#the terror: a show where characters don't even need to speak to each other to be shipped

[depressedbagpipe]

Silver (Prince Caspian x female!reader)

Chapter IV - Peter's Mistake

Words: 3385 Warnings: lots of angst, besties fighting in front of a bunch of people. I guess mentions of misogyny? Caspian and reader having a badly written moment alone. Reader's hair is long enough to be put into braids. Reader is clad in weapons, too. The first part is more of a filler. A/N: I'm not gonna lie, this physically hurt to write, because I love Peter so much but I needed some angst. I don't know how to hint at romance between characters so I'll leave it like this for the time being. Thank y'all so much for your support <3

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Chapter IV - Peter's Mistake

“It’s only a matter of time. Miraz’s men and war machines are on their way. That means those same men aren’t protecting his castle,” Peter looked around the room.

An emergency war meeting had been called, all of us standing around Aslan’s table. I sat on my trunk, dressed in my old armor, clad in weapons from head to toe. My hair was in the usual braids that I wore for battle, keeping the hair away from my face and my silver locks on display. I was the spitting image of myself once again, the big stone portrait behind me backing me up. As soon as the room started to fill up with all the Narnians, I could hear their whispers. They stood a couple of feet away from me, either in terror or wonder, but I felt like the powerful warrior I had once been for over a decade. 

Reepicheep asked. “What do you propose we do, your Majesty?” He had easily won Peter’s favor, being the first to show him the respect Peter always sought.

“We need to get ready for it,” Peter started.

“To start planning for…” Caspian answered.

There was an awkward silence as both members of different royal houses challenged each other with their eyes, only for Caspian to give in.

Peter continued without any interruption. “Our only hope is to strike them before they strike us,” he explained. I already pictured his plan in my head, yet as soon as I caught sight of Caspian’s face, I knew that was not a good plan.

“But that’s crazy. No one has taken that castle,” Caspian spoke, directly defying Peter. He didn’t like that.

“There’s always a first time,” he was sending daggers to Caspian now.

Trumpkin intervened, Peter’s plan being mulled over in his head. “We’ll have the element of surprise,” he agreed.

“But we have the advantage here!” Caspian tried to reason with everyone in the room. I already had my eyes fixed on him before he looked at me, almost pleading for my help. I remained quiet, not wanting to aggravate the scene, yet the Narnians were pretty much sold.

“If we dig in, we could probably hold them off indefinitely,” Susan sided with Caspian. Peter hardly stared at his sister, something like betrayal radiating off of him.

“I, for one, feel safer underground,” Trufflehunter spoke, always the mediator. 

Peter turned to look at Caspian again, a cold stare on his face, his jaw tensed. “Look, I appreciate what you’ve done here, but this isn’t a fortress. It’s a tomb,” he almost spat the words out, coming closer to the dark-haired boy. 

Edmund, who was sitting next to me, suddenly spoke. “Yes. And if they’re smart, the Telmarines will just wait and starve us out.”  

Everybody was taking sides. I stood in the perfect middle of the two kings, watching their feud.

Reepicheep, his loyalty unmatched, spoke again. “I think you know where I stand, sire,” he bowed once more. 

We all had our eyes on Peter, yet he quickly turned to look at me. As his right hand in combat, my word usually outweighed the rest of the council’s advice. I knew he was looking for my support, as he always did. And he usually had it. Yet this time, I simply couldn’t agree with him. I shook my head without speaking, sending a pleading look to him to not come forward with the plan, but his stare only became colder, even more determination in his eyes at my refusal. 

Peter turned to Glenstone, the centaur currently in charge of the Old Narnian army. “If I get your troops in, can you handle the guards?” he asked him.

I didn’t fail to notice how he glanced at Caspian before answering Peter’s question. “Or die trying, my liege,” he nodded at him. 

Peter’s satisfaction was short-lived, for Lucy quietly spoke behind Peter, sitting on the Stone Table. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

“Sorry?” Peter questioned.

“You’re all acting like there’s only two options. Dying here, or dying there,” I felt pride spreading through my chest. Despite her young age, Lucy had always been the sensible one. We shared a look, and this time I nodded at her.

“I’m not sure you’ve been listening, Lu,” Peter, almost patronizing, tried to shut her down.

“No, you’re not listening,” Lucy’s anger was felt around the room. “Or have you forgotten who really defeated the White Witch, Peter?” The look she sent him was harsh but true. We had fought many battles without Aslan by our side, yet this time, the risk was different. Peter wanted to attack and siege an active castle with our reduced number of troops, with an even smaller number of resources and supplies. We would only have one chance, and anybody could see we were not prepared for that.

“I think we’ve waited for Aslan long enough,” Peter turned around to face Glenstorm again, finishing his conversation with Lucy.

“There’s always another way,” it was me who finally spoke. Everybody was now looking at me, Caspian’s thankful eyes fixed on me. My voice was grave, stronger than it had ever been. My armor was by no means magical, but I was indeed fearless in it. As soon as I put it on I had stopped being the silent teenager I had been before and was back to being a warrior – the Silver Knight.

“And as I said, we can’t keep waiting on Aslan. We need to act now,” Peter had stopped dead in his tracks, now standing before me. His eyes searched my own as if he were trying to share his reason with me.

I kept sitting down on my trunk, not even bothering to stand up. I knew that once Peter had something in mind, there was no stopping him from getting it. “Look, we both know we lack numbers. Waiting here isn’t an option, either. But what you plan right now is a suicide mission,” I tried to reason with him.

“I told you, most of their soldiers are on the river, we need to attack when no one’s defending the castle!” Peter raised his voice, pouring all of his frustration on me. It wasn’t the first time he did that, but it always hurt being yelled at by your best friend, who casually happened to be your king, too.

“Peter,” my anger was rising as well, “don’t be stupid. Do you really think somebody like Miraz would leave his castle unattended?” I stood up from the trunk, stepping closer to him. Some of the closer Narnians stepped back, as if giving us enough space to fight, and hopefully not get caught in the crossfire. “Look what they did to Cair Paravel centuries ago. Don’t you think they would have bettered their tactics after all these years? He willingly ordered to kill his own nephew, for Aslan’s sake! There is no way Miraz would be that dumb to center his strength on a freaking bridge knowing Caspian is out here plotting his death with us,” I was almost yelling at that point.

Peter was almost shocked at my outburst. “So you’re taking his side, too?” he vilely pointed at Caspian, envy oozing from him. “You’re my right hand, for Aslan’s sake, you are better than this!” Peter was on my face now.

I scoffed. “You are better than this, Peter,” my words were laced in venom. “Someone who has actually lived there is telling you your plan is futile, yet you’re here acting all child-like sending the same people you swore to protect to certain death,” I pressed my finger against his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat thumping on his ribcage. “Stop trying to prove you’re a ruler and fucking be one, Peter Pevensie,” I almost whispered, yet my frowning eyebrows were hard on his face. “You’re no better than Miraz if you ignore the danger.” I was about to leave the room, who was dead silent watching our fight.

“You either stand with me or against me,” Peter said, his back turned to me.

I stopped dead in my tracks and bitterly laughed, looking over my shoulder back at him. “Is that a threat?” I asked. I could feel my cheeks red in anger. 

“Will you stand next to your king, as you swore, or will you betray Narnia?” He called out loud, his voice now bouncing off the walls in a faint echo. It was suddenly only the two of us in the room, two kids yelling at each other in frustration.

“Do I have a choice?” I shook my head in disbelief, suddenly not recognizing the blond boy behind me.

“You tell me,” Peter answered, fully looking at me. We were both ignoring everyone’s eyes on us, but as I was coming down from the high, I realized the position I was in.

I couldn’t actively defy my king without being accused of treason. I couldn’t leave my best friend behind to die if I had a way to protect him. I couldn’t let him make the biggest mistake of his life due to arrogance. 

I shook my head once more as I walked to the exit. “I liked you better when you were a whiny kid,” I walked up the stairs that led to the exit before turning completely to the room. Once again, all the eyes were on me. I caught Caspian’s eyes, who looked at me rather pitifully. He understood my decision even before I could muster the words. I exhaled softly, before calling. “Narnians, prepare for battle.”

“Thank you,” a soft voice spoke behind me. I had been sitting on the edge of the lookout port, staring at the stars as the Narnians below me prepared their horses and weapons for the attack. Edmund was guiding the gryphons that would take Peter, Susan, Edmund, Caspian, Trumpkin, and I into Miraz’s castle. Susan was recharging her quiver, while Peter simply barked orders with Rhindon in his hand, the blade reflecting the moon’s soft silver rays. 

Caspian stood next to me, a respectful distance away, as he too took in the scene below us. I exhaled, taken away by Caspian’s beauty under the moonlight. “For what, your grace?” I whispered, not wanting to disturb the little peace I would be having that night.

“For standing up for me. I mean, maybe it wasn’t your intention, but you made me feel less alone. Like somebody understood my concerns,” Caspian answered, also whispering. 

My cheeks hurt from the heat in them, and thankfully it was dark enough to conceal their color. “He’s making a mistake, your grace. A mistake that’s gonna get us killed,” I fixed my eyes on him. As if on cue, Peter turned around as if he could sense my hard eyes on him, but did not look up to our position. He shrugged it off and continued going over the plan with Glenstorm.

“Please, just call me Caspian,” he pleaded with a small smile on his lips. I nodded in agreement, yet remained silent. “Is he always so hard on you?” Caspian softly asked, imperceptibly stepping closer to me. His worried tone lulled my sore throat as if it were sweet honey. 

I shook my head. “He’s just being a pain in the ass,” I explained. Despite my anger, I still knew the boy pretty well. “He feels like he’s lost control and he doesn’t like that. He’s proving to himself he can still be a king.” 

Caspian looked at me for a couple of seconds in silence. I met his stare, and once again I felt my breath hitch. His face was illuminated by the moon, making him almost angelic. For a few seconds, he was only a boy, wanting to do right only not knowing how, seeking refuge with people he only heard about in legends. There was a fire in his eyes too, similar to Peter’s. Both men were more alike than they thought.

“For the record,” Caspian said. “I think he’s being an idiot,” he looked down at him. “We all make mistakes, sure, but I still wouldn’t treat my partner like garbage just to prove a point,” his words were almost pained, insecure. I widened my eyes, and almost choked on my saliva. I coughed violently at the thought. Caspian, worried, approached me quickly, patting me on the back as I tried to catch my breath. “Oh, Lord, are you alright? Pardon my intromission, my lady, I just…” I cut him off with a laugh.

“No, no, don’t fret, it’s just,” I exhaled loudly, calming down before talking again. “Partner? Me? Oh, Aslan, no, no, nobody is courting anybody here,” I said, using words Caspian would understand.

There was relief in his eyes, only this time he did not even try to hide it. “Oh, well, pardon me again, my lady, for my indecency,” Caspian was no longer touching me, yet he did not pull away completely. His smile was pretty visible, too.

I smirked at him, almost cockily. “There’s nothing to pardon,” I shook my head again. I grimaced at the thought once more, then quickly deleted that from my mind. “In all seriousness,” I continued, “Peter and I are just friends. Best friends, even. We have been through so much together, and we know each other like the back of our hands, but, believe me, we wouldn’t be a good match,” I explained. Caspian nodded carefully at my words, almost tasting each one. “Besides,” I added, this time in a softer tone, “I’m not a lady. I’m a knight. Knights don’t get to marry royalty.”

I was sure Caspian caught my shoulders slouching. “Maybe, as a king, I could change that,” he didn’t look at me. He didn’t dare to.

“Trust me, I’ve seen the true cruelty of the Court. Nobody would be exempt, not even a king,” I reasoned with him, although I wasn’t sure where our conversation was headed anymore. 

Caspian looked at me intently. “Trust me, I know. After my father died and my uncle ruled in his name… I heard all sorts of things,” he had a sad glow on his face. Something in my mind was screaming at me to take his sadness away.

“Well, not only I’m not a proper lady, but I’m a knight in pants. Just imagine all the comments and looks I had to endure during the years,” I smiled sadly, recalling all the names, laughs, and comments. “Plus, my friendship with the Kings? I’m pretty sure everybody thinks I had been courted by them at some point,” I sighed, my shoulders slouching even more. “I’d like to believe I had set an example for young girls to come, but I see was wrong,” I caught sight of Nikabrik below, who only talked to Edmund and Peter, ignoring Susan’s orders completely. His earlier comments still resonated in my brain.

Caspian, almost shy, nudged my shoulder with his, suddenly very aware of the improper distance between us. “Trust me, you did set an example,” his words made me turn to him completely. “I grew up fantasizing about you. Your strength, your courage, your loyalty. Even my father knew about you. Every single sword-fighting lesson would be spent pretending to be you,” his eyes were shining. “History may have altered your name, but you are still the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on.”

Once again I thanked Aslan for the darkness surrounding us, for Caspian couldn’t see how much my body was burning with his statement. I was at a loss for words, for it truly was the first time someone had looked at me for who I truly was, and not who they thought I was.

I was about to say something back when Lucy appeared behind us. “Peter is calling for you both,” she stopped when she took sight of us, sitting close to each other, our fingertips almost touching. She smirked mischievously. “I don’t think you should make him wait. See you downstairs!” she happily chirped as she left us alone once more. 

I guiltily stared at Caspian, who wore a similar face. We stared at each other for a couple of seconds before we both started to get up. Caspian held out his hand out to me, and though I did not need help, I took it anyways. Both of our hands were ungloved, and the touch of his skin on mine set a huge bonfire alight inside of me. His skin was soft, barely tarnished, only a few superficial scars adorning it. Mine was back to how it was before Narnia, all the battle scars faded from my skin except for that one on my neck, where the White Witch had almost successfully killed me. We pulled away reluctantly as if we couldn't physically get away from each other. I felt the electricity running through my fingertips as we pulled away, hurrying down to where Peter was impatiently waiting for us.

“Where were you?” he asked us, despite having his gaze fixed somewhere on the horizon.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance, the good mood Caspian had managed to put me in disappearing in an instant. “Getting ready,” I replied with a short nod, walking towards my gryphon and securing my weapons, only to have something else to focus on rather than Peter’s anger and Caspian’s worshiping gaze.

“Remember to stick to the plan,” Peter’s only words for us were those before he retreated to talk to Susan.

“He’s more moody than usual,” Edmund suddenly spoke. I realized how much I had missed his company, giving him a quick side hug in appreciation. He hugged me back, rather indecisively, yet didn’t pull away.

My head was on his shoulder when I answered. “I have a bad feeling about this,” I confessed, although he could perfectly sense it too. I felt him nod when Peter ordered everyone to initiate the attack. 

“If it all goes south, you know I’ll be with you,” Edmund said, and I knew he meant it. We had a bit of a habit of sharing near-death experiences at the same time.

I laughed at his words and smiled softly at the boy. He had once again grown taller, but he still conveyed the same boyish grin I learned to love about him.

“Do you have enough arrows?” Susan suddenly appeared next to us, checking my own quiver, smaller than hers, yet just as deadly. 

I nodded. “I think so. Yours?” I repeated the words, thinking back to our exact conversation the first time we fought together. 

She grinned at me. “I think so.” She too hugged me, the tension leaving my chest.

After the fight with Peter, I had not dared look at anybody. I didn’t know if I was embarrassed, angry, frustrated, or sad, but I couldn’t face anyone. That had been why I had retreated to the vacant lookout post, quickly polishing my weapons and fixing my armor for the battle about to unfold.

“Be careful, please,” Lucy ran to me and hugged me tightly, closing her eyes in the process. I bent down and kissed her on her forehead, our little ‘good-luck-ritual,’ but didn’t let go. We both needed each other. 

“May Aslan protect us all,” I answered, the Narnian way to ward off evil and invoke protection. We smiled at each other before I turned around and walked to the front of the army, where the rest of the Pevensies and Caspian stood next to their gryphons. I quickly winked at him, catching him by surprise, and a slight smile danced on my lips as he cleared his throat in embarrassment. It took everything in my power not to laugh, but by that point, I knew I was crushing hard on the raven-haired prince.  

The gryphons took a hold of us and together we soared to the sky, heading to Miraz’s castle while the rest of our army followed us by foot. Lucy and the healers stayed behind at the refuge, worried eyes praying for our safety. I too prayed for Aslan’s help, as I had done countless times before. I wasn’t even sure what exactly I was praying for, but I kept my eyes closed, simply asking for things to go our way. 

Aslan, was I wrong. 

Next chapter

#prince caspian x reader #prince caspian #ben barnes x reader #narnia fanfiction #narnia #prince caspian movie #prince caspian fanfiction #ben barnes #bin bons #chronicles of narnia #prince caspian x you #prince caspian x y/n #narnia imagines

[acourtofthought]

listen I wasn’t sure about Lucien and Elain becoming rulers of a court but I came across some of your posts and I’m nowcompletely on board!!! Especially seeing your post about elain being a hidden boss. Like I totally see it now. She has the qualities of a leader who keeps composure at all times and doesn’t show face, tends to put others needs over their own, wants peace. She is a negotiator !!!

Yeah!!! I'm always happy seeing Elain love in the fandom ❤️

Your last line stands out to me because not only is there canon evidence for it "Feyre gave and gave for years. Let us now help her. Help others" (delivered in a firm though not demanding manner) but I think we're going to find that it's a role she took on well before that, during their childhood.

In SF we have Nesta telling us that she (Nesta) and Feyre had always been at each others throats, arguing back and forth and I think Elain as the middle sister felt she had to try to diffuse that tension by staying somewhat neutral. She's the only sister who maintained a decent relationship with both sisters AND her father for years and that speaks to her ability to see each one of their perspectives. Maybe some think that's a cowardly way of handing things, not standing up and arguing for who or what is right but.....sometimes what is right is not always cut and dry, something I think is evident in this fandom. Some will claim Nesta was in the wrong when it came to Feyre, some say Feyre was in the wrong when it came Nesta. But the truth lies somewhere in the middle and I think a good leader makes an attempt to understand all sides. Where decisions are not made impulsively but after trying to see the varying perspectives.

It's something I think she and Lucien have in common and what will make them a power duo.

Some argue how terrible he was for not standing up to Tamlin more in ACOMAF but they forget why he wasn't as pushy as they think he should have been (and no, it's not just because he was also being abused by Tamlin):

"We need order Feyre. We need rules, and rankings, and order, if we're going to stand a chance of rebuilding. So what he says goes. I am the first one the others look to - I set the example. Don't ask me to risk the stability of this court by pushing back."

Feyre calls Lucien Tamlin's "faithful dog" but is a male worried about the needs of an entire people who spent 50 years terrorized by Amarantha, trying to help them rebuild and figure out how to live, really a "dog"? Did the needs of one female who had only been their world for less than a year really trump that of everyone else?

As the FMC of course we wanted to see everyone bending over backwards for Feyre but that's not really how leadership works. Sometimes a leader hovers in the middle in order to do what is best for the most people rather than to doing what is right for one.

And back to Elain, I think some look at her and consider her weak because she stays in more of a neutral territory but she's shown that when there is a clear answer, she does fight for it. She found a place for the humans during the war. She stood up to Nesta to allow the Human Queens to meet in their home (despite what it meant for Elain's own engagement). She hates violence but was willing to stab the king to save her sister and Cassian.

Isn't attempting neutrality and peace as the initial course of action then taking more decisive action only when necessary a good thing?

She's just not impulsive and outspoken so I think people miss how she's taking everything in before coming to a conclusion, considering all sides and I think that sets her up to be an incredibly fair leader with Lucien (an equally rational and fair character) standing by her side.

