#peter in mortal danger | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

plutoswritingplanet · 2 years

Text

White Rabbit (Peter Ballard x Female!Reader)

PART 2

a/n: how close can i get to writing monsterfricking before being called a monsterfricker?

Warnings: NON-CON (nothing too explicit, but still, be warned, be safe), bathroom-donging (once again), extensive use of a 80′s rock song as a plot device

Summary: Vecna’s Curse finally comes to take what’s his. Only thing is, he doesn’t look like the monster your friends described.

Edit: Y'all are actually insane for giving this fic so many notes. There will be part two, most certainly, after the finale comes out. I will tag everyone in notes and in my askbox. With peace and love, what the fuck

There is a clock, ticking inside your head. It's sound filling every crevice of your brain, seeping into every fiber of your being, rattling every bone in your body until you're unable to move. You know what it means, you've seen what comes after it. The mutilated corpses of a cheerleader and that press kid are burned into your consciousness. Then, Max, floating above the graveyard, her blue eyes rolled grotesquely into the back of her head.

You haven't told anyone, as the team runs around Hawkins, looking for any clues that could help them stop Vecna's Curse.

Speaking of which, you are yet to see the abomination causing your imminent demise. It terrifies you to your very core, but under that overbearing feeling, there is another one. Curiosity. Danger feels heavy on your shoulders, and you love it, the thrill it gives you. Besides, shall things go south, you have a recorder by your side, "White Rabbit" by Jefferson's Airplane recorded on a small cassette, ready for trouble. "You can do this", is a mantra you've been telling yourself for hours now, you can survive.

The Wheeler house is lively with worried chatter, parents lamenting over their kids, in trouble again, and with the Hawkins Police nonetheless. You're sitting in the living room, head hanging low, fingers pulling at the hem of your shirt, which is currently covered in stains of various origin. Moss, mud, some blood, although you don't know where it came from. All the fault will undoubtedly fall on your shoulders. Being the only adult on scene, the only one getting caught. You curse under your breath, thinking of your friends, old and new, currently stuck in the Upside Down. Leaving you to handle everything else on the surface.

It has been a hassle, the interrogation. You got put into a stuffy room with Officer Calahan, who was strangely excited at the prospect of potentially locking up a bunch of kids, for whatever reason. It won't happen, obviously, but you're not here to break his bubble. He asks you questions with an aura of sarcastic authority, giving you patronizing nods, whenever you answer. You want to punch him, not only because your friends are currently in mortal danger, and you could do so much more to help them, if he'd just let you out. There is also the sound of a ticking clock, coming from behind his back, and the suspense drives you insane.

And a spider. Fat and dangerous, it traverses the expanse of the man's shoulder, but when you blink, it's gone.

- Can I use the bathroom? - you ask, voice barely containing all the emotions you were feeling.

The Officer looks at you, startled, as you had just interrupted another one of the monologues. He blinks, as you turn your head, and blinks again, processing your words.

- Yeah - he sounds dumbfounded.

Before the man can say anything more, you bolt out of the room, to the corridor basked in warm light of the ornate chandelier. The ticking is louder here, seemingly just a smidge away from your ear, and slowly, as if not to startle the hallucination, you turn your head left. There, on a cream wall, where normally a lovely family photo of the Wheeler's would hang, you find a round face of a grandfather's clock, staring back at you. One hand comes to life, lazily sliding from one minute to the other, a rusty clank of the mechanism filling your ears. There is a sinking feeling in your stomach, as you force your eyes away from the clock.

The world spins around you, as you fall through the bathroom door, closing it behind you. Your hands shake, as you reach for the recorder, fingers fumbling around the headphones you hastily pull over your ears. One click later, and a familiar base enters your brain, the sound of the clock barely recognizable beneath the drums.

- One pill makes you larger - you mutter under your breath, leaning heavily on the sink.

You try to control your breathing, focus on the steady rise and fall of your chest, still muttering the lyrics, like a prayer. The feeling persists, however, and you begin to sway in your place. The mirror shows your disheveled reflection in an almost mocking manner. Hair is sticking to your sweaty face, there are tears framing your eyes, and you're ghastly pale, worryingly so. Unable to focus, you close your eyes, shutting your eyelids tight. trying to block out everything but the music. Specks of light dance beneath your eyelids, and you try to follow their irregular paths, anything to bring you back.

Yet, that ticking sound is persistent, almost impatient. Waiting for the song to end. And with a click of finality, it does. Your heart jumps to your chest, as silence finally engulfs you. Your right hand flies to the Cassette player, fingers immediately finding the rewind button. Your eyes stay shut, as you listen to the whirling of the tape. And the ticking, always the ticking. Finally, it stops. A breath of relief shakes you.

- Don't play it again.

Your eyes fly open, as you give a startled gasp. The bathroom is empty, only your wracked figure reflected in the mirror. But something is wrong, you can feel it at the base of your neck, where the hairs stand up on guard. It doesn't feel like the Upside Down, doesn't look like it too, and yet, you can't shake the ever present sensation of indescribable dread.

Slowly, your fingers skim the play button, the plastic ridges dig into your skin, as you press down.

Then, something catches your hand. Delicately, like it's holding a flower.

You nearly scream, thrashing in the bathroom, turning harshly towards the shower, nails digging into the porcelain edge of the sink. Empty. Nothing.

Your heart stammers out of your chest, blood rushing through your ears in a suffocating display of panic. And the clock keeps ticking.

You're terrified now, properly. Screw all feelings of curiosity from earlier, you're pretty sure you can live without knowing. And so, even more feverishly, you fumble with the recorder, finally hitting the play button so hard, you nearly break your finger. The drums start again, and as the base joins it, you fall to your knees onto the floor, breathing heavily with relief.

- God - you sigh - Why me?

- Why you, indeed...

His voice is barely audible through the music, but you still feel it crushing through your skull. Your body freezes, as you glance up from the floor. There, just centimeters from you, stands a pair of white shoes. At least you think they're white, as the image keeps flickering in and out of existence, like a glitch on a homemade videotape. Your eyes drag up, over slender legs clad in white pants, white shirt tucked into them. Then, you finally see him. An angelic face looking at you from above. Beautiful, blue eyes, sharp features and lovely lips, all surrounded by a halo of blonde waves. An angel, truly.

You blink, and his image shifts out of existence just for a second.

- Who are you? - your voice sounds foreign in your ears, barely recognizable over the music

The man smiles a gentle smile, before kneeling down in front of you. His hands slowly creep towards yours, cradling them in a hold that is so warm and comforting, you want to melt into it without question. His eyes are so incredibly blue, it takes your breath away. And yet, despite the whirlwind of emotions, you can't stop staring into them. The man lifts your joined hands towards his lips. There isn't even a ghost of a breath, fanning your knuckles, as he places a kiss onto the bone. His image shifts again, violently, and a new feeling of slow dread creeps up your spine.

Then, a shadow passes through him, the kind facade falling into something much darker, much more sinister.

- I'm your worst nightmare - he smiles, teeth on full display, sharp and pointy.

You try to free your hands with a yank, but he holds them close with little to no force, eyes leaving your face in favor of studying the way veins move beneath your skin.

- I have many names - he says, his voice is calm and melodic - Henry - his lips brush the outside of your left wrist - Peter - a swift kiss is placed onto the tips of your finger - One...

He lingers for a bit at the juncture between your thumb and your pointer, and you still feel no breath coming from him.

