!

~*8*~

After swimming and dinner and a fair amount of relaxation around the fire pit, the night began to spiral. Sam and Rhodey were pushing for drinking games because what’s the point of all these handles if we’re not going to get fucked up. It was a compelling argument. One that had them taking penalty shots if they uttered the word ‘cup’ during any game and gave rise to the chaotic drunk duo of Ned and Happy.

Peter learned a lot from these games, like how inexplicably well MJ could hold her liquor or how drunk Bruce could solve high-level calculus in his head without paper or a calculator. Then there was Steve, Sam, and Bucky’s shameless demonstration of a three-way kiss and, after a hilarious body shot dare, there were also lighthearted jokes about Rhodey’s huge crush on Pepper. However, to Peter, the best moment was watching Tony beat every single guy in the room at arm wrestling, especially Quentin.

As the festivities died down, Peter realized something a little later than he should have. He was hammered; smashed; thoroughly fucked up; wasted; trashed; drunk and, subsequently, super fucking horny. 

Was alcohol supposed to work like this? Peter really didn’t know but something about Tony’s lap looked so inviting. All the bad boy was doing was sitting, arms resting across the top of the couch, knees parted for comfort – he was even wearing a shirt now – but Peter’s mind had ventured somewhere perverted; somewhere with that shirt off and thrown against the floor.

Suddenly, Peter was much closer than he was before. Fuck, how did he get here? Did he crawl over? He didn’t know, but that grin on Tony’s face definitely reads my boyfriend just crawled across the floor and has taken refuge between my legs. Peter giggled, his tone slurred and playful, “You want me to suck your dick, don’t you?”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Tony grinned as he leaned forward, elbows against knees, bringing a hand to Peter’s flushed face.

“Yes,” Peter hummed, nuzzling Tony’s palm.

Tony gave a low, amused laugh, “Right here, in front of everyone, that’s what you want, baby?”

Oh, right. They weren’t alone. Peter glanced around the room. Most of the group had dispersed, but sitting on the adjacent couch were Steve, Sam, and Bucky. Judging by the litany of empty cans and bottles around them, they were all clearly beyond their buzz too. “Is that what you want, Tony?” Peter bit his lip and smiled, his body rocking back and forth to compensate for his spinning head.

Steve snorted, “No sucking dick in the living room unless it’s my dick.”

“I’ll suck your dick, doll,” Bucky whispered, slowly trailing his fingers down Steve’s chest.

“James, babe, don’t tease me.” Steve laughed.

Peter giggled, “You call him James?”

“What? Like you don’t call him Anthony when you’re alone.” Sam quipped.

“I don’t,” Peter pouted up at his boyfriend. “Why don’t you let me call you, Anthony?”

“I just hate how it sounds,” Tony shrugged as he gently caressed Peter’s warm face.

“Oh, okay, then I won’t,” Peter nodded, his eyes fluttering closed as he leaned into Tony’s touches. “I like calling you Tones more anyway.”

“Yeah?” Tony smirked, moving to drag his thumb across Peter’s lips. “What else do you like?”

Peter whined and, if he wasn’t so filled with liquid courage, he wouldn’t have dipped his lips around Tony’s thumb and sucked the way he did. He wouldn’t have swirled his tongue around it or moaned on it. He wouldn’t have pulled off with a pop or given it so many tiny licks. He wouldn’t have done all those things if his body wasn’t as warm and as woozy as it was.

“Holy shit,” Sam mumbled with an incredulous look on his face. “That’s-”

“Hot,” Steve interjected.

Bucky shook his head, “Fucking hot.”

“They’re complimenting you, baby,” Tony whispered as he skimmed his fingers down Peter’s chin and stopped against his nipple, massaging the pad of his now wet thumb against the nub. “How’s that make you feel?”

“Good,” Peter softly moaned, leaning into the gentle pleasure his boyfriend gave.

Tony smiled, using his free hand to card through his boyfriend’s hair, “You should thank them then.”

Peter’s already flushed face went a deeper shade of red and his voice dropped to a murmur, “Um… But I-I’m...embarrassed.”

“Don’t be,” Tony smirked, pointing to the very enraptured group of drunk teens. “Look, they can’t wait to hear you say it.”

“Okay,” Peter whispered, turning towards them with his chin tilted towards his chest. “T-Thank you...um, Steve, Sam, Bucky...for the compliment.”

“Stark, you’re killing me here,” Steve groaned, dropping his head against the back of the couch as Sam placed a hand over his mouth like he was trying to conceal a grin.

“Of course, doll,” Bucky replied with a smile. “You’re so cute, how could we not?”

“Agreed!” It was Quentin, entering the room with slurred speech and a mischievous smile. “Peter is cute. Really fucking cute.” He stressed, rounding the couch and taking a seat beside Tony and Peter.

Tony grimaced, pulling his hand away as he stood, “Peter, get up. Let’s go to our room.”

“What? No. Go ahead and continue the show, Stark, don’t mind me,” Quentin said as his eyes dropped to Peter. “I would love for Peter to thank me too.”

Tony inhaled sharp, muscles tensed with anger, “Don’t test me.”

“No, Tony,” Peter whined, gently tugging at the ankle of his boyfriend’s sweatpants. “Don’t be mad. Beck is nice to me.”

“See, Stark?” Quentin flashed a smug grin. “I’m nice to him. So relax. How about we have a drink, hm?” He offered, reaching to the bottles strewn about the coffee table and grabbing a nearly empty tequila. “We can finish this off.” He took a large swig before offering it to Peter. “Here, kid.”

“Thanks,” Peter mumbled, taking a swig of his own, the taste leaving his face twisted in discomfort. “That’s gross!” He exclaimed, hiccuping a couple times and causing everyone to laugh. Except for Tony.

“Peter, seriously-!” Tony snapped, reaching to pull the bottle away, surprised when Peter dodged him.

“No!” Peter slurred, clutching the bottle to his chest. “You said you wouldn’t make me mad anymore. So stop!”

Tony clenched his fists, trying to hold back his anger, “Don’t do this right now.”

“Hey, he said stop,” Quentin interjected, standing from the couch and facing Tony with irritation in his eyes. “So why don’t you stop being such a fucking dick?”

Tony seethed, “I swear if you open your fucking mouth again-”

“You’ll what?” Quentin challenged. “You obviously got a problem with me, Stark, so do something!” Quentin scoffed, arms outstretched like he was inviting Tony to hit him.

“No, don’t fight,” Peter urged, his brow furrowed and his lips in a pout, as he stood up a bit too fast, dropping the bottle and stumbling forward, careening face-first against Quentin’s chest.