I do think there's the need for leaders like Rhys and Feyre within the court system of Prythian, ones who are willing to do whatever is needed to save their world even if it involves burning bridges but I think the downside of that has become clear in the novella and SF. The other courts and those on the continent don't trust them and now that they're working towards peace, they aren't having luck because the others are convinced the NC is out for the NC (even thought the NC is trying to make things fair to some degree, I think them being the keepers of the Trove and Made weapons is going to lead to some being suspicious of them still). So to their more aggressive tactics, you need leaders like Elain and Lucien to balance things out, to smooth out the rough edges left behind by the NC, to help the other courts and continents to see that their needs are also being taken into consideration.

#pro elucien #pro elain archeron #pro lucien vanserra

[calcium-makes-ur-bones-weak]

asks galore

5, 7, 11, 14, 18, 22, 24

26, 28, 32, 39, 51, 52

5. do you have any episodes that you just didn't care for that much? honestly, not really. overall i prefer act two to the other acts but i wholeheartedly love each episode. like i've seen this show 197 times, and there really hasnt been an episode that i didn't care for.

7. what character first caught your eye? the first character i ever saw was viktor. he was the reason i even watched the show. it was like three in the morning and i was scrolling aimlessly on instagram and i stumbled upon someones viktor fanart and decided immediately that i had to watch the show.

11. which character design is your favorite? as a jinx girlie, i'm contractually obligated to say jinx. but aside from her, my favorites are mel and sevika. jinx appeals to the part of my brain that loves messy, imperfect characters. her nails are chipped and she has these big, vulnerable eyes that draw you in. she has this like, smudged eyeliner and these little bits of hair that used to be in her braids but have since migrated to her face. i like how messy she looks particularly in act three. and the way she looks as a child speaks to me, from her fucked up hair that she obviously cut herself to the clothes that look like they used to belong to someone else. she reminds me of myself. also i have blue hair and she has blue hair and omg she's just like me fr. mel and sevika are different, in that i don't even remotely see myself in them. i just sincerely think that mel is beautiful, and that sevika is hot. im a very shallow person.

14. which relationship was your favorite? honestly, i know i should say jinx and vi, but jinx and silco really hit me full force in the chest. the fucked up, manipulative relationship between a child and their parent. i cried when silco died, and i cried when silco held her at the end of the first act. he was horrible and evil and he loved her in the fucked up way that someone loves their favorite weapon, their specialist tool. but he also looked at the worst parts of jinx and saw the worst parts of himself and he loved her for that and- its probably very telling that this is my favorite. i also really liked ambessa and mel. bet you cant guess what kind of a childhood i had.

18. what was your favorite emotional scene? the scene where vi leaves powder at the last drop and she has the meltdown. idk it just resonated with me. the fear, the terror at the thought of being abandoned is something i deal with on a semi-frequent basis, and honestly i have a similar reaction to powder. like watching it, hurt me. it was just so visceral and raw.

22. any characters you thought deserved more screen time? singed!! i'm confident that he's going to play a more prominent role in season two, and im glad because i need to know more. tell me about his experiments and his past and his DAUGHTER!!! i mean, i have my theories, but i need to know more! i just know that he has an absolutely juicy backstory, you know. also i think his ideas and philosophies were super interesting and i was a little sad that we didn't get to see more of him and rio. i dont think we saw too little, but it would have pleased me to see more of him. i do think we saw too little of the chem barons, but i care less about them than i do singed.

24. what side characters were your favorite? oh baby i love you forever for asking me this question! my favorite side character is undoubtedly elora, mel's assistant. she's of minimal relevance to the plot but i love her all the same. i don't have a real reason for my attachment to her, i just think she's neat.

26. what are your favorite parallels? im an absolute whore for the parallels between vi and jinx and vander and silco. i think its so interesting to see their similarities, but also how they differ. are they doomed to repeat the sins of their fathers? part of me kind of hopes so.

28. favorite vi scene? the first fight between vi and sevika i think is so interesting. vi sees this woman, who she was so like at one point in time. pre time skip, they both had very similar ideology, in that they both believed in an independent zaun. she sees how much has changed. sevika is a physical representation of the shift that's happened in the lanes whilst vi was in prison. straight away, sevika is presented as arrogant and uncaring, a far cry from the united zaun she wanted in act one. even physically, she has a prosthetic arm powered by shimmer (they weren't exactly subtle about it) a clear sign of her loyalty to silco and vi just loses it. and then at the end where caitlyn saves her and she sees her for who she really is. she's not malicious, she's just some sheltered rich kid. cait cares fiercely about bringing about real, actual justice. yeah i just really like it.

32. were there any moments that really shocked you? the tea party scene in episode nine. maybe a bit basic, i know but the whole scene had this tense, horror movie-esque feel to it. and it wasn't even just the implication of cait's head being on the tray when jinx says "i made her a snack", but the sort of way that she proclaims herself to be "not that crazy" that immediately makes us think the opposite. everything from the scribbles on vi's gauntlets, to the candles and the dummies, to the fact that it's in the last place that vander, claggor and milo were ever alive. and then of course she kills silco and fires a bomb at the council.

39. do you think anything should have played out differently? all in all, i have very few complaints about how the show played out. i think its a masterpiece. i would however have liked to know the fucking name of ambessa medarda's boytoy twink. sorry, it just irks me that i don't know.

51. do you have any characters that you would like to see have a heart to heart? yesss! i would love for viktor and jinx to have a heart to heart about their similar experiences and particularly, i think it would be very fun to see them do science together, particularly after viktor loses his last lab partner to piltover (and his last assistant to being a pile of dust) and i swear i have more articulate thoughts but im writing this and its like 2:15 in the morning. ask me again when im closer to coherence.

52. do you have any characters that you hope take a more serious role? i would love for ekko to have a more serious role, but if it means that i have to suffer through more heimerdinger then its just. i don't want it. i need for the chem barons to be a more active part of the story, and i think they will be, given the power vacuum left after silco's death. i doubt sevika will rise to power, as she's always presented herself as being a independent, but a follower. she followed vander, and when it was convenient to her, she followed silco. she's loyal to her idea of a free zaun, but not enough that i think she would take up that role. sevika knows her strengths, and they don't lie in leadership. i could be wrong tho, but either way i would like her to become more central to the story. i hope that singed takes on a more active role in the plot, for the reasons i said earlier. i just want to sink my teeth into his backstory. and finally i would love for ambessa's twink to take on enough of a role that i would know his name. certainly, he was on an airship.. airship fight.. maybe?? (please)

#frootbatzz posting #arcane my beloved

[be-not-afeared]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Terror (TV 2018) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James Fitzjames/Solomon Tozer Characters: James Fitzjames (1813-c.1848), Solomon Tozer, Francis Crozier (Mentioned) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Set before episode one, There is honestly not much of a plot here, Just two men who know they're hot hooking up on a boat, that's it that's the fic, Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, James Fitzjames' praise kink Summary:

Solomon Tozer is having a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Luckily, James Fitzjames is here to turn it around!

#I wrote another fic! #riding this wave of creativity and motivation before it disappears! #the terror #the terror fic #james fitzjames #solomon tozer #james fitzjames/solomon tozer #do they have a ship name? #probably not lol as there's only like 20 fics in the ao3 tag #if anyone wants to yell with me about this incredibly niche pairing then PLEASE DO #the terror: a show where characters don't even need to speak to each other to be shipped #me #writing #fic

[poppinisperfection]

Peter Maximoff x Reader // Hello, Monica // WandaVision // Part 2

Part 1

Post Dark Phoenix X-Men & WandaVision fanfiction. FemReader and Peter Maximoff dating when he suddenly disappears.

Xavier returns and a plan is formed.

Word Count: 1892

Warnings: Emotional distress, mentions of violence, blood, gun wounds etc.

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(Y/n) sat by the screen, her vision blurring and bags forming under her eyes. The analog clock ticked with each second as Hank fiddled around with some tech, and the others sat on the floor half asleep. They had eventually contacted Xavier, and he promised to travel back to New York as fast as possible. That was hours ago, and now it was the middle of the night.

There was nothing they could do, even discussion led to nowhere; nothing about the situation made sense. Metal crashed on the floor, causing Scott to Jolt awake and Kurt to bamf in surprise as Professor McCoy gave a frustrated grunt at his clumsiness. The disturbance didn't phase (Y/n) though, as she read the line for the thousandth time,

"Please stand by."

She was somewhere between breaking into tears and punching every wall she saw. In short, (Y/n) was desperate. After hours of thinking, she finally allowed her eyes to close for longer than a short blink. Her mind was crashing around like a restless ocean, and she found herself drowning inside endless possibilities. But at the centre of it all was his face, his smile, his voice... him.

Suddenly the doors opened with a whoosh, and (Y/n) turned her attention towards whoever was entering the labs. A determined looking man wheeled in, locking with (Y/n)'s blood-shot eyes. An alabaster-haired, umber-skinned, and confident woman followed him; shooting a look of concern towards the group.

"Xavier-" Hank exclaimed with some relief at the Professor's appearance. The bald man gave a small hum in response, but he continued to near (Y/n) instead of making conversation. He placed a hand out and gave her a kind look.

"May I?" he crooned in his English accent, as the (h/c) lady nodded and placed her head forward. Closing his eyes and placing two fingers on her temple, and another on his own - Xavier began to see the whole story, without anyone saying a single word. After a few seconds, his pulled back and gave a sharp sigh.

"(Y/n), I am so sorry." the wise man's voice faltered after feeling the gut-wrenching fear that swept through her mind. The worried girl said nothing, but just tried to keep the strength on her face instead of breaking down into tears. "You've got a location?" Xavier turned to the beastly professor, trying to solve the mystery.

"Sort of- I mean, it's unbelievable Charles." he grabbed some pages and handed them to his colleague, "It's like he's traveled to another universe; I've only heard about theories of multiverses, but this- this is more evidence than anything I've ever read..." Hank rambled on, as even Charles Xavier- telepathic mastermind- look on in shock.

Before anyone could say anything, the old computer screen buzzed and the image shifted. (Y/n)'s tired eyes widened as she sat on the edge of her seat. Even Kurt teleported closer in an effort to not miss a second of the developing situation. A lead guitar began to play, and the opening credits rolled...

The group we're unsure if it was the same show, as it looked completely different in style. But their doubts were cleared when that same woman showed up, slamming the door using some sort of powers.

"She's a mutant..." (Y/n) mumbled, as the others looked on in confusion. The opening continued to play on as more characters were shown - most of which they had never seen before. Then finally, a speedy friend appeared.

"As himself?" Scott added, reading the credits. (Y/n) stared at the title and mentally recorded it.

"It's like they're a family." Kurt noticed as Peter integrated himself so naturally with them. The pair of young boys started to monologue about halloween.

"Halloween? This just gets more and more confusing." Scott rubbed his forehead in bewilderment. Ororo stood beside them, barely comprehending what she was watching. She had previously offered to look after the students while the situation was being investigated, and that lost time had undoubtedly caused her to miss a lot of information.

"So Pete's on TV?" Storm questioned in a baffled tone. The silver haired fellow lay on a couch as the twin boys discussed him, and they referred to him as their uncle. "Okay, somebody needs to expla-" she began, but was cut off as Xavier placed a finger to his temple and transferred the information she had missed. Ororo gave a soft gasp, but ultimately was relieved to be filled in. Since the professor had learned about the situation from (Y/n), some of the grief in her mind was passed to Storm; so the loyal mutant placed a caring hand on her friend's shoulder in comfort.

Xavier chatted behind the group of young mutants who watched the show play out.

"She suggested that maybe Kurt could go in, I told her-" Hank whispered to his friend.

"That would be dangerous..." Charles finished his thought, "But dangerous doesn't mean impossible." the telepath looked towards the blue teleporter who stared at the computer screen.

"You can't be serious, Charles." Hank furrowed his thick brows and stared in disbelief.

"Kurt, (Y/n)," the professor called out, catching the pair's attention,

"Come with me."

-------

The small group trailed down the metallic hallway and approached the familiar doors to Cerebro. (Y/n) looked back at the room they had left, still hearing the distant sounds from the broadcast. Her mind travelled to what she was missing; was Peter still okay?

The circular door released and slid open, and the group followed Xavier's lead towards the machine at the end of the walkway. Kurt's tail wrapped around his leg in fear, as he fiddled nervously with his hands. Placing the silver helmet over his head, Charles nodded for the intellectual beast to flip the switch. Immediately, the room lit up and images of people flashed around. A million conversations ran through the professor's mind, but he was only searching for one person.

"Turn it up." Xavier requested as his eyebrows knit together in concentration. Reluctantly, Hank did as he said. Soon the voices faded and a only a muffled conversation echoed through the large room. "The whole way, Hank." the british man added.

"Charles that's too mu-"

"Do it!" Xavier demanded his face contorting with the amplification. (Y/n) gave a soft gasp as the voice grew clearer.

"I think mom and dad would've loved it."

Peter's words reverberated, as tears formed in (Y/n)'s eyes. Despite Cerebro being on full power, the only thing that Xavier could access was the detached audio of the mind he was connected to.

"Where were you hiding these kids up til now? I assume they were sleeping peacefully in their beds."

"Can you speak to him Charles?" Hank asked.

"Something's... Something's not right... It's too powerful to see..." Xavier stuttered out, trying not to loose his connection. Peter's voice continued, as the group wondered to who and what he was talking about.

"I'm not some stranger and I'm not your husband, you can talk to me."

"There's something... dark... clouding his mind." the powerful telepath explained, "but he's still in there, somewhere." he added. The group began to notice a purple hue clouding the entire room. The clearer Peter's disembodied voice became, the more the mysterious smoke descended. Kurt and (Y/n) stood back slightly, scared of what it could mean.

"Don't sweat it sis, it's not like your dead husband can die twice."

The sentence rang through their ears, before the whole room erupted in a blast of ruby red energy. It was exactly like the force that 'Wanda' had used earlier. Energy passed through the mutants, as images of terror entered their minds. Fragments of memories flashed; glowing stones, broken families, and piles of ashes.

Xavier groaned with pain, but he kept the connection despite the immense power that surged through his mind. (Y/n) grasped her head and panted heavily. The image of a young man lying cold, bleeding through bullet wounds, on a pile of rubble haunted her. She didn't know who it was, but he seemed familiar for some reason - and her heart broke at the sight of his lifeless form.

"He's slipping... I- I can't hold on..." Xavier cried out through gritted teeth, "I can't latch onto anyone!" the room filled with a booming static noise as the bald man searched though all the available minds in that reality. Hank writhed on the floor, clutching his ears with the horrible sound. Soon he gained the strength to pull a hand up towards the switch and slowly tune down the settings. The din faded, and the only noise that could be heard was the heavy breathing from the group that tried to recover from the experience.

"I didn't tell you to turn it off." Xavier pulled off Cerebro's helmet and placed it harshly on its holder.

"It would've killed you." Hank rebutted, standing on his feet.

"There was something forming, a gap in the reality, I could feel it!" Charles placed a hand on his forehead in frustration, "It's like all the minds were under some sort of deep control - but I could sense other ones... ones that were free."

"But what can we do about it!?" the beastly Professor retaliated, annoyed at his colleague.

"If I can find the free minds, I can see where they are; exactly where they are." Xavier began to ramble, "Then I can show Kurt, and you can get there." (Y/n)'s eyes grew wide at his suggestion. Even though she had considered it earlier, she now began to doubt her logic. If it were just her, then she wouldn't hesitate to risk her life for Peter - but she couldn't ask Kurt to do it too.

"Professor, what if... What if it doesn't work?" (Y/n) piped up, looking to the powerful telepath with concern plastered all over her face.

"We can't risk more of our lives, Kurt you don't have to do this." Hank tried to assure the German mutant.

"Nein." he responded, "Peter is my friend, I vill not leave him in danger. I vill do it." Kurt nodded his head as he stood confident in his decision. Despite the hatred that Kurt Wagner had received his whole life; he was always the most selfless person in the room. (Y/n) shot him a weak smile, thankful for his kindness.

"This isn't just about Peter. Somebody brought him there. Somebody, or something, has a power that could change everything we think we know." McCoy warned, trying to convince the group of the dangerous situation.

"Which is why we need to know more." (Y/n) interjected.

"I will be able to communicate with you, as long as you don't go under this person's control." Xavier explained, deep in thought. Hank looked at the trio, and finally gave a deep sigh.

"There's no talking to you people." he shook his head, "I'm sure travelling across the multiverse will be a cinch." his tone dripped with sarcasm as Charles placed Cerebro back on his head.

"Have a little faith, Hank." Xavier joked stiffly as he flipped the switch to the machine. McCoy reluctantly turned the power knob and soon the static noise returned, causing a grimace to appear on everyone's faces. The noise flickered as Xavier passed through more empty minds, searching for one that would work. The sensory overload build up in a crescendo, until everything stopped to a halt.

"Hello, Monica."

#wandavision #apocalypse #dark phoenix #peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #xmen #quicksilver #kurt wagner x reader #xmen x reader #marvel #xmen imagine #quicksilver x reader #pietro maximoff #evan peters #preferences #peter maximoff imagine #maximoff twins #wanda marvel #disney plus #x men #x men fanfiction #fanfiction #charles xavier

[mochisquish]

Hi! Firstly, I just want to say, I love your cobra husbands content! Glad to know I’m not alone in shipping them😭😭

I was wondering what are some of the things you’d like to see with Terry and Kreese in the next season of Cobra Kai? Do you have any head canons or moments you’ve hoped for when they interact with each other? 💕

Thank you so much! You're definitely not alone. I think we have a good little therapy group on this website, lmao.

I feel my wishlist isn't that crazy, but here we go. I'll try to keep it realistic, because if it was up to me, they'd get some good terrorizing in before eloping to Tahiti.

----

Kreese finally moving in with Terry. The second Terry finds out about Kreese's living conditions, he needs to force him into his house. I feel especially strongly about this one, not just because of their relationship, but because the show loves call-backs, and this scene is waiting to come full circle. It makes too much sense.

Terry picking up where he left off and constantly trying to give Kreese gifts, and Kreese thinking up new and inventive ways to avoid them. At one point, Kreese pulls out a box full of iPhones he refuses to use, and lets all his students take one. After the kids break into absolute jubilation, he makes them kick through the screens during an exercise.

Earnest conversations that have nothing to do with war or karate. Them being together is a good opportunity for the audience to hear real honesty, and understand their characters on a deeper level. When Kreese speaks to Johnny, it's always half truth and half lie, and obviously Terry is manipulative. I don't think we can get their true story unless they're talking to each other. Neither can be vulnerable unless they're with each other.

When Kreese calls Terry at the end of season 3, he says "Been a long time," which surprised me. Kreese's self-worth seems tied to his achievements, and if they haven't spoken for a while, it's probably because he was destitute and felt he had nothing to be proud of. I'd like to see them discuss that as friends, and for Kreese to finally understand that Terry loves him no matter what.

On the same note, they need more moments similar to the Vietnam hug, so that kind of intimacy feels like part of their dynamic and not a one-off. It would be cheap if they had that tender moment and then never had one again because they were suddenly too manly. The entire dichotomy of two evil men who hurt other people but are soft with each other is fascinating and I'm obsessed with it.

The CK students and Johnny witnessing their obsessive bond. I want Terry to enter the dojo every day yelling, "HERE HE IS, THE GREATEST KARATE MAN I'VE EVER KNOWN," while rubbing Kreese's shoulders. Their relationship should be hypocritical to all the hyper-masculine ideologies Kreese rams down his students' throats. I want those kids to feel like they're trapped in a clown car that's on fire. I want Johnny to spend days asking, "What the fuck is happening," and every time Daniel tries to explain it, he looks right through him like he's seeing God. I want other characters to have a REACTION to their relationship, because Kreese is a completely different person around Terry.