- Although, the name your friends have given me has a nice ring to it - he looks up, capturing you again with those blue eyes of his.

- Vecna - your voice comes out as a mere whisper, one you can't even hear amongst the song, slowly, but without stopping, coming to an end.

Suddenly, the man stands up, and you feel yourself being pulled up to your feet as well. It's not gentle at all, and you nearly trip, before finding your balance. Faster than you can comprehend, the man turns you around, so you're facing the mirror. You can see him fully now. He's almost a head taller than you, slender and elegant. Not at all the monster you have imagined, not the one Max told you about. He peers at your reflection, towering over you in his clean, white clothes.

- My name means very little to me now - he says again, hand coming up to tuck your hair behind, exposing your neck to him - I am very particular about the names of my victims, however - another smile has you shaking, as his wondering hands press slightly on your pulse.

You can't move, your legs feel heavy, like someone tied them down with rocks. Your heart is beating so fast, you can feel it in your throat, where his fingers drum delicately over your skin, to the beat of the song still keeping you alive.

- Chrissy - he hisses into your hair - Sounds sweet like candy, and in a way, that's how she tasted.

A shiver wrecks your body, as images of the Cheerleader's body flood your mind. Her eyes, sucked into her skull, her limbs in disarray.

- Fred - you can feel his hands on the insides of your arms, fingers dragging over your veins - Intelligent, although slightly tart, like unripe apples.

Your head starts to spin, breaths escaping you in quick puffs. They found Fred in the middle of the road, alone, abandoned, mutilated.

- Patrick - he dips his head into the crook of your shoulder, nose sliding up, towards your ear - Stern, but full of life, reminded me of walnuts.

"When logic and proportion, have fallen sloppy dead" the singer wails, and you know, your time is coming to an end. A small whimper escapes you, as slender arms encircle your frame, pushing your back into his body.

- Max - there is a spark of rage at the mention of your friends name, one, he catches in your reflection with a raised eyebrow - Strong, youthful, like mint. When I heard your name amongst thousands, I knew, you'd taste wonderful.

Your entire body starts to writhe, as the man gives your neck a long lick of his tongue, starting from your shoulder, up to the back of your ear.

- Oooh - he laughs to himself, as you watch him in the mirror, still unable to move - There is some kick to you, I can tell. Like hot peppers.

He dives down again, placing open-mouthed kisses to your feverish skin, teeth just barely scraping your pulse point.

- A name like this should be savored. This guilt you feel should be savored.

"Feed your head" the woman sings, the song swelling in your ears, so close to the end, you start to shake. As if on cue, the man slowly reaches up, his fingers tangling themselves into your hair, as he pushes them under your headphones. It takes one move, for the plastic to fall from your head, clattering to the ground.

Your eyes meet in the mirror as sudden silence engulfs the both of you. There is a victorious smirk playing around on his lips, as his right hands starts to twirl your hair around his finger. He rubs the strands, like he's sampling a fabric, bafore bringing them closer to his nose, and taking a long whiff of air.

- ...Or maybe cinnamon - me sighs, eyebrows scrunching together.

- Are you going to kill me now?

Again, images of broken bones and mutilated corpses fill your mind, you can almost imagine the wet cracking.

The man laughs, stepping away from your trembling body for just an inch, the loss of his body behind you makes you sway in place. There's this weird flickering glitch running over his figure, intensifying for a moment. He takes a long breath, you can see muscles work under any visible sliver of skin, and as he relaxes again, his form stabilizes.

That is when you realize, what you're looking at isn't real. He isn't real. This angelic, terrifying boy is just an illusion, a hallucination, meant to lull you into a false sense of security. And it almost works. Almost, because as you focus more on his eyes, they seem to become less blue, and more milky and veiny. More like a monster.

- Guilt is a fickle thing - his voice is lower, more raspy than before.

His head dips down behind you, and he plants a wet kiss to the base of you neck, teeth scraping against your skin in a way, that wrenches a whine out of your lips.

Your stomach churns with a feeling sitting too close to arousal, as his large hands begin to explore your body further.

- It never leaves, not truly. And you have so much of it. - a hand digs itself into your hip, then slides up, leasing the edge of your shirt.

- Stop.

He doesn't, fingers creeping under the fabric, squeezing the soft tissue there.

- You're supposed to protect your brother, but he keeps getting hurt on your watch. How many bones does he have to break? How many times have you failed him?

Tears spring to life in the corners of your eyes, as you try to turn away from your reflection. He's faster though, and grabs your chin, forcing you to look back to the mirror. Then, he cranes your chin to the side, forcefully, so that your face is closer to him.

- Those kids you've taken under your wing, I will devour them all, and you'll watch - he seems unmoved by your sobs, whispering the words into your wet cheek - Your father, poor father, never had the chance of seeing how much of a disappointment you really are.

His lips are soft as he kisses your tears away, tasting the saltiness with a grin. Like a chef, proud of his most delicious meal.

- I see it all, sweetness - the hand digging into your stomach climbs up, over your ribs, stopping just short of the underside of your breast.

- Please... - a choked sob escapes you, as your body tries to free itself from his iron hold.

- Shhh - he shushes you, you can't feel his breath on your lips, when he gives you a chaste kiss.

For that matter, you can't feel anything, that would suggest you're being held by a living being. There is no rise and fall to his chest, no smell, no heartbeat.

His form starts to flicker yet again, and suddenly, you feel something definitely not human sliding and swirling behind you. A constantly moving mass holds you in place and instinctively, you screw your eyes shut. You don't want to know how he looks like in reality, mind focusing back on the angelic man from before. Now, you can feel him breath, a low rumble starts in his gut everytime he inhales, like a beast ready to pounce.

- It takes - the voice coming from behind you is gruff and monstrous - A considerable amount of strength to keep this image in place.

Slowly, with every word, the man's voice comes back to the normal, melodic tone. The shifting mass on your back seizes its movements, and slowly, you allow yourself to crack an eye open.

Blue eyes, sharp cheekbones and a halo of blonde hair stare back at you in the mirror's reflection. He gives out a small chuckle, shakes his head slightly, and bends down to take another long sniff of your hair.

- There's no need for you to see my real form - he mutters into the crown of your head - After all, it's not your fear I'm after.

His hands move with unexpected speed, as the both slide upwards, under your shirt, to cup roughly at your breasts. The sound you give out is pathetic at best, as this sliver of friction sets your whole body ablaze.

- It's your guilt - he forces out through his teeth, giving your breasts another sharp squeeze.

Before you have the time to actually understand the implications behind his words, you body is being pressed forwards. The ceramic edge of the sing digs painfully into the meat of your thighs, but the feeling is swallowed completely by a slender hand worming it's way into your pants.

Your entire body rocks back and forth, as the man, Peter, Vecna, plunges two long digits into you without warning.

You feel a raw whine climb out of your throat, as you clench around his fingers, hands flailing at your sides, looking for any sort of purchase. He lets you lean on him completely, one hand massaging your breast, before abandoning it in favor of gripping your pulse.

He works you steadily and greedily, pulling sounds out of you, you'd have never imagined were possible. It feels sick, your stomach tightens into a growing coil, as the rythmic pumping shakes you to your bones.

- I...please - your words come out slurred, as your vision swims around your head.

He chuckles, seemingly unaffected, and presses his thumb down on your pulsing bundle of nerves. The sudden jolt of pleasure wrenches a scream out of you, one, he swallows, forcefully craning his neck, and pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss hurts, plain and simple. His lips, despite being pillowy soft, bite into yours with force you've never experienced in your life. Then, teeth appear, raking abused flesh, tongue forcing it's way into your mouth. It's too much, the whole thing starts to feel less like a nightmare, and more like an execution.