“Well, hello there,” Quentin laughed, hands reactively clutching at Peter’s bare sides. “You feel just as nice as you look, sweetheart.” 

And that was it. 

Tony lost it.

The shock of the punch was enough to make Quentin drop Peter, who staggered away from them and tripped on the corner of the coffee table. And, as their battle raged on, Peter was falling, colliding against the floor with a loud thud! but even that wasn’t enough to stop their brawl. Things started to get hazy after that. Flashes of Tony wailing on Quentin, hard enough to make his nose bleed, and glimpses of the frantic way Steve and Sam tried breaking up the fight.

“Peter? Hey! Peter, get up! Peter,” Bucky was at his side – oh god, stop shaking me.

“Peter!” Somewhere in the haze, he could hear MJ too. “What the fuck are you idiots doing?!” She sounded pissed. “What happened to him?!” And worried. “Peter! Peter! Oh my god, he’s not waking up. Bucky, help me carry him.”

“Wait, no, MJ, let me help, I’ll-” Tony is so sweet. Yes, help her.

“No!” MJ yelled, “Stay the fuck away from him until you get your shit together, you violent prick!” Fuck, that was a little harsh, MJ.

And then things went dark.

~*9*~

The next morning, Peter’s head was heavy, pounding like he had walked through a construction site and slept next to a running jackhammer. The daylight burned his corneas and – oh no, oh god – nausea hit him like a wave. With a hand over his mouth, he shot up, eyes scanning the room for a place to hurl, surprised to find a conveniently placed trash directly beside the bed. In the next moment, he was puking but it came out clear like he had chugged a ton of water. He groaned, holding his queasy stomach, attempting to collect his bearings. Noting two very important things: one, he was in Ned’s room, and two, hangovers were not to be taken lightly. What the fuck happened last night?

“Oh good, you’re up,” MJ said as she ambled into the room, her face disappointed and her arms crossed. “You really fucking scared me, Peter.”

“Me too, dude,” Ned said, strolling in behind her. “I’m filing an official complaint. Drunk me does not handle stress well.”

Peter laughed but the pressure in his temple left him wincing, “What happened?” He asked, his voice groggy as he fell back against the bed.

MJ sighed like she had been through hell, “You almost died—”

“Okay, that’s an exaggeration,” Ned clarified.

“—and your violent boyfriend fought the new kid.”

“MJ, we’ve been over this, he isn’t violent,” Peter sighed, pausing as he processed what else she said. “Wait, is Tony okay?”

MJ dropped her face against her palm, “Of course he’s fine! You should be asking about Quentin, you know, the one with the black eye!” She pinched the bridge of her nose, “Fucking hell, why do I even try?”

“They’re both okay,” Ned continued. “They didn’t fight that much, especially after you got sick and MJ bitched them out.”

“Oh god,” Peter let out a frustrated groan. “Is everyone else okay?”

“Yeah, Tony went out with his friends and I think Steve and the guys are outside swimming,” Ned explained. “We’re about to head to the store to grab some ice cream for everyone, so-”

“So, you need to go and apologize to Quentin,” MJ pressed. “He hasn’t been out of his room since last night.”

“Do I have to?” Peter complained, pulling the covers over his head in a sad attempt to hide from his problems.

“Yes!” MJ grabbed Peter’s arm and yanked him upright. “Go clean yourself up and apologize. I’m serious, Peter.”

“Ugh...fine,” Peter grumbled, reluctantly grabbing his puke trash can and following them out the room. “But what do I even say to him? I’m sorry you picked a fight you couldn’t win?”

MJ physically cringed, raising her voice in anger, “How about sorry my violent boyfriend beat the shit out of you?!”

“He’s not violent!” Peter snapped back, clearly exasperated, “Beck must’ve done something.”

“Quentin has been nothing but nice to you! Sure, he’s a flirty little shit, but that alone doesn’t make him worthy of getting his face kicked in,” MJ retorted. “You invited him on this trip, Peter. You made that choice!” She pointed at him, finger against his chest. “So take some fucking responsibility! And, just so we’re clear, you are not allowed to say Tony isn’t violent when I literally watched him give Quentin a black eye last night!”

Peter was floored by his best friend’s words, guilt filling his body as he stumbled to respond, “I- um...shit. MJ, I didn’t think- I’m sorry… I'm sorry you had to see that and I get it. You’re right.”

Ned nodded, placing a hand against Peter’s shoulder. “She usually is, dude.”

“I’ll talk to Beck,” Peter decided as he gestured to himself. “Right after I decontaminate.”

“Good, because you smell,” MJ said, smirking at the disgruntled face Peter made. “Also, so you can’t chicken out, figure out what kind of ice cream Quentin wants and text us,” She added just before disappearing down the steps with Ned.

Peter let out another long groan as he stalked into the bathroom to wash the trash can. Seeing himself in the mirror was awful, more awful in the bright lights above the vanity. His hair was a mess and, despite not having a shirt on, he was visibly sweaty. “Ugh,” Peter grumbled as he ran to grab his toiletries before hopping into the shower. His head still felt terrible, made worse by the thought of having to function for the remainder of the day. So, as he enjoyed his shower, he found himself swearing he wouldn't drink like that again.

After he got dressed and took the aspirin MJ kindly left on his nightstand, Peter made the journey to the room at the end of the hall. Pausing for a few beats before knocking on Quentin’s door. “Hey, Beck, it’s me, can I come in?”

A muffled Yeah came through the door, so Peter pushed it open, not at all fazed by the purple-ish bruise surrounding Quentin’s eye. “How are you?”

“Perfectly fine,” Quentin snarked, patting the bed beside him. “Your boyfriend has a good right hook.”

“And a good left,” Peter joked as he scooted onto the bed, pausing before beginning his apology. “Look, I’m sorry that Tony did that to you. It was wrong and I’ll talk to him about it.”

“It’s fine,” Quentin shrugged, turning against the bed, facing Peter. “Honestly, I probably deserved it.” He said, his eyes filled with worry. “I could’ve backed off but I just don’t like the way he talks to you.”

“What do you mean?” Peter squinted, still unsure about the specifics of last night.

“He’s dangerous, Peter, and I’m worried about you,” Quentin stressed. “You’re so amazing and kind, but also really funny and bold. You use words over fists and, I mean, you’re beautiful, like really, insanely beautiful.”