I want an explanation for this ring:

It's the only jewelry Kreese wears, and he never takes it off, even during training. It's not the same ring, but it's a similar style to one Terry wears in TKK3. Did they buy the rings together? Is the ring significant? Is Kreese just a fashionista now? Did I make all this up in my mind?

I could come up with some more specific scenarios, but mostly, I want their relationship to keep the energy of TKK3: Loyal, obsessive, unhinged, selfless, sweet.

#Terry Silver #John Kreese #cobra husbands #skylessnights #asks #long post

[inkdemonapologist]

Silly thought, but how would your Escape AU Sammy react to just... being dropped into the Hell Studio AU for like a day (or week)? He probably won't have a fun time but given how pure and wholesome that AU usually is, maybe he would enjoy some of it? (NOT Through a Mirror Darkly! There's 2 Sammys that have suffered enough in there, we don't need to traumatize another!)

HAHA I WAS ABOUT TO SAY, IS THIS A CRACKED GLASS AU,

I think….. Well, I have some questions about the nature of the Ink in Hell’s Studio and whether the characters would recognise each other, but setting that aside for a second I think just Showing Up In Hell’s Studio would be pRETTY TRAUMATISING. Bendy is alive -- Sammy’s actual nightmare -- as are Alice and Boris, and there’s the pipes and the ink and the leaks everywhere, and even if it were just normal mundane ink, that whole atmosphere would just feel like… he’s back, he’s back in the Studio, and everyone else is acting like it’s normal. There’s ink flooding the rooms and the demon is here and everyone’s just treating it like an inconvenience! It’s fine, and everyone is friends, and nothing has ever gone really truly wrong. I think he’d feel very crazy, like he was being unintentionally gaslit. At least in JDS proper, there was a sense that something wasn’t right -- Jack and Norman and Wally and Thomas, even when they weren’t questioning it, they all knew something was off, but here? Sammy, calm down, nothing’s wrong! While I trust the Hell’s Studio folks to be thoughtful and not immediately dismiss him as being nuts, there’s no reason for them to like… believe him? Unlike in Through a Mirror Darkly, where others had seen the place Sam came from and understood that things were different there, Escape AU Sammy’s terror and anger and paranoid prophecies would seem wildly misplaced. And the more they tried to convince him that he might be mistaken or confused, the more unhinged Sammy would feel.

Actually, let’s go back to those questions I had because this gets more horrifying the more I think about it.

(1) So obviously everyone Looks Different because Mak and I have different designs for the characters. How would this practically play out? Like, if Escape!Sammy meets HS!Susie Campbell, does he have a sense that this IS Susie, or is it just this other person with her name and her voice that looks nothing like her? Sammy’s run into this concept before, because uh, Susie sure did, uh, start speaking with, Allison’s voice, after she went through the machine enough to become Alice Angel,,,, And someone named Joey Drew, who speaks with Joey’s voice, suddenly looks much more harmless, has this wacky, cartoonish obsession with summoning demons, and is genuinely close friends with someone named Henry Stein, who speaks with Henry’s voice… Look, Sammy’s been sent to another dimension before: it was a dimension created by Joey’s machine, and he was trapped there. Ironically, something like the Story Theory seems to be the explanation that would make the most sense with the information Sammy has; these are characters, this is a story -- a nicer version of the story, a cartoon version, where everything Joey wanted turned out okay. But if the Joey he knows is in control, it isn’t safe.

And (2) Is… is it the same Ink that runs through the machine? The Ink in Hell’s Studio is clearly also supernatural, but would Sammy recognise it as Ink Machine Ink? Would he hear the same call? Would his cravings kick in? Or would he only have the leftover itch of a past addiction, with no additional compulsion since the ink is less malevolent here? Regardless, if Sammy could Feel that it’s more-or-less the same stuff behaving differently, I think it would freak him out a lot, and I’m not sure how good he would be at resisting urges even if he’s not Literally Incapable Of Resisting. It’s REALLY NOT hard to imagine Sammy, trapped in a strange and smiling nightmare, with no one who makes any sense and nothing solid to hold on to, falling back into the same terrified pattern, giving himself back to the Ink because it’s literally the only thing here that he knows, the only part of all this that feels REAL. 

Maybe not. Maybe he would give up, play nice, take whatever place in this dimension he’s given and be as well-behaved as he can be, angry and alone but painfully well-behaved, until the Joey of this world can offer him a promise of home; something he would, at that point, do anything for.

I do think that if everyone knows what’s going on, it might be…… less horrifying, haha. If Hell’s Studio Joey Drew opens a portal and Escape AU Sammy Lawrence falls out of it and Joey’s immediately like, “oh dear, I think I summoned you from another dimension but NO WORRIES I’m going to work on getting you home right away!” then maybe Sammy could… wait it out without losing his mind. It would be an awful place to be, and he would have all the same struggles of feeling like he’s back in the studio while also dealing with simulacrums of his friends who don’t understand where he’s coming from At All, but knowing what’s going on would mean he could try to shake it off and keep himself together for a week.

I don’t think he would enjoy it.

#i know you have questions you always do #sammy lawrence #Hell's Studio AU #Escape AU #I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT THIS... #weirdly tempted to try to write a small thing about how this could go #anyway thank you anon for this WILD THOUGHT

[one-boring-person]

Can I Help You?

Paul (The Lost Boys) x Gay!male reader

Warnings: very vague mentions of violence, mentions of homophobia

Context: After being kicked out o his home by his father, (Y/n) finds himself at the Boardwalk, where a certain vampire offers him some comfort.

A/N: I've had this rattling around in my head for days, so I thought I'd write it out. I'm sorry if it isnt that great, I'm new to writing this sort of a character and I was a little sketchy on how Paul would react in this situation.

My feet ache from use as I trail onto the Boardwalk after a couple of hours of aimless wandering, my mind numbed after being encompassed by grief for so long, dried tears streaking my cheeks. No one gives me a second glance, not a care in the world given to the eighteen year old boy limping around the streets with a tattered rucksack strapped to his back, his jacket stained by the beer his father threw at him when he was kicked out. No, not a care in the world.

I tighten my fingers around the strap of my bag, trying to adjust the weight a little more evenly across my back, my shoulders protesting painfully as I try to mingle with the crowd, ignoring the bustling people around me with the intention of finding a place to sit for a while and think up a plan as to what the hell I'm supposed to do. In my ears, the cacophony of voices and tinny music is loud and harsh, especially after the shouting matches I  took part in, not too long ago, a wince escaping me as a particularly rowdy surfer yells out to his friends from behind me. Starting, I manage to bump into someone behind me, who instinctively pushes me back with an angry curse, causing me to blurt out a rushed apology before I dart away from them, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. Already, I can feel the tears resurfacing, their heated droplets threatening to spill out over my cheeks as I do my best to force them down again, a choking sensation rising in my throat. Stopping in my tracks, I frantically look around, disorientated with all the people pushing and shoving past me, the sounds all blurring into one as my vision does the same, panic and fear rising within me as I try to calm myself down, breathing heavily. Instinctually, I manage to work my way out of the crowd, my hands grasping at the low wall that separates the beach from the Boardwalk, my head tucked to my chest as I try my best to calm my erratic breathing  and pounding heartbeat, focusing on the sensation of each gasp of air flowing in and out of my lungs.

Eventually, I find myself sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall behind me, my head thrown back to maximise the passage of air into my body, my rucksack cradled on my lap, the straps wrapped tightly around my fingers - a nervous habit I've never managed to shake. Sweat coats my forehead, my hair sticking to my skin uncomfortably even as I lift a hand to brush it away, more strands falling into place to replace the ones I move. Thankfully, my senses have returned to normal, though my resolve has once again broken, the tears of anger, betrayal and grief dripping steadily down my damp cheeks, leaving small spots on my denim jacket as they fall off my jaw, making me look as though I were in my own little raincloud of misery. For a while I stay sat there, drowning myself in my sorrows, wishing I had a bottle of hard alcohol to help me forget, even if the solution is only temporary, my mind aching and longing for relief.

I barely notice when someone sits next to me, only really looking up when they clear their throat, finding myself face to face with a familiar, handsome blonde, with a mess of hair on his head and warm blue eyes taking in my appearance, his lanky frame folding up neatly, yet somehow languidly at the same time, beside mine. On any over day, I would've spent hours just staring at someone as good looking as he is.

"C-can I h-help you?" I force out, my voice cracking with barely concealed emotion.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" The blonde responds, smirking gently at me, even though I don't return the gesture.

"If you want to, I guess." I say, frowning a bit in confusion, my arms tightening around my rucksack out of habit.

"Well then, can I help you?" He pushes, his smirk becoming an encouraging smile instead, "What happened?"

"Why do you care? No one else does." I sigh, bitterly, a little suspicious of his behaviour.

"Beacuse I hate seeing sweet people like you in pain." He replies, eyes softening when he notices the blush creeping onto my cheeks from the compliment.

"How do you know I'm sweet? I could be a monster." I point out, looking over at him.

Surprisingly, he chuckles at this, the sound sparking an odd feeling in my stomach, as if someone housed a hundred butterflies inside me.

"Trust me, you're no monster." He reassures me, his expression taking on a knowing look as I give him an unsure one, "And as for being sweet, I've seen you around here before, with your boyfriend, and there are very few people who I would consider sweeter. Speaking of which where is he?"

At the reminder, I look down, my heart wrenching painfully as I recall my last conversation with him.

"...you're worthless, (Y/n), so I'm ending it. Don't come near me ever again, unless you want me to show you how pathetic you really are."

He'd slammed the door on me then, but not after throwing our anniversary gift at me from the threshold, the little bracelet I bought him clattering against the hard ground at my feet, my heart tearing itself to pieces.

"Hey, what's wrong? What did I do?" My newfound companion breaks me from my thoughts, his voice laced with panic and concern, a hand placed hesitantly against my arm as he leans forwards to look me in the eye, his other hand coming around to cup my face. I blink away the tears before replying.

"You...you didn't do anything..." I manage to grit out between sobs, collecting myself enough to give him an answer, "He broke up with me, and then my dad threw me out. I've got nowhere to go and no one to turn to. I'm alone."

At my confession, his blue eyes cloud with shock and horror, his mouth opening and closing a few times as he tries to respond.

"Why'd your dad throw you out?" He asks me quietly, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into my skin.

"Because I'm gay." I admit, looking down until he tilts my head back up to him, a determined look in his eyes.

"That doesn't make you a bad person. You are who you are, and it's his fault for not being able to see that. As for your ex, he'll soon realise he's missing out on a lifetime of greatness with you, and by then, it'll be too late for him to make amends. And if you need a place to stay and a friend to get you through it all, well, I'm here aren't I?"

Shock and surprise fill me at his offer, my mind already reeling at his show of kindness, my heart aching to go with him.

"Are you sure? I don't want to impose..."

"Of course! There's plenty of space back home for one more tenant, though you'll have to deal with my friends and the fact that "home" is not necessarily the sort of thing you'd expect..." He confirms, sitting back on his heels as he waits for a reply, smiling at me.

"Well, if you're sure it's ok, then I'd love to come with you." I agree somewhat hesitantly, a little nervous after having only just meeting him.

"Of course. There is one condition, though."

"What is it?" I ask, hoping I'll be able to abide by this, and it won't be too costly.

"I'll need to take your name."

"My na...? Oh, yeah, of course. I'm (Y/n)." I respond, relief flooding my voice as I take his outstretched hand, blushing when he lifts it to his face and kisses my knuckles, shooting me a mischievous grin.

"Paul. It's nice to finally meet you." He says to me, helping me to my feet with a gentle pull, "You ever ridden a motorcycle before?"

"Err, I can't say I have, no."

"Well, there's a first time for everything. You just have to hold on. Tight." The blonde smirks, tugging me along to where a black and red motorcycle is leaning against the railing, a few tyre tracks around it showing where there were other bikes around it.

"O-k." I reply slowly, gingerly climbing up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist with some trepidation.

"We'll be home before you know it." And with that, the tall blonde lets out an ecstatic shriek as he kicks the engine into gear, the motorcycle swiftly jumping into motion. Despite my terror, a cautious grin creeps onto my face as we hurtle off onto the road and into a better future.

#joel schumacher #the lost boys #vampire #paul(the lost boys) #santa carla #the lost boys imagine

[missmentelle]

I just watched the Netflix show You and it's been discussed but I don't really understand - in a relationship, how does one project their own views and fantasies onto another person? How can you tell if it's happening? Is there a certain point where it's normal or it can't be helped? It's happened a lot in the show but I'm having trouble identifying it. Also, I recommend watching You: it's a thoughtful take on how we view romantic relationships as a society and how that can be twisted

I absolutely love that show.  For those of you who haven’t seen the thriller show “You”, it’s about a charismatic but underachieving man named Joe who works as the manager at a bookstore in Manhattan. He meets a young grad student named Beck when she comes into his bookstore one afternoon, and is immediately infatuated with her; he is completely consumed by his desire for a relationship with her, and it becomes clear very quickly that he’s willing to go to extreme lengths to make it happen.  (Mild spoilers for Season One ahead) Joe is obsessed with Beck from the moment he lays eyes on her. But of course, he’s not really obsessed with her - he is obsessed with the person that he wants her to be. He decides - based only on her clothes, the book she buys and a three-minute conversation with her - that she’s a bookish “good girl” and an intellectual, a serious writer who values real literature and doesn’t crave men’s attention. And he’s very interested in that. She’s his Manic Pixie Dream Grad Student, whether she likes it or not. It’s clear from the very beginning that Joe thinks extremely highly of himself, and he feels entitled to a woman who is just as intelligent and sophisticated as he is - when he looks at Beck, he decides that she’s that perfect girl he’s been waiting for all along. Moreover, he decides that she’s equally interested in him - she pays for her book with a credit card, and Joe decides that she did that because she intentionally wanted Joe to learn her full name. And of course, as Joe learns more about Beck, he discovers that she’s not the artsy, aloof writer he had been envisioning in his head. She goes out drinking with friends that Joe dislikes, she has a trashy boyfriend, she posts selfies on Instagram, and doesn’t actually do any writing. But instead of deciding “oh wow, I was super wrong about this girl, I definitely got carried away”, Joe decides that the REAL Beck is the girl he fantasized about in the bookstore, and that she just needs his help to realize it. He decides that he knows what’s best for a woman who is a complete stranger to him, deliberately manipulating her life to turn her into more of the person he wants her to be, until... well, you know how it ends. 

When you first start watching You, it can be hard to understand how messed-up Joe actually is. He is the main character of the show, and the narrator. He is also capable of great kindness - he genuinely cares for the neglected child who lives in an abusive household next door - and it kinda feels like we’re supposed to root for him. After all, he just wants what’s best for Beck. He sees who she really is inside, and he knows that she deserves better than the life she has right now. He just wants her to reach her full potential and stop wasting time with people who don’t really care about her... what could be so bad about that?

The problem, of course, is that Joe doesn’t know jack shit about Beck, and he has no right to decide what is and isn’t good for her. She is a grown-ass woman, and he is a stranger she met at a bookstore. Joe claims to have good intentions, but his intentions aren’t the point here - nobody has the right to meddle in someone else’s life behind their back, no matter how much they love and care about them. When you truly care about someone, you respect their choices - Joe has absolutely no respect for the decisions Beck makes, and sees no issues with isolating, stalking and terrorizing her if it gets him what he wants. Joe claims that Beck is miserable, but we don’t know actually know that - he filters everything he sees through a very thick lens of his own self-interest. He doesn’t allow her basic autonomy to choose what matters to her. Beck is not actually a real person to Joe - she is a prize that he wants to win.

Think about the show from Beck’s perspective - you’re an adult, with your own whole, complete life. You have friends, dreams, a boyfriend, guilty pleasures. You make bad choices sometimes, sure, but they are YOUR choices, and you have the freedom to make them. And then you walk into a shop one day and the man behind the counter suddenly decides that you’re his soulmate and it’s now his job to make decisions for you. You barely know this guy, but he thinks he has the right to control your life - he wants to control who you date, who you talk to, and how you spend your time. Imagine doing something as ordinary as paying for a book with your credit card, and having the person behind the counter interpret this as evidence that you want them to Google you and come to your house. The very idea of it is terrifying. 

The plot of You is obviously a huge dramatization, but the same dynamic does appear in real-life abusive relationships. Abusers often have very specific ideas about what their ideal partner should be like, and they believe - consciously or unconsciously - that they are “owed” this person. When they meet someone, they tend to decide extremely quickly that THIS is finally the person they’ve been waiting for all along. They don’t really feel the need to get to know the person as an individual - they assume that they already know everything they need to know about the person, and that the relationship will be effortless. When that inevitably doesn’t pan out because their partner is a real person with needs and flaws, they get angry and the abuse starts to come out - they try harder and harder to control their partner and force them back into being the perfect person they’d envisioned, and they lash out angrily when that doesn’t work. 

Although it’s nowhere near as extreme as what happened in You, I’ve had my own experiences with dating someone who was projecting their fantasies on me. My long-term college boyfriend was several years older than me, and already finished with grad school while I was still an undergrad. As the relationship went on, it became very clear that he was looking for a meek, nerdy girl who would appreciate his geek interests but never try to overshadow him. He strongly encouraged me to do the nerdy thing he approved of - cosplaying, attending conventions, playing D&D - but didn’t want me wearing makeup (I wear winged liner every day of my life), dyeing my hair strange colours (which I used to do quite often as a student) or even wearing my contact lenses instead of glasses (I got contacts the moment I was old enough and haven’t been seen in my glasses since). He was hugely threatened by the fact that I took my academics seriously, and he freaked out when I was accepted to an Ivy League grad school because “it would be so humiliating to have a girlfriend who went to a better school than I did”. He had a very specific vision of the kind of girlfriend he wanted to have, and he was prepared to try to stamp out the parts of me that didn’t align with what he wanted.  It’s okay to have standards and expectations for the kind of partner you want to have. That’s normal. I’d argue that it’s necessary. Speaking from personal experience, life is a lot easier when you expect your partners to have mastered basic communication and coping skills. And sometimes you will need to look for a partner who has very specific traits - if your dream is to have 12 children and live on a goat farm, you need to find a partner who is on board with that goal. It’s also fine to have preferences in terms of aesthetics, interests and lifestyles - we’re always going to have certain things that we find appealing, and it’s okay to be into that. What’s not okay is to have such rigid expectations about how our future partner will look, dress and behave that we can’t cope with not getting our exact fantasy. It’s fine to think that dating a quirky art major with a nose ring would be awesome. It’s not fine to think that dating a quirky art major with a nose ring is the answer to all your problems. And it’s definitely not fine to latch on to the first quirky art major with a nose ring that you can find, and then punish them when they turn out to be a complex human with real issues and not just a living doll. Whenever you’re dating, it’s important to remember that you are dating a real, live human, and not a cartoon character. They are going to grow and change, and they are going to have flaws, off-days and traits that don’t match up with your fantasies. Your punky goth girlfriend is going to have days where she just wants to lounge around the house in her pajamas and watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Your tough, manly lumberjack boyfriend might have a super sensitive gag reflex and spend an awful lot of time on the phone with his mom. We’re all weird, and each of us needs to have the freedom to be our own kind of weird in a relationship - if you find that your desire to be with someone is extremely dependent on their appearance, dress, weight, hobbies, friends, job, etc, and you can’t handle not having control over those things, you aren’t ready to date.  The other big red flag to look for here is how fast someone rushes the relationship. If you’re projecting your fantasies on someone, you don’t really feel much need to get to know them - like Joe, you’re pretty sure that you know everything that you need to know about them soon after meeting. You are fully expecting this person to be the fantasy partner you desire, and so there’s no point waiting to see how the relationship goes - within weeks, you’re ready to move in together, adopt a pet together, and even get engaged. If you’re convinced that a person you met three weeks ago is your soulmate, it’s time to stop and take a hard look at things - you don’t know a person you meet three weeks ago, and you have no idea if they’re your soulmate or not. You are trying to date a fantasy and not a real person.  Hope this answers your question! MM

#Anonymous

[alleiradayne]

Flight

Summary: Sam finds another golden feather in the Bunker. Square Filled: Molting Warnings/Tags: Fluffing wing pruning, a very subtle suggestion of male ejaculation, a few kisses, not-so-innocent talk, a little angst about a lost love. Characters/Pairings: Sam Winchester/Gabriel (Sabriel), Dean Winchester (mentioned), Castiel (mentioned), Micha (OMC mentioned). Word Count: 4,456 A/N:  For @heavenandhellbingo. This was only supposed to be a short and maybe sorta kinky wing thing, but when the Fic-Facer$ group needed a backfill of Sabriel fluff at ~5k, I offered up this slot. So instead of wing kink, you get two pretty men being so cute together your teeth will fall out. Song: Flight by Lifehouse

The stainless-steel countertop of the Bunker Kitchen gleamed beneath its large ceiling lamp, freshly cleaned. Beer bottles overflowed the recycling bin in the far corner, but Sam resolved to change that later. Books called to him, and so, he tossed the dirty rag into the hamper on his left. Satisfied with his work, he turned on his heel and headed for the Library.