Your lungs scream for more oxygen, the tightening in your stomach accompanied by the sharp pain in your chest. And just when you truly think, this is how you are going to die, something entirely unexpected happens.

"One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small"

The song enters your brain like a dose of adrenaline, waking you from your stupor. Immediately, the hand toying with your insides, retracts, leaving you unfulfilled and disappointed. The emptiness carries, as his mouth detach from yours. You can't open your eyes, you refuse to do so, too overwhelmed to see.

- Remember this - the man says into your ear, his words slowly being drowned out by music - Remember this feeling, when I come for you again.

With that, you're being released, your limp body falling down onto the floor, where you're met with gentle hands of your friends cradling you.

- Jesus, we though you were a goner! - Lucas nearly screams in your face, as you try your best to focus on the kid's features.

- Yeah! You were flying under the ceiling - Dustin shoves a finger up, and your glazed eyes follow, looking at an unidentified spot above your head.

- Why didn't you tell us? - Max is gripping your shoulders so hard, you're sure it will leave a mark.

The kids, your kids, look at you with terrified faces, as you try to stand up, bones heavy, muscles trembling with unresolved tension.

- Didn't want to worry you guys...

It's a weak excuse, and right now you're not even sure if it's true. Dustin mutters something about you being an adult idiot, and in your heart you can't disagree with him.

- Just - Max slowly let's go of your arm - Keep the headphones on.

With that, the gang makes their way out of the bathroom, you following right after them. The coil in your stomach dies down, and with it, new, overbearing feeling arises in your chest.

Guilt. Crushing guilt of wanting something so wrong you can never recover from it.

And beneath the familiar drums, and the voice, and the guitar, you hear a gentle sound of a ticking clock.

#peter ballard x reader #peter ballard #stranger things #vecna x reader #vecna stranger things #001 x reader #henry creel x reader #001 stranger things #henry creel #my writing #tw: dark fic #monster #i dont support child murder but i do support men being pretty so here you guys go

6K notes · View notes

acewitch-writes · 4 months

Text

I remember the first time I read a fic that had Sirius grovelling for Remus' forgiveness post-POA and I was SO CONFUSED??? And now that seems to be the popular take on the situation. The fandom consensus is that Remus was the ultimate victim and Sirius is the one that should feel guilty.

And I feel like this displays a fundamental misunderstanding of Remus as a character.

Remus doesn't hold grudges. He doesn't even feel that he deserves to be angry. About anything. He has too much self-hatred and internalized prejudice to ever be so entitled to his own emotions. In reality, Remus was probably wracked by self-loathsome guilt; for believing that Sirius could ever be guilty, for being directly responsible for Peter escaping after Sirius finally had him cornered, and for grievously wounding Sirius and putting students & everyone else at Hogwarts in mortal danger when he forgot to take his Wolfsbane.

Remus doesn't award himself the grace this fandom is determined to believe he does. He thought he deserved to be publicly outed and sacked, for fuck's sake. He was almost certainly the one down on his knees begging Sirius for forgiveness after the events in POA.

#and then they fucked and made up #and Sirius was even nice enough to invite Remus to hide in the tropics with him #since he had been recently outed and probably subjected to an endless stream of howlers and hate crimes #remus lupin #marauders #I love Remus so much #shriveled up damp napkin masquerading as a man #sirius black #wolfstar

220 notes · View notes

lucky-bishop · 7 months

Note

But what are your Steter thoughts about the wild hunt?! 💚💚

I had a fucking essay written and then tumblr deleted it. I'm mad. Let's try this again. Also damn y'all are really getting after it with the great questions today. 💖 Thanks for indulging me in never shutting the fuck up about Steter haha.

Peter's ultimate goal in the series is to survive and live unafraid. Power is definitely his secondary goal but it is to enable that first one. He spends time trapped - in his coma, in Eichen, and ultimately the wild hunt. It is no coincidence that Stiles is the one to 'wake' him in the train station - they are connected.

Peter asks Stiles if he wants the bite, then respects his decision even though he believes Stiles is lying. That's huge. Peter's a manipulator and a liar and he likes to play god but he respects Stiles' decision. Even though it means Stiles kills him not long after.

Peter is also the one to tell Stiles Derek's story about Paige. Now this is a great episode of the show - it is told from Gerard and Peter's perspectives. Two liars, killers, people we know we cannot trust but their version of the truth is the version we get. The way that Peter presents himself in this story is interesting - he is trying to influence Stiles' opinion of him. They spend the rest of this time snarking and bantering. It's great.

But that's it: a bit of respect (maybe even fear) and banter between them. Then Peter (helps) save Stiles from the nogitsune - while asking for nothing in return for the first time in the show. He even says the line about narcissistic teenage girls when he 'helps' Lydia and Allison. But Stiles is different for him. They are connected. Still. Again.

When Peter sees Stiles - truly - in the train station, what does he say? It had to be you. He says this derisively - not because he doesn't respect Stiles, but because if Stiles is in here then it means he's not out there and Stiles out there, working on this whole thing, is his best chance at survival. Seeing Stiles cements Peter's belief that he will not be saved or escape his imprisonment this time. He won't live freely, and that terrifies him. But on the other side - seeing Peter is what gives Stiles hope. Even though Peter is still manipulative Stiles wants to work with him. Let me repeat that: Stiles "Paranoia" Stilinski wants to work with him. Maybe it's not trust, yet, but it's the potential for it and that's huge.

And when Peter gets out? He works to rescue Stiles. Even though he just died. Again. Their fates are connected. They are connected. They have so much potential.

They are enemies they are reluctant allies they are snarky and mean to everyone around them. They are dogs circling each other trying to figure out if it's safe to interact. They have saved each other they will always save each other they have put each other in mortal danger they will always want to kill each other and take each other apart. And I fucking love it. Plus the touch and look dynamics in the train episode (once you brighten it enough to see them) are fucking insane.

#Steter #Teen Wolf #Stiles Stilinski #Peter Hale #ask #anon

301 notes · View notes

nerdpoe · 1 year

Text

Like facing off against Cthulu, but it's really just your fears.

Part two, Part three, Part four, Ao3

Gore. Gore warning. Someone waking up in the middle of body horror being done to them. Gore gore gore. Do not interact if that is not something you want to read. I have other works under the tag phanfic that are not like this if you wanna read stuff I do.

Also elements of abuse.