Peter blushed – much like he had done in the hallway after his and Beck’s first day together. Only, this time, Peter knew it definitely wasn’t infatuation. “Beck, I d-”

“I like you, Peter,” Quentin interrupted, reaching for Peter’s hand and interlocking their fingers. “I like you so much and, I’ll admit, seeing you with Tony makes me do stupid shit like fight but I just-”

“Beck,” Peter interrupted and took a slow breath, wanting his words to be as gentle as possible. “I’m sorry but I don’t like you in that way.” He began, “You’re nice as a friend but I’m in a relationship with Tony. I need you to understand that.”

“But are you happy with him?” Quentin challenged. “Didn’t he make you cry? Didn’t he hurt you?”

“Yes,” Peter gave a solemn nod, gently pulling his hand away from Quentin’s.“We had a bad fight but that’s part of it.” He shrugged, “I like him enough to work through stuff like that.”

Quentin sighed, falling back against the bed with a loud huff, “Not going to lie, my heart is a little broken right now.”

“I’m sure it’ll get better,” Peter smiled, trying to exude ease in his expression. “And if you ever feel comfortable enough, friendship will always be on the table. I mean, you saved me from Loki and we have so much in common.”

“A consolation friendship?” Quentin scoffed, a smile of disbelief planted firmly on his face. “I guess it’s better than nothing.”

“Well, if you don’t take it, all you would have is a black eye, so…”

“Hey!” Quentin exclaimed, laughing and playfully chucking a pillow at Peter. For a moment, he seemed fine but then his voice trailed off into a whisper and he rolled over, burying his face against the covers. “Hey Peter, I kind of want to cry my eyes out right now, so could you…”

“Oh, um… Yeah! S-Sorry, I’ll leave,” Peter stammered, shooting up from the bed and heading out the door. 

And he made it all the way down the hall. He made it to his room. He made it to his bed. It was handled. Completely over and done. But a text from MJ had him rushing back. A simple question about ice cream had him standing in front of Quentin’s door.

At first, a whispered, “Hey Beck, MJ wants me to…” Then a pause as Peter listened; as Peter heard, yet again, betrayal. This time to the tune of one Quentin Beck.

Yes, I just tried that. It seems the Parker kid is actually in love with your son. 

Yes, I’ve maintained a connection. We’re friends. 

Yes, absolutely sir. I’ll check back in if anything changes over the week. 

No, thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Stark. I won’t let you down.

~*10*~

Peter found that ugly sobbing was easier to do alone. So, for the remainder of the morning, he held nothing back. Not the infuriated screams into his pillow. Not the weak laughter at events so difficult to understand that they brought him to hysterics. Not the moments of silence, where he would ball his fists and fight the urge to do uncontrollably dark things. Not the tears, not the panic, not the ounces of fear that laid dormant within him. 

But then Peter did; he held back those feelings, knowing he needed to pull himself together; grip his proverbial bootstraps and retaliate smart. So, while he cried into the void of his pillowcase, he also thought and considered and plotted. Like sharpening a blade on a whetstone, he planned and pictured the outcome over and over and over again until he was satisfied. Until he felt it was perfect enough to protect–

“Tony,” Peter gasped, surprised when he turned over to find his boyfriend standing by the door, watching with horror as tears flowed down Peter’s face. It was silent for a few moments of eye contact and shock, then Peter moved, sitting against the edge of the bed.

“P-Peter,” Tony’s voice trembled as he approached, dropping down onto his knees in front of Peter. “Hey, baby,” He breathed, gingerly cupping his hands on Peter’s arms. “I’m sorry...again. I know, I lost control, but I-”

Peter shook his head, “Tony-”

“Wait,” Tony interrupted, gazing up at Peter like a dog with its ears down. “Please don’t be upset. I know I messed up but please-”

“Tony, stop. It's not-”

“Peter, please don’t.”

“Don’t? What are you-?”

“Don’t break up with me,” Tony pleaded, a tear running from the corner of his eye. “Please.”

The sight of Tony’s single tear made ten times that amount fall from Peter’s eyes, but he shook his head, his voice rough from the sobs, “I’m not breaking up with you, Tony.”

“Really?” Tony breathed with disbelief, frantically searching Peter’s expression for the truth. “Then why are you crying?”

Peter gave a weak laugh and a flurry of more tears. “I’ll explain but I need to borrow Jarvis first.”

Tony was confused but wasted no time in handing his phone over. “Why do you-?”

“Just trust me,” Peter sniffled. “This is the only way I can know for sure.” He looked down at the phone, “Jarvis, give me everything Stark Industries has on Quentin Beck.”

“What?” Tony instantly reacted, shoulders tensing at the mere mention of his father’s company in relation to his rival. “Why?” A confusion so strong that it almost looked painful. “Why the fuck would Beck be in the Stark database?” 

“Because,” Peter began, one hand trembling around the phone and the other trembling where it clutched to Tony’s arm. “He works for your dad,” He turned the phone, revealing Quentin’s employee file. “He’s being paid to break us up.”

“I’ll kill him.” A whisper that brought forth a rage that brought forth a fire. 

Tony stood, body so tense that Peter could see the veins in his arms. He was seething, filled with pure hatred. He moved to his bag first, dumping the contents onto the floor until a very familiar butterfly knife clattered against it. In moments, the closed knife was in his hand and he was barreling towards the door, propelled by anger.

But Peter stepped in the way, pushing his hands against Tony’s chest. “Wait! You can’t, Tones!”

“No! Get the fuck out of my way, Peter!” Tony screamed, face going red in his outrage. “Get off!” He pushed Peter aside in one controlled shove. “He did this shit on purpose! He messed with us on purpose! He needs to pay!”

“I know!” Peter screamed back, throwing himself against Tony and locking his arms around his boyfriend’s waist. “Tony, I know, but you can’t,” He pleaded, “Not in front of everyone!”

“Fuck that!” Tony snapped, trying to pull Peter off of him. “I’m going to break every bone in his fucking body!”

“You can’t!” Peter screamed once more, fighting against Tony’s strength with everything in his power.

“Why?! Why the fuck can’t I, Peter?!” Tony yelled, tossing the knife against the far wall in anger. “He’s gone too far!” He struggled more, pushing at Peter’s shoulders. “He deserves this, Peter, he- fuck,” He cursed, his strength waning as Peter held fast. “He fucking-” His voice was a whisper then, “He fucking takes everything,” He stressed, gasping before the tears came, no longer talking about Quentin Beck. “I’m just his fucking punching bag. Nothing I do is good enough."