A million different things battled for his attention, Jack at the top of that list with Dean and Mary not far behind. No, in fact, the three of them took up most of his thoughts of late; he worried ceaselessly about them all. His mind raced with all the possibilities, all the outcomes and eventualities. But in the hallway, he stopped dead in his tracks, mind blank and body contorted as he moved in two different directions. A glimmer, caught out of the corner of his eye, snatched his attention and he stumbled over his feet. Intrigued, he changed course, body catching up with his head as he skipped down the short stairs for the main hallway. And within a few steps, the item in question lay at his feet. He leaned over and reached to the floor, determined to get to the bottom of the month-old mystery.

For the fifth time that week, Sam plucked a brilliant golden feather off the floor of the Bunker. And for the fifth time that week, he asked himself the same question.

“Another one?”

His voice echoed down the hallway, heard only by his ears. Between his thumb and forefinger, he spun the long, sleek feather as he examined it. Softer than silk, he dragged it along his open palm as the questions spiraled through his head. He had been in that hallway not ten minutes earlier on his way to the kitchen, and the hallway had been empty.

But there he stood, feather in hand and, with a quick check of either direction, quite alone.

In his palm he examined the golden appendage, so dark near the rachis it might have been brown. But when Sam held it up to the light, the golden aura radiated in waves, brilliant shades of red and yellow and orange broken apart as though he looked through a prism made of fire. Enthralled, Sam gaped, awed by the gorgeous plumage. But then the same thought he’d had all week interrupted his admiration.

It looked exactly like the others.

That entire month Sam had happened upon feather after feather strewn all about the Bunker in the oddest places. Sparse at first, he had found one or two to start. But by the end of the month, he had collected at least one every day, if not more.

And today, that feather confirmed his suspicions, supported by hours of research.

He strode down the hall for the guest room only to find three more feathers outside his door. He scooped them up with great care, intent on keeping them pristine. Around the corner he strode for room 15, wondering, worried.

At the door, he knocked. Silent, no response came, and so, he knocked again. When nobody replied that time, he asked, “Gabby? Are you there?” Another long stretch of silence replied, and a chill ran along his spine. “Gabriel?” he repeated, insistent.

A faint voice called in response, but not from the direction Sam had expected. Hollow, distant, it sounded a if it came from another room. Around the corner, the voice sounded again, and he followed it. Cautious steps took him to his room where, at his own door he stopped, ear pressed to the wood, and listened.

“Sam?” Gabriel asked as an airy flap of his wings sounded through the door. “Is—is that you?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied. “Is everything okay?”

A thumping of books rumbled through the door, and Sam swore he heard another buffeting of wings. “Uh,” Gabriel stuttered, “y-yeah. Everything's fine. Hold on a second.”

Another crash of books and what sounded like a rustling of feathers penetrated the heavy wood of his door, and Sam startled into motion. He grasped the handle and torqued as he shouldered through, determined to find out what in God’s name Gabriel had gotten himself into.

He skidded to a halt when he found Gabriel seated in the chair by his desk, an elbow propped on its wooden surface and chin in his hand, one leg crossed over the other. A small smile creased his lips, far too innocent for the likes of him and his pretty face. But when Sam examined his room, he found every book sat on the shelf that lined each wall, not a single page out of place. His stare circled the space until he rounded backed to Gabriel with his too innocent smile and bobbing foot dangling over one leg. Not a hair out of place on his head, not a disheveled article if clothing. In fact, Sam found his gaze lingering on the supple leather of his jacket. As he ogled Gabriel, they both remained silent too long, long enough that Gabriel had grown uneasy enough to speak. “Hey, babe.”

“Don't—” Sam started as he checked the hallway. One day, he'd tell Dean. Not that Dean cared. But he should at least know. Another day, perhaps. He sighed with a heave of his shoulders as he turned back to Gabriel. “Never mind. What's going on?”

Gabriel stood and, though subtle, Sam noted a twitch in the corner of his eye. But his spine straightened and he held his chin high as he spoke. “Nothing,” he started. “Just hangin' out. Was hoping you’d be back soon.” His teeth all but sparkled through his exaggerated smile.

Sam continued to stare, unable or unwilling to look away. It might have been a prank. Some sort of retaliation for the last stunt he'd pulled. But as he scrutinized not only Gabriel, but his room once more, he found little and less made sense. So, he asked again, “You sure you're okay?”

Gabriel crossed the space between the with a slow saunter and slipped past Sam for the door. If Gabriel had attempted to seduce him, it worked, for Sam gaped. Gabriel took the opportunity to answer his question. “Yeah, I’m good. Hungry? I could go for a bite.”

Since when did angels eat? Sam opened his mouth to reply, but Gabriel winced, and his smile faltered. That same flash of pain Sam has noted not a moment earlier passed in half a second, as if he had imagined it, and he blinked in disbelief. Had he? Did his mind play tricks on him?

“Sam?” Gabriel asked. “Now you’ve got me worried.”

The warmth of his hand enveloped the palm of Sam’s as Gabriel neared him. “I’m fine,” he started, cautious with his words. “But you’re in pain.”

A sardonic frown twisted Gabriel’s face. “What?” he drawled. “What makes you say that?”

Sam regarded his room once more. “Well,” Sam started, “For one, you were sitting in my room. Alone.”

Gabriel shrugged with a smirk. “I said I was waiting for you,” he repeated as he pressed closer. “Hungry?”

That settled it. Gabriel was hiding something. Something personal. Between the increasing number of fallen feathers he’d found around the Bunker and finding Gabriel alone in his room, not a shred of doubt lingered with Sam. Not to mention the flashes of pain he had witnessed. Sam knew few angels as tough as Castiel and Gabriel. That he showed any signs of discomfort at all worried Sam endlessly.

“Look, Sam, I get it, you like to stare at me. I don't blame you, it’s a pretty face,” Gabriel babbled as he pressed close, chest flush with Sam’s. “And while I enjoy your romantic gaze of longing, I'm not—”

A sharp crack rent the air, startling both Sam and Gabriel. Over his shoulder, a golden feather appeared from the ether, then drifted to the floor. Two long seconds passed as it fell, time stretched uncomfortably thin. Gabriel froze against him as they watched, mesmerized. When Gabriel turned back to him with his sheepish smile, Sam quirked an inquisitive brow towards his hairline.

“Well, that’s embarrassing,” Gabriel muttered as he averted his eyes.

Sam held up the four feathers he held behind his back. “I’m going to guess this is even more embarrassing.”

Gabriel smiled despite the deep blush across his nose. “And you would be one-hundred percent correct.”

When Sam turned into his room, Gabriel tugged on his hand, and Sam stopped. He turned back to Gabriel and startled at the pained frown contorting his face, shocked by the sudden shift in his demeanor. That wide-eyed terror hit Sam with such guilt, he hoped to God he had not done anything to influence Gabriel’s decision to keep things from him. The mere thought of it broke his heart.

When Gabriel said nothing, Sam spoke in his stead. “What?”

“I uh—I can explain,” he started with his quick blather, “it’s—”

“You’re molting.”

Gabriel's excuse cut off with a click of his teeth. That confirmed it. Sam had suspected as much earlier in the month after he had found a feather in his own bed. He had spent hours in the Archives and the Library to prepare for anything worse; not that archangels had ever died to illness or old age. But Sam preferred to be ready. You know. Just in case. Because he couldn't remember the last time anything even mildly concerning had turned out to be no big deal for anyone he had ever loved. As sad as that thought might be, it had saved Sam some pain over the years.

With his knotted brow and stern sidelong glare, Gabriel studied him as if he had two heads. Sam reached for his pocket to retrieve his phone, hoping to capture the intense face, but a small smile flashed across his lips, too fast for Sam. A tentative step followed Sam back to his desk and Gabriel said, “Alright, yeah, I am. I'm molting.”

“I did a little research—”

“Of course you did.”

Sam shot him a glare much like the one he had just witnessed as he knelt beneath his desk, and Gabriel fell silent once more. When Sam withdrew a large book and a larger box, he said, “Archangels molt every seven thousand years.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel sighed, “It’s… I didn’t realize it was about that time again.”

Again. “How many times have you molted?” Sam asked as he set the box and the book on the bed.

Gabriel took a seat beside the box as he thumbed the clasp. With a squint and a rub of his shoulder, he replied, “About six-hundred and fifty thousand times…”

Sam reared back at that. “You’re the same age as Earth?”

“Give or take a couple thousand years, yeah,” Gabriel said with a shrug. “Why?”

“It’s true, then,” Sam started as he thumbed through the book. “God created the big bang.”

“Oh,” Gabriel droned. “Yeah. That. Dad has a thing for theatrics. Or he used to anyway. Seems to prefer less obtuse methods nowadays.”

“Really?” Sam asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I had no clue. It's not like we ever could have used his help with something. You know, here and there.”

Gabriel’s laughter fell silent, and for a long minute, Sam worried he had offended him somehow.  He had, after all, just insulted his father. But the moment passed in a heartbeat as Gabriel looked him in the eye and asked, “What’s with the box? Did you take up woodworking?”

“No, I did not—never mind. That,” Sam started as he flipped through the pages of the large tome, “Is an Enochian keepsake box. Has some pretty rad properties.” He found the page for which he searched and then turned the book to hand to Gabriel, who took it and read.

“Bottomless space,” he mused, “and prevents the decay, mold, rot, and aging of inanimate objects. That’s mighty useful.” He handed the book back to Sam. “But why did you need it?”

“Try opening it,” Sam said as he nodded towards the box.

Without a word, Gabriel attempted to flip the latch with his forefinger, but it wouldn’t budge. He then grabbed it between his finger and thumb, but to no avail. When his hand slipped from the latch and smacked himself in the forehead, Sam snorted a laugh through his nose.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Sam stated as he placed his hand on the cover. “Now try. Gently.”

A coy smirk accompanied his amber gaze. “Are we still talking about—”

“Just open the damn box, Gabby.”

A hollow, metallic plonk sounded as Gabriel flipped the latch with ease. “Imprinted. That wasn’t in the book,” he commented.

Sam shook his head as he lifted the cover. “I added that,” he said, “in case it fell into the wrong hands.” Intently, he watched as Gabriel’s gaze slid from his to the contents of the box, a flash of recognition brightening his eyes.

He lifted a feather and held it up to the lamp beside Sam’s bed. “How many have you found?”

“Forty-three,” Sam said.

“And you kept them all?” Gabriel asked. “Why?”

With a crooked purse of his lips, Sam thought. He scratched the back of his head as he said, “When I read that archangels molt every seven thousand years, I figured I should keep a few.”

Gabriel winced, whether in pain or at his words, Sam wasn’t sure. He watched as Gabriel fingered through the feathers, flipped past the smaller, downy fluff for the long, stiff flight plumes. A small smile spread across his lips, crooked in his admiration of Sam’s work. “I never thought you’d see this happen to me. I guess I lost track of time.”

Under his breath, Sam laughed. “Sometimes I forget you’re an angel. That you have this giant scope of time and forget what it’s like for me.” His fingers brushed the back of Gabriel’s hand as he added the newly collected feathers to the box. “It’s endearing.”

“Sure,” Gabriel retorted with a roll of his eyes. “More like rude. I should pay better attention to that sort of thing. You don’t have—” he paused with another grimace, though that time Gabriel reached for his shoulder.

Sam closed the lid of the box and set it aside, then slid beside him. “Is it painful? I didn’t find much information about the process of molting.”

From one shoulder to the other, Gabriel rolled his head. “I’m sore. I really should just take the time to prune, but I’ve been pretty preoccupied.”

“Gabriel,” Sam chastised as he grasped him by the shoulders. He turned him to face the foot of his bed, then dug into the muscles of his back. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

Gabriel spluttered in protest as he resisted Sam’s insistent hands. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you prune,” he stated.

Over his shoulder Gabriel glared at him. “That… you don’t need to do that.”

“I want to,” Sam said as he leaned into him, lips on his neck. “Please?”

Beneath his touch, Gabriel all but melted. “Okay, you twisted my arm.”

With another laugh, Sam straightened. “Alright, so,” he paused, “how does this work?”

For a moment, Gabriel said nothing. His scrutinizing stare surveyed Sam’s room from wall to wall. “I should probably sit on the floor,” he started as he slid from the bed.

Sam tossed two pillows to the marble, then followed him to the floor. “I imagine this might take a while,” he suggested.

“Since I haven’t even started, yeah,” Gabriel said as he handed both pillows to him. “I won’t need this, but you might.”

Right. Archangel. Sam stacked the pillows beneath him and sat. “What now?”

A gust of wind rushed through his hair, cool as a spring breeze. Foot by foot, Gabriel’s wings manifested from nothing, primary flight feathers splayed as he stretched. At ten feet, his wingspan reached across Sam’s room, a foot shy of the opposing walls. Enthralled, Sam watched as Gabriel shifted, back arched and shoulders flexed. The silence stretched, broken only by the ruffling of feathers, and Sam’s mind wandered. Without thinking, his fingers found the tight muscles near the base of Gabriel’s wings, then slipped to the hard ridges of the coracoid bone. But the moment his hands shifted, Sam startled.

A sigh so licentious rent the air as Gabriel shivered from head to toe. Sam snatched back his fingers as he gasped his apology. “Are you alright?”

He breathed a sigh of relief as Gabriel laughed. “You really went for it, no foreplay. You didn’t even buy me dinner.”

“What?” Sam asked with a bewildered shake of his head.

Gabriel looked over his shoulder with a crooked eyebrow. “Angel g-spot,” he said as he pointed to his back between his wings. “Also an erogenous zone,” he continued as he motioned to first bone of both wings.

“So,” Sam started, “I basically shoved my hand down your pants without any warm up?”

Sam had never seen him blush that shade of red before. Gabriel searched the room for an explanation, eyes averted as he spoke. “Sort of. Human vessels are a little weird, they can’t quite handle that level of stimulation without…” he paused as his eyes returned to Sam’s. “… without…”

“Without…” Sam repeated, but with Gabriel's suggestive gesticulating, understanding slammed into him and he startled. “Oh.” He covered his mouth. “Oh, no, I am…” he paused as he ran a hand through his hair. “I am so sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” Gabriel said with a shrug and a smile. “I’m not complaining, but I should have said something, or warned you at least. You’ll probably want to start out there.” A flip of his wrist ruffled the stiff flight feathers on the hand of his right wing. “Ugh, what a mess.”

“I said I was sorry—” Sam started as he stood and crossed the room.

“No, not that,” Gabriel said with a laugh. “My wings are a disaster. Look at them. They're terrible.”

At the end of his right wing, Sam spotted what Gabriel meant. Crooked feathers, some loose, some clinging by a thread, stuck out at odd angles. When he adjusted one, Gabriel grunted his relief. “That’s better. Probably been like that for years.”

“Dude, you need to take better care of yourself,” Sam chastised. “There has to be  hundreds of feathers ready to fall out. How do you normally do this?”

“On my own, it takes months,” Gabriel said as he stretched his wrist, parting the flight feathers for him. “Which is why I neglect it. Way easier if someone else helps out.”

“Is there someone that usually does?” Sam asked as he threaded his fingers between the feathers, righting some, but discarding most. Those that sat crooked usually fell away with ease, but some held fast and required a little extra attention. “Gabby?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Sorry, I was…” he paused with a long, dreamy sigh, “I wasn’t paying attention. What did you say?”

“I asked you if you had someone who usually helps you prune,” Sam repeated.

Another coy smirk danced across his lips. “If there was, would you be jeal—ow! Hey!” he shouted, and his wing wrenched from Sam’s hands.

“Sorry,” he simpered as he held aloft a long flight feather. The golden plumage glimmered in the lamplight. “That one felt looser than it was.”

Gabriel settled back in his spot on the floor once more, his wing returned to Sam's hands. “Sure,” he chided. “Just… go easy on me. It’s been a while.” He paused as Sam returned to his task, careful fingers running through his feathers. “His name was Micha.”

With the primary flight feathers straightened, Sam moved into the secondary feathers. “Who?” he asked.

“The angel that used to help me prune,” Gabriel muttered.

Sam glanced at him over his wing and found him picking at the hem of his leather jacket. “Sounds like Micha was pretty important to you.”

Another relaxed sigh breathed from his chest as Gabriel raised his head. “You could say that. I was important to him, too. Kinda like us. A lot like us,” he said with a hearty laugh.

“Mind if I asked what happened to Micha?” Sam said as clumps of short, rounded feathers came away from Gabriel’s wing by the handful.

“He… he died. A long time ago. During a civil war,” Gabriel started. “Hey, go back there, that felt good.”

Sam backtracked at Gabriel’s demand. “Here?”

Another not-so innocent sigh slipped from his lips. “Yeah,” he breathed. “That spot’s been bothering me for damn near a century.”

Though he smiled, Sam’s mind wandered. Gabriel, ancient being that he was, must have incredible stories about the world. But the tiny revelation that was Micha surprised him, though he supposed it shouldn’t. Gabriel’s boundless love surely had been devoted to someone else before Sam. Selfless as he was, Sam failed to imagine Gabriel ever being alone. His thoughts returned to his room when he neared the marginal covets and another shiver coursed through Gabriel’s wings.

“More sensitive the closer I get to the center?” Sam asked.

Gabriel nodded. “That spot there is what I like to call second base.”

“I thought second base was making out,” Sam retorted with a firm prod of his fingers in the alulae feathers and Gabriel startled.

“Hey, now,” he warned, “don’t start anything you won’t finish.”

Rather than respond, Sam scoffed as he shifted to the radius and removed a fistful of loose down from the marginal covets. Focused, intentional, he combed through the small, fluffy feathers with his fingertips. Though Gabriel had fallen quiet again, his spine had straightened, and his hands gripped his knees with white knuckles. Sam spotted his tongue as he licked his lips and pulled them between his teeth. The closer he worked to the humerus bone the more Gabriel squirmed. And the more he squirmed, the more Sam teased, his intent shifted.

“I hate you,” Gabriel groaned.

“And I love you,” Sam retorted as he returned to coracoid bone and smoothed the ruffled feathers from Gabriel’s shiver. “Anything else on this side?”

“Give the underwing a once-over,” Gabriel stated as he collapsed his wing. “But don’t go crazy. I’m already… I owe you, but part of that will be payback for all this.”