I am not joking, someone wakes up in a really bad situation. Danny is shown in a...very familiar situation if you've ever been an unfortunate victim of abuse. If you cannot handle that, stay away.

~~~~~~~

Dick had been, admittedly, not paying attention. Granted he had been in a rather low-crime area, he could only imagine the kind of tongue-lashing Damian would give him.

Because typically Damian was the first to let them know when they'd fucked up.

Batman was second, but with fatherly scolding.

Alfred would scold quietly, over the course of a week, with disappointed glances and quiet sighs.

He had not been expecting the soft puncture in his shoulder, nor had he been expecting the burning pain afterwards.

The pain had only given him enough adrenaline to turn around and see two figures walking towards him, right before everything went dark.

Then he woke up.

And he really, really wished he had not.

He knew his mask was still on.

He knew his uniform was still on.

He also knew that he was not supposed to be able to feel the breeze on his fucking intestines.

He tried to move his arms, but something held them down. Same as his legs.

There was a deep, permeating ache. A pain that let him know he was in mortal danger.

It was centered on his chest.

His brain was still coming back online, and his head slowly lifted as much as he could bear and looked down.

Red.

Muscles.

Organs.

His skin, peeled back and pinned in place.

A fucking gardening shear approaching one of his ribs.

So much blood.

"Look honeybunches! It's 'waking up'!"

"Oh you! You know better than to distract me when I'm cutting, fudgecakes!"

"I'm sorry, puddin! But look at how it's got red ectoplasm!"

"It really is fascinating, these Gotham ghosts! Let's keep going!"

'No,' Dick thought hysterically, the pain beginning to cut through the tranq, 'Let's not continue, please no, don't don't don't-'

The thought was cut off by the starburst sensation of his rib being crushed, a horrific tugging sensation he could feel throughout his whole body, and then said rib was ripped out of him.

He couldn't help it.

Dick had been tortured before but fuck, this was a whole different level of fucked.

He screamed.

He screamed loud, and long, and petered off into panting sobs.

"Well now, that was rude."

"And he's been so considerate for a ghost so far! Bring out the muzzle sweetie!"

The large one came close to his head, some weird contraption in his hands, and Dick let out a keening whine. He could not let them put that thing on him, he could not-

"Mom, Dad!"

All movement stopped in the lab.

Dick felt his heart sink.

That was a kid. No kid should have to see someone being...being...

He couldn't even think it.

"Hurry, it's Phantom!"

And like that, the two mad scientists, because that was what they were, what they had to be, scrambled to grab a bunch of weapons and bolted outside of the lab.

Quiet footsteps scurried down the stairs and to his side.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I should have stopped them but they never listen and I...I'm going to have to stitch you up. This is going to hurt, but it's the only way you'll live."

Dick shakily turned his head to look at the kid, and oh.

Oh.

He was probably going to end up with a new brother by the end of this.

Black hair, blue eyes, bad living situation, stubbornly determined to do good.

Dick did the only thing he could do.

He shook his head.

"Nuh-no, g-get out. Ru-run."

He had to get the kid away from those lunatics, they could come back at any moment.

The kid's face adopted a stubborn look Dick was all to familiar with.

No, please, this was not the time, no Wayne-family pig-headedness, the kid had to run-

The shackled keeping his arms and legs in place released with a hiss, and he started reaching for his injury only to be stopped.

"Mr. Nightwing, sir, I have to stitch you up now or you won't survive. Please don't touch it, you'll...you'll make it worse."

Oh, Dick didn't like that sentence. It spoke of experience.

This kid was too sweet to have gone through something like what has happening to the professional vigilante, please no.

But the kid didn't waver at all.

With an experienced hand, he grabbed the medical supplies he would need and with a constant mantra of apologies, unpinned Dick's fucking skin from it's place and started piecing him back together.

Sans a rib, obviously.

"You're going to need antibiotics, immediately," the kid muttered under his breath, clearly trying to stave off a panic attack, "this is not a sterile environment. The stitches will have to come out to make sure your uniform isn't in the wound. Some of your remaining rib may need to be amputated, those were not surgical fucking gardening shears-!"

Dick had seen Jason go through enough panic attacks to know what to do.

It was difficult, but he lifted a heavy, shaking hand and rested it on the kids head.

He couldn't card his fingers through the kids hair, but that seemed to help.

The stitches did hurt, but it was a pain Dick was used to.

A pain that meant he was going to get better, eventually.

Necessary and good.

The kid cut off the thread from the last stitch and froze, cocking his head to one side.

Then, with what Dick could only assume as adrenaline fueled strength, he was bodily forced to stand.

He held in the scream, instead clutching at the kids shirt and ripping it.

He'd feel bad about that when he could think clearly.

"Mr. Nightwing, we have to get you to the fire escape, and you have to call the others to save you."

He was being pushed out of a window and found himself leaning on the railing, panting and staring down at the kid.

"I'll distract them as long as I can."

He tried to reach out, to grab the kid and take him with him, but the window shut. The blackout curtains closed.

The voices that he was sure would haunt his nightmares started shouting inside.

Dick struggled up three flights, barely making it to the roof before collapsing.

He couldn't save the kid.

Not as he was.

But his family could.

He activated his comm, which he was never turning off again, thanks, and was introduced to a cacophony of shouting.

No one knew where he'd been, why he'd gone, what had happened, did he have any idea how worried they were?

He felt a smile tugging at his lips and his body start to relax.

No.

He had to stay awake.

"We have new villains," he started, his shaky and faint voice making everyone stop talking, "They caught me off guard. Stupid. Should...should have been paying attention."

"Nightwing, keep talking. I have your location and will be arriving shortly." "I'm gonna need more than a medkit," Dick breathed, letting out a whine as he shifted position, "They fucking vivisected me. Pinned me down like a frog. Don't think I'll ever eat meat again."

"As thrilling as it is that you wish to join me in dietary practices, stay awake," Damian's clipped response did not hold any joy at the prospect.

Yeah, if this had happened to any of his other siblings Dick wouldn't be very happy either.

"They have a kid. Black hair, blue eyes, distracted them so he could do triage. The fuck kind of fifteen year old civilian knows triage?"

"Careful Dickie-bird, you're starting to sound like me."

Oh, that wasn't good. Even as mush as Dick's brain was, he could almost taste the Pit Rage in Jason's voice.

"He's still distracting them," Dick whispered, body relaxing against his will, "Can't...can't protect him. Dunno what they'll do."

There was a flash of red, and Tim was kneeling in front of him.

"Then we'll protect him," Tim said, carding a hand through Dick's hair as he took in the damage, "But first we need to get you to Alfred. Dr. Thompkins is already en route."

Dick let out a sigh, going limp against the roof.

He could hear his siblings shouting at him to stay awake, but he'd done that as well as he could.

His family would keep the kid safe.

He could rest.

~~~~~~~~

Bruce did not like seeing his children hurt.

It came with the territory of being a vigilante, but as a father he despised it.

But tortured?

No.

That was unacceptable.

And from what Dick said, there was a child in even more danger, if that was possible.

He stared through the glass as Dr. Thompkins operating on Dick's prone form.

He really had been vivisected.

The Y-shaped incision was clean cut in a way that said he hadn't been awake when it was made.

The bruises on his wrists and ankles told him that Dick's unconscious state had not stayed that way.

The careful stitches that Leslie had been forced to undo had been methodical, practiced.

But as she had said, a little off.

Like the kid knew how to do them, but from a different angle.

The sound of another dummy breaking brought him back.

He couldn't leave the kid-Daniel-with his parents.

No way in hell.

Tim had already run a search on them.

Jack and Madeline Fenton, parents to two children; Jasmine Fenton and Daniel Fenton.

Jasmine was in college, out of the abusive situation.

Her search history showed her constantly looking up affordable apartments for a college student with two rooms, but rent in Connecticut was a bit over a college students head.

It must have been killing her.

The Fenton's had moved out of Amity Park after an episode where Daniel had a psychotic break in school, and the police had started looking into his parents.

Bruce did not want to imagine what the boy had been through to warrant a psychotic break.

Nightwing's feed had showed them a scared kid who knew far too much about medical practices.

A kid who was terrified of the consequences of helping but deciding to help anyways.

There was no question about Bruce adopting him and his sister.

He would keep them away from crime-fighting.

They deserved a break from violence.

Even Damian had commented that the room next to his was ready for someone to move into.