And Peter looked up, bewildered as Tony’s breaths became sporadic; as his voice started to shake; as his eyes glossed over with a cloud of tears; as those tears slid down his terrified face; as he fully broke down. Relaxing in Peter’s hold, weakly dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s waist, sobbing into his t-shirt.

“Mom is gone because of him,” Tony cried. “He controls everything. Everything! And he won’t even let me have the one fucking thing that makes this all worth it. Why is he trying to take you away too?”

Peter was quiet, letting the tears soak against him and realizing very quickly that this was the real weight of his knife. It was not to be some limiter for an unhinged delinquent; some purveyor of a faulty justice, deciding who gets cut down and when. It was this. This weakness in the blade; the part of it that was the most vulnerable; the part that, if struck, would crack the knife into a million pieces. It was Peter’s job to protect that part; to bear that weight; to hold the knife with intention.

“Don’t worry, Tones,” Peter whispered, pressing a kiss atop Tony’s head. “I’m not going anywhere and I promise I’ll take care of this.” He smiled, cupping his boyfriend’s face. “I’ll take care of you, just like you take care of me.”

-

Read Part 3: Here.

#starker #peter parker x tony stark #badboy!tony au #obligatorywrites

[edgarbright]

Life as a Princess: The Once Upon a Time ECB Story

Also known as my favorite story! It’s hilarious, loving, and just all-around wonderful!

Notes: This post is a mixture of direct quotes (not always placed in quotes to identify), my own paraphrasing, and my general tears and exclamations. I’ve fixed in-game typos and included grammatically missing commas for clarity. Screenshots are appropriately capped at 10. Indentations are used for formatting so this is probably best read on desktop.

Enjoy! Please share your reactions with me when you’re done reading~!

Scene 1: The royal bedroom

Alice wakes one morning and it seems like any other ordinary day, except the room is quite fancy. She could have sworn she fell asleep in her own bed last night, but here she is in luxury with with a canopy above the bed and a glittering chandelier on the ceiling. (Nice!) She doesn’t recognize anything, except--

Alice: “Kyle?! What are you doing here?”

Alice: “Where am I? And why are you bringing me tea?”

Kyle, with a serious expression: “What do you mean? I am simply assisting you with your morning tasks, Princess. That’s the duty of a butler.”

Alice: “Princess? Butler? What’s going on?”

Kyle, smiling: “Are you still sleepy, Princess? Or perhaps—”

(Oh--)

Kyle lifted a finger and brushed my bangs to the side and then placed his hand on my forehead.

Kyle, super close and smiling: “You are feeling unwell?”

We should be asking him that question! Kyle, without a morning hangover? Who is this man!?

Alice proceeds to insist she’s fine and Kyle looks at her in suspicion. He gives her the tea like a good butler.

Kyle, smiling his cute smile: “I finished preparing your change of clothes. If you need any assistance, please call for me.”

Maybe it’s just a dream? But ahh, Alice takes a sip of the hot tea and confirms that she was indeed awake and this isn’t a dream...

Scene 2: Outside the bedroom in the hallway

Kyle, frowning and looking distressed: “Ah, that made my neck stiff. I’m definitely not used to acting like that at all.”

In the hallway, Kyle stretched his right arm up to the ceiling to help relieve stress.

Loki’s eyes! They’re red! (And goodness he looks good!)

Kyle: “Yeah, Irene seemed very confused.”

Loki, serious expression: “Do you think Alice believed that this is her castle and she’s a princess? I hope she’ll be happy about it.”

Kyle, side-grin: “Well, why don’t we continue this charade and see how it goes?”

This... charade!? Are you saying Alice isn’t a princess!? The audacity--

Loki, smiling: “Okay! Up next is--”

Scene 3: The royal bedroom again

Alice gets dressed and her stomach rumbles as she smells something delicious. Breakfast is served!

I realized that Blanc must have put it there.

There is no mention of Blanc before she thinks that line, which makes me wonder: Alice, does Blanc normally bring you breakfast? Because that sounds good to me.

Blanc’s sprite appears in order announce he has brought her breakfast. Alice thanks him and wonders if he’s a butler like Kyle. Is this still a dream? But our dear Alice has something more prioritizing than solving this mystery

Alice: “This looks delicious! I’ll start with a bite of omelette--”

Blanc, looking surprised: “Wait.”

Just as I had taken my silverware in hand, Blanc gestured towards me and spoke gently.

Blanc: “When you hold the fork and knife, you must keep your elbows at a 90 degree angle Do you understand? Here let me show you.”

Alice: “What? Oh--”

Blanc stood behind me and place[d] his large hands over mine.

(He’s so close to me!)

It felt as if he was hugging me from behind and I froze.

Blanc: “You need to be aware of how you appear in front of everyone.”

EMBRACED BY THE RABBIT! FINALLY! THANK GOD! But then Alice has the nerve to try to deprive us of this moment by saying this really isn’t needed, but Blanc insists!

A to Z, you say~

Alice is starting to put the pieces together and we get a flashback to Kyle explaining that the King, Alice’s father, wants to see her after breakfast in the royal chamber. Since Kyle is a butler and Blanc is a tutor, Alice wonders if the King is someone she knows...

Having no idea what characters are in this story, I’m wondering too!

Scene 4: The royal chamber

So Alice leaves her room and finds the room labeled royal chamber. She opens the door and--

I ’ M  S C R E A M I N G  L M F A O

Someone please help me I can’t breathe fffffffffffffff

Alice: “Oliver, is that you?”

Oliver was sitting on the throne with one leg crossed over the other while his foot didn’t touch the ground.

I’m literally crying. This story has already exceeded all expectations and it’s not even close to over yet.

Next to Oliver, Kyle and Blanc stand at attention.

Alice, who maybe needs to go back to bed: “Umm I was called here by the King so is he here somewhere?”

Kyle, surprised: “What are you saying, Princess?”

Blanc, an easy smile: “The King is right here in front of you.”

I’m dead lmao

(Wait, Oliver is King?!)

Oliver, looking serious: “It is I who have summoned you here, Irene. Your fiance is here and you will be married soon.”

Oh God

Alice thinks that hearing Oliver act like he’s her father is really strange, but here I am going wild over that “It is I” style of speech LOL Oliver is just owning it. Actual King Material.

Alice then realizes what he said--

Alice: “Married?! How soon? I can’t do that!”

Oliver, narrowing his eyes: “Do not talk back to me. I am the King and your father so my word is final.”

Oliver stood up and came closer to me.

Oliver: “You will be married soon!”

Alice: “But--”

He took my chin in his hand and looked at me with determination in his eyes.