“All what?” Sam asked as he pivoted to face him.

Again, Gabriel gestured to his wing as it stretched. “It goes a hell of a lot faster when someone else helps. I appreciate it,” he started. “But something about the way you do it is… it’s weird.”

Sam hesitated as he straightened a few crooked feathers in the secondary if his underwing. “What do you mean?”

Gabriel’s nose scrunched as he thought a moment, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh under his breath. That long nose and those amber eyes had won him over without Gabriel even trying. He was about to say as much when Gabriel spoke instead. “Micah made pruning a very… clinical thing. Procedural. I felt next to nothing when he did it. You, on the other hand… Christ. Erotic doesn’t even come close. And you’re not even trying. You’re just being nice.”

“I… have literally no clue what I’m doing,” Sam stated as he held his hands back. “I’m sorry.”

Affronted, Gabriel shook his head as he held up a pleading hand. “No! Don’t be. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Micha was an angel. He knew how to uh… how not to touch me. Because angel, right? You just see a wing, hollow bones and some feathers. But Micha saw… my body. My true form. Wings aren’t just these flappy appendages that let me fly. And when I’m molting… pf, that’s a whole ‘nother can.”

“I can… stop,” Sam suggested. “If you want.”

Gabriel stood in a rush and crossed the room to embrace him, arms around his waist and enveloped by his wings. So sudden, Sam froze a breath before returning the hug, holding Gabriel flush to his chest, one hand in his hair. A thousand things ran through his mind, things to say, to comfort. But none of them sufficed. None of them did justice to the way he felt.

Gabriel mumbled against him, barely coherent. “I never would have asked you to do this, even if I’d remembered it was coming.”

The pang in his chest swelled to an ache. “Why?” Sam asked with a quaver in his throat. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

“I don’t know, actually,” Gabriel groaned. “Because it’s one of those dumb angel things. You’ve got plenty of shit to deal with. Don’t need me piling on.”

Where had that come from? Sam grasped him by the shoulders and held him at arm’s length. When Gabriel looked to him, Sam spoke. “You’re not piling on. And were I some celestial being capable of living millennia after millennia, I would gladly prune you every chance I got. How lucky am I, then, that as a human I got the chance anyway? I’m honored. Humbled. And beyond all that, loved.”

Wide-eyed and mouth agape, Gabriel stared as that pink hue returned to his cheeks, his nose. “Thanks,” he started. “I think. That was a compliment, right?”

A sigh heaved Sam’s shoulders as he grasped Gabriel by the face, both hands on either side of his head, and planted a firm, insistent kiss on his lips. He grasped the front of Sam’s shirt, clung to him as if he might fade away if he let go. As his wings wrapped tighter around them both, need radiated from him, and Sam crashed into that torrential wave of overwhelming demand. Seconds disappeared in the liminal space between thoughts, between every soaring breath as Gabriel held him fast and returned his kiss twofold. Immaterial minutes fled in what felt like the blink of an eye when Sam parted from him, breathless. Damn angels don’t need to breath.

“What did I do to deserve that?” Gabriel asked.

Sam’s incredulous laugh filled the room. “Nothing, Gabby,” he said. “Now let me take a look at that other wing.”

“You don’t—”

“Oh, I absolutely will finish what I started. All of it,” Sam said with a devious grin.

Gabriel settled on the floor at his feet, silent for once, no witty retort found on his flippant tongue. When Sam remained where he stood, Gabriel looked up, those golden eyes alight with anticipation, a giddy grin on his lips, and another deep blush reddening his nose.

Chuck bless the archangel that blushed at his human’s promise.

Tags: @atc74 @hannahindie @bevans87@meganwinchester1999@plaided-ani-on-hiatus@oneshoeshort@jonogueira@andkatiethings@elfinmox@wonderfulworldofwinchester@princessofthefandomrealm@just-another-busyfangirl@jmekitchens@81mysteriouslyme@dolphincliffs @seenashwrite@meowmeow-motherfucker

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ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN HEAVEN AND HELL BINGO MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

#spnhhbingo #spnhhbingo2019 #spn fanfic #alleiradayne writes

[friendlytrees]

Sweet Dreams

Clint BartonXreader!

Summary: Clint has been having many strange dreams lately and they all involve the same girl. On "open house" day for the avengers to recruit new ones, he sees the girl from his dreams.

Word count: 3.6k

•multiple avengers placed into the story and made up characters

Warnings: slight profanity, the tiniest bit of smut, angst.

Destroyed buildings, dead bodies of fallen soldiers, and her. She would always be there in his dreams, it's like she is the angel of death. Every night Clint Barton goes to bed his vivid dreams begin to take their course. They always end in one way, Clint dying or getting critically injured. The girl however, she is the one hurting him. Crushing him with an object, blasting him from afar, and slicing his neck, and more. After he died she would walk up to him say something but he couldn't make out the words.

"I think he's having another one of his dreams" Nat says holding a cup of coffee watching over Clint

"aren't you gonna wake him up? I don't think watching him is the best idea" wanda says with a concerned look "I could give him a happy dream, just say the magic words" she says as she waves her hands

Nat takes a long pause as she collects her thoughts. "Ok, you can give him a good dream as long as im in it" she says with a smile

Wanda nods her head and proceeded to give Clint the dream he deserves instead of him having a nightmare.

It's morning, Clint opens his eyes confused. He sits up and sits at the edge of the bed stretching his arms. He gets up and goes to grab his toothbrush from the bathroom before he is interrupted by nat standing in the doorway

"so how did you sleep"

"I slept pretty good surprisingly, it's been a while since I've had such a good dream" he says as he puts toothpaste on his toothbrush and begins to brush his teeth.

As he brushes he then realizes that it was open house day and his room was an absolute shit show. He takes an hour to clean before getting dressed and going to meet everyone in the kitchen.

When he walks down stairs he can see everyone looking very tired and staring at him angrily. All of them holding pillows

"Barton, you need to learn to control yourself!" Lang says as he throws his pillow at Clint only missing him by an jnch

"what did I do??! I didn't have another nightmare did I??"

"oh it DEFINITELY wasn't a nightmare" tony says scoffing at barton "do you know how loud you were? we could hear you from outside, no OUTER SPACE." tony then stands up and goes in front of Clint and begins to talk quieter "Barton, buddy look, I understand you have your little sexual fantasies and whatever but you need to keep it down so the rest of us can sleep" tony then Pat's his shoulder and walks away

"fantasies? What fantasies?"

he then remembers a very vivid part of his dream where he has sex with ... Nat. He wasn't grossed out by the idea but he wasn't happy with it either. He then heads over to Natasha who is drinking a cup of coffee.

"did you know?"

"did I know what?" She says with a smirk

"you totally did know! That's why you asked about my dream!" He says laughing

"I had Wanda help you out with your dreams and she helped you out a little too much"

They share a few laughs before getting stopped by Steve he called a group meeting. All the avengers, even Peter Parker, head over to sit down at the table or stand around it to listen to what Cap has to say

"alright guys, so today is the open house and I just wanted to make sure everyone was prepared to meet potential avengers. There are a few rules I made so nothing gets out of hand while they are here" he hands out little pamphlets saying 'welcome!' on the front to hand to the potentials. "When the potentials get here I am going to pair you up with one of them and then you give them the pamphlet. Is that clear? Do I have to explain anything else"

Peter raises his hand

"yes Peter"

"so,,, I can get a partner too?"

"no actually you will be greeting everyone at the door and sadly I'll be showing some moves to the potentials and I need your help"

"um sir why is that sad?"

"because I'm going to kick your ass,, anyway with that being said I dismiss you all, the potentials will be here shortly"

Peter stands there with a worried look on his face before being dragged out by Sam and bucky telling him not to worry.

Clint stands in the training room with the other avenges all lined up and turned to face the door to get partnered up. A long black limo then arrives and tons of potentials come piling out and start heading to the door being held open by spidey, in his suit of course.

"welcome! potentials, this is the new HQ for the avengers and you have all been chosen to 'test your might' in the training room. And if you make it past the first cut you'll have a simulated mission and the 2 best potentials shall train with us for a while and join the team!" Cap says with a big grin

"now I'm going to have you pull a random number out this bin and that's your partner"

Clint can see each potential grabbing a piece of paper hoping the person he gets is cool.

He then sees a girl, she seems very familiar but he can't pin point why. She starts to walk over into the room asking everyone what number they have.

"over here!" Nat says waving her hand to the girl "lucky you, you have the best person in the room"

The girl laughs and it makes Clint feel uneasy and when he hears her speak he can almost remember where he has seen her

"hi I'm y/n, do I have to disclose any special abilities I have to you?"

"oh here I almost forgot" Nat hands her the pamphlet cap made "these are all of the rules you need to follow and information you need" she smiles "and yes it would be important to know of your abilities"

"in that case I am able to manipulate the air and turn it into any solid object I want and manipulate the mind"

And with that being said Clint stares widely at the ground and looks up at y/n. she catches him staring and he quickly averts his eyes to a blue kree potential walking towards him.

"hi I'm Erik, do you have a pamphlet for me?"

"oh here you go" he hands him the pamphlet and begins to tell him some of the rules while glancing at y/n every few seconds

Cap then goes up front with Peter to show the potentials some new moves. Steve did great of course peter, not so much.

"it's now your time to train with the potentials, have fun, don't go to Easy on them" he says walking out with Peter limping

Clint goes to look over at Erik and signals him to get into fighting position but he seems confused.

"come on kid get in position" Clint says laughing

"oh" Erik says as he gets in a stance that looks like he is getting ready to do a squat

"no kid look, here is what you do. You put your arms up like you're gonna throw a punch and put one leg back and bend your knees"

The kid repositions himself and then looks up to smile at him. Clint can already tell this kid is gonna need alot of work.

An hour or 2 goes by and the next part of open house is to bond with your potential, so Clint and Erik went into a living room area and talked for a bit.

"I am very excited to become an avenger, it's been my dream since forever"

"oh I forgot to ask, what powers do you have?"

"I can speak to people in their head as long as I've seen them"

"so, you're telepathic?"

"yes, haha my parents, who are kree, came here and had to disguise themselves to blend in. We don't go out much. But yes my parents were so confused on how I got these powers they had me-"

Clint kind of just nods his head listening to the potential speak most of the time explaining how he grew up on Earth and seeing avengers saving the world and blah blah blah. All Clint was worried about was y/n. He couldn't get her out of his head, literally. His best bet was to just ask Erik about her.

"hey uhh, do you know anything about that girl over there" he then points to y/n chatting it up with Natasha

"ahh yes, y/n" he takes a bit of a pause "she can be a bit of a handful. Um, she grew in a rough life her parents were mutants in xmen but they went rogue and we're shot with multiple arrows and died so she actually grew up with me. She doesn't like telling people though so don't bring it up"

"yeah thanks for that,, but does she do anything to your dreams"

"oh all the time. She loves to give me nightmares and when I wake up she would just lay in the bed next to me laughing"

Clint didn't say anything and he kind of just glared at y/n until she made eye contact with him. He didn't turn away. The look on her face was filled with a bit of terror but also relief. Like she didn't have to hide anything anymore. Then Nat came over to us.

"hey guys have you met my amazing potential y/n" she said excited

"no I haven't" he stood up "my name is Clint Barton, nice to meet you" he held out his hand to shake hers

She shook his hand and smiled slightly with a nervous look on her face

Steve Rogers then came in to assign all the potentials rooms that made the cut in the training room

" as I watched you all fight through the cameras and in person, me and another person have voted on who stays and who goes. Out of the 15 that showed up, only 7 made the cut. All the names I call are safe. Natasha, Scott Lang, Tony, Thor, Rhodey, Sam, and Clint. Alright now everyone that made it follow me and everyone else, thank you for coming and always keep working hard, tony will see you out."

And with that Steve walked off with the potentials and Clint was left with nat.

"that girl you're partnered with is the one giving me nightmares"

Natasha then looks over at Clint with her eyes widened and a confused look on her face "excuse me what"

Clint then nods his head while Nat is trying to comprehend the situation.

"how is she giving you nightmares she hasn't even seen you before. Want me to get her kicked out"

"no no don't do anything, I'll talk to her myself"

after that conversation he headed back to his room to get ready for bed.

As he closed his eyes the nightmare soon took place. He was in an abandoned building with skeletons and dead avengers everywhere. He can hear footsteps coming towards him, it was her. She came closer and closer until she was close enough to grab his neck.

"why did you do it. Why did you kill them" she says as she looks like she is going to cry.

"i had to" he says as he struggles to get loose from y/n

"that's the wrong answer" she grips tighter and tighter

Nat would give him tips on how to wake himself up during a bad dream because they would scare her sometimes and she can't watch him 24/7, so he thought it was the time to try it. It worked.

He popped up out of bed gripping y/ns neck then he eventually let go once he saw her tear up. After he let go he sat down on his bed looking at her catch her breath.

"why. Why hunt me down, try out for the avengers and kill me."

"you killed my parents" she says still gripping her neck

Clint kind of laughs at her comment and then goes back to having a Stern look on his face "are you serious? Do you know who your parents are?"

Y/n stands there in silence looking at Clint then at the ground not knowing what to say "you took them away from me"

"if they loved you, they wouldn't have given you such a hard life." He paused and looked at the ground " your parents, yes they were in heros but they found their way to hydra. They thought he was the best bet for the world. They killed and tortured so many people y/n. I had to kill them"

He can hear her beginning to cry and he doesn't really know what to do. Was he really going to comfort the girl that tried to kill him 10 minutes ago? Yeah

"look just sit next to me, we can talk this out"

She slowly walked over to sit on the edge of the bed with him. She then hugged him and started bawling her eyes out on his chest. She noticed how firm it was and how built he was. But all he could think about is trying to get her to stop the nightmares.

After y/n cried she looked up at Clint, they stared at each other for a while

She then leaned in for a kiss

"what are you doing" Clint says as he breaks the kiss

Y/n looks at him teary eyed and covers her mouth thinking about how much she wanted to take it back

"im- I'm so sorry. I should go I shouldn't even be in here right now. I'm so sorry" she gets up and tries to walk out the room before Clint grabs her arm. "No you don't have to go, I was just caught off guard. First you try to kill me and then kiss me. So much happened in those few minutes and I just needed to process"

She nods telling him she understands. As they both stand in the middle of his room they look at the floor until y/n goes in for a hug. It was comforting and warm to let Clint know she was ok. It lasted a while.

"so,,, about my dreams" he whispers in her ear "

"don't worry, it won't happen anymore"

She then smiles at Clint and heads out the room

Clint's wakes up bright and early thanks to cap bursting into his room with Tony to wake him up for the simulated mission with Erik. Clint heads out the door heading to the simulation room.

when he gets there Erik is already there waiting for him.

"hey Clint! I've been practicing hard all night I can't wait to work with you"

"don't get too excited"

Erik had a dazed and confused look on his face from bartons comment.

Soon enough all the team members gathered in front of simulation room. Each team would go in one by one doing a battle again some sort of villain. Steve had taught them about all the villains yesterday when he showed them to their rooms.

"all right now this is the last test you will have to see if you make it into the avengers. Last night I gave you a folder of a villain and their weakness. The villains I gave you are going to be. Good luck"

"first up is Lang's potential" tony says

Scott sends his potential in there and he did not so good. He just about got his ass beat. After him it was Clint's turn. He sends the blue boy in there and waits to see what villain he gets. It's Ronan. Of course Steve would give him a villain the same race he was.

As Clint watched he noticed that Erik's form was better but Ronan taunted him like he does everyone.

"I killed many of our kind, join me, join me in killing off the rest of us, like your dear parents"

"shut up!" He ran at Ronan trying to dodge his attacks. He was hit a few times but he kept going. It was about 20-30 min fight before cap ended it.

Up next was Rhodey, then tony, then Sam, Thor and finally it was Nat. Clint had been waiting to see y/n fight Because he had high hopes for her. She stepped in and when Steve started the simulation, Ultron was her villain. Clint and Erik could see the fear in her face.

"hello sweet girl, I knew your parents. their lives were so boring without me so I took them, we became so strong. Too bad they died, well not really they started getting soft on me."

Her eyes watered but she didn't let him get to her, she fought and fought up until the 30 min mark then Steve had to end it.

"Hey, good job in there" Clint said as she walked out. She thanked him and quickly rushed to the bathroom

Steve then reviews everyone's scores on their simulation and makes an announcement. "Ok everyone can I have your attention. I have added up the highest scores and the names I say will be safe. Before I say them I just want to say it was great working with everyone and we appreciate you trying out. Ok so the two people are, Erik and y/n! Congratulations you two are now official avengers."

Everyone clapped and cheered and the losing potentials were shown out by their teammate.

After everyone left Clint was exhausted, even though he did nothing, so he went to his room to shower and sleep. He got out the shower and was soon interupted by y/n entering his room

"omg I'm so sorry I didn't know you only had a towel on" she said covering her eyes

"it's fine, but can you turn around so I can get dressed"

She nodded and she heard him drop his towel. She was very tempted to look, so she did and all she caught was a glimpse of his butt as he pulled up his boxers.

He turns around and sees her looking "how long have you been staring!" He walks up to her as she laughs "only a few seconds I swear" when she stops laughing she realizes he's shirtless and blushes a little but Clint didn't see.

After the laughter dies down Clint asks y/n why she is in his room

"oh I just wanted to say thank you again for saying I did good in the simulation room" he smiles and says no problem. There is then more silence while they both stand in the middle of the room.

"is that all?" He says

She stares at him and looks at him for a moment

The next thing you know y/n pressed her lips against Clint's once again, this time he doesn't pull away. y/n rubs her fingers through clints slightly damp hair as she locks lips with the marksman. His hand is around her waist, massaging her back as they continue the passionate kiss. Clint begins to get more into the kiss and pushes y/n against the wall then gripping on her ass slightly. Her hands are on his back almost digging into his skin. He soon signals to take off her shirt revealing her lacey bra. She then wrapped her legs around Clint and he carried her to his bed, laying her down so he is able to take off her jeans. He then goes back to her soft bruised lips, then her neck, stomach and when he was making his way further down she she stopped him

"what's wrong" he says eager to continue

"nothing, it's just,,, I think we should wait to do this. Maybe go on an actual date first." She said as she hoped she didn't kill the mood

"I understand, we can wait." He moves up and goes back to her lips to give her one final kiss "so are you sleeping in here" y/n then nods and he goes to his closet and grabs an large shirt for her to wear to bed.

The two then lay there under the covers, Clint holding her in his arms "goodnight" he says to her kissing her forehead. Y/n then says "Sweet dreams" as she kisses his cheek.

#clintasha #clint #clint barton #avengers #marvel #clintxreader #fanfic #fanfiction #steve rogers #tony stark #natasha #black widow #xmen #×reader #xreader #superhero #avengers x y/n #marvel x y/n #hawkeye

[fly-pow-bye]

DuckTales 2017 – “Friendship Hates Magic!”

Story by: Francisco Angones, Madison Bateman, Colleen Evanson, Christian Magalhaes, Bob Snow, Rachel Vine

Written by: Rachel Vine

Storyboard by: Stephanie Gonzaga, Victoria Harris, Vaughn Tada, Brandon Warren

Directed by: Matthew Humphreys

No ponies here, headless or otherwise.

While we've seen a conclusion of at least one part of the Della plot, one other little thing from the season finale hasn't really been elaborated on outside of the occasional mention of Magica De Spell. Specifically: while we know whatever happened to Della Duck, and have a clue on whatever happened to Donald Duck, we never really found out whatever happened to Lena since she became Webby's shadow. Needless to say, it's a long story.