His thoughts were cut off by Jason's feed on the Batcomputer.

"You were right," Gordon sighed, meeting Red Hood outside of the apartment in question, "We got the files from Amity Park Child Services. If you're ready to go in and make sure they don't hold their own kid hostage, we're ready to prosecute them."

"Fucking fantastic," Jason's voice growled through the helmet, the man turning to go up the fire escape.

"And should we have Mr. Bruce Wayne on speed dial, then?" Gordon drawled, making Hood pause.

"...Sure. Put the man on speed dial. Kid's adoption bait anyways."

Bruce could hear Gordon in the background getting the officers ready to arrest two new villains, ones that had already managed to capture and torture one of the city's beloved heroes.

Jason made quick work of the fire escape, soundlessly hauling himself to where Cass was waiting.

He paused, and they listened to make sure it would be safe to enter.

The feed picked up Jason moving his head to where Cass pointed out a small gap in the curtains.

The Drs Fenton had their son against a wall, a strange collar on his neck.

It looked like the kid was dissociating, no struggle present.

His shirt was torn, and on his chest...

On...his chest...

A Y-shaped scar.

One that bore the marks of poor healing, likely from previous infections.

Maddie Fenton was in her sons face, clearly threatening him.

And Cass punched through the window with her bare fist, an uncharacteristic show of rage.

From there Jason's feed was a chaotic mix of flashing lights, brief glances of Cass's bloodied hands, and finally, at the end; the sounds of the Drs Fenton screaming in pain.

And then the feed was full of Daniel.

Defiant blue eyes, panic clearly barely held at bay, shoving himself between an enraged Hood and equally angered Orphan.

"Please!" The boy shouted, keeping himself between the vigilantes and his parents even as the cops broke down the door, "Please! They...they're just sick. Please."

Bruce ground his teeth, even as Jason's footage showed his son lowing his gun and reaching out for the kid.

He was taking in Daniel.

He was giving him a better life.

And he would keep him far, far away from the violence being a vigilante would bring.

@skulld3mort-1fan @zelabee @waspsarebetterthanbeesanyways @ailithnight story prompt here

888 notes · View notes

sycamorelibrary754 · 7 months

Text

Forts, Fruit Snacks, & Flying

Summary: How will Natasha react when she sees the footage of your daughter’s high flying escapades with Peter while you two were in Paris celebrating your anniversary?

Pairings: Natasha x reader, Yelena, Kate, Peter x reader (platonic).

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 800

Warnings: None

A/N: @togrowoldinv suggested a fic where Natasha finds out about Mila’s flying with Peter in We’re a Family. This can also be read as a stand-alone story. I hope you enjoy it!

It was Wednesday afternoon. You and Natasha had been home for almost two weeks. Your anniversary in Paris now a cherished memory for both of you. You had gone back to work, and Nat, despite her semi-retirement, had been at the compound for the last three days training a couple of new recruits.

The meeting you were in was running long, and you were starting to worry about who was going to pick up Mila from preschool. You knew Nat wasn’t available for at least another two hours, so you text your sister-in-law.

You: Hey Yelena, I’m stuck at work and Nat is training recruits until 5 pm. Is there any way you can pick up Mila from preschool and bring her home? We should be home around 5:30 p.m.

Yelena: No problem! Peter, Kate Bishop, and I just finished an outreach event at the library. We’re only a couple blocks from her school.

You: Thank you! You’re the best sister-in-law ever. Tell Kate and Peter I say thank you as well. We’ll see you in a bit.

Mila had just picked up her purple unicorn backpack from her cubby when she caught sight of Yelena, Kate, and Peter by the door.

“Surprise, little spider!! We’re here to pick you up”, Yelena exclaimed.

“Where’s Mommy and Mama?” Mila asked, hugging the trio.

“They’ll be home soon. Meanwhile, we get to go home and play. What do you say?”

“Yay!”

*^~^*

After arriving home and getting Mila a snack, your daughter decided she wanted to build a blanket fort. Following some expert engineering, the four sat down inside the fort eating Welch’s Fruit Snacks.

Mila lokoed over at Peter, “Did you bring your flying suit with you?”

“Oh, not today, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

Your little girl looks like she's about to cry when Kate interjects. “Mila, do you want to see the video of you flying with Peter when you stayed with us? I have it on my phone.”

She nods, and Kate tosses the video to the AirPlay on your big-screen TV. At that very moment, you and Natasha walked in the front door. Natasha’s eyes go wide as she takes in the 4k footage of your five-year-old daughter flying through the air on Spider-Man’s back, as Mila runs up to hug you.

“What the hell?!” Natasha shouted.

“Mama said a bad word,” your daughter tattled, pointing at Nat.

“Yeah, sweetie, that was a bad word… Why don’t we go unpack your backpack?” you suggested as your little girl ran to you.

“Don’t kill him”, you said with a smirk and a hand on her shoulder as you walk by with Mila in your arms.

Natasha is staring Peter down with a look that he’s only seen on missions. “Okay, I know what you’re thinking, Nat— Ms. Black Widow, um, Romanoff. But she was safe the entire time. I would never drop her. We put pillows down on the floor, and she had a blast.” Peter asserted.

“Peter, shut up,” Kate whispered.

“Good advice,” Nat remarked, taking a step toward Peter.

“Come on sestra, you know we did fun things like that all the time back in Ohio.” Yelena reasoned.

She is about to give it to Peter when she catches sight of her daughter’s face on the screen.

“Wee!! Faster, Uncle Peter!” Mila giggled.

Natasha’s heart melts at the sight of her carefree and happy little girl. Exactly how she always hoped Mila would grow up. She looked back at Peter without breaking her best Black Widow poker face.

“I have two things to say to you. One—never do that again unless she is in mortal danger, or you will be the one in mortal danger. Two—can you send me that video?”

“… I’m sorry, what?” Peter asks.

“Can you send me that video? I want it for her baby book.”

A look of relief washes over Peter’s face. “Oh, sure. Umm, Kate has it.” Peter said, pointing at the young archer.

Kate nods and sends Nat the video, her phone pinging in confirmation.

“Thanks, and thank you for picking up Mila today. Would you three like to stay for dinner?”

“Sure, that would be great”, Yelena responded.

Nat walked away leaving the three young Avengers standing in the living room.

“Dude, you’re sweating,” Kate giggled.

“You don’t need to be afraid of her, she isn’t as scary as she looks,” Yelena said.

“Really?”

“No, she could kill you in two seconds. But look on the bright side, she didn’t. That means she likes you!” Patting Peter on the back.

“Awesome,” Peter squeaked.

#natasha romanoff x reader #yelena boleva x reader #kate bishop x reader #peter parker x reader #the avengers #mcu #black widow #spiderman #fluff #platonic

242 notes · View notes

hurtspideyparker · 2 months

Text

when Tony Stark stumbles back on Earth after being stranded in space in End Game, the first few things he says to Steve are the summation of what he had been thinking about those 3 weeks where he thought he was going to die.

1. "I couldn't stop him"

The most pressing thought is guilt. He feels that truly, he is responsible for the trillions of deaths throughout the universe. A hero fell and with him half of all life. His first instinct is to admit to Steve the blood on his hands, a guilt that has been swallowing him for weeks. Steve says "I couldn't either". They are not alone in this, and even the weight of the universe can be lightened when shared.