Keep in mind that kid Oliver is only like 4 foot 8 inches? For me, at least, he’s gonna be reaching well above his head and just soighsosh

Oliver, right in front of her face (!!!): “That’s an order.”

Alice: “Yes, your majesty.”

I was so confused about the whole situation that all I could do in that moment was obey so I nodded.

Oliver, smiling cheekily: “You may enter.”

???: “Yes, your highness.”

Oh God who is it going to be!? The door opened and--

Ray, in his regular attire: “It’s an honor to see you again, Princess.”

Ahh... After Oliver as the spectacular King (I’m still laughing as I write this), Ray as the fiance is a little... underwhelming?

Alice is surprised to see him as the fiance, however!

Just as everyone else had, Ray also referred to me as the princess. He bowed down on one knee and spoke with confidence.

Ray, a little closer and smiling: “Shall we proceed with our wedding ceremony? The townspeople are looking forward to seeing you in a wedding dress, Princess.”

(A-are we to be wed, today?!)

He took my hand in his and kissed it, which made my heart race.

Ray, more seriously: “Will you allow me to escort you?”

Ray stood up and placed an arm around my waist.

(Am I going to marry Ray?!)

I appreciate her not jumping into it lol AND THEN

I looked up at Ray and heard him say under his breath--

Ray, grinning: “That was easier than I’d anticipated.”

Alice: “What do you mean?”

Me: What do you mean???

Ray: “Since I’m marrying the princess, I’ll soon be the leader of this castle.”

That is how it works, ye--- WAIT, RAY IS EVIL!?

(He’s planning to overtake the throne?!)

OMG RAY IS EVIL!

RAY IS A HANS!!! I’M SCREAMING AGAIN!

Alice: “W-wait, King Oliver! My finance’s intentions are not what they seem!”

RAY!! I know I said it was underwhelming with you as the fiance but also HOW DARE YOU BE EVIL LOL

Alice can’t believe it! Ray? A villain? Impossible!

Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door.

???: “I object!”

HERO TIME! A familiar voice echoed in the chamber and the door opens to reveal--

Loki, smiling and his eyes still red: “Alice will be my bride.”

THIS GAME! THESE TWO!

Alice: “Are we talking about the Loki I know?”

LMAO ALICE!

I’d say RIP Loki but Loki’s BDE game is strong

Oh, thank you, I accept--

Alice: “But I think I’m betrothed to someone else--”

Oliver: “Just take Loki’s hand or we can’t follow the script.”

Alice: “Wait, a script?! What are you talking about?”

Ray: “Don’t worry about it and come stand by my side.”

Loki, looking angry: “Wait a second Ray, that isn’t what we discussed earlier! This is the part when the princess takes the real prince’s hand and they run away into the sunset together!”

Ray, making that put-out face: “No, I didn’t approve of that. I think Irene should be with me.”

Blanc, closed-eye smile: “If we can ignore the script then I would also like to play the part of the prince.”

Loki: “No way! I am Alice’s one and only prince and no one else can have that role!”

Kyle: “C’mon let’s just keep this show going! If we can’t decide on anything then I’ll be the prince and end this quickly.”

Ray: “While you guys are arguing, I’ll take the princess for myself.”

Oliver: “Someone who’s just in it for themselves can’t play the part of a prince. I won’t allow Irene to be anyone’s bride and then this will all end.”

I’m dying over this tug of war and also you tell them, Oliver! Everyone going off script but Oliver is still just, I AM HER FATHER and she won’t marry any of you losers if you keep this up!

Loki, still looking frustrated: “Then it won’t end in ‘happily ever after’! Come here, Alice.”

Loki pulls Alice close and stares into her eyes.

Loki: “Hey Alice, you’re my one and only princess. Don’t choose anyone other than me--”

His arms around my waist tightened and his eyes started wavering.

(Hold on, Loki’s eyes are glowing crimson--)

Alice: “Wait, Loki. Are you using magic?”

Loki, startled: “What?”

Harr: “You’re correct, Alice.”

H A R R  D A R L I N G !! A wild Harr appears literally out of nowhere, not even with a flash of magic, as if he’s been there the whole time! I’m ready for Harr to enter the prince competition!

Harr: “You must end this at once, Loki. You shouldn’t use too much magic. And you shouldn’t cause such a ruckus in someone else’s home.”

Loki, going from a shocked expression to his sad one: “O-okay...”

Loki pouted like a little child for a brief moment and then let go of me.

(Loki always listens to Harr and does what he says.)

Harr looking out for Loki’s well-being like a good guardian T_T Loki loving and respecting Harr enough to do what he says. Love it. Love it so much. This story has me in stitches but now my heart feels super soft lol

Then Harr turned to face me. 

Heroic Harr moment~ Alice is enveloped in white light and when it fades, the surroundings change and she’s at--

Scene 5: Blanc’s house

Alice questions what happened to the castle since this is Blanc’s house.

Harr, smiling that soft smile: “That was an illusion created by Loki’s magic. It was a stage intended to be used in a play.”

Alice: “A play? Wow, and here I thought I’d been dreaming this whole time! Why put on a play?”

Loki: “Well, do you remember that you mentioned how much you admire princesses in fairytales?”

She does and she remembers that she had talked to Loki about it.

Loki, looking sad: “I asked everyone to help out so that you’d feel like you were a princess. I thought it would make you happy, Alice. I’m sorry if it startled you.”

(Oh, Loki--)

Oh, Loki ;~; He loves Alice so much and tries to do right by her. He even gathered everyone to help him out (even if they all betrayed him in the end LOL)! My heart!

His sweet words made me blush.

Loki sometimes does very unexpected things but--

I knew that his intentions were always good.

Alice: “I was surprised but it was fun.”

Alice: “But more than that, I’m touched you would all go to such efforts to do something like this for me.”

Loki: “Do you really mean that?”

Alice: “Of course!”

Loki, with that happy closed-eye smile: “I’m so glad! You’re the best, Alice!”

Loki!! Deserves the world, I’m just saying

I let Loki embrace me as I looked around at everyone.

All of them were smiling and their eyes were sparkling.

(Even though I’m not actually a princess in a fairytale--)

(I’m happier than princess could ever be.)

This is so wholesome oh my goodness. I love all the neutral characters together. I think this might only be our second story starring them all like this?

Blanc, smiling: “Since you’re all here, why don’t we have some afternoon tea?”

Kyle, smiling too: “That sounds good. Okay, I’ll have some tea and then head back to Red Army headquarters.”

Ray: “That reminds me, those cookies you made the other day were delicious. Do you happen to have any left?”