This is the episode where that plot continues. I will say this: Lena plots don't have good track records with me. I liked Jaw$, and The Shadow War was great, too, which was pretty much a foregone conclusion since it was the season finale. However, there's also Terror of the Terra-Firmians and The Other Bin of Scrooge McDuck, two episodes I almost gave a Disgusted Donald to. Granted, neither are because of Lena in particular, but still. Which column will this episode fall in? We're about to find out.

Our episode begins with Webby going to the library, because she loves the smell of thinking in the morning. Gotta get that reference out of the way. Oh, and Lena is here now, as an invisible, unhearable shadow being. While nobody else can see or hear her, the audience sees her as this black and green version of herself. Lena says that she's fine with her current situation, though it's quite clear from the tone of her voice that it's more in comparison to any alternative.

Webby doesn't want to do that even if she could hear Lena, so she's continuing her impossible mission to find a book at the library that can teach her about the shadow realm. Yami Yugi is nowhere to be seen, but we do get Mrs. Quackfaster. I guess Scrooge isn't paying her enough so she has to double as the amount of libraries she works at to get that sweet retirement at Birdaydos. Er, Bird-baaaaaay-dos. She tells her that she can't offer the particular book she's looking for.

It's because this new character already checked it out. Webby is shocked, because this book is only in Ancient Syriac, but this "odd girl" happens to know a lot of ancient languages. She introduces herself as Violet Sabrewing, and, after bonding over knowing conversational Akkadian, she offers to stay at her place, possibly overnight. In other words, and eventually Webby's: a sleepover.

Webby, of course, accepts, but Lena does not.  It's almost as if she's read Disney Now's description of this episode, which refers to her as this "suspicious new friend". Then again, it may be because of the way Webby's last sleepovers ended. She wouldn't be the only one to remind her of this.

As Mrs. Beakley gives us the excuse for why we're not going to see Scrooge or the boys in this episode, they're busy in the office for Bin-ventory Day, Webby barges in and tells her grandmother she's having a friend come over for a sleepover. Mrs. Beakley is proud that her granddaughter wants to do another sleepover after the last two ended with money sharks and unicorn fights in the other bin. Gotta love those casual previous episode references that could still work as fantastic off-screen adventures to those who don't know.

Lena is excited that Mrs. Beakley could talk her out of this, and tries to jinx Webby again by saying "cancel the sleepover." Needless to say, that jinx doesn't work out like the library one, as Webby has a different idea.

Instead, Webby decides to have the most normal sleepover ever, as she tries to hide everything that is supernatural in the house, and try to just be normal. Mrs. Beakley attempts to say that the best way to make a good impression on her new friend is to be herself

Mrs. Beakley: ...barring from that summer undercover in Paraguay.

Webby brushing aside what is most likely the origin story for one of her parents, hey, we were all thinking it, she tells her Granny that she's not like her, because she needs friends. After Webby walks away, she tells her to name one person she doesn't get along with.

Enter Launchpad McQuack, inept pilot and ruiner of any plan to make this the first DuckTales episode with only female characters. To disprove Webby's accusation, she decides to invite him for a "sup", and spends a little more time than she wants explaining what she meant. Lena episodes sure seem to love the B-plots that, for the most part, never really seem to converge with the A-plot. This will be another one that fits with the "for the most part".

Going back to the other planned meeting, Webby is all done storing magic rocks in the attic, and her new friend has arrived for the normal slumber party for normal people. She tells Duckworth to get the door, and then realizes that ghost butlers don't help out at slumber parties. Surprisingly, that's not one of the Bailey School Kids books.

After slicing Duckworth's ghostly form in half, him not appreciating it in the slightest, she opens the door to Violet and her totally normal pie. As Webby shows her awkwardness with this whole situation, Lena is not amused, saying she isn't buying it. See, I didn't pull that out of nowhere, Lena hates this girl. I mean, maybe it's a bit convenient that this girl happens to have the same shadow realm-related interests as Webby.

Violet is then brought to Webby's room, and Violet looks around to see all the places that clearly used to have mysterious objects in them. She just says it looks clean, but I can imagine she did not miss that.

Meanwhile, Launchpad tries, and struggles, to drink pea soup from a straw. Mrs. Beakley tries her best to deal with this.

One section she was focused on was this section about Tulpas, an actual concept in the world of mysticism. This whole concept sort of reminded her of that one time all the shadows came alive and...

Webby: Who wants Baggle?!

Violet actually does want Baggle, but wants this obvious distraction some other time. Webby responds that it's just her way to get to know each other a bit more, and suggests asking some ice-breakers. Violet's first icebreaker:

Violet: What do you know about Magica De Spell and the Shadow War?

Lena, feeling completely vindicated, tries to tell Webby that she said the "M" word! I wouldn't say she forgot that nobody can hear her; she's like those people who yell at the characters while watching TV. Heh, nerds. Webby has a different "M" word in mind: makeovers! Violet is clearly not buying this at all, but goes along with the makeovers anyway.

Violet ends up leaving her backpack behind, fully opened, and Lena notices something that definitely shouldn't be in there if she was an ordinary girl who just happened to really like shadow people: Magica's amulet! She runs off to try to warn Webby, and...okay, maybe she still thinks she can hear her, even though she never once acknowledged her existence. She does end up at least finding Webby, except she's now a zombie, complete with one of her eyes falling out.

That fake-out turns out to be Violet and Webby's idea for a make-up session. Webby praises her best friend's make-up, saying that she looks just like the demon named Rakshasa. She's definitely a great friend, I don't know a lot of people who would take kindly to being told "you look like a demon!" Webby should know what Rakshasa looks like, because she met him in a previous adventure, and she has proof...that is definitely not in the attic. Oops.

Webby relents and lets her into the attic, as this cover was completely blown. She was obviously interested in these things, so she doesn't mind that Webby happened to have some magic rocks. They never really explain what those magic rocks are, and I'd like to think I am a little beyond the obvious joke there. She also notices some ectoplasmic energies from that friendship bracelet.

The scene switches from their point of view to Lena's in a neat way, where Lena still thinks she can alter anything here. Sadly for her, Lena is also intangible. Thankfully for her, Webby distracts her from that bracelet, and offers that game of Baggle again. Violet agrees on one condition: they need to use Demogorgan runes. I don't want to reveal that I'm just looking up every one of these words on Wikipedia, so I'll be quiet.

Meanwhile, Launchpad tries, and struggles, to color a coloring book, and then eventually tries to get Mrs. Beakley to get into Darkwing Duck. Mrs. Beakley tries her best to deal with this.

...okay, maybe I shouldn't just brush this off for this running gag, since this scene has quite a bit of lore to get into Jim Starling's eventual big role in The Duck Knight Returns...but maybe I'll wait for that one.

Back to this game of runes, it just so happens that book has the right chant to make those dice-like runes glow green. Lena tries what might be her 50th attempt to actually affect anything as a intangible shadow person. She's shocked to find that it actually worked this time!

She then tries to rearrange the runes to spell out a message. Unfortunately, since these people are nerds, they think it's the writing on the runes that have any meaning, and not how this layout is shaped like the words "don't trust her." Not getting anywhere with these mysterious messages about rat messages, Violet tries another shadow spirit summoning trick: humming this melody. It works...but only Lena can see these white spirits ominously creeping out from the dark. She has to think of something.

She tries to manipulate a white sheet in a form of a ghost. This actually works, because of ghost cliches that even Lena is aware of, but it doesn't solve the "they can't hear me" problem. Violet decides to use a weapon against the one evil spirit they can see, and it turns out this weapon happens to be Magica's amulet. One side effect is that this amulet allowed her to actually see and hear Lena for a second, which is enough to clue Webby in on what is really happening. However, that is only the second most of her worries.

The main side effect is that it finally gets Webby to realize that maybe this girl may not be what she seems. Just like Lena wanted her to, she starts to question their future friendship, and asks everything she knows.

It’s here that we finally get her backstory, or at least her claimed backstory. She was just an ordinary Muggle, having no interest in magic or anything else of the sort. Then, everything changed when the Shadow War happened, and. Oh, and she just stumbled across Magica's cane, which turned back into the amulet. That's pretty much it. We don't know if she's completely telling the truth...

...but Webby buys it completely, to the disappointment of Lena, and they start to do a seance. You see these shadow beings that look like the shadow of Magica De Spell. This, of course, gets Lena to attempt to grab them again.

I hate to spoil this, but I will say that this seance does lead to Lena being able to drag Webby and Violet into the shadow realm. No, not that one, thankfully. We get a big reunion, but this hug doesn't get to last long, as Webby and Violet finally get to see those white shadow ghosts.

That was spoiler enough, so I'll run through this: a big chase scene happens here, and it all leads to a good conclusion to this episode. Even the "tulpas" from the earlier scene comes up, as that turns out to be a little bit closer than one might guess from the opening of the scene. Here's a hint: they don't just stay in this Magica-like form.

In a sort of fake-out transition from that mayhem, we see what is the conclusion to the Launchpad trying to get Mrs. Beakley into Darkwing Duck plot. Turns out, they both got really excited over a cliffhanger ending. Unfortunately, in this universe, that was how Darkwing Duck ended, with a Woody's Roundup-esque cliffhanger. I usually don't talk about future episodes, but this will be given more detail in The Duck Knight Returns.

What were those shadow beings? Will Lena ever learn to trust Webby's new friend? Should Lena ever learn to trust Webby's new friend? Most importantly, while we got the reunion, will it last? At least some of those questions will be answered by watching the episode. It was a treat to see one of those answers in the end, something I thought I wouldn't see until the end of this season.

How does it stack up?

This episode didn't give me anything to dislike, and a lot to like. The biggest challenge this episode had was introducing this new character. I'll say this, without spoiling anything: while she doesn't have any Earth-shattering twists like Lena did, yet, she has potential.

I kind of skipped over the Launchpad bits, I can admit they're all pretty funny. Obviously, it wasn't going to be something as big as the A-plot, but just something minor and maybe even a little bit cute.

In the end, it's definitely in the Jaw$ column.

Next, I actually find a way to talk about The Powerpuff Girls...and not those ones!

← Raiders of the Doomsday Vault! 🦆 The Dangerous Chemistry of Gandra Dee! →

#fpb dt 2017 #ducktales 2017 #ducktales #disney #fpb reviews

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of Marvel: Week of April 1st, 2019

Best of this Week: War of the Realms - Strikeforce: The Dark Realm #1 - Bryan Hill, Leinil Francis Yu, Gerry Alanguilan, Matt Hollingsworth and Joe Sabini

If I haven’t made it clear enough, I love stories of War.

I love seeing characters struggle with hard decisions or doing things that normally they wouldn't. I like the idea of burgeoning respect for others for their bravery or absolute assholish-ness in the face of grave opposition and this book is full of it.

While the main War of the Realms series offers a continuing story focused on everyone’s efforts to fight off Malekith’s forces, I like the more self contained and focused stories like this one and War Scrolls. Strikeforce, if that’s the name that they’re going for, is a team made up of darkness, anger and righteous vengeance as that’s what will be needed to venture into Svartalheim and destroy the Black Bifrost.

The book begins with Lady Freyja, Thor’s mother and arguably the wisest woman in all of Asgard, seeking counsel from an unknown individual on who would be best to take the fight to the Dark Elves. She needs those who are uncompromising and full of rage, able to fight fire with fire, so it comes as no surprise when the man that she’s speaking to turns out to be Frank Castle.

She makes it a point to note that while Captain America told her to approach him and while he doesn't like Frank, he respects him enough to know that Frank is the only man that can cross the line between heroism and villainy. She asks him to pick heroes to embody similar natures to his own and he selects Jen Walters “Hulk”, Ghost Rider and Blade because of their individual senses of justice, vengeance and anger.

Walters, taking the position of leader of the team and acting as the seasoned Avengers Vet, asks if she can trust them, calling a vote to join Freyja’s fight. They agree and she puts them through a mental test to show their darkness and see if they can overcome their fears. For Jen, it’s her primal nature now that she’s no longer the She-Hulk that she once was. Robbie has to overcome the Riders need for fear and vengeance. And Blade has to overcome himself, at least a version of himself that embraces the Vampire within and stops protecting humanity.

I will say that Yu's art in this book isn't his best, but it’s still great and absolutely serves its purpose. Everything is mostly dark and gritty. His line work is heavy and is complimented by Alanguilan's dark inks and Hollingsworth’s colors. The action scenes are sparse, but dynamic enough for you to feel the weight of the situation at hand. Frank is naturally grim while Freyja contrasts this with her normally hopefully nature as she's also clad in white, making them both stand out amongst the cast.

The group overcomes their fears and converge on Freyja, defeating her to prove their worth. We don’t learn much of Franks trial other than, he kills the rest of the team but feels bad about it afterwards. He and Freyja then have one of the most chilling conversations I have read, in a little while, away from the rest of the team.

Throughout the book, Lady Freyja comments to Frank that he would be a man welcome as a God in Asgard for his uncompromising nature, laser focus and sheer violent rage. She fears that whatever she does in this war will have a grave cost, maybe even with her becoming the monsters she so fears. We then see a vision of her appearing as the new leader of the Dark Elves in a cook, but unsettling scene. She asks Frank if he knows the feeling… and Frank does of course. He recalls a mission where he was saving a child, murdering through a mansion to save her life and as he looked in a mirror, he saw his blood covered visage and her cowering in fear and just decided that it was better to be the monster.

As long as he was a monster, but lives were still saved and the mission was accomplished, then it didn’t matter what the cost was and... Lady Freyja agreed. “I see why the others fear you, but you have the respect of Asgard.” She says before walking away. Frank has a way of getting into people's heads. He can inspire fear and terror, but I don’t think in all of my years I have seen him turn someone to his side. Hell, last week’s Daredevil saw him try it with Matt, before he was given Heimdall’s sword, and he told Frank to screw off, but seeing Lady Freyja acknowledge Frank’s harsh point of view for the greater good was poetic.

---------------------------------------------------

Death may be a revolving door for the X-Men, but that doesn't mean that things don't hurt when they lose another one of their own.

Runner Up: Uncanny X-Men #17 (Legacy #639) - Matthew Rosenberg, Carlos Gómez, Guru-eFX and Joe Caramagna

I've always had a penchant for the 90s X-Factor team. Multiple Man, Havok, Polaris, Strong Guy and especially Wolfsbane stand out as some of my favorites from that team, but sadly one of them is no more.

Rahne Sinclair has always had a bit of a messed up history; from having religion beat into her, causing her to hate herself and her powers, to losing best friends and lovers like Cypher, to being brainwashed and having one of her best friends murder her child, things haven't gone great for her. Recently, she had found some sort of peace with it all and decided to quit the superhero game altogether.

Scott let her go. Logan let her go. The entire rest of the current X-Men were happy to let her live a normal life and then she was murdered soon after. It came out of left field for everyone, including us readers.

Scott held a funeral service that the rest of the team attended, while Logan and a released Kwannon left to “mourn in their own way.” IE, finding the bastards who killed her and absolutely destroying them.

The contrast between these two ways of mourning is drastic and heartbreaking on both sides. Scott gives a melancholic speech, telling everyone that he's tired of losing friends and names off every “dead” mutant that he can. Logan and Kwannon, however find the guys that killed Rahne and Logan asks Kwannon to show him their memories.

After a lot of pushing, she shows Logan how they catcalled her and kept harassing her until she said no and bared her fangs. Thinking they were “tricked” by a “mutie”, they beat her to death. Suddenly a SWAT team enters the home and corners the pair and Logan goes on the attack.

As always, Logan and Scott are on opposite ends of their respective spectrums with Scott choosing the path of peace and Logan choosing the path of vengeance. It's hard to say which side is more righteous here. Scott promised something of change when he came back and allowed the X-Men to be democratic instead of having him as the leader and that possibly led to Rahne's death. Logan, of course may have cost The X-Men some good in the public eye as it's heavily implied that he and Kwannon murdered everyone in that house. But damn if he didn't get Rahne the justice she deserved.

Loganq returns home later to be yelled at by Scott, who tells him that he should have been at Rahne's funeral. Logan, also in a rage, brings up that Scott knew that Logan would do it and also brings up Blindfolds suicide and their own past schism when Scott tells him to leave the team. They get into a scuffle and Juggernaut stops them, telling them that they should be focused on Scott's list of enemies instead of each other and notes one BIG name missing that no one can seem to remember, I wonder what COLD BITCH that might be?

This issue really hit hard for me. While it doesn't bring up everything specifically, it does tie up her character arc in a bow made of razor blades. There are acknowledgements to her past, her times with X-Force, X-Factor and the New Mutants. It's shown how much she means to Scott as a sister and to Logan as another kid that he raised and couldn't save. Her best friends, Dani Moonstar and Magik reflected on their relationship with her and how kind of a soul she was and how she didn't deserve this. This end was as tragic as Rahne's life was and while she deserves the rest, I hope she does come back at some point.

#comics #marvel #marvel comics #the punisher #punisher #ghost rider #lady freyja #she hulk #hulk #blade #bryan hill #leinil francis yu #war of the realms #uncanny x men #cyclops #wolverine #wolfsbane #x men #scott summers #logan #rahne sinclair #matthew rosenberg #carlos gomez

[chromium7sky]

Abstract Mark part 10

A/n: it has come to an end for this story. Thank you for reading it..aaaaaaaaa you can follow this story with #abstract mark or #damirae. Honestly, if they're making Raven into DCU , this plotline is what I had in mind. Anyway, enjoy!!

" You dare to challenge me!? You own father??!! " Trigon is enrage.

" What you did back to Azarath makes me sick!" Rachel scream.

 "Then,  you shall face your doom, Traitor!!! " Trigon activate his laser eyes.

Rachel hold it by projecting her energy against it. As both father and daughter energy colliding, Damian run toward Trigon.

He swiftly climbing Trigon's back and held the sword over his head. One slash,  one of Trigon's horn was cutted. Damian smile as he succeeded.

 Trigon was distracted and Raven's energy pass over his and knock Trigon down.  Frustrated defeat by his daughter,  he seen Damian and fired him with his laser eyes.

 “Now, that’s a coward move!” Damian shouted as he avoiding the lasers. "Dang it, John! I can't attack him at closer range!! " Damian huffed as he tried his best avoid the deadly ray from the gigantic demon which leading him closer toward Trigon.

Trigon smirked, using both of his hand amplify his powerful blow toward the young assassin.

Damian saw it as the shadow coming close to him.

However it is halted. Raven using her strength as she levitated above Damian's head. Her four eyes now glow in red along with aglaopoctis crystal sending terror to anyone who lay their eyes on her. "I shall banish you." Raven's voice echoed in the enveloped atmosphere.

Using her magic, seven shadow cloak suddenly come out from her forehead crystal. Each of them reveal different color of their cloak represent seven point cakra. As they swirl and combined with Raven's body, her vessel ignite white light.

"What the.... " Damian witnessed something beyond his logic explanation. The girl he sees now appeared in white robe and with ease she thrown off the weight of her father's hands.

Trigon surprised with as all of his four eyes went large when he sees his conduit, Raven now emitted painful ray for his eyes.

"You will not come here. You will not touch this land with your feet. For you... Are NOT welcome here. " Raven warn him.

Raven held her hand as it glows with both light and dark color aura. Her shadow grown out and rise in the shape of a bird, emitting high pitch shriek that almost deafen Damian's ears. "Thou shalt be sealed to the other side!! Now and Forever!!!" Raven's shadow enveloped the giant embodiment of evil and quickly went to the dimension portal.

The red sigma beneath start to fade and so as the blue sigil around them. Raven waves her hand, drawing the Mark of Seal in Azarath's language placed in front of the broken dimension seal that held Trigon.

John quickly join them as the process begun. He then, stood there with open arms, reciting ancient language and the blur ancient rune start to appear surrounding the portal.