2. "I lost the kid"

Peter Parker. Of course he was thinking about Peter. Out of everyone, he deserved that fate the least. The kid who puts himself in mortal danger to protect complete strangers, who's too smart for his own good but stupid when it comes to self-preservation. Maybe a part of him always thought that he would be the cause of Peter's end; he was the one who encouraged him, gave him the suits and the tech and promised him a future on the elite team of Avengers. But so young? He was a child. A child he brought into a war, who faced his demise with the fear and confusion of someone who'd never even considered death would be ready for them so soon. Tony felt someone so purely good (something that was long beaten out of his peers) turn to dust in his fingers. He thought about Peter Parker a lot, and maybe cursed whatever forgotten fate chose to take Peter's life over his.

3. "Is um- (Pepper alive)"

And then there's Pepper Potts. The only thing he really cared about returning to Earth for. If there was no her to come back to, he didn't really see the point in him returning at all. Tony has self-destructive tendencies, and a lot of self-loathing. He didn't dare entertain the thought that she wouldn't be there when he got back, because she was the only thing keeping him going. Once he's arrived though, he can't help but ask for what he needs most (he's met with her arms around him before he can even finish the sentence- that solace is the only thing keeping his heart beating).

#tony stark #peter parker #steve rogers #the avengers #avengers endgame #avengers #tony stark angst #spider man #tony stark and peter parker #tony stark and steve rogers #irondad and spiderson #irondad #captain america #pepper potts #tony stark and pepper potts #marvel mcu #marvel movies #mcu #iron man

80 notes · View notes

rose-tea-and-strawberries · 4 months

Text

𝖎𝖌𝖓𝖎𝖙𝖊

AKA: this one quote from Book!Frollo made my mind go crazy.

Yes, I was listening to “It's A Dangerous Game” from the Jekyll and Hyde Original Concept Recording

(also, please forgive my Latin, I used google translate)

Reader/Yuu is female and has hair (which is implied to be long)

Masterlist

It was mesmerising, how perfectly your bodies melded and moved together, how easily and harmoniously you were brought to a hitherto unknown rapture. To be caught up in such a state, where you were free of the chains that bound you to the horrors of purgatory and had ascended you to heights you had never felt before, to feel him guiding you to a place where you had never even begun to dream about.

Minutes had passed since the twelfth ring of the Bell of Solace yet the two of you stayed in your tower, pressed against a shadowed alcove, away from everyone and everything, your hands wandering and blood singing as the rest of the city drifted off into their fanciful visions of the dusk.

With the Witching Hour descending upon you, veiling you in the covers of the night, you only had the stars and the spirits above as witnesses to this tryst, your secrets laid bare for their silent judgement.

But their judgement didn’t matter, nor did your schoolmates’, if the silent covenant between you and him were to be obeyed, if the unvoiced sermon in blue flickers that glowed against the scorching green of his eyes that seared into you as he took a lock of your hair and pressed it against his lips were to be acknowledged.

His cold touch, like fire, burning your figure as it trailed across your face, your neck, your shoulder before settling on your waist, pulling you closer - long, chilling fingers burned along your skin, setting ablaze every thought, every word, every semblance of rationality.

“Pulchra,” you could feel his voice against your mouth, wafting and caressing like tendrils of smoke, sonorous to your ears, “puella pulchra, so pure, so perfect. Like a goddess in mortal form.”

You could do nothing but listen, to submit to the dark velvet of his dulcet tones, to close your eyes and let this fiery passion incinerate and eradicate the demons that plagued you. Ordinarily, you’d be against this, to let your shackled hands hand the reins of your petering control to another, but his providence proved otherwise. With your destiny enshrouded in so much unknown, the danger of staying and the risk of fleeing your perennial torment in the clutches of your captors yet with Rollo before you, you felt at peace.

Fate, free-will, nothing mattered in this sanctuary he created.

His conviction begets your reprieve, his resolution ameliorates your soul from the horrors that had stained it with their inky fingerprints. The singing brushes of his fingertips cleansed you, and like a blazing phoenix, you emerged anew.

With both great reluctance and great desperation his lips left yours and made their home at the apse of your neck, whispers of orisons against your skin, your name an endless epiclesis.

Even with your sight inhibited, you could see the worship in his gaze, through the reverence in his touch, the cardinal way he regarded you in every action. His hands gentle yet formidable as they kept you against him, the golden shank of his ruby ring digging into you with the pads of his fingers.

“I wanted to see you again,” his deep timbre, dark, soft and smoky against your ears, “touch you, know who you were, see if I would find you identical with the ideal image of you which had remained with me and perhaps shatter my dream with the aid of reality.”

“And?” you hear yourself say, too lost in the fiery haze, too blinded by the flaming reds and golden ambers that danced under your eyes.

“At all events, I hoped that a new impression would efface the first, for the first had become intolerable to me. I sought you, Prefect, again to behold you. When I had seen you twice, I wished to see you a thousand more times, to always have you in my sight. You claim to be magicless, Angelum Meum, yet you have completely bewitched me. With you, I’m no longer my own master. You’ve become my salvation from perdition, shown me the true meaning of righteous. Please, I say in obsecration, grant me the blessing of speaking your benediction, of proving how far my devotion runs. Let me be your acolyte, your protector against the tainted crowd.”

His lips pressed against the apples of your cheeks, his hands on your waist, the fury of the flames within you.

It’s dangerous. But this fire won’t char you, won’t scar you, won’t leave you tearstained and broken.

It emboldens you, ignites the snuffed out hearth within you.

You nod once, a small jut of your chin through the keening of your throat and you slowly feel the ribbon of your nightdress tugged loose before it falls and pools at the ground at your feet.

#twst #twisted wonderland #rollo flamme x reader #rollo flamm #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #fem reader

131 notes · View notes

queerbuckleys · 1 year

Photo

i’ll be worried all night and won’t wanna ask, so forgive me if i hover close ⤷@lgbtqcreators bingo square- typography [image description: 10 large gifs from 911 with lyrics from Helicopter by Maisie Peters. gif 1: from season 4 episode 5, close up of Buck as he rides his motorcycle. His expression is intense and angry. The text reads, "Babe, without me you are just so defenseless, from motorbikes" gif 2: from season 2 episode 18, Buck sits on his couch in the loft, he looks sad and confused as Ali speaks to him out of frame. He is teary eyed as Ali cups his cheek. The text reads, "and girls you might try and break your heart" gif 3: from season 6 episode 9, Buck and Eddie are sitting next to each other in beach chairs on the firehouse roof, Eddie hands Buck a mug of Hot Cocoa. The text reads, "So I'm pretty sure that I should make you breakfast, and then I should never leave the front seat of your car" gif 4: from season 4 episode 14, close up of Eddie sitting on his hospital bed as he sighs, determinedly not looking a barely out of frame Buck. The text reads, "you are important to me so of course it maddens me when you're nonchalant about your mortality" gif 5: from season 4 episode 14, close up of Buck as he climbs the crane and sees a glint in a window, he looks pensive but determined as he continues climbing. The text reads, "Please be more careful when you cross the road, You're a perfect arrangement of rickety bones" gif 6: from season 5 episode 1, Buck and Eddie look softly at each other across the firehouse loft as the team plays pool. The text reads, "So forgive me, if I hover close, I'm a helicopter 'cause I love you so" gif 7: from season 6 episode 1, Eddie looks up at Buck from his seat at Buck's dining table, he looks down with a small smile. The text reads, "Oh bare with me, darling you should know, I'm a helicopter 'cause I love you so" gif 8: from season 3, episode 3, Buck watches Eddie say goodbye to Chris out of frame , he looks conflicted yet at peace. The text reads, "It's not interfering if you can't be trusted to treasure that heart like I do" gif 9: from season 4 episode 5, A young Evan rides a bike, he is clearly upset as he wipes tears with his arm. The text reads, "Your sense of danger is antique & rusted" gif 10: from season 4 episode 5, Eddie watches as an out of frame Buck walks up to where his parents are waiting, his expression is soft and determined as he looks after him. The text reads, "and mine's razor sharp when it comes to you" /end ID]

458 notes · View notes

the-cat-and-the-birdie · 8 months

Text

{THIS IS A RANT} - Back at it again with the

ALL MY HOBIES HATE PETER B.