Oliver: “We do. I suppose I could give you some.”

Loki, smiling still: “Yay! Harr, you must join us too!”

Harr, looking distressed: “Is that alright? I wouldn’t want to be a burden to anyone.”

Me, clutching my chest as I fall out of my chair: I love the happy fluff. I love it so much. Of course Harr wouldn’t be a burden! Blanc, bless him, I love that white rabbit.

Also I love how Blanc kind of ties it all together. The more the merrier! Loki wanted to make Alice happy but he didn’t think he could do it all by himself, so he recruited a lot of other people who loved her too. So lovely! So loving!

The scene fades to white on this last happy moment

It was as if we’d all awoken from a pleasant dream.

And we all lived happily ever after.

The End!

Did you like it? This is one of if not my favorite stories! Getting this ECB was a bit of a gamble since we were given no information about it, but fairy tales are my favorite! I’m still positively delighted that this turned out to be Loki’s Alice! Leave it to Loki to try to make Alice the happiest girl in the world, no holds barred!

Also Harr was absolutely the heroic prince in this fairy tale even if he didn’t end up with “the princess”. In this house we love and cherish Harr Silver. No one does heroic appearances like Harr though so we shouldn’t even be surprised~ But I was still surprised!

Oliver as the King is the greatest thing we have ever gotten in this game and I crave more!

On that happy note, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Please come yell with me about this story and Ikerev in general anytime~!

#my ikerev #once upon a time story event #tmblr murdered all my quotation marks so RIP me #this could probably use more editing #but i want it posted today so here we go! #loki genetta #kyle ash #blanc lapin #oliver knight #harr silver #ray blackwell #long post

[0822studio]

twenty.

twenty, huh? okay. i don’t know exactly what to say to myself these days. it’s like everything means a lot but it also doesn’t? i don’t know. for the past months maybe even years, my mind has been all over the place. i think its obvious with my posts and stuff. i find it annoying that i keep writing things like this but it’s the only way i can see my own perspective and how can i change it even if i keep failing to do so. anyways, i’ll give you an update of what happening with me right now so;

i graduated yesterday! yes, i graduated senior high school with honors. i can’t even believe it myself? not even once in my life that i thought i’d finish it off like that especially when i heard that one of my professors failed literally all of us classmates in his subject. when i first heard, i felt disappointed to be honest and i felt i was being too greedy with my achievements (as if there’s a lot.). i felt as if there was a monster inside me wanting to do more and just fuck everything up. it still feels surreal and i’m thankful. also two of my best friends had honors! so 3/3. it’s amazing.

i have a new job too! i now work at a milktea cafe. it’s very tiring but also chill? (that’s such an ugly word to use.) but yeah, i started 3 days ago and on my 3rd day, i didn’t go to work lol. my mental health right now is really messed up. i do have work from tuesday to sunday. i’m thinking about asking one of the owners to give me the sunday as a day off so i can have two days of rest. tomorrow, i have work and it gives me anxiety. the first day was okay but when i came home that night, i was crying due to people there and being so tired. lack of food too maybe? i feel like i’m not eating well these days. i skip meals a lot and drink lots of water that’s why. i don’t know what to think and i don’t even want to think about it. 

as i write this, i can’t think straight. i feel so sad and empty. the moment i wake up, my mind goes, “wow, life really sucks hm?” i hate it so so much. i want to be happy and appreciate myself but i feel so selfish and dumb to do so. i’m so scared and i can’t let anybody in. i just.. i don’t know. i feel so confused and tired? 

p.s

lots of typos i can’t manage to correct them

[eldritchsurveys]

768.

Why did you last feel like crying? >> When I checked my bank account because I was trying to decide whether to get HBO Max or not, and I discovered that my stimulus check is coming on Wednesday. I’m just really relieved, lmao. Had just about resorted to convincing myself that I wasn’t going to get one at all. But now I can get some stuff I need but can’t normally afford!

How long ago and why did you last feel infuriated? >> I don’t remember. It probably had to do with people making noise.

Do emotions control you or do you control your emotions? >> Er. Well, here’s the thing -- on a good day, when I’m not having Symptoms Of Disorders, my emotions can be pretty manageable, or at least my management of them can feel pretty competent and compassionate. On the other days, my emotions can be a fucking game of Minesweeper where all the squares have mines in them. Except one. One square has 100 mines in it. The probability of stepping on that square is like 80%. So.

Do you keep your friends secrets/private information to yourself? >> Well, yes, if that sort of thing was shared with me.

What negative quality do your friends bring up the most? >> I... don’t think I’d like to be friends with people who have a habit of bringing up “negative” things about me.

What quality do you think you have that others don't think you do? >> I don’t know, I haven’t taken a poll or anything.

Do you often "jump" to conclusions? >> I mean, maybe. I don’t know how often I do it but it’s probably the average amount.

Do you find being alone with strangers scary, interesting or indifferent? >> That definitely depends on the context of the situation.

Do you think you know a lot about the world? >> No, because I don’t.

What about the world do you wish you never found out? >> ---

Do you know first aid? >> Not really, mostly because I’ve rarely had an opportunity to practice it.

Does the sight of blood make you feel sick? >> Not as a rule.

Does your first name have an L in it? >> No.

Middle name have a C in it? >> No.

Last name have a R in it? >> No.

Do your initials spell a legitimate word? If so, what? >> No, they don’t. But Sparrow’s spells “SAD” and that’s pretty funny.

The word above, does it have any connection to you at all? >> I mean, she is on antidepressants.

Do you prefer classic rock or nope alternative? >> Nope alternative???? I don’t know if that’s a typo or what but that’s hilarious to me for some reason. Anyway, I listen to both classic rock and alternative.

Do you like Kings of Leon? >> Sure. They’re, like... motel-grunge/motel-rock adjacent. (I can’t be the only person who’s made up that term, for certain kinds of bands. Like Queens of the Stone Age and shit. Sometimes Kings of Leon gives the same vibe, but... cleaner, I guess.)

How about The Script? >> Never heard of them.

Does crying make you feel better? >> Sometimes, but first I have to go through the hell of letting myself cry in the first place.

Do you know a girl called Becca? >> No.

How about a guy called Gregory? >> No. I almost said yes and then I realised I was thinking of Greg Hirsch from Succession. smh

Does someones background effect whether you'll be friends with them or not? >> Their... background? What kind of background are we talking about here?

How about their religious background? >> I mean, I don’t think I could be friends with a fundamentalist evangelical Christian. But most non-fundie versions of religions are okay with me.