As soon as Raven completed another mark of seal, John tied the rune around it like chain, hoping Trigon won't be escaped from that portal opening again.

The girl slowly settled herself on the ground right in front of the young assassin and the british mage.

She removed her hood revealing her face. Solace and at tranquility. " I'm sorry for the trouble. If it wasn't because you guys help me thing wouldn't be like this. " she bowed her head as an apology.

"Well, actually I'm trying to save you from being killed by psycho homicidal group, miss Roth. " Damian dust off his shoulder as soon as he unsheathed the sword.

"Thank you, for believing me. " Raven smiled. "I'm guessing Robert wasn't your real name, O Brave one?" as Raven greet the young man who used to be her lab partner.

Damian scoffed as he heard Raven address him like a hero character from rpg game. "Damian Wayne. The assassin, from Gotham." he held his hand.

She grab his hand, slightly shake. "Rachel Roth. Actual name is Raven, from Azarath." as her lip slightly curved.

"Seems a lovely evening for ice breaking. " John Constantine joined them after he called someone,explaining the situation, Damian presume that he called his father, Bruce Wayne because only his father could uphold on this matter.

"The name is John Constantine, part time mage, professionally. " John bow down, introduce himself, Raven bowed her head soon after. "Raven, from Azarath. "

"Well, it seems that the situation is under control. " as John looked at the Sealed portal that about to dissappear, hiding from naked eyes. "Aren't you going to continue your --"

"No. " Raven cut off John's sentence. " I know where I came from so, I need to learn how I could control this power, this curse. "

"Consider it as a gift. " Damian spoke as he give a pat on her shoulder.

"Gift? " She looked at him.

"A gift that makes you different. A gift that has been entrust you to protect this world from whatever at the otherside. " he added.

"My father. " She whispered under her breath.

"Maybe, you could join me. " Damian at first look at the other side before he turn his eyes on her.

"Join you? But I'm dangerous. I mean, can you see what I'm capable back then? " Raven gestured her hands towards the seal portal door which that has vanish.

"So am I. " Damian straight up his pose. Showing that he's a proud warrior while holding his weapon.

Raven realise that Damian was not ordinary trained kid, still she's afraid of her power that goes out of control.

John reads Raven's expression and thus he made an offer. "Why not you join me first? The sentinel of magic? "

"Sentinel of magic? Is that some kind of club or something? " Raven confused.

"We're just like Damian's, but specifies on Magic properties. " John explain the objective, briefly. "Don't worry, as soon as you're in control of your power, You could join this little boy tree house club. " John playfully sneered at Damian.

"It is called Teen Titan. " Damian with his arm crossed. "Still mad at me, old man? " he added.

"What you did are dangerous, young lad. Thank god I've handle this. " John sighed followed by Damian's scoffed.

"If that so, I would gladly to learn my magic property, Mr. Constantine. " Raven smiled and nod as agreement.

"It is settle then. " John clasp both of his hand. He glance at Damian. There's a bit of dissapointment on his face but quickly turn into his usual brooding mood.

"It is settle then," said Damian as he tied the sword over his shoulder.

"Hey. "

Damian stopped as Raven's hands holding his, steadily.

"Uh... "his eyes glanced at the hands then to the girl's face.

"As soon as I be able to control my ability, I will join you. Eventually. " Raven speak as her eyes stare deep into his green ocean eyes.

Damian stunned for a moment then he smiled. "You are welcome to the Titan's tower anytime. " His lips curved upward. He didn't realise John was observing his face as he talk to Raven.

"Deal. " she nod. A promise is sealed.

"I might as well need to go back to Gotham." As he glared to John, "If you tell my father about this, I will hunt and KILL you. "

"Tell whot? " John smirked as he thicken his accent. Damian continued to give him the death stare.

"I'm going. Farewell then. " Damian fish out something from his pocket. A small remote with two button. As he pressed it, a loud humming sound a long with gus of wind came.

Raven mouth went agape as she sees the source of annoying disturbance. "Is that a plane? " she's in disbelief as batplane landed further from them.

Damian smirked as he looked back. "Batplane." then he jump into the driver seat as soon as the doorlid open. Putting headphone and clicking some button of the panel Damian give simple salute before he take off.

As soon as he's gone, Raven look at John for explanation. John chuckled, "I know. They have cool gadget."

"So, when will we start training? " Raven asked him as John summoning the Mystery house. "When you're ready, Raven. "

Raven with confident." Let's do it."

Abstract mark master post: https://chromium7sky.tumblr.com/post/170432315598/abstract-mark-and-other-fanfic-masterlist

#damirae #damian wayne #demonbirds #raven #rachel roth #fanfic #abstract mark #final part #part 10 #yay #maybe could combine with batling universe #hoho #john constantine #church of blood #trigon #azarath metrion zinthos #robin #batplane #fanfiction #epilogue soon......

[blancheludis]

Chapter 2 is online!

Fandom: Marvel, MCU Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, JARVIS, Natasha Romanoff Rating: T

Summary: It was supposed to be a mission without surprises, but then a building collapses on top of them and traps them underground.

Tony is hurt but doesn’t tell anyone. Steve just wants Tony to give a damn for once. And Clint, who cannot run away from their bickering since he broke his leg, just hopes they do not kill each other before they get him out of there.

(- Since the End is almost upon us, why not return to the beginning of the Avengers, when everything was still mostly beautiful and they haven’t yet hurt each other so much. Simpler times!)

It takes effort to keep his hand steady. It would not do much harm to have the line the laser cuts end up a bit wobbly, but Tony is painfully aware of Steve watching his every move with narrowed eyes. Maybe it is disbelief at what modern tech can accomplish, maybe it is simple distrust – it does not matter. Anyway, Tony has learned early on to calm the trembling in his hand, otherwise two of his favourite hobbies – being drunk and wielding a soldering iron – would have been mutually exclusive.

So his aim stays true and he cuts them a way out through the concrete. He is disappointed when his scans prove true and they are still underground, but there is light and more space to put between himself and Steve’s judgement.

“So we got out,” Steve says, utterly unimpressed, and turns back to Clint. “What now?”

Tony should let it go but he cannot help the constant irritation, thrumming along with his elevated heartrate. “Thank you, Tony, for keeping us from blowing ourselves up completely,” he remarks with sarcasm dripping from the words, trailing after Steve despite wanting nothing more than to go ahead.

“We can pat your ego later,” Steve chides, never even sparing him another glance as he kneels down beside the archer. “Think you can walk, Clint?”

Which has Tony rolling his eyes behind the safety of his faceplate. Does Steve expect Clint to hobble after them on his broken leg? For some reason, though, Clint remains patient and simply shrugs.

“If I have to,” he says, because working for SHIELD has trained all self-preservation out of him. Not that Tony is one to talk. “But I don’t know for how long.”

When Steve looks around, likely for something they can turn into a stretcher or at least crutches, Tony crouches down next to them. “I’ll carry you.”

“Sir,” JARVIS pipes up, a hint of worry in his tone, but Tony cuts him off abruptly, making sure he can only use their private channel for now.

New warnings pop up in front of his eyes, talking about stability and added weight and the estimated damage more pressure will do to his ribs. Tony dismisses all of them. Hawkeye might be heavier than he looks but what use is a metal armour that cannot carry a bit of extra baggage?

“Hop on, birdbrain,” Tony says, turning his back to the archer to give easier access. “And do try to not hit me in the face with your bow. I designed that to hurt.”

Clint at least chuckles as he pulls himself up and onto Tony’s back. It is neither elegant nor ideal since the armour does not exactly have convenient edges for someone to hold on to, but they will manage if they go slow. The whole time, Steve watches them with scepticism apparent on his face, arms half-raised as if he is just waiting for the moment Tony will let Clint fall.

“We need to get going,” Steve says, once Clint confirms his seat is more or less secure. “I doubt we’re suddenly all alone down here.”

They must look ridiculous, the robot and the archer with his splintered leg sticking out, but none of them feel like laughing. Tony turns slowly to the opening in the wall, taking a first careful step, all the while giving Clint enough time to adjust his grip.

“Why so pessimistic, Cap? Everyone else might have been crushed.”

Like they have almost been. Tony shakes his head. He truly does not want to go there. No more cave-in analogies if he wants to stay sane.

Shoulders tense, Steve walks past him, looking out through the hole in the wall, always expecting the next bout of trouble to find them.

“I usually don’t hope for buildings to wipe out people,” he then hisses quietly, causing Tony to groan. Captain Righteous naturally has to show compassion for the bad guys with a secret underground lab cooking up nasty things.

“I do,” Clint speaks up in a completely fake light tone, “when they otherwise try to kill us.”

At least one of them has sense, but Tony cannot let it go that easily. “Don’t blame Cap. All his murderous urges are reserved for Hydra and me.”

It is easier to keep talking than to concentrate on his steps. Carrying Clint does hamper his agility to the point where every movement jostles his broken bones. It is painful, but the pain will at least keep him on track.

“Silence now,” Steve orders briskly. And, with barely a glance back, he is gone, running ahead as usual.

The first hallway they find themselves in is deserted. Down here, everything is more sterile than on the upper floors. Tony notices the cameras mounted in regular intervals but is too busy with keeping upright to disturb Steve’s fixation on scouting ahead to suggest they find a computer and see what Tony can find out about their situation.

Right now, they are too loud – the suit whirring with every step, Clint’s bow clanging when it hits metal – and too exposed, walking aimlessly. If Steve hopes to just stumble over a stairwell taking them up to the surface, Tony thinks he will be severely disappointed. He is already sure that they are not underneath the original building anymore. The warehouse was big, but the hallway ahead spans a farther distance if his calculations are right – and they usually are. Still, he keeps quiet for the moment. Even he knows restraint and when he needs to stop pushing.

On their right side they pass a number of doors, each of which Steve listens at and pushes open to make sure they hold no surprises. They find machinery and dorms and store rooms but nothing out of the ordinary.

They stumble upon their first enemies a good ten minutes later: two men, both armed, one arguing with someone over his radio. So there are others. Tony thinks they should talk about this, make a plan before charging out into the open, but he holds himself back with a sigh when Steve raises a hand at them in a silent order to stay and crouches forward himself. The two guards never stand a chance. The first gets taken out by the shield – which makes too much noise when it hits a wall on its way – and Steve is on the second before he even realizes that his friend has just been taken out.

In a way, it is a piece of art to see Steve at work. The way his body moves, muscles flexing and hands reaching out instinctively, face pulled into a mask of pure concentration, not a trace of sympathy to be found. From an observer’s point of view, Tony can appreciate the flash of terror in the second guard’s eyes before he falls to the ground with a protesting gurgle, cut off when his neck snaps.

As much as Tony enjoys getting a rise out of Steve, he hopes he will never push things so far that Steve will look at him like this, impassionate and cold, with an intensity that burns through every armour.

Steve barely waits for them to catch up before he is ready to march on, new determination stitched into the line of his shoulders. It is like he needs to get out all the pent-up energy from being buried, however briefly. Captain America does not deal well with sitting around uselessly.

“Wait,” Tony calls, grateful when Steve actually stops, even though he turns around only reluctantly. “What are you doing?”

Annoyance flickers over his face. “We need to deal with whatever people are still down here,” Steve says slowly, as if explaining it to a child. “If we don’t find an easy way out, we can’t have them attacking our backs when we’re searching.”

Tony knows that. He also knows that he does not want to trail after an irate Captain America, who is put out by the fact that the mission parameters changed and turned his clean-cut operation into a mess. No one will say anything if Steve decides to wreck some punching bags once they are back home, but while they are still here they need to think more about how they want to go about this instead of just hitting everything until it stops moving.

“Have you ever thought about not barging in everywhere without a plan?”

Tony is angry, and hearing the somewhat even tone of his own voice, filtered through the armour, does not help, so he opens the faceplate to better glare at Steve who just stares back defiantly.

“We have a plan,” Steve says stubbornly. “Get out of here.”

If he did not have Clint hanging off his back, Tony would have thrown up his arms in frustration. “Great. So you want to beat up everyone in our path alone?”

Steve very much looks like he wants to do exactly that. “Last time I looked, there were at least two of us here that aren’t egocentric cowards,” he spits out.

Immediately, Tony regrets baring his face, because he is sure he cannot cover up his flinch quickly enough. Things would be so much easier if Tony truly were a coward. He would not have talked back at Howard so often. He would have kept doing exactly what Obadiah had wanted him to. Maybe Afghanistan would not have happened. But even if it had, he would have died there. And, who knows, maybe then he would have had peace, at last.

Well, he is not a coward. A great many other unpleasant things, yes, but never that.

Clint knocks on his armoured shoulder, likely in an attempt to get him to calm down. It does not help. Instead it makes Tony only more determined to not back down, to not keep running around without knowing where they have to go, expecting enemies around every corner.

“I’m not a battle horse,” he snaps. “If Clint’s going to stay on my back, I don’t know how much help I’ll be since my repulsors aren’t working quite right.” He sees the slight twitch on Steve’s face, clearly saying he is never of much use anyway, but Tony ignores it and simply goes on. “And if I put him down, one of us has to play guard dog anyway, since he can hardly run.”

Which would not be much of a problem. Tony can plant himself down like a wall to make sure nothing gets past him, but things have a tendency to explode around him and no one wants Clint to get caught in that. And Steve is all movement in battle. Forcing him to stay stationary will only dampen their effectiveness.

“Having your teammate’s back is also clearly beneath you,” Steve sneers, managing to momentarily stop all of Tony’s thoughts.

Tony almost groans in frustration, because that is not what he meant. Why does Steve always misinterpret what he says? Is it truly that hard to not always think the worst of him? Apparently yes, because nothing in Steve’s expression budges as he keeps glaring.

He feels his muscles go lax and his lips curl into a bitter, twisted thing that tries to be a smirk but falls horribly flat. “You really do think the worst of me,” Tony says quietly, almost to himself.

It surprises him, how much it still hurts. Ever since they first met all his fears of Captain America hating him have proven to be true, and still Steve manages to sneak past his defences and add to the disappointed pain amassing there since Tony was a child and still hoped for the Captain to become his friend someday.

Completely involuntarily, Tony takes a step back, unsure himself what use the motion has. It is not like he can actually go anywhere down here. For now, they are stuck together, until he can hide away in his workshop and lick his wounds.

“I’m so flattered that you’re fighting over me,” Clint pipes up, steel in his tone. “But I’m actually not, so could we please concentrate on the task at hand.”

Steve looks chagrined, making Tony glad that he cannot look at Clint, and that, in return, Clint cannot see the tightness of his own face. Because the archer is oftentimes more perceptive than people give him credit for, and all Tony wants is to wallow in his misery in private.

Before their Captain can say anything – likely an apology because everyone other than Tony gets those – Clint knocks sharply on the armour again. “What is your plan, Tony.”

It is somewhat mollifying to be asked this, no matter that Steve’s expression sours.

“We blow them to hell,” Tony answers, with heartfelt resentment.

He can already feel his fingertips tingling with the longing to create directed chaos. If he thinks about it, that is probably how Steve thinks about taking their enemies down one by one. The satisfying act of applying one’s mind and hands to get a step up. Then again, the tingling could also be nerve damage, because his arm is otherwise feeling rather numb. Still better than pain.

“What happened to no explosives?” Clint asks before Steve can, his tone much gentler, although he also lacks patience.

“We’re in a lab, right?” Tony explains, itching to get going. “It’s full of electronics. It’s a good thing then that you’ve got a tech genius at hand.” Steve radiates scepticism and even Clint is quiet, so Tony merely shakes his head. “Get me to a computer.”

It works wonderfully of course. Most of Tony’s plans do if he is allowed to follow them through. Once they find him a console and Tony’s fingers lower down on the keyboard, things start going right. For him, at least. First off, he can sit. He only notices he is out of breath once he does not have to press on; only feels the shaking of his legs once he takes the weight off them.

Clint sits in a chair to his right, settling his head onto his arms, and watches Tony work, although not with the same air of expecting failure as Steve does, who paces behind them, constantly keeping his eyes on the entrance. Tony does not remind him that he has hacked the cameras before he has even tried to get deeper into the system. No one will surprise them in here, but he guesses Steve cannot let his guard down any less than Tony can, so he does not comment on that, briefly thinking how much easier things would be if only they learned to be a little kinder with each other.

“What are you going to do?” Clint asks, purely out of interest it seems, so Tony flashes him a smile.

“Whatever I can.” He shrugs, for a moment forgetting that will only set off more pain in his shoulder.

It turns out, there is a lot he can do. With only a little bit of digging, he manages to pull up floor plans. Turns out he was right: the underground lab is much bigger than the warehouse upstairs. In fact, it spans several buildings. Unfortunately, it has few exit options.

Pulling the plans up on an extra monitor, he nods at Steve. “Look at these,” he says absentmindedly, not waiting for an answer before he turns back to his own work.

He does not miss the confused look Steve throws him, nor the short hesitation before he turns towards the monitor, but does not put in any effort to mull that over. If Steve wants to complain, they can do that later. He just thought Steve would appreciate getting a better understanding of where they are and where they have to go. Does he not always preach about strategy?

Next, Tony does simple recon. Scrolling through the cameras, he finds everyone still down here with them, adding their position to the floor plans. It adds up to twenty-three people, not all of them guards. Some are scientists, but Tony knows better than to underestimate people in lab coats. About a third of the cameras are not working, which he supposes is due to them being caught in the blast, so he strikes out the rooms on the floorplan.

He also finds their way out. It is caved in too, naturally, because nothing can ever be simple. Several people have gathered around the useless stairwell, gesturing, likely discussing how to get out. They have not yet started digging, but they do not look too distressed about it either.

Most of the others are working frantically, gathering data, collecting stacks of papers and notebooks. Where he can, Tony interrupts their tries to download from the servers, but while they are down here they should probably take care of the paper trail too. And once he is not busy scamming their signal, he should make a copy of their data to peruse later.

“All right,” Tony says once he is satisfied with his findings. He turns his chair around to face his teammates, ignoring how the movement makes him dizzy. He thinks he might be getting worse but does not dare checking with JARVIS. Surely the AI will inform him before he is about to drop unconscious – or dead.

“I suggest we go room by room,” Tony begins, pointing out a possible way along the rooms on the monitor. “I’ll start a distraction. You,” he gestures at Steve, “go in and take them out. That way Clint can stay back out of immediate danger, and we know exactly where everyone is at any time. Little room for surprises.”

Tony is ready to go into more detail, because he thinks this is a good plan, one they should not dismiss just because it is him who proposed it. He does not accuse Steve of being petty, but most of their arguments start because Tony has his own mind.

To his surprise, Steve just nods. “Let’s go for the ones we can take out quietly first. Keep the large group for last.”

It is almost fun; could be fun, if it were not for the fact that Tony is hurting all over and there is still no blue sky above him. But they work perfectly together. Tony waits until Steve is in position then does his special brand of mayhem: he sends high-pitched noises through loudspeakers loud enough to put the inhabitants of a room momentarily out of commission; he has machines clattering and throwing up panicked alarms; he hacks into the comms; he has consoles throwing sparks. Whenever he gives the word, Steve goes in. Watching on the grizzly screens is not as beautiful as the real thing, but he still gets to unabashedly watch Steve in action. Clint’s face of increasing disbelief is just a bonus. Really, they should see what he can do when he is not in pain and has time to spare.

Steve even comes back to them before tackling the large group, although Tony was half-certain he would simply plough on. It is better this way, since Tony is sure that a bit of adrenaline is just the right thing to keep him on his feet for a bit longer.