(Not a typo)

Another rant where I talk about hating Peter B on every level in which my soul manifests

[Stop talking about if your parenting is good so help me fucking god this has nothing to do with you and lives are at stake]

The reason I find Miguel easier to defend than Peter B is because Miguel actually has actions to speculation about in the story.

Peter spent that whole movie talking about his baby, standing completely stationary while witnessing child abuse twice (he didn't nothing when Gwen was sent home) and then go home and talk about how he's sad cause he's not a good mentor and might not be 'good at this'

Like sir who the hell cares what youre good at A teenage girl just became homeless and Miles is being hunted by hundreds of adults

Can you give us more than 'I'm bad at this mentor stuff 😭😭😭'

Put MayDay in the crib and go get Gwen.

Or at the very least tell MJ. Tell MJ that the kid that inspired you to have MayDay is in mortal danger. Tell MJ that the reason you think you're a bad mentor is because MILES JUST GOT HIS ASS BEAT

Why is his thought after ALL THAT about himself abd only HIMSELF? And how he might be a bad mentor

Like yes, you are now that we've realized that glaring fact can you like.... Do something

ALSO YOU HAVEN'T SEEN MILES IN OVER A YEAR WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU WORRIED ABOUT THAT

'you don't know if he was going to go get gw-'

Exactly. Cause all he did was talk about himself.

'what if the society was supporting them financially-'

if you see your boss assault a child you should quit even if you make a million a month

'he ended up joining the team anyway'

Gwen, the teenager, the homeless teenager, shouldn't be the one coming to Peter's rescue right now it should be the other way around.

The only reason he joined at the end was because Hobie and Gwen made it super convenient for them.

Had Hobie not left Gwen the watch - and Gwen hadn't showed up -

We are given NO PROOF whatsoever that Peter would've joined them.

No verbal indication or anything.

We have no idea how long Peter would've stayed on Miguel's side had Gwen not approached him.

LITERALLY all Peter did this movie was show Miles baby pictures, tell him he has to let his dad die, accidentally get him caught because he's too stupid to turn off his TRACKING watch , watch Miles get his ass beat, then watch Gwen get her ass beat, then go home and talk about himself.

At least Miguel is having an emotional arc meanwhile Peter shows the emotional range of a bad day at the office despite the fact people he knows and cares about have been hurt in front of him by someone he knows and cares about.

And people still defend him.

HE DID NOTHING. THERE'S NOTHING TO DEFEND BUT HIS INACTION

I feel like so many people excuse his inaction and failure to 'he means well' - obviously not cause when you mean well you do well and he ain't do shit.

"What was he supposed to do?"

At the very least express concern of some sort about the two missing children in his life??

Put MayDay down and try to see if you can find Gwen?

At the very least mention the fact that his boss went apeshit - or Hell, talk about ANYTHING besides himself.

I don't know how people can see that and be like yeah he's cool. This is a competent man who cares about these kids

Like.... If you care and do nothing and make them do literally everything and help them none to the point you're actively leading danger to them because you can't think ahead all while clapping from the sidelines then who the fuck cares what you care about

You don't care enough to do something. So why would I care you're a bad mentor???????

At least Miguel is doing something and we can look deeper into his emotional arc and story and motive

Peter B gives literally nothing. Nothing. Contributes nothing to no one through the whole movie. Doesn't even do a cool Spidey move or anything. Jokes dry as hell -

FUCK I'm so salty why did the write him like a plank of wood why am I supposed to be okay with his WHY WHY WHY

WANT ME TO CLAP AND SHIT MEANWHILE I'M LOOKING AT HIM LIKE

What can he do that Noir, Pavitr, and Hobie can't? Like.... They can do everything he can???? With extra abilities,??? PENI HAS A MECH?? WHAT IS HE ADDING WHAT IS HE BRINGING WHAT IS HE SERVING

NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING

____________________________________________

Anyway if you made it this far he's a master list of all my posts where I talk about why a Peter is a horribly borderline irredeemable character.

Peter watching as Gwen is put in the machine, and says nothing besides a joke to defend her, before going home to talk about himself

Hobie doesn't like Peter so neither do I

Why I believe Peter purposely ratted Miles out - If Peter didn't know he was being tracked, why would she speak out loud and give herself away. She didn't. I believe Peter asked her to track them and she responded out loud not knowing Miles was right there.

Why even if he didn't rat Miles out, that's arguably worse - How do you forget the obvious tracker watch is obvious tracking you?

UHH SO YEAH FUCK PETER B ALL MY HOBIES HATE PETER B

#fuck peter b all the hobies hate peter b #peter b hate club #spiderman #atsv #marvel #spider man #across the spiderverse #peter b #Peter b Parker #Gwen Stacy #Miles morales #across the spider verse #peter parker

78 notes · View notes

thecasualauthor · 8 months

Text

Jily Microfic Prompt 27: Trust

@jilymicrofics I stayed up way too late to write this but I think it's pretty neat. (these two have taken over my life.)

Words: 515

---------

“Do you trust me?”

Lily’s locks her gaze with James, and her breath catches in her throat.

It doesn't matter how long they've been together, he has the same effect on her he's always had. Butterflies erupt in her stomach, and her face warms. They’re so close to each other, lips merely inches apart, kneeling behind a patch of bushes, hidden in darkness. She’d kiss him right now if they weren’t about to enter another life or death situation. She forces herself to focus, to pay attention to the task at hand.

You can kiss him later, she thinks.

“James–” Lily says, and she's surprised to hear her voice crack a little. “James, there are too many of them in that house. Bellatrix Lestrange is in that house. And as much as I want to curse her into oblivion right this second, we need backup. We can’t do this alone.”

“Peter is in that house too, Lily,” James says, fire in his eyes. “We don’t have time to get back-up. Who knows what they’ve done to him already, how long he has left in there.” The pained look on her soon-to-be-husband's face makes something in Lily’s stomach twist uncomfortably, but she plows on anyway.

“There are ten of them.” she says. “ At least. And Peter– he’s probably– he can’t help us. The odds–”

“I don’t care about the odds,” James says impatiently, “I only care about getting Peter out of there, which we are going to do.”

Lily closes her eyes and lowers her head, knowing the argument is pointless. Not for the first time, Lily curses James’ sense of undying loyalty.There are, the way she sees it, only two ways this situation could go. Either she could leave to get backup, and let James go into the building Peter was being held in to face ten death eaters at once, or go with him now and make it two against ten.

“James,” she says again, eyes still closed, but James interrupts her.

“I have a plan,” Lily,” James says. “I just– I can’t leave him at the mercy of the Death Eaters. I won’t.”

And Lily knows that. She knows that James would rather die than leave a friend in a situation like this, even if it meant putting himself at risk as well. It’s one of the things she loves most about him, even though it usually ends up with him (and Lily as well) in mortal danger.