If someone admitted cheating in a past relationship of theirs, would you trust them? >> ---

Do you drink tea and/or coffee every day? >> Nope. It’s almost warm weather time, so I won’t be drinking much tea at all until fall, unless it’s iced.

Did you ever want to be a cook as a kid? >> No.

How about a fashion designer? >> Yeah, I used to draw outfits and shit. I still think fashion is a fascinating industry but I want no part of it myself.

Do you wish that magic was real? >> I mean, no, not really. Also, like. I have Inworld. So.

What food would you love to wipe off the face of the earth? >> ---

Can you use a bottle opener? >> Sure.

Do you own a cheese grater? >> Yeah.

What time will it be in 38 minutes time? >> 11.06p EST.

What day/date will it be in 11 days time? >> The 20th of May.

Have you ever owned a pet fish? >> Nope.

Do you prefer fire or ice? >> I have no general preference. They’re both valuable.

Do you rap along with rap songs? >> If I know the lyrics, yeah...

When happy, do you become more talkative? >> Not necessarily. Sometimes I’m happiest in silence.

Bowling or sailing? Why? >> ---

What colour is your kettle? >> Black.

How about your microwave? >> White.

Do you prefer sitting in the front or back of a car? >> It doesn’t matter.

How about in a train? On the bus? >> I have a specific seat I like on the bus. Train, doesn’t matter. (On the subway, I liked sitting in the smallest seats so there’d be less chance of someone sitting next to me. Some of the newer trains have that one-seater that flips up, by the door? Love that seat.

Do you care about politics? >> Fuck no.

Obama or Bush? >> Well, that’s this survey dated.

Blair or Brown? >> ---

When did you last cook something from scratch? >> I don’t remember.

What things make you jealous? >> ---

Are you offended easily by non politically correct language? >> I’m not easily offended, period. Most things I recognise aren’t meant to be taken personally by me, specifically. But obviously I’m leery of the usage of incendiary language -- I’m not going to hang out with someone who throws around racial slurs or mocks people for having feelings about words meant to hurt them, like, duh.

Do you think the censors/fcc go a bit too far or are just right? >> I have no opinion about this, especially not a generalised one.

Do you feel hungry, thirsty, sleepy or none of the above? >> I’m getting tired because it’s around my bedtime.

What's your I.Q? >> ---

What's your Mum's Mum called? How about your Dad's Dad? >> ---

Do you prefer crepes, pancakes or waffles? >> Waffles.

Do you have ice-cream in your fridge right now? >> I think Sparrow still has some in there. Oh, and I still have a few mochi ice cream balls.

How about chicken nuggets? >> No, just fried chicken.

Do you eat fish often? >> Not as often as I’d like.

Have you ever taken a martial art? Which one{s}? >> No.

Do you know anyone who is scared of you? >> I don’t know if anyone’s afraid of me. If someone is, I bet they’re not going to go around telling me about it.

What person who has died would you bring back and why? >> ---

Do you like watermelon? >> Eh. I don’t get the hype.

Can you remember the month of your first kiss? >> ---

Do you make friends easily? >> No.

What makes you different from everyone else? >> Nothing, dude. I mean, I obviously have differences from people I know, or people I might encounter, but not from literally every human on earth.

I give you a piece of paper. What do you draw/write on it? >> ...

What pictures or photos are up in your lounge? >> My what.

Do you like purple and white patterned things? >> Not especially.

Do you know anyone called Pipa? >> No.

I say purple, you think... >> Sparrow, because I think she’d paint the whole world purple if given half a chance.

What do you think is the most interesting thing about you? >> Just, you know. My existence.

Do you like being complimented or does it make you uncomfortable? >> It can make me uncomfortable because of brain shit, but I also appreciate it and will try to express appreciation instead of discomfort.

Does the description of your starsign correspond with your personality? >> No, because the language of astrology as used to describe a person is more complex than just wherever the Sun was when you were born.

Do you have a photo album? >> No.

What artists paintings do you find the most beautiful? >> *shrug*

What about the most disturbing? >> *shrug*

Have you ever gone to a camp or summer school? >> No. I did summer theater once and I’ve gone to day camps.

What was your favourite cartoon as a child? >> Johnny Bravo is the only cartoon I remember watching, tbh. I didn’t get to see a lot of television unless it was the boring ass shit (to a child, anyway) my dad watched.

What was your biggest fear as a child? >> Thunderstorms. Until I hit thirteen and then suddenly I just... wasn’t afraid of them anymore. Don’t ask me how it happened, I really don’t know. (It might have been more gradual than that, of course. Memory is unreliable, especially from that far back.)

Would you rather be able to fly or breathe underwater? >> Breathe underwater. So, you know, I could actually not almost drown for once.

What about invisibility or mindreading? >> Invisibility. I want nothing to do with other people’s minds.

Do you like what you see in the mirror? >> No, which is why I don’t look in the mirror unless it’s necessary.

Which stereotype do you dislike the most? >> All of them??? Stereotypes in general?

Can you remember all your past teachers names? >> I can remember more than I’d expect to remember, but definitely not all of them.

Do you like talent shows? Which ones? >> No.

Have you ever failed an important exam? In what? >> Yeah, I failed the English midterm and final in 11th grade -- well, I say “failed” but it’s more like “I got a zero because I literally turned in a blank sheet of paper”. I... was definitely struggling.

Do you find people taller than you intimidating? >> No.

Do you think you are better than people of a different country/background? >> Fuck no???

What's your favourite thing about your country? >> Dude.

What's your least favourite thing about your country? >> Sigh.

Who is your favourite bzoinker? >> I don’t have a favourite, I just use bzoink to find surveys.

What websites do you have bookmarked? >> I have a lot of websites bookmarked.

Do you use bows and ribbons to decorate your gifts? >> No. Well, I’ll stick a bow on a Christmas gift because why not, but outside of Christmas I don’t even wrap gifts. I might put it in a bag but that’s it.

Do you listen to the same type of music as your parents? What type is that? >> I grew up listening to soul and R&B and gospel, so yes, that’s all still part of me.

What TV show scared you as a kid? >> None.

Family Guy, The Simpsons or South Park? Why? >> Hmm. Well, I don’t really know anything about The Simpsons, but I’d probably like it better than Family Guy, and South Park is so hit-or-miss (with a lot of misses) for me that I can’t really deal with it anymore.