They must make for a hilarious picture: Captain America slightly ruffled but with anger burning in his eyes, a limping Iron Man with more dents than unblemished metal, and Hawkeye on his back, wielding his bow with a vengeance, barely hindered by being carried around. So, despite barging in without bothering with any secrecy, they have the element of surprise. The guards are looking at them slack-jawed before they truly realize what is happening. The fight is over almost as soon as it has begun, leaving them without enemies and still no way out.

Clint laughs as he slides down Tony’s back to the ground, poking one of the downed guards with his bow for good measure. Tony, in turn, staggers because of the sudden loss of weight.

“Everything all right?” Clint asks, noticing how unsteady Tony is.

Keeping his right arm very still, Tony waves him off. “Just missing a little victory drink,” he quips, wishing for something to numb the pounding of his head.

Unfortunately, they have talked loud enough to alert Steve, who has gone off to examine the rubble-blocked stairwell. His face morphs from worry into unmitigated anger. He takes in the shakiness of Tony’s legs and how he seemingly cannot quite keep upright.

“Are you having withdrawal symptoms?” Steve asks incredulously.

Tony cannot actually blame him for coming to this conclusion, because, yes, he does drink a lot, more again since Pepper left him, and one look into any newspaper paints an ugly picture of his unreliable ways. But he has tried to never let his vices interfere with Avenger business. He even implemented a security protocol that prevents him from navigating the suit while drunk. Tony is capable of learning from his mistakes, thank you very much. But of course no one gives him the benefit of the doubt.

“Nah,” he drawls lazily, steading himself against a wall, not caring how it looks. “The suit is prepared for that.”

If anything, Steve’s face turns more disgusted. “You’ve got alcohol with you?”

“Always be ready for a party.” They cannot know that, but he quotes his mother here. Maria, who was responsible of the ungrateful task of keeping up the Stark family’s reputation, who taught him how to make an impression. Because even a bad impression is better than going completely unnoticed.

Thanks, mum, Tony thinks as he watches Steve’s opinion of him sink even lower. He huffs in resignation and turns to inspect the cave-in as well, if only to avert his face so he does not have to see the look Steve and Clint are undoubtedly sharing right now. For good measure, he closes the faceplate again. He can always blame that on having to do more scanning.

This team thing has turned out harder than he has expected it to. Most of the time it is going well. They have regular slumber parties, watch movies and have food fights. That almost feels like family, like something he has been wishing for even before he realized that Howard’s opinion of him would never change. It is nice to stumble out of his workshop, pleasantly exhausted, and find someone in the kitchen to share a word or two with, who prepares coffee when they see him coming. The fighting, too, is a surprisingly coordinated thing. They just fit, and he never knew he missed having someone watching his back until they started deflecting bullets intended for him.

It is the moments in between that are difficult. All of them are damaged in their own way. Worse, they are all used to go on anyway, to pretend everything is fine. Settling into trust is not easy, especially not when one was taught to depend only on oneself.

So, Tony knows he is not the most compatible being. Social niceties usually fly right over his head. But for all his trying to be better, he sometimes sees it clearly in Steve’s eyes that he will never get there.

“Well, we won’t be getting out this way,” Tony mutters, staring at the results of his scanning. Digging here would just bring more and more rubble down on them. And he has had enough of that.

It takes a while for the other two to react, but Tony still does not turn around. He is giving them space, just like Rhodey does with him when he is in an explosive mood. It usually works, since Tony burns bright but quickly. Captain America, on the other hand, can simmer and hold a grudge for years if someone insulted his delicate sense of right and wrong, Tony is sure of that.

“Maybe we should just wait here until they break through from the outside,” Clint finally speaks, tone carefully neutral. Tony still whirls around as if he has been showered with more accusations. “Nat’s out there, she’ll get us out. And it lowers the chances of us making everything worse by digging blindly.”

Inwardly, Tony curses. What Clint is saying makes sense, but in an unacceptable way. Tony is not actually in a position where he can sit around idly, waiting to be rescued. At some point during the short fight, his vision has stopped clearing when he remains still, and he feels the kind of exhaustion tugging at his mind that has him fearing he will fall unconscious sooner rather than later. It is only the suit and decades’ worth of experience with stumbling around drunk that keeps him standing at all.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Tony quips, infusing humour in the hopes to cover the sharpness of the words. The voice modulator, at least, does not translate the slight trembling, so it could be interpreted as dismissive instead of an almost-plea.

“Must be buried around here somewhere,” Clint answers dryly. He leans back lazily against the wall but there is no mistaking his tiredness. He is pale and sweating and holds his broken leg gingerly.

“I’m with Clint,” Steve says, surprising no one. “I can make a sweep to see whether I can find something helpful, but we shouldn’t make things worse.”

He stands stoically to the side, close enough to Clint in case the archer needs assistance, but with a telling distance between him and Tony. Not that Tony is particularly unhappy about that. The more irritated Steve is with him, the lesser are the chances of him looking too closely and seeing something Tony does not want him to see.

Despite himself, Tony says, “You shouldn’t go alone.”

He has checked the cameras and they have taken out everyone he has found. But this is a secret underground lab, there are bound to be surprises. And while Steve is more than able to take care of himself, Tony does not want him wandering off alone. There is also the small concern that Tony does not know how much longer he will be able to defend Clint and himself if it comes to that.

“Do you suggest we leave Clint defenceless?” Steve’s voice turns scathing, and for a short moment Tony just wishes he could tell the truth, that their concerns align. “He is hurt.”

Tony wants to shout back I am too, but he does not because that would not change anything and he does not want Steve to think of him as even more of a liability. All they need is to get out of here. Everything else will fall into place. It usually does.

“I’ve got a broken leg,” Clint points out, annoyed at being discussed as a problem. “That doesn’t make me the damsel in distress here.”

No, Tony thinks, given a little more time that will be him. But he sees the wary line of Clint’s back and is, momentarily, ashamed. Steve and his bickering is thoroughly unfair on the archer, on top of him being all but immobile and in pain. But so is Tony, and he does not have the energy of keeping upright and thinking of a way out of here, while also keeping the peace with Steve.

Accentuated by the panicked red blinking of the HUD and the constant ring of warnings, all of Steve’s words and looks and twitches become more unbearable by the minute. Tony knows he is found lacking in the Captain’s eyes. But, well, he is lacking in his own too, but he is trying. He really is. And all he wants now is to go back to the surface so he can see the sky before he passes out. Or, preferably, not pass out at all until he is safely out of sight in his workshop, where he is not vulnerable. But there is not denying that he is fading quickly.

“JARVIS,” Tony says in the privacy of the suit. “We got another dose for the pain?”

It is not the smartest thing to do, dosing himself. Especially since the pain keeps him somewhat grounded in reality, but it also slows his mind. More so than the morphine does.

“Your breathing is already –” JARVIS naturally tries to argue, but Tony does not have the patience for fights on every front.

“I know,” he interrupts his AI not very gently. “Rib meet lung. Not ideal. But if I pass out and stop breathing, you are welcome to initiate countermeasures.”

By which he means for JARVIS to administer naloxone, to counteract the respiratory depressive morphine. He is not naïve enough, however, to believe that JARVIS does not take this as permission to finally alert someone to his battered state of health. Tony swallows and deliberately does not contradict him. Despite his self-neglecting behaviour, he really has no desire to die in what could just as well be a re-enactment of that cave in Afghanistan. With a significantly less amount of water, although Steve’s constant doubts are their own kind of torture.

“Just a bit, J,” Tony sighs, wondering for the umpteenth time why he has given his machines and lab assistants the ability to talk back. “We need to get out of here and I won’t be of any help if I can’t think.”

JARVIS is the one person who knows Tony best. One might argue that this does not mean much, since his grasp on human emotions is still rather tenuous, but he has grown so much since he first came online, surpassing even Tony’s wildest dreams. Where Tony is still wont to shut out Pepper and Rhodey, JARVIS has seen so many of his lows, has picked him up and given him something to hold onto, even if it is only the voice of his old family butler. He trusts JARVIS, and not just because loyalty to him is an integral part of his code. He likes to think they have grown beyond that.

Moments later, Tony feels the prick of a needle – a feature he has built in early on, when his heart used to give him more trouble, which could prove fatal in battle. Incidentally, he has not told anyone about it, knowing neither of his friends or teammates would approve of his portable med bay.

The morphine helps, if only minimally. It is mostly just the thought that he has done something to keep him going. It does not do anything against the crushing weight of Steve’s balled disapproval meeting him when he looks up again.

Tony sighs, still inaudible to the two men with him. What has he missed now? Yes, he has tuned them out for a moment there mostly because it is all but impossible to concentrate on more than one thing at once at the moment – which is truly ridiculous, considering how his brain usually works – but it was his turn in the argument, yes? And surely Steve appreciates his silence more than whatever snarky answer he would have given otherwise.

“Let’s keep going,” Tony says, as much to them as it is an order to his own body. Don’t fail me just yet.

He starts to make his way over to Clint to pick him up again, but Steve’s hand on his shoulder stops him. He does not feel the contact through the suit, but it is nonetheless jarring. Everything Steve does is when it is directed at him.

“We haven’t yet decided whether we should go on,” Steve bites out between clenched teeth, glaring.

Any other time, Tony might have laughed. This would not be the first time that Tony continued an argument within his own head only to think it resolved when he emerged. Steve has never appreciated that.

“Cap,” he sighs, drawing out the name like a prayer. “We’re in an underground lab filled with unknown machines and substances, and a building just fell on it. There’s no guarantee, but there could be an unwanted reaction – chemical leak, explosion, whatever. I just don’t want to be down here for it.”

He is likely exaggerating, but no amount of arguing will move Captain America if he has made up his mind, so Tony has to introduce new variables. For all he knows there could have been something volatile caught in the blast in some of the collapsed rooms, even though he did not find anything immediately alarming when he went through the surveillance cameras. So it is not a lie. Just an embellishment to heighten his chances to get out of here.

Rather stoically, Steve stares first past Tony’s shoulder then right at him before he jerks his head in what must be a nod, because he turns around and starts walking, leaving Tony to gather up Clint and scramble after him.

“You shouldn’t push him so much,” Clint says quietly while he climbs back onto Tony’s back.

“Someone has to,” Tony answers cheerfully, glad that no one can see his grimace. Half of their arguments are not actually voluntarily on his part, although everyone expects by now that they have just fallen into the habit of shouting each other as a valid means of communication. But Tony wants to get along with Steve, still carries that childhood wish in his heart to prove his father wrong. It is just not very likely that it will ever happen.

#fanfiction #marvel #my writing #tony stark #steve rogers #mcu #ao3 #it's 2012 #and not everything is beautiful and someone is hurt #but they are getting there #i promise #i haven't seen endgame #and I'm afraid to #mostly i should keep studying instead of worrying about fictional characters #got my last exam in two and a half weeks #anybody know anything about haematology and how to remember anything about it? #because i don't #and one of the examiners is a haematologist #help #anyway #it's much better to think about tony and steve #don't you agree?

[scripttorture]

In your review of Captain America: TWS, you pointed out that you can't use torture to make a person do something they'd be morally opposed to, and I'm concerned that I might be doing something similar here. I have a character who was raised in an institution under the constant threat of execution until he was drafted into the military, where he was terrorized into killing people the same way before ultimately escaping. How would this play out so I don't repeat what TWS did wrong?

Firstly thank you for reaching out. I know that this is a reallydifficult subject to research.

 I think the first question you need to ask is how opposed is yourcharacter to killing?

 Don't go with the instinctive 'well of course he's opposed to killingeveryone is!'. Unless your character is a pacifist and would consistently arguethat it's preferable to die than kill chances are they're not strongly opposedto killing per-say they're opposed to killing particular people underparticular circumstances in particular ways.

 There is a difference between someone being absolutely andwhole-heartedly opposed to something and someone who... can be coerced orconvinced into going 'against' their beliefs because they're not reallystrongly held beliefs.

 I think I'd probably best illustrate that with an example. In 'Nonviolence: The History of a DangerousIdea' Kurlansky describes multiple occasions of pacifists approaching armedsoldiers and using their bodies as human shields.

 In one example he describes a Pashtun boy who followed Bacha Khan’steachings walking up to a British soldier and asking to be shot. The Britishsoldier shot him dead.

 In another example he describes a Roman man, conscripted into the army,telling his superior officer that as a Christian he refused to kill anotherhuman being. The officer ordered him to walk unarmed in front of the othertroops as they went into battle. He did and was killed.

 Is your character this opposed to killing? Or even this opposed tokilling in the manner the army in your setting wants him to?

 If he really is utterly and wholeheartedly opposed to it then nothing canforce him to change his mind.

 But usually, for most characters and things we write about, that isn’tthe case. That gives you some room to play with and some options.

 I think part of this also comes down to how you’re using torture in yourstory: if it’s just a short cut to getting a character to change their mind then…wellthat might not be torture apologia but it is a bit of a sloppy handling of a sensitivetopic.

 Torturehas long term effects on victims, the majority of victims will be livingwith symptoms for the rest of their lives. That’s doesn’t mean that they can’t go on to lead full and happy livesbut torture- well O’Mara argues that the structural changes to the brain itcauses amount to brain damage.

 I think that portraying torture as if it’s ‘just’ the physical pain avictim experiences in that moment downplays the damage it causes.

 So if you decide torture isright for your story then I’d strong recommend you look at the link above andpick out some symptoms for your character. We can’t predict which symptoms anindividual survivor will experience, so I suggest picking them based on whatyou feel fits the story and character.

 Given that this takes place over a much longer time period then mostattacks I’d suggest slightly more symptoms in this case, 4-6.

 Memory problems are incredibly common in torture survivors, but rarelyshown in fiction so I tend to encourage people to use them. The most commontypes are general forgetfulness (difficulty keeping appointments, findingthings etc), false memories (often of torture or events chronologically closeto it), missing memories (usually notof torture itself but of events shortly before or after) and intrusive memories(constantly being reminded of and going over details of the traumatic event).

 Addiction problems and PTSD are probably among the more common symptomsgiven to fictional male soldiers. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t use them if you feel they fit but if you want to dosomething a little different you might want to avoid them.

 And torture doesn't just affect the victims. Torturers tend to developexactly the same sorts of symptoms as victims do over time. Torture also has apronounced negative effect on organisations in general. It causes organisationsto fracture into sub-factions and can actually get bad enough that in onemilitary organisation (in Brazil) people who were nominally on the same sidestarted kliling each other. Having torture as part and parcel of amilitary-like organisation means a much less effective organisation: one with alot of people suffering from serious mental and physical health issues, a poorchain of command (torturers tend to ignore orders), factionalism that can leadto brutal violence and incredibly bad moral.

 Showing all the long term effects of torture (if you want it to be partof your story) is a good start.

 I keep stressing that you don't have to use torture because I want toemphasise that it's not your only option. There are quite a few realisticoptions open to you and (I know it's taken a while but-) I think I've finallygot through the background information so I'll try to cover as many of them asI can think of now.

 What I’m trying to do here is give you as muchchoice as possible so you can find something that fits your story.

 I think if you want to make this primarily about the character’smoral/ethical development then taking torture (at least the torture of the MC)out of the story might improve it. In this scenario don’t include any form of overt ‘force’ or threat to make the characterkill or otherwise act immorally. Instead show the kind of pressure he’d beunder to act that way: how it gets soldiers praise from their superiors and(possibly) material rewards. Show how speaking against it leads to socialisolation and how trying to actagainst it risks severe military punishments. Show an organisation that’s builtaround encouraging this character to act in ways he’s uncomfortable with.

 And show how he steps away from that. Show how difficult that is, how itcuts him off from any friends he has in the military and how his superiorsattempt to punish him for it.

 If you wished to you could then include some form of torture as a ‘punishment’which would then strengthen the character’s resolve and his opposition to themilitary.

 Another possible realistic option is to show a military organisationthat’s starting to fracture because of torture. Your character, as a ‘good guy’,as someone who’s uncomfortable with killing and (presumably) against torture-well if he got transferred into a unit that contained torturers he’d be atarget.

 Most of the time in the early stages they use bullying tactics, they tryto use social pressure to make the person quit or transfer. I’ve also heard ofsoldiers being ordered on suicide missions.

 If the character persists and if he tries to reform things, if hecomplains and refuses to participate- he might end up getting tortured. Againthis would probably strengthen his opposition to the entire military and hisdrive to escape.

 Another option would be writing the character going into this situationbelieving that the military is always right. If he was raised in the sort ofinstitution that usually feeds into the military then he may well have beenraised to believe that the military does these things for good reason and they’regood people and all of this brutality ‘works’.

 Then of course he actually does it. And it’s terrible and it affects himdeeply.

 He’d struggle with guilt and doubt and self loathing. He’d probably feelthat he was as guilty as everyone else (indeed he is) but the difference wouldbe that torture ends up driving him away from the military.

 Going back to the fracturing effects torturers have on organisations-One of the things torturers sometimes do with new recruits is…essentiallyexpose them to torture in ways that are potentially incriminating. They makethe recruit feel that if they tried to report the incident they’d be seen asjust as guilty as the torturers.

 I’m going to use waterboarding as an example- Say one of the othercharacters passes by and says ‘oh by the way the Sargent wants you to bring abucket of water down to room 2B’. Your character probably assumes he’s supposedto clean the room. He arrives, opens the door, and sees a victim tied to a board,feet raised in the air, hood over their head. He’d probably freeze, that wouldbe a normal response. One of the torturers takes the bucket and pours it overthe victim’s head. They make an awful sound. Your character might run away, ortry to have it out with the torturers, but sooner or later when he thinks aboutprotesting someone will say ‘but you brought the bucket!’

 Torturers use these sorts of tactics to prevent people reporting thembut they also use them to try and pressure new recruits into joining them.

 This approach actually avoids torture per-say. It’s mostly about socialpressure and again, only works if your character isn’t extremely opposed to the idea.

 They bully. They harass. They keep the character isolated. Theybasically make his life as miserable as possible until he gives in to theirdemands.

 These sorts of tactics can and have driven people to suicide.

 Another option is the ‘ICURE’ pattern of psychological manipulation:Isolate the person, Control their access to information, plant Uncertaintyabout prior beliefs, use Repetition to reinforce the beliefs and values theorganisation wants to instil, and manipulate Emotions in order to furtherreinforce those values. In something like a military organisation it’s veryeasy to….use these sorts of manipulation techniques to try and change thebeliefs of recruits into something deemed more favourable.

 These techniques can be used to gradually change people’s opinions andbeliefs. If you wanted to you could show your character being manipulated usingthese techniques and how these social pressures could drive him to do awfulthings under orders.

 If you wanted to you could then use torture as a traumatic incident thatdrives the character to break away from the military. Or you could just havehim witness atrocity after atrocity, showing how that wears him down until hedecides the military is the problem.

 You could also use something close to your original scenario, with atoxic environment full of torturers and a real threat of torture scaring the character into short term compliance.

 But the problem with that is it really is short term and shallow and it only seems to work for relativelysimple actions. The more complex something is the more likely a character whois under duress will mess it up (either on purpose or because they’re morelikely to be highly distressed and not concentrating on their work). If yourplan was the have the character stay in this military organisation for years,doing these things repeatedly, then- well the longer he’s forced the stay in anenvironment like that the more likely he’d; commit suicide, escape, attack oneof the torturers/ranking officers, refuse orders or do something obviouslytreasonous.

 Hopefully one of these scenarios fits reasonably with your story. Thereare a lot more possibilities, and I could keep writing but without moreinformation on the story I’m not sure if it would be helpful.

 So if I haven’t covered whatyou want please send in another ask when the box is open. Take up as many asksas you like.

 I hope this helps. :)

Disclaimer

#tw torture #tw suicide #effects of torture #effects of torture on victims #effects of torture on torturers #effects of torturer on organisations #ICURE #manipulation #coercion #resistance to torture #Anonymous