“Do you trust me?” James asks again, his voice soft. Lily breathes in deeply, and she feels James’ hand against her cheek. She lifts her head and meets his eyes again. She searches his expression, trying to memorize every last feature of his face, trying to commit to memory every single moment she’s had with him. She does this every time there’s a fight ahead of them, because one never truly knows.

Her stomach twists as she thinks that this– this may be it for them. Ten Death Eaters against her and James. But–

“Of course,” she says softly.

She does trust him.

Unconditionally.

#jily #jily microfic #james potter #lily evans potter #harry potter fanfiction #microfic

76 notes · View notes

midnightstargazer · 13 days

Text

I really like the idea of Regulus recruiting other people into the Death Eaters. Both because it makes sense (he was sixteen when he joined, still at Hogwarts, it seems like recruiting his peers would be the most useful thing he could do during the school year), but more importantly, because there's so much potential for angst and tragic irony.

Like, let's say Regulus was the first one to suggest joining the Death Eaters to Barty. Maybe he's not the only reason Barty did it, but he put the initial idea into his head, and he put him in touch with the right people. Then, as Barty becomes more and more fanatical and unhinged, Regulus is realizing he's made a terrible mistake - but it's too late to take it back. Regulus dies knowing he gave Voldemort an incredibly loyal and dangerous follower. He dies trying to make Voldemort mortal, and years later, it's Barty who brings Voldemort back.

Or, this is harder to make work timeline-wise, but what if he played a role in recruiting Peter? What if he was the first person they sent to try and persuade him? It would make sense, after all: Regulus is Sirius's brother and would probably know Peter better than most of them. Not well, perhaps, but well enough to know his weak spots and how to manipulate him. Maybe when Regulus dies, Peter hasn't given in yet, but Regulus laid the groundwork that others would later build on. So they both betray their respective sides, without ever meeting in the middle or knowing what the other one did.

Or just in general, by the time Regulus dies, he wants Voldemort dead and would rather die himself than keep working for him. But if by that point he's convinced other people to follow him, and can't do anything to take that back or convince those people he was wrong...

I don't know, it just feels delightfully tragic.

#Regulus Black #Barty Crouch Jr #Peter Pettigrew #Death Eaters #Regulus headcanon #Marauders Era

21 notes · View notes

midnightmoonblossom · 2 months

Text

I just asked AI to generate an Irondad prompt and holy shit, does anyone want to actually write this?

AI’s prompt:

In the aftermath of a devastating battle with a new, mysterious villain, Tony Stark aka Iron Man finds himself gravely injured and facing his own mortality. As he struggles to recover, his adopted son, Peter Parker aka Spider-Man, remains by his side, determined to support and care for his mentor and father figure.

As Tony's condition worsens, he shares with Peter stories of his past, the mistakes he's made, and the lessons he's learned. Through their heartfelt conversations and shared moments, a deeper bond forms between them, strengthening their already close relationship.

As Tony fights to overcome his physical and emotional challenges, Peter steps up as a hero in his own right, taking on new responsibilities and facing dangerous threats to protect his family and the city they love.

Together, Iron Man and Spider-Man must confront their fears, make difficult choices, and ultimately learn the true meaning of heroism, sacrifice, and the enduring power of love and family.

Will Tony and Peter emerge from this trial stronger than ever, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead? Join them on their journey of self-discovery, courage, and redemption in "A Hero's Promise."

#irondad #iron dad #tony stark #peter parker #iron man #Ironman #spider man #spiderman

22 notes · View notes

princeescaluswords · 8 months

Note

The Teen Wolf fanspace would be a perfect case study for the Mandella Effect. How fandom works to build false narratives to create false memories among a collective when a story doesn't cater specifically to [their] white interests.

On, god, I am really quite willing to trawl through the history of this show's audience sewage responses just to build a paper around it.

Well, I'll tell you one thing: you won't have a problem finding evidence for your thesis!

After you sent me this ask, I read up on the Mandela Effect, and I have to admit I tried to resist applying it to the Teen Wolf fanspace at first, because there's something dissatisfying to me about looking at my experience through that lens. Intentional misrepresentation can be rejected and countered, but with subconscious misrepresentation, the task becomes so much more difficult. In other words, it's easier to dodge a bullet than an avalanche. In the end though, the result is the same.

My discomfort arises even more as I examine the Teen Wolf fandom through that lens, because you can see examples of the effect consistently. Scenes, characterizations, and flat-out lampshading must vanish completely from the fandom's memories in order for their experience to conform to their peer-reinforced expectations. No example demonstrates this more than the way fandom treats Master Plan (2x12).

Do you know how many times I have had to explain to other individuals in the fandom, both new and old, that Scott's plan was never to make Derek bite Gerard. It was Gerard's plan for Derek to bite him, and we know this. In the episode itself, Gerard crows that science doesn't have a cure for cancer, but the supernatural does. Scott figured out that Gerard had cancer, but Scott didn't know that Gerard planned to make Scott be the one to physically force Derek to do it. Scott didn't know that Gerard could sense Jackson's location and that Gerard would show up at the warehouse. Scott certainly didn't know that Gerard would put Jackson's claws to Allison's throat in order to extort him into doing it. Do you know how I know this? Because the show carefully lampshaded every single thing I just said.

Scott's plan was to poison Gerard so he couldn't get the bite, so he wouldn't kill Derek and be able to become Alpha. That's why he switched out the mountain ash. If he had wanted to simply kill Gerard, as many people have pointed out, why not just switch out the pills for actual poison?

But the fandom forgets everything in that scene beyond the fact that Scott made Derek bite Gerard. They forget the logical conclusion that if Scott had died in Raving (2x08), Gerard would have simply found someone else to make Derek bite him. They forget the reality that Allison -- someone who was far more important to Scott than the man who had stepped on his throat to prove a point, had kidnapped and threatened his best friend Stiles, and had sent his classmates to murder Lydia in his freaking bedroom -- was in mortal danger every moment Scott's hands were on Derek.

But the Mandela effect doesn't stop with Scott. Think about Allison herself at the end of Season 2. She's suddenly a "b*tch" because she hunted down Erica and Boyd. Make no mistake, she shouldn't have gone about it in the way that she did, which Chris Argent rightfully pointed that out. Fandom correctly remembers that this was due to an overreaction to the death of her mother and the manipulation of her evil grandfather, but then they treat Erica, Boyd, and Isaac as if they were innocent victims of prejudice, instead of the people who had chosen to hurt her boyfriend Scott, hurt her friend Stiles (who was her friend, not Derek's and not the beta trio's), and try to murder her best friend Lydia. That doesn't include the fact that she had been personally threatened by Erica and physically attacked by Isaac, or that Derek had accepted Peter -- the man who ripped out her aunt's throat and tried to kill her repeatedly -- back into his pack and was working with him. But two entire seasons' worth of violence and attempted murder simply vanishes in order to facilitate the fandom's judgment of Allison's behavior in the last three episodes of Season 2.

I've put it down to racism and misogyny -- and it is! -- but I have to suspect that it isn't a deliberate decision to forget about all the things Teen Wolf did to lay out the story. It's been encouraged and repeated often enough that it's taken on a life of its own in fandom, and now participants aren't even obligated to take what little they've seen into account. Why should they? It's like it never happened.

#scott mccall #allison argent #scott mccall defense squad #teen wolf fandom problems #fandom racism #fandom misogyny #stiles stilinski

67 notes · View notes