#surveys #survey #random survey

[anarcoqueer1994]

Andi Mack but absolutely no one is both cis and het

So I loved this idea but got overwhelmed trying to think about squeezing in all the headcannon ideas I have for each character and their gender and sexuality and having it flow well in a single story. So these are a list of my headcannons for each character. I pretty much already picture ever character as either not cis or not straight, or both. Every once in a while Buffy gets straight, cis rights but not often. Anyways, if there is anything particularly interesting I may expand it into a story. I know alot is pretty well established but I needed to collect my thoughts into one list.

Please ignore typos, I'm running on stress and sleep deprivation.

Andi

• Pansexual/pan-romantic, cis girl, she/her

• She and Buffy got that serious pan/bi solidarity. (More on that later)

• In love with her amazing girlfriend, Amber. But both Amber and Buffy were ready to fight anyone who tries to erase her pan identity just bc her SO is a girl.

• Literally Amber almost got into a fist fight with a girl who was insisting Andi was a lesbian even when she was corrected.

• Reminds people constantly that Pan and Bi are not always interchangeable and you should always respect the labels a person asks for.

• She, Libby, and Walker did everyone's makeup and/or face paint for their first PRIDE.

Buffy

• Demi-Bisexual/bi-romantic, cis girl, she/her

• Literally the reason she fell for Marty started with the fact that he was such a good friend. Also she thought he was really cute but will never admit it

• Is tired of trolls online belittling bi-girls validity, especially bi girls in relationships with men.

• Has a shirt that says "My sexuality is not your fetish."

• Loves Marty so much but is tired of justifying her bisexuality to both straight people and gay people.

Cyrus

• Homosexual/Homo-romantic, Cis Guy, He/him

• Definitely a theater gay. Like you can't tell me that he did not listen to "I'm not that Girl" from Wicked constantly when he thought TJ and Kira were dating.

• Literally makes gay puns constantly.

• He and Amber founded Grant's Queer Alliance. Straight, cis folks could be in it but didnt want them in the name like GSAs because straight people don't needed to be centered to be an ally

• Accidentally chaotic

• Ships Ryan and Chad

• Is a Tumblr gay

Jonah

• Heterosexual/Aromantic, Cis-Guy, he/him

• He loves making out but is not a fan of the whole heavy romance emotions

• People tell him constantly that he will feel those feelings someday when he meets the "right person".

• He disagrees.

• "Why can't it just be fun?" He has literally no interest at all in being in a romantic relationship.

• Like at all.

• He is happy with and values his platonic relationships and does not want more than that.

TJ

• Homosexual/Homo-romantic, Trans-Guy, He/him

• He was so stressed out when he realized that not only was he trans, but he is also gay.

• Built up emotional wall and mean persona to let everyone know that he was definitely a super masculine guy.

• He told Amber he was a boy when he was 5 years old, so she at 7 years old, snuck the scissors from their parents' room and chopped off his hair.

• His whole family has been so supportive.

• Cyrus was the 2nd non-Kippen to know he was trans, after Reed.

• Reed was his first crush because in kindergarten Reed kissed TJ on the cheek. That was his "first kiss." The crush eventually went away when he realized he just really wanted Reed as his best friend.

• TJ's mom helped him pick out safe binding options once puberty started. His mom also got him hormone therapy starting pretty early in his teen years to minimize the effects of puberty. He is super grateful.

• Always chaotic.

• Uses "I'm gay" as an excuse for anything.

• Made out with Cyrus in front of some shitty evangelical preacher protesting at PRIDE.

• Cant even picture ever dating a girl and has no idea how Cyrus ever thought he was straight.

Amber

• Homosexual/Homo-romantic, Cis Girl, She/her

• Sapphic queen

• Is overwhelmed by how pretty girls are

• Loves Britney Spears

• Probably too good for you.

• Is ready to ruin anyone's life if they say anything homophobic or transphobic to her girlfriend(Andi), Best Friends(Cyrus and Iris) or her little brother. (TJ)

Marty

• Heterosexual/Hetero-romantic, Trans Guy, He/him

• Runs fast to outrun that dysphoria.

• His family was not supportive like TJ's but TJ and his family have his back.

• Unsafe binding methods until TJ forced him to be safer

• Big dumb boy energy

• Is so proud of his girlfriend all the time.

• At a track meet, some asshole guy from another school kept telling Marty to go run with the girls because there is no way he can keep up with "real" guys.

• Marty beat every guys time and won in both events he participated in: Sprinting and Long Distance.

• He still can't believe how lucky he is to have Buffy as a girlfriend.

Libby

• Pansexual/pan-romantic, cis girl, she/her

• Attracted more towards fem folx but she has dated both fems and mascs.

• Polyamorous

• She and Walker are currently dating and are the cutest SAVA couple.

• Her other partner is Iris. They met through Andi and Amber. At Andi's 16th birthday, both Iris and Libby were there and they clicked right away.

• She was very open to Walker about this and they were so supportive.

• Best aesthetic

Walker

• Pansexual/pan-romantic, non-binary, they/them

• Polyamorous

• Obviously with Libby

• Recently broke up with their other partner so only dating Libby right now.

• Loves to wear androgynous, slightly more masc. clothing. As they gets older, they are getting more daring in their feminine clothing elements though

• They can't picture just feeling like one set in stone gender.

• Has days where they gets a little dysphoric about their body but has other

• If one more boomer says "They" is plural, so help me god.

Iris

• Homosexual/Homo-romantic, trans Girl, She/her

• She and Amber became friends in the third grade when a mean guy called her freak for wearing a dress to school. The guy said "Boys don't wear dresses." And she started crying and saying she was a girl. Amber saw him laughing at her so she kicked him in the not so nice parts and She and Iris have been friends ever since.

• She finally feel right when she is with Libby. She, herself is not polyamorous but is fine with Libby having other partners.

• Realized she was a lesbian about a day into dating Cyrus but wanted to try to be straight.

• Did not work.

• Literally the sweetest.

• She and Walker actually love playing video games together even when Libby is not around.

Reed

• Bisexual/Bi-romantic, cis boy, he/him

• Loves to flirt... with everyone

• Used to have a crush on TJ

• Even though he and TJ aren't friends anymore, he would never out TJ as trans bc that crosses a line.

• Has dated like half the school

• Will ruin your life and not give a fuck

• He made out with this cheerleader behind the bleachers and literally an hour later made out with her "straight" boyfriend

• Literally loves chaos

Gus

• Asexual/aromantic, genderqueer, he/him/she/her/they/them

• Really only wants friendships

• Pronouns dont matter to him but will alway respect yours

• Doesn't like to be touched at all.

#andi mack #tj trans #buffy #marty trans #bi buffy #cyrus goodman #jonah back #gus #walker #iris #